Xenocide and the Speakers for the Dead

This is a joint story-writing effort by myself and Speaker, played out as a succession game of Civ3. We both decided that we would also post the stories here in this forum so that more people would have a chance to read them. I'll be updating this thread as often as we play the turns, so you can expect a fair amount of updates.

Game Parameters
Civ: Mongolia
Map: Standard size, 60% water pangea
Climate: Standard, Temperate, 5 billion age
Difficulty: Deity
Opponents: 7 AI civs (some randomly chosen, some not), no barbs
Victory Conditions: conquest ONLY

Variant Rules:
1) No capturing of enemy cities, only razing is allowed (Xenophobia).
2) For this game, the tech rate has been slowed down significantly so that the different eras will progress more slowly. This has been done so we will have a chance to fight wars in all eras, instead of simply conquering everyone in the modern age.
3) Whenever an AI opponent is destroyed, either Speaker or myself will write up the soliloquy for their vanished civilization. Not having read this particular series of books, I don't know exactly what Speaker has in mind as yet, but I reckon that I'll be able to figure it out.

Roster
Speaker
Sullla



Enjoy!

The First Chapter, Written by Speaker

Here is an account of the first 35 seasons of Mongolia, as duly recorded by the man known only as "the Speaker," who chose his number of seasons based largely on the precedent established by a mysterious historian known sometimes as "Charis" in the epic tale of the Cuban Isolationists.

Led by the child prodigy, Temujin, the Mongolian nation emerged from the fog. They sent their scout onto a nearby mountain to see the lay of the land, while their workers were sent to the grassy fields that were filled with purple fruit. "Wine" they called the fruits. To the southeast, large gray animals were seen romping in the plains. The great town of Karakorum was founded in the year that is known as 3950, and the soothsayers started working on developing a system of letters that would help in creating words. Scouts were dispatched to wander the lands and they found plains rich in food. Contact was made with tribes who called themselves Carthage, the Iroquois, Arabia, Rome, and Germany, and various trades of technology left Mongolia with the knowledge of Bronze Working, Masonry, Alphabet, the Wheel, and Ceremonial Burial, in addition to Pottery and Warrior Code, which the Mongol people had traditionally known.

The people of Karakorum, slow in creating a building to hold grain, were hurried along in 2630 by the whip of their glorious leader, Temujin. While Karakorum is rich in food, able to store a surplus of five barrels of grain every season, it may need to focus more on production at the expense of agriculture, in order for settlers to be trained to spread the Mongolian population to other regions.

While history may prove otherwise, Temujin's decision to fire all soothsayers in 3200, until a concept known as "Polytheism" could be investigated, may be described as weed. Temujin underestimated the decreased rate of science and expected his neighbors to have already discovered what he calls "Mysticism," but since the Carthaginians have already developed a system of recording words, Mysticism may not be too far away after all. Temujin considers a 40 season investigation of Polytheism to be a great direction for his soothsayers to eventually pursue.

The great historian, Sullla, will now report on the next 20 or 25 seasons of Mongolian history, years which were very important in shaping the early boundaries of our great nation. During this time, the tribe known as the Iroquois began to encroach on land seen as belonging to Mongolia, and their city of Allegheny may have become a point of contention between the two neighbors.



More to come later, stay tuned...

"The Diplomat" Written by Sullla

Sitting in the throne room of his primitive dwelling, Temujin, the Great Khan of the Mongols, had a vision. Lounging on his wooden throne in the building of rough, uncut stone which served as the Mongol palace, he looked ahead to the future and thought of the greatness which once day would belong to the Mongol people. Karakorum was the largest city in the world, true, but at the moment was little more than an overgrown hovel; "like a thousand villages pushed together in one place" was the phrase that foreign visitors were apt to use. The city's streets followed no design ever thought up by human mind, unless it was the mind of a madman; anyone not used to the cluttered lanes of the city would find himself hopelessly lost within moments. The streets were unpaved, nothing more than dirt beaten into the ground by the passing of thousands of bare feet - dirt which turned all too often to mud when the rains came out of the northwest from over the sea. And the smell! Filth and human offal choked the streets wherever the khan's men did not work to keep it clean, mixing with mud and cast-out food to create a fearsome and entirely unwholesome result perhaps best described as "muck". If Karakorum was a thousand villages in one place, surely it smelled the part as well!

Other civilizations had long ago sent out teams of settlers to found other cities, spreading their own culture and way of life across the globe. The Mongols, alone of all peoples, remained confined to their ancestral home in but one place. Karakorum was full to the bursting point with them; the high and mighty, the poor and starving, and everyone in between rubbed shoulders in the city's streets as they bought and sold, loved and hated, were born and died, all without ever traveling more than a few blocks. Such a city was without peer in terms of sheer size, a marvel in THAT respect for all the world; without its granaries full of wheat, such a city never could have existed. Sometimes it seemed as though the sheer mass of people must overwhelm the very limited capacity of the government to rule them and bring the whole house of cards tumbling down. But the noise of the crowds, the haggling in the marketplace, the hustle and bustle of a hundred thousand people living out their lives; Temujin saw none of it as he sat in his palace of stone, looking to the future and what might be.

When the gods had created the world from out of the nothingness of the aether, they had scattered its peoples across the length and breadth of the earth. Of all the different civilizations, it could truly be said that the Mongols sat at the very crossroads of the world. Pessimists argued that they were surrounded by enemies on all sides, and while that may have been true, Temujin saw that (at least in the short term) there were profits to be made at hand. And as to later... well, Temujin would deal with that when the time came. Those closest to the great khan knew that he was not famous for his generosity; should the Mongols ever gain the upper hand upon one of their foes, Temujin would be sure to take advantage to the fullest.

For the moment, however, the Mongols were weak and utterly lacking in military strength. Temujin knew that he and his people must bide their time, focus all their efforts towards beginning and sustaining expansion while smiling for the foreign diplomats and pretending to be friends with all. On this very day Temujin was to meet with ambassadors from the Arabs, Carthaginians, and Germans. Each of them possessed a separate technology which no one else knew, and each was smugly confident in the superiority of his own civilization. What possible threat could the Mongols be - the silly barbarians still only had but one city! They held their audiences with the backwards khan, condescending from start to finish, more eager than anything else simply to get the meeting over with and leave this disgusting city once and for all. And at the end of the day, without the foreign diplomats quite realizing what had happened, Temujin was in possession of all of their technologies and was himself richer by quite a bit of gold. That gold was channeled back into improving Mongolia's international reputation, gaining contact with new foreign cultures (the Koreans and Scandinavians) and sending representatives abroad to found embassies everywhere. All the world hailed the diplomatic efforts of the great khan, as polite faces greeted the Mongol envoys in every foreign nation. And Temujin, still sitting on his rough throne in his hall of stone, was pleased.

As the years rolled by, the Mongols did send out teams of settlers to create more cities and claim the territory which was rightfully theirs. Their efforts were dwarfed by those of the great civs around them, but Temujin was not worried. It was merely a matter of time until the Mongols were triumphant and all the world recognized their superiority. Other nations made more great breakthroughs and introduced new technologies to the world. Not the Mongols; they continued to devote only a tiny fraction of their wealth to the study of "Polytheism", a philosophy concerning the belief in many gods. The Mongols were by no means a backwards nation in technology, however; when the sages of another nation discovered how to represent the earth's surface on paper through the use of something known as "maps", the Mongols used the rich knowledge of the world brought back by their long-exploring scouts to obtain technological parity at a greatly reduced cost. As the rest of the world sat amazed at Temujin's golden tongue which never seemed to fail at diplomacy, the khan only smiled his broken-toothed grin and silently thanked his earlier foresight for sending out three scouts in the earliest days of his civ.

Only one ill-omened event marred the end of this period of Temjin's rule. A Roman ambassador from their embassy arrived one day at the palace dressed in the formal toga virilis of a Roman citizen, bearing a politely worded but poorly disguised threat from Rome, asking the Mongols to pay tribute or face military consequences. With fewer military units at his call than cities to defend (and those units that did exist uniformly of low quality), Temujin had no choice other than to smile politely and accede to the demands of Rome. Behind closed doors, the khan raged and fumed at the effrontery of the foreigners, promising one day to burn every Roman city to the ground and spare none of its people. It was only a matter of time, after all, until Temujin cast off the veil of meek humility and let loose his raging hordes upon the rest of the world. But until that glorious time arrived, Temujin was content to bide his time in his gloomy hall of stone and dream of what might be...

And the map for 1550BC. More to come tomorrow, so check back later!

Written by Speaker

With much glee, the child-leader Temujin looked straight down into the ground. He stood atop a large mountain, the inside of which was filled with a powerful metal, which when extracted, would outfit his glorious armies. "Now that we have procured this 'Iron,'" Temujin said, we are unstoppable. The world will quake at the footsteps of our powerful army, which will march through the heart of the lands of our neigh...I mean enemies."

"But sir," Temujin's top aide and advisor said, as he stood next to his leader. "It will take many seasons to build roads to carry this Iron. What will we do in the meantime?"

Temujin turned toward his aide and scowled.

***

The years 1525 to 1050 were a prosperous and glorious time for Temujin and the Mongolian people. It was then that Temujin, fresh off of his embarassing conflict with Rome, decided to build an army worthy of his name. In the great cities of Kazan and Almarikh he ordered the construction of barracks, so troops could better be trained for battle. He wanted experienced troops, who could heartily defend his people. In the next 20 seasons, Kazan and Almarikh would train warriors who would exchange their axes for swords, as soon as the necessary materials to outfit such an army were procured and brought to the core of Mongolia. The great city of Hovd was founded next to an iron pit, securing the vital resource and while the great-Iron road was under construction, warriors were trained in anticipation of the day when they might be ready for battle.

Many towns were founded during this period, as the population of the great city of Karakorum continued to swell past a managable size. Every five seasons, Temujin would choose 20,000 residents and send them into the wild to found new villages, to spread the Mongolian spirit as far as the eye could see. The land was fertile and the towns were popular. In Ta-Tu, Temujin trained the population to work, sending out more and more young men and women to work the land.

The Mongolian soothsayers, having spent 40 seasons pursuing an idea, finally developed a religion where many different Gods could be worshipped a the same time. Although this knowledge had been developed a few seasons earlier by the Carthaginians, few other tribes had worked on the idea. Mongolia tought this Polytheism to Arabia and Rome in exchange for many gold coins as well as an even more special prize. Arabia taught Temujin to think about things that they called "abstract." Temujin was puzzled, but the Arabians told him that that was the point. Temujin ordered his scientists to spend the next 40 seasons developing a better system of government, where the people would have some say in how they were ruled.

On the beautiful grasslands to the east of Karakorum, scores of warriors met in bloody battle, axes meeting flesh with horrible casualties on both sides. Men on horseback and men with spears gradually entered the fray, which lasted for many years. The tribes known as the Romans and the Iroquois had run out of land to fill with their excess population and thus the first Great War began. Neither side was able to make any gains in terms of land, and thus, the deaths of their strong, young men was all in vain. Elsewhere, the German tribe battled the Carthaginian tribe to a standstill as well. The warlike Romans did manage, however, to destroy several towns that held allegiance to the Scandinavian tribe, although these towns were small and insignificant to the Scandinavian people, being so far away from the great city of Trondheim.

Several spectacular works of architecture and masonry were completed during this time, as Rome constructed a set of triangular buildings known as "Pyramids," as well as a massive statue which they called "the Colossus." Arabia built a great temple which they called "the Oracle." While this historian has not seen the aforementioned works, he has read numerous accounts of their greatness and hopes to someday see them before they are destroyed by the raging Mongol hordes.

***

With unthinkable quickness, Temujin shoved his aide off the edge of the mountain into the gaping iron pit below. The unfortunate man's screams were quickly silenced as his blood stained the dark ground below. "I name this mine Hovd," Temujin bellowed. "The Iroquois will soon pay for their audacity and the Romans and Carthaginians for their arrogance." Temujin walked away from the pit having lost an aide, but he would appoint another soon. He had his iron. Everything was going according to his design.

"Demands"
Written by Sullla

They were always after Temujin, hounding him like mastiffs sent on the trail of a fleeing hind. On the best of days, it was the palace staff that dogged his every move from sunup to sundown. There was always something that could only be settled by the personal attentions of the great khan, whether it was how many spears to order for the latest crop of Mongol warriors or how much the cooks should be paid down in the great kitchens. Few knew that his trips to the outlying cities to "supervise" their development was often nothing more than an excuse to get away from the constant and unending demands on his time, day in and day out without end from spring to fall and back to spring again. But although the neverending demands on his time were a pain for Temujin to deal with, he knew that in the long run the hundreds of advisors who helped to run the nation of Mongolia had only the best interests of the state in mind.

On the worst of days, like today, he faced men who held no such compunctions.

Seated on his plain wooden throne in the unadorned hall of rough granite that he used as his receptional hall, Temujin started down at the Arab ambassador before him. Temujin's garb was as plain as his surroundings, nothing more than a soldier's overcoat of tough boiled leather to protect the body, held back by a simple belt adorned only with a small silver buckle, which tucked into soft, baggy trousers of animal hides ideal for horseback riding. Temujin was used to wearing a cap of warm animal fur when out in the field, but today his head was left bare to reveal the shaggy mass of black hair that ran down to the top of his neck. Draped on the wall behind him was the national flag, a steel gauntleted fist upraised to the sky on a field of yellowish gold: the banner known everywhere as "Temujin's Fist." The rest of the room was as bare as a baby's bottom, if considerably less smooth; the rough-hewn stone blocks looked as if they had been set in place yesterday, rather than centuries before. Apparently no one had ever bothered to smooth them into a more civilized form; apparently no one had cared.

The Arab emissary was wrapped in simple robes as well, although the soft-colored garments designed to keep out the heat of the desert sands were made of the finest silks. The ambassador, Omar by name, now peered out from under the hood of his cloaked robe awaiting an answer to the news that he had brought the khan. Temujin had greeted the proposal - no! no need to lie about what it was; better simply to have out with it and call it by its proper name - had greeted the demand with cold silence when it was delivered to the palace earlier that morning. Bad enough that the Koreans had seen fit to level a threat of their own barely a week earlier; now it seemed that everyone was jumping on the Mongols at the slighest sign of weakness. Though he hated what he was about to do with every fiber of his being, Temujin knew what his answer had to be.

"Your terms are acceptable to us. We will have the money you require ready to be transported across the deserts within a fortnight," said Temujin in a voice as cold as the stone around him. The words were dragged out as though pulled with a pair of forceps. It was bad enough that his nation was weak compared to the rest of the world; must they rub it into his face at every opportunity?

The Arab bowed politely and went out. No sooner had he left than Temujin dropped the polite fascade he used for public audiences and hurled the earthenware mug of ale proferred to him by a servant to the ground. The container shattered on impact, spraying the foamy liquid across the dirt floor to stain the ground in dark rivulets. It made Temujin think of blood. He swore to himself that he would not suffer such a humiliation again, not in the very halls of his palace. "Next time," he thought darkly, "things are going to be different."

* * * * *

Temujin stared daggers into the face of the fat fool in front of him. He was back in his audience hall once again, seated once more upon the uncomfortable throne, receiving yet another pompous foreign dignitary. It was not a duty that he relished. The current arrogant ass was a Scandinavian by the name of Hrolfgar, from some ancient and noble lineage with extensive ties to the Viking throne - ties which he had just spent the last hour telling Temujin about in great detail. Other nations would not have had to put up with this kind of drivel, but everyone knew the weaknesses of Mongolia, and so the khan had to put up with this mindless banter. He passed the time in these interminable audiences by fantasizing about driving a spear deep into the gut of the man in front of him; with so much flesh, it would be just like harpooning a whale. Temujin chuckled inwardly at the thought.

The mindless babble began to approach a somewhat topical subject; it appeared as though Hrolfgar was finally going to announce why he had been sent to Karakorum in the first place.

"Yes, you see, the greatness of Trondheim is indeed beyond compare to any city in the known world," he droned onward, "but it could be even more beautiful. Yes, much more beautiful. If only we knew how to construct things like aqueducts and colosseums, we could make the city that much more magnificent. And you'll share with us the knowledge of Construction that you have, won't you Temujin?"

"What are you asking of me? Have out with it, man!" said Temujin, eager for this meeting to be over.

"I'm just making a reasonable request for you to share the fruits of your research with us, that's all," answered Hrolfgar. Now that the actual reason for his coming was at hand, he seemed quite a bit more nervous than when discussing the glorious deeds of his ancestors. "As one nation to another. Brother to brother, you know? I'm sure that that won't be a problem." From his expression, he certainly hoped that it wouldn't be a problem.

"Is that a threat?" asked Temujin softly, well known to be his most dangerous tone.

Hrolfgar mopped his consierable brow with a silk hankerchief; sweat had begun appearing on his face all of a sudden. "No! Not a threat, not at all," he answered nervously. "No threats between such friendly nations. But surely you must, ah, recognize the reality of your political situation. Scandinavia is a mighty country, the largest in the world, and when King Rangar requests a, err, gift from you it would not be, ah, polite to refuse."

"We paid good money to Arabia for those secrets, and I will not give away the knowledge of Mongolia so easily," replied Temujin, rising to his feet from the throne. "Ragnar should know that we do not subscribe to blackmail here in Mongolia. And as for you... well, Scandinavia is a long way away from Karakorum." And for the first time that day, Temujin smiled.

That was when Hrolfgar really began to sweat.

A short time later, as the audience hall was being cleaned of the mess that inevitably came with such public demonstrations, an aide spoke up to Temujin on the certainty of war. The khan laughed. "Let them come! The Romans will keep most of the heat off of us. As for what does come, I'm off for the northern frontier to attend to matters personally. And," he continued, "it was important to show the rest of the world that we are not a doormat to be walked upon whenever they feel like extortion."

"Isn't that right?" he asked, raising his voice to carry throughout the hall to all of the notable persons gathered within. They all solemnly nodded their heads in assent - not that anyone would have been in the mood to disagree with Temujin considering what had just happened.


continued in next post...

"Demands", Part 2 (over the character limit)

The cool breeze blowing through his dark hair was a refreshing relief from the sweltering heat of the jungle; all too quickly it was gone, causing a fresh trickle of sweat to run down Temujin's forehead. He was where he always served best, among his soldiers in the frontier town of Hovd, the most likely target for the Scandinavians to attack. They had tried it in the earliest days of the war, sending a force of archers against the city walls, only to be driven off and destroyed miraculously by a small contingent of local militia. The khan had already given a speech in their honor and planned to erect a statue of the hometown heroes at some later date - when funds were not so tight. For Hovd was not just any ramshackle frontier trading post flying the banner of Temujin's Fist; it was also the location of the nation's only iron mine. Even as he stood here on the walls of the town gazing out to the horizon, he knew that somewhere far to the south worker gangs were building a great road through the jungle to connect the iron mine to the rest of the country and enable the construction of deadly new weapons. When that day came, Mongolia would cease to be a laughingstock among the nations of the world.

"There's another one, sir." The spearman on his right pointed out into the deep jungles, and Temujin squinted to follow the direction of his arm. His eyes weren't as good as they had been in younger days; now where were they? Ah - there! Out amongst the trees he saw a sudden flash of color, there and then gone in an instant. The boy was right; they were indeed outside the city waiting for the moment to strike.

Later that night he met with his advisors in the local town hall, which was little more than an overgrown barn usually used for storing cattle. Even right now there was still a light covering of hay over the dirt floor, and the place stank of manure. Temujin didn't care; the place suited his purposes.

"We know from our scouts that there are Scandinavian forces out there in the jungles, and quite a lot of them unless our estimates are wrong," he began. "What would you propose we do about it?"

"My lord, I don't see any alternative but to surrender the town," answered Chagatai. He was Temujin's third and youngest son, although neither acknowledged it in the formal councils; a good diplomat with many political uses but not a fighter. "It's simply a matter of numbers; they've got us nearly surrounded and outnumbered at least two to one. Maybe more than that by now. When they attack, it won't be a battle - it will be a massacre."

"Baah! You never had the balls for a siege Chagatai, so shut your mouth and keep quiet!" That was Ogodei, the khan's oldest son. Always full of bluster and eager for a fight, Temujin frequently thought Ogodei what he himself would have been like had he not learned the need for diplomatic tact at an early age. "We can hold those dogs out for a dozen years if need be, right Jochi?"

The recipient of that question was Temujin's middle son, the fourth and final member of the council that mattered. There were other aides and such present, but they were nothing more than underlings that would agree to whatever the main leaders decided. Jochi was a silent man, much given to introspection, who rarely spoke and never let what he was thinking appear on his face. Of the three, Temujin thought his middle son the most dangerous by far. As was his want, Jochi merely smiled at his brother's question and looked pointedly at Temujin, indicating that he yielded the floor back to the khan.

"Chagatai, you have to learn something," said Temujin. "It's one thing to negotiate with other peoples; I'm willing to do that from time to time because I know it's in the best interests of our nation. But it's another thing entirely to bend down in the dust and lick the feet of our foreign oppressors!"

"But Father!" interrupted Chagatai, leaping to his feet.

"Never cut in on me when I'm speaking!" roared Temujin, standing as well. He was almost a head shorter than his son, but the younger man cringed back all the same at the naked fury in the khan's eyes. "We do not surrender to threats. Ever! Do you hear me?! They will talk with us and ask for peace, mark my word."

Already on his feet, Temujin dismissed the meeting by walking out of the barn, calling back over his shoulder as he did so. "And if you ever call me by that name again while we're in formal council, I'll kill you myself."

Discipline could be harsh in the family of the great khan.

* * * * *

Day after day passed outside the city of Hovd, and every night the number of campfires they could see out in the steamy forests grew greater. Temujin took to pacing the walls of the city endlessly, his nerves on end from the tension. As every day passed without word from the Scandinavians, he became visibly more and more tense, like a cork screwed tighter and tighter into a bottle. Doubts began to creep into his mind, a feeling completely alien to the khan who always seemed impossibly sure of himself and his own actions. Had he made the right decision? Maybe he should have considered abandoning the city to save the rest of his civilization. But... no! Hovd was the location of his only iron mine, the keystone of his entire carefully laid plans. This place among all others he must defend to the death.

A booming sound went up from the jungles, the noise of hundreds of war drums beating in unison. Whoops and cheers could be heard echoing between the trees as the Viking hordes began their advance on the city. Temujin swore and grabbed the nearest aide, issuing forth a stream of directions on how to prepare the city for imminent attack. Within moments, the town was bustling with activity as men everywhere grabbed their weapons and prepared to take positions on the wall. They were not on the whole a very promising lot, however; some men were armed with fine spears capable of stopping a determined assault, but most of the city was to be guarded by local militia with no equipment better than rough stone axes. Out of desperation, Temujin had armed many of the local women as well, but he didn't think it would do much good in the end. When the Vikings came in numbers, the walls would be overrun and the streets would flow with Mongol blood.

On they came, the foreigners decked out with shiny swords and with their faces painted in bizzare patterns of runes incomprehensible to the Mongol defenders. They could be easily seen through the trees now, thousands in all, far too many to stop. Temujin fingered his fine sword and prepared to die gloriously in battle.

Out of nowhere the silvery note of a trumpet sounded across the battlefield. Everyone present, Viking and Mongol alike looked around confusedly for the source of the sound. The call came once, twice, then a third time - and, shockingly, the Scandinavians began to retreat back into the jungles. His aides looked at his in befuddlement and Temujin smiled back confidently, but in reality he had no more idea what was going on than they did. Why retreat now when victory seemed to be at hand?

The mystery soon revealed itself in the presence of a messenger of the Scandinavian court, who called off the armies and was ushered in to talk with Temujin along with the Viking commander Erikk. He annouced that he was prepared to offer a peace treaty with the Mongols, provided a pittance of gold was kicked in along with the deal. Temujin was more than happy to oblige.

"But, but..." sputtered Erikk to the effeminate ambassador, "I'm about to run over the city here. There's no need to make peace, we're about to win! Give me another day and I'll reduce this city to rubble!"

The ambassador sniffed at the mud-stained uniform of his fellow countryman. "I'm sorry, sir, but my orders come directly from the king himself, so I'm afraid you're outranked. And Ragnar explicitly sent me here to ask for a fair and just peace, which Khan Temujin is prepared to offer. Your barbaric actions have no place here."

"If Ragnar were here, I'm sure he would side with me," shot back Erikk in barely restrained tones of anger.

"Well he's not, so I guess we'll have to do things the 'civilized' way," beamed Temujin back happily. After the meeting had concluded and the Scandinavians shown their way back, all of the Mongols had a good laugh at their ineptitude of their foes. "That's bureaucracy for you!" chuckled Temujin over a mug of good home-brewed beer. He slapped Chagatai on the back, nearly sending his son to the floor. "Didn't I tell you they'd talk to us? And for the last time: we Mongols don't give in to demands!"

A couple of pictures for you. First, the sitaution around Hovd when Ragnar would talk:



Then the map for 550BC, showing the whole Mongol territory:



More to come tomorrow, so check back often!

Written by Speaker

Sitting in his stone palace, Temujin looked over his lands. What had recently been lavish gardens and lush green pastures, had now become trampled from the large foreign armies continually marching south. Some of them used his roads, getting in the way of the Mongolian military and workforce. Most of them stepped wherever they pleased, plundering the land as they went. The Mongolian citizens were barely able to work the land to keep the population well nourished. All of this and none of this Temujin saw as he looked out his window.

"Ogodei, what news from Hovd?" Temujin methodically said, still looking out the window, the second his sons walked into the room.

Ogodei slowly turned and looked at his brother Jochi to his right. How had their father known they had entered the room? Ogodei had noticed a subtle change in his father of late. He was always on edge, always resentful. He had killed five aides in the last week alone. He had even snapped at Chagatai in the last council meeting. Jochi was elbowing him.

"Uh, good news sir from Hovd sir. The iron pit is being worked and our forges have created dozens of new weapons which are known as "swords." Our warriors have been trained to fight with these swords and the army awaits your command."

Temjuin slowly turned away from the window, hands clasped together. "Good. Get me the emissary from Hiawatha NOW!"

*****

Somewhere near Kazan.

"Move your feet, move your feet, strike fast, move your feet." The instructor droned on. For an entire season they had trained to fight with these new weapons. Magdalai was the best and the brightest of the young Mongolian fighting force, and from the first second he picked up his new sword, he knew his life's purpose. He was born the second of five sons in a large family of farmers. His father was a farmer. His father's father was a farmer. His mother's father was a farmer. His brothers were farmers. But Magdalai hated farming. He hated dirt. He hated seeds. He hated people. He wasn't the biggest or the fastest, but he was the smartest. And maybe more importantly, he was the meanest. Growing up, he was always fighting, and he was always winning. His enemies failed against him because they were not willing to kill him. Magdalai did not care what happened to him. He was beaten many times, twice within an inch of his life, but once he healed, even if it was a month or a year later, he would always finish the fight. Everyone soon learned to stay out of his way. When he was old enough, Magdalai volunteered to join the Mongolian army, where he learned discipline and nationalism. He never picked a fight again...with a Mongolian.

With a sword in his hand, Magdalai finally felt alive. His strokes were the most precise. His slashes the most vicious. In training, he never received a single scratch, and sent eight men to the infirmary. He made the highest score on the fitness test and the other men all looked up to him. It came as no surprise when he was chosen as Ghan, the head of the army.

"Allow me to interrupt you, instructor," Magdalai said. "Men listen to me. I have just received orders from Karakorum. Tomorrow we march. War will soon be upon us. Soon the world will feel the fury of Temujin's Fist!"

*****

The Iroquois emissary walked into the room slowly. Too slowly, Temujin thought. The Great Khan looked over the emissary catching every detail in the blink of an eye. Beads of sweat on his brow belied his air of confidence. They also showed how fat and out of shape he was. The blubbery man stood in the doorway, awaiting command from the cavalier Khan. He had noticed a change in the Khan, the last few weeks and the early hour of this call, had him trembling. He couldn't look at Temujin. The great man's steely glare burned his skin like the leaves he had been forced to use to clean himself the past week. Yes, something certainly was different.

"You will teach us the secrets of literature," Temujin said simply, no emotion revealed.

"Uh, literature? What do you mean?" The emissary stammered. "Surely you do not mean that..."

"Yes." Temujin replied.

"We cannot, uh, give you the secrets of literature for nothing," the emissary said."

"Oh, but you will," Temujin said, a slight smile breaking on his lips.

"Well, I never," the emissary replied. "Hiawatha will be most displeased with your apparent lack of respect."

"And another thing," Temujin added. "Remove your troops from our land. They are no longer welcome in Mongolia. Your failure to remove them will be considered an act of war."

"War? Ahahahaha!" The emissary bellowed. Mongolia is weak. And we will take pleasure in annexing your feeble land. War it is." The emissary dispatched his aide to send a messenger to Hiawatha. The sidling Jochi, who had crept within two steps of the unwitting emissary, allowed the aide to pass, so Hiawatha would know what was coming and not claim he had been attacked without warning. "On a personal level Temujin, I shall take pleasure in sitting on your own throne just as soon as Karakorum is ground to dust and you with it.

Those were the emissary's futile last words.

"Guards, call the maid and ask her to remove the emissary." Temujin said with a smile. Jochi's face showed nothing as he wiped off his hands and walked out of the room.

*****

Near the ruins of Allegheny

"I annoit this new settlement Choybalsan!" Magdalai yelled, thrusting his fist toward the sky, an act his thousands of troops replicated, filling the air with cheers. "Tonight, we will dance on the graves of our enemies!"

More cheers.

"Allegheny is no more, as is Tonawanda in the south! We have lost but three units and slaughtered a dozen of the enemy!"

The applause was thundering and Magdalai allowed them a moment to revel before he quieted them again.

"I do not know yet whether we will push on, or whether we will demand reparations and consolidate our empire, but tonight it does not matter! We have Iroquois food to feast on and Iroquoi women to..."

Magdalai again waited for the cheers to die down and then he unsheathed his great sword that already had 15 ticks on the handle. He pointed it toward the sky.

"This is Spears' bane! Temujin's Fist will fly forever!"

This time Magdalai let the cheers go. Hiawatha would hear them all the way in Salmanaca. No one would push around Mongolia ever again.

And the map from 190BC. I don't know if anyone is reading this, but I will continue to update each day with the game's progress. At least the game is going very well!

I've been reading this. It is a great story.

Pretty good story.

"Redemption"
Written by Sullla

Chagatai kicked at the dust below his feet and cursed the fate that had brought him to this miserable place. Everything he saw was covered by a fine layer of the earthy stuff, stirred up by the wind blown in over the eastern sea. He was in Mandalgovi, a miserable frontier town with nothing of interest to distinguish it from a dozen other such places. Mandalgovi had been founded for one reason and one reason only: to keep an eye on the Arab settlement of Mansura to the southwest. But while Mansura was a lovely seaside town, known for its abundance of freshwater fish and highly prized by Abu Bakr for its nearby gold desposits, Mandalgovi was a dry and dusty wasteland. With no promising features and no redeeming value whatsoever, Mandalgovi was used by the great khan as a dumping ground for those who had fallen from grace but for a variety of different reasons could not be killed out of hand. Being the third son of Temujin would qualify as one of those reasons.

Chagatai was staring out over the cliffs on the eastern edge of the city, looking down the hundred foot drop to the waves below where they crashed against the coast in brilliant displays of foam. One would think that a town on the coast would be free of dust, but no; the stuff was everywhere, even filling his nostrils here with the air of decay. There were plans to one day bring irrigation across the plains to the north, and perhaps one day they would come to fruition, but at the present Mandalgovi was as dry as a bone. Tiring of his pondering, as he did every day at about this time, Chagatai rose from his seat against the back of a young fir and headed back towards the dirty town. At least he could drown his miseries in the equally rough tavern back in Mandalgovi.

He had no companion, or even any guards; it was a mark of how far he had fallen from grace that Chagatai was no longer considered important enough for someone else to want to kill him. Nominally he was the regional governor, an important position in more developed areas but little more than a figurehead out here. He could still remember the meeting with his father - no, the khan, his mind automatically corrected itself - which had led to his exile here...

"No! My lord, you can't be serious!" he had pleaded when told of the decision to go to war. "The Iroquois are so much more powerful than we are, there's no chance for us to win!"

Temujin had smiled that evil grin of his and gazed down condescendingly at Chagatai, an impressive feat considering that the younger man was taller by quite a bit. "Don't have the stomach for it, do you? Well I know of a place you can be of use to me, a place where you won't have to worry about fighting any battles, my precious little angel." The sarcasm practically dripped off the last few words, like fine honey oozing from the hive.

Chagatai looked to his brothers for support but found that there was none forthcoming; Ogodei seemed to be enjoying his humiliation immensely and Joichi never let anything but a blank emotionless stare cross his features. Turning back to Temujin, Chagatai found that the khan was enjoying this meeting as well; probably he still hungered to get back at him for the whole Scandinavian incident. Temujin spoke up, speaking the words that doomed him to a miserable fate: "Why don't you guard the southern border for me? I know of a great place to put you up, angel, a little town called Mandalgovi..."

And so he had come to this boring hellhole, a thousand miles away from anywhere, a place where his diplomatic talents were going entirely to waste (a fact which Temujin was no doubt aware of as well). When the war came, he was in no more danger than a dove in a gilded cage; southern border? There WAS no southern border! South of Mansura there was nothing but worthless tundra and a few tiny foreign colonies; attack might come to Mongolia at any time, but never from the south. And so, as his father and brothers were winning fame and glory in the east as the war progressed (against all odds, it was going fabulously well!), Chagatai was stuck in this backwater town trying to forget that he had ever spoken out as an anti-war demonstrator. Even worse, word of Karakorum's displeasure with his actions had spread, and he was treated as though he had the plague by anyone of any consequence whatsoever; no one wanted to risk Temujin's displeasure by associating with his prodigal son. He was mockingly called "angel" behind his back wherever he went, the overprotected young boy too afraid to go to war like the rest of his family. The only escape for Chagatai was to obliterate all conscious thought by drowning himself in drink, something that he planned to do at this very moment.

"Governor! Governor!" It took Chagatai a moment to realize that the messenger frantically charging up the road towards him and yelling at the top of his lungs was actually addressing him. He was the governor, after all, if he had been little more than a laugingstock up until this point.

"What is it?" he asked irritably. This had better be important, and not just another practical joke played by some of the local kids out to make like miserable for him. If it was, he swore that some of them would be dangling from a rope before the day was out.

"Big news!" came the news excitedly. "Enemy troops spotted on the roads to the south - Iroquois ones! And it looks like they've brought archers."

"What!?" Chagatai felt a tinge of fear run through his body. "Take me to see them, now!" The messenger did so at once, and within moments he was standing on the high ground in the center of the city, looking down over the flat expanse of the plains. Sure enough, a contingent of Iroquois archers were approaching the city; while they were not moving particularly fast, it was clear that they would reach Mandalgovi before sundown. The cloud of dust they kicked up seemed to symbolize the smoke of a burning town; not a good omen. Chagatai dispatched the boy to summon him the commander of the town's military forces at once, and settled down to decide what to do.

His first thought was to surrender the town in order to save his life. But that plan was sure to cost Chagatai his head if Temujin ever saw him again, and so would solve nothing. He could flee abroad and escape the reach of the khan... but something told him that the life of a man widely known for cowardice, one who betrayed his own father, would not be long no matter which foreign court he chose to flee to. That left only fighting it out for his very life; not an appealing process. The neigboring regions of Erdenet and Dalandzadgad were too far away to send help; by the time they reached Mandalgovi, they would only be able to get revenge for the slain. Again, not a desirable situation for someone in his shoes. Chagatai would just have to do what he could with what he had on hand here.

The local forces were not promising material. They consisted of untrained militia for the most part, young boys and old men wielding farm impliments and crude stone axes; their commander, an old man who had briefly seen action outside Hovd a generation earlier, turned out to have less military experience than Chagatai himself did. And he had only a matter of hours to try and organize these pathetic fools into a fighting force capable of stopping the Iroquois? It was a horrifying prospect, but with his very life on the line Chagatai threw himself into it wholeheartedly.

Any offensive action was immediately ruled out. With Mandalgovi situated on top of a high hill, their chances were just as good defending as they would be attacking. With this pitiful group, any attack was likely to disintegrate before they even reached the enemy lines. But defense... anyone could defend a region if they were well entrenched and prepared for action. Mandalgovi, of course, completely lacked man-made defenses of any kind, but under the direction of Chagatai a crude ditch and palisade was set up on the western edge of the city. It wouldn't stand up for more than a few moments, but even that could prove to be the difference. He directed others to gather up what wood was on hand to plant sharpened stakes in the ground at intervals to make things more difficult for the invaders, and for rocks to be gathered to throw back at the lightly armored archers. Any ammunition was better than nothing. He organized the motley defenders as best he could, putting them into three different squads and worked out a tentative battle plan. They would lure the attackers in close to the city and into the streets, where the locals could use their knowledge of the town to harray them from behind and attack them in flank, then vanish suddenly when needed. At some point in time, he would organize a charge to break the Iroquois lines. There was no time for anything more complex than that, and on such flimsy preparations did Chagatai settle in with the rest of the warriors for the battle.

They came on the embers of the setting sun, silloetted against its dying red form like some murderous apparitions out of out a nightmare. The Iroquois archers were not large in number either, probably about the same size as the defenders, but they were a trained military force and not some ragtag force cobbled together in a matter of hours. They navigated the obstacles the defenders had placed outside the town with minimal effort and quickly entered the streets. By all means, it should have been a slaughter; the townsmen were no match on paper for the Iroquois invaders. But the people of Mandalgovi were not fighting for pay or country or even some lofty ideal; they were fighting for their homes, their families, and their very lives, and it drove them with a passion and intensity which the aggressors simply did not possess. From house to house and street to street the fighting dragged on, the Mongols never staying to fight for more than a few minutes, always dashing away to reappear from the other direction a few moments later. Within a short period of time the city was engulfed in flames as the Iroquois sought to destroy the cover of their foes, but the night was windless and the fires failed to spread rapidly enough to make a difference. In such close quarters the Iroquois bows were useless and the fighting was reduced to hand to hand combat.

Twice Chagatai found himself in the thick of the fighting, as enemy columns suddenly enveloped his traveling command center; twice he took up his sword and fought for his life alongside his fellow Mongols. He discovered to his shock when the attacks were beaten off that the struggle was liberating - no, exhilarating in fact! Chagatai had never felt so alive as when he was at the head of these men, with them fighting and dying all around him. Let the strong survive and rule, the weak perish! Was this what his father felt all the time? For the first time in his life, Chagatai felt like a Mongol at heart.

When the sun dawned the next day, Mandalgovi was little more than a smouldering husk of its former self, most of its buildings charred stumps of their former selves. But the Iroquois had been beated off, and even more importantly most of the people had survived. Since Mandalgovi hadn't been much to look at before, the loss of the town's physical possessions was not a great burden, especially as aid began to pour in from the neigboring southern towns. Chagatai devoted himself to rebuilding the area and finding shelter for the homeless; he sketched out plans to create a new and far better city upon the wreckage of the old. It was when that work was almost done that he received word from Karakorum, in the form of a simple scroll bound with twine and sealed with Temujin's Fist imprinted in yellow wax - the khan's personal seal. The message it contained was brief:

Good job in the south. You may return home, all is forgiven. I have work for you to do.

Chagatai smiled and went to pack his bags. It seemed that he was back into the good graces of his family once again.

The situation in 50AD:

The World Symposium of 230AD
Written by Speaker

They gathered there at the World Symposium of 230AD, representatives of each of the 8 nations that made up the world. Mongolia found themselves hopelessly behind the rest of the world so instead of sending a flunky, like the rest of the countries, Temujin himself rode his trusty steed Morkund to Mecca. There he hoped to wheel and deal his way back to technological parity.

*****

The crowded room at Abu Bakar's palace in Mecca that served as the lobby of the World Symposium of 230AD was so crazy that Temujin was able to slip in completely unnoticed. As the leader of the world's smallest and most anonymous nation Temujin knew he would have to use utmost grace to get what he wanted. While the other representatives, less powerful than the great Khan both physically and politically were accompanied by extensive entourages, Temujin brought only his horse, his pen, and a sack full of gold coins. While the other representatives entered majestically, trying to show each other up at great expense, Temujin snuck in unnoticed and took up a position in the corner, where he could observe. There he sized up his competitors. The smug Iroquois who had promised to flatten Karakorum. How the world had been surprised at the outcome of that war. "Well there would be more wars to come," Temujin smiled as he rubbed his hands together. He saw this symposium as another form of war--a more subtle form. And Temujin took great pleasure in being the world's finest warrior. Nobody else knew it, but they soon would.

*****

"I will trade you 50 pieces of gold to be delivered at the start of each of the next twenty seasons in exchange for the secrets of of Chivalry," Temujin said softly as he sidled up to the Walking Dog, Iroquois man who had so abused him a few years prior. "I should kill you right here for what you said to me the last time we met, but I am willing to put that behind us."

"Little fool of a man, your word is as solid as water," the Iroquois said coldly. "The only way you'll learn any secrets from me is with cold gold. Oh, and I wouldn't waste my time asking anyone else either. They all know what happens when you trust Mongolia."

They stood there, eye to eye, neither will to look away first. Temujin's clear blue eyes burned with a fire that belied their shade. Finally, Temujin shook his head, spun on his heels, and walked away. He knew that his word was trustworthy. Breaking a promise was the gravest offense a Mongolian could commit, punishable by the cruelest of deaths. Temujin also knew that sometimes the world was broken and deals were broken because of reasons outside of his control. Perhaps that had happened here. Rather than dwell upon it, Temujin started to think about a way around it. Deep in thought, Temujin didn't even see the man, but he sure felt him.

*****

The Viking emissary stood a head taller than Temujin and nearly two heads taller than the diminuitive Roman man which he had backed against the wall. The two nations had been in the midst of a bloody war for many years, much of it taking place on Mongolian soil, and this Viking man was taking Rome's presence at the Symposium personally. His brain moving as fast as a Mongolian shepherd dog, Temujin figured it all out. Nearby the German emissary lurked menacingly. He hated the Roman man as well. In a split second he knew exactly how he was going to save Mongolia. He pushed the Viking man away from the smaller Roman man and in his loudest voice howled, "If you are itching for a fight little Viking man, you'll find one here. Leave this politician alone and face a real warrior."

With that, Temujin threw off his robe, revealing his fighting tunic and tight armor beneath. The men around him gasped. They had not clearly not recognized Temujin and they knew what happened when he was angered.

"Uh no Khan. There is no problem here," the Viking stammered. "Actually I was just going to get a drink. Would you care to join me?"

"Perhaps I'll join you," Temujin replied, eyes shifting back and forth. "And perhaps I won't. Why don't you leave and find out."

The Viking stomped away and a quick glance around by Temujin cleared the area of everyone but the Roman man who he still held by the tunic.

"My friend, I have a proposition for you...." Temujin said slyly.

*****

When it was all over, Temujin ran back to Morkund and gallopped back toward Karakorum, his sack full of scrolls. The world who wouldn't take Temujin's word was left shaking its collective head as he left the biggest winner of the Symposium. 1500 pieces of gold had been exchanged for the secrets of Invention, Chivalry, Theology, Education, Printing Press, and Monarchy and suddenly Mongolia was no longer the world's weakest link. Temujin's smile was extra broad as he road off into the sunset because with his new knowledge of Chivalry, Temujin had conceived of a fighting unit that would be unmatched for years to come. All he needed was a awe-inspiring name, but "Keshik" was the best he could think of. Oh well, Temujin thought. Perhaps the name wasn't important. Yes, he would let his Keshik's actions speak for them. The Iroquois would soon find out. Temujin long held grudges and he hated that Iroquois man more than any other being in the world. Temujin pictured his death and the fall of Salmanca as the sun sank below the horizon.

*****

Sorry it took an extra day to get this up, I was very busy yesterday. More to come tomorrow!

Keep it going, this is getting better!

I particuarly like how you are adding characters who dont appear in the actual game, but still are there all through the story.

"A Distraction"
Written by Sullla

A soft but steady rain continued to fall on the streets of Karakorum on this dark evening, grey clouds blocking out the ordinarily reassuring gleam of the moon and stars. The torches that normally illuminated the streets burned fitfully, struggling to shed their glow against the mist and the rain of this night. It was as dark as midnight, though the hour was not late, and a number of shadowed figures hurried through the roads of the city, huddled up under thick cloaks to keep out the water, eager to be done with their final business of the day so they could get home to family and a warm fire. There was nothing to distinguish one person from any of the others as he stomped through the muddy lanes, dodging between the stalls of market vendors and the occasional merchant's cart loaded down with goods; nothing to suggest that this man was any different from a hundreds others walking through the streets on that miserable night. It was a demeanor that this man carefully cultivated - for staying out of sight and avoiding notice by blending into the mass of ordinary people that choked this city was what he did best. As he passed by the sputtering light of a pitch torch, the figure raised his head for a moment to gather his bearings, revealing a face that few would recognize. A face unknown outside the very highest councils of the Mongol government. The face of Jochi, second son of Ghengis Khan Temujin.

Unlike his brothers, widely publicized to the Mongolian people and the rest of the world at large, Jochi was almost a total unknown to all but the most senior and trusted members of Temujin's government. It had not always been so; in the past, he had sat in the highest councils and been seen as a quiet and reserved supporter of the khan's actions. Change had come of Jochi's own initiative; he had approached Temujin privately and asked to disappear totally from public life. For Jochi knew that he was no commander of soldiers like his older brother Ogodei, or a master diplomat like his younger counterpart Chagatai; his particular talents lay in staying hidden and out of sight where he could do his best work. And so Jochi had simply fallen off the face of the earth as far as the public was concerned, with no explanation given as to what had happened to him. Most foreign observers simply assumed that Temujin had had him killed out of hand, which fit with their view of how the unpredictable khan's mind operated. What they didn't know was that Temujin never disposed of a tool that still had potential value; far from being dead, Jochi had disappeared from sight in order to serve a far greater purpose as the khan's highest and most respected spymaster.

It was all so ingenious, Jochi reflected to himself as he traversed the dark pathways of the Mongol capital. With no one suspecting who he was or his connection to the khan, he was free to go out among the people and determine their mood from a highly critical perspective. His information had warded off potential revolts innumerable times through the preemptive arrest of troublemakers or extra pay being given out to disaffected soldiers. And it was not just domestic disturbances that Jochi handled; he was frequently abroad passing incognito in foreign cities trying to probe for weaknesses where Mongolia could strike. He was the one who had spotted the inherent flaws in the Iroquois military which had enabled the last successful war, the decentralized command structure used by Hiawatha which made orders from the high command slow in reaching the military forces in the provinces. Striking with surgical precision, the Mongols had snipped out a number of outlying Iroquois cities before their forces had been given sufficient warning and concluded a highly favorable peace treaty before the bulk of the Iroquois military could be brought into the fight. Returning now from his long journey to the south, Jochi was bringing back news to Temujin on how the same principles could be applied again to good use.

Of course, no one could traverse the winding and twisted paths of espionage without being sorely tempted at times to use the information gathered for personal gain. Jochi knew full well how dependent on his advice Temujin was, and relished the small power that it gave him over the almighty khan. Certain words whispered in the right ears at the right time could bring about anger, mutiny, or rebellion. Mongolia was a place where only the strong survived, and while Temujin was in full control of the situation at the moment, that might not always be the case. Should the khan falter and fail... well, suffice to say, Jochi was ready to exploit the situation to its fullest. No matter what happened, he always saw a way to profit from the latest distraction, whether the khan met with success or failure.

Jochi's weathered face cracked a thin smile as he entered the palace unobtrusively, the closest it ever got to a grin.

He made his way through the massive halls of stone, considerably enlargened since the ancient early days of the state, and up towards Temujin's private study. He was stopped numerous times by guards wondering who the bold visitor was; each time, Jochi produced a letter from the khan bearing his personal seal and was admitted without question. Part of the reason why Jochi spent so little time at the palace was to keep the tongues of servants and guards from flapping over his identity, but tonight's information was important enough to override such concerns. Finding the chamber he wanted in the same place it had been the last time he had visited, Jochi was admitted past the guards and went inside.

Temujin sat behind his massive desk reading a report from a stack of papers. He was wearing a thin pair of spectacles to help him read in the faint candlelight - something the khan would NEVER let the public see and which would certainly be covered up at all costs. Another fact that Jochi filed away in his head for future use should the need arise. At the sound of the door opening, Temujin glanced up to stare at his visitor, removing his eyewear automatically as though it had become second nature. Jochi came to stand in front of the desk before his sire; there was no chair, of course, not that there ever had been one in Temujin's study for visitors.

"Well?" prompted the khan unceremoniously. Neither man was the sort to waste time with greetings or other plesantries, so despite the fact that Jochi had been out of the country for the last year and a half the audience began immediately.

"You were right. The strike should go forward as planned," answered Jochi in his dry, gravelly voice. "Masura is almost completely undefended, or it was just a matter of weeks ago, and it won't be able to offer more than token resistance for our forces."

"Good, good..." said Temujin, his face lightening into a faint smile. He was the one who had seen the potential for a lightning military strike and sent Jochi to investigate it, although most of his highest aides had considered it out of the question when broaching the subject. Temujin's expression became serious again. "But tell me, what of the western border? Are we strong enough to fight off a counterattack from that direction? Explain to me how the Romans will fit into the whole equasion."

"The Romans? The presence of the Romans is a godsend," laughed Jochi lightly. "The legions are so busy fighting with the Arabs that it's unlikely we'll see any kind of action at all in the west. They'll keep the heat off of us better than a wall of fortresses from sea to sea. But just to be prudent," he went on, "you'll want to have some forces in the area to deal with trouble should it rear its head. You have been moving forces discreetly into the area from the east, haven't you?" Jochi raised an eyebrow at the other man.

"Naturally," Temujin grumbled back. "What do you think I am, a fool? For all your talents you forget yourself sometimes Jochi. Never forget that you are nothing without me, do you understand?" The khan was staring Jochi right in the eye, fixating him with that gaze that no one could meet successfully. "Never presume to tell me what to do. I repect your opinion and enjoy your advice, but you must know your place. Do you hear me?"

Temujin waited for Jochi's nod of assent before continuing. I'll follow your every word for now, Father, thought the younger man. That is, until you make a fatal mistake and give me the opportunity I need.

The khan was speaking again: "Now you've spent the last few months poking around the areas involved, tell me who you think should have the command in this operation."

Jochi had expected a question along these lines and was already prepared with his answer. "You should give Ogodei the command in the south, and let Magdalai handle things in the west," was his brief response.

Temujin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Magdalai? He's an impressive soldier, but full command in the west? Explain your reasoning."

Knowing he would be asked this as well, Jochi was ready to do so. "The campaign in the south will be short and brutal, nothing more than plowing over a lightly defended settlement with superior forces. It's exactly the sort of engagement which suits Ogodei's bullish style of military command. Put him in front of an army and the man's an impressive general, but he has no sophistication whatsoever. Ogodei can't see anything beyond the next cavalry charge, and how much military glory it will bring."

"Go on," prompted Temujin when Jochi stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. He had essentially the same view of his first son, but wanted to see the rest of Jochi's reasoning.

"We both know that things in the west will be more complicated," began Jochi. "We'll be dealing with an army considerably larger than our own and within easy striking distance of some of our most populated and important cities. The general out there will have to conserve our forces and do nothing more than defend the border. Furthermore, he will have to work with the Romans and aid them as much as possible while maintaining the fiction of neutrality in the Roman/Arab conflict. Magdalai is intelligent enough to carry out that sort of duty; Ogodei would simply grab all available forces and charge for the nearest enemy city."

Temujin chuckled to himself; that was Ogodei, alright. Jochi continued: "The west is where the measure of this war will be determined, whether it will be short and successful or turn into a disastrous protracted affair. But there will be no glory in the west, so the command must be given to someone who will be satisfied with simply getting the position and not feel the need to make a name for themselves. From what I have heard, Magdalai is ambitious enough to want the job and has been a soldier long enough to avoid seeking out unwanted conflict. Now think about Ogodei," he went on, "who'll have essentially a ceremonial role in the whole thing. An easy military victory for him, which you can then celebrate to the common people and keep them happy. It will showcase the invincibility of the Mongol ruling family to the world, and provide a distraction for the people from their miserable lives."

"Hmm... what you say makes good sense," said Temujin slowly. He was starting to get a vision of what this could be; a short and victorious war could serve as a wonderful distraction to keep his country happy. For the people didn't care if their standard of living was lower than the rest of the world, if their rights were being taken away more and more to fuel even greater power for the khan, if the burden of taxation was growing greater with every year - no, in the end they were more interested in the military triumphs and great parades of captured foes that Temujin celebrated with every successful war. Yes, he could fete the victors in such a war to the skies, make a huge deal out of his new keshik warriors; possibly even make it seem as though the victory initiated a new "golden age" for Mongolia. And perception was so close to reality, if the people BELIEVED that it was a golden era for his nation, then perhaps it would be. Indeed, this war could be just the distraction he needed.

Of course, Temujin knew, there was the danger (nay, near certainty) that Jochi was maneuvering him for his own gain. What that could possibly be the khan didn't know, but he could suspect at what the other man wanted. After all, who had more power than he did? "Good work Jochi, you're free to go wherever it pleases you for the next few weeks. I'll contact you when I next need your services again." Jochi bowed, and prepared to head out. Before he did, however, Temujin offered him one final piece of advice. "Keep this in mind as you go, boy: don't try whatever it is you're planning." The only sign that Jochi gave away was a slight tick of his eye, but Temujin noticed it all the same. "The day you try to turn on me is the day you die, regardless of who's son you might be. Don't do anything stupid and I'll make sure your 'disappearance' isn't permanent, got it? Now get lost, I have work to do."

Outwardly Jochi gave no sign that the words had had any effect at all on him. Inside his head, however, was a maelstrom of raging emotions. He had known! Somehow he knew that Jochi was secretly plotting against him. It didn't make any difference at the moment; he would just have to continue serving Temujin as he had done for years and years. But someday it will be different, Jochi snarled inwardly, Sooner or later you will leave yourself exposed, old man, and when that time comes I will make sure than nothing distracts me from taking your place.

He stepped out of the palace into the pounding rain, one more unremarkable face among hundreds of thousands.

Some more pics from the game. First, Ogodei leads the assault on Mansura:



And then the state of the world in 450AD:



More to come in the next few days, so stay tuned.

Written by Speaker

They lined the streets of their great city of Karakorum, easily a hundred thousand strong. The Mongolian people were a very nationalistic race and any occasion to celebrate their fine army was welcome. Citizens from as far as Baruun-Urt piled onto wagons and horses and trekked to the capital to welcome their victorious soldiers back home. There they lined the street in front of Temujin's glorious palace, patiently waiting for the cloud of dust that signified the arrival of their troops. That was three days ago, when the army was supposed to arrive back home. But intelligence was trustworthy, and the people were patient, so still they waited. And while they waited, they partied. The Mongolians were truly a festive people. They sang beautiful songs in unison, thousands of voices melding into one. The intensity of their singing and dancing rocked the windows of nearby shops, and caused the ground to shake. Underneath it all, tension was slowly building.

****

Unseen at the small north tower window, Temujin stood with chagatai and watched the party below.

"What news of the army, Chagatai?" Temujin asked.

"They will be here within the hour, father," Chagatai replied smugly, knowing that he could call the khan "father" in private, and knowing how it erked the usually resolute Temujin. "Reports from the field show the Arabs routed, the cities of Anjar, Yamama, and Bukhara razed, and...."

"You are pressing your luck, son" Temujin curtly replied, cutting off his son."

"Sorry, father," Chagatai said, letting the word hang in the air, challenging Temujin, who looked at him coldly, raising his hand. Inwardly, Chagatai flinched, though the only outward sign of his fear was a slight fluttering of his eyelids. While a lesser man never would have noticed, Temujin saw all. A smile cracked across his softening face, a look very few men had ever seen. He reached past Chagatai, grabbing his son by the shoulders, and embraced him.

"It's good to have you back son," Temujin whispered.

"It's good to be back, father," Chagatai whispered.

*****

16 year old Mordecai had always been an outcast. Growing up in the same village as the great military Ghan, Magdalai did not help matters. He was always getting into trouble, always fighting, fending off (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) older and bigger boys who liked to pick on him. He would come home with bruises on his face and his parents would sigh. "Why can't you be more like Magdalai?" they would implore? Little did they know how alike the two really were. Mordecai had been kicked out of the house two weeks earlier and had hitched a ride in a caravan to Karakorum. He would seek out Magdalai and learn from him how to make it in the world. Mordecai knew it was a far-fetched dream and yet for some reason, he knew it was what he had to do. He looked down the road with his unusually keen eyes and faintly saw a dust cloud starting to appear. Without thinking, he yelled out, "The army is coming!" drawing great cheers out of those around him.

The crowd strained their eyes looking into the glaring sun, trying to see any evidence of the approaching army, but their eyes were far less keen than Mordecai, who had exceptional eyesight. They turned on the smallish boy, enraged by what they perceived to be a cheap trick. His beating was savage as the crowd became a mob, who having been forced to wait, took out their impatience on the poor Mordecai. When the army finally appeared for them, Mordecai was left bleeding from half a dozen wounds, sprawled unconscious in the gutter, as the crowd cheered on their soldiers with a renewed vigor. Mordecai was forgotten in an instant, as was his luck universally. Only one soldier even so much as noticed the bloody boy. Magdalai dismounted his great horse, wrapped the poor boy in his cloak, and left his soldiers to enjoy the rest of the parade. He made a quick ride to the small tent he called home whenever he was back in Karakorum and cleaned the boy's wounds. He was about to take the still-unconscious child back to where he had found him, when he noticed the lines of pain that he knew all too well. He laid the boy down near his fire, covering him with his cloak. He would wait for the boy to wake up. His intuition told him that this boy held great importance. Magdalai did not know what was so important about the boy, and he was sure the boy wouldn't know either, but he knew that time would reveal all.

Here's the world in 650AD:



I hope that this story is entertaining; next chapter to come soon!