End of Empires - N3S III

@Thlayli, that deal from before? If it is still on the table, we accept it.
 
Sorry NK. I have failed you! :cry:

Would you prefer me to send what I have now, or finish it? I've been working on them ALL MORNING. And all last night too.
 
If you can get them in by, say, 4 today, then I'd prefer complete orders. I'll start with the west, since everyone there got their orders in on time. :)


(That said, usual late-order penalties are in full effect.)
 
@North_King, I must beg mercy and all that jazz that getting in my orders by 4PM EST would be highly impractical. Will you still accept them late in the evening? If I am going to send orders which will be subject to late penalties I'd prefer they be the best orders possible, rather than rushed ones. :(
 
Less excuses, more bribes. :p

As usual, I fit late ones in if I can; if I've already written the section or am halfway through writing it, I don't modify it to accommodate new orders. I'm not intentionally being vague here; I just don't know when I'll write certain things. That said, the east needs a lot more orders anyway.
 
@ NK

Expect some BIATCHING ORDERS very very soon. I've been working at them from 8-11 last night, and from 8-2 today. That's 9 hours. HELL YEAH. Arrow Gamer, you're screwed! *insert generic trash talk*
 
North King said:
Less excuses, more bribes. :p

As usual, I fit late ones in if I can; if I've already written the section or am halfway through writing it, I don't modify it to accommodate new orders. I'm not intentionally being vague here; I just don't know when I'll write certain things. That said, the east needs a lot more orders anyway.
Click to expand...

I am now like a quarter of the way through orders, but there is no way they'll be finished until like the early hours of the morning Sunday. I pray to space Jesus that you'll accept them then. :crazyeye:
 
First ever multiple ever PM ever orderset ever in my entire NESing ever career ever sent after 9 hours of labor! PARTHE VICTOR!
 
Curaamir and his squire were both riding their horses over the land surrounding the village Kraoki. There wasn't a single cloud in the deep blue afternoon sky. But the ground looked like a canvas which had been smothered with a thick layer of burgundy. Aside from the flies, vultures, and hardy weed here and there, life seemed to be largely absent from Kraoki.

As their horses were trotting slowly Curramir said to his squire, "I remember this place before the war."
"What was it like?"
"I remember seeing fields of grain, sunflowers, and cotton wistfully dancing in the wind. I remember the sound of birds of chirping, children laughing, and dogs barking. I remember how the sweet scent of delicious food was being made there. I remember feeling a sense of tranquility from just being in this village. Like I felt as if everything is at peace. But I guess this proved that the tranquility was just an illusion."

The squire looked at Curramir unsure what to say. Then things became silent. Until, a moaning noise was noticed nearby. Curramir and his squire directed their horses over to where the noise was coming from. Then they came across a man, who had a large gash on his right arm and was obviously in poor health. He said, "help... me... please..."

The squire and Curramir dismounted their horses and walked over to the guy. But they suddenly stopped when the squire whispered into Curramir's ear, "look at his emblem, not only is he Leuan, but he's also a captain. Do you think we should kill him?"

After a moment of thought Curramir looked at the squire and said, "go for it." But as he started to walk away he looked at the guy and suddenly had a change of heart. Curramir told the squire, "halt! I've changed my mind." The squire walked back to Curramir and asked him quietly, "Why did you suddenly change your mind?"
Curramir said, "my intuition has given me a better idea. Let's help heal him instead."
"What why?"
"No time to argue! Now help out the wounded guy."

The squire walked up to the guy who was know unconscious and ripped off a sleeve on his clothing. He then used the torn off sleeve as a turnacat. Then Curramir walked up to the guy and picked him up. He then placed the wounded captain on his horse and the three of them rode off into the closest Rihnit Camp.

The next morning the wounded captain found himself laying on a hammock under a tree. He noticed that everybody around him were member of the Rihnit Millitary and he became spooked. But Curramir told him reassuringly, "we haven't brought you here to hurt you. In fact, you would have died if it wasn't for us. Also what's your name?"

The wounded general said, "Kraji, my name's Kraji." He then asked, "where am I anyways and what happened to my men?"

"You're in a Rihnit Military Camp. I have no idea about where your soldiers went off to."
He paused before asking, "on that note, how did you suddenly lose all of your regiment? I mean you are a captain after all right?"

"I don't know, I just remembered going into a house where a group of two or three people attacked me without warning. I was taken completely off guard and didn't have time to defend myself effectively. I fell to the ground and heard footsteps moving further and further away from me."

A sudden expression of realization appeared on Curramir's face as he said, "Kraji, I think you've been double crossed."

Kraji got defensive and yelled, "that's a lie!"

"Oh really? Then why did a group of people suddenly decide to attack you or how you heard the sound of footsteps moving away from you? I mean there must have been somebody who had something against you."

After a moment of contemplation, Kraji's face showed an expression of true horror as he shouted, "my god! I think you're right!" He then went on to say, "I led Leuan Forces in battles and was always victorious. I know there are other captains who were jealous of my performance. But to think of how my own countrymen would just abandon me like that is heart-breaking. I devoted my entire life to the well-being of the Leuan Republic and this is what they gave me in return."

Curramir patted Kraji's back when he began breaking out into tears. Kraji caught his breath and said with disappointment, "well it looks like I've been disowned by the Leuan Republic." Then he got a look of rage on his face and said, "you know what? Fine! If that's how they treated me then never deserved my services to begin with."

"Well you could always join us Kraji," said Curramir.

Kraji said, "considering that you helped me recover and saved my life, it would be rude for me to turn down such an offer. I accept!"

"So with a further ado, your part of the Rihnit Forces. Not only that, we're all going to call you Bralukuro. Which in Rihnit means passionate avenger."

Then a roar of applause occurred as Bralukuro became enlisted in the Rihnit Military.
 
Martial Techniques: Of the Parthecans
19th Edition
By Jarceunci Matzu​


An Overview of the Modern Parthecan Army

As you have read, the military institutions of Parthe lay dormant throughout Parthecan history. Even Harca’s Army under the walls of Gade composed mostly of recruits trained by barbarian veterans. When faced by the disciplined armies of the west, they turned towards their more savage tactics and barely won. The lessons Harca learned stayed with him as he planned Zarpe, the greatest of the Partheca’s permanent military fortress-towns. Behind Zarpe’s walls, the first true generation of soldiers trained in warfare. However, the army cannot be truly said to be homogenized. Many new ideas appear on private intive and often private funding by various nobles and officers. Others ideas are imported from Galataca, Saviryi, Padharah, Atahcen and other Farlanders.

Organization

The basic Parthecan unit of command is the “Blade” of five soldiers and a servant. The “Point man” is a commander, and the servant is beholden to him. The servant handles the pack animals, provides meals and healing, and in cases of heavy casualties, picks up the weapons and armor of the fallen. All servants are, of course, given the Harca’s Hatchet for self defense. (see next)

Five “Blades” form a “Hand” or “Troop” of 25-32 men. The “Point man” of the “Thumb” of the “Hand” is named the “Prime Point” and it is his digression on the organize the troop as a whole as well organizing the servants. Additionally, the Prime Point is attended by up to two additional men, which may be servants or warriors as his digression. In times past, these “Hands” are the largest subdivisions of prekingdom armies.

Four “Hands” form a “Beast” or “Company” of 110-136 men. The commander of the “Beast” is the Headman, who is attended by two “Blades” directly under his command. Often, the Headman joins the First “Hand” under his direct command, with the First “Prime Point” as his right hand man.

Four “Beasts” form a “Herd” or “Battalion” of 490-608 men. The commander of a “Herd” is the Captain, who is attended by two “Hands”, often nicknamed “The Horns”. This formation is notable because the Royal Guard is traditionally divided into two “Herds”. One to defend the Capital and the King, and one to defend the King’s children and thus more scattered.

Groups of more than two “Herds” are deemed “Assemblies” or “Hosts”. Although they were merely used temporarily between the Second and the Third founding, these large groups of fighting men easily numbering over a thousand are commanded by Marshals.

Finally, the army as a whole is lead by the King, and the Lord Marshal. As of this writing, it numbers Six Thousand and Twelve, more if servants are included, less if commanders are not.

Weapons

All Parthecan soldiers are assigned a hatchet as their personal defense weapon. Thus, Hatchet serves as a unifying ideal of the Parthecan Army. While other armies preferred the dagger, King Harca personally witnessed the power of the axe in combat under Gade, as well as it’s utility in camp and on the march. Needless to say, the hatchet was designed to be smaller and lighter, but no less deadly. The front edge of the hatchet curves upward to form a stabbing point. The cruel chopping head is thickly beveled, able to be used to chop wood or dig ditches, then quickly sharpened for combat. At the bottom, the blade rejoins the wood, giving the soldier a second handhold directly behind the blade. The wood itself is treated against salt, as well as general wear and tear. At the bottom of the handle another spike protruded, which is used for more detailed work as well as counterbalance the hatchet for throwing. Thrust downward against a helm, it can punch through it with little effort. Although small, it is a terrifying weapon.

Partheca’s infantry is based on polearms more than any other known fighting force. Bound tight by oaths and by brotherhood, these long weapons allow the infantrymen to attack and defend as a group. Both pikemen and spearmen (the main difference is the adoption or rejection of the shield) form the core of Parthecan infantry. Headed by a spike or blade, most Parthecan Polearms also sport at least one, often a handful, hooks and blades protruding from the sides. Developed to fight against lightly armored warriors of Zarcasca, these additions served to weight the blade and give it significant punch against the more heavily armored soldiers of the Farlands.

Parthecan shields designed for spearmen are made to be easily interlocked. Thus, they are large, round, and heavy. A modern movement amongst some generals insert a cut into the upper or lower right side of the shield for the insertion of the spear, allowing the spearmen to rest his spear upon the shield either to rest, or to provide additional push against a thrust. Often, additional weapons or personal effects are strapped to the inside of the shield. Although this increases it’s weight, in the midst of battle the weapons are easy to retrieve, and the personal belongings (such as alcohol) can easily provide a second wind to the battered soldier.

The pikemen’s secondary armament, instead of a shield, is the chopping sword or axe. Finely tempered swords are expensive and tools of the Nobles, highly ranked officers and captains, and the Royal Guard. However, a crude and cruel chopping chunk of cutlery cuts little from the purse. In the midst of a press, aggressive Pikemen would draw their swords, cut off enemy spear points, and chop into the enemy’s transfixed lines. Some generals even offered to pay double for a first rank of soldiers bearing gigantic chunks of metal they term “double handed swords”. How they deem those cruel weapons swords is beyond me, but they do seem effective. Of course, by being in the front lines, these double paid men often just spent their extra pay on armor. Chopping off dozens of spearpoints per blow, at a whistle’s call the entire first rank drops their pikes and, with a shout, advances, swinging their blades in crossed circles. And of course, once they meet resistance, their fellows behind them advance with the pike, and the double paid men draw their hatchets and get to work.

The pike and spear formations are generally seen equally. However, there is one third type of standard infantrymen set apart from the rest. The light infantry skirmishers wield a light shield and variety of throwing axes or javelins. Advancing in open formations, they seek to disrupt enemy formations, launching impromptu charges to probe enemy lines, throwing their hand axes high to bounce amongst the enemy, using larger ones to drive off cavalry probes. This set of infantry often recruits heavily from amongst the Zarcascen. Fighting in a more open style makes them more popular amongst the navy as marines, as well.

Other armies seem to prefer the Bow and Arrow as the ranged weapon of choice. This often surprises me, as the Bow and Arrow is the weapon of savages like the Zarcasca. Almost every other ranged weapon, from the Atlatl, Javelin, Throwing Axe, Sling, even Rocks are preferable to the Bow and Arrow. It is the weapon of cowardly murders and ambushers. Harca’s Hatchet is a weapon balanced for throwing as well, although this is not recommended. Rather, a force dedicated to close ranged throwing should purchase extra supplies of this weapon. The commonly agreed standard is the Sling/Atlatl for long ranged combat. Javelin and Throwing Axe for short range combat and skirmishing.

Then we come to the weapon of the nobility: the sword. The standard issue swords of the officer corps and starting sword for a lesser noble is the “Arming” sword. An oversized spike with a sharply articulated point, it is meant for only one thing: killing. Rather, it is also meant to look good, with a shapely sheath and a good blade for ornamentation. The “Long” sword is a true dueling weapon. Sharp at the point and dull in the middle, a swordsman would switch between one hand, two hand, and midblade grips to keep the enemy off balance and to swiftly change the angle of attack. A rival to the “Long” sword is the “Broad” or “Chopping” sword, a battlefield weapon which can cleave through shield and armor alike. With the weight concentrated near the tip, a skilled fighter can build up momentum and blow his foes, or sink the blade into a shield and drag the soldier in for a hatchet kill. Finally, the “Great” sword. Rather different than the Double Handed infantry sword, although shaped the same, the Great sword is surprisingly light and thin. It has the flexibility and balance of the longsword with the power and mass of the broadsword, combined with great reach and prestige. It is horrendously difficult to wield, and only the most trained or foolish man would dare to use one to battle. None of these swords are weapons to wear with shields, although the first three can all be paired easily with a Hatchet. Some noblemen have one of their servants serve as a shield bearer and refreshment carrier due to this.

Music

The most basic use of music for communication is the Great Drum and the Great Gong. The Great Drum signals an advance, the breaking of formation in a forward direction, and permission to chase down a routing enemy. It is inherently an aggressive tool to press forward and advance. The Great Gong signals a retreat, the reformation of battered formations, and a call to arms in a camp. It is inherently a defensive tool to buy time, regroup, or retreat in good order for another battle.

The commanding staff's Great Drum and Great Gong are huge affairs, although there are only two types to maintain comprehensibility. The "Ship's Heart" is perfect size to coordinate rowers on a ship. These are often assigned to "Herds/Battalions" or purchased by or for enterprising Headmen for more independent formations. The other is the "Army's Heart", a truly gigantic affair requiring a litter or a team of horses to maneuver with the battlefield commander.

When these drums are used, there are only two types of beat. One is the steady "March/Row" beat for a steady advance or retreat, generally once every four steps, with two beaters to announce double-time march. For a ship, it's one beat per step in oaring. The other is the "Panic" beat, frantic sustained tones announce all out assaults and retreat.

The Great Drum and Great Gong, when used in combat, serves both as communications as well as psychological weapons. As the Parthecan force nears you, the drumming gets louder and louder, but remains as steady as a clock. Suddenly, the tempo increases as they break into a run. The Panic sounds, and a great cry pierces the sky as the entire enemy line is struck in unison under the throbbing and earthshaking beat of the Great Drum. A sudden reverberating Gong announces a back march to regroup, and another charge is assembled. It is a true feat that the Army's Heart is loud enough to sound clear across entire battlefields.

However, the Great Drums and Great Gongs are very impractical weapons for tactical warfare. Their impractical design and deep timbre were made with the understanding that they would be rarely heard and needed on the actual battle field, but when they are needed, they must drown out all other commands and shake the soldiers to their very bones the sense of purpose and understanding of the totality that they must commit to the next advance, or the calmness of the next mass retreat.

For tactical use there are three instruments. The "Snap" Drum, the Cymbal, and the multi-pipe. The Snap drum and Cymbals are noticeably higher pitched than their Great cousins, and serve to announce maneuvers for a single formation. Each beat of the tactical percussion instruments is timed to the most important tactical instrument: the multi-pipe. Each formation has it's own unique call signal, a specific trill of notes announcing the desired units at a percussion beat, and then the desired commands. Often, this "call-sign" comes from local folksong or lorecall traditions.

Banners have been introduced only recently into the Parthecan army. These banners portray hereditary of the noble commander, the sigil of a decorated unit, the words of a proud prefecture or fief. All banners are often topped by a great axe-head and balanced on the bottom with a spike. Banners have not been standardized yet.

Note: As of IL 326, Also, written more sloppily than normal. Also, left armor out as I’m unsure of the status of armored development, but I am pretty sure noblemen and honored soldiers of the Royal Guard would wear the heaviest armor they can afford.

EDIT: As I reread, parts feel horribly anachronistic. Simply consider experimental parts very experimental. :3

NOTE: All references to "Condom" is now retcon'd to "Comden" and all references to "Rupturwen" is retcon'd to "Ruturwen".

EDIT: Added a section on Martial Music
 
A young chef by the name of Arisan Iyaroo was about to be finished with cooking for the day when he noticed that there was a bowl shaped piece of dough on the counter, along with some scrap jerky (inrandi), and fruit (midar). So without thinking he placed the scrap inrandi and midar into the bowl shaped piece of dough before covering the top of the bowl with another layer of dough.

He had forgotten about how he filled the bowl with midar and inrandi. He left it out sitting for several days. Arisan only remembered about the bowl filled with midar and inrandi when it started to smell about a week or so later.

Arisan ripped open the top of this dough bowl and found the midar and inrandi to be much more preserved than normal. He proceeded to take a bite of the bowl and found that while the inrandi and midar were starting to become rotten, the contents were still both very edible. He had a contemplative look on his face as he said, “weird, how did the fruit and meat manage to taste fresh for so long?”

After about a minute of pacing he finally came to a conclusion. Without haste he pulled out a large mound of salted dough and shaped them into separate small bowls along with what would become the lids to these bowls. Arisan then waited around for a while until the bowls of dough became crisp. Grasping his large spatula he pulled this bowls and left them on the counter.

Running to the food cabinet he filled a basket up with fruit and jerky. He then rushing back to where he left the newly cooked dough bowls said to himself, “just a touch of inrandi, and a smidge of midar” as he placed both of those items into the bowls. Arisan then covered the newly inrandi and midar filled bowl and left them sitting.

Then a servant came into the kitchen and asked Arisan, “do you have the food ready? The Jagaraka and his family are waiting.” Arisan replied with a “Yes I sure am! Here's what I made!” Arisan pulled out a cart that was holding all the newly created pies.

The servant had an odd look on his face before he took control of the cart and delieved the food to the Jagaraka and his family. The Jagaraka and his family just looked at the dough bowls with suspicion. He then told the food taster to try the food. He complied and took several bites into the food. After it became apparent the food wasn't poisoned, the royal family began to nibble away at the dough bowls.

After the family was finished with eating the dough bowls the Jagaraka demanded, “please go fetch the cook who made this.” After a brief moment of dialogue the servant came walking out of the kitchen with Arisan. The Jagaraka asked, “what's this supposed to be? I've never seen or tasted anything like it before.”

“It's a Inrandi ni Midar Iyaroo. I found that encasing the inrandi and midar with salted dough greatly increased their period of freshness. Although I presume that it can also preserve other ingredients aside from inrandi and midar too,” said Arisan.
“Well it tastes very good. I think it might be useful for the military. In fact, why don't you start teaching military cooks how to make Inrandi ni Midar Iyaroo.”
“Are you serious? You would allow me to do that?”
“No, no, no. I'm not allowing you to do that. I'm ordering you to do that.”

From that point on although unknown by Non-Rihnit, Arisan Iyaroo became extremely famous for starting for lack of a better word, a culinary revolution.
 
OOC: Awesome! Meat and Jelly-filled Hardtack Pies! This is before the War, I presume?

EDIT: Wait a minute... the dough pieces are raw? They are eating cookie dough? *jealous*
 
Okay, the number of late orders is making this difficult. I'm going to probably not get it done tonight; we'll aim for Monday, though.
 
On A Hilltop

Two men stood in silence on a hilltop as a small boy played not far away.

The men spent half their time watching the young boy, and the other half watching a grand procession of cumulus clouds floating magisterially towards the horizon. It was one of those days when the swirls and wisps of cloud, impregnated with formless light, were so beautiful and complex as to defy description.

"The oracles tell us that the heavens existed even before the gods," said Talephas.

"What hand could paint such a tapestry?" Sianai replied. Talephas thought he heard a subtle twist in his voice, perhaps some hint of mockery, but nothing that could not be denied.

They lapsed back into silence as they turned their attention to the boy.

The boy giggled sporadically as he ran back and forth on his stubby little legs, tottering about with the irrational exuberance that belonged only to those children who had just learned to walk. Occasionally he tripped and fell flat on his face, but he just picked himself up and continued on like nothing had happened. He had a companion, a young lamb with a coat as black as jet. It bleated excitedly, running next to the boy and occasionally bumping its head against him.

"What is this one called?" said the Wind Prince, finally.

"Elikas," said Talephas. "But he will make his own name in time."

"I see you have given him a lamb," said Sianai. "An Evyni custom."

"He will have Satar customs as well," replied the Redeemer. "He will take his first mask in a year, perhaps."

Silence for a while, as a particularly large golden-white cloud traversed their field of vision.

"You will not come with me to Magha, then?" said Talephas.

"I doubt Sixth-Gaci will appreciate the presence of Lerai's killer."

"No, perhaps not."

"And you will not grant my request?"

"No. The Sharhi are a tribe of peaceful barbarians who have done us no harm. Attacking them without cause would belittle our exatas and create yet another enemy. Trade with them, send out oracles, and perhaps in time they will do us homage without violence."

Sianai shook his head, smiling ruefully. "You do not understand these Ylethists as I do. But your shield, your law, my Scion."

Talephas placed his hand on Sianai's shoulder. "You think I am weak. That I am faced with a chance at regaining all that our ancestors lost, and I am throwing it away at our time of great strength."

Sianai said nothing.

"I am asking you to trust me. We have already won the greatest victory without sacrificing a drop of blood. And we are about to win more."

"What do you mean?" said Sianai. Not even his spies had told him of this.

"A wise man allows a fool to carry out his bidding. You will have your new lands to conquer, Wind-Prince. But we will win a greater victory without conquest."

Sianai furrowed his brows, thinking. "The peace treaty..."

"Is not a ruse. I intend to honor it. But the Moti have been wounded. Their blood drips out on the snow, and now the wolves will come."

The little boy giggled again, trying and failing to perform a somersault.

Talephas watched him and laughed, the picture of a proud father. But as Sianai stared, he saw something different. Something he saw in Taexi, once, as he laughed in the heat of battle. But this Redeemer, this kind, compassionate, entirely guileless man, held it in calm composure.

"I think I am starting to admire you, Redeemer," said Sianai.

"It took you long enough."
 
Betrayal

The room was too dark for Joran's taste, and a deal too dirty, but sacrifices had to be made. In the center lay a long oak table, and on it a map of the east painted on hide. The corners were held by daggers to keep from rolling, and the Daharai, Rihnit, Farea and other enemies were painted in red, while Leun and her friends were a dark green. Parthe was only yellow, and as Joran entered with Mattias he saw Marc studying it. The consul looked up and Joran savored the look of shock upon the snake's face.

"Why is that traitor here? You know he'll just tell the Parthecans-" Marc began, but Joran cut him off.

"That's the plan." His voice was cheerful, but his words did nothing save anger Marc further.

"You seem to misunderstand our purpose here, Joran. We are planning a war, not a trade route. The Parthecans have no business knowing what happens here." The man was clearly barely containing his anger, and a misstep could end with bloodshed

Mattias laughed. Marc stood, drawing his sword as he rose. Although the consul did not seem quite ready to use his weapon, Joran still felt it necessary to intercede. "It is you who misunderstand," he said, speaking quickly. "There has been a change of plan." Marc turned on him.

"A change of plan? We agreed on war with Parthe. If you mean to cross me..." The threat lay unfinished but dangerous in the air.

"Put away the blade and I'll explain. Naked steel has no place at a negotiation." Joran nodded as the man sat, before turning on Mattias. "You have no right to laugh at your superior. Sit." His voice was harsh, and the old senator sat immediately. Joran remained standing.

"Now, Joran, please explain what this change in plan is," Marc said coldly.

Joran obliged. "You see, Leun has overreached herself. Three wars are too many. Even one is one over the ideal. And as such, Mattias and I looked for allies." Marc seemed ready to interrupt, but Joran ignored him. "And so we looked to those who have been friends in the past, and who wish to be friends in the future.

"The Dual Empire is engaged in a war, as are our other allies, and they are unable to help. While we found refuge in the Alare, they are nowhere near enough. And so we continued looking. And we found nothing."

Mattias took up the thread. "We nearly gave up, lamenting a hopeless war, when the Prince of Parthe approached us. 'Give us the islands,' he said 'and we will give you a fleet.' At first, I could not be swayed. Like you, I abhorred the thought of losing land. But how much land would be lost were Farea to win? We accepted."

Marc cut him off before he could continue. "We can win ourselves. The New Senate is far stronger than the old; none can stand in our way." But even as he said the words, Joran could tell he was giving up. Propaganda may work on the masses, but on the senate it did not help.

"While that may be true, some are standing in our way. And we cannot win alone. We need friends, powerful friends. Parthe is just the ally we need." Marc looked down at the map, and Joran followed his gaze. He was examining the islands they'd agreed to cede to Parthe.

"How many have betrayed me?" Marc asked sadly.

It was Joran who answered him. "Seven-and-thirty of your faction, twice that of mine, and all of the Parthecan supporters. We have enough to put it to vote, but if you were to interfere the process could last indefinitely." Marc smiled, but Mattias shook his head.

"Make no mistake, Marc. We will win in the end. The consulate choosing is in a moon's turn, and we can easily install someone more malleable. But if you accept, we both have agreed to put our weight behind you. All you'll be doing is wasting a month of the war and throwing away your consulate."

Marc leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. He examined both of them, and then the map. Joran could hardly breathe.

Finally, the snake spoke, his reply hanging in the air.

"I agree to your terms."
 
In the Pactuneznuen Guildhouse, Tehoraz
King Wertus Dascawen
326 IL​

The moon was marred by a thick red smile, grinning morbidly over men destined to die. The townspeople of Tehoraz furtively flirted about under the ill omened moon, hiding from it’s malevolent gaze. All except one, who rode straight from the docks at a fast gallop. The clatter of iron hoofsteps rang in the air as the rider neared my daughter-in-law’s Guildhouse. I held up my arms, silencing further discussion. I felt more than I knew, but the man stumbling up stairs will bring news of Leun. Thus was fated by the moon and stars.

I gave a look over my councilmen as excited step followed step closer towards our hold. They were here to advise me, or so was said. Yet each and every one of them was younger than me. I cannot trust them. All those who I could have trusted have died, taken from me. Taken from Parthe. And one day I too will die. And Parthe will be diminished for it.

There was the Lord Sea Marshal Catoz Ruturwen, grandson of my mentor and uncle, the Great Garun Ruturwen. I guess that makes him my nephew. Beside him sat his wife and his right hand woman, my fierce granddaughter, the Sealady Weurdath.

There was my Lord Marshal Cennith Orthos, a favorite of Tetmar’s. She may think herself so clever cheating me and cheating death with her little schemes and her Zarcasen blood magic, but she knows no true knowledge of life and death. Neither does he: however hardened he may seem, he is no killer. A scholar warrior: the most useless kind there is.

I cannot trust any of them.

All those I can trust died. All those I will trust will die. My true son Nuzaril rejected me. Genda is a Leunwen. Ertanis is a Zarcasen. I have no Parthecan heirs I can entrust my throne to.

My mind wandered. Soon, word will return from the Archives of the study of the strange desert plants of the Zatar and the Savirah. Rumored to bring immortality. Once I am immortal I shall need no advisor, no useless minion to heed my will. Until then, I must console myself with the limitations of my flesh, and of the flesh that surrounds me.

I blinked, my vision clearing from my eyes. Standing in the doorway, gasping for wind, was my elder brother, Janip, returning from Leun. I stood and embraced him, feigning love and concern. “Elder Brother! How was your journey? What news you bring?”

“Excuse me, my King!” He said, catching his breath, before he bowed his aged frame once more. The crackling of his sea-rotten limbs were a death knell to my ears. He shall survive two, maybe three more voyages, before his death. “But I bring news of peace! Peace and war!”

“No riddles!” shouted Cennith, “Tell us true.”

“Peace brother” calmed Catoz, who then raised his voice, “A pitcher of iced wine for my brother!”

Gratefully drinking from the offered wine, Janip finally begun to tell his tale. He spoke of how he worked his petition around Leunan blocks and over three days spoke in support of our cause. He spoke of how he was rejected, how he was captured, how he was taken to a secret meeting, the heart of a coup which will restore common sense to the Leunan government. He spoke of our new deal, and the Leunan proclamation guaranteeing Genda’s rock spits.

He then spoke of preparing a hundred ships to set sail for Leun at once.

“A hundred ships? “ sputtered Catoz, “You are not joking with us, brother, with such great and grave news?”

“A hundred ships indeed” continued Janip, his dying senses unable to catch Catoz’s tone, “With our fleet numbering near five hundred, we shall sweep the Pahdarah from the seas and secure all of the seas for Partheca.”

“We must NOT break our agreements with the Indagahorcen,” gruffly announced Cennith Orthos.

“We did not make any agreements with them, at least not until I returned, remember?” gasped Janip, confused. His gut was unable to withhold his heart for much longer, his breath was still short. He will soon die, like Garun and Dasca and Dupon and all the others I trusted.

“But we DID make promises to the Indagahorcen” spoke Cennith, “We told the Farehawen that we will send ships and men.”

I stood, my chair falling down as I leaned across the table. “I remember” I spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “I remember our deal exactly.” I do not intend to break promises, “The ships and men shall still land in Farehaw, but they won’t be on the Indagahorcen side.” I broke into a laugh, enjoying the shocked look of my councilmen, “After all, if they had misconceptions of what we promised, it’s not our fault!” I hooted to the sky, greeting the Moon’s smile with my own, my cackling echoing across the land. One by one, my councilors reluctantly joined in, and we laughed together at fate and fortune.

Janip’s death will not in vain. He brought me time, time enough to return to the preserving cold of the north. Time enough to discover my true destiny.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Similar threads

Nikolai II
Let's compare empires!
2 3
Replies
57
Views
3K
moysturfurmer
M
Smayo
  • Poll Poll
Improving Endeavours
Replies
15
Views
953
The_goggles_do_nothing
The_goggles_do_nothing
Mudkip1001
Disable Distant Land Civs
Replies
2
Views
443
Mudkip1001
Mudkip1001
A
  • Locked
Best Historical Books for Civ Fans?
Replies
3
Views
331
Birdjaguar
Birdjaguar
Daftpanzer
DaftRTOR - A Story Untold
8 9 10
Replies
198
Views
21K
Terrance888
Terrance888
Back
Top Bottom