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From Rus to Russia - Russia Megacampaign, pt.2

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Quite an impressive - no, scratch that, awesome - poem. Also, nice progress on the GFX, although I'd probably would have made the stripes in the Mamluk domain slightly larger :)
 
Now poetry is always a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's a right proper pain to craft. (And in my case, it'd certainly result in malformed doggerel that'd be lamer than Hephaestus.) Then there's the pro-prose bias that is rampant in the world. Especially for some of the lesser lights in the forum firmament. (Yes, i'm looking at you verbose chap in the mirror.)

But once i buckled down and got to reading, and here's where i get to the point: it was quite worth the effort. If by effort one means spending time doing something fun and new. Exceeding fine wordsmithing, incorporating some long lost Damascene art no doubt.
:)

As we all know even Homer nods and even in the midst of Reading Gaol the mind can wander like shroom-guided feet through traffic. Where was i? Oh yes: good balance. Not so unwieldy as to lose simpletons like me. Substantive enough to be on its own. And of course i like the theme, the tone, and what i gather are aforementioned nods to traditional stylistic forms. i herd large kudos in your direction!
 
General_BT: Eh, I'm sure you could if you tried :D

About Ethiopia: well, the King was overlord over a bunch of smaller Kingdoms, and his authority was very great, diplomatically, in the region. That makes it an Empire in my mind, though perhaps not on the same scale as some other ones in Europe or S.E.Asia. Well, that, and Eastern Christian kingdoms would probably be more ready to acknowledge Ethiopia as a great and powerful state if they wanted their help against, say, Somali states, Mamluks or Omanis.

Enewald: The map re-jigging should have given it so many provinces that uniting would be a major undertaking. Which is as it should be.

comagoosie: o_O I get compared to canonized. Nice :D

Jerusalem is the perennial CK-campaign comeback kid with elastic borders. I have utmost confidence they will put on a good show in EU3 as well.

Alfred Packer: Better a stroke of genius than a brain stroke, unless the two are the same thing :D

Thank you very much. The high praise means a lot to me. :eek:o

Milites: thank you for the poem compliment! But it sounded better in the original. It had internal rhymes and all. I'm but a poor translator :D

GFX - this map is actually older than my previous map, but I was experimenting with a "clean" style. I will definitely make the stripes thicker next time to repesent loosely-held territory...

I use Paint.NET. It's quick, simple and does most of what other things do, but I'm getting a feeling there's a lot more hidden functionality in bigger graphics packages.

aldriq: thank you very much!

I really do have a soft spot for poetry, and it is rare in AARland. I don't promise a lot of these but I will vary it up once in a while. Other people should too!

asd21593: thank you!

I actually always have a mind to mess with update formats. To me, history is largely a product of literary endeavor (as I must have quite unsubtly outlined in Part I several times) so creating a pseudo-literature for my pseudo-history seems like a natural thing to do.

Deamon: thank you :D:D

And nice to see some old-time readers around!

Tskb18:

Is this a proper pain to craft? Well, I wrote it in less time than it takes me to write a normal update. Thought up most of it in the shower, too.

But THEN I spent most of the evening changing this word and that and reshuffling phrases and worrying if it will be recieved well or get the meaning across (especially since it's still just an overview of the 1393 setup).

Incidentally, pearl divers? That's in the game.

So in short, it's not a pain to write, but it becomes very intellectually and emotionally involving, beyond what a quick update should be.

Traditional stylistic forms: it's a bit of a cheat.

There's a healthy dose of Syrian and Bedouin poetry in there, often with images outright stolen or reworked, but it's not a traditional verse form. If anything, I stuck to two simple, self-invented rules: 8 lines (of any length), and all complete thoughts are roughly the same length no matter how many lines they are distributed across, for rhythm.

So it owes more to modern Greek poetry in format, while remaining more Arab thematically. The only thing I kept out was doe-eyed women with gazelle grace and fingers like palm fronds (there's an oblique reference to one in the verse about the empty encampment, though). Then I also went and cheated by having a Copt write Beduin poetry to be able to describe the world more completely. So I just pretend it's a loose translation from a much better original to make myself feel better.

---------------

Well, thank you everyone, this was a fun little departure. I am working on a little bonus right now (not an update per se) and will have it available over the next couple of days.

Cheers.
 
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RGB said:
Tskb18:

Is this a proper pain to craft? Well, I wrote it in less time than it takes me to write a normal update. Thought up most of it in the shower, too.

But THEN I spent most of the evening changing this word and that and reshuffling phrases and worrying if it will be recieved well or get the meaning across (especially since it's still just an overview of the 1393 setup).

Incidentally, pearl divers? That's in the game.

So in short, it's not a pain to write, but it becomes very intellectually and emotionally involving, beyond what a quick update should be.

Traditional stylistic forms: it's a bit of a cheat.

There's a healthy dose of Syrian and Bedouin poetry in there, often with images outright stolen or reworked, but it's not a traditional verse form. If anything, I stuck to two simple, self-invented rules: 8 lines (of any length), and all complete thoughts are roughly the same length no matter how many lines they are distributed across, for rhythm.

So it owes more to modern Greek poetry in format, while remaining more Arab thematically. The only thing I kept out was doe-eyed women with gazelle grace and fingers like palm fronds (there's an oblique reference to one in the verse about the empty encampment, though). Then I also went and cheated by having a Copt write Beduin poetry to be able to describe the world more completely. So I just pretend it's a loose translation from a much better original to make myself feel better.

---------------

Well, thank you everyone, this was a fun little departure. I am working on a little bonus right now (not an update per se) and will have it available over the next couple of days.

Cheers.
Click to expand...

That's all, eh? You make it sound easy.;)
 
VILenin: I think good prose is harder. :eek:o

panther-anthro: Unfortunately I cannot give you a firm timeline. I'm currently busy with many other things in life, but I'm certainly working on it and progress is being done!

----------​

So, as I promised, a little bonus:

Pack1-1.png


----------​

This is a loading screen pack to get you in the mood for the mod. If there's a good reaction to this one, I may produce more. I could also make you one for the country of your choosing that's present in my mod. I have a lot of pictures saved.

Here's how to get and install this pack:

Download Here (I apologize for the slowness) and unzip to:

"C:\Program Files\Paradox Interactive\Europa Universalis III\gfx\loadingscreens" or whatever pathway takes you to EU3's loading screen folder.

Create a new folder in ..\loadingscreens called "Vanilla" or "Backup" as the fancy strikes you, and copy the original files (load_1 through load_5) to there.

Now go into ...\gfx\loadingscreens\Screen Pack 1 and copy the files from the new folder to ...\gfx\loadingscreens. The new Russian-themed loading screens will now appear during the loading of the game engine and the individual gaming sessions.

If you don't like them, the vanilla screens are still saved in the backup folder, but I'm hoping it won't have to come to that :p

--------​

Thanks for the patience with the mod, once again!
 
I'll steal those loading screens for whenever I go to playing EU3 again.
 
Nice pictures! The naval battle at Navarino is my favorite, but they all make for a nice change of load screens.
 
This thread becomes more and more awesome every time RGB posts in it.

Can't wait for the day when the EU3 mod is ready to be released!
 
an excellent poem strongly ornamented with all the geographic markers that we've come to be excited in seeing while girdled with the fastness of your amazing knowledge as usual . This was a real gem :D

P.S. those loading screens are gorgeous ! Really gives a better , sharper Eastern perspective than the usual affair !
 
truth is life said:
Those loading screens are great, but on tiny request? Could you get rid of the "picture-frame" borders in them? It looks pretty weird having them in the middle of the image.
Click to expand...

Okay, will do the frame-less versions as well.

Status update: map problems fixed, formation and union events for major players all ready, working on colonization events now.

Cheers.
 
truth is life said:
Thanks :)
And it's great to hear that the mod is coming along well. The updates you've given us so far are superlative, really bringing home the nature of the world that's developed.
Click to expand...

Thank you once again for the kind compliments and encouragement.

As promised, here are some frameless loading screens for download. I will always make two versions from now on.

Download Here!

--------

Other than that, a quick announcement. I'm off on a roadtrip to SF for the rest of the week and will probably only be back by Tuesday. That's the bad news.

Good news is, I have an update planned (finally starting the Kings preview as long-promised) and it will go up Tuesday night, most likely.

Thank you all for your patience.
 
Before you start​

Today's update (yes, all of it) was written by a friend - a special guest writer of uncommon and full-blooded talent, Calipah, whom you may know from occasional contributions to Timelines. His expert knowledge of the setting and a feel for the style is really a remarkable boon for me in trying to convey the way Spain is at the dying days of the 14th c. - in short, he does it better than I ever could and I'm very lucky to have him contribute. This is also the first of the promised "Kings" updates; however, I must remind that this bar is probably set too high to match in later ones. So, against common sense, I present the best of the installments first. Enjoy, and give our guest writer a big round of applause at the end.

The World in 1393 and How it Got There

A Vision of al-Andalus

trumpetboy.png


Ode to the Old Prince

The hawk of the Rock seeks out a prey, a luscious Christian count or knave
From delightful flesh he gnaws and grows, the great behemoth’s wings shall cover all
A crescent moon shines above and beyond, a watchful keeper to the sentinel-bird
Both guard the sacred grove, our lovely Andalus ever fine and proud
-----
Jadak’al Gaythu itha’l Gaythu hama, Ya Zaman al-Wasli bil Andalusi
Lam yakun wasluka illa huluman, fil wara awo khilsatal’ mukhtalisi
----


Emir3.png

He breathed a sigh of relief at the dawn sun, with its coquettish rays peeking hesitantly between the lofty mountaintops of Galicia. The rising warmth tickled his scarred face, forcing out a smile across his long, thin Iberian lips. A good omen, he reckoned. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he felt the new day beckoning in its timid whispers vacant thrones to be filled and discarded crowns to be worn, and he, the prophetic Emir, would be at the ready to seize that which his heart sorely coveted. He mused thoughtfully: Is he any different than the great Almanzor? The crafty Vizier of Yemenite blood sought amidst the mounting bodies of Saqlabi lords and Ummayed Emirs a heavenly dominion of his own to etch on the tablet of history, an A’miri kingdom countless mercenaries fought for five hundred years ago on these very nevadas. Indeed, only a man with the fortitude to imprison a Caliph and desecrate a Saint’s sanctuary, to have that thing that men call melancholy ‘ambition’ pumping through his veins, can truly be called a ‘Sultan.’ And he, the upstart, had an abundance of this ‘stuff’ that had driven treacherous daggers and culling swords to overturn the old and make way for the new, the whimsical urge to ravage the regal maiden again, and again, and again. He grinned with amusement at the sordid thought. Building a Kingdom is a sexual affair, and he would enjoy the travails and adversities ahead of him like a man trapped with a wanting damsel at the height of heat.​

Reconquista4.png

He looked beyond the mound’s receding edge, eyes longing with care at the arrayed regiments camped below, the small bands of men-at-arms huddled around dying fires, the ember giving way to the morning sun. Their banners fluttered with the passing of the gentle Asturian wind, the soldiers’ gazes fixed at the King-to-be, Lord-Master of the Galician highlands, Emir of ‘Al-Zaghra’ or the ‘Rock’ as his Arab adversaries would contemptuously mock the small but growing patrimony of his House. “Are the men ready?” he asked in his raspy voice, his back still fixed at the entourage, all expression now erased from his features. He could hear clearly the fidgeting hands passing against leathery tunics, the quivering Adam’s apples lodged tightly in their throats, and the muted gulps of accumulated spit forced down their dry chutes once more. He breathed audibly, awaiting the answer with dwindling and exacerbated patience. Sanjol al-Azaviro, his Arab commander broke the hanging silence of a Damocles-in-the-making with a preamble of coughs “Ci my liege, our forces are at the ready.” The Emir nodded his head in acknowledgement, his lips twisted in a contemplative knot, a kiss on the verge, yet not exactly so. “And what of the enemy?” Encouraged by the first exchange, the Berber commander Saeed al-Kaka’ani ventured a quick reply of his own “our scouts have informed us that the Burgundian host has made camp at Wadi al-Waleed near the wells. It appears they have assembled an alarming number of trebuchets and catapults with the intent of laying siege to Salamanca and—“The Emir raised his hand firmly, gutting the courtier’s sentence midway. “Do they know of our presence?” he asked in a low voice, a pinch of alarm in his pressed yet smoothly rolling r’s. The Berber clicked his tongue “Not an inkling.” He repeated his morbid words again for added emphasis, as if he were sharing a dark secret, a hidden charm forgotten by the sages and druids of a fanciful yonder land. “We march then to Wadi al-Waleed at once,” the Emir stated blankly with nary a waver in his tone.​

The men nodded their heads – there was no point in arguing with this man or, for that matter, in offering redundant advice. All words fell on an altar of deaf ears. That is how he is, and that is how they have come to accept him. He is the ruler of the Rock, and much like it, stubborn and unshakable. In that respect he was a reincarnated Pelayo, he would not have it any other way, and damned be who calls this a vice. Those of old, the ancestors of a forgotten Asturias fought to overturn Guadalete. He, on the other hand, would seek to reaffirm its conclusion, his ‘El-Camio’ under the standard of a new Muslim Galicia. Call it the irony of history, but those who at a time fled in terror before the new schematic religion of the East have now become its most stalwart of harbingers and warriors. The enemy turned friend. Yes, irony of ironies, but Hispania would be free either way, and may Allah be merciful enough to smite those – both Christian and Muslim - who stand in his way. His men had melted away by now, off to their respective posts, the work of moving a whole army a hardy task only a few actually wished to wrestle with. Perhaps it was a bit of a relief that Wadi Al-Walid was but a pebble’s throw away.​

Emir4.png

The Emir stared at his hands for a moment, and it struck him, in a moment of whimsy, how old and rugged they looked. How many battles has he fought to bring about such a foul – diseased, yes that’s the word - state? Right hand fixed on the handle of a sword, the other on the leather strappings of a small and well battered shield, a finesse acquired by the virtue of many fighting years driving his killer blows and elegant dodges, a pensive grinding of both spirit and body. His skin was visibly yellowish in hue, tortured as it was with many forgotten bruises and scars, his silver rings protruding like false veils desperately trying to conceal the severe ugliness bounding them on all sides. He could not remember anymore, and alas, he feared, there would be many forthcoming blows to his health. He would decay further, a corpse in the midst of transfiguration. He looked up, and could now see his army traversing southward, the rear now directly under him marching solidly to a fate beyond the Al-Zaghra, to a graveyard by the wells of Wadi al-Waleed. He turned and admired his stallion for a moment, a beautiful black Arabian, and with a poised jump, mounted its back. He gripped its reins and forced the wily horse down the now deserted path gently, much like a raft on a calm steam. A small party of guards, like jutting stones and pebbles in the water, awaiting him near its ravenous end. As soon as he reached the plains and joined his men, the Emir jutted forward to the front, bypassing the hodgepodge of Almughavirs, Mozarabe bowmen, and Galician footmen, the dissonance of uncouth Arabic, Berber, and Castilian flying by his hurried ear. As his army screeched to a halt, he made greater headway, dismounting near the swarm of commanders in anxious anticipation for his presence at this juncture in the war, the great milestone in their eyes against a relentless Crusader enemy. A calm descended on the sea of humanity as he walked up a small knoll overlooking the Galician force. He stared out, the countless faces merging into one great whole, breathless and suffering for a warrior’s exhortations. He took a deep breath, and bellowed out in a voice that reverberated throughout, unyielding and unassailable, an Achilles conjured up for another Troy.​

Emir1.png

“I am a man of little words, yet I have shared a solemn drink and crude couplet with many of you as we fought across the Al-Zaghra and Aragona. Let it be known that if God willed this a day of triumph then liberty and freedom shall be the redoubt of this land, but if he wills this a day of shame, know that martyrdom is an even greater reward to the faithful for they are the eternal residents of a paradise most sublime.” His men cheered wildly, their excitable war cries piercing the ears of a startled host at scimitar’s length. “Let the words of Al-Rindi stoke the fires of thy hearts ‘An evil blight has befallen this island of ours to which there is no mourning – I ask, where are the glistening swords to wipe the tears off the pulpits and minarets?’ I say to this couplet of a century past that I gaze upon the scourge that shall cleanse Al-Andalus in a crucible of blood and gore, so that one day, not too far away a Muslim dominion may arise rivaling both the Ummayeds in fecundity and the Abbadids in size. That, my friends, shall be the homeland of our children, and our children’s children, forevermore till the Day of Judgment. This paradise is ours, and by Allah, I would rather die right here than to surrender another inch of its precious soil to the Frankish occupiers! A vow of death, a pledge of honor, and a victory of the blood over the sword is what this noon of tribulation demands. The high sun is upon us, and the enemy before us, God the lone witness. What more is their to ask? Allahu Akbar!” The Emir’s fist struck the air like a wizard’s rod, his great army intoxicated and mesmerized by his words, the ululing and shouting of the ancient formulation: God is Great shaking the ground, reminding it with the harkened pleas of a Tariq bin Ziyad, of a Abdul Rahman, of the great Princes and Kings, of the sages and poets, of the victories and defeats, the tomb of tales unfolding to this day on its forlorn hills and valleys. So it begins: swords and bows raised in prosaic ritual as in primordial times, the surge of fighters with a prince at their helm a hymn to the redolent Ares, the raining death a mantra to the huntress Artemis, and the great slaughter a testimony to the insatiable Mars. But only Allah, the most merciful and great, shall inherit the lands of the reconquesta.​


Emir2.png

----​

Come what may, this would be a conquering day indeed. And, mayhaps, as Yarmuk broke the Romans’ back in the East centuries ago, so would the battle of Laqura la Walid vanquish the enemies of God on the peninsula, the cross a desecrated remnant amidst the muddy gorges of the valley, the crescent a victorious standard affixed upon the summits of joyful Spain. In the desperate disarray of the Frankish infidel the Emir would – God willing - push into the Tago, across the no-man’s land, and pound the very gates of Tullaytillah. He would force the cordon on the old Mawali stronghold of Medina Selim, and rout the counts of La Mancha. The Muslim kings of Badajoz would soon bow to him, and the English rulers of the Bortogal would be as crying wretches at his feet. Like a Caliph of the ancient days, strolling the gardens of Medina Al-Zahra, he would pluck a bouquet of towns and cities from the breadth of the Eden that is Al-Andalus, and then, like Ibn Zaydan the poet-suitor he would court the untouchable land with the romantic prose of the Andalusian Muwashaha. And at the end of it all – the boldest of dreams come true, inshallah - as the ultimate consummation between the stubborn Gothic Roman and the graceful Moor, to inaugurate himself, and the House of Asadio with him as the Great Caliphs in the Imperial city of Qurtubah. As the Lion roars, Europe shall quake and tremble in its boots at the sight of it. So it is said, and so it shall come to pass.​
 
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So Iberia is not yet united and there are English-Portuguese, Muslim-Castillans, Moors, Burgundians and some different forces all wanting to gain hegemony over the idyllic peninsula and to control the irrigations of Al-Andalus.
More!
 
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