PureNES: Years of Excelsior

I do hope you'll stick around, JD. I would have updated this very night, but given the general story/order drought, I'm going to end up doing it tomorrow.
 
North King said:
I do hope you'll stick around, JD. I would have updated this very night, but given the general story/order drought, I'm going to end up doing it tomorrow.
Click to expand...
Buh? I sent orders, I thought...
 
WTH! I can't find Isus!


Welll, i Just joined and i can';t find Isus! I NEED to fund Isus to go to the beach!
 
Is there any particular reason why nobody is sending stories and orders this turn, or is it just a simple case of lutraphobia? ;)
 
I wrote stories! >:| I didn't get a chance to do a supplementary story because I went dragon boating, which means

A. My left arm is still cramping and hurts
B. The back of my neck is terribly, terribly sunburned
which results in
C. I'm tired.
 
I do not have time to write any stories, so I will write some orders here. Oh, and if any of you find me unusually polite, it is because I am sitting with a Japanese keyboard.

Orders Yuzoi

Maintain a coastal guard against the Garanthormians.

Establish a network of forest paths stretching from coastal outposts to inland garrisons. In case the unbelievers make landfall, this warning system will allow the defence to rally without giving out their positions/discovery to the enemy (as would happen with a fire/smoke signal) The general strategy is to target their ships, waiting for the enemy troops to move into the interior forests and swiftly moving in behind from both flanks.

Spread Harmonism to surrounding barbarians.

Establish contact with the Isus people. They seem to have embraced the righteous faith of Harmonism, and will therefore be welcomed as friends of Yuzoi. Encourage the spread of Harmonism to their southern mainland, so that the faith can continue to spread to all humanity.

END.


OOC: I assumed I have horseback riding, but in case not, the paths are to be properly prepared though not paved. (Alliteration) Paving is too expensive, and totally not nomad. :p
 
Thank you, SS. I will incorporate them in the update, which will be worked on tomorrow, since Glory is taking up tonight.
 
My pleasure. ;)
 
Lurker's Comment: But he's only 10!
 
III: The Watchful Clouds
c. 135 - 218 AU

The messenger’s clothes were ragged, and stained with blood. He wavered where he stood, as though drunken; his eyes were unfocused and staring at a spot somewhere just below the ceiling. He jumped when addressed, and shuddered at the touch of servants who tried to clean him. He shook his head at their efforts, as if insisting that he was all right despite every evidence of the vision, and made a clumsy bow to the king.

“It is, my Liege, as we feared,” he said hoarsely. “They approach.”

With that, he slumped to the floor, unconscious, even as the king rose in concern. The great man came to his side, and pried apart his fingers to reveal, clenched in his palm, several long, sleek arrows, evidently pulled out by the messenger from himself. They bore a subtle, spiraling design on the flat of the arrowhead; more than one man recognized it, and eyes widened around the hall.

The King stood slowly, and looked around. “Get this man to a bed, and tend his wounds,” he snapped, and servants hurried forward at once. “You,” he gestured to another nation’s ambassador, who had observed the scene impassively, “Tell your chiefs that the enemy have come. Hurry, before the passes are blocked,” he urged. He looked around the hall, at white-faced guards and nobles. “Why do you stand idle? The Springs will run red; go! Prepare!”

They ran from the room, and called for horses to ride and do their King’s bidding, but he feared it was already too late. The Luginé would surely be placed under siege.

The great fortresses of the valley’s entrance were not yet completed, so tremendous a project they were, but even in their unreadiness, they were quite steadfast; it seemed unlikely that anyone could break them, even ones so mighty as the Jiru.

The Singdiu, too, prepared, as their ambassador to the Luginé reached home, urging the utmost haste. The levies were called; their lips were painted black, they hoisted spears and bows, and marched north to answer that frightened call. Scouts already told of a large force moving through the great pass through the Mountains of Rain and Snow; their host as numberless as the grains of sand along the River Dimini. It was the Invaders come again, reborn even more fierce.

A first wave, not so strong as the main force, arrived with speed from the pass; the Luginé had just manned the fortresses, and the Singdiu were still far to the south. The attack had come all too quickly; the defenders had to rely on their wits and bravery to carry them through this first battle. For some levies, it was too much: they broke on the eve of battle, before the hooves even thundered across the plain: they found shameful refuge in the caves of the mountains.

It was the next day that an already shaken Luginé garrison faced the first blow of the Jiru invaders.

Arrogant and lusting for the blood of their foes, the Jiru called to the men of Ishaull, declaring them cowards and cravens to only face their foe from the top of stone walls. They displayed their glass pendants and waved their banners, chanting a strange warcry of some distant desert before shouting again and drawing up for battle, still clamoring to be let at their foes. The Luginé shivered in their places, and steeled themselves, nocking arrows to bows, and honing their spears one last time.

With a great shout, the Jiru charged forth on horseback, more terrible than anything the Luginé peasants had seen before: it was as though demons had arrived on the earth to do the bidding of this warlord. Yet the cooler among them encouraged the fearful boys by stepping straight up to the wall’s edge, and loosing arrows at the enemy as they came onward: some struck the horse out from under the rider and tumbled both to ground; some caught the enemy himself and toppled him off of the terrified horses. These were no demons; merely men, who bled. Yet so did the Luginé.

The defenders rallied themselves with racing hearts, and shot out many horses, even as they burnt the bridges to Ishaull before the enemy could cross. The Jiru were stranded on the north bank of the river, and taunted the peasants again, a few of them firing their own bows. A few arrows struck the defenders, and several toppled from the walls. The Jiru withdrew beyond bows’ range, and built rafts of their own, in full range of the fortress.

Ishaull’s losses had been light, but the defenders were still disheartened by the speed of the enemy assault, and their long reach that had toppled several from the towers before the battle had even begun in earnest. As they waited, they took in even more terrified women and children, sheltering the townspeople in the walls of the fortress, waiting.

The enemy came on again, this time launching their rafts somewhat upstream, and leaving their horses behind. The logs floated downstream quickly, riding the current, and the men in them, even then desirous of blood, launched a volley of arrows from the rafts onto the island; some were aflame, and caught the village alight.

They landed mere minutes later, charging through the streets, waving their spears and screaming warcries; the city burned around them, and the fortress sealed its gates, men bracing them from behind, and several standing with javelins and bows ready over it.

Soon the Jiru were under the gate, hacking at it with axe and spear, firing more arrows to topple the defenders from above the doors, but many fell from the arrows of the Luginé. Some of the more devious Jiru arced burning arrows over the walls, catching much of the fortress’ interior on fire; more cut loose a beam from a nearby house and fashioned a crude battering ram.

The gates shuddered under the first blow, but stood still. So, too, with the second and the third. More Jiru landed on the island, shouting furiously and climbing the walls with grappling ropes and ladders; some tried to jump from the roofs of houses onto the ramparts themselves.

Through the confused melee, a deep, low note sounded: that of a warhorn. Men looked around, startled, to find the source of the noise, but they did not search for long, as it blew again and again. A great fleet of river boats washed northward, and in the fore of the flotilla stood the Burim, his spear gleaming in the noon-day sun. With a cry, the Jiru on the isle rushed to rebuild an orderly formation on the southern shore, lining up and calling to the new enemy; the Jiru still on the shore loosed volley after volley of arrows at the ships, but made no impression.

The Burim landed, and with a cold shout, led his men in a staggering charge, thrusting dangerously into the heart of the enemy line. Another call told them that the men of Ishaull had joined them; they took the Jiru from behind: the enemy forces were utterly massacred on the isle, and the Népér had swirls of ruby in the crystalline waters.

The Jiru vanguard withdrew as the Burim won the island, but only to rejoin their companions in the main host which lay somewhere to the north. The Luginé worked feverishly to bury their losses, and messengers were sent to the rest of the kingdom: soon levies were drawn up with haste and joined the main army: they were ready to fight the Jiru once again. The Singdiu, too, had sent a force: not a large one, for their main armies were still being rallied, but still a considerable addition.

Together, the two armies marched northwards, and managed to put to flight an army of the Jiru, who had not expected such determined resistance; they fled eastwards to the desert of their home, and many in these lands rejoiced.

For a while, truly, it seemed as though the Jiru were gone; the spears were put down, the bows put away. Yet it transpired that it had been a mere succession crisis that had tarried the Jiru, and after their own disputes had been settled, they prepared again for a generation to lay waste again; their first push swept aside opposition, and they took the western side of the pass, creating a firm launching point for their further assaults.

The grasslands would be watered again.

Men in Vardis have long learned to accept a change, for it may soon be undone. So it seemed with Bane: the Ordarans seethed under his rule, but they did not rebel, for when he died, his work would surely be undone. So, too, the Lumosians looked forward to his death, for he had turned somewhat from their own ideals: surely they could take even greater control of the nation, and finally drive out the hated Ordarans once and for all.

Bane was not foolish; he knew the whispers that flew from house to house in the lands of Vardis. He knew that with his death, much could be very rapidly untied; the chaos could spread, unchecked, through all the land: at least the Lumosians would be happy. Yet he was not content with this outcome, and determinedly sought out an heir: so he found one in Sol, his dutiful apprentice. He left instructions to put down the expected uprising with the army, and died of a cold.

His death’s speed itself seemed to throw off the two rebel groups: they had not prepared to move this suddenly. However, the opportunity had knocked upon their door: practically battered it down, as it were, and they mobilized as rapidly as they could.

The armies of Vardis were quite quick, however, and as Bane had urged them, and intended, they crushed the first embers of rebellion where they lay. For a moment, they had been stifled, yet a spark escaped.

The north of the country was engulfed in flame as several Lumosians managed to escape the troubles; their disorganized nature made it easy for them to operate even as one or more leaders were slain. They fought in the fields and the forests, slaying many in ambushes and skirmishes, and for a decade, Vardis bled.

Yet all things must come to an end; an aging and wise Sol convinced many of their leaders personally to lay down arms, and the rest were subdued by their former fellows. The conflict was ended, and Vardis was united, if tenuously.

It was a strange feeling, to Ordarans and Lumosians, to not walk down the street and distrust everyone you passed, yet it was a most contagious feeling: the country entered into a Golden Age, and birth rates soared. The new population moved to the river far to the east, founding a settlement there, and beginning to trade with The People, as they called themselves. It was a most satisfactory arrangement.

Yet the gods could not leave poor Vardis alone, for she soon came to learn that a barbarian peoples, known as the Inidai, red haired and riding huge chariots into battle, were migrating from the far south. And as Sol lay dying, he uttered, in his dying words, a prophecy.

The Harungen, too, had entered a golden age, yet they had seemingly no barbarians to fear. They were quite eager to destroy what few foes they had: the civil war that had threatened to rage was set aright quite quickly, and with very little bloodshed. This precedent was quite fortunate for the little nation: the Two Paths had been reconciled with only a little strife, and they could coexist now in the growing nation.

As such, they began to spread their faiths; the Death Cult faded quickly from the conquered Mainyu lands, and even the Darians began to lose some of their faith in the Dragon Path. Yet the ever recalcitrant Habytians continued to be so: they assimilated their Death Cult minority even more quickly than the Harungen, and their society remained dense, opaque, and quite impenetrable, despite the best efforts of the priests. The buffer of Tailan was indeed crucial to the peace of the region: its position between the Harungen and Habyte eased many tensions that may well have flared into conflict.

Indeed, the only conflict that might rise in the future seems to be with the barbarians to the west, who remain quite uncivilized despite contact with such an advanced civilization.

The Alystr, too, seem to be entering an age of prosperity: something rarely experienced in the nation before. The trouble-making Drauge family was pushed to a position of relative non-importance, and the dynasty was continued quite readily; towns flourished, and the crops were bountiful. Rumors of war were far from them, as well: the most worrisome perhaps were the Draklor, but it was assumed that they would prey on the closer nations of Balos, and the Alystr would probably escape their wrath unscathed.

Indeed, more important to the rising kingdom was its river trade: the barbarian tribes had lost much of their hostility as they civilized, and trade increased massively as goods from the far off “Harunen” and “Minyue” quickly became items of novelty.

Yet the menace continues onward, bloated from recent feasts; no army has stopped it in battle, and none, it is said, ever will. Their Teacher has taught them well; the Draklor have triumphed.

Finally united, they were ready for their first, and most legendary war. The Elder Kingdom would never stand a chance, corrupt and decaying as it was; their own armies were numerous and vigorous: the hordes would never thin. Or so it was said. They assembled their warriors, who for the first time marched under the same banner; a long column headed eastwards. The greatest force the west had ever seen slithered onward.

The death of Didius was terrifying for the poor denizens of the Elder Kingdom, who realized, quite suddenly, that all was not nearly as well as things had seemed. Numerous successors rose to claim their own position on the throne, and it was Decius who pressed his claim first. A general on the western border, he rushed to the city of Pride with his entire army, and secured the throne. Unnoticed to him or any but a few horrified peasants, the followers of Jao had entered the nation, and secured border areas quite quietly.

It was only after his coronation that the Elders realized what had gone wrong; they branded him Decius the Coward, stripped him of his crown and his life, and raised Priscus in his place. Priscus, however, could only be termed a fool, for he charged directly at the Draklor. His bravery was noted in the history books, but only as a footnote, for he was slain by an arrow in the first clash, and his army was slaughtered behind him.

The Draklor even slew the messengers and the few routers, gathering up a speedy vanguard and beelining for Pride; they captured it with the gates still open. The Draklor stood triumphant, and Pride had fallen.

Yet the Elders were not so easily beaten; the generals of Gordian and Balbinus were quite wise in the ways of war: they slaughtered all other generals, and rallied the forces of the Elders in another great city, marching southwards. The Draklor disdained the fortifications of Pride, and boldly went forth to meet them on the battlefield: a fierce tussle careened back and forth, but eventually, the discipline of the Elders won out. The Draklor were beaten, and forced to retreat.

Yet Gordian fell ill from his wounds gained on the battlefield; he died after a month. Balbinus, having reentered Pride, left to meet a new Draklor force in battle, but his own armies were overrun; the Draklor were repulsed at the gates of Pride, but Balbinus had fled to some far distant country. The people of Pride raised Hostilian, an advisor to the great Didius, to the throne, yet his coronation was marked by an ill-omened rain; he died of pneumonia the month afterwards. There were no kings left, and no armies with which to fight.

The Draklor, having suffered heavy losses, returned with a vengeance, capturing and sacking all of the Elder cities; Pride was rebuilt by the survivors, but paid tribute to the warrior peoples, who now stood triumphant. To their south was Alystr, but a more immediate promise of wealth lay northwards, in Balos and Isus. Balos had regained full independence, but was in some turmoil due to a succession conflict; Isus had the same problem as the Avien dynasty took power.

In the east, things seem to be looking up; no barbarian hordes have arrived yet, though nomads to the south of Exilia are moving about a bit, and trade seems to be growing quite nicely: new states have sprung up in the old, well-trodden paths: Peron and Kale. These city-states are of course heavily influenced by their neighbors, but bear the religion of Exilia most of all.

Exilia, for its part, has created a new city, Adhuckor, built entirely upon slave labor. The public works are unrivaled by any in the east, and it is quite impressive: most of the cultural elite have already moved their, and Exilia’s old capital languishes, somewhat ill-looked after. Trade continues with Alezar and the Tevanii, who are mostly undisturbed.

The forests of Garanthormia have come alive with the sound of nomads, who now herd the hardy goat. It is, they joke, they only thing good that has come out of this wretched land, too rocky and rainy to be of any good use to anyone.

The Yuzoi have continued defending their coasts from the occasional Garanthormian incursion, and managed to remain this way for quite a while; decades, in fact. The Garanthormians, for their part, found that the islands were far too small to support their populations; they declined further and further, finally descending into subsistence and even hunting levels of existence, only keeping up the occasional raid against the Yuzoi. All seemed at peace as Garanthormia dissolved, and the occasional Isusian trader stopped by.

Yet peace was shattered. Black ships bearing piercing eyes appeared from the sunset. The Sea Peoples had come.

Their advance was swift and ferocious: it was clear that they had done this many times before. They landed in the west, and crossed the peninsula with ease: the defense in depth of the Yuzoi held out against them for some time before it was subsumed by sheer numbers and the startling force of the attack. The Garanthormian peninsula and nearby islands were overrun, and these strange invaders kept onwards like the rushing tide.

It had only begun.

Map:

cradleupdate03jv7.png


OOC: Stats will come tomorrow. Ask away with questions.

Nylan, the prophecy is up to you; I wanted to give some creative freedom.

I hate posting at the bottom of the page, but it can't be helped.
 
Yay, fun update!

New capital, new capital, new capital! AND WE WILL MAKE THE JOURNEY TO THE WEST. Although perhaps it'll be a tad different.

In any case, it's bloody late, and I hate you, North King and/or Thlistillcan'tspellyourname, for making me stay up longer than I was intending to for the update. >:|
 
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