Lysrella, the Lyscovian Sultanate
The man on the wall stared across the distance, all that he surveyed he commanded, for he was Sultan, the Emperor, the King of Men. These titles he counted in his head, and then quickly discarded them; it would not do for the Sultan to rest upon his accomplishments and the accomplishments of his forefathers, there was work to be done.
Yes, indeed, work. Those barbarian tribals which terrorized the outer reaches of the realm, and the neighboring societies which fell every-so-often under the barbarians' grasp. The sacking of cities and the plundering of their wealth was every few years a cool reminder to the Lyscovian people that their vigilance and endurance was the only thing that maintained them in the midst of a cruel and fundamentally-uncaring world.
For some, the Sultan reflected, this was invitation to turn to religion, to bury themselves in arcane rituals and chants, to in essence dismiss their reality and submerse themselves in another, or at least this was the interpretation the Sultan maintained. He had no use for gods or goddesses or chants or rituals, for he was a man of action, and in these times action came in the form of a hand upon the spear. Turning back, the Sultan made his way into his chambers.
He would soon gather his advisers, those he called confidantes and perhaps even friends as far as one could trust another in the business of the rule of the Sultanate, and he would settle about how to make all those things that he knew lay beyond the bounds of his realm his. All that he surveyed was his, and soon he would survey more. The world, despite is cruelty and its coldness and its apathy towards the struggles of men, would be his in time. And if not his, then his son's, and if not his son's, then his son's son. He would not allow himself to contemplate that so much just yet, no, it was time for action, that much he knew. He did call his advisers, and they held counsel, and they sent out the call to the men of the city.
Despite the civilization they were afforded by their relative wealth and power, the Lyscovians remained at heart a martial people, prepared to bring battle to the enemy when necessary, and at all times ready to serve the Sultan. It was now time to serve. A great many heralds went out into the streets, and brought for the Sultan a great many men to serve in the Sultan's armies, to bring order to the cold and uncaring world.
Not only order, but Lyscovian order. None of the trifling of the city-states and their supposedly-separate identities, and certainly not the trifling affairs of foreigners. No, law and order would come under the Lyscovian flag, and in the Lyscovian language such as it was in these times. Spear and sword and the vestments of war, these things were prepared for the men of the city, and the men of the cities that formed the Sultanate, for the time had come yet again to serve.
It is important to note that religion was in these times not in a state of unity, and indeed it differed greatly from household to household, but it was that the men of Lysrella not only were equipped in the traditional Lyscovian vestments of war, but with the charms and talismans of their various deities.
The Sultan inspected the men his heralds had brought forth, and they pleased him. Like men of the Sultanate ought to be, they were strong, hearty and hale and ready for battle, and though they lacked the bloodthirsty ferocity of the barbarians who dared to threaten the Sultanate's outer reaches, they were armed with the confidence of mind and heart and the cold and calculating perception of civilized men; they would not fight blindly, but they would still fight well.
And so the army went out under the command of the Sultan's generals, and met at the gates of the other cities, and under the command of the generals the Sultan's other heralds went out into the other cities, who did raise their men of fighting age and caliber, who were as a boon to the growing army. In their hearts they held a great reverence for battle, and an honor for the Sultan and his command, and the army was strong and in great spirits.
The generals of the Sultan were equally pleased with the force, and soon they would ready themselves to march with the army out of the bounds of the realm and into the wastes, to bring order to the cold and uncaring world.
And the Sultan would soon send forth his emissaries, and appeal to those who would have word with him, to join in his dare towards the disorder and chaos, to bring order to a land otherwise wasted and orderless. And when word reached the Sultan of the readiness of his army, he was pleased, and again made his way to the walls of Lysrella to inspect the land that he could see from that vantage point.
And he looked out across the fields, the farms, the rivers, the great many things that one could see even from Lysrella's walls, and he was pleased, for he knew a great many things he could not yet see he would see soon. The Sultan was pleased, and rightly so, for he was bringing order.
Order from chaos, and if order must come from chaos, then so be it, for war was chaos. Order from chaos, peace from war, these things are unfortunate realities of the world, and the Sultan felt no need to hide them beneath charms and rituals and chants. The Sultan was a strong man, and he had no qualms or quibbles with the world.
He had no need for them. The world would soon be his.