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Again, the sun rises on a landscape worthy of us. Again day breaks on a horizon that makes my heart quicken and my feet heavy. Campfire can wait, as my search for dry wood has slowed for the opening of this valley. It speaks to me gently…I listen intently.

The ground felt cold and clammy pressed against his ear, but he knelt there, motionless, nonetheless and listened intently to the good earth, hoping for some sign of his quarry. This entire experience was quite familiar to FortyJ. For years, he had led his tribe's hunting parties in search of the great hunt, and for years he had delivered enough food for his entire tribe to survive the harshness of winter. However, because of the magnitude of their current task, and the shear numbers involved, this hunt had proven a little different. This time, he would need to find enough food for not only his tribe, but for all the twelve tribes as well.

FortyJ also knew that many of the other hunters were growing restless, especially those from the smaller tribes. They were not used to this type of hunt. Having fewer numbers to feed, they rarely needed to travel more than a few days from home to find enough food for their respective tribes. They were all eager to conclude the hunt.

The hunters from the larger tribes, on the other hand, were all quite familiar with this type of hunt. However, the few months that had passed since the tribal elders decided to unite the tribes was not nearly enough time for the old rivalries to fade. As such, many of the more experienced hunters from the larger tribes were still bitter about the elders' decision to appoint FortyJ as lead hunter. His failure to locate a herd sizable enough to feed the menagerie of tribes that followed them on their way has led some of the hunters from the larger tribes to talk about changing leaders for the sake of all of the tribes.

Such was the topic of conversation at a nearby campsite. Not 50 feet away from where FortyJ knelt, several of the better and more capable hunters from the Rou tribe had gathered to share their evening meal and to discuss how much better a job each of them could be doing as lead hunter. FortyJ smiled to himself, knowing that elsewhere throughout the camp, other fires were encircled by other hunters from other tribes thinking and talking about the same thing. Fortunately, the suspicions and fears from the old days still lingered, keeping everyone from uniting behind another hunter willing to challenge him for his position as lead hunter. However, one day that could change, and that worried him. He needed to find their prey, and he needed to do it soon.

Which is why, a little over a week ago, he decided to divert the hunters away from the main path provided by the scouting party up ahead. He intended for this diversion to be temporary (no more than a week or two), but the first week went by suprisingly fast with no sign of their prey.

From a make-shift perch in a nearby tree, Jean sat and watched FortyJ as he communed with the good earth. As a member of the Touloo Tribe (one of the smallest of the 12 tribes), he felt especially honored when FortyJ had selected him to be his right-hand man during the great hunt. During the past several weeks, he had learned more about running the hunt than he had in this life and all the lifetimes before. He took great pride in his position within the party, and an even stronger loyalty to FortyJ for selecting him.

"FortyJ" he began to say, but only half of it had become audible as he was cut short when FortyJ abruptly raised his hand and gestured for silence.

Then, finally, FortyJ slowly raised his head and turned towards Jean in the tree. The look on his face was quizzical as if he was attempting to work a very complex puzzle in his mind. Gradually, the expression changed, and soon he smiled brightly at his confidant. "We're close now. Very close. It will happen next rising of the sun."

Jean was taken by surprise by this news. Immediately, a mixture of relief and dread swept over him. He had never been stalking a herd for so long, and he was relieved that they were finally in reach of their goal, but he was also fearful for what may happen - he had never seen, nor participated in a hunt of so many beasts. "Shall I spread the word?" he asked, jumping down from his perch.

"No, but summon the primes. We need to make ready for the hunt." replied FortyJ.

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As I finish washing my feet in the creek that feeds these grassy plains, I tightly strap rabbit pelt boots around them and on up my leg. Running my hand through the young tall grass, I confirm my thoughts that we have chosen the right path. The signs indicate that we are at the feeding grounds for a large herd. I slowly turn my head towards the hills we left this morning, scanning them for a glimpse of FortyJ’s hunting party. I wonder how far off my trail FortyJ has moved. He must sense what I now know.

I scan the area for the men of my party. They move as clumsily as new borne kittens, but they are the best of the best. There are the birdmen who scout with trained birds. There is Miko, who has worn out as many boots as I have in this art. And there is a fourth man flanking us in the high ground, Gerra. I change the colored feather I’m wearing in my hair to one of red and leave the area. Miko and the birdmen should see this and leave also. We will head for the high plains and meet up with Gerra.

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Finding Gerra is not a problem and we return to camp were Miko is preparing pheasant over a fire. We discuss our findings for the day and await the runner while we eat. Runners keep contact between the parties and the main group on a daily basis. They are the information we need about the others and they are the delivery of our messages. Miko tells a funny story about the time his misstep sent him sliding down a rock wall into a pool of dark black water. The birdmen look at him as if he is still about to give the punch line. Gerra isn’t even listening, content with his food. These are the men of my scouting party. Of the 5 large clans that lead the pilgrimage, only 4 have sent representatives for this scouting party. The Ami clan, who were the last large clan in our daisy-chain snake of human cattle, did not send a scout, as they could not spare his talents. I know of their man and he is more of a Leader than a scout. The Elders had chosen a scout from each of the large clans to seek bountiful trails to our new home, and they chose me to be senior scout. So far we had given the Elders what they wanted, even when crossing the desert, but now my party had grown despondent, as none of our selections had been chosen for our new home. The grassy plains we were in today were the first of the new territories we have scouted. It was as if the Elders were seeing us move from one scout’s favorite choice to the next (as they knew we would), and rejecting them on that basis. I believe they wanted us to work as a team and seek out new lands, where no man had gone before. We have reached that point and will travel virgin lands from here on.

The 5 of us watch as our runner approaches campsite. He is much younger than FortyJ’s runner, who we sent back this morning. His eyes glisten, as he smells his waiting dinner. As he sits and eats, he informs us that no decisions have been made yet, but the Elders grow weary of travel. I can see why, we have taken them through the best of locations and they move through them never looking back. The wisdom of their collective minds is showing on their aging bodies even though they are nomads at heart. FortyJ seems to have found something, the runner claims, but does not know what. He does know that FortyJ is moving at a quicker pace, and after weeks upon weeks of running between our parties, runner knows when the distance is lengthened. This would mean that FortyJ has left the trail and is probably heading straight for the large herd. This would be FortyJ’s Great Hunt, and he will bring back much needed meat to the clans. The remaining herd of wildebeests will hopefully head for the feeding grounds after FortyJ’s assault.

We will rest for the night. From our perch on the high plains we can see the dust of a distant clan in the sunset. They must be eagerly awaiting the final decision also.

FortyJ checked the bindings on his spears for signs of wear or damage. He was pleased to find the obsidian tips were still sharp despite their frequent use these past few months. He ritualistically and almost reverently lay them down side by side on the ground next to his tent. His tent was nothing more than a single cloth stretched out between two trees and tapered down to the ground. It was utilitarian in design, affording FortyJ none of the comforts befitting the lead hunter of the twelve tribes, but this was a necessity on hunts such as this.

Satisfied with the condition of his weapons, he turned his attention to his pack. His lucky pack had been with him for too many seasons to count. Even when his hunting companions had traded in their packs for new ones; sewn from the hides taken from recent hunts, FortyJ had opted to patch his when it needed it most. It had been with him since his very first hunt, and the good earth willing, it would be with him on his last.

He moved over to his pack, crouched before it, unlatched it and dumped the contents out on the ground before him. The first thing to catch his eye, was his copper breastplate. It had dulled over the course of these past months, but it still retained some of its luster in places. As he picked it up, his fingers subconsciously rolled over the shallow gouge in the lower left side of the plate. He had originally tried to work that dent out, but the crease had refused to give. Now, it serves as a reminder of the dangers that lay before him in the hunt.

On the ground, next to the plate, lay two copper blades, embedded into a hilt made from animal hide. They were not meant for killing - the blades were too short and hardly strong enough to penetrate even the softest of animal hides. You'd be more likely to injure yourself if you tried to use them for anything other than cleaning a carcass, and even then they were tricky enough for those untrained in their proper use.

FortyJ picked up the knives and secured them in the straps crossing in front of his chest. He would wait until tomorrow before donning his breastplate. He turned in time to see Jean approaching from the central fire. The reaction was subtle, but FortyJ recognized it in Jean's face. Not many had tools such as these. FortyJ himself, had his knives fashioned from some copper he had found in previous hunts. The plate, was given to him by the Orle elders in appreciation for his dedicated service over the years. It wasn't very effective at protection (truth is, it barely covered his entire chest), but it was a symbol of status that the other hunters from his clan recognized.

"They're waiting for you." said Jean, glancing quickly from the knives, to the plate, and finally up to meet FortyJ's eyes.

FortyJ straightened his pelt and walked directly past Jean, patting him on the shoulder as he passed. He quickened his pace as he emerged from the trees into the clearing that contained the central fire. Twenty men, representing their respective tribes had gathered in the clearing around the fire; their conversations faded as soon as FortyJ joined the group.

"Hunters! Our prey awaits us." began FortyJ....

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Jean and his party moved swiftly through the tall grasses, but the sun was already setting behind the hills they had left earlier that afternoon and they had not yet reached their destination. The plan for the hunt was simple, but he and his men, over a hundred of them, needed to reach the trees across the vale before morning in order for it to work. He had hoped to reach them before nightfall, but they had to chase the sun more than originally expected in order to avoid spooking the herd. Now, the forest of trees lay directly ahead, and he desperately wanted to reach them soon, so that he could calm his nerves before the biggest hunt in his life.

It was then that he surprisingly stumbled upon Luc, standing in the grasses directly ahead of the main party. Luc was a particularly skilled hunter from the Paree tribe and he and two others were serving as advance scouts for their party. Jean certainly didn't expect to run into him until they had reached their destination which was easily another hours walk.

As Jean approached, Luc did not say a word, but simply pointed at something in the grasses between them and the trees ahead. At first Jean did not see anything, but soon his hawk-like vision caught something moving in the grass. The sinking feeling in his gut confirmed what his eyes were telling him. They had just stumbled upon a pride of lions.

In days of old, Jean would have simply retreated and sought prey elsewhere rather than tangle with these dangerous predators. However, those days are no more. Hundreds of his fellow hunters, and thousands more in the tribes, were relying on him to carry out his task tomorrow. These lions could spook the herd before the rest of the hunters were ready, or worse, they might attack his own hunting party. Either way, the success of tomorrow's hunt hung in the balance and Jean needed to do something.

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When we awoke, I again faced a beautiful dawn. The river of the High Plains that feed the ones below, was teeming with fish, our normal breakfast. I knew the main tribe of the Paree would enter the grassy plains while Fortyj would be assailing the wildebeests. I sent runner to meet them while skirting the feeding grounds (so as not to leave a scent). He was to ask the Elder of the Paree tribe to do the same, and I would meet them at the outskirts of the feeding grounds. The second of the 12 tribes, the Rou, would then move into the hills before the grassy plains, as always, following the Clan before them. These first two Clans numbered about 1500 souls each. Behind them were the Orle, the Reim, and the Ami Clans, each around 1200 strong. The 7 smaller Clans followed them, each approximately 500 strong or so. This was our Pilgrimage to our new home as a united nation. A long chain of strong, dedicated people carrying food, children, weapons and tents. I stand in awe of the Elders who put such a Pilgrimage together.

When I meet the Elders of the Paree Clan we will dig in for a temporary campsite. Our Warriors would then prepare for and await the arrival of the remaining wildebeests from the large herd. We would strike down enough to feed our Clan in celebration of the “Great Hunt” and enough to take with us.

FortyJ’s men at the original kill will carry 90% of the meat back to the hills where the Rou are waiting. The Rou will take their share and move on to the Grassy Plains the next day, where they would celebrate with a feast for the “Great Hunt”. Each tribe would do this in succession and then move on the following day. As some of the wildebeests were sure to escape, FortyJ will hopefully follow the remaining herd with some of his men to the feeding grounds. This would allow us to join forces and then celebrate together.
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All had gone as I had thought it would. When we met the Paree, a couple hundred of us prepared for the arrival of the herd. The rest dug in for the celebration. The campsite design was such that it could be re-used by each Clan as they arrived there.

When the herd arrived, FortyJ drove them into our awaiting bands of Warriors and we took our fill, but no more. The wildebeests that were left went out to graze further up river. After the kill, FortyJ and I prepared to pay homage to the Elders of the Paree. FortyJ is of the Orle Clan, but is invited into the Elders tent as Leader of the Hunting Party. Here we are soon to learn the details of the Clans uniting as one and seeking a new home.

A guard pulls back a flap of the Elders tent for FortyJ and I to pass through. The Elders greet us and we make customary gestures of respect. I ask the Leader if we may sit before him and he nods while extending his hand. This is Elder Bonalone. He is the wisest and most senior of my Clan, the Paree.

Bonalone remains seated, as do all the Elders, but you can see he is not a large man. With his flowing white hair and his dark, steady eyes, he has no problem with you seeing this, as in his master negotiator ways, he needs you to believe you have the advantage. One gets the feeling that Elder Bonalone has your entire character mapped out as you walk into his tent. He is dressed in a full rawhide tunic decorated with small, colored stone tiles tied into the strands in a mosaic fashion. Welcoming us in an official manner, he brings out a leather cloth and unfolds it. FortyJ and I realize we are in an awards ceremony and bow our heads. Bonalone presents FortyJ with a bear tooth necklace for valor and honor as Leader of the Hunting Party. He then presents me with a bear claw necklace for truth and swiftness of foot as Scouting Party Leader. We don our ceremonial awards. Bonalone then opens a small pouch and pours out a measured line of what looks to be powdered quartz stone in front of him. His hands move with the confidence of a panther’s walk as he begins to tell us of the gathering of the 12 tribes.

FortyJ and I listen, nodding as Bonalone tells the statistics of the Twelve Tribes. This is mostly common knowledge, but it is always reassuring to hear the current figures for the yearly head count. Then the Elder hesitates and looks me in the eyes as he begins to tell his story.

It had started a year ago, during the Paree Winter celebration. Our tribe always has a festival during this time of year to welcome in the cold winters with a light heart. Times were hard of late and the Paree people did not celebrate as before. As nomads, we traveled to where the food was, twice, maybe three times a year. But our people grew leaner as the herds thinned and the traveling grew more strenuous. This was true of all the Twelve Tribes, whose leaders were invited to join last year’s festival. Bonalone, in his wisdom, knew that the tribes had grown too large to remain as they were. We could no longer stay nomads scavenging the region for fresh herds. We had learned the ways of growing food and irrigating our crops with fresh water. This in turn made our tribes grow to a size that forced us to master roads and tribal council and planning just to keep order. Thus, he brought together the Elders of the tribes and spoke to them of uniting as one and finding a new home to settle and flourish in. An idea well received, a plan was worked out in which the tribes would gather following the second harvest and journey in a pilgrimage until the new Council of Elders chose a location to settle. To help schedule their timeline, they named a full moon after each of the Twelve Tribes. The celebration of the Great Hunt was declared the Winter Festival as we ended the Moon of Paree. As he spoke, Bonalone would occasionally reach down and take a pinch of the powdered quartz and tossed it in the air before him, so that his hands would move through and gather small amounts of the sparkling dust as he told his animated tale. Finally, as he began to finish his story, Bonalone lit the Peace Pipe and we passed it among us. Food was brought in and we spoke of many things. I believe we were discussing when exactly the past met the future when the great Elder asked FortyJ to recant the adventure of the Great Hunt. As FortyJ gathered his thoughts, I spoke to Bonalone about the Hunting Party dispersing and returning to their respective tribes. I also suggested that FortyJ accompany me in the Scouting Party. Bonalone nodded and we both turned to FortyJ, awaiting his tale…

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FortyJ had told an extraordinary tale indeed, taking the mood of the meeting into one of adventure and intrigue. We sat captivated until his story was complete. We then thanked him for his contributions to our food supply and ended the gathering, as it had grown late, and we all had an early morning to greet. But that was a week ago...

Since then, we have covered many hills, then a mountain pass, and have arrived at the Coast. As always, the Ocean is a beautiful sight. Our fishing is now done more with nets than sharpened spear. We wait patiently for the Paree to move through the pass, before we move on. During this time, 40J and I hava devised a dialog for communicating directions. Because of confusion caused by each person talking of different areas in different directions and at different distnces, we knew we had to standardize this.

We decided that the direction in which the sun rose from would be called the East, while the direction in which the sun set would be called the West. If one should face the East, then the way to the left would be called the North, whereas the way to the right would be called the South. This made giving directions to others easier to understand, as everyone would acknowledge the 4 primary directions.

As far as describing distance, we needed a common understanding of how far a distance was that could be used in ever-changing descriptions. Using terrain as a base of distance was too inconsistant as the size of a forest or a river or a hill always changed with location. Basing distance on land covered in a season or a moon was to large, so we discarded those ideas. The amount of land covered by our scouting party in 1 day (a day's walk) was agreed upon as a good unit of distance, as we would dicuss our findings each day over dinner. We would call the distance a "Tile", based on the tile decor on Elder Bonalone's tunic. As we had discussee earlier, each small colored tile of his tunic strands probably represented some achievement or progression in his life. We transferred this thought into a Tile representing the daily progress of our scouting party's journey into the unknown.

We will rest the night once again and as the Paree begin to arrive, we will leave and cross the grasslands. Again we will be leaving another fine spot for our nation to settle. Again, we will journey on until the Elders Council has made a decision concerning the location in which we will establish our first city.

The fire began to dim as Jean entered the circle. Instinctively, he wandered over to the wood pile and gathered a few logs to refuel the fire. The flames roared in appreciation and Jean caught the collective eye of some of the girls across the way who were intently watching his every move. Since returning from the hunt, he had become somewhat of a celebrity, especially amongst the younger women in the tribes.

"You'd better watch out, Jean. Word has it that Marie's got her eye on you." came a familiar voice from behind.

Jean turned to see his old friend Thomas rising from his seat in the shadows. "There are worse fates my friend" he replied.

"You know what they want?" Thomas asked, nodding his head in the direction of the girls across the fire. "They want to hear your story again." Thomas was not a part of the hunt, much to his disappointment. He had volunteered to go on the hunt, but he was not selected and instead assigned to the task of assisting the tribes in their final pilgrimage in search of their new home. He was happy for his friend Jean, but part of him was jealous of his new status in the twelve tribes.

"I know" said Jean. It had been nearly a week since the great hunt, and Jean had been asked to tell his story no fewer than 3 times each day. He was beginning to tire of its telling, but one glance at the ladies across the way reassured him that he probably had one more telling left in him.

The two of them walked around the fire in the direction of the ladies who began to whisper amongst themselves as they approached. Jean introduced himself and Thomas to each of the ladies - even though they already knew of him by his new-found reputation. One of the ladies timidly asked Jean to tell them his story one more time, and Jean politely obliged.

The young ladies listened intently as Jean launched into his tale, acting out certain parts with Thomas' assistance. He told how they encountered the pride of lions (exaggerating the size of the pride only slightly) the night before the hunt. He explained how they dared not attack or attempt to scare off the lions lest they react violently and frighten the herd prematurely.

He explained in great detail the events that followed next - how he camped his men in the open field with no fire, how they kept a most-careful watch on the pride in case it moved in the direction of the herd or his men, how the lions awoke earlier than expected and set off in the direction of the herd, and how they actually hunted the lions and drove them away from the herd before turning to drive the herd into the valley between the river and the hills where the rest of the hunters were waiting for the final kill.

Anyone nearby could not help but notice the girls' reactions of shock and horror to Jean's depiction of the days events. Thomas noted, as he told Jean later that night, that Marie's reaction was not only one of shock, but most certainly of admiration as well.

As he crested the knoll, he came face to face with yet another masterful landscape. FortyJ had been with Cyc for almost half a moon since the great hunt concluded, and had followed him and his team of scouts for much longer. Over that time, he had seen many majestic sights, and Cyc had succeeded once again in finding another perfect spot for the tribes to settle down and create a new home. A strange little smile crept to his face as he suddenly began to understand the Elders' dilemma: which one should they choose?

The twelve tribes had been travelling for some time now, and he could tell, despite their nomadic history, the people were growing tired of the trek. It would soon be time to settle down and create a more permanent domicile for them all. There were grumblings amongst some of the more ambitious individuals within each tribe. Some were even beginning to discuss the notion of challenging the rule of the elders. FortyJ didn't generally give much of a thought to such talk, but these were very different times than any he had experienced before. This time, something about it nagged at him.

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Phillipe was widely known amongst the Ami tribe as a deliberate man. He had worked hard, provided for his family and was well respected by his peers. Last summer, his wife had begun to pester him with the notion of finding a husband for their daughter, Marie. It was a most unpleasant task for Phillipe.

Finding a suitor was not the problem. Over the years, he had accumulated quite a dowry for his Marie. However, Phillipe considered most of the eligible men in his tribe to be unworthy of his little girl, and so, had successfully stalled his decision up til now. But he was quickly running out of time.

So it was that the unification of the tribes came as a welcome event for Phillipe. It has served as an excellent distraction whenever his wife brought up the subject of their daughter's impending engagement. Now, it offered yet another opportunity for Phillipe: the possibility of actually finding an acceptable husband for his girl - Jean of the Touloo tribe.

He was not blind to the obvious affection his daughter had for this man. He had seen the two of them together some nights ago around the fire with several other youths. It was quite clear that Jean was showing off while sharing his experiences from the hunt. It was even clearer to him that Marie liked it.

Unfortunately for Marie, Phillipe knew that there would be many young women eager to snare such an eligible young man. Because of Jean's newfound status in the clans, there would also be an equal, if not greater number of fathers willing to entice the lad to marry their daughters. Phillipe was determined to try. He only hoped that Marie's dowry would be enough to convince Jean to take her as his wife.

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Gaston crept out from the shadows from where he had enjoyed his meal in solitude. It wasn't customary to eat alone these days, but given the circumstances by which he came by this meal, it had made sense. He wasn't particularly proud of his actions, but it wasn't his fault.

Ever since the elders from the twelve tribes decided to unite the tribes, it had been nothing but trouble for Gaston. He didn't understand why his tribe, the Paree, would agree to something such as this. The other tribes had only ever been parasites to them in the past - depriving them of food on occasion and forcing them to move from season to season to find herds large enough to feed themselves. Uniting them would only worsen the situation.

They would all understand soon enough, but it might be too late by then. He couldn't allow the tribes to unite. Fortunately, he had a plan to ensure that day would never come.

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Weeks have passed since my last writing. Since we left the coast, we’ve crossed the grasslands into the hills, and back onto the coast again. Sometimes the winds were fierce and chilling, slowing our progress, but making our hunting a little easier. Sometimes the days were warm and sunny. We all welcomed the few times we were able to walk on the beach. From the grassy plains of the Great Hunt, we had basically made a sweeping turn like a bow when it’s pulled back full. The feeding grounds were now due East of us. The Ocean was to the West.

Runner had told us several times that the people were enjoying the days on the beach and would miss them when they were gone. He also says there is a new runner that passes through all of the tribes, from end to end. He is the Council runner and only carries messages about favored locations. Some think a decision is near, while others know better. To them this new runner is merely an excuse for more time to stall on the decision. A large portion of the population grows weary of the Council’s inability to move beyond petty differences and conflicting opinions. Things such as this and simple power grabs have made the decision-making process grind to a halt.

One of the Elders from a smaller Tribe, Runner believes it is the Marse, is sending a proposal to the rest of the Council about forming a solid governing structure – led by one man. There is some dissent among some Tribes, but the larger Tribes favor it. This may be for selfish reasons, such as putting their Elder in the ruling position, but the larger tribes are leaning towards a single focus of Leadership, as opposed to a squabbling Council. Hmmm. An Elder from the Marse Tribe...I believe I know him...

The food is lasting, but the people grow discontent with constant travel. Our Leaders talk of a great future, but the main factor we have yet to find is the location of our first city. Hopefully, that decision will be made within the next few weeks.

It is a rainy morning in the moon of Marse. Francois D'bourg is working in his tent. He hears there is news for the possible founding of a city. Perhaps within the next few moons. "That would be nice", thinks Francois. "I don't like having to walk around all the time. A permanent home sounds like a good thing." But what must be faced before this can be true? Will there be issues that stop the people from settling? And what will happen to the minority groups in the Tribes? Time will tell...

"Fire!" screamed voices outside his tent. "Fire!"

Jean quickly crawled out of his tent and sprang to his feet. Through the commotion, he caught glimpse of Thomas who was racing wildly in his direction.

"Jean. Come quick. One of the meal tents is on fire!" he shouted in Jean's direction.

It took a second for that thought to sink in to Jean's half-awakened brain. Before it did, Thomas was upon him and dragging him by the shoulder. "Come on man! Move it!", Thomas urged him on.

It took half a second for Jean's legs to get moving and before long, he was racing beside his friend in the direction of the nearby meal tent. By the time they arrived, the entire tent was ablaze. Ash and smoke rose through the black night sky towards the heavens and people were frantically struggling to get whatever food they could out of the tent before it was consumed by the fire.

Thomas and Jean set about to ensure the fire didn't spread to the nearby tents, but aside from that, there was little they could do. The women were tending to the burns as best they could, children nearby were crying, more from fear than from any wounds they might have suffered as a result of the fire.

"The cook must've lost control of the fire while preparing breakfast" muttered Jean.

Thomas turned to look at his friend. "It's happening much to frequently for my liking Jean," he replied.

Jean turned and shot his friend a quizzical look. "I haven't heard anything" he said.

"That's because you've been out having fun, hunting for food," Thomas retorted. "This is the 3rd such fire in our tribe alone. Rumors have it that other tribes are experiencing similar problems. I tell you what. It ain't good, and I'm not sure that our new Council of Elders is capable of stopping it."

Thomas turned back to the burning tent, "Heck, they can't even find a way to stop our pilgrimage."

Jean glanced at his friend for a second, then back to the fire, and finally to the children crying off to the side. Perhaps his friend was right. It was not in his nature to question the decisions of the Elders, but perhaps things were changing. He had heard of the plan proposed by the Marse Elder named Rik Meleet, but had not given it much thought. Now, for the first time, it was beginning to sound like a good idea.

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In the shadows, far enough from the burning tent so as not to be noticed, Gaston stood and watched the scene unfold. He did not relish in the thoughts of those he had brought injury or worse, nor did he grieve for them. They were simply casualties in his crusade - his crusade to divide the tribes and stop this foolish talk of unity once and for all.

After a few moments, he turned and vanished into the distance. He had yet another tribe to visit.

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Two more weeks had passed and the Gods had blessed us again with a beautiful journey. The Scouting Party, which had been fairly spread out, were all brought together naturally by the jagged and sweeping hills of the open range. We now stand before the wide pass that will take us through the mountains. The sun is setting on another long, hard day, as water is scarce of late and we head West to our Promised Land.

“This is a beautiful location, Cyc.” FortyJ spoke softly, as he too was taken by the sunset, as was Cyc. Then with a smile, “Do you intend to watch the entire sunset from this very spot?”

Cyc looked at FortyJ, “This is another landscape I could bear to see from my tent every night.” FortyJ let out a long, slow sigh. Looking around him, he laments, ”Yes, we could find water near and irrigate these plains. There are herds up in those hills, and there’s plenty of room in this fertile valley for our nation to settle. And that is a magnificent sunset. But tell me, Cyc. What were you really thinking about?”

Cyc picked a tall weed and started trimming it mindlessly. A faint smile showed on his face. “Actually, I was thinking about the plan that Elder from the Marse Tribe is promoting. Have you thought about it? I mean we would change from having our major decisions bantered about the Council for weeks or longer with no accountability…to having them made by one man, who would stand before us all. It would be as though he were the Father of our People. Almost as if we were his, as an extension of his arm, to do his bidding. Can you imagine being that man?”

FortyJ turns his bow in the dirt, “Everyday, you and I make decisions for the multitudes in our Tribes. Our decisions help those we care for and share with to survive in today’s world. But the man you speak of will be making decisions for 10 thousand strangers. No, I can not imagine being that man.”

“Runner has told me that many people have”, claimed Cyc. “He hears tales of large discussions about this plan. Anyway, I was just running it around in my head. Let’s go eat some of that pheasant for dinner.”

With that they turned and looked down the long Valley towards the direction they had come from. Campfires from the Paree Tribe could be seen. They tried not to think about them and concentrated on dinner.

Soon CivGeneral and Mara Jade approach the camp. "We have scouted the area, there are no barbarians to report" Said CivGeneral.

Cyc looks at CivGeneral and Mara Jade. "Good, good to hear that and congrats on being chosen the Minister of Defense" Cyc said as he hands the two people there meals.

"We have reported spoting another tribe, though they are unknown at the moment and they are heading away from us" Mara said. "Its good that CivGeneral is also a co-commander to the Jade Commandos" FortyJ said.

"Yeah, Hopefully they will be a good asset in future conflitcts." Said CivGeneral. Soon FortyJ, CivGeneral, Mara Jade, and Cyc head to consentrate on there dinner.

Francois D'bourg is frightened. It is not because he hears that there is a firestarter on the loose or because there is now one man to lead all the tribes. No, it is because of something else. The choosing of a tribal elder has gone awry. Two very good candidates are now at the brink of tribal war, threatening the fragile unity that was carved out among the tribe chiefs. They were ready to fight for it, and one man trying for a spot as an elder declared "Over My Dead Avatar", but no one knew what he meant and they tried to Exorcize whatever demon it was within him. But change would come. And soon the people would have to make a choice over what they were going to do. They might settle, but when? The season for that was another squabble, as the people were asked which moon they did NOT want to settle in, but they mistook it for which moon they did. Now people, it seems, do not want to settle before the planting seasons and and want to settle during the cold winter. How very odd. Francios had somehow been given the job of talking with forigeners, so he went back to work on refining his hand carved alphabet, unsure of what to do next.

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We have moved through the mountains and have come upon a wooded area next to some grassy hills. As our Scouting Party had gained a little time on the Paree Tribe, I have diverted from my planned course and am now investigating this wooded area. It has turned into almost a surreal experience for me, as these mystic woods seem to be hallowed grounds. As I cross the grove, I fear that I may be entering virgin territory. It seems that no other human has left any sign of being here. It is so calm and peaceful. The trail I now make will not be one that ten thousand can follow, but if we decide to settle in the grassy hills, this scenic forest will would be a valued asset to our city. One we would be obliged to protect from others. I am an experienced scout, but I am so filled with wonder as my eyes take in the beauty of these lands. I pause on my way out of the forest to find my Party, to watch a deer and its fawn as they gently pull leaves from a small tree for an afternoon snack.

As I enter the sunlight of the day, my Party is not in sight, but as I travel towards the rendezvous spot, I notice occasional movement. My thoughts now return to the Elder of the Marse Tribe. The Marse were one of the smaller tribes, say 600 strong, but it was a respected tribe. This respect came largely because of its Elder, Rik Meleet. As Elders go, he was relatively young, but his charismatic leadership style, along with the brilliance of some of his key proposals, had made the Marse Tribe one that was honored and respected. A tribe that carried substantial weight for its size in our Council.

This new proposal of one man leading our nation with a Council of Advisors had grown quite popular with a majority of the People. But we still faced the problem of convincing the Council, and this would take the act of one of our Gods to accomplish. The Council has been working hard to keep the nation together and organized and that is good, but our goal of finding a location to settle is going unattended. On one hand we need the Council to see the different aspects of our nation get the attention they need, on the other hand there seems to be too many cooks speaking the recipe for this stew.

Rain clouds are coming up behind us. Our nation’s people will be wet tonight. This will add to their anguish. But it will allow them to collect the water that they need. It seems the rain clouds will hang in the mountains and drench the people for at least another day. They will have to deal with the mud, the thunder and lightning, and the dark, dreary day. I hurry to the rendezvous point to see my men. I would like to tell them of the forest and hear what they have found.

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Rik Meleet feels the burden of the future molding his shoulders. He isn't the man to usually take life so heavily. But this wasn't a usual circumstance. He could stil feel the words of the Marse tribel council pound in his ears. Why was he moved forward as the promiss for the nation ?

His mind tried to make sense of it all. He couldn't quiet grasp the importance of all this, but he could see the picture of him leading all 12 tribes to their new homelands. It pleased him deeply. Imagine, Rik the leader of all, the most important man in the world, the only man able to build a nation. The already big smile on his face grew bigger and bigger.

The noise of the thunder awoke him from his daydreaming. The cold drops of rain continued to fall down, it had been raining this hard for weeks now. Nearly a whole moon. Usually the rain meant disaster for the Marse, but not this time.

Rik thought back at his youth. As the firstborn son of the richest Marse family he was destined to play an important role in Marse history. The Marse had always been the traders since as long as one could remember. Many moons ago they had already settled their tents in a land far far away from here. Rik couldn't remember, even Rik's grandfather wasn't even alive then. But the stories were still told. The land of milk and honey.

The Marse farmed their land and harvested the abundance of the fields. Live was good. Many names of the Marse could still be traced back to that era. Meleet for instance was old Marse for "eats honey". The friendly contacts with the other 11 tribes always were worthwhile. The Marse supplied all that was needed in food, drinks and jewelry, while the other tribes supplied them with the few parts the land couldn't produce. The Marse grew very rich.

And then came the rains, just as they had come now. The rains kept throwing their force onto Marse land for several moons. All fertile lands were washed away, many people drowned, all possessions lost. When finally the rains ceased the Marse counted their loss. The tribe was decimated, the wealth was gone and the lands were worthless. Starvation would take many more lives if they'd stayed. Thus the Marse adopted the mobile life-style of the other 11 tribes.They weren't hit so hard as they kept moving.

The Marse still weren't really fond of moving; they wanted to settle down. But this time on a better location with better housing and better protection from the elements. For that they would need to convince the other 11 tribes to join. Secret meetings were held with all other tribes and many tribemembers felt the same. But the council of leaders didn't want to settle.

Then came the rains again. The people got fed up with moving around; there was no shelter, there was no more game, there was no safety. The Marse knew now for sure; they need to settle soon. They continued to prpaganda the tribemembers of the other 11 tribes further. They pushed Rik forward as the hope for the future. And things did change. Rik got more and more support for the Marse idea of permanent settlement. No more hunger, no more sleeping in extreme weather conditions, no more moving. Instead abundancy of food, proper shelter and warm houses.

Rik new the only thing he needed to do now is to wait. Tomorrow the council would meet again. That would be the day of a new start. The dawning of a new Empire, led by Rik Meleet. That would be Creation Day.

Cyc’s Party had moved into the foothills of a Mountain area and had taken a break from the long climb. The six members of this Scouting Party were now sticking closer together as the journey had grown tougher, while their spirits had sunk lower. They gathered around a rocky area and started a quick fire. As they huddled around the fire, they looked back into the valley at the masses in their individual tribes. These poor people had been caught in the rain for days, trekking through the mud and following one another in the dark rain. They had now gotten a chance to dry out in the chilly sunlight and shake off the mud. But Cyc did not notice a joyous group of people. The brief movements that could be discerned from his vantage point indicated some kind of agitation among the different tribes. Cyc’s group watched as Runner sped towards their location.

“Cyc! Cyc!” Runner yelled. “You must come…” Runner said as he approached the group who was now standing. “Something truly unusual has happened.” Runner placed his hand on Cyc’s shoulder breathing hard and facing the Pilgrimage. “They have stopped…they have stopped.”

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The Scouting Party’s eyes darted from Runner to the tribes and back several times trying to understand. Cyc immediately picked up on what was happening. He had seen it before with large herds where they would hem and haw, stammering in movement because of fear and confusion. The body of living beings would shift endlessly without moving in any general direction. Normally, this was a volatile situation ripe for stampede, but now it was interesting, as Cyc knew stampeding was the last thing that would happen. He locked eyes with Runner, who was still babbling, “You must come back with me Cyc. People are asking for you. It’s something important.”

Cyc smiled, “Ok, rest a moment, drink from my water pouch. We will leave soon.” Cyc motioned to the others to make sure Runner had what he needed before they headed for the Paree. Meanwhile, he contemplated the cause for such a ruckus. Could the people have collectively made a decision? Had there been a death or perhaps a mass illness? Are the ones he knows in danger? All these thoughts and more flashed through his mind, as he paced. Runner was now ready and they departed for the masses as a group.

As they drew near, the birdmen, Miko, and Gerra broke off and headed for the own, as Cyc had instructed the Party to disperse. Runner almost pulled Cyc in the direction of Bonalone. People were saying Cyc’s name and slapping his back as he made his way through the crowds. Finally, they arrived at Bonalone’s group. The Elder took him inside the inner ring of faithful and explained the situation briefly.

Dissent had been moving between the tribes for weeks now. The cold and wet, the traveling in the mud had only heightened the anxiety among the nation’ people. A feeling of solidarity had formed in a sense of unified suffering and neglect. Also a core appreciation had come about for the one Leader approach to Government. All of this culminated when they rains stopped and it seemed that one could think clearly again. It was if the noise and confusion had stopped leaving a feeling of clarity of ones own thoughts. This was the spark that lit the fire. Now the people that passed from tribe to tribe talking abrupt changes were listened to. People that were once on the fence now agreed that there was the smell of change in the air. A movement for a mass stopping of the Pilgrimage started to spread among the common people. Soon the numbers multiplied and it seemed the people were all nodding their heads in agreement. This planned stopping was in direct contradiction to the Elder’s Council, who at the moment were hard to find. Tension between the Elders had grown to fever pitch as each had heard of the mass stopping in hopes of stating grievances. Had they gone too far in their attempt to control destiny? Had they not done enough to consolidate the tribes? Have they now lost their control of the masses? The Council must gather now – runners had been sent out. A meeting of Elders was declared and now forming back towards the Reim Tribe. Bonalone had sought Cyc’s advice before heading to the Council.

“You have undoubtedly heard of the new plan for a government called despotism. A large wave of pressure has formed in the tribes that seems moments way from crashing down on us. Word between the Council says that we will not survive the new way and we fear for our position. Would you walk with me there and advise me on the matter?” Bonalone started walking in the direction of the meeting as if he knew the answer to his question already. I fell in beside him and kept pace. As we talked, I informed him that I liked the plan in the sense that it would be more efficient. Also, I felt the Council would still have a place of Leadership with the Circle of the Despot, as surely he would need Advisors in matters not of his immediate concerns. Bonalone smiled as he looked at Cyc,” I knew I could ask you. You speak with a kind, wise, and truthful heart. But who will be this so-called Despot, and how will we bring about a change from our Council to his rise to power?”

Cyc excused himself and lifted his head to find Runner. He motioned him over and whispered in his ear a fairly detailed message. Runner looked him in the eyes and then turned facing the direction all were going, and ran like the wind.

“My Elder, I have heard of anger and discontent among the people. Change is in the air and we must heed the call. I have blazed many trails myself, but now we must look to the future to blaze a new trail as a Nation. You have led us in the past, and you must continue to lead us into our future change. When we get to the meeting stand firm in your thoughts, as other will waver from the knowledge of this change. We all know that Rik Meleet has risen in popularity like the tidal wave his plan has created. There lies your answer. Elder Rik Meleet is of the Council, and he will not forsake you in this revolutionary time. Be strong and be supportive of his goals and I’m sure the People as a Nation will answer your questions for you.” Bonalone nodded his head at this in the same manner the masses had nodded their head for Rik Meleet’s plan and the unified stopping. Cyc knew the Elder could still hold his own in any Council meeting. He trusted his judgment to get the job done.

As we entered the Council Tribunal, Bonalone and I were greeted with nervous signs of greetings. We moved through the tent to where Bonalone's place was and I sit down beside him.

What followed next was beyond my experiences. I watched as men young and old, with revolution in their eyes come and speak to the Council. A long procession of representatives came and went, each claiming situations that needed to be addressed. The Council seemed to be agreeable to all in an attempt to keep their scalps. Finally, the main leaders came in dressed in war paint. They began their dance ceremony, shaking their colored staffs and screaming war cries. Twenty of them with what seemed to start out as entertainment soon turns into a terrorizing display of anger. To add to it, the citizens outside the tent started stomping the ground and singing also. It was quite an ordeal. Then it stopped.

Then the leaders of the common people faced the Council and declared that the nation had decided to settle here. A hush fell over the crowd. Then they claimed the people were 10 thousand strong and included the strongest Warriors and Hunters. The people now demanded change. For their new home they would raise a new Great Leader to rule over the Council. A single man will rule the Nation. They then asked for the Council's blessing for this change. Again silence fell over the crowd. The Council realized the people were giving them a graceful way to relinguish control to the People. Had they chose to refuse, it would have been there last act. The Council nodded in unison and tried to act dignified. They did that very well.

Bonalone then approached the Leaders and asked humbly "Who have you chosen as your new Great Leader?" The oldest Leader steps forward and claims "We have chosen Rik Meleet!" The Council applauds and Rik Meleet steps forward and comes alongside Bonalone. Elder Bonalone turns to Rik Meleet and bows slightly, then returns his gaze to the Revolutionary, "You have chosen wisely."

Francois d'Bourg was unsure of what was happening. The Bourg tribe, along with the other eleven, were moving, as normally, through the land looking for hunting grounds. They came across a nice area, and suddenly the horns went off to just stop. No reason was given, just stop walking and put down your items. Thats what the horns said, nothing more. Francois was a bit worried over this. Had someone from another tribe seen a band of attackers? If so, Francois would end up the sorry sap who had to deal with them first "dipolmaticly." Right... talking peace with something that can't talk. He laughed at the thought.

Why had he signed up for this crazy job? It would never work. "It's because you know as well as I do that there are some people out there, somewhere, who have stopped roving around and know of a better way to live" said the voice in his head. The voice in his head was one of Francois's main confidants. Its name was Tzara, and when it first appeared, it told Francois that it would one day lead him to do odd, but great, things. So, Francois didnt go crazy and try to kill Tzara, and Tzara didn't act like an evil subconcious.

While arguing over the merits of eating grass with Tzara, the horns sounded again. This time with the drums and Francois could have sworn he heard a musical duck in there somewhere. They said.. All praise... No, wait.. (Francois misconjugated ::treeeboomtreeequack: : ) All hail (yea, thats right) your new leader ("Someone added a new word to the dictionary, eh Francois" joked Tzara) Rik Meleet. "Leader? What the heck is a leader?" Thought either Francois or Tzara (Francois was unsure). The drums kept going. Remain where you are. We are going to try something different.

Different. Francois laughed. Like the tribes could ever do anything that didn't involve the same hunting ground and the same crops every year. But who was he to talk? He was just the guy who talked with all unknown people and held conversations with a voice in his head named Tzara.


Authors Notes: Well, I've established my charater. Francois d'Bourg. Named after the real name of the esteemed thinker Voltaire. His subconcious, Tzara, is named after Tristan Tzara, a founder of the Dadaist movement (which is a French as it was German) More entires like this one are to come. Anyone spot the Oboe reference? And no, talking with Tzara is not based on any real life conversations I've had with my own subconcious.

Rosée's practiced eye spotted the plant she was looking for among the dense plants of the thicket. She knelt and pushed the other nettle barbed plants out of the way and dug the soil away from the slender rooted plant. The root was what she was after and there were enough here to feed her own family and several others. This plant was good for stews, and if the hunters found any meat they would eat well.

While she was gathering roots she noticed the fine crescent shaped seeds stuck to her clothes. She knew that they were far too small to eat and didn't taste good anyway. She suspected that the plants made them so that they could reappear the following year. Now that the elders of the tribe were discussing staying in one spot, she decided it was time to try out her idea of saving the seeds and putting them in a spot of her choosing. That way she and the other gleaners wouldn't have to look for new places where the plants grew. After collecting a basket of roots, she carefully harvested enough seeds to fill a small pouch at her waist.

There were so many more mouths to feed now that the tribes had combined. Granted, there were more workers, but a much greater area had to be searched in order to find enough good food to keep everyone fed. If her plan worked, there would be less work for her and the other gatherers. Then Rosée would have more time to try the trick with other plants.

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TM90 shook his head, thinking about the young hunters he had found fighting earlier in the day. They had such hot blood in them. They were cock sure that they knew all the answers. If left to themselves, they would drag the 12 tribes over every hill and mountain in search of the herds.

TM90 was sick and tired of traveling. As elder of the Touloo tribe, he sometimes wondered if it was a good idea to join in with the other 11 tribes.

The Other tribes are so different from us, he thought. The Others are such a serious lot. His own tribe loves to laugh and dance. They are lusty singers and quick on their feet. Many of the Others are big boned and clumsy in comparison.

As he ducked into his tent, he reflected that he really didn't have any choice in the matter. The late fall flood last Harvest Moon, the Other Elders now called it the Marse moon, had wiped out their store of food for the winter, washed away what hadn't already been harvested and scattered their food animals. When the messengers from the Other tribes came, it was either accept their assistance and join the Others or face famine and a long hard winter.

Tugging at his dusty boots, TM90 yearned for more permanence. The current site under consideration seemed to have all the resources his tribe and the Others were looking for. When the Elders council next met, he knew what his vote would be.

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The hunting parties' prey lay below them and there seemed to be a great number of them. Jon was so close he could smell the big hairy beasts. Jon was careful not to make noise or get too far up wind, as he was told by the other hunters. He would show them that he was ready. When he got the first kill, they would know that he was no longer a boy.

40J was reluctant at first to even add Jon to the hunting party. But with more mouths to feed, more hunting parties were required. Jon had a slim build, his youthful muscles just beginning to fill out. When picking out new hunters, 40J should have passed over Jon, but his experience and keen eye spotted the spark of intelligence in the boy.

So Jon was allowed to join the beaters whose job was to push the herd closer together so that the hunters could take more of the beasts down. Jon peeked over the boulder ahead of him to see the animals more clearly. What was taking them so long? He pulled out the spear he had concealed in the long grass. He thought the cry would go up any minute, and he wanted to be first to reach the animals.

Spear at the ready, he leaned out to catch a glimpse of the hunters. He leaned a bit further, putting out his hand to steady himself. The mossy stone slipped beneath his fingers and he toppled out of his hiding place. Spooked, the herd stampeded off down the valley away from the angry hunters. Wiping dirt of his hands, Jon rose to face the fuming hunting party. 40J would NOT be pleased.

Rosée frowned and attacked the ground angrily with her pick. Her experiment with the seeds was going well, but now that she had been 'drafted' by the Elders into the worker camp, she had very little time to play with her project.

Why wouldn't they listen to her? There was so much she wanted to do. Her little plot was growing well, but it always needed watering. The plants would shrivel if she neglected it too long.

Rosée stopped digging to brush a strand of long black hair out of her face. She looked at the progress the work crew had made, clearing a this section of scrub land. This is where the new town would be built. Her arms ached from the digging.

She leaned on her pick and reflected again on the watering problem for her garden. What it needed was to be nearer to the river. Then the soil would remain wet and she could tend to other things. Perhaps she could bring the river TO her plot. Since the new town was on a flood plane, it should be easy to dig a channel deep enough for the water to flow.

Excited by her new plan she dropped her pick and rushed off to find an Elder who would listen.

The sun burned red on the horizon igniting the evening clouds into fiery orange and gold bands. It would be dark soon and the hunters would rest.

A lot had changed since Jon joined the hunting parties. Now the aim was not so much to bring the beasts down as it was to capture as many of them alive as possible. Many of the older hunters had difficulty adjusting to the new methods.

Jon, who had little to unlearn, thrived with the new challenges. He wasn't going to let a herd of dumb animals out smart him. His clumsiness on his first day on the hunt was now a distant, but painful, memory. Jon still messed up occasionally, but also found he had a talent for predicting how the herd would react. In a short time, 40J had assigned Jon to directing a group of the other beaters. It wouldn't be long before Jon would gain full hunter status.

On occasion, people from outside the 12 tribes were encountered on hunting trips. These others were usually leary and kept their distance. Sometimes, however, they yelled and threatened, gesturing that we stay away from what they saw as their game. There had been a few reports of attacks and the interlopers were getting bolder.

Grandmaster sat on a fallen log, contemplatively carving a piece of wood with his flint knife. Something of an outcast from his native Marse tribe, he preferred to spend his time in the woodlands away from the rest of the tribesmen. For the same reason the leaders of his people had neglected to assign him to a hunting party. "Perhaps they're afraid I'll scare the animals away..." he thought to himself. "More likely they're afraid I'll scare away the hunters," he admitted to himself with an inward laugh. The brooding young man was not the most popular person among the hunters... in fact, he couldn't think of one single hunter off the top of his head who liked him. This, of course, was nothing new to him.

As he continued to carve, he remembered back to his childhood. His mother had died in childbirth, and so he had never known her. His father, a famed Marse hunter and warrior, and hero of the Three Tribes War, had been killed in a stampede shortly after his birth while trying to rescue an injured comrade from the charging beasts. And so he had grown up alone, under the stewardship of a different relative for every moon. That is, until he had run away. He remembered that day all too well... he had had a heated argument with his uncle, and in the middle of the night had grabbed his spear and water skins and stormed out into the forests. He had stayed away, alone, for nearly a year... somehow, miraculously, when he re-emerged from the woods, a Marse scouting party was nearby, and he was able to return to him "home." And he had continued to move with them since.

Which brought him here, to the log on the outskirts of the tribe. By now had carved his block of soid wood into a low, slender strip. It was still damp, only recently cut from a young tree. The wood in the area was excellent due to the particularly rainy season the region had experienced. The supple wood bent easilly without breaking. Grandmaster gripped each end and bent the wooden strip until it made a curve that he liked. Grandmaster had a strange new idea for this piece of wood: many of the hunters threw spears to kill their pray. But they could only throw a spear so far and with so much force. If an improved way of throwing spears was found, beasts could be killed from farther away and with less risk. He knew that when wood was bent and then released, it snapped back with great force. He believed that this force could be used to propel a small spear-like projectile. To hold the curve of the wood, Grandmaster tied a long piece of sinew string throw holes he had bore in each end of the wood. He then held the wood-and-string item over his fire, make specifically with wet wood and leaves to provide much smoke. The smoke removed the moisture from the wood and hardened it. Finally, Grandmaster thought it was done. He picked up the broken half-shaft of a spear that had been shattered by a hunter the day before. He put it to the string, pulled back on the string, and...

The wood snapped in half, made too brittle by the smoke. It was the wrong type of wood, too soft and weak. He had failed again. He knew his idea would work, if only he could get the mechanics right...

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The earliest glimmers of dawn were on the eastern horizon. From his cover, the scout peered through branches at the Invaders growing camp. His black-smeared face and the darkness made him virtually invisible to his foes. From where he crouched, the scout spotted signs that the strangers had no intention of moving on in the foreseeable future. He quickly counted the dwellings and captured animals, gathered what information he could about their military strength and then retreated to make his report to his commander.

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The Ifrit slumped back into his throne, back stiff from the long consultation with his commanders. So their new neighbors were here to stay. And they were uncomfortably close to the Ifrit's domain. By the chief commanders estimate, their strength was much more than our own. It would be best to stay on good terms with these strangers until their weaknesses were known.

EDIT: added Spiffy sign. Thanks Cyc/40J

FortyJ waded through the shin-high water, lost in thought. They had travelled so far that it seemed strange that they were finally nearing their destination. A destination no one had known until they arrived.

The strong current of the river tugged at his legs even in this shallow depth. He craned his head around and followed the river from the hills in the northeast all the way down to the distant jungles in the southwest. The floodplains they had found were ripe for farming - something that he and his fellow hunters saw as a threat to their status in the tribes.

Far off to the east, at the southern extent of the eastern hills (as best as he could tell), FortyJ had seen evidence of a small village. He had reported as much to the new leadership, and there was some discussion as to how and when, if ever, we should approach them. Some had suggested that we offer them a place in our new tribe. Others prefered a more cautious approach. FortyJ just prefered they not hunt from the same herd as he.

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Gaston could not believe what was happening. He and his new friends had worked so hard over these past moons to divide the tribes, but despite their best efforts, and more ironically, almost as a result of their efforts, the tribes have unified even stronger - this time under a single man.

They had hoped to set tribe against tribe, but instead they had succeeded in almost removing the tribal divisions altogether. It was almost too much to bear. To make matters worse, some of his friends had been caught setting fires in some of the tents and word was getting around about him.

"Maurice!" came the call from a nearby tent, breaking his train of thought. "Soup's hot."

"I'll be right there" replied Gaston gruffly.

His thoughts drifted to his father, the real Maurice. He wondered if he would approve of him using his name to hide like this, but figured he, of all people, would understand. He would continue to blend in with the people of the Reim as Maurice. The good earth willing, he would never be caught, and the memory of Gaston could live on to terrorize the children of this unified tribe for all time.

'Whats that up in the clearing" said one warrior. "I dont know, they look like barbarians. Oh no they are comming this way!" said the commanding warrior.

The Barbarian warriors ambushed the group of exploring warriors. Heavy losses were reported on the aftermath. "Gah they are heading to the capital!!, we better stop them at all costs!" Said the commanding Warrior.

The Expiditionary force soon made a counterattack. There was only one survivior. Before the barbarian raid the survivor ran to the capital and ran to Mara Jade.

"M'am we have been attacked by the barbarians and they are comming this way!' Said the surviving warrior before a tworling axe hits his back.

Soon Mara ran to the military office and told CivGeneral about the impending raid. "CivGeneral, our last surriving warrior was killed by a barbarian assault raid comming in, he told me that the rest of the unit was lost in a Barbarian raid after poping the goodie hut" Mara said.

CivGeneral aknowlages his wife and pepares the citizens into defensive mode. "Alright, we will not let these uncivilized men into our homes!!". Citizens armed with pitch forks and other sharp farm tools began to attack the offending barbarians. The battle left half of the population dead.

--Francois Goes Exploring OR How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Strange Coincidences--


“Francois… Wake up… WAKE UP!!”
Francois D’bourg looked around. No one was in his home. His home. Not a random shack somewhere in the wilderness, but his house in his city of his nation. Leader Rik Meleet had done that for the people, as he said he would.

His home was not the issue right now. The issue was the voice screaming at him. Glancing around at the walls, he realized that only he was in here. Only him and…
“What is it, Tzara?” he asked. “I was wondering when you would get up” it replied. Francois wasn’t sure of the gender of this being in his head. He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. All he knew was that this voice appeared to him one day and has refused to go away ever since. “I like it here” it said.

Anyway, back to Tzara waking up Francois. “Francois… why don’t we go exploring. There is some nice land up north, past the hills. We never go anywhere nice. Can’t we go just this once… pweese?” Ter-rific. I share my subconscious with a teenage female, thought Francois. “Hey! I heard that!” responded Tzara, angrily. “Besides, I’m not a gender. Just an annoying voice. La la la la la.”

It’s annoying… just plain annoying. That’s all it is, regardless of gender. Anyway, now it wants to take a trip. After wandering all our lives, it wants to take a trip… What am I going to do with it.

“Over the hills! Over the hills! Over the hills!” OKAY! We’ll go. Over the hills. If we hit any bad land, though, we’ll come right back home.


Little did Francois know that giving in to this would save his life and help Fanatica rebuild

http://www.civfanatics.net/uploads6/DGIV_CHD_Sign_Ooliga.gif
The Ifrit of what remained of the Ooliga tribe shifted his weight and adjusted his lama's riding blanket. The infernal beast seemed incapable of walking in a straight line and it was starting to stink due to the light drizzle of rain.

The Ifrit gave a snort of disqust. At least it was better than walking like the other remnants of the once mighty Ooliga tribe who trailed behind.

The attack on the Ooliga (a neighboring tribe knew the Ooligars as Bulgars, which was a very nasty word in their dialect) had come virtually without warning. But the Ifrit had been expecting treachery, and had been preparing these long years. It took very little thought to realize that the Fanaticans, once they became established and more organized, would see Ooligar as no more than a 'goodie' hut rife with goods for the picking. So he had gathered several of the smaller tribes in the vicinity of Ooligar. He pointed out to them that the Fanaticans would continue to grow and steal more and more resources from the Mother Goddess.

The force he was able to generate was insufficient, however, to stop an attack on Ooligar when it came. The lack of coordination by his commanders and the hastily assembled tribes were no match for the organized and unified Fanatican warriors. The Ifrit had barely escaped with his retinue of Royals and some of the priests. Two whole units threw themselves at the attackers and bravely gave their lives defending the Mother Goddess and her chosen peoples.

The Mother Goddess, from whom all strength flows, then enabled the final unit to destroy the weakened Fanatican unit. In their fervor, the Ooliga forces went on to attack the Fanatican homeland, as it now lay unprotected. In their blood lust, they very nearly fought their way to the compound where the Mighty CivGeneral and Mara Jade were said to be controlling defensive manouvers.

In the end, most of the Ooliga forces were repelled or wiped out, but they had delivered a blow of revenge that would pass into legend. And he, the Ooliga's Ifrit, and the few followers who clung to his leadership, would flee from the land of their elders.

http://www.civfanatics.net/uploads6/LlamaRiderAvatar10.gifEDIT:Appropiate icon added

As the tempo of the rain increased, the Ifrit drew his cloak closer to his rain drenched skin. They would be back, and in greater numbers. The Fanaticans had not heard the last of the Ooliga people!

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Yeah, it turned into quite a celebration for the People that day. Rik Meleet had put his arms on the Leader’s shoulders as a sign of unity as they walked outside of the tent. The Leader’s then picked him up and put him on their shoulders. As his arms rose over his head, an enormous cheer went up also, from the crowd below him. The People were happy and broke into a chant that reflected that. This celebration lasted well into the next day. During the night there was plenty of eating and dancing. Rik Meleet held council with many different factors from within the now consolidated tribe about many different things and began to form small committees to oversee various parts of the city’s organizational structure. The Celebration ended with the official founding of our Capital City Deux Rivieres as well as the official founding of our nation of Fanatica. In the next several hundred years, we Fanaticans produced a regiment of Warriors to protect our city from Outsiders. We also built a mine in the Bonus Grasslands to obtain needed resources. We also developed a road system for our city and extended it out to the mine. Fanatica was doing quite well for itself, in fact, we were the number one city in the world (at least that’s what Rik Meleet told us. ;) ). These have been some good years. We are planning on producing another regiment of Warriors and then a Settlement party for a group wishing to break away from the Flood plains and live elsewhere.

For myself, I have remained an explorer at heart. I spend most of my time scouting the region, and telling tales of what I have found with people I know. In fact, FortyJ and I have been designated the official History-tellers of the nation (we’ve even been given our own Office in the Capital, even though I am seldom there) by the Government. I can fill you in on the other appointments of the Council in different areas of our nation’s organization, but it must wait, for now I am witnessing something totally unexpected.

I have been walking the hills East of the Capital, just South of the river. My intent was to analyze the area for a possible mine operation, and then drift on over towards the Ooliga Village to catch any new development in their Culture. Having finished my analysis of the area and moving on towards the village, I came to a vantage point where I could see the village below and the entire valley surrounding the hills it was located on. At this point was when I noticed the majority of our Military force heading in the same direction as I was, probably heading for the same destination too. What was this all about? Had something developed between our nation and this village of people striving for their very existence? I reviewed the scenario, trying to get a better understanding of the big picture, when I noticed movement in the valley below. There was a large herd of cattle there that this village probably fed off of, and it was being moved at quick pace. This allowed me to see a small group of warriors in the Jungle South of the Village. By their markings, I could see that they were from another tribe in the area. I also saw a group of warriors on the other side of the cattle, which appeared to be the Ooliga. Seeing a third group of Warriors Northeast of the village (again from a different regional tribe) set the scenario I was hoping didn’t exist. Upon scanning the village again, I notice very little movement, as if the people had been evacuated. A trap had been set for the Fanatican troops, who were about to invade the village! Again I ask, how did all of this come about? We had been thinking a peaceful assimilation of this village would occur naturally as our nation grew. Had this village attacked us? I raised my eyes to the Gods.

Apparently, the Ooliga people had become aware of the movement of troops and had become suspicious. But what of the other tribes? How did they enter the picture? Regardless, the three individual groups were poised to pounce on the Fanatican Warriors as they invaded the deserted village. I put down my walking staff next to a large flat rock and had a seat. I had a strong desire to watch what was about to unfold.

As the Fanaticans entered the village, the southern tribe and the group of Ooliga Warriors to the East attacked them, even using the cattle in a failed effort for a stampede. The small Warrior tribe to the Northeast of the village moved dangerously close to my position in order to flank the Fanaticans and surprise them possibly. This day had been well planned for.

The well-trained Fanatican troops easily dispatched the first two bands of Warriors and were unaffected by the cattle. But they had endured many casualties in fending them off. When they saw the Warriors in the hills above them, they froze contemplating an attack. That attack was signaled by the Fanatican commander as it was feared the tribe of Warriors might head for the Capital City. Rather than heal their troops and then attack, the commander’s signal to attack seemed to be more of an act of desperation than strategy. They all perished in the attack of the Warriors who were above them, and withstood the Fanatican surge taking minimal damage.

I hung my head in mourning for the loss of our troops, some of whom I knew. I was also aware that the remainder of the Warriors who had been protecting the Ooliga Village would now turn on Deux Rivieres, undefended or damn close to it. I had no option but to remain where I was and record this day in my mind. I watched as those Warriors ransacked our city, killed half our people and then left, if they survived at all.

I was over-come with grief. I walked to the highest point in the hills I was in to get a blast of cold, refreshing mountain air that was blowing in a rain cloud. Through my tears, I scanned the horizon looking for an answer. I found none. I did see a caravan of what appeared to be the evacuated Ooliga tribe heading for the coastline in the East. It was a sad day for all. I turned to head for home, to see if I could be of any help. It was a long walk back. One of my longest…

Rik didn't leave his house for days. Noone saw him, noone heard him. The many concerned citizens and officials knocking on his door all gave up their efforts to talk to the president since Rik didn't open the doors. "Leave me alone" was the tought in Rik's head when another citizen came by.

The massacre happened 2 days ago. All had gone terribly wrong. How could this have happened ?

It all started off well. The soil they build Deux Rivières on proved to be an excellent food-provider. There was something no Fanatican had ever experienced; surplus. Everyone could eat as much wheat as he needed and still there was plenty left. He thought of all the children that now played on the streets and saw many families growing in size. After some time they even had to expand the city as the numbers had doubled.

He had a dream one night that the Fanaticans weren't the only civilization in the world; there were many others. But none had a population nearly as high as Deux Rivières. He saw a list with the city on top and double the size as any other city in the world. But that was just a dream. Rik knew that, besides some wandering tribes, nowhere in the world tribes would be united into a city.

The closest neighbours; the Ooliga were still suffering from the hardship of living of the lands. Rik thought out plan to celebrate the city's 350 year anniversary. He would send a honor guard, dressed in full ceremonial war-dressing to the Ooliga to welcome them as neighbours and to gift them a large quantity of the surplus food. The troops would march over the hills so the Ooliga would see them early and prepare for the gift.

When the honor-guard entered the outskirts of the village it appeared strangely deserted. That surprised Chuck, the commander of the guards, but he wasn't too worried. Often the Fanatican hunters had met the Ooligans and they knew of eachother's existence. Chuck decided to wait in the village for the Ooligans to return so he could officially gift the food. The Ooligans would be surprised, but very grateful, Chuck was sure.

The Ooligans weren't surprised, the Fanaticans were. A warcry was heard and 2 troops of Ooliga charged from the plains towards Chuck. They weren't very grateful. They weren't even happy. They were attacking !

Chuck ordered his troops to stay calm, do not show their weapons, but do take them in their hands. At the site of the first charging Ooliga he shouted: "We come in peace ! We want to gift you food as you obviously suffer from hunger and we have plenty !". When the last words were spoken, already some of his men had died through the axes of the Ooliga. Chuck ordered his troops to form a devensive pattern and, while taking some casualties, he was able to win this bloody battle.

Chuck was shocked to his core. If this was their first contact; how would things go when they met more ? Did they always have to fight ? He assembled the leftovers of his troops and turned back to the Hills. He could see Deux Rivières in the distant and smiled. He could get home and report, but he was safe there. Then he spotted the 3rd Ooliga warriors, moving towards Deux Rivières. Their painted faces told him all he needed to know, but he couldn't believe it. They aren't going to .... ? OH MY GOD; they are going to attack Deux Rivières. I know what monsters these Ooliga are; but the poor citizens in Deux Rivières don't. They are going to kill all of them.

He hesitated for a while. He knew that if he did nothing, the city would be lost and it would be the end of the Fanatican civilization, even before it truly began. But his troops would probably not survive if he decided to interfere.

This hesitation, although short, was just enough for the Ooliga to notice them. Chuck knew he'd lost the element of surprise. He heard in his head the words he would say if he'd been the president: "The President cannot allow our citizens to get harmed while an (injured) army is close. The troops are ordered to attack.". He charged screaming and shouting towards the now prepared Ooliga. He knew he'd not survive, but at least the citizens would notice the battle and could flee or prepare to fight back.

The Ooliga destroyed the Fanatican warriors and stormed Deux Rivières. But Chucks sacrifice wasn't in vain. Mara Jade and CivGeneral just had enough time to gather up some defense, which succeeded to safe the city. Or at least half the city.

This all went through Rik's head. The only thought for 2 full days. "Get yourself together !! The people need you now. Although you don't feel it yourself you have to make the citizens feel they can trust the future."

And he swore to never put any citizen, worker or settler in danger again. Then he unlocked his door and stepped outside.

The Campgrounds were located just south of the capitol city, on the other side of the river. They had begun as a camp for workers as they erected a ferry line across the river, but now it served as a resting area for weary travelers and those workers coming to and from the mines.

Cosette stood for second, watching as the ferrymen pulled the large raft up to the nearby shore. The ferry itself was barely large enough to carry thirty men, including the five ferrymen responsible for pulling the vessel from shore to shore. This was the narrowest spot in the river in either direction for at least a days walk, but the ferry moved so slowly that they could barely manage a handful of round-trips each day.

Cosette was the matron of the campgrounds. She certainly didn't own it, that honor fell to the emperor himself, Lord Rik Meleet. All the same, Cosette ran the show and everyone passing through either knew it, or learned it real quickly. Over the years, she had seen more than her share of people pass through these parts. Travellers, workers, explorers - you name it - they all passed through, and they all stayed for at least a drink from Cosettes famous kegs. There wasn't much happening that Cosette didn't know about.

As she returned to her duties, cleaning up a table, she happened to overhear a hushed discussion at the next table. I heard Gaston was with 'em. came one voice. Gaston ain't nuthin' but a myth. came back another.

Cosette smiled quietly as she carried off the plates and nearly empty tankards. These were strange times, indeed. The story of Gaston had filtered down from the very first days. Mothers would use that name to scare their children into obedience: "Do as I say, or Gaston'll get you!", but she'd never seen grown men talking about him like this. The people were obviously scared.

And with good reason. The Ooliga raid was still too recent in everyone's memory. Cosette watched as some of the refugees from the capitol reached the far shore during the Ooliga attack. Desarte and his crew managed to ferry a few families over before the rush came - hundreds of people crowding the shore, screaming and begging for the ferry to return.

It would be another hour before the ferry could make it back to that shore at the very least. Long before Desarte even reached this side of the river, the panic on the far side reached a peak, and people began to wade into the river. Many managed to navigate the current and reach the nearby shore no worse for wear, but several were not so lucky.

Some drowned, some didn't even try. Caught between the fear of being caught by the Ooliga and the fear of drowning in the river, they panicked and ventured off upstream to find another way to cross. Cosette could only hope that some of them managed to elude their hunters and returned to their homes safely.

Fortunately, the Ooliga raiders never made it this far, and Desarte managed to ferry a few more ferryloads across the river to safety. By nightfall, most of the fighting had subsided, but Cosette could still see the fires from the city, burning in the distance. She could only imagine the extent of the death and destruction suffered at the hands of the Ooliga.

She would never forget it, and she would make sure that everyone passing through this campground would never forget it either.

Adventures of Francois and http://www.civfanatics.net/uploads6/DGIV_CHD_Sign_Montparlamer.gif

Francois and Tzara were off. “Over the hills! Over the hills!” repeated Tzara. It was really getting annoying. But, to shut her (Francois made up his mind; Tzara had to be an annoying female) up, Francois went. Out of the city, over the hills. The hills were the hard part. Francois had never been to this part of the world. The tribes always stayed near the sea. Somehow we ended up by these two rivers in the jungle. No one remembers how, but it appears all of the twelve tribes sailed down to where the rivers met and ended up founding Deux Rivieres. Regardless, now Francois was exploring.

The hills were not that bad. They weren’t too steep and they had some nice vegetation that Francois might want to bring back to Deux. There was a great view from the top, too. You could see for miles around. The view was breathtaking. To the north there were great planes and a desert that seemed to be teeming with strange life, some of which Francois had never seen before. To the west there were snowcapped mountains that touched the sky. It looked like even the spirits themselves could not reach the top of these, but Francois had the urge to try, to prove that he could. More great rivers were seen, and Tzara had finally shut up.

Tzara had given up her babble and was now gasping at the beauty of the surrounding area. “Climb the mountains! Climb them! That’s what they’re there for! Climb ev’ry mountain! Forge every sea! Follow every river… until…you…find…your…DREAM!” Oh great, thought Francois. She’s making the hills come alive with the friggin sound of music…”Oo-ooh-ooo-oo!” continued Tzara.

ENOUGH MUSIC screamed Francois. His screamed echoed through the hills. The earth seemed to tremble under Francois’s annoyed feet. But then something Francois never thought would happen happened. He saw another human being.

Ju sue Fanatican? He asked, using the formal language of the 12 tribes.

“Nein. Ich Bien Montparlamer.” It replied.

You’re what?

Lets see what happens with Francois, How-Do-You-Solve-A-Problem-Like Tzara and the Montparlamerean…

A good deal of time had passed since the devastating Ooligan attack. Most Fanaticans had stopped talking about it. They nolonger went over the smallest detail of what could have been done or what should not have been done. In fact, many didn't want to talk about the incident at all anymore. The memories were too painful and people just wanted to get on with building their new nation.

There certainly was lots of work to be done. With the completion of the mines to the South, the farmland irrigation project to the North East and a new mine to be built, the common people had their hands and minds occupied.

Jon remembered though. He still occasionally awoke in a cold sweat. He had long been a hunter and was accustomed to the spilling of blood and tearing of sinew. He had heard the death cry of the beasts they hunted and hardly noticed as their life blood sank into the earth.

But the surprise attack by the Ooligans was different. The Ooligans were not hunting food. They herded women and children like beasts and struck them down with their flint axes. They set the thatched roofs on fire. Jon shook as he recalled the old man who was knocked down and a spear.... Oh to the Goddess, a spear shoved into... Jon clenched his eyes to push the awful image from his thoughts.

Jon actually remembered being excited, when the call-to-arms for all able bodied men had gone forth. He was no longer satisfied with being just a hunter. When Mara Jade's runner had come bursting into commons crying that invaders were approaching the city, Jon saw that his chance was at hand. The situation was desperate and any hand that could hold a pitch fork would be needed in the absence of disciplined warriors.

And he had served Civ General and the people of Fanatica well. He had killed several of the invaders. Blind luck had saved his life on more than one occasion, as he fought with men who towered over him. But he and others had eventually chased the remaining few invaders from the town waving their 'weapons' and shouting curses.

When the fighting was over, he helped with the grisly task of cleaning up corpses of citizens and invaders alike. He had felt great satisfaction, when he located the body of the Ooligan who had stolen the old man's life, among the dead. Jon had contemptuously shoved the corpse onto a growing pile of burning enemy bodies.

Now Jon knew war. He would never be thought of as a boy again. He was now a man and a warrior.

Mattice sat on his stool, transfixed by the clay obelisk before him. He had worked all morning on this shape and it was finally forming up into the image he had in his mind when he had started.

He had spent the entire day before carving the wooden center to which he had applied the clay. After baking the clay in the oven, the wood center would burn away, leaving an empty cavity within his creation, perfect for carrying water or whatever the eventual owner saw fit to fill it with.

He had been studying this new art for several moons now. Ever since the Montparlamers taught the Fanaticans how to mold and bake the clay, the desire to have all variety of pots and platters made in this new style had consumed them. Fanaticans all over could not get enough of this new treasure.

Pottery had so dramatically changed the lives of Fanaticans, that Mattice's master was involved with some high level discussions about using this new practice to construct a new type of building capable of storing great amounts of food to help the flourishing city survive the harshest of seasons.

Mattice was extremely grateful to his master for teaching him this new trade, but secretly, he felt that his skills were beginning to rival those of his master, and on some levels, even surpassing his. He yearned to strike out on his own.

As an apprentice he would never gain the status necessary to ask Jeanette's father for her hand. The more he thought on the subject, the more his path became clear. He and Jeanette would have to sneak away with the other settlers that were preparing to leave town in search of a new home.

(Sorry about the delay. Being stuck in bed for a day can really slow you down)
Francois and the Montparlamer

You’re a what? Francois was amazed. He had never seen any other people. He knew they must exist, but to actually see one was a marvelous thing. “A whatsit? Where did he say it was from?” Tzara started babbling. Sssh!

“A Montparlamerian. My name is Jutagan,” replied the man. “He seems nice”. I come from the Montparlamer tribe. We live just over these hills. We are a friendly people and you are welcome to come stay with us and tell stories of your land. We will be grateful for your company.

“Why thank you! That is soooo nice for you to do. You don’t even know us and you’re letting us come stay with you!” Tzara… he can’t hear you, remember? I’m the only one you can annoy.

“Who are you talking to, my friend?” asked Jutagan. Oh, no one. Just the annoying voice in my head. She thinks everyone can hear her, but she forgets that it is only I that is able to even acknowledge her existence.

“Ooookayyy” replied Jutagan. “Lets just get to the camp.”

And so they walked. The three walked down the hill. Francois marveled at the plants that grew on these hills, wondering if he should pick any and bring them back. Perhaps he could grow them near his home, let something come to the Bourg tribe’s name… “Ooo! Or we could take the rocks and make forts! Yay!!!” Francois rolled his eyes… leave it to Tzara to think up something that stupid.

Slowly, they made it to the walls of the Montparlamer colony. This was a small town, about a third of the size of Deux Rivers. The people were friendly and they eagerly listened to Francois ramble on for hours on end. He told stories of the founding of the city, how there had been strife prior to the erection of the first houses, how there were 12 tribes, each with their own mentality. The people just gobbled the stuff up. “Hey, Francois. Lets have some fun and make some crap up, just to confuse ’em.” That would be cruel, thought Francois. “Nah… Just pull their chains a bit. Tell them about how an elite group of our strongest warriors is looking for you and how they might end up finding you here.” Like that’ll ever happen.

“Excuse me, we’re looking for a Fanatican.” Came a voice. It wasn’t in his head, and the other people surrounding him noticed it too. A man wearing a Fanatican head dress stepped out. Francois could see he was a warrior, but he hoped the Montparlamers did not. The man continued, “His name is Francois D’bourg. He is needed back in Fanatica to rebuild”

Francois stood up. I’m Francois D’borg. Why am I needed back in Deux Rivers? Has something happened?

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the city had come under attack by Barbarians a moon or so ago. Many people were lost, over half the city. An emergency council is being called into session. Its goal is to try to expand so that this will never happen again. You have been chosen as the Bourg representative. You are needed back immediately.”

Well, my friends, it looks like I have to go. I will bring word of your people to the Fanaticans. Perhaps we can learn from one another. “Bye everybody! Lets have a group hug!!” Tzara… be quiet… “Voice in your head again, Monsieur D’bourg?” asked the warrior. Yea. Anyway, lets get back to Fanatica.

“Wait! Before you go, please, take some of these with you.” Shouted Jutagan. With this, he handed over some clay items that neither Francois nor the warrior had ever seen before. “They are pots. You can hold things in them. I put seeds of the plants you admired on your way here in them. The pots should keep them fresh.”

And so, Pottery was discovered thanks to the Montparlamer tribe.

It is now 3000bc, and I find myself on that rare occasion when I’m in my grass hut office talking about Fanatica’s history. I came here today to talk about the final positions given out by Despot Rik Meleet. Let’s see now…

As Rik Meleet was Elder of the Marse Tribe and became Despot, he chose to assign other Elders from the different tribes to Leadership positions within his rule. Take CivGeneral for instance. He was the Elder of the Reim Tribe and because of his Military background, Rik Meleet put him in charge of the Military and officially made him our first General. Francois d’Bourg (sometimes known as Stuck) was Elder of the Bourg Tribe, of course, and because of his family’s reputation for co-mingling, was given the position of Foreign Affairs Minister. Elder Bonalone had retired from politics and had named me as his replacement. In light of this, the Despot named me Chief Justice as I was now Elder of the largest tribe, the Paree. Orleroy had also decided to step down from his Elder position in the Orle Tribe, and named FortyJ and Plexus (Plexus was named Governor) as his replacement. Although FortyJ declined any Leadership position at this time, as he opted to join me as Co-Historian. TerminalMan90, Elder of the Touloo Tribe, had wanted a Leadership position in Culture and the Arts, but as this was not available, he too chose to decline any present offers. Peri d’Ami, Elder of the Ami Tribe, the last of the large tribes, was chosen by Rik Meleet to join me on the Judgment Court. Octavian X, Elder from the Lourd Tribe was given the position of Trade and Technology, as he was always tinkering with new ideas on how to make his doughnuts better and then barter them off. The discovery of Pottery had increased his baking ability, thus making Octavian’s status in the commercial world that much greater. DaveShack, Elder of the Nant Tribe, had shown amazing organizational skills and was named Internal Affairs Minister. Noldodan, Elder of the Troy Tribe, and Amirsan, Elder of the Rou Tribe were both named as representatives of the People. They would be assigned other important duties later. To round out the Judgment Court, Rik Meleet chose Bootstoots, Elder of one of the smaller tribes, The Cala.

As of now, this was to be our Government. The Despot and his Council of Advisors would rule Fanatica. So far they seemed to be doing a pretty good job of it.

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CivGeneral's expeditiary force was 200 strong, thanks to an executive order from the all-powerful Rik Meleet. But due to the chaos that still surrounded Deux Rivieres, CivGeneral could not lead any external missions. To the General's good fortune, there was no one more willing to lead the new eastern expedition than Jon. The grand despot had spoken of an even larger presence of the mysterious Ooliga tribe that had wreaked such havok on Fanatica's earlier expedition, and Jon was more than willing to take them on.

Soon a brave new world once again lay ahead as the troops had made it past the now empty Ooliga huts and kept forging east into unfamiliar territory. After two days and two nights of travel, the plains gave way to desert and before too long the expolorers found themselves surrounded by nothing but sand. Jon was about to order a reverse, until one of his men alerted him of a lake in the distance. After a long day of travel, he figured that lakeside would be a great place to set up camp for the night. So they continued east.

As they slowly closed in on the lake, Jon wondered what they hoped to find amidst all of the desolation. Perhaps a suitable site for a more permanent camp lay on the other side of the lake. Perhaps they could introduce themselves to a more peaceful group of foreigners. Perhaps they would.........


whooooOOOOOOSSSHHHhhhhh


It was a sound unlike any other he had heard before, yet before he got the chance to ponder its origin Jon noticed one of his men jump upward and back in the same movement. As he ran to his warrior's side, he noticed a stream of blood coming from the man's forehead. Unconcious or deceased? He could not tell at this time, as his comrade lay perfectly still. Whatever could have done such a thing?

Jon looked to the horizon before him and now saw a sizeable army of men running out of the lake in full stride and heading his way....quickly. Running out of the lake? Once again, he had no time for logistics. He guessed that this army was at least twice as large as his, so he called out to his troops. Almost all of the men joined him in battle, except for a sane few who could not handle the surrealism of the moment.

Both battalions charged each other furiously and soon were in the thick of battle. However the approaching army's weaponry was no match for the Fanatican-made axes and wooden spears. In fact, Jon noticed that his opponents were merely fighting with small limbs torn from trees! From that point, Jon's army fought from a huge deficit, but in the end had all but finished off the primitive aggressors. His army had lost a few men as well, but not many. Now having the upper hand, Jon helped to make captive what remained of the enemy and ordered them to direct his men to the strange phenomena coming from the lake. And as if by suggestion, the noise came again.

whooooOOOOOOSSSHHHhhhhh

But apparently this mysterious weapon hadn't been perfected yet, because this time one of the captives fell. Jon told his men to use caution as they quickly ran toward the lake. Moments later, they all gasped with shock as a small wooden fort with room for only 2 or 3 people emerged from the lake! They stopped for a moment to ponder this then pressed on. Still in the distance, the lake remained as elusive as ever.

Soon enough they reached the small fort and swiftly tore it down hoping to find the answer to the riddles of the lake and the whistling noise. Inside were three men --- a tall dark-haired bearded man, a small blondish man and a gigantic man who seemed to have skipped a step in the evolutionary process. Next to them was a strange contraption unlike anything ever seen in Fanatica. It seemed to have moving parts, and Jon soon surmised that is was used to throw stones. One mystery solved, Jon thought, and then surmised that the blondish man that sat near the stone thrower was the operator of the machine.

"I'll kill you like you did my bretheren!" Jon shouted and lunged at the operator. But the bearded man quickly stepped in and grabbed Jon's axe before it any harm could come to his friend.

"You do not want to kill this one," the bearded man stated as he stood up. "I am Donovan Zoi and the inventor of the stone-thrower here is Armand Vandelay. We wish you no ill will, as we thought we were protecting ourselves from the Ooligans, who had passed through here earlier. We thought you were the second wave. Yet now that most of our tribe has been decimated by your men, I hope you will consider taking us into your custody. I think that over time, you will find us to be very useful to your cause."

Jon laughed. "And to think I had mistaken you for the Ooligans. Your men fight with sticks, Mr. Zoi. What use could you possibly serve us?"

"Sticks and stones! Break your bones!" chortled the missing link in the corner.

"Not now, Yumbo...." coaxed Donovan, who then turned back to the impatient Fantican leader. "Well, as you can see here, Armand can build great things but unfortunately we have limited resources to work with. As I can see by your clothing and weaponry, your tribe is somewhat more advanced and most likely possesses the resources for Armand to work his magic."

"And can this great man not speak for himself?" Jon asked.

"Unfortunately not, although I do not want to get into the details," Donovan said. "All I can say is that we really were hoping you were the Ooligans."

"And what of this, in the corner?" Jon asked, pointing to a very overanxious Yumbo.

"Well, if you would be so kind to bring him along, I am sure you will find him instrumental in completing any rigorous tasks you may have at home. He does the work of ten men and asks no questions, although he can get a bit wordy at times."

"Wordy gurdy, wordy birdy....." Yumbo repeated incessantly much to Jon's ire.

"ENOUGH, Yumbo!" Donovan yelled, and the behemoth slunk low in the corner. "So, what do you say, sir?" he asked extending a hand.

"Very well," Jon replied and took the offer. "And call me Jon. We can actually use a bit of help rebuilding after what the Ooligans have done to our city. Men!"

Several of the Fantican soldiers(yes, they could now truly call themselves soldiers) took the three men into custody and readied themselves to return west. Yet Jon thought that now the battalion was seasoned enough to split up so that some could continue east.

"Donovan," he asked. "Do you have any idea what lies on the other side of that lake?"

Donovan smiled. "Jon, my good man. You could travel for days and never reach that lake. It is an illusion bourne of the collective dreams of leaving this ruin."

And the second mystery solved, Jon thought . "Then let's do just that," he said, smiling back. "You follow my men that way, while I lead my men this way."

"Very well, my good man," Donovan said. "Hopefully you will find the three of us in better standing upon your return."

With that, the two men waved and one military unit became two. By sunset, the two teams were miles apart.

Pepe stares at the young flower girl through his half open eyes. She is zo beautiful with her long flowing red hair, an her sorrowful eyes that jest kind of glance up at ze strangers as zey pass by. Such grace, such strength…I can only hope to one day hold ze hand zat holds zose flowers. I must speak wiss her as for ze fifteen minutes I have gazed upon her loveliness, I don’t believe I’ve loved anyone quite like zis. But what shall I say to her? Ah…I know, says Pepe as he twirls his whiskers and quickly walks towards her.

As Pepe approaches her, he adjusts his loin cloth. Good evening, mademoiselle. The flower girl looks at him as if the man with a thousand faces who always comes to annoy her has shown up again. Pepe perks up, You zmell as zweet as zose flowers you barter to ze peoples. The flower girl chuckles, Want to buy some flowers, monsewer?

Unfazed, Pepe continues, No flowers for me, merci. You are ze only blossom zat will zatisfy me. All ze while I have looked upon your loveliness, your eyes, your hair, your dress ze way it curves right zere…zey are works of art I feel I have cherished all of my life. I can tell by ze way you look at me zat you feel ze zame way too. As the flower girl turns to interest a potential customer, she smacks Pepe’s nose with the flowers she’s holding. Pepe brushes the pedals and pollen from his jacket and sneezes.

Pepe sees his chance to strike, to slay this picture perfect image of beauty, and win her heart. Let me take you away from all of zis. Take my hand and walk ze boulevard with me and when ze time comes, we will join the Settlers and leave zis place. Yez, you an I will leave zese flood plainz and travel to… uzzer flood plainz, where I shall make you my queen. With this the flower girl looks Pepe dead in the eye, Ok monsewer, I’ll tell ya what. When the Settlers are ready to go, I’ll meet you down by the river and you and I will leave together and live happily ever after. Ok? Sound good? Great! I’ll catch ya later. And with this she walks off to trade some more flowers for food, her high-pitched voice still grating music in Pepe’s ears as he watches her leave, a smile on his face. You have done it again, sir. You have captured another heart. You are ze master, Pepe LePew.

Pepe saunters off, dreaming about the rendezvous by the river and the journey that will begin.

The air was unusually dry for this time of day. There would be no morning dew today, and Gustave was grateful for that little bit of good luck. The success of their plan would depend on the sand in the pit to be extremely dry. If the sand was wet, it would not flow smoothly and could prevent the obelisk from settling into position properly.

Nearly three moons ago, Gustave had been called before Lord Rik Meleet. That day, he had been charged with the task of erecting this monument, and he had spent nearly every waking moment since then working towards this day. If all went well, by this time tomorrow, the job would be complete and he could then return to more normal projects.

The obelisk itself was enormous, easily weighing more than an army of men, and had been brought in all the way from the hills in the northeast by river. Once it arrived at the site, it had been shaped and carved with various symbols and images representing the twelve tribes and their final journey. It had taken many hundreds of men several days to pull the huge pillar the short distance from the river's edge up the ramp and into position for the final move.

The pedestal was already in place below the obelisk, at the end of the ramp. Surrounding the pedestal on three sides, they had built up temporary holding walls, creating a large box at the end of the ramp. Finally, they had filled this box with dry sand which they would use to guide the obelisk into position on the pedestal below. Today, they would learn if all of their hard work had been in vain.

Gustave had tried to sleep last night, but he was both too excited and too nervous to get any rest. He could hear some of the workers moving around behind him, and he knew the sun would be up any minute now. He would soon find out if he would be rewarded or condemned for his work on this project.

At first light, Gustave gave the order to open the trap doors in each of the three holding walls. If all went well, the weight of the obelisk would begin forcing the sand out through those openings. Unfortunately, the sand wasn't flowing like he had planned. Gustave motioned to one of his assistants and within minutes, a team of workers began pulling sand out through the openings using whatever tools were nearby.

Jacques was standing next to the obelisk on top of the ramp. From his vantage point, he could see clearly into the sand pit below. He watched the men shovel sand for a few minutes, and then, suddenly, he could see miniature land slides begin to form inside the pit, just below the obelisk. He called out to Gustave who ordered the men to slow their work. They only wanted to keep the openings clear at this point and allow the weight of the obelisk to force the sand out on its own.

Slowly the obelisk tipped further and further into the sand pit. Jacques and his team on the ramp used ropes to slow the descent of the obelisk. The purpose was to pivot the obelisk over the end of the ramp and guide it into the turning groove in the pedestal below. The ropes strained and stretched, but all was still going according to plan.

Gustave, filled with excitement and anxiety, spent the entire day racing from the base of the pit to the top of the ramp, barking out instructions to anyone within range. And then, suddenly, and to the relief of everyone working on the project, the giant pedestal came to rest against the end of the ramp, only inches above the pedestal below. Jacques and his team slowly let out their braking ropes, allowing the obelisk to slide down into the turning groove on the pedestal.

Gustave almost didn't notice that the sun was beginning to set, but it was rapidly getting too dark to work, and the obelisk still needed to be righted onto the pedestal. He instructed the workers to clear away the holding walls and whatever sand remained on top of the pedestal. They would have to wait until tomorrow morning before trying to pull the obelisk upright.

Despite his excitement and eagerness to complete the job, Gustave fell alseep almost immediately from exhaustion. When he awoke the next morning, the sun had not yet risen above the hills in the east, but there was enough light to see the giant obelisk leaning against the ramp awaiting it's final adjustment. To Gustave, it almost looked like the tower was impatient. It too wanted this whole ordeal to come to a conclusion.

When he arrived at the site, he found that the walls had been cleared away and the sand was completely brushed away from the pedestal base. Ropes had been tied around the top of the obelisk to three separate teams of men. Two teams would now try to pull the obelisk upright, while a third on the ramp would try to slow the progress of the other two teams and prevent the tower from gaining enough momentum to topple over completely.

It took the men a little over an hour to right the gigantic tower onto the pedestal base. Cheers erupted amongst the workers as they released the ropes and the tower stood for the first time on its very own. From where Gustave stood, the newly risen sun silhouetted the obelisk as if giving its own blessing to this project. The ramp still needed to be cleared away, but that job can wait for tomorrow. He and the other workers would spend the rest of this day celebrating.

http://www.civfanatics.net/uploads6/DGIV_CHD_Obelisk.jpg
image courtesy of Nova Online - Pharaoh's Obelisk (http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/lostempires/obelisk/raises.html).

As Pepe was waiting patiently for the flower girl to arrive at the gathering of the citizens in the Settler group, he befriended a small girl who was also waiting there with her parents. They chatted for quite a while as Pepe tried to keep an eye on the road leading to their spot, in hopes of seeing the flower girl. But for all the scouring of that road his eyes had done, it seemed to be in vain, as it produced no sign of her. Pepe was just starting to become depressed when he noticed the Settler group moving, and decided to become frantic instead.

With eyes as large as grapefruits, Pepe took the little girl's hand and proclaimed "But she is not here! My Flower girl has not arrived! What am I to do?" The little girl just looked at him clutching her small teddy bear. Pepe started glancing around to see if he had missed the flower girl somehow, then again at the little girl and said "Perhaps she is waiting near by or even playing ze little trickster and hiding from me," a smile came over Pepe's worried face. "Yes, she has zat way about her..."

The little girl rolled her eyes at Pepe as he darted off to look under a near by wagon, then around the other side of the barrells, then on top of the crate going faster and faster with each location until he became but a blur in the little girl's eyes. Zipping out to the end of the dock and checking all the possible hiding spots and then back to re-check some locations, Pepe stopped and nonchalantly leaned against a signpost and grinned a huge grin at the little girl. He winked and immediately became a blur again as he continued his search.

The little girl noticed that the Settler group was moving away from them them and became worried. "Peepee!" she cried. "Peepee, they're leaving, hurry. We must leave too!"

Just as she finished saying that, Pepe appeared next to her with his arm extended for her to take. "Come, my little one, let us journey on with the others to form the second Fanatican city of Vandelay." And with that they both broke into a quick strut behind the rest.

The little girl looked up into Pepe's watery eyes, "But what about the flower girl?" Pepe looked down the road they were to travel, "What flower girl..."

http://www.civfanatics.net/uploads6/motion1.jpg

I have journeyed close to our third city, by the waterfront. I experiment with some casual fishing to satisfy my hunger. As I talk with the fish in a one-way conversation, I begin to think back on days gone by.

Since founding our nation, we have sent Settlers out to establish 2 more cities. We have extended our road system to the first city called Vandelay, and are now working on connecting the second, called Vo Mimbre.

Besides expanding, Fanatica has met people from other nations. They speak different languages and wear different clothing, but more importantly, have knowledge of different Technologies. Hopefully, our Leaders will trade for this knowledge, as now our children learn to count and separate the herds and flocks in the field, or maybe take stock of the pottery in the city square. The children of the other nations learn how to work with the best metals and create weapons of war. There are so many important things to learn from others. The Russians and Babylonians may teach us quite a bit in the future, but other tribes only want to prove their Military might when we enter their villages. We have found at least three villages since the Ooliga that only want to fight. This saddens me, as we could be trading knowledge. But we have not seen any real losses in the conflicts and we march on to uncover what lies beyond the next hill.

Vandelay has seen death in great numbers due to the disease carried by the mosquitoes from the Flood Plains. This has not set them back much though, as they still produce Warriors, and soon some Workers and Settlers of their own. Vo Mimbre is struggling to survive, but is still producing Warriors and Spearmen to protect themselves.

Our scouting parties have discovered a vast coastline surrounding the Desert to the Northwest. We have found that we are surrounded by Desert, Jungle, or Water, although a large cache of Dyes have been found in the Jungle that make our clothes colorful and distant sources of grapes that will make fine wines. Expanding our great nation may be difficult, but the land to the far East may contain fertile and productive ground.

Many years have passed since my last entry here. Fanaticans have seen many changes since I last picked up my charcoal stick to record my thoughts. Yes, you are reading the first entries of our nation's history written in real time. We have developed our writing skills and now have permenent record of our past to take with us to the future. Maybe this will help us learn from the past, mabe not. But at least generations in the future will be aware of the events that shaped their nation.

I have spent many years teaching the alphabet to young and old. With a standardized means of written communication, everything seemed much easier. Some of the young at heart have taken this new knowledge with them as they journey out to settle new cities on the frontier. One such city was created specifically to mine the Iron ore that was located in the hills not far from the city. This would be the City of Groton. Because of the beaurocratic placement of the city, it will be many years before the mining of the ore actually begins, but at least we have claimed the area for future development.

We have also founded another city near the Great Lakes to the East. This would be the City of Montpellier. It is the perfect setting for grape vineyards, as one can find them growing wild in abundance there. Because of my role in the Fanatican Nation, I was chosen to name Montpellier. I think it has a nice ring to it. ;) It lies to the West of the Great Lakes and is half the distance to the Capital that Groton is.

Pierre looked from his writing. The Trade and Technology Minister walked in. "Hi boss", Pierre said, greeting him. He was proud of the minister, the nation had gained a lot of knowledge through trades, far more than they could have researched themselves.

"Pierre; stop what your doing; we have important work to do!", Octavian the 10th told his clerk.
"What is it, boss?".
"We've met more people. They call themselves India and they have interesting knowledge. They know of mystique, magic things. And the stupid Russians know even more people. Russia refers to them as 'Germany'. And those red Babylonians are still so ignorant of the world; they didn't even notice the Russians walking past their lands. They wouldn't notice a trade-oportunity when it flew to them and hit them on their noses !!"
"Flew ? What is that boss?", Pierre replied puzzled.
"It's when you build a machine who can bomb from above", Octavian the 10th replied. The -now even more- confused look on his clerk's face made him decide to not continue. "Forget it, Pierre; just forget it. What I want you to do is investigate how many new knowledge, gold, luxuries and other things we can squeeze out of those fools. I've heard some Babylonians chat about round things you can attach to what looks like a wine-crate and then it goes fast. They refer to it by the codename 'wheel'. I want to know more about that. And that Mysterious Magic stuff the Indians and the Russians know about. I want that too. And while you're at it; it's nearly pay-day and if you can't make up a scheme to squeeze the foreigners of some gold, you won't get payd!"
"I'll do my best boss".
"And hurry; We need some ways to teach those pesky barbarians some lessons. And I don't mean writing or that mathematics-mumbo jumbo; I want to teach them 'Close-encounters-of-the-iron-kind'. Perhaps that mystique-mumbojumbo or that 'wheel' thing can be incorparated into our army."

Pierre felt proud. This was far more important than his former tasks combined. What use was writing about the past-deals when he was selected to do the future-deals. Perhaps I can one day replace Octavian the 10th. In order to do that I have to make these perfect deals.

Pierre stood up from his wine-crates, took a sheet of papyrus and a goose-feather under his arm and went to Babylon, Delhi and Moscow to investigate and write down the trade-possibilities. He knew he was good. He knew noone could squeeze more out of them than anyone else, but he had to be careful not to waste precious time. The Nations would soon meet and then he couldn't do these deals so proftably. And that would mean no pay and no weekend with his mistress Hélène.

With a smile on his face he went on his way.

It has been a year since FortyJ left town to fulfill his obligation to govern the new town of Huntington on the southernn shore. I do not know the full list of reasons he had for leaving, but his departure has provided me with a unique opportunity of advancement.

Cyc had already departed some time ago as well. Having been appointed Mayor of Montpellier, he had gone off to work the lands there and turn the bountiful supply of grapes into wine. I have to say, the wine is quite exceptional.... I must remember to pick up another bottle when the next shipment arrives in town.

With both founders out of town on a somewhat permanent basis, the question of what to do with the Creative History Office has come up. FortyJ has charged me with the day to day operations of the place, as well as the responsibility to keep both he and Cyc informed of things from time to time.

I'm looking forward to the challenge. Things are running fairly smoothly, so there's not much for me to do at the moment, knock on wood. I understand that Mayor CT is sponsoring a camel race this weekend. Maybe I'll head out to the desert and check that out...

During his busy work day, Michelet took time to read a parchment he had received from Cyc, who was now signing documents as the Mayor of Montpellier. It contained an administrative request that a listing of the Election Results for Term 2 be posted. It added that although the standings for the Judicial Branch had been a bit shaky at best, at least there were now three Justices to name. "Right, then. I'll get right on it, Cyc," Michelet said with a wink. He had been enjoying his new Office and the stature of his postion and had made his surroundings that of his own. This included the palm tree from FortyJ and the almost fully stocked wine rack from Cyc (well it used to be full ;) ). Now that we had learned the Technology of the Wheel, Michelet had made a large round tabletop to signify the advancement, and used it to keep his lists and drawings of current events. His Office was starting to take shape.

Michelet moved to his circular table and found a listing of the Election Results he had made earlier:

President - zorven
Vice President - TerminalMan90
Minister of Domestic Affairs - DaveShack
Minister of Defense - Sarevok
Minister of Foreign Affairs - Bootstoots
Minister of Trade and Technology - Octavian X
Governor of Berry Province - Plexus
Governor At-Large - Donovan Zoi and Will_518
Judicial Branch -
Chief Justice - ravensfire
Associate Justice - Peri
Associate Justicw - donsig

Loggin this list in the Big Book of Historical Events, Michelet wondered if he should include the Mayors that had been appointed throughout our existing cities. "Yes, I will do that afetr lunch. This people deserve mention".

And with that, he closed the Big Book, grab his hat, and went to find a meal.

"Lord Governor Plexus", announced the page upon entering the receiving hall, "I present thee Lord FortyJ, Mayor of the coastal town of Huntington."

The assembled court turned to face the entourage of travelers as they entered the hall. At the front of the group, walked FortyJ, clean and shaven, belying the difficulty of his journey through the jungle and the wear it had taken on him.

Following directly behind him were a handful of men, each carrying a medium-sized pot. The pots immediately attracted the attention of the various guests throughout the hall. Each pot had been decorated with a different color. While some dyes had already reached the capitol city by now, their appearance was still unusual enough to attract attention.

"My lord and governor" spoke FortyJ with a confident, booming voice that jerked many of the hall's guests back from their dreamlike gazes.

He continued, "I congratulate you on the national recognition of your provincial boundaries. The citizens of Huntington wish to honor this occasion with this sampling of our dyes. Each of these containers, as well as the dozens more being delivered to your storeroom as we speak contains a color that you can use as you see fit."

"Once again, you honor us greatly with such lavish gifts" responded Plexus from his dias near the end of the hall. "We welcome the representatives of Huntington with open arms and warm hearts."

FortyJ resumed, "Thank you Governor Plexus. Your hospitality is well known throughout the province."

FortyJ paused, turning his attention to a roll of parchment that he had been carrying under his tunic. Pulling it free and extending it to a nearby aide, he continued, "My lord, I am pleased to announce that our fair town has grown considerably since you placed her in my charge. We have adopted an ancient custom from the days of endless wandering to assist you in the governance of our fair town - a Village Council."

FortyJ added "This council shall serve as your local representative for Huntington. It will ensure that order is preserved and that production is maximized for the betterment of our province and nation."

FortyJ nodded in the direction of the parchment roll being carried accross the hall in the direction of Plexus and proceeded, "This scroll (http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?postid=1598506#post1598506) details the requests we have for your consideration with respect to how you govern our town. Of course, this request is admittedly myopic in nature and we understand that you must consider the good of the entire province when making your decisions, but we feel we would be negligent to our responsibilities if we failed to submit such requests."

FortyJ paused, and then concluded, "Once again, please accept these gifts as signs of our appreciation of your faith in us and the promise of many good things to come from the great and fair community of Huntington."

<><><><>

After some other formal niceties, FortyJ and his staff stepped aside to make way for another presentation and a few moments later, discreetly exited the hall. FortyJ dismissed the group and headed over to the Creative History Department. He was eager to catch up with Michelet and to see what new information could be learned from those halls.

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Mayor Cyc was talking to the Clydesdale as he stroked the animal's mane. What beautiful creations these were. Cyc had felt lucky to have secured 6 of them for his workhorse team. This team pulled the heavy delivery wagon for the Fanatican Winery and the Cyclone Brewery. The driver was ready to go, and Cyc climbed on board. This was to be the first time Cyc would accompany the new delivery wagon as owner and was eager to inspect the process. Governor Plexus, through shrewd dealings and forethought had made the roads safe again from the Barbarians that used to ravage the countryside. But Cyc would wear many hats this trip, Mayor, businessman, friend, and tourist.

The ride to Vo Mimbre was a normal one, without the worry of the Barbarians. As we pulled into the city, we witnessed the first of Fanatica's Horsemen Brigades. A fine group of lads they were too. Strength and speed was the product of this new technology we called Horseback Riding. As we left Vo Mimbre we headed Southwest to inspect the new road there through the cattlelands. As we climbed the hills heading back to the Northwest, we noticed the red uniforms of what appeared to be Babylonian Warrior troops in the jungle below. "Odd. Why do we have these troops trapsing through our lands? I had heard that our Leaders were very wary about the strength of the Babylonian Military, but I didn't think it had gone this far."

We rode along the top of the hills on the road past our first mine. We continued on until the road broke to the North on it's way to Vandelay. We gazed to the Southwest in appreciation of our Capital. A vast city almost surrounded by rivers with jungle and flood plains as a backdrop. We then rode North down into the valley and slowly crossed the river at a low point. "So this is the River of Horses". The valley that this river runs through is the home of the wild horses that flow from the hills. A truly beautiful sight it was to see these horses cross the plains in full stride.

As we passed a road breaking to the Southwest that would take one to the Capital City of Deux Rivieres, our eyes turned to the desert and flood plains that led to Vandelay. Vandelay had been founded in almost the same environment as the Capital, without the jungle of course. It's fertile lands had fed many, but due to the amount of Settlers and Workers it had produced, plus the early ransacking by Barbarians, Fanatica's second city of Vandelay was just smaller than Montpellier in size. We passed two Worker crews to the left of the road that were being gaurded by Spearmen. Another wise move by Governor Plexus and Military Leader, General Sarevok. But Vandelay had just been appointed a new Governor by the people of Fanatica. Congress had finally approved the Provincial borders which put Vandelay in the second Province, now called Audiac Province, and made Senator Donovan Zoi a Governor at last. So this trip had two special assignments to it, one to present a case of Fanatica's finest wine to the new Governor, the other was to do the same with ex-Montpellierian, Noldodan, who had become Mayor of Vandelay. Once again, I make note of the safety afforded to us on this road.

Having completed our mission in Vandelay, we traveled back the same road to the first turn-off towards Deux Rivieres. Riding through the hills, we could just barely make out the distant smoke from our three new cities, which laid in the distant South. Huntington was due Southwest of us directly behind the Capital in our view. Huntington's smoke was difficult to discern from that of the Capital's, but it seemed to be a bit more colorful. ;) St. Octaviansburg was easily seen across the plains to the West. This port city's smoke was nestled between the hills and the jungle. Santa Lucia was pretty much to the South of us, it's smoke coming from the dense jungle. We were hoping that was normal smoke from a city and not smoke caused by ravaging Babylonians...

We made our deliveries in Duex Rivieres, to include a case of wine to Governor Plexus, who didn't drink, but gave some great parties. After taking care of business, we drove the team over to the Creative History Department Office to turn this Journal over to Michelet for posting, when low and behold, who do I run into.... none other than FortyJ himself, now a Mayor in Huntington and making the rounds himself. The end of this journal sees Michelet, FortyJ and myself heading off for a good meal, some great wine, and talking about the good old days.

The year is 980 AD. From his forward headquarters in Mûre, Noldodan begins planning for the upcoming Babylonian War, in which Mûre will figure most prominently. The war room is in a very disorganized state, parchment orders and eagle droppings (OOC: I just had to put the eagles in somewhere. In this case, they’re serving as messengers) all over the floor.

Noldodan, striding in, still in the armor necessary for his journey through (relatively) friendly Russian territory, close to the Babylonian border: Commander Martel!

Martel, shouting while walking over: Yes, Lord Noldodan?

Noldodan: I need your report on the defense situation here in Mûre.

Martel: Sir, it’s not looking good at all. We only have one antiquated unit of troops currently in the city, spearmen untested in battle or training. We have a company of knights scouting out to the west, but I don’t know when they’ll be back.

Noldodan: I thought you were working on the defense situation. And as you know, Mûre is the most likely target for a Babylonian counterattack. The situation’s hardly better now than it was last time I checked up on you.

Martel: Sir, I assure you, we’re getting there. We are currently awaiting funds from the national government to retrain and equip our spearmen with these “muskets.”

Noldodan, interrupting: You seem to question the utility of the muskets. I’ve been assured that they’re top notch fighting equipment, at least twice as effective as your current weaponry.

Martel: I’m not questioning their superiority over spears. It’s just that pikemen have been proven so effective that to test the new weapon in a war seems too risky.

Noldodan: Well, you make a good case, but I’m afraid I don’t agree with you, and neither does the government. So, aside from the upcoming upgrade, are you making anymore defense arrangements?

Martel: Well, we’re almost done training a new unit, this one utilizing the battle hardening provided by our barracks, that will be equipped from the start with muskets.

Noldodan: Ah! That was the kind of progress I was hoping for! Once those preparations are complete, Mûre will indeed be a hard target. They had best be complete by the time I return for another inspection, for this city’s sake (OOC: I’m not threatening here, just reminding him that the city depends on this for protection from the Babs).

Martel, saluting: Sir, they will be complete!

Noldodan: Good. And with that, I must be off to inspect the city’s physical defenses. Good day.

(OOC: And now I invite anyone to post what THEY may be doing in preparation for the upcoming invasion.)

Thanks for trying to "kick-start" this thread to life, Noldodan. And to all of you who contributed. :thumbsup: