alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: We're a tribe which focuses quite a bit on trade; thus, we're greedy bastards 
Varica: In Haeka's Name
- Thread starter Fulton
- Start date
a_propagandist
The Light Brigadier
Rhenican Empire
Ruler: King Deiwar/a_propagandist
Cities: Brunica (7,500), Fynnica (2,500)
Ruling Tribe: Rheni/7+2
Income: 4/1/0
Trade Routes: None
Vassal Tribes:
Dresnen – 6, Brotherhood
Tanguric – 2, Resentful (1 rightward shift)
Military: 100 Archers, 100 Spearmen, 80 Tiaka
Summary: Berkenis' birth had occurred during one of the cruelest, coldest winters. Numerous babies were abandoned. Only through sheer luck did his survival come about: a nearby tribe, thinking of the children as possible food, had saved, temporarily, the children. By chance was Berkenis the Bastard not eaten in the wake of the harsh, biting frost of that winter. In turn, in spite of his name, Berkenis grew to prominence, fighting his way up, fighting his name until he rose to leadership.
When first Hroth led Haecomus against the legions of wild Fulanti, amongst his lieutenants stood Berkenis, predecessor of the Rheni. Recruited by the charismatic Hroth, Berkenis possessed a charm and strength that clashed with Hroth's own savage power. Nonetheless, in the fire and storm of battle, the name of Berkenis the Bastard died, he saved Hroth's life, and his title was redacted as Berkenis the Berserker. His fire and command aura in battle flushed his men with a sense of immortality.
In return for his loyalty, Berkenis received the fangs of the Fulanti warlord he decapitated in his service to Hroth. Also, Berk's tribe grew to prominence, receiving much added land when the reforms came.
In the maelstrom of succession, this tribe parried and riposted its way to a sovereignty.
Ruler: King Deiwar/a_propagandist
Cities: Brunica (7,500), Fynnica (2,500)
Ruling Tribe: Rheni/7+2
Income: 4/1/0
Trade Routes: None
Vassal Tribes:
Dresnen – 6, Brotherhood
Tanguric – 2, Resentful (1 rightward shift)
Military: 100 Archers, 100 Spearmen, 80 Tiaka
Summary: Berkenis' birth had occurred during one of the cruelest, coldest winters. Numerous babies were abandoned. Only through sheer luck did his survival come about: a nearby tribe, thinking of the children as possible food, had saved, temporarily, the children. By chance was Berkenis the Bastard not eaten in the wake of the harsh, biting frost of that winter. In turn, in spite of his name, Berkenis grew to prominence, fighting his way up, fighting his name until he rose to leadership.
When first Hroth led Haecomus against the legions of wild Fulanti, amongst his lieutenants stood Berkenis, predecessor of the Rheni. Recruited by the charismatic Hroth, Berkenis possessed a charm and strength that clashed with Hroth's own savage power. Nonetheless, in the fire and storm of battle, the name of Berkenis the Bastard died, he saved Hroth's life, and his title was redacted as Berkenis the Berserker. His fire and command aura in battle flushed his men with a sense of immortality.
In return for his loyalty, Berkenis received the fangs of the Fulanti warlord he decapitated in his service to Hroth. Also, Berk's tribe grew to prominence, receiving much added land when the reforms came.
In the maelstrom of succession, this tribe parried and riposted its way to a sovereignty.
das
Regeneration In Process
Working on stats. Would it be possible to extract extra points for other use by ruining my relations with some or all of my vassals? I have story reasons.
I have story reasons.Working on stats. Would it be possible to extract extra points for other use by ruining my relations with some or all of my vassals?
Possibly. Send me a PM with a short summary of the story reasons, how many points you're looking for, and where you'd like to spend them.
das
Regeneration In Process
King Haecadem was old and ill. Three days ago, in the middle of a feast spoiled by mistrust and intrigue in his own household, he started coughing up blood; immediately, accusations of poisoning were thrown around, and Haecadem's favourite culinarian was only saved by the king's own intervention. Oh, he seemed to have recovered quickly at first, and yesterday he even took part in a hunt; but when, upon returning home, he flew into a blind rage at the carelessness and sloppiness of a random servant, he was stopped by a heart attack and had not gotten better since.
And now Haecadem lied in his bed and brooded. He had a lot to be unhappy with, and the worst of it all was that he did know that he himself was to blame for most of it. His mother had granted him a healthy and strong body, but he ruined it with wounds, fat and the poison his kinsmen called "the Fire-Spirit"; his father had granted him a mighty vassal realm, but he ruined it with foolish opportunism and naive warmongering, so that by the time he realised the full consequences of his youthful folly it was too late to repair the ruined relations with the other kingdoms and his own vassals. They had to be kept under his control by force. And to think that the Sun and the Three Moons had granted him so much luck, so many close escapes and new opportunities! And he squandered it all. And now his broken, ruined body lied on the luxurious wool-stuffed mattrass, while his bitter yet clear mind raced in fury inside his skull. Haecadem wished he could still stand up. He had tried, but failed. His luck had ran out, just as he thought that he might try and fix something before it is too late. He wanted to order the construction of a new road, or to send envoys to the courts of his father's allies with gifts to heal old wounds, or just to give out food to the people of Werhold to restore their faith in their rulers. But all he could do was lie on his bed and wallow in self-pity and rage at his failings and failures.
Back when Haecadem was a young warrior and the heir to his father's throne, Werhold - the mighty citadel built by Haecadem's great grandfather (who once sat at the right hand of Hroth I at a feast) on the spot that the superstitious natives called Sargotbak - was one of the greatest cities in Varica, and the capital of the mightiest of all the Emperor's kingdoms. Eleven tribes paid tribute to the Werar king in Werhold, and eight sent warriors to King Cuphric, the father of Haecadem, when he warred against the traitor-kings and the Thune. When Cuphric died, some of the tributaries ceased paying tribute, and the Serala tribe rebelled outright; but the others remained loyal and Haecadem's mighty hosts have crushed the Seralas, who to this day dared not raise their heads in his presence. But it was a small consolation.
For soon after that, came the time of change. The Empress died in Varica, and soon war began all across the land. Haecadem did not march to attack or protect Varica, but instead he revelled in the chaos, attacking everyone around him regardless of past allegiances. To him, back then, those were times of true glory, even as old men and women in Werhold itself and amongst the vassal tribes grumbled about folly and recklessness. When finally those thoughts spread to the vassal warriors, he again went and put them all down, and decimated the rebel tribes in a bloody massacre. Yet their bitterness was not to be put down so easily, while the Sun itself must have grown tired of witnessing his foolish warfare; for when the Werar and their vassals invaded the lands of the fierce Hrafn, they faced greater resistance than expected when another king intervenned, and also were splintered by a new rebellion. Haecadem himself was not defeated in battle; bloodied and forced to withdraw, yes, but even now none in Werhold dared say he lost. Yet he himself had calmed down, for a while; or at least he now took out his fury on his remaining vassal tribes.
Yet that was not the end of his folly and his shame. The worst humiliation came later, and to this day he cursed himself for being so naive and easily-persuaded. For the priests, no doubt drunk or bribed by enemies, had announced to him that the Sun and the Three Moons themselves had chosen him to reign Varica. In those days a petty, nameless, landless "noble" of the capital city had seized power and claimed for himself the name of Hroth IV, and no descendant of Hroth I's retainers could let this indignity stand. Even Haecadem, indifferent to that city and its power, felt compelled to act, and the priests had given him crucial encouragement. With their blessing he and his remaining vassals set out for the capital, taking lethal revenge on that king that thwarted them at Assfell along the way and soon coming within one day's march of the capital.
...When Haecadem returned from his campaign, he ordered the priests massacred or exiled and the temple emptied; though later he agreed to let some of the surviving priests return, he only did it grudgingly. And he refused to speak of what happened, and swore his warriors to silence, though word still got out. Not that it mattered. A blind man could see that he had lost. His armies returned to Werhold shuttered and diminished, or sometimes not at all as most vassal tribe warriors returned to their homes and had to be beaten into submission again. Beside that and some uprisings within the city itself, Haecadem did not war again, if only because he had lost a lot of blood and his left arm, as well as all spirit for war. He was once brutal and reckless; now he was grim and distraught. He was not so much broken as put out, and he lost all but formal interest in life. Out of inertia and boredom he hunted, feasted, slaughtered, punished, commended, ordered... Out of inertia and boredom, he ruled, in a way that some might have called sensible (as he now made sure to listen to his advisors and nobles) if not for the facts that it was decadent in spirit and completely ineffectual in practice.
During that fateful campaign, at the approaches of Varica, he and his retainers were cut off from his main army. They tried to fight their way out, but were captured. This capture had finally sobered up Haecadem, until then drunk with blood. He prayed through the night to the Sun and the Three Moons, but received neither release nor guidance, and prepared himself for his fate. But on the next day, he was brought before Hroth IV, alone. The Emperor was a warrior, certainly, but he was weaker and shorted than Haecadem, and the latter was sure that, even with the guards around him, he could have taken this pretender with him to whatever fate was prepared for him at the end. But Hroth IV made an offer, and Haecadem had promised earlier to the Sun and the Three Moons that he would not jump into death if they offered him a chance to avoid it. Hroth IV demanded that Haecadem should swear that he and his kin shall forever serve Hroth IV and his new dynasty. Haecadem listened, thought and refused, laughing at the claimant, saying that he was afraid and weak and desperate, that he could not survive without the backing of the Werar. Hroth IV replied with patience and derision that he had no cause for fear. The Werar were already defeated without their leader, and the others that marched on the capital were beaten as well. Coldly, Hroth IV explained that he had no fear of Haecadem and no need for him neither; he merely deigned to grant mercy to the vanquished, but only if they agreed to pay him back. Haecadem then said that he could only swear for himself. Hroth IV restated his terms. And went on to explain that the Werar were doomed. Their warriors were starving and trapped; he, Hroth IV, could slaughter them at any moment. And their ruler was right here, ready to be executed. Without an army and without a king, would the Werar even survive? Their vassals had either already deserted them or will do so as soon as the news arrive. Their neighbours hated them, with good reason. The Werar would be slaughtered, and Werhold would be razed.
And Haecadem agreed, calmly and stoically, not allowing any thoughts or feelings to enter his soul, which was now a void. He was passionless when he led his retainers out of the capital's dungeon under Varican escort, and he was visibly indifferent as, upon receiving some food from the Varicans, he gathered his surviving warriors and led them back to Werhold. And once there, just after sending men to desecrate the temples, he barred everyone else from entering the throne room and drank until he passed out. He never admitted to his shameful pact, yet its burden hanged over him just as well.
And now King Haecadem was old, ill and dying in his bed. He was suddenly cut away from his bitter reminiscences; apparently, some time has passed since then, and now he was somehow surrounded by some people. They were his courtiers. He didn't know most of them, or more precisely didn't remember. His vision blurred, then cleared again after some time during which some of those people disappeared as suddenly as they appeared.
He squinted and looked at those that remained. He could now remember some of them. His wife Eothea of the Kaldar tribe was here; he loathed her since his advisors first introduced him to this wretched (though unbelievably beautiful, which made it even worse), conniving hag of a noblewoman. Haeroph the Thane, to whom he had delegated many of his duties, was here as well. There were some he still could not remember. Also, a small child of five or six years. Haecadem blinked. That was probably his son.
Suddenly, the king was seized by a last, desperate thought, as though the spirit of his great grandfather or possibly the Sun itself had possessed him for a while. Or perhaps he was just tired and bitter, but wanted to leave something, one last thing. He made and immense effort and shouted - in the disgusting voice of a sick, injured bear - for everyone to leave, and for Haecadem (for something had earlier possessed the king to give his son that name) to stay. The boy was probably scared, but King Haecadem I could not read him, and did not truly care. Anyway, the others did as he commanded, though they grumbled.
"Son." - the king struggled to spell out the words with clarity - "Do as I say. Do not..." - he was interrupted by his own coughing - "Do not think, just do. Never trust anyone at the court. And don't... trust... priests. Try to save... the tribe. And... don't... don't attack the Emperor in Varica. No matter what. Don't."
The boy listened. He probably did not understand a thing.
"Remember. Don't attack the Emperor. Don't trust... don't..." - and he once again began coughing. He was coughing up blood. Probably. - "Don't trust your... mother... Never trust anyone. Yes?"
The boy nodded. Stupid boy. Damned boy. He would fail him, Haecadem just knew it. Still, it was some last hope.
"Don't... tell them anything of what I said. Tell them that... I... blessed you. Send them in. Now. NOW!" - he suddenly shouted, and the boy turned and ran out of the room. The king began coughing again.
"Haeraph! Haer... oph. Haeroph." - the king muttered. His vision had gone blurry again. Or perhaps it was gone. He didn't know.
"Yes?" - some voice said. Possibly the Thane's.
"Reign while son grows." - Haecadem said laconically with his last strength - "Othea.. Eoth... Wife?" - Another voice said something. It was feminine. Probably close enough - "Damn you. Don't do anything. And let me die. All of you, just let me die."
And then he died. The last thought was that maybe the boy did understand something. That would make it seem a bit less futile. Meanwhile, an era ended, and the Varican Empire awakened, stumbling, with a hangover after the drunken orgy of the civil war.
---
EDIT: I can't really wait for you to answer my PM right now, Fulton, so I'll assume the answer is yes. I'll change the stats if not.
Werhold
Ruler: King Haecadem II/Thane Haeroph (regent)/das
Cities: Werhold (8,500)
Ruling Tribe: Werar/9
Income: 4/1/0
Trade Routes: None
Vassal Tribes:
Kaldar 4, Apathetic
Bealdar 3, Distrustful
Torica 4, Resentful
Serala 3, Belligerent
Military: 300 Archers, 300 Spearmen, 160 Tiaka
Summary: The Werar were a minor and indistinct nomadic tribe in the eastern Homelands prior to the coming of Hroth I; but they were the first tribe to join Hroth outside of his native area, and their young chieftain Haepherth had distinguished himself on many occassions during the war against the Fulanti. The Werar had thus gained Hroth's favour, and were granted the best of the eastern lands. In his old age, Haepherth founded the city of Werhold at the Sargothi site called "Sargotbak" by the native tribes with which the Werar intermixed. Through assimilating local tribes and engaging in agriculture in some of the most fertile lands in the known world, the Werar had grown wealthy and mighty over the decades. Numerous lesser tribes were forced to swear fealty under Haepherth's grandson Cuphric, who dedicated his life to keeping the Werar military traditions alive, adapting the Tiaka tactics from the northerners and launching extensive raids against all that could be classed as enemies beyond the Varican Empire. Werhold had by then become an empire in its own right. Sadly, its fortunes took a sharp turn under the reign of King Haecadem I; that king had neglected domestic matters and instead dedicated himself to senseless warring against traditional allies and trading partners at the outset of the Varican civil war. Those wars had antagonised even the most steadfast vassals, but they were kept in check by crippling decimations; they also made Werhold completely isolated diplomatically. The failed campaigns against Assfell and later against Varica itself had further undermined Werhold's power base, though after the latter campaign the end of the civil war had won Haecadem some breathing space that allowed him to restore some semblance of order. Werhold's intrinsic advantages still were intimidating, and they allowed it to remain a regional power despite all setbacks; but, in the wake of Haecadem's death and the rise to power of his six-years-old son, the kingdom seems less stable than ever. The priesthood, slowly reviving after Haecadem's purges, plots to regain its power and influence, factions led by Thane Haeroph and Queen-Mother Eothea (the latter being supported by the Kaldar tribe from which she originates) respectively clash at the court and vassal tribes wait hopefully for the downfall of the Werar. Yet those hopes may be poorly founded, as the people of Werhold might still rebound...
If anyone thinks the sheer military power of the Werar realm is unbalancing, remember that it is aptly compensated for by Werhold's sheer instability and unpopularity. And I imagine it's going to cost us in upkeep too.
And now Haecadem lied in his bed and brooded. He had a lot to be unhappy with, and the worst of it all was that he did know that he himself was to blame for most of it. His mother had granted him a healthy and strong body, but he ruined it with wounds, fat and the poison his kinsmen called "the Fire-Spirit"; his father had granted him a mighty vassal realm, but he ruined it with foolish opportunism and naive warmongering, so that by the time he realised the full consequences of his youthful folly it was too late to repair the ruined relations with the other kingdoms and his own vassals. They had to be kept under his control by force. And to think that the Sun and the Three Moons had granted him so much luck, so many close escapes and new opportunities! And he squandered it all. And now his broken, ruined body lied on the luxurious wool-stuffed mattrass, while his bitter yet clear mind raced in fury inside his skull. Haecadem wished he could still stand up. He had tried, but failed. His luck had ran out, just as he thought that he might try and fix something before it is too late. He wanted to order the construction of a new road, or to send envoys to the courts of his father's allies with gifts to heal old wounds, or just to give out food to the people of Werhold to restore their faith in their rulers. But all he could do was lie on his bed and wallow in self-pity and rage at his failings and failures.
Back when Haecadem was a young warrior and the heir to his father's throne, Werhold - the mighty citadel built by Haecadem's great grandfather (who once sat at the right hand of Hroth I at a feast) on the spot that the superstitious natives called Sargotbak - was one of the greatest cities in Varica, and the capital of the mightiest of all the Emperor's kingdoms. Eleven tribes paid tribute to the Werar king in Werhold, and eight sent warriors to King Cuphric, the father of Haecadem, when he warred against the traitor-kings and the Thune. When Cuphric died, some of the tributaries ceased paying tribute, and the Serala tribe rebelled outright; but the others remained loyal and Haecadem's mighty hosts have crushed the Seralas, who to this day dared not raise their heads in his presence. But it was a small consolation.
For soon after that, came the time of change. The Empress died in Varica, and soon war began all across the land. Haecadem did not march to attack or protect Varica, but instead he revelled in the chaos, attacking everyone around him regardless of past allegiances. To him, back then, those were times of true glory, even as old men and women in Werhold itself and amongst the vassal tribes grumbled about folly and recklessness. When finally those thoughts spread to the vassal warriors, he again went and put them all down, and decimated the rebel tribes in a bloody massacre. Yet their bitterness was not to be put down so easily, while the Sun itself must have grown tired of witnessing his foolish warfare; for when the Werar and their vassals invaded the lands of the fierce Hrafn, they faced greater resistance than expected when another king intervenned, and also were splintered by a new rebellion. Haecadem himself was not defeated in battle; bloodied and forced to withdraw, yes, but even now none in Werhold dared say he lost. Yet he himself had calmed down, for a while; or at least he now took out his fury on his remaining vassal tribes.
Yet that was not the end of his folly and his shame. The worst humiliation came later, and to this day he cursed himself for being so naive and easily-persuaded. For the priests, no doubt drunk or bribed by enemies, had announced to him that the Sun and the Three Moons themselves had chosen him to reign Varica. In those days a petty, nameless, landless "noble" of the capital city had seized power and claimed for himself the name of Hroth IV, and no descendant of Hroth I's retainers could let this indignity stand. Even Haecadem, indifferent to that city and its power, felt compelled to act, and the priests had given him crucial encouragement. With their blessing he and his remaining vassals set out for the capital, taking lethal revenge on that king that thwarted them at Assfell along the way and soon coming within one day's march of the capital.
...When Haecadem returned from his campaign, he ordered the priests massacred or exiled and the temple emptied; though later he agreed to let some of the surviving priests return, he only did it grudgingly. And he refused to speak of what happened, and swore his warriors to silence, though word still got out. Not that it mattered. A blind man could see that he had lost. His armies returned to Werhold shuttered and diminished, or sometimes not at all as most vassal tribe warriors returned to their homes and had to be beaten into submission again. Beside that and some uprisings within the city itself, Haecadem did not war again, if only because he had lost a lot of blood and his left arm, as well as all spirit for war. He was once brutal and reckless; now he was grim and distraught. He was not so much broken as put out, and he lost all but formal interest in life. Out of inertia and boredom he hunted, feasted, slaughtered, punished, commended, ordered... Out of inertia and boredom, he ruled, in a way that some might have called sensible (as he now made sure to listen to his advisors and nobles) if not for the facts that it was decadent in spirit and completely ineffectual in practice.
During that fateful campaign, at the approaches of Varica, he and his retainers were cut off from his main army. They tried to fight their way out, but were captured. This capture had finally sobered up Haecadem, until then drunk with blood. He prayed through the night to the Sun and the Three Moons, but received neither release nor guidance, and prepared himself for his fate. But on the next day, he was brought before Hroth IV, alone. The Emperor was a warrior, certainly, but he was weaker and shorted than Haecadem, and the latter was sure that, even with the guards around him, he could have taken this pretender with him to whatever fate was prepared for him at the end. But Hroth IV made an offer, and Haecadem had promised earlier to the Sun and the Three Moons that he would not jump into death if they offered him a chance to avoid it. Hroth IV demanded that Haecadem should swear that he and his kin shall forever serve Hroth IV and his new dynasty. Haecadem listened, thought and refused, laughing at the claimant, saying that he was afraid and weak and desperate, that he could not survive without the backing of the Werar. Hroth IV replied with patience and derision that he had no cause for fear. The Werar were already defeated without their leader, and the others that marched on the capital were beaten as well. Coldly, Hroth IV explained that he had no fear of Haecadem and no need for him neither; he merely deigned to grant mercy to the vanquished, but only if they agreed to pay him back. Haecadem then said that he could only swear for himself. Hroth IV restated his terms. And went on to explain that the Werar were doomed. Their warriors were starving and trapped; he, Hroth IV, could slaughter them at any moment. And their ruler was right here, ready to be executed. Without an army and without a king, would the Werar even survive? Their vassals had either already deserted them or will do so as soon as the news arrive. Their neighbours hated them, with good reason. The Werar would be slaughtered, and Werhold would be razed.
And Haecadem agreed, calmly and stoically, not allowing any thoughts or feelings to enter his soul, which was now a void. He was passionless when he led his retainers out of the capital's dungeon under Varican escort, and he was visibly indifferent as, upon receiving some food from the Varicans, he gathered his surviving warriors and led them back to Werhold. And once there, just after sending men to desecrate the temples, he barred everyone else from entering the throne room and drank until he passed out. He never admitted to his shameful pact, yet its burden hanged over him just as well.
And now King Haecadem was old, ill and dying in his bed. He was suddenly cut away from his bitter reminiscences; apparently, some time has passed since then, and now he was somehow surrounded by some people. They were his courtiers. He didn't know most of them, or more precisely didn't remember. His vision blurred, then cleared again after some time during which some of those people disappeared as suddenly as they appeared.
He squinted and looked at those that remained. He could now remember some of them. His wife Eothea of the Kaldar tribe was here; he loathed her since his advisors first introduced him to this wretched (though unbelievably beautiful, which made it even worse), conniving hag of a noblewoman. Haeroph the Thane, to whom he had delegated many of his duties, was here as well. There were some he still could not remember. Also, a small child of five or six years. Haecadem blinked. That was probably his son.
Suddenly, the king was seized by a last, desperate thought, as though the spirit of his great grandfather or possibly the Sun itself had possessed him for a while. Or perhaps he was just tired and bitter, but wanted to leave something, one last thing. He made and immense effort and shouted - in the disgusting voice of a sick, injured bear - for everyone to leave, and for Haecadem (for something had earlier possessed the king to give his son that name) to stay. The boy was probably scared, but King Haecadem I could not read him, and did not truly care. Anyway, the others did as he commanded, though they grumbled.
"Son." - the king struggled to spell out the words with clarity - "Do as I say. Do not..." - he was interrupted by his own coughing - "Do not think, just do. Never trust anyone at the court. And don't... trust... priests. Try to save... the tribe. And... don't... don't attack the Emperor in Varica. No matter what. Don't."
The boy listened. He probably did not understand a thing.
"Remember. Don't attack the Emperor. Don't trust... don't..." - and he once again began coughing. He was coughing up blood. Probably. - "Don't trust your... mother... Never trust anyone. Yes?"
The boy nodded. Stupid boy. Damned boy. He would fail him, Haecadem just knew it. Still, it was some last hope.
"Don't... tell them anything of what I said. Tell them that... I... blessed you. Send them in. Now. NOW!" - he suddenly shouted, and the boy turned and ran out of the room. The king began coughing again.
"Haeraph! Haer... oph. Haeroph." - the king muttered. His vision had gone blurry again. Or perhaps it was gone. He didn't know.
"Yes?" - some voice said. Possibly the Thane's.
"Reign while son grows." - Haecadem said laconically with his last strength - "Othea.. Eoth... Wife?" - Another voice said something. It was feminine. Probably close enough - "Damn you. Don't do anything. And let me die. All of you, just let me die."
And then he died. The last thought was that maybe the boy did understand something. That would make it seem a bit less futile. Meanwhile, an era ended, and the Varican Empire awakened, stumbling, with a hangover after the drunken orgy of the civil war.
---
EDIT: I can't really wait for you to answer my PM right now, Fulton, so I'll assume the answer is yes. I'll change the stats if not.
Werhold
Ruler: King Haecadem II/Thane Haeroph (regent)/das
Cities: Werhold (8,500)
Ruling Tribe: Werar/9
Income: 4/1/0
Trade Routes: None
Vassal Tribes:
Kaldar 4, Apathetic
Bealdar 3, Distrustful
Torica 4, Resentful
Serala 3, Belligerent
Military: 300 Archers, 300 Spearmen, 160 Tiaka
Summary: The Werar were a minor and indistinct nomadic tribe in the eastern Homelands prior to the coming of Hroth I; but they were the first tribe to join Hroth outside of his native area, and their young chieftain Haepherth had distinguished himself on many occassions during the war against the Fulanti. The Werar had thus gained Hroth's favour, and were granted the best of the eastern lands. In his old age, Haepherth founded the city of Werhold at the Sargothi site called "Sargotbak" by the native tribes with which the Werar intermixed. Through assimilating local tribes and engaging in agriculture in some of the most fertile lands in the known world, the Werar had grown wealthy and mighty over the decades. Numerous lesser tribes were forced to swear fealty under Haepherth's grandson Cuphric, who dedicated his life to keeping the Werar military traditions alive, adapting the Tiaka tactics from the northerners and launching extensive raids against all that could be classed as enemies beyond the Varican Empire. Werhold had by then become an empire in its own right. Sadly, its fortunes took a sharp turn under the reign of King Haecadem I; that king had neglected domestic matters and instead dedicated himself to senseless warring against traditional allies and trading partners at the outset of the Varican civil war. Those wars had antagonised even the most steadfast vassals, but they were kept in check by crippling decimations; they also made Werhold completely isolated diplomatically. The failed campaigns against Assfell and later against Varica itself had further undermined Werhold's power base, though after the latter campaign the end of the civil war had won Haecadem some breathing space that allowed him to restore some semblance of order. Werhold's intrinsic advantages still were intimidating, and they allowed it to remain a regional power despite all setbacks; but, in the wake of Haecadem's death and the rise to power of his six-years-old son, the kingdom seems less stable than ever. The priesthood, slowly reviving after Haecadem's purges, plots to regain its power and influence, factions led by Thane Haeroph and Queen-Mother Eothea (the latter being supported by the Kaldar tribe from which she originates) respectively clash at the court and vassal tribes wait hopefully for the downfall of the Werar. Yet those hopes may be poorly founded, as the people of Werhold might still rebound...
If anyone thinks the sheer military power of the Werar realm is unbalancing, remember that it is aptly compensated for by Werhold's sheer instability and unpopularity. And I imagine it's going to cost us in upkeep too.
Das, first that is a great story and write up. Second I am not Fulton and thus am not the final word on this, but I feel I must have my say.
Despite the mitagating factors, i.e. rebellion soon to happen, you've over spent by 8 points. Thats alot. And you won't have any upkeep problems with your military because you've kept it under the limit.
Thus I feel that with a very slight modification to the story line you should be able to stick to the 12 point starting limit.
Despite the mitagating factors, i.e. rebellion soon to happen, you've over spent by 8 points. Thats alot. And you won't have any upkeep problems with your military because you've kept it under the limit.
Thus I feel that with a very slight modification to the story line you should be able to stick to the 12 point starting limit.
The Strategos
Thanatos
- Joined
- Jul 21, 2002
- Messages
- 1,175
But he "saved" 10 points by making weaker vassals. Plus he has at least three distinct competing court powers and unruly vassals. As his neighbor, I have no problem with the stats.
thomas.berubeg
Wandering the World
I have no problem with any of it either, for whatever my opinion's worth...
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
@Hunter, are you fulton's friend? *is curious*
das
Regeneration In Process
Well, yes, I know. However, it is as The Strategos had said; I had made sure to penalise myself with my vassals for a value of precisely 8 EP. I have PMed Fulton about all of this earlier, but sadly he didn't reply yet, so I assumed that this is acceptable. If not, then I certainly will modify it.
@das,
I love the background youve written. I especially enjoy your understanding of the Haecomus, and how youve integrated your history with the histories of others. Its obvious youve put a lot of work into this and Im pleased to have you as a player again and Im excited about what youre
However, I think Hunter has a bit of a point. I think that if you distribute two more leftward shifts to whichever vassals you believe are most suitable, then it will be acceptable.
A large number of low loyalty vassals will often form alliances between them. Expect immediate vassal troubles and likely meddling from your neighbours. But then, I think thats what youre looking for. Youre in for a wild ride though; I hope its a fun one!
@alex994,
Hunter and I go way back.
I love the background youve written. I especially enjoy your understanding of the Haecomus, and how youve integrated your history with the histories of others. Its obvious youve put a lot of work into this and Im pleased to have you as a player again and Im excited about what youre
However, I think Hunter has a bit of a point. I think that if you distribute two more leftward shifts to whichever vassals you believe are most suitable, then it will be acceptable.
A large number of low loyalty vassals will often form alliances between them. Expect immediate vassal troubles and likely meddling from your neighbours. But then, I think thats what youre looking for. Youre in for a wild ride though; I hope its a fun one!
@alex994,
Hunter and I go way back.
Abaddon
Deity
Sorry I have not got futher involved yet, I have a lot on my plate currently with GuideNES launch 
Rest assured I will dive in soon enough, I hope there isn't a deadline to get involved?
Rest assured I will dive in soon enough, I hope there isn't a deadline to get involved?
das
Regeneration In Process
Thanks, I try.
Fair enough, edited it now. Note that although the Serala are Belligerent now, as per story they are supposed to have been intimidated into submission by previous decimations (which were ofcourse also responsible for their relations with us); so I imagine that they won't be openly belligerent to us just yet, and instead their intense hatred for Werhold would simmer until an opportunity for revenge manifests itself. Which may be very soon, ofcourse.
I also expect my vassals to meddle in the court intrigues.
Yes, yes it is.
@Abbadon,
Still plenty of time to join for the launch, I'm still waiting on my map. We should be good to go within 48 hours of getting the map.
If you miss the first round, you're certainly welcome to join later.
@das,
Excellent. You are now approved for the game.
Still plenty of time to join for the launch, I'm still waiting on my map. We should be good to go within 48 hours of getting the map.
If you miss the first round, you're certainly welcome to join later.
@das,
Excellent. You are now approved for the game.
a_propagandist
The Light Brigadier
Summary up. Waiting for approval.
Approved. Welcome aboard.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
It's been a while since I've been so excited over something like this, may I ask when you plan to have more things added to the first page?
I'm glad you're excited. I know I am.
My awesome map making friend is sending me the rough draft right now. We have a bad connection and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so the file will finish tonight while I sleep for posting tomorrow. Once the map is up, I'll start collating the PC and NPC stats, then I think we're good to go, once we choose our starting locations.
My awesome map making friend is sending me the rough draft right now. We have a bad connection and I have an early meeting tomorrow, so the file will finish tonight while I sleep for posting tomorrow. Once the map is up, I'll start collating the PC and NPC stats, then I think we're good to go, once we choose our starting locations.
OOC: Just a little story. Gives a bit of background info i felt was sorely needed, will be built on with time i think.
IC:
Tyrion, Warrior King, sat absentmindedly upon his throne. He slouched in the great chair that had once housed his father, a fool of a man, during his years as King. Chuckling he played with his great sword Tren-Bane, so named for his father, the fool. Tyrion had been the younger son, the weaker one, the unloved. He was not worthy of his fathers vital time. No, while his father attended state business and fussed over Tora like a washer-woman fussed over dirty sheets, Tyrion was left to his own devices. He had been a... Troublesome child and after several 'incidents' his father in his almighty wisdom had seen fit to send him to his Uncles lands. This was the worst decision the pitiful old fool would make for Tyrion would learn many things in Angster as he grew. He found that Aenerion, his uncle, also had no love for the king, his own brother. From this grew a strong friendship between the two and Aenerion became the father Tren had never been. The civil wars and general strife outside the kingdom had made little impact on Tyrion and he had spent little time watching foreign affairs, instead he watched the domestic arena with great interest. It soon became clear that Tren had no intention of bringing his second son back into the fold and may have even completely forgotten him if it hadn't been for his consistent attendance to the council of nobles. Aenerion approached Tyrion only two years ago when Tren had managed to lose the last of his vassals through foolish taxes and a complete lack of any military presence that could have enforced them. Aenerion knew that he was not suited to take the throne from his brother and despite a growing discontent among the nobles most would much rather see one of Tren's sons ascend the throne. So Aenerion had decided that it was in his interests to see that Tyrion became King. The plot was hatched and after a 'hunting accident' claimed Tora one summer Tyrion paid a visit to his grieving father with a cadre of his most trusted soldiers and claimed the throne. Tren in his foolishness had laughed at Tyrion after he had declared his intentions to take the throne from him and in response Tyrion clove his head from his shoulders in one mighty blow. Served the old fool right Tyrion thought, he had been willing to simply exile the blundering idiot but no he had to go and open his mouth and for that he'd paid.
Aenerions armies who had accompanied Tyrion into his home realm were used to subdue any unrest but thankfully there was little. When it became clear that the time of unfair taxes used to pay for extravagant and yet unnecessary parties had come to an end and they had been replaced with a strong King who was willing to do what it took to get things done, the population and most importantly the cadre of lesser nobles fell right behind Tyrion and his closest advisor Aenerion.
Tyrion loved his uncle, he had been so useful in the subjugation of Heras, who had once been part of the Empire but had been disillusioned under Tren's rule. If he was more cold blooded he would have killed his Uncle as well long ago but he knew that for the time being at least that old man was important in keeping his empire together. Also it had to be said that the unwavering loyalty shown by his Uncle to his right to the throne had been surprising. For some time he had expected a 'hunting accident' to appear before he had time to sire an heir and thus deliver the throne to Aenerion's lap but none had come. And now Tyrion had an empire, three vassals, a wife and a son.
Teclis tottered into the room, his mother steps behind watching anxiously in case he fall. Tyrions eyes lit up and his heart warmed.
Ah my son, I see you are already marching to and fro. Dont be so hasty to grow, soon enough you'll be my age and dealing with such terrible things that have yet to even enter your mind, Tyrion spoke happily as he got off the throne and sweeped his son of his feet carrying him high into the air before plonking him on his shoulders.
Aenerion has arrived my dear, he awaits your presence. Astarielle, his most beautiful wife told him as she smiled at his antics with their son. Her belly was swollen with whoever the next was to join their family, she hoped for a daughter.
Very well. Come son, lets go for a ride shall we?
IC:
Tyrion, Warrior King, sat absentmindedly upon his throne. He slouched in the great chair that had once housed his father, a fool of a man, during his years as King. Chuckling he played with his great sword Tren-Bane, so named for his father, the fool. Tyrion had been the younger son, the weaker one, the unloved. He was not worthy of his fathers vital time. No, while his father attended state business and fussed over Tora like a washer-woman fussed over dirty sheets, Tyrion was left to his own devices. He had been a... Troublesome child and after several 'incidents' his father in his almighty wisdom had seen fit to send him to his Uncles lands. This was the worst decision the pitiful old fool would make for Tyrion would learn many things in Angster as he grew. He found that Aenerion, his uncle, also had no love for the king, his own brother. From this grew a strong friendship between the two and Aenerion became the father Tren had never been. The civil wars and general strife outside the kingdom had made little impact on Tyrion and he had spent little time watching foreign affairs, instead he watched the domestic arena with great interest. It soon became clear that Tren had no intention of bringing his second son back into the fold and may have even completely forgotten him if it hadn't been for his consistent attendance to the council of nobles. Aenerion approached Tyrion only two years ago when Tren had managed to lose the last of his vassals through foolish taxes and a complete lack of any military presence that could have enforced them. Aenerion knew that he was not suited to take the throne from his brother and despite a growing discontent among the nobles most would much rather see one of Tren's sons ascend the throne. So Aenerion had decided that it was in his interests to see that Tyrion became King. The plot was hatched and after a 'hunting accident' claimed Tora one summer Tyrion paid a visit to his grieving father with a cadre of his most trusted soldiers and claimed the throne. Tren in his foolishness had laughed at Tyrion after he had declared his intentions to take the throne from him and in response Tyrion clove his head from his shoulders in one mighty blow. Served the old fool right Tyrion thought, he had been willing to simply exile the blundering idiot but no he had to go and open his mouth and for that he'd paid.
Aenerions armies who had accompanied Tyrion into his home realm were used to subdue any unrest but thankfully there was little. When it became clear that the time of unfair taxes used to pay for extravagant and yet unnecessary parties had come to an end and they had been replaced with a strong King who was willing to do what it took to get things done, the population and most importantly the cadre of lesser nobles fell right behind Tyrion and his closest advisor Aenerion.
Tyrion loved his uncle, he had been so useful in the subjugation of Heras, who had once been part of the Empire but had been disillusioned under Tren's rule. If he was more cold blooded he would have killed his Uncle as well long ago but he knew that for the time being at least that old man was important in keeping his empire together. Also it had to be said that the unwavering loyalty shown by his Uncle to his right to the throne had been surprising. For some time he had expected a 'hunting accident' to appear before he had time to sire an heir and thus deliver the throne to Aenerion's lap but none had come. And now Tyrion had an empire, three vassals, a wife and a son.
Teclis tottered into the room, his mother steps behind watching anxiously in case he fall. Tyrions eyes lit up and his heart warmed.
Ah my son, I see you are already marching to and fro. Dont be so hasty to grow, soon enough you'll be my age and dealing with such terrible things that have yet to even enter your mind, Tyrion spoke happily as he got off the throne and sweeped his son of his feet carrying him high into the air before plonking him on his shoulders.
Aenerion has arrived my dear, he awaits your presence. Astarielle, his most beautiful wife told him as she smiled at his antics with their son. Her belly was swollen with whoever the next was to join their family, she hoped for a daughter.
Very well. Come son, lets go for a ride shall we?
Alright! The initial map has been finished. You can choose a location anywhere on the map not already owned by another tribe. The only exception is that you cannot locate yourself in the Thune city states region. To find this region, draw a line upwards from halfway between the Agra-Yumin city of Silica and the Thune city of Cirici.
How the map works:
Tribal control zones are labelled by the tribe’s name in italics. The larger the tribe name, the more powerful the tribe. For now, all Kingly tribes are in 8 pt font and all Thanely tribes in 6 pt font. The names of Thune city states and the city of Varica are in bold. Small cities have a small dot representing them and large cities (more than 5,000 people) are represented by a larger dot.
You will have noticed there are no borders. Your confederations do not have the ability or organization to delineate and enforce borders. Even if you could, many of your people would ignore them. These are rough zones of control only. If we really need borders, I will add them in at a later date.
Once all players have chosen their location, we will begin the game.
How the map works:
Tribal control zones are labelled by the tribe’s name in italics. The larger the tribe name, the more powerful the tribe. For now, all Kingly tribes are in 8 pt font and all Thanely tribes in 6 pt font. The names of Thune city states and the city of Varica are in bold. Small cities have a small dot representing them and large cities (more than 5,000 people) are represented by a larger dot.
You will have noticed there are no borders. Your confederations do not have the ability or organization to delineate and enforce borders. Even if you could, many of your people would ignore them. These are rough zones of control only. If we really need borders, I will add them in at a later date.
Once all players have chosen their location, we will begin the game.
