Fall From Heaven NES

[TheJopa]

Whats your email, thomas?

Hippus, Marekka and others are still open for taking. I'd like one or even two more players in.

 

[LDiCesare]

Whats your email, thomas?

Hippus, Marekka and others are still open for taking. I'd like one or even two more players in.

You may want to PM those that showed interest. I'm not sure it's easy to find out this info if you're not always reading the thread.

 

[thomas.berubeg]

thomas.berubeg#gmail.com

# = @, i just want protection

 

[orangelex44]

So, acting as the devil's advocate here, when's the update?

 

[orangelex44]

Yet another except from The Lanun : A Landlubber's Guide. I'm sure you are all excited to learn more about my amazing people! ... and if you're not, well, I enjoy thinking about this stuff.

Spoiler :

People

Many foriegners have a clear picture of a "Lana". To them, we are short, swarthy, and dark-haired. Lanun are mercenaries to the last, with no real dedication to country or creed. We are concerned only with money; love or honor are unknown among us. We have gills, we grow fish tails, and our hands are webbed like the Aifon of legend. Obviously, these descriptions tend toward the unrealistic, yet like all stereotypes there is perhaps a grain of truth to them. The Lanun do have a close relation to the sea, no matter where they live; many off us are mercenery in truth or nature; some Lana live independent of our nation, or any nation. Yet there is something lost in the translation. Many Lanun adhere to the strictest of honor codes; the connection to one's Captain is stronger than that to any nation; many Lanun are willing to sacrifice money or their very life to guarantee their liberty.

While this is a rough picture of the Lanun as a whole, there are many variations to that theme. The same divisions that applied to the Lanun geography apply to those that live there, since each territory has a mood of it's very own.

Starting in the north, the people of the Hammerfel Archapeligo are a surly lot. Less than one out of every ten Lanun live here, and the terrible weatherand hard livelihood contribute to some aggressiveness and stubborness among them. However, they are also perhaps the Lanun that are the closest to the sea. Some of the people there still participate in the old ritual that dictates every Lanun must be born at sea; others use a different one that mandates a "second birth" with water when one comes of age, usually requiring a long swim of some kind. Nearly every resident of these islands lives and works on water, and they all bear a deep respectand love for the sea that constantly beats on their lands. Few people of Hammerfel trade, but their stubborness and hardiness means that many of the nation's warship Captains come from Hammerfel.

Oosnam and the Windy Rocks are known more for insularity than aggressiveness. The people of these islands are quite isolated from the rest of the Lanun nation, and by most accounts are satisfied with that. Still, there is a hard core to the Oosnama, a dedication to causes that can rival a determined dwarf at times. When they make a decision, they persue it to the end, and damn the cost. While only two or three out of every ten Lanun live there, more than half of the army is drawn from these citizens.

The majority of the Lanun live in the Central Isles. Slightly more than half of the Lanun are here - although nearly a quarter of them are immigrants from other lands. This large minority gives the Central Isles a great flexibility of mind and ability to adapt. The "native" Lana of the territory are also known for their natural mercantile ability, and most of the Lanun's trade and traders stem from the Central Isles. Those Lanun who are political-minded tend to live here, as well. The Central Islanders are the ones that tie the whole of the empire together.

The farmers of North End contain the few of the Lanun that don't have a strong affinity for the sea. There are very few Lanun who feel that way; about one in ten live here. Where they would normally be social outcasts, almost pariahs, in North End they are accepted. Thus, the whole area is seen as a little odd by the rest of the Lanun, and to some extent backwards. Paradoxically, North End is also the home of the very wealthiest of the Lanun. Every one of the traditional Captain's Council families owns large tracts of land here, and while some of the other islands hold valuable minerals the farms of North End offer vast riches of food. If any part of the Lanun lands could be said to have an aristocratic air, it would be North End.

Rinwel Isle holds only a small fraction of the Lanun people, but in recent years Rinwel has taken an influence vastly out of proportion to it's size. The Isle has become a symbol of the Lanun pirate life: those who live there are seen as free souls, rebels, entrepraneurs, master fighters and the very best of the empire. This is an exaggeration, but not by much. The free port does contain some of the best Captains and great adventurers from other lands. It is said that sooner or later everyone of importance comes to Rinwel, and as the years pass that saying becomes more and more true.

There is a special case among this split of the Lanun empire. The Centaurlands are nominally part of the nation, but in reality are almost completely run by the centaurs themselves. No one can enter or immigrate to the area without their permission or a special dispensation of the High Captain, and neither the centaurs nor the High Captain ever grants them. Little is known about the number or the manners of the centaurs, other than that they voluntarily serve in the military and seem content with their status as part of the Lanun. As time passes, the secretive nature of their lands will probably change, but until then no one even knows the proper name of the area.

 

[Hawkwood]

Sorry for the long pause. I was a bit intimidated by the number of posts happening while I was sleeping. The new versions of FfH ad FF, and having no idea about what had been decided about my nation, didn't exactly help with my motivation.
But I'm still willing to play as long as I could have some knowledge about who I'm going to play.

 

[Tyrs]

Well, the new innovations to FFH don't really effect the lore behind the civs. That's the important part for this NES, since you can take the basics of the civ and run with it wherever you want to.

 

[Ekolite]

Calabim Trade routes: Sidhe, Lanun, Amurites, Amurites

 

[Ekolite]

My Aim is to be starting the first turn of EkoNES by the 1st of March, 4 weeks exactly from today.

I am currently accepting reservations from players who took part in one or both of the previous NESes at some point. Reservations for people outside of this group will not be allowed until the 15th of February.

Basic concept information about the NES is my next objective.

 

[orangelex44]

Jopa, where are you?!?!? We're lost without you...

 

[TheJopa]

haha... well, busy.

But I probably won't be after Saturday.

 

[Immaculate]

@ the jopa:

do you think you could send me your master 'photoshop' map (with layers that are supposed to stay hidden deleted)- i want to rip off your icons for cities, villages, mines, resources, etc.

 

[Ekolite]

Yeah... Where did you get those icons from? I could really do with some right now.

 

[Algeroth]

Crusader King and/or Victoria and/or Europa Universalis II

 

[TheJopa]

Crusader King and/or Victoria and/or Europa Universalis II

Algeroth got it
CK actually. There are even more CK icons I could rip...

 

[Immaculate]

Spoiler Part 1 of the Story :

story- the pass
with apologies to Joseph Boyden who wrote ‘Three Day Road’ a book from which the protagonist of this story is based on



The days are long in the amurite army and I spend most of them waiting. I’ve grown to be very good at waiting. Sometimes we wait for days and days. The other soldiers, the ones in heavy metal armour with long spears and ugly vicious swords gather in groups and speak quietly in their soft amurite tongue. Even now I understand very little of what they say. They wear their silly sheeshes morning noon and night and I can hardly tell them apart with their delicate whispered speech and identical faceless veiled uniforms.

I spend a lot of time just lying on my back. I look up at the sun until my eyes hurt then I close my eyes and see my lord Solos, still, guiding me. I press my fingers to my eyelids so the white orb dances and marches across my eyelids and spiderwebs and geometric shapes of bright color spring up. When I open my eyes again they feel strange but it helps to pass the time.

Sometimes I watch the birds. There are less and less of them that fly low over the crusader army now. Our slingers shoot them down and the soldiers greedily suck their juices and chew their meat. The ones that remain know to fly high, out of reach of the slingers’ stones and I watch them for hours as they crisscross the sky, dancing for lord Solos.

I am supposed to be watching the eastern advances and this I do, especially at dawn and dusk when the most caravan traffic appears. Still, the job is boring and I tire of it quickly. Commander Seçkin would have me whipped if he knew I spent so much time looking up at the sky. But he doesn’t; as a scout, I am too far ahead of the line and I won’t be noticed, nor whipped.

Other days, there is no waiting; it is drill, drill, drill. With the Trident sea to our left and the Father’s spring mountains to our right, we practice fighting in very tight formation on a very narrow front against unseen enemies. We march forward. We march back. We stab with our long spears, not even seeing our targets for the ranks of soldiers in front of us. We practice with the short, wide blades the Amurites call swords. These vicious weapons are meant for close-contact fighting and every time I pick one up I pray to the sun god that I will never have to use it. I much prefer my hunter’s bow or the long spear. We practice until my arms ache and I long for the cool shadows of the evening. The crusaders don’t seem to mind this; they are built for endurance and discipline. They have their ‘faith’ in their law-giver god and this sustains them even without water or food. I have seen them work their magics and I know that they can operate well beyond the point where I or most men would collapse. Except for my skill in tracking and my keen eyes, I would never be in this robust army.

Our job is to guard a pass. Crusade commander Seçkin says it’s a great honour but I don’t see any honour in sitting on our butts for 23 hours a day, waiting, staring at the sun, and waiting more. More like a great bore. Occasionally a caravan comes from Prespur carrying honey or olives or goat’s milk. We question the calabim brovotoi and search them for contraband but we always let them through and the crusaders are always courteous and respectful (at least to their faces), but what is the point? Who are we waiting for? Why are we drilling?

At night I reach into the medicine bag that grandmother gave me before I came and whisper prayers. I sneak out of camp (another whip-worthy offence, but then these metal-clad soldiers never hear me moving in my soft leather moccasins) gather some herbs and wild grasses from the mountain side and I perform a smudge. The smoke brings my prayers to the skies and the next day Solos will know that I pray for my family, for my brother’s health especially, that I pray for the animals to seek peace with our army and forgive the trespass we commit on their homes, but mostly that I never have to use my short, ugly sword.

One day, after we have been here more then a month, I see a red sails on the horizon. Admiral Crunch of the pirate fleet has returned.

Finally there is something for me to do. I run down the mountain side from my spotting post, fleet and quiet as only my people or a Svartlafarl hunter can be, and finding my company commander, inform him of what I have seen. He has trouble understanding what I am saying in my broken amurite, but he finally seems to understand and quickly organizes many men to go and meet the sailors. It always amazes me how quickly these highly disciplined men can organize themselves. Within minutes a group of guards, porters and accountants have deployed to the narrow shores to meet the ships.

I have no idea what deal the amurite senate has made with these pirates, mostly Lanun seasfarers, but we are glad to have them on our side. Without them, we could not have formed this blockade or kept our troops equipped and supplied. The men worry and speak in hushed tones that the pirates will turn on them.

All that talk is quieted as the sails grow bigger and bigger as they approach and soon the crusaders grow excited with anticipation. There is talk of letters’ from home and of fresh meat and fruit, and especially of their favourite drink, the ‘red monk’ lager that their people have grown famous for.

As other rowboats are loaded up with supplies to be shipped to shore, a single rowboat is launched from the ships and quickly skims across the shallows. A messenger, an unkempt Lanun soldier with a parrot on his soldier, jumps from the small boat before it is even anchored. I watch as he races across the hot beach, barefooted, directly to crusade commander Seçkin’s tent. The soldiers wait, their expressions hidden behind their sheeshes, but I can feel their anticipation and excitement in their stance and body-language.

Suddenly the command tent explodes with activity. Crusade commander Seçkin strides from within, calling his officers and immediately beginning to issue orders.

I leave then. Quickly climbing the mountain side to my post, I lay on my back and close my eyes. Gently I rub my eyelids and make the patterns and lights dance across them.

And I wait.

Two years later…

I’m still good at waiting… lately I’ve had lots of opportunities to practice. Today I am waiting in poorly lit mahogany and teak sitting area. There’s a candelabra in the corner that is lighting the area, but only dimly and most of the room is swimming in shadows. There are brass and silver plaques on the walls, statues of brave soldiers, religious iconography decorating the room. There are silk and cotton tapestries, all tastefully and conservatively done, even a bowl of fruit for visitors like me. I don’t care; I stare at the candle flames until I see white dots, close my eyes, lean back on the hard teak chair and rub my eyes. This makes the white dots swim and dance inside my eyelids.

I manage to repeat this process three times before the door on the far wall opens and I hear my name called in the softly sinuous and meandering tongue of the Amurites; it still sounds strange to me and I often long to hear it spoken by my own people again. “Lok-es-Day,” they will never pronounce it correctly I get up, ignoring the protocols the crusaders have tried to drum into me, the need for a straight posture, attentive forward-facing focus. The herald or secretary or whatever the soldier clerks is supposed to be motions for me to enter an even darker room, an inner sanctum or an office. There’s a look of condescending boredom on his face. With similar thoughts we might have been brothers I think; I smile at my own humour. The clerk’s disapproval grows visibly at my unexplained smile.

Half-hidden in the shadows, and obscured by the floating white dots burned into my retinas from staring at the candle in the waiting room, sits a large man in a dark grey and carefully folded sheesh. His eyebrows are so large they are like the wings of a bird and look like they are about to fly off his face. What little I can see of his face is criss-crossed with the wrinkles of his command and the scars of battle. He motions for me sit, says nothing, does not smile. I should be honoured to be in his presence, should bow and stammer for things to say. Instead I drape my frame over the proffered chair, propping my feat on a taxidermy fox, its piercing blue eyes peering out from impossibly white fur. I wait for him to say something. I am good at waiting. There’s another candelabra is the corner.

The man, Crusade Commander General Seçkin Ilahi, is the second highest commanding officer in the Amurite military, second only to the representative of the ‘White Robes of Junil’. That reeks of politics and I am not sure I care but I do know this man, have served under him in the battle of Acaia. Like all his troops, I have a healthy respect for his decisions, battle prowess, bravery and most of all, intelligence. He picks up a scroll and hands it to the condescending and disapproving clerk. Leaning over, the general taps the scroll where he wants the herald to begin reading from.

The clerk reads from the scroll and General Ilahi leans back, watching me for some reaction as the clerk reads in a soft meandering tone, “Discipline report for private Lok-es-dai: Belligerence towards a commanding officer. Five counts. Refusing an order. Seventeen counts. Failure to comply with crusader uniform attire. Seventy-one counts,” the clerk looks to the general and the general raises those giant grey eyebrows at me but doesn’t seem to care one way or another. “Absence without leave. Forty-two counts.”

General Ihahi motions with his hand for the clerk to cease reading and finally deigns to speak to me, “Your commander says you are a remarkable soldier. He says that you have a talent for killing men. What do you say?”

I had expected him to berate me for my lack of discipline, to explain how I could be so much more and bring so much more honour to my family if only I learned to operate like the amurite crusaders. I think briefly about his question, “I think that perhaps soldiering suits me better than I had anticipated.”

The general nods, his expansive grey eyebrow bobbing with the movement. Quietly, he leans over to the clerk, takes the scroll form his hand, unfurls it further, hands it back to the clerk and points at the passage he wants the clerk to begin reading at. The clerk clears his throat briefly and begins to read, “We had found ourselves fighting street to street in a bloody and horrific mess against Calabim soldiers that had been driven into an overwhelming blood rage by the poison-potion they had consumed. My division was engaged in a vicious battle in narrow street, our numbers badly withered by attrition while to our rear an alley way led to to a connecting street and the sound of battle. Commander Çandarli ordered me and three others to reconnoiter the alley to ensure we would not be flanked. This we did and we soon learned that only 4 men remained of our brother Crusader company and these four men were the only thing separating our rear from an overwhelming mass of blood-enraged calabim militia. Three of the soldiers holding the narrow alley were clad in heavy armor and fighting hand to hand with crusader shortswords while the last was dressed as an amurite scout and did not wear any armour; he was a man of Lutsel’ke origin and fought with a long spear. As we watched the three armoured men were overwhelmed by the mass of blood-raging militia. The scout continued to fight however and as we watched he slew one calabim soldier after another until there was a veritable wall of bodies before him and the enemy had to climb over their dead allies just to reach the spear-wielding scout. What was truly strange however was the strange song the man sung, a sort of chanting in a language I did not recognize.”

Again the general indicated for the clerk to be silent with a quick motion of his hand, “This was submitted to me shortly after the battle of Acaia. According to the commanding officer who witnessed this event you are responsible for single-handedly holding an entire flank and preventing the enemy from surrounding and decimating my last crusader regiment. We were all impressed and for that you were awarded our highest reward for bravery in battle, the ‘Mithril Wreath’. That is not why you are here. I spoke with the soldier who wrote this report and he had more to say that he did not include in his report. He says that your body seemed to grow and shrink, that you would ‘blink’ from place to place like a wizard but did not cast spells- only chanted like some foreign priest.”

I shrug. I guess that’s true.

The general continued, “Your commander also says that prior to the battle of Acaia you never volunteered for any duties that would require blood or violence but that after the battle of Acaia you were always the first to volunteer for any mission where you might have a chance to kill the enemy.”

I shrug. I guess that’s true too.

“Furthermore, your commander reports that you began sneaking away in the night, hiding in the shadows and stepping quietly only to infiltrate the enemy camp and kill as many as you could, bring back with you many of the enemy’s scalps.”

I shrug again. I had counted the scalps. There was over 180. There was no other soldier I knew with as many confirmed kills.

The general tapped the report, “Soldiering suits you. Killing truly suits you. And it seems that you have a innate gift for some sort of magic, perhaps dimensional. It also seems that the regimented life of a crusader does not suit you.” At this the clerk smiled under his sheesh. The general continued, “we have a new task for you. At oh-seven-hundred hours you are to report to this address,” the general scribbled on a piece of paper with a quill in a sloppy hand that sent ink drops flying across the desk. “It seems intelligence has some use for your skills.” The general slid the note across his desk and got up. It was obviously time for me to leave.

Stepping out of the door my Lutsel’ke ears picked up one last scrap of conversation before the door shut firmly behind me.

The generals voice said, “What is it that the men are calling him, secretary?”

Just as the door was closing I heard his response, “The men call him the Chanter.”

 

[orangelex44]

I can just imagine the guy saying it in an Aussie accent -- "They call him... the Chant-AH..."


Still, I've got some people that I think could take him. Karimir, possibly; more probably Karl and Hybor. Definately Applesby. Good story, though.



EDIT: And, Jopa, I'd like you to note I'm waiting patiently. Or, at least, I was waiting patiently. I suppose, that since I went out of my way to remind you I was waiting I'm no longer being patient. Anyway, the point is, I like reading updates, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. You would be a totally awesome person if you were to help out my cause, and give me an update to read.


Please.

 

[orangelex44]

Because I got a little fidgety waiting for the update, and because I had the idea in my head, here's one more little story. It doesn't have any effect on my orders or anything, it's solely for my personal enjoyment (and to keep up with that fool Amurite... ).


Oh, and one more thing. It's not really important to anyone but me, but a "boat" is about the same as a modern squad, and a "ship" is a modern platoon. Companies on up have the same names as modern. Again, not important (and in fact, I might have edited out the mention of "boats" and "ships" anyway), but I like to be complete about these things.


Without further ado...

Spoiler :

“We’re all doomed.”

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant thing to say, but then, Greygor wasn’t exactly a pleasant person. Raphel couldn’t think of anyone that really liked Greygor; Raphel only talked to him because Greygor came from a village a half-league from his own. It was just his luck; Greygor and Albott were the two that lived closest to him: the doom-and-gloom and the crazy.

“You know, Grey, sometimes you get really annoying when you do that. Sure, we’re about to enter a civil war, but there’s no reason to assume we’re going to die. I mean, most of the Hippus are on our side. We have the High Captain on our side, along with the centaurs. We’re going to win. Can’t you think of the sun behind the clouds, just for a little while?”

Greygor scowled. “Civil wars are ugly. We don’t know if we’re going to win. Even if we do, that’s no guarantee that we’ll live through it. We are the Driftwood Regiment, after all.”

Raphel just rolled his eyes. There really was no point in talking to Grey when he got in these moods. Sergeant Allen, on the other tack, always refused to give up. He smacked Grey in the back of the head.

“Keep talking like that, mudfoot, and I’ll report you to Captain Joyce for defeatism.” He looked at the rest of his boat. “Five minutes until we leave the ship, boys. Make sure you’re all set – I’m talking to you, Tom Clay. Wessale, check his stuff and make sure he’s geared up. I’ll go find Lieutenant Calm.” He stalked away across the deck.

Sergeant Allan scared him, Raphel admitted to himself. The man wasn’t big, or even scarred from battle, but Surge was the deadliest man he knew. When the Driftwood Regiment had been reborn, it had been created around the remnants of the old unit. Someone had started calling those survivors the Surgeants, after the “surge” the unit had made in Kwythellar to take the city. It had been Albott who changed the term to Sergeant; no one knew why he’d done so, but like always the rest of the unit had simply accepted it. Even Albott had seem surprised when the term caught on, though, and now all those veterans were called Sergeants. On the other hand, Raphel had read once that “Lieutenant” had once been “Landtendant”, since by law the unit commanders had to be landowners. Languages were weird like that.

Officially, the Sergeants were no different than any soldier, but in reality they held nearly as much authority as the Lieutenants. Sergeant Allen might actually have more authority than Lieutenant Calm. Sure, Calm gave the orders, but Allen was the one that made sure they happened. Raphel had heard some rumors that old Admiral Hardskull was so taken with the system that he were forcing the rest of the army to use it; if so, no one in the Driftwood was sorry for them. Misery always loved company.

The five expected minutes quickly turned to fifteen. The centaurs that were ahead of Lieutenant Calm’s crew were large, disorganized, and leery of the water. It was later, rather than sooner, before they managed to all get off across the dock and grouped together as a unit. Eventually, though, the way was clear for Raphel and his fellows to march into the city of Altheriol-ta-Mealthiel.

They left to the sound of their sergeant’s encouragement of Tom Clay and Wessale. “Gods damn it, I told you to check his gear, Wessale! And Tom, how hard is it to make sure you have your weapon with you at all times? Now, go belowdecks and find your sword, and Wessale, you’re going to help him. Then you both are going to run and catch up with us, and after that, you’re going to get on the ground and do pushups. Lots of them. Then you get to run again to catch up with us, and then…”

 

[LDiCesare]

OOC:

Lieutenant” had once been “Landtendant

Do you know lieutenant is actually a French word, lieu-tenant or tenant-lieu, which means holding-place or placeholder (from latin locum tenens)? So lieutenants are those who hold the role of the officer when he's not there.

 

[TheJopa]

Heh, those ranks always confused me... Especially because they differ depending on time in history and country.
BUT everyone is more than welcome do describe how is their army structured. Who leads military operations? Your ruler or solely generals? Who organizes troops? Who serves in army?