EltNESIII: Some Assembly Required

Story time:

The First of the Colonies

...

The war with Porters was already fading into the past, but having being a very long and drawn out conflict, it would forever become a big fixture in Tanresian History. After all, it had been a time of great patriotism, which had held the country tightly together, and victory against Porters had done celebrations on the streets. Assimilation of Porters into Tanresios had been somewhat difficult, but, despite war having been done against them, the Porterian people would not be victimised for it. Sure that some ribbing would be part of everything, but Tanresian hospitality would always win against that, and with time Porters, converted into the region of Porteria, became a core part of Tanresios.

It was after the war that Tanresios started to expand. As Tanresios expanded, its navy started to gain a greater role in the nation, because it was the ships that kept all the different lands that formed part of the nation together, and were always travelling in order to bring messages and people around. For example, Barcino, due to its being completely surrounded by Bascland territory in its initial times, would be somewhat dependant on trade coming from the Sisters archipelago (OOC: Balearic Islands) for many years...

History of the Tanresian Army, Early Years

... While the army had been fundamental to the survival of Tanresios in the wake of the Porter War, it dwindled in importance with the entry into the First Colonial Era. Since the only nations that were bordering Tanresios were friendly Barbers and the Bascland Union, the need for an army was smaller, and most land military efforts were circunscribed to the expansion of Tanresios' southern border in Africa.

However, despite of this, the Tanresian government knew that the time would come when the army needed to be rebuilt, and not only that, but to become far more powerful than the then omnipresent system of Warbands, and thus the Tercios were born...
 
My apologies entirely SKILORD- it has been corrected, 7/12. I would've noticed come update time, as it is a fairly major thing.
 
The map has been re-hosted and posted, so it's not so small. Diplomacy has also been edited in. A religious map will be made this turn, so be aware of that if you decide you want to try to expand your religion more than not this turn.
 
So how much would a colony cost to create?
 
Well aren't you a barrel of sunshine.
So many all at once, with no expanding experience, and without support from any soldiers? Money. Any more investment will get you something, but the creating a nation from scratch thing is gonna cost you, if it's possible at all.
 
#edit: Fine.

Again, How much will it cost to establish a settlement.. 1EP, 5EP what?
 
1 EP more towards the development of a "settlement"(IE City, which would cost 10 EP) would also just grab you a little bit of land. Or for non-monetary investment sent priests, explorers, colonizers, settlers, soldiers, rafts, etc.

My apologies, re-reading your orders, you did do a bit. You'll get increased success this next turn.
 
I am anxious to get started on the update to make up for the crappy previous one. Get orders in, so I can do iit! If you guys don't, I'll just wait, of course.
 
All the people of Zarani watched as the two strongest men of Kettick: Mayor of Zarani and the High Theocrat, approach the gate from opposite ends. The robes of the High Theocrat flowed around his smooth steps, while the Leader of Zarani marched over with an easy, soldier's pace. The gate shuddered as the the river of Gundi flowed past it. The gate itself is large, and split into many sections. Jarban watched from a nearby tree. He knew that the gate leads to a large ditch, like the tens, or maybe hundreds, that scattered throughout Kettick. He also knew this, the biggest one of all, will somehow help the Biggest city of all.

The engineer of the project hailed them as they walked to the center of the gate. They shoke hands while he explained the opening ceremony. Jarban watched as the mayor gave a speech to the adults on the bank while the Priest began a prayer. Time passed and neither of them look like they are about to stop. Jarban looked at the ditches and noticed that only farmland withing reach of a bucket from the Gundi was planted. He still didn't understand the ditches... the water will flood it anyway.

As the high theocrat and the Mayor grasp the lever together, Jarban realized how it works: the water will flood yes... but that water will bring more land to farm. That is what the ditches are for!

With a prayer and a shout, the central gate was opened. The holy waters of the Gundi river flowed into ditches as the crowd began to cheer. The water was slow after the torrent passed, much safer than the river. Jarban, like many other boys, jumped into the clear waters as the men looked on. It was a historic day.

The day ended with a feast, a sacrafice, and a ceremony that will be recorded for generations to come.
 
Thunder in the air, the dirt smells wet, though it has not turned to mud.

Not yet.

The Warlord sits on a chair. Not Himclair, never Himclair. His axe leans against his chair.

Mercy is for the weak.

They had marched again in the direction his predecessor had determined, Stoney.

“Arturo set our course, but he also gave me advice,” the Warlord tells Bousmuyk, his own top General, someone promising he had selected from the armies, trained in the arts of war and tactics. When the Warlord was dead of course he would have no say in the next leader, but as his predecessors had done he took special care to provide a clear heir, well versed in the lore of the Warlords, in their strategies and their concepts of duty and honor, the contempt for mercy.

“Arturo?” Bousmuyk asks.

The Warlord is shocked suddenly, had he spoken the name? It was a mistake, “My predecessor,” he corrects himself, “The former Warlord.”

Bousmuyk looks confused his eyes dart around the tent in confusion, they are a far way from Granae, where the former Warlord’s children raise bears and beat them into subservience, he knows them well, they had never spoken the name, “I think I understand.”

“Good,” The Warlord says.

“In death… a Warlord of the Wovvolk has a name.”

The Warlord looks stunned, that’s not what he meant at all, he tries to correct the other man, but he cannot stop Busmuyk from chanting, “His name was Warlord Arturo. His name was Warlord Arturo.”

“In any event,” The Warlord says, “he spoke to me of his trip to the Norselands, he said they still spoke of us with fear, that they would rather die than cooperate with Wovvolken.”

“Then many of them shall,” Busmuyk replies.

“Of course, but we do not desire the same reception from the Stoney. We must be seen as real conquerors, the heralds of a new era. Not the fearsome tribe of yesterday fighting over scraps, the former Warlord was right, there is more to be had than simply loot.”

“What do you mean?” his General asks him.

The Warlord smiles, and says simply, “Empire.”
 
Two orders received already, and I know more are being written as I speak.
 
The Mayor of Zanari glowered at the High Theocrat. They had just left the dinning hall and entered the study, but the joyfulness of the celebration was cut cold like a snapped neck as soon as the door of the study closed. "What do you want, Theocrat?"

"I want your complacency," whispered the head of the church, "You will help us hunt the heretics."

"I will not fight against my people!" cried the Mayor. He smashed his hand, onto the table. "And with none of my Warbands helping, you can do nothing!"

"But your warbands will help me, and I will capture the heretics. They are of the uptmost importance." the most powerful man in the empire smiled, but his eyes stayed black, "YOU will help me."

"Your kind has no authority here! You should have stayed in your temples and your monastries where you belong! Begone from my study!" Cried the mayor, standing up. He, too, was the most powerful man in the empire. silhouetted against the fireplace, the two figures glowered at each other.

"My dear mayor, the Paladins of God have authority everywhere." The Theocrat smiled as a figure stepped foward and placed a knife at the neck of the mayor. "And you will do well to learn this lesson for your sucessor."

"My own authority will be kept by my men!" whispered the mayor, and another figure detached from the shadows and placed his dagged upon the Theocrat, "The Militia of Zanari will stand against this madness!"

They did not know how long they stood there, the curved dagger of the Paladin shining against his dark armour, the leather of the militiamen growing damp with sweat.

Finally, the Theocrat said, "Very well, I have my own forces to deal with them now, but we will remember this." He proffered a hand.

"Remebered indeed" said the mayor, smiling now as he shook it. Both guards lifted their blades.


So begins the Charter of the Paladin of God, and the endless vigilance of the Zanari Militia.
 
@Elt, I'm going to try to send in my orders tomorrow as well as a story either tonight or before/after I send orders. I've spent most of the day in various airports, and I've been pretty uniformly exhausted. Sorry :sad:
 
:mad:
 
The First Empress
In the latter years of the reign of Sultan Salihm the Cruel, the warlord himself was given to have a son from his favored consort. Despite all hopes and appearances to the contrary, this son was invalid in birth, and grew into adolescence and manhood with a limp and a stutter, which left him both in the eyes of his peers and in his own spirit, unfit for rule.

Thus would come about the several years of ignominy of the rule of Maruk the Unable. Throughout this time, a great contention would sweep through the Sultanate, as the city-states felt no compulsion towards the allegiance of the clearly-incapable and ill-advised Sultan, and the Sultan's family itself conspired against him.

Let us not paint Maruk, however, as being guiltless in these matters. His rule was inept and ruinous, and while it is easy to pity the man, he was his father's son. His revenge was as ruthless as it was often unnecessary and vindictive. He rightly made many enemies among his people, some of whom who would otherwise have been friends.

In these matters, a plot was born to oust the Imperial Sultan, in favor of the Sultan of Dorshaul. However, the House of Lysrella and the citizens of that state would never allow a member of the House of Dorshaul to sit upon the throne of the Imperial Sultan, and against all tradition the House of Lysrella plotted for the Sultan's cousin, Dyrellia to take the throne. Opportunity would meet conspiracy when the already-hobbled and disliked Sultan fell victim to a great illness which bedded him for many days.

Doubtless there would be attempts to poison him, and the Sultan was not unwise to this. He permitted none other than his own personal medicine-men to care for him, and theirs was an allegiance paid for in blood. There was no chance of bribing these men, and so the conspirators of both parties sought other methods through which to red themselves of the Sultan. Ultimately both would dispatch an assassin loyal to them to attempt to end the Sultan's life.

The assassins met each other upon their journey, and had little choice other than to fight against each other upon the orders of their House. The House of Lysrella emerged victorious, and Maruk the Unable died of a sword in his heart. Events would unfold quickly from that point, and a short but bloody civil war was fought between Lysrella and Dorshaul. The First Empress, Dyrellia of Lysrella would then come to the throne.

In its inception, hers was a reign plagued by troubles. Like her predecessor, she was deemed by many around her to be unfit to rule. Her reign was doubted by tradition, as well as by circumstance, and despite the support of her own House (not afforded to her predecessor) she had many enemies. The wisdom of her rule, however, would come to be shown to those around her.

Empress Dyrellia would be a friend to the seafarer, and she sought to aid in the welfare of the seaborne merchants of her land, which were in many matters neglected in favor of those borne by ground to their destinations. She would seek to give due recognition to the highway system begun by her predecessor by a century or more, and in the face of intrigues her reign would hold fast.

Though it set no precedent for a line of female rule, the reign of the First Empress would however help to bring an end to the belief that no woman could ever sit upon the throne of the Imperial Sultan, ruler of all the city-states, and imperator of the Lyscovians.

It was, all things considered, a far sight preferable to the reign of whatever might have been spawned from the loins of her immediate forebear.
 
Abaddon, Lord of Elves is missing a raft, not you. You can't assign one of your rafts to his trade route unless you gift it to him. Do you want to give him one of your spare rafts?

2: For the bloody record, if one of your trading vessels had rebelled, another one of your spare unassigned vessels would pick up the slack. Your army is what rebelled, anyway.
 
I am so confused. If we both contribute a raft to the creation of the trade route, and then upgrade our vessels separately.. why when his vessel goes missing, do i suffer as well as him?

By all means, gift him a raft.. though I am a bit lost why my own raft can't continue and make money for just me, not him?
 
<FreemanUCG>
<Druidia>
Government: Druidic Theocracy
Economy: 3/0
Upkeep: 0
Techs: Early Iron working.

Army:
Navy:
UUs:

Projects:
Trade:
Other: Scottland

Wind whipped his hair into his face, he stood on the ledge looking down on the dancing masses. They gathered for the festival at the ending of the year, or the beginning. How many druids had looked down on these masses before and raised his staff as he did now? Deep in the Highlands the Druidic people lived, ruled by an elite group of priests who according to tradition ‘commune with nature’ and they had kept peace for thousands of years. But now the people of Druidia have grown restless no longer content to live unknown in the northern highlands, they covet the mines and vast growing lands in the south. Their elite warriors, Berserkers Fierce warriors who sometimes fight naked seem to feel no pain they attack heedless of harm and seem to melt into the woods when perused.
 
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