It is time...for things to happen!
Inspiration was really falling apart on me for Veritas. I knew that I had to do something, and fast. Especially to keep interest, and also to keep Veritas from stagnating. So...here we go.
The Second Epoch: Opening
Prologue:
Excerpt from the history text, "Veritas, the Definitive Summary":
The great artistic revival of the 16th century was marked by a renewed intellectual interest in the First Republic...most notably its downfall. The "Glorious Fall" of the Elders was vastly rehabilitated, in part through legend, in the Triumphalist period, most recognizably in the epic oil-painting, "The Ascension of Strategius."
The beautiful and massive work is currently in the seventh year of it's eleven-year restoration, but widespread claims that one of the nation's most glorified, honored, and treasured artifacts is, in fact, an illegitimate portrayal of a bloody and obscure coup sparked a firestorm of debate, scandal, and public brawling, especially between elderly scholars of the Kalmarian and Tellian schools.
Only an official, government-backed historical commission has had the authority, and the access to private and secret documents, that have allowed a final judgement to be rendered for public examination.
This being that modern efforts to reveal the "real" figure known most widely as Autorex Strategius have ended in one conclusion: Despite the disdain of many modern scholars for the Triumphalists somewhat propagandizing accounts, the events of the Fall of the Council were actually portrayed...correctly.
Part One:
The City of Veritas, 777 Postum Diasporum
Let's be honest about things. This wasn't the Veritas of the First Elder's vision. Sure, there was marble...and it was a great city, not even rivaled by the mudbrick metropoli of the West, or the vast demon-pits of the Eldranian North. But Veritas was no Khemran propaganda poster. And worst of all, the White City was falling into decay.
It was still the greatest city in the world. A half milennia's work of conquest, study, and building had created something great. It could be seen from miles away, the white spires of the Central Quarter. The massive galleys of the Southern Mariners, could see them first. Brave men, the pride of their nation, the Mariners were fishermen, adventurers and naval Captains. They had a culture to themselves. Their sleek biremes would slide in from all directions across snowcapped waves, the Arch of the Exodus rising to greet them.
Any boat had to pass through the Arch, in order to reach the Grand Harbor. It had taken a century to accomplish such a feat, and thousands surely lived and died for its making. It wasn't just a bloody massive arch, it was the Fortress of the Sea. Any ship trying to enter into the harbor would have to pass under it, exposing themselves to a thousand different striking-points from above. And before they passed through, great copper chains could be hauled across the entryway, and boiling oil channeled in rivulets from deep within the tower's forges. And the peak was an impregnable marble keep, rising to the apex that was crowned with the fifty-foot tall statue of the One Himself, a spear of gold and a tree of silver in His massive Hands.
Truly, they were the Sea-Kings. Born from the Ocean, brought out of the waves. That is where their power came from. The One, and the Sea.
The Arch, and the Sea Wall that now encircled the entire island, were but the gateway to the greater treasures within, and the entryway would never be taken by force.
And it never was...Strategius was the triumphant Host-Lord, and the brigands of Kalmar shrieked with terror before his banners of Red and Gold. But as the emblem of the Phoenix Rampant, his personal crest, was raised over castle after castle in the formerly rebellious lands, the Assemblum began to take note. Eyebrows were raised.
He was the son of a general, who in his turn was a soldier's son. His father was slaughtered by an ambush of Odinite brigands, and so Strategius swore the customary life-oath for eternal retribution. His unending training in Salvation was noted by a scribe, who recommended him to a higher officer. The young man was made Seventh Septilion, a title known for it's prestige and great honor, and this raised a few eyebrows at regimental headquarters. But his ideas were sound, especially those for outfitting archers with flaming arrows. The Phoenix Archers were the special terror of the Kalmarian hordes...but they swore to no Assemblum. They swore to Strategius.
The old Third Host-Lord died in the great battle of Copenholm, pierced through the stomach with a poisoned arrow. There was no other man that could possibly take the position than Strategius in the years following the war. And the rebellion was crushed. Interestingly, the greater Kalmarian citizenry became enamored of this light-skinned southerner, and his noble ways. Strategius grew to learn an important lesson: The true war is won and lost in the minds of the conquered, not on the field.
It would serve him well in gaining the support of all around him. And he was handsome, cunning, and charismatic...that helped. The people adored him. They would make him Elder King if they could.
And the Assemblum knew this. This upstart soldier-brat could not be given greater power. Any further promotion from Host-Lord at the age of twenty-five would put him on a pedestal greater than any other man. It would make him a God...he had to be stopped.
And so it was decided that the Host-Lord could not be allowed to become Stratikrator. Despite his brilliance, the army could not be given to him...he could take control of all Veritas with it! What a great mistake the Assemblum made on that fateful day...it doomed them.
The blue banners of the Southern Mariners were not the sight that the Arch Guards saw, not the friendly and comforting biremes of their trader friends. Ships were coming, the whole Kalmarian Armada in fact. But their banners were blood-red, the Phoenix Rampant flying defiantly at their bow.
"Veritas greets us, my lord."
"So it does."
To Be Continued...
