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Many have come to me, complaining about the heretics and their crimes, their brutality and the pain they were unleashing upon good faithful Namidist. I am afraid it as come to the point where I can no longer ignore it and must take action. After speaking with Namid for five days he has given the order to rightfully strike down the disobedient and set free is poor children who has mislead them and forced them down the wrong path. A path chosen by Caex and not Namid.

So, I hereby Declare a Crusade on Ardan to take control from the lying serpent tongued men who rule over it and grant it to the King of Meddleland, rightful king of Ardan, who will grant Desrios and the surrounding area to the Superiacy, reward those who take part. Additionally those who take part will receive purity and healing from Namid not only for themselves, but their family, finally the Superiacy will aid thosee who need help as much as it can during and after the Crusade.

To the sons of Namid
A great man approached me with the idea of creating an army of men who would serve Namid and only Namid in battle, that man now request that all who are loyal to Namid come forth and give their strength. Do not be discouraged from joining, for not only will those who join be rewarding in this life with food and purity, they and their families' will be guaranteed a position in the afterlife amongst the great Namid.
(IC)

Orders
1. Declare Crusade and ask all Namidist faithful rulers to join
2. Have Dwaller mobilise all the men he has and can find and take orders from the King of Meddleland, unless they are against Namid and the Superiacy and the Forgiven Knights
3. Convince men to join the Forgiven Knights by having Monks print and post posters and delivering messages to other churches and towns

Namid wills it!

- MAXIMILLANUS REX
 
((The orders deadline has now passed. You can no longer submit new orders or edit old ones.))
 
Marcher, sir!
Ah, Haaken. There you are. Are you prepared for your journey?
Yes, Henrik. I will take five officers on horseback with me to oversee the operation. We'll ride light, should be there by noon tomorrow. Trust me, I'll make them pay for what they have done...
Good. Glory to Ardans.
Death to Kings!

Men, let's ride; ride for Vantage!
 
"Sons of Namid my brothers:
I see in your eyes, the same fear that will take the heart of me!
And a day may come, when the courage of sons of Namid fails,
when we forsake our oaths our duties,
and all bonds of fellowship are broken.
But it is not this day.
This day, WE FIGHT!"
Thus arise, Knights of Namid!
fell deeds awake, fire and slaughter!
Let shield be shattered, spear be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride, ride for Namid and the world's cleansing!"

The words of Dwaler, Grand Master of the Forgiven Knights, before the battle with the Ardans




 
The Fall of 500​

The Fall of 500 would be nothing short of tumultous. Namidism watched with apprehension as renewed Meddish-Ardans fighting rocked Meddeland; the fall of Vantage would send shockwaves through Dalmira, as many onlookers began to fear that the Ardans would defeat Meddeland outright. Superius Xavier VII would become more and more vocal in urging the Namidist Kings to do more to support Meddeland, culminating in his declaration of a Namidist crusade against the Ardans heretics late in the season. While Hendal remained occupied with its on problems, at least three Dalmiran Dukes would take up arms and march to war against the Ardans.

For most of the peasantry, the fall of 500 would be otherwise unremarkable. The weather was more or less normal and the harvest standard, but one fundamental change did come into many lives. A curious invention, supposedly used by small pockets of Dalmiran farmers for generations, began to come into common usage up and down the land. The device was simple: a large metal basin with a single wheel under its front and two handles at the back, good for transporting crops, manure, or anything else in quantities too large to carry. Its name was "wheelbarrow."

Hendal

Tavan Morin raiding continues more or less unabated in Hendal's north. Baldwin Montague plans to launch an attack on the Tavan Morin in a forest northeast of Sanapiro, planning to draw them further into the forest and ambush them there. The Tavan Morin, meanwhile, try to draw his forces out of the forest so they can destroy Montague. With neither force willing to fight on the other's best ground (and rains and local flooding interrupting their plans), not much actual fighting is done.

Problems in the north aside, Hendal would be rocked by news of a jailbreak from the stockades in Burnhem. Dozens of dangerous prisoners somehow managed to escape their cells and made their way into the city proper - no one could say how, but it was a matter of great concern for the people.

The King spends most of the season in his palace, enjoying himself and not particularly working on anything. This lethargy proves to be contagious as he steward does the same. The ambitious lines of forts that the King had demanded are forgotten and no work is done.

Prince Henry embarks on the Bordelon to sail for Sanapiro. The ship does this without difficulty, but Henry (as he imagined) is wracked by seasickness, and does not learn much about sailing. His fleets do their jobs, however, transporting 5,000 more soldiers from Burnhem to Hendal under the guise of a publicity mission. Montague is naturally thankful for the reinforcements.

Anders Wyngarden reassessed the trade flow in and out of Hendal, though he had already done this just six months ago. The assessment itself goes well enough. His anticorruption purges also goes "well." He pays informants to tell him about corrupt government workers, a successful scheme resulting in numerous executions. It does not make any immediately obvious impact on the budget, though if the bureaucrats are all too scared to be inefficient, it probably will in the future...

The Iron Hands assimilate several other mercenary groups, increasing their numbers, and are granted a building by the government of Hendal. Their efforts to organize tournaments fail as it transpires they simply do not have the funds to do so.

Laurens Jansingh contracts the Iron Hands for his own bodyguard and begins a pilgrimmage to Victorsburg.

Talinus Blackgate trains in swordplay and makes stunning new progress - perhaps he has a knack for the art. After joining the river watch and much more effort, he gains support from the local burghers and trading princes for the construction of a military academy. Though he has the funds, work has yet to begin on the academy itself.

Dalmira

In Dalmira, several local nobles came in to meet with Vasa - in the King's absence - about possible revisions to their heraldic crests. It was uncertain if this achieved much of anything other than wasting Vasa's time. Vasa orders the construction of new roads to be linked with the Duchy of Igskada - this goes well enough as the roads are rapidly connected. Attempts to charge a toll at the internal border prove much more troublesome, with traffickers commonly evading toll-takers. Vasa devises a system of tokens that partially solves this problem, though toll-dodging continues. However, he does not make much progress in rooting the King's relatives out of their positions - he faces much opposition from the Royal Court for trying to do so. The King appointed them, after all.

King Magnus, perhaps hearing of war in the east, reverses course and marches east. This turns out to be slow going as his troops are exhausted from extensive marching already, and he ends up pausing for the winter near Victorsburg, still far from the Eastern Front. Somehow, he does manage to dispatch prospectors while marching, and they return with a few possible sites for castles in the Halbstadht mountains. Their cost estimates are running at around 200 ducats for a mid-sized castle, though this heavily depends on the cost of labor.

Ethan Riosh, with some difficulty, manages to secure a loan for 50 ducats from the local nobility. The terms are not particularly well defined, but presumably they intend to be paid back with interest at some point.

Similary, Vytautus Krasnickas marries the sister of Duke Henry of Stolgen before marching to war himself; he wishes to begin construction on a stone highway, but he leaves the Duchy for the war, and without his oversight, little work is done on the project.

Stolgen, for his part, attends the wedding then returns to his Duchy, where he embarks on a campaign of meeting with local mayors and nobles to secure their loyalty. He is very successful in this, as many are impressed with his charisma and personal charm. The Duke is shaping up to be a popular man in Stolgen and Arevmarch, at least among the local prominents.

In Gottor-Tydreach, Dal'Athgar an Odal'in Uthbar renews his attempts to form a "Buirdeasach" by clarifying that members will not have to pay taxes. He gets some interest, but not nearly what he had hoped - only about 2,000 serf families sign up, with many serfs apparently content to pay their traditional taxes rather than fight in the Duke's wars. Some confusion over the tax exemption, since the rents are traditionally paid by household and family, also continues.

Odal'in also attempts to calm the fears of the nobility by telling them that the best way to convert the Ardans is through peace. This does not work very well, as the Superiacy has just declared a holy war against the Ardans. The Duke's relationship with the local nobility, if anything, worsens, and is starting to look dangerously poor. Similarly, trade with Ardans decreases rather than increases on news of a Crusade declared by the Superius.

In Weldheim, Prince Wyngaert begins the exploitation of the gold veins found in the northern hills. Serfs are dispatched to work the mines, but few in his duchy have much knowledge of mining. Nevertheless, some gold is found and money begins to flow into the treasury. The Duke learns nothing more about the dragon statuette. Howevermuch he reads and asks, simply no one seems to know anything about it.

Many of Dalmira's dukes march to war at the Superiacy's call, or even before. Prince Krasnickas of Dalmira enters the West Cirtine Pass halfway through the season with an army of 4,000 soldiers. He started his campaign (perhaps at the prodding of the Superiacy) before the Crusade was even announced and is generally applauded as a Crusader. However, he fares badly in the campaign. Cirtirus was the last of the Ardans cities to fall during the original Meddish invasion and occupation of Ardans; it held out for years even after the rest of the nation fell to the Meddish. It is protected by the Cirtine Mountains, impassable save for two winding routes through the rough terrain. At the end of these routes lays Cirtirus, itself in some ways the heartland of Ardans nationalism. Krasnickas sought to assault Cirtine with 4,000 men; if any Meddish generals from the original war still lived, they could have told him how desperately foolhardy a thing to do this was. When they campaigned in Cirtirus they approached the mountain range with a force ten times that size and it took them years to break through the southern pass and into the valley.

From the moment Krasnickas enters the Pass he is in a hell on earth. The winding roads through west path are treacherous and the weather harsh. Ardans militias, perhaps responding to the call to arms issued by Szabolcsi, harass the Erdheim-Rortzen forces and their supply trains. Food is in short supply as the route is mountainous and barren; fresh supplies from the Duchy essentially cannot make their way through the mountain. Every day another patrol goes missing, never to be heard from again, or the column is ambushed by unseen enemies. The Ardans partisans seem to melt into the terrain. They block crucial chokepoints on the trail with rocks, or with mounts of scuttled carts and flaming debris. The army is again and again forced to double back and try to find a way around.

A common traveler might have expected to traverse the harsh 90-kilometer-long pass in a week. It takes Krasnickas 45 days and costs him 800 of his force of 4,000 men. When he emerges into the Cirtine valley, intending to scorch the land, he finds the harvest has already been collected. The fields are empty, the population evacuated ahead of his arrival, and winter is practically upon them. His scouts report that in addition to 500 Ardans regulars, there are 2,000 mercenaries and 3,500 militiamen on the walls of Cirtirus itself. With his present force, a siege of the city seems nothing short of foolhardy. His foray into Ardans is starting to look like a death march.

Duke Wiegraf, on the other hand, marches to war with an army of 24,000 - perhaps more appropriate for an attempt to invade Ardans. He raises 14,000 peasant levies to join his 10,000 regulars to form the army. Despite Wiegraf's reassurances that they and their families will not be taxed this year, the levies are still in poor morale - they know that their families will go hungry without them at the harvest. He marches for Sevala, but with hundreds of kilometers to cover before he even reaches the border, Wiegraf has not reached Sevala by the end of the season. His scouts report that in addition to 500 army regulars, 2,500 militamen have taken to the city's walls, putting 3,000 men on the walls of Sevala. They have already stored the harvest inside the city, and much of the local population has been evacuated within its walls.

Ethan Riosh marches to join Wiegraf but is simply too far away to do so; he makes it as far as Foldgart and prepares to winter in the city, where he is met with a warm welcome. To create his army, Riosh raised 2,000 peasant levies in the hope that this number would not inhibit the harvest (and he is probably right, though the peasants themselves are gloomy). He also hoped to summon 2,000 more men-at-arms from the local nobility. Riosh did not manage to achieve this number. While more or less every noble family in Igskada sent some representative to fight to discharge their duty, they seemed less than enthusiastic to give him as many fighting men as they could. In the end Riosh is left with about 1,000 nobles, including 600 heavy knights and about 400 dismounted infantrymen - his total forces number 4,000, not the 5,000 he had hoped for.

As Wiegraf ordered, Sofia takes command of Victorsburg-Foldgart's light cavalry outriders. She has yet to see much action.

Meddeland

The campaign in Meddeland goes on for weeks, with many pitched battles and narrow escapes characterizing the campaign. Francis dashes east from his position on the Bar River to relieve the sieges, but he is too late to save Vantage, which falls to a bloody assault early in the month. His rearguard holds at the Bar River for a week after a miraculous Ardans crossing before retreating itself; Francis then fights several more battles nearly Brier, escaping to fight another day in the face of superior Ardans numbers. Though he failed to destroy the larger Ardans army, his escape is flawless and he makes his way back to Kandon late in fall, unbowed and having dished out as much damage as he took. However, it is of little consolation to Vantage. The city is sacked and put to a torch by the Ardans, with many thousands killed.

The King's armored lizard is dispatched to Duke Francis, though it does not reach him until well after the end of the season's campaigning.

Several prominent nobles mounted a hunting expedition near Kandon, with much pomp and ceremony, returning with a number of impressive kills. It could not be said that the King (or anyone else for that matter) particularly approved, as it hardly seemed like appropriate behavior during a time of national crisis, but the nobles insist that they must carry on as normal in the face of enemy antagonism.

Alfons Windfell asks the Meddish banks for a war loan - they provide this in the form of about 240 ducats, with his argument that the Ardans will loot the banks falling somewhat flat as the Ardans withdraw. Windfell also begs the Great Council for a continuing War Tax or to give their blessing to the King to draft the citizenry into the army. The Council refuses to pass a continuing War Tax, but the fall and subsequent sack of Vantage rattle them deeply. They instead declare a new "crusade tithe" tax on the harvest, providing 600 ducats for the treasury. Combined, the loan and the tax put considerable new finances at the disposal of the Meddish crown.

However, the Great Council refuses to support any conscription of the civilians, with many on the council believing that the King should not press free men into service against their wills, as this is a hallmark of long-abolished serfdom.

Nevertheless, the King enacts a draft. Claiming it is vitally important to national defense (which, in fairness, it probably is), he begins to levy en masse, pressing thousands into service. This is done not without difficulty - the Ardans have sacked Vantage and much of the area around it, making the draft hard to enforce in central Meddeland, while government offices in much of the north have been burnt by a certain Wizard, making the draft impossible to enact there.

It proceeds despite these difficulties, with the King intending to draft as many as possible into the service. The draft quota for the year is put at 200,000 to be brought under arms. However, after more than 30,000 men are drafted across the nation, the draft hits another small snag. The people of Meddeland are tired of the war, tired of taxes, and have already been pushed to the brink by the fighting the unpopular policies of the previous season. Draft riots break out in Kandon, Port Reale, Agarre, and Brier and in much of the surrounding countryside. The army hastily puts down the riots in Kandon, but in the other three cities there is no one to stop them (except the men who have just been drafted, who funnily enough don't). After a week of disorder in Port Reale, during which time the mayor is run out of town, royal offices burnt, a local "provisional authority" takes up in the mayor's office and declares the draft annulled by decree, to much cheering. Similar actions are taken in Agarre and Brier the next week. The climate is now looking periously close to rebellion.

Only 9,000 of the 30,000 conscripts actually report to the army in Kandon. The others desert.

The wizard Kishburn continues to generally burn and slaughter everything around him in North Meddeland. With no army to stop him, he easily sows destruction wherever he goes. Anti-wizard hysteria naturally increases, with roving lynch mobs and militias growing.

Meddish agents begin to spread pamphlets in Ardans claiming that Ardans was conquered by the Meddish originally because their much-beloved oligarchy betrayed the nation in exchange for coin and sold it out to Meddeland. Since most Ardans could not read, it was not very effective - those who could read scoffed at the idea that the oligarchy would ever betray them in such a cowardly and fickle way.

Ardans

With the Namidist Dukes and Kings quickly lining up against Ardans, it is obvious that the national situation is becoming increasingly dire. The people may be brave but they need reassurance - upon his return, the Marcher is informed that the citizenry of Ardans expect a speech from him on the subject of the war.

After losing track of Francis, the National Army retreats from Meddeland entirely, withdrawing back to Moraille after a lengthy march (disrupted by food shortages and inclement weather but nevertheless successful). They sack Vantage before they leave, with Haaken the Vandal ensuring that everything that is not nailed down or on fire is taken. Many are killed and the city is left decimated, but no longer under Ardans control. Much of the Meddish countryside is also sacked. Some loot from the city makes its way back to the Ardans treasury.

It becomes increasingly obvious that Benjamin Briarling's treatment as a prisoner is linked to the course of the war, as Michel Szabolcsi throws him back into the dungeons. Szabolcsi, acting as regent in the Marcher's absence, rallies the militias nationwide - many answer the call (particularly in Cirtirus). His attempts to solicit donations goes well, with many sending money in support of national defense.

Aro Nemeront takes control of the defense of Cirtirus, quickly stockpiling the harvested grain and other needful resources in the city well ahead of the Dalmiran advance. He is very successful in raising militias for the city's defense, but Nemeront is most wildly successful in hiring mercenaries to defend the city. He sought to hire 30 ducats' worth of mercenary bowmen, paying for the hired archers out of his own purse. However, he ultimately does not have to pay the fee (at least not for Fall) - moved by his display of selflessness for city and country, the local burghers reimburse him. He also manages to stretch the 30 ducats quite far, as the sum brings in close to 2,000 Ardans archers who are willing to work at a considerable discount from normal mercenary fees.

All in all, Nemeront manages to put approximately 6,000 men, a little more than half militia, with about 2,000 archers and 500 army regulars, on the walls of Cirtirus. When Krasnickas arrives in the Cirtine valley, not far from the city, with just 3,200 of his own troops remaining and the cold bite of winter setting in, it is not a welcome sight.

Dupont, relieved of his army command, arrives in Leganum and raises a local militia force of about 3,000 men - though as yet, there are no enemy armies in sight.

Argent Grancour attempts to escape his imprisonment. He fails and is killed in the escape attempt.

Tavan Morin

Heavy rains in North Hendal lead to regional flooding which, combined with the standoff with Montague's army, leads to a significant decrease in the amount of raiding the Tavan Morin are able to do in the fall. The Tavan Morin attempt to raid fishing villages, but coastal flooding and several storms dramatically reduce the effectiveness of these raids.

The Dagch Morin's efforts to put an end to infighting over loot seem to be holding - for now.

Jo'chi Hasar launches raids on Hendal patrols - this proves to be difficult owing to the combination of rain and the fact that Montague simply isn't sending out many patrols. However, he does manage to take a few Hendal prisoners.

Doba Morin Kh'azaro Octarz tries to get more control of the Roc and fails in this - the Roc throws him from some height and he is injured. He is forced to abandon his scouting efforts.

Other

As everyone up and down the land would soon hear, after weeks of speaking out against the Ardans the Superius declared a crusade, asking all the Namidist faithful rulers to join the fight against the Ardans heretics. More than a thousand, motivated by zeal, flock to the banner of the Forgiven Knights in the first few weeks of the Crusade, and several Dalmiran dukes take up the call with gusto. The Superius' advertising campaign for the Forgiven Knights, though expensive, sends hundreds more into the Holy Order - mainly from the nobility, as the peasants could not read the posters and only heard about them through the monks' verbal messages.

Construction of the new city for the Superiacy was seemingly forgotten in the zeal of the Crusade.

The "Onion Sage" reaches Sanapiro, disguised as a strange monk, and enters the city. He continues to learn about the Hendal and their beliefs and culture.

Dwaler attempts to convince the Superius that all who join the Forgiven Knights will have everything they want after the rebirth. The Superius is not convinced of this and is probably faintly annoyed that Dwaler presumes to tell him what is true as a matter of dogma and what is not. Dwaler's attempts to train his men go better, though Dwaler himself is no soldier.

((end of update. Next deadline will be in a week, ie: next Saturday.))

Hint: Campaigning is inadvisable during Makria's typically harsh winters. If at all possible, find a city to winter your army in.
 
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((stats - budget+notes))

((This post contains information about each of the nations/factions in the game.))

Hendal

Kingdom of Hendal
((Maxwell500))
Absolute Monarchy - Burnhem (the seat of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 1380 ducats (+530)
Currently at peace
Notable institions: The River Watch
-Iron Hands (1,900 strong)
-Spoils System
-Information Network in Burnhem
-Sound Toll Bureaucracy
-Messenger corps/mail system
-Winery on the sea
-Project: 3 lines (?%)
-Royal Bank (very low interest)

Census: (taken Spring of 500)

Population: 2.91M (population excess 438k)

Non-excess: ((the non-excess is primarily engaged in subsistence activities, generally food production))
1.87M Serf Farmers
479,000 Fisherman
82,000 Freehold Farmers
41,000 Tenant Farmers (freemen who rent land)

Excess: ((the population excess is portion of the population not engaged in food production))
123,000 Laborers (typically miners or builders, not serfs)
116,000 Burghers (regardless of trade or function, essentially medieval bourgeoisie, includes misc)
59,000 Mariners (professional sailors who are not fishermen)
44,000 Soldiers (professionals, including unlanded knights and hedge knights)
41,000 Mercenaries (not mercenaries currently in the service of the crown, rather mercenaries originating from this country - see military section for mercenaries in current service)
26,000 Servants
17,000 Bureaucrats (includes bailiffs, tax collectors, judges, etc., not servants)
10,000 Clergy (including associated monastic orders, etc.)
2,000 Nobles (all remaining nobles in Hendal are minor nobles)

Estimation of the value of all trade through Hendal in a season (taken Spring 500):
-5,000 ducats (sea)
-2,500 ducats (land)
Total: 7,500 ducats

Since last census (Spring of 500):
-Tavan Morin pillage and loot dozens of villages in North Hendal
-Continued Tavan Morin intrusion

Military notes:
-North Hendal Army practiced (1)
-Militia/Recruits in Sanapiro

Budget:

+780 ducats (serf tithe)
+300 ducats (city tax)
+650 ducats (sound toll)
+200 ducats (land tariffs)
+75 ducats (landing fees - essentially a tithe from fishermen)
+50 ducats (other port tariffs)
+10 ducats (internal tariffs - now pretty much cancelled)
~0 ducats (rents - there theoretically are some but they're basically negligible)
2065 income

-130 ducats (orders)
-605 ducats (army salaries, note the river watch pays for itself)
-400 ducats (mercenary salaries)
-200 ducats (naval salaries)
-100 ducats (naval upkeep - dramatically reduced by serfdom)
-50 ducats (administration)
-20 ducats (mail)
-5 ducats (special inventory upkeep)
-25 ducats (court expenses - the crown and court sure do have ostentatious tastes...)
1535 expenses

Dalmira

Kingdom of Dalmira
((Canadian_95_RTS))
Feudal Monarchy - Halbstadht (the seat of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 879 ducats (+347)
Currently at peace
Notable institions: The Superiacy

-Road system (dirt)
-Found new iron vein (partially exploited)
-Dire Wolf breeding program (started Summer of 500)

Recent events:
-Notorious criminals caught

Budget:
Royal revenue is primarily generated from the King's demesne, which is about a tenth of the Kingdom and centered around the capital.

+370 ducats (serf tithe)
+30 ducats (city tax)
+12 ducats (iron monopoly)
+5 ducats (tolls)
417 income

-5 ducats (orders - roads)
-35 ducats (army salaries)
-5 ducats (administration)
-15 ducats (court expenses)
70 expenses

Meddeland

Kingdom of Meddeland
((Marschalk))
Limited Monarchy - Kandon (the seat of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 1020 ducats (+785)
Currently at peace. De facto ceasefire with Ardans.
Notable institions: The Great Council
No Current known threats to power

-"Orshaftsbook" finished
-Various government buildings burned by wizard (2)
-Ardans border incident
-"Farm Book" begun (expected completion Fall/Winter of 500)
-Royal Wedding
-"Land Reform" (King's demesne only)

Military notes:
+5000 soldiers recruited (Spring of 500)
+1000 soldiers recruited (Summer of 500)
-Army drilled and inspired (Summer of 500)

Budget:

(serf tithe not levied in this country)
+600 (GC grant)
+240 (loan)
+70 ducats (Royal salt monopoly - all salt mined in the Kingdom belongs to the King)
+150 rents (literally rents from the King's demesne - is smaller than a tithe, but paid all year round)
+40 ducats (lottery)
1100 income

-50 ducats (orders)
-210 ducats (army salaries)
-25 ducats (military upkeep - non-salary expenses, upkeep of forts, siege weapons, etc.)
-5 ducats (special inventory upkeep)
-15 ducats (administration)
-10 ducats (court expenses)
315 expenses

Ardans

State of Ardans
Marcher Jerrik Vant ((oxfordroyale))
Oligarchy - Moraille (the seat of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 545 ducats (+175)
Currently at peace. De facto ceasefire with Meddeland.
Notable institions: The Oligarchy, the Cult of the Skyseeker
No Current known threats to power

-Thousands of bureaucrats recruited for 20 ducats
-Soldiers on 2/5ths wages
-Rumors that the Vandal is robbing convoys (ended)
-Trading houses in all major cities
-Trade with Gottor-Tydreach (some)
-Conclave of Old Statism (ambivalent)
-Census taken (Summer of 500 - still being compiled)

Military notes:
-Army drilled
-Border incident with Meddeland
-Nationalist outpouring (Summer of 500)

Budget:

90 ducats (donations)
100 ducats (sacked Vantage)
115 ducats (city tax [ie: the head tax])
10 ducats (mining tax)
315 income

-120 ducats (army salaries - armies are currently on a quarter salary... they were previously militias, essentially drawing no salary at all... but after the Liberation, they may expect a proper wage if they are to continue serving the nation)
-20 ducats (administration)
-5 ducats (court expenses - the oligarchy is not a royal court, but it still has expenses)
145 expenses

The Tavan Morin

The Tavan Morin
Dagch Morin Octar Dengizich ((baboushreturns))
Tribal Despotism - No Government Seat

Dashboard:
Treasury: 50 ducats (+0 loot)
Currently at peace
Notable institions:
No Current known threats to power

-Roc tamed and rideable
-Way to Sanapiro discovered
-Octarz ((Mikkel Glahder)) warband especially fast
-Onion sage learned a lot of the language
-Infighting over loot

Warband Sizes:

Octar Dengizich ((baboushreturns)) - 2,000
Gonji Alakhai Torgehan ((G.K.)) - 900
Rizzo "Agsaldai" ((Firehound15)) - 1,400
Ja'hani Chisan ((Korona)) - 1,800+~5 ducats in loot kept for self (rest divied up)
Doba Morin Kh'azaro Octarz ((Mikkel Glahder)) - 1,400
Jo'chi Hasar ((mrlifeless)) - 400

Superiacy

The Namidist Superiacy
Superius Xavier VII((king cruel))
Theocracy - Victorsburg (location of the high church)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 4730 ducats (+100)
Special Inventory: Wand with feathers hanging from the tip

-New site for Superiacy found
-Work on new city (10%)

Budget:

(serf tithe not in season)
+500 ducats (alcohol monopoly)
+200 ducats (pass-through income from lesser churches)
+100 ducats (donations)
800 income

-50 ducats (orders)
-200 ducats (grants and pass-through expenditures to lesser church levels and parishes)
-200 ducats (education - the church takes responsibility for most education in Makria)
-100 ducats (good works and charity)
-100 ducats (administration; the Superiacy often funds ecclesiastical courts)
-50 ducats (court expenses)
-700 expenses

Igskada

Duchy of Igskada
Ethan of Riosh ((BlackBishop))
Duchy - Igskada (seat of government)
Population: 620,000

Dashboard:
Treasury: 367 ducats (+327)
Special Inventory: An ancient document from the Superiacy certifying the borders of Igskada

-Roads (dirt)

Budget:

+272 ducats (serf tithe)
+50 ducats (loan)
+5 ducats (tolls)
+15 ducats (port fees)
+2 ducats (landing fees - basically a tithe paid by fishermen)
+2 ducats (rents - literally rent paid by freehold farmers)
356 income

-20 ducats (army salaries)
-4 ducats (administration)
-5 ducats (court expenses)
-29 expenses

Erdheim and Rortzen

Duchies of Erdheim and Rortzen
Vytautas Krasnickas ((iisbroke))
Duchy - Erdheim and Rortzen (seat(s) of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 912 ducats (+354)
Special Inventory: A glowing sword dug up in the mines. Probably magical.

-Outposts along the Rortzen/Ardans border
-wool products encouraged (somewhat)

Budget:

+300 (serf tithe)
+88 ducats (city tax)
+40 ducats (gold monopoly)
+10 ducats (iron monopoly)
438 income

-60 ducats (army salaries)
-4 ducats (administration; hint: this cost will fall when you appoint new nobles)
-20 ducats (court expenses)
-84 expenses

Victorsburg and Foldgart

Duchies of Victorsburg and Foldgart
Maximillian Wiegraf ((KaiserBeer))
Duchy - Victorsburg and Foldgart (seat(s) of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 298 ducats (+201)
Special Inventory: A self-proclaimed wizard is being held in your dungeons.

-New farmers attracted by land re-allocation (2)
-Farm structures built (mixed success)
-Crime crackdown
-Wizard in his court
-Portrait of himself

Budget:

+265 (serf tithe)
+54 ducats (city tax)
319 income

-100 ducats (army salaries)
-8 ducats (administration; hint: this cost will fall when you appoint new nobles)
-10 ducats (court expenses)
118 expenses

Tydreach and Gottor

Duchies of Tydreach and Gottor
Dal'Athgar an Odal'in Uthbar ((Otto of England))
Duchy - Tydreach and Gottor (seat(s) of government)

-Improved peasant farming practices
-Established noble armories
-Dispute with the Superiacy
-Namidist missionaries
-Trade with Ardans (a little bit)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 403 ducats (+231)
Special Inventory: A Void Demon, a dangerous incorporeal being that appears as purple smoke, with the power to phase through solid objects at will, is being confined by magical wards in your bestiary. It looks vaguely humanoid but has no discernable face and has made no effort to communicate with you.


Budget:

+240 ducats (serf tithe)
+10 ducats (diplomatic balance)
+30 ducats (city tax)
280 income

-0 ducats (orders)
-40 ducats (army salaries)
-4 ducats (administration; hint: this cost will fall when you appoint new nobles)
-5 ducats (court expenses)
49 expenses

Stolgen and Arevmarch

Duchies of Stolgen and Arevmarch
Henry Stolgen ((sneakyflaps))
Duchy - Stolgen and Arevmarch (seat(s) of government)

-Found additional iron vein (minor exploitation)
-Metalworkers expanding trade with Hendal

Dashboard:
Treasury: 353 ducats (+172)
Special Inventory: You have an an antique set of platemail armor, detailed with silver. It's a relic of the House of the Stolgen, worn by your forefathers.

Budget:

+225 ducats (serf tithe)
+45 ducats (city tax)
+11 ducats (iron monopoly)
281 income

-0 ducats (orders)
-100 ducats (army salaries)
-4 ducats (administration)
-5 ducats (court expenses)
109 expenses

Weldheim

Duchy of Weldheim
Augustyn Landau ((Jeeshadow))
Duchy - Weldheim (seat(s) of government)

Dashboard:
Treasury: 198 ducats (+124)
Special Inventory: You have a statuette of a dragon with ruby eyes. It looks strangely alive... and you think you've seen one like it somewhere before. You also have some books on magic items, purchased for the purpose of identifying the dragon statuette.

-Gold in them thar hills (minor exploitation)

Budget:

+183 ducats (serf tithe)
+50 ducats (city/castle tax)
+4 ducats (gold monopoly)
237 income

-100 ducats (army salaries)
-3 ducats (administration; hint: this cost will fall when you appoint new nobles)
-5 ducats (court expenses)
113 expenses

Other

Forgiven Knights; Dwaler ((TJDS)) - 505 ducats (-0) - 2000 people
-Castle (15%)
 
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SUMUS THESAURUM




Aro stood out the balcony of his residence. Located in the very middle of the city, the red leaves were everywhere, flying over the houses of Cirtirus, he was very worried about the developments of this unjustified crusade led by some corrupt man enjoying himself while his subjects suffer, but after the events of the past Summer, he didn't need to, he saw his most successful season, he succeeded on tactically demeaning the Northern Offensive, led by Krasnickas the Zealous, a Dalmiran duke. At the end, Nemeront made a name for himself in his state, a name that will not be forgotten soon.

He approached the edge, gazing upon the masses that gathered to celebrate the beginning of winter, a Cirtirus tradition, many people had brought the Ardans flag with them, some even going as far as bringing swords to show their patriotism, the children were running around playing war, while the men and women enjoyed grain alcohol, it was a cold and dark day, yet this didn't stop anyone from enjoying this fest.

He descended and rushed through the masses to go meet with General Ayáráv, the leader of the newly raised "Cirtirus I Archer Company", he needed to discuss the upcoming winter season and the many battles that would come after it, even though most of his men were drunk at the time, he managed to get the message through, he did the same with the militia on the other side of the city walls, renowned for their strength.

The Nemeront dynasty didn't have a particularly military past, mostly relying on trade until now, the dynasty itself declared that it didn't care about which state they belonged to as long as their coffers were full, this attitude changed after the Meddish invasion, after witnessing the cruelty and damage which had been done to the people, they took a side and decided to make a difference, Aro had spent his childhood in times of war, which meant he developed a sense of nationalism and hatred against his neighbors and former overlords.

But this was just the beginning, an excellent start does not mean that this journey would have a good ending, it will all be decided after this season, will he keep this phenomenal chain of events, or would he end under the shadow of his enemies, these thoughts troubled him throughout the day and his sleep, he was never very religious, but in times like these, it couldn't hurt to pray.









Aro Nemeront, Oligarch of Cirtirus
Minister of Trade,
NEMERONT

 
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It was a cold autumn afternoon in Moraille, and the sky was weeping.

The Marcher hunched shoulders against the wind and rain, pulling his cloak tighter across his chest. He stood behind the makeshift podium they’d built for him outside the fortress gates, watching the crowd as it assembled. There were hundreds of them, thousands. All coming to hear me, he thought to himself. They’ve heard I mean to make a speech.

When they’d first told him he had to address to the people, he’d plainly refused. He was not a man to make speeches, after all. He knew how to rule and he knew how to fight, but he was no wielder of words. He’d told them to get the Steward to do it, or even dan Haaken – the former was quite a masterful speaker, his vocabulary a veritable armory, and the latter had a gift for lending courage to the men before battle was joined.

It had to be him, they’d said. They needed to hear from their Marcher. And now, looking out across the vast sea of people that was coalescing in front of him, he saw that they were not wrong. He saw curious faces and angry faces, but what he saw the most was scared faces. They are afraid, afraid of what they know is coming. Many of them lived their entire lives under the occupation – they remember what it’s like to be conquered.

One of his men caught his eye and nodded to him, signalling that it was time to begin. The Marcher drew a piece of parchment from within his cloak and stared down at the words they’d prepared for him. They were words of calm reassurance. The words of a shepherd calming his flock of frightened sheep.

Useless words. And how he hated useless things.

The Marcher ripped the parchment in half and let the pieces flutter to the ground. Straightening his shoulders, he walked around the podium so that he was now standing in front of it, nothing between him the massive crowd but raindrops and the wind.

The noise they were making was deafening, but as he raised his gauntleted hand it died down to a murmur, barely audible. Without pause, he began.

“Men of Ardans, hear my words!

Now, and always, we are surrounded by enemies – the Meddish to our east, the Dalmirans to our west, and the Hendalians at the edge of the continent. As I speak, they march on us in great numbers. They come to raze our cities to the ground and burn our fields to ash, to take our women as whores and slaughter to our children where they stand! They come bearing the false standard of their false religion, to conquer us at the whim of a madman they call “Superius”!

I have fought for Ardans my entire life. I fought against the Meddish during the War of Liberation. I fought against them at Vantage and Brier. You too have fought for the glory of our nation, for our freedom! Thousands of you have responded to the call to arms - peasants and laborers, merchant’s sons and innkeepers, all have taken up arms in the defense of our nation! We have all given our lives, our everything, to the country we love!

These are trying times, countrymen, and the days ahead are even darker. The odds may seem insurmountable – and I will not lie to you, this coming war will be the hardest we have ever had to fight. But I ask you not to lose heart, and to remember with me what Ardans was not long ago.

For eighty years, we were slaves without chains and men without a homeland. We bowed to a foreign king and those he appointed to lord over us – greedy Meddish bastards who fed themselves on our harvests and left us to starve in our homes. But did we surrender weakly? Did the name “Ardans” fade silently into the night, lost to the depths of history?

NO! Every man resisted! We burned our crops rather than let the Meddish feast on them! We poisoned our wells rather than let the Meddish drink from them! We ambushed convoys, struck at garrisons, burnt down homes and slaughtered livestock! For eighty years we fought against their unjust rule. For eighty years we made the Meddish bleed and suffer for their crimes. We never stopped fighting, and we never gave in. A man of Ardans fights until the bitter end. We would rather die with a sword in our hands than live without our freedom!

It is to this spirit that I now appeal – the spirit which I know lies in the heart of every man before me, and in the hearts of all men of Ardans. The rest of Makira would rather see us dead or in chains than let us live in peace, and they will stop at nothing to make their grim dream a reality. When the battle comes to you, my countrymen, remember my words! This is your land! This is your home! Fight for it! Man the walls of our cities! Hold the line against their charge! Rain death upon their heads, Namid damn them all!

GLORY TO ARDANS! DEATH TO KINGS!
 
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''Under Namid's Light, all is made possible''

Name: Jacques Armand dan Bresson
Age: 27
Birthdate: 473, 7th day of Spring.
Birthplace: Desrois
Nationality: Ardans
Background:
Born the fourth son of a local merchant family in Desrois, Jacques' early life was one of near-hedonism and lethargy. Though his family had not actively aided the Meddish occupation of the country, they had grown rich off of supplying both Ardans and Meddish forces with weapons, food and supplies, with neither side the wiser. The family would slowly grow richer and more decadent over the years. They would invest in trade, purchase more lands, buy ever greater luxuries as they profited off of the misfortunes of their own people. Indeed, it was even rumoured at one point that the family had begun to invest in the slaving business, buying farmers and peasant folk off of their own lands and selling them to mercenaries, bandits and northern nomad tribes. In due time, they would come to be known as one of the richest merchant families of Desrois.

Jacques himself, born fourth in a family already blessed with three sons, would find himself the least important member of the family by far. His two eldest brothers, Charles and Rordain, would be taught the family business by their father, and would study long into the dark, rainy Desrois nights of economics and trade, the two most likely to succeed their father as head of the family. His third eldest brother, Louis, would study the art of war, to raise and lead the household mercenaries in case the family was ever threatened by rebels, bandits or the Meddish. Louis would be taken under the wing of an old mercenary captain, and the sound of swords and shields would echo in the family mansion's courtyard until dusk most days. He would become competent, though perhaps no great hero.

Jacques, however, would not be given any sort of sacred duty. As a member of the family, and a possible troublemaker considering the things he knew, he would simply spend his days in a hedonistic daze, possessed by whatever fancy had captured him each day. The family would ensure that he never found a reason to betray them, and so, he would find his quarters filled with toys and sweetmeats as he was young, and coin, wine and women as he grew older.
Indeed, he too would find himself content with life as it was. It would perhaps not last forever, but he saw no reason to change. There was no need for a great undertaking of any sort, he thought. As his nights were filled with drunken escapades and daily visits to the brothels of Desrois, his life was never dull. As he grew older, he would, in an effort to please his family who had heard enough about his visits to the city from the gossiping servants, take up painting. At first, he would be taught by a painter hired by the family. Soon, he would find his own way, his own style, as he skilfully weaved the rolling hills and cracked mountains of Ardans onto the canvas. In time, he would instead begin to use daughters of local merchants as his muses, to the displeasure of said merchants. Nevertheless, the family allowed it. If painting was the thing needed to distract Jacques, then it was worth investing in.

It would take until one summer day in 494, as soldiers broke down the gates of Desrois shortly after Jacques was about to return from an unfortunate adventure involving a local officer's daughter, that he would find danger for the first time, and he would panic. Barely escaping the fighting, he retreated into a small chapel. As the city erupted into flames, the Priest of the chapel would find him, naked, terrified, cold, on the verge of tears. To the sound of clashing steel and screams, the priest would begin to chant, singing songs of forgiveness. Redemption. Repentance. A song of Sanctuary. And Jacques, still lost to the chaos, would clasp his hands together and pray. Tears flowed down his cheeks, as he too joined the song. He would wait out the night there, finding some measure of silence, of peace.

As the fighting finally died down, he would return to his home. As a changed man. He would find his youngest brother, the soldier, dead, as his mother wept. The funeral would come soon. As a last gift, his brother let his armour and weapons be given to Jacques. Seasons would pass. The family would return to being just another merchant family. Though still rich, they were no longer able to play both sides. The loss of Louis would be remembered, however. Wine, women and coin would continue to flow into Jacques' quarters, yet they would remain untouched. Instead, he would find his way to the chapel, to the old Priest, and he would pray. The stories of Jacques' drunken adventures on the streets of Desrois would end. The Brothels would lament the loss of one of their most loyal customers. And slowly, the paintings he made would speak of Namid. Of Saints and Sins. No more were the rolling landscapes or sensual portraits his art. Namid called, he would murmur as he painted. And he would answer. By sword, or by the canvas, he would serve. He had found his way. He had found his undertaking. The old days were over. It was time for a rebirth.
 
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An Ardans envoy arrives at the encampment of the Dalmiran Royal Army with a message for the King of Dalmira. It is read aloud to the King and the entire encampment.

The letter reads as follows:

To the King of Dalmira,

Your vassals have invaded my lands under your command. Even now you march to join them. Winter is descending upon Makria, and though your armies outnumber mine they will surely starve and freeze to death outside our strong and well-manned walls. I ask you, do you really wish for so many men to die for your pride and your faith?

I suspect that while you would not wish for your men to die needlessly, you will not make peace with me and abandon this foolish "crusade" of yours. So I suggest we settle this like men.

I hereby challenge you to a duel, to be held between two of our armies on a field outside Leganum. It would be a duel to the death, with each of us given our choice of handheld weapon. If you truly believe your cause to be a holy one, blessed by Namid, then you should accept my challenge without hesitation. If not, all will see you as a coward who neither cares nothing for the lives of his men, nor believes the pretext for his own invasion.

- Henrik dan Vant, Marcher of Ardans
 
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Henry vomited the contents of his lunch onto the boundless ocean water. Back and forth the huge vessel rocked with the rolling of the waves.

"Are you okay, admiral?" one of the pubescent midshipmen asked

The fleet left under the cover of darkness to preserve secrecy. They had hoped to prevent the barbarians from learning of their plans to transport 5,000 soldiers from the Burnhem garrison to Sanapiro. Henry thought this precaution was somewhat unnecessary since the barbarians could not speak or read Hendalian. Nonetheless, he dutifully respected his sister's wishes. It was strange that it did not come from father but no one was quite sure what the king was up to these days.

"Yes, officer," Henry replied as bile still covered his chin. "Everything is in order. Get back to your post."

The past few hours were absolutely miserable for Henry. He had hoped that he could somehow overcome seasickness, but Namid had other plans. It was clear he would not take after his legendary great-uncle Prince Donat, the Demon of the Seas. At least not yet.

The Bordelon was a gigantic ship, the largest in the world. But it would be sweaty and uncomfortable today as it was packed with 500 soldiers of the garrison in addition to the 700 sailors onboard. The rest of the army was crammed into dingy transport ships that trailed the Bordelon. It would be a miserable journey for Henry.

"You alright there, my prince?" Captain Valjean asked from behind Henry with a bit too much glee in his voice.

The prince threw up another round onto the ocean.

"You will get used to it. Especially when we hit the rougher waters up north. You haven't seen nothing yet."

The captain laughed.

Henry threw up again.
 
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The snow fell. The Ishwari was pissed. He hated snow. He hated snow.

But it happened for a couple months each year, this year he was going to take it easy. After seizing a temple and relieving some food from some peasants that no longer needed, all he needed to do now was tuck himself in and wait for spring.

Can't even burn snow.

Bah.


Orders: Take the winter season easy. Find a place to hide, steal enough food and stuff to live from the surrounding peasants I have killed and overall just keep a low profile.
 
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The Sack of Vantage

Early on the morning on the 50th day of autumn, General dan Haaken and his small group of officers on horseback rode through the gates of Vantage. They had been slightly delayed by a cold easterly wind which harassed the city and its surroundings, strong enough to make any man without a winter coat shiver. The unsuspecting Meddish citizens, the bored Ardans garrison, they were both highly displeased by having to work in these temperatures - but Haaken loved it. These conditions reminded him of his childhood, of galloping through the highlands, of fire. Fire spread exceptionally well in weather like this. The Vandal grinnned.

Riding through the streets, dan Haaken glanced at the commonfolk, who in turn dared not look at the large Oligarch of Ardans. They had no idea what was about to happen. The shrill sound of a blacksmith smithing an armour piece roared through the street. A farmer lead his pigs through the city to a market, scheduled tomorrow but never to take place. A mother called for her sons; dinner was ready. Despite being occupied by Ardans, these men and women continued their lives the best they could, caring little about war or politics. As the Vandal himself remembered what was about to happen, he was filled with emotion. Grief, perhaps even guilt? No. It was joy.

He pressed into a slight trot. The citadel overlooking Vantage was close now, as they turned to ride up the small hill. The gates opened quickly to reveal an old comrade; General dan Naszli, patriot from Cirtirus, Haaken's second in command during the siege, now commander of the Vantage garrison. He knew what was up. The Vandal nodded and that was all it took.

It started in the citadel. With some firestone, a small fire was started in the granary's dry supplies of grain. Then the officers on horseback, some of dan Naszli's messengers, they lit their torches and rode with the wind to spread, to every Ardans outpost throughout the city. The dockyards were up next. Some 220 soldiers all along the waterline set fire to the warehouses, the ships, the people - but not before loading all their precious cargo unto carts. Some tried to put out the fires, save their ships. They were cut down. By now the officers had reached the walls, upon which some 580 Ardans soldiers were stationed. They abandoned their positions and joined the fray, cutting down all who tried to flee. Although they soon had to concede some gates, these soldiers too were more occupied with breaking into houses and taking all valuables inside, before these structures would inevitably burn. Smoke, death, panic - Vantage was on fire.

In all this chaos, some distance away from where the flames ate through the wooden structures, the Vandal's battleaxe claimed its first victim. The monk, a heretical crony in service of the Superiacy, dropped to the ground, as did the scripture he thought would protect him. The shack he attempted to defend would be a church, then. A tainted church for those submitted to the Superius, but a church to Namid nonetheless. Now seemed like a good time to pray, so dan Haaken stepped inside and looked around. The church was made of wood and it looked like it would eventually collapse on itself even without a fire, but he was not afraid. Namid would protect this structure from harm. In the alcoves, there were statues which were presumably meant to depict Him. Haaken spit on the ground.

Someone heard him - she gasped for air. A young woman ducked back behind the altar, but it was too late. The Vandal had seen her.


"Namid, my Lord and Saviour, praise be unto You."
 
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A letter to the People of Desrois
To be announced by the city's heralds​

My dear compatriots,

I write this letter to you from Moraille, where the Marcher and our National Army currently reside. While Governor Stone has governed our incredible city justly and with great precision, or so I have been told, you would be right to ask where your Oligarch rides these days. It has been far too long since I have visited Desrois, walked through Liberation Avenue, beholden the sight of the Palace Isle. Far too long, nigh three seasons, since I have had the pleasure of talking to the proud men and women of Desrois - to you.

It is my pleasure to say that after a long and harsh campaign in Meddeland, on which we have slain many a foe, I shall soon return home. During the Liberation, I stood with you on the barricades to storm the Barracks and if there is to be more fighting to come, there is no question that I shall stand with you on the walls. Our Fatherland is at stake, the invading armies march on our mountain stronghold of Sevala, a city for which I shall gladly fight and give my life. Yet now, my brothers, my axe must be with you. The mines of Cirtirus can be rebuilt, as can the farms near Sevala, but Desrois is our homestead and our pride. Merchants, sailors, blacksmiths, tailors, butchers, bureaucrats and farmers; I call upon you to defend that homestead. As I return, greet me not with cheers, but with a battlecry loud enough to send a chill down the spine of our enemies! Sharpen the blades you took up in the Liberation, for in the face of an invasion against our faith Ardans must call upon you once again.

Make me proud, Desrois, and stand for your city until the last invader falls.

Death to Kings! Glory to Ardans!

Your General,
Reynald dan Haaken
 
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Squires Log #002

It has been a few months since my last entry, so I have decided to add new developments to my log. After I was made a squire at the capital I returned home without a army in hand, I was told I was not yet ready for the responsibility of leading troops.
When I was home my family had yet another meeting I had to attend to, my uncle and grandfather argued on if our house should build a military academy for the kingdom or build a local barracks for our own house. My grandfather a veteren general of Hendal
wanted our family to build a military academy for the nation. My uncle was for the barracks thinking we should care for ourselves rather than the personal interest of the kingdom, as for me I didn't know what to do as my mother watched as her in-laws argued.
My mother then said "We should let the Lord decide on what action we should take." That was always like my mother to put me on the spot in a dire situation but, I didn't have a choice in the matter anyways so I stood up from my
chair and told my uncle and grandfather to silence themselves. It was a bold action on my part but I couldn't think straight with their constant bickering, I thought long and hard about it as a military academy would help the nation but the kingdom is seeing a dark time
as the ruler of the nation would not bring good use of it, though a personal barracks would prove fruitful for our family's survival. It took around four minutes to think things through and afterwards I was able to come up with a decision. I decided that House Blackgate would
build a military academy for Hendal which will be called Alrich Academy, the academy shall be the center of great generals of Hendal for generations to come, and maybe the whole continent.

As for other news I have joined the River Watch, and I have gained some progress on my swordplay so I hope that I can perform well under the River Watch for the years to come.
 
Desroiscrest_zpsmlybpwhd.png

A private letter to a friend

Oddyn,

Forgive me, my friend, for even after so long a time I cannot afford to write you an expansive letter. I stand as general of a nation prouder and more hospitable than any other, yet it finds itself under attack by the large armies of our neighbours Meddeland and Dalmira... As leader in our armies, my time is short, so I send you this letter as I leave for duty. I can only hope that my messenger manages to find you.

The warriors of our nation are strong, and it is my task to lead a great contingent of them to war, yet in the face of a large enemy majority we may find ourselves unable to do anything but sacrifice ourselves. It is for this reason that I must call you, as proud rider, and your thousand axes to help. While Meddeland finds itself caught in severe infighting, Dalmiran armies march on our borders in a surprisingly united fashion. Yet for all their prowess, the Dalmirans have left their tents empty and their herds unguarded. I ask of you - no, implore you - to ride for their green fields. Interrupt them as they sow their grain, take their gold and run for the mountains as they double back, realizing their mistake. It is our proud tradition to do so; would you help me by raiding Dalmiran land?

Please understand how much it pains me to ask this of you; I wouldn't have done so if we were not in severe danger. Forgive me for the harm I have caused you, friend, and I shall make sure to ask Namid to watch over you tonight. As you forgive me, may He forgive your sin.

Haakon


Included with the letter is a map of Makria.
 
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Kh'azaro Octarz looked down on the earth from the back of the Roc. He could see the great mountains to the east into Dalmira and if he looked west, he saw the coast .of Hendal. He could see the woods of where an army of the Hendalese were hiding. He had been flying for quite some time and it began to rain. Quite heavily and he and his friend was forced to seek shelter in a nearby cave. A very special cave, Kh'azaro soon observed. Mythical marks of people before the time of Hendal. He saw a sun that had been cut directly into the stone. He didn't go much further as he had no light and the rain was stopping. He mounted the Roc, looked one last time with his deep purple eyes on the cave, before flying away and back to the Tavan Morin.

Orders:
Raid the Hendal countryside and look for patrols to ambush. Try not getting trapped and ambushed himself.
Try getting more control of the Roc. But be careful.
 
A Private Letter From a Vassal of House Riosh




393a7eeb72e2e80ffd56b5e4127898bb

House Vreburg


My loyal cousin,

We have received word from the usurper. His army winters in Foldgart, still yet to meet the swords of Ardan. With such a delay, it is likely that the pretender will not return for another year. We must seize this opportunity. I believe the key to winning my rightful seat is to foster strife between the houses of Wiegraf and Riosh. I bid you to double your efforts regarding the Victorsburg bitch. Learn her movements, her friends, anything we can use against her.

We may have to get blood on our hands. For now, watch and wait.

~Ivar Vreburg,
Rightful Duke of Igskada.
 
The Marcher and His Man

((By Gen. Marshall and oxfordroyale))

“Marcher, sir. Our man rode with great speed, making his way here as fast as a hawk in a thunderstorm. He has the latest espionage reports on the Dalmiran King’s army with him.”

The Marcher sat behind his great iron-oak desk, his face haggard and clothes dishevelled. He had slept little for almost a fortnight, and it showed. His beard, usually kept short and trim, had been left to grow wild and unkempt. Dark bags were beginning to form under his eyes, and he would spend hours on end pouring over the hundreds of maps he’d sent from the Moraille library, acting out war plans with tiny pieces of wood that he was more likely to spend idly twirling in his fingers than put into position upon the parchment.

“Thank you, dan Haaken.” He murmured, his eyes barely moving from the figurine he’d been massaging between his thumb and forefinger. “You have been … a great help to us. To me.”

The Vandal gestured for a third man to enter the hall. The exhausted soldier quickly paced towards the Marcher’s table and handed him a scroll while bowing deeply. As the Marcher’s trembling hand took it from him, he quickly backed away and out of the room.

“I have taken the liberty to read the report, Henrik. This King is nothing but a coward! Not only is he hiding in Victorsburg, unwilling to expose his Royal hide to the cold, our men even report that he is not planning to reply to your proposal to settle this with a fair and honest duel. It’s a damned travesty! How dare he not respond!”, dan Haaken shouted while slamming his fist on the wooden table. The tired Marcher looked visibly shaken.

“No duel …” the Marcher placed the figurine down on the tabletop and sat back in his chair. One moment passed. Two. Then his hands turned into fists, and the weariness and despair in his eyes shrunk away. “No duel.” This time the Marcher growled the words, his face twisted in a rictus of rage and the old fire burning in his eyes.

“NO DUEL!” The Marcher launched to his feet and swept the map and the wooden pieces from the table with one great sweep of his arm. “That Namid-forsaken bastard! He marches into my lands to kill my people in the name of his perverse deity, yet he shies away from fighting me in the light of Namid? To prevent the suffering for both his people and mine? To prove that his cause his holy? I would gut him like the pig he is with a butter knife if that was all that was available to me! This “Crusade” is nothing but a damn pretext!”

All the servants in the room took a step back, visibly frightened by the sudden turn in their Marcher. Only the grizzled general seemed unshaken - he simply took a step back as his Marcher burst out in anger.

“Get out of here”, he ordered the servants. “The Marcher and I need to talk in private.” Although this seemed to evoke Henrik’s anger even more, the servants did quickly make their way out of the room. Waiting for a brief moment as they closed the large wooden door behind them, the raucous Vandal spoke. “Get yourself together! How are you supposed to lead our great nation, the nation of Ardans, if you insist on working yourself to the brink and bursting out in uncontrollable anger! I cannot, and I will not, fight alongside a man liable to incite in rage so easily. So calm down and take your seat!”

The Marcher stood in stunned silence. No one had spoken to him that way in quite some time, not even his wife in one of her fouler moods. Slowly, he let his hands drop to his side and collapsed back into his chair, massaging his forehead with one hand. A heavy silence hung over the room, fraught with tension and many things unsaid. Softly, suddenly, the Marcher began to chuckle.

“Ah, Reynald. Of all of those under my command, of all those who I have entrusted with governing this nation with me, you are the only one I can trust in these matters. Do you know why that is?”

Reynald himself retook his posture now. “No, sir, I don’t know.”

The Marcher took his hand from his brow and looked up at the man they called the Vandal. Not with fear, as so many did, but with respect. Respect and admiration. “You are the only one I can trust to tell me when I am being a fool. The only one I know in this damn fortress who will not spare me from the truth for the sake of coveting favor or due to the respect my position carries. I know that you will always tell me if my actions are wrong. I thank you for that.”

Bowing slightly to his leader as he spoke his words of praise, the Vandal smiled - something he would rarely do, but it seemed applicable now. He stood upright again; sighed; and took a seat. “Henrik, you know I was not born in Ardans. I come from a place where there are no leaders, only soldiers and those who take care of them. We looted, burned and killed, but personal vendetta or ire were never a part of it. For if there is one thing I learned in my childhood, it is that those who burst out in anger quickly find themselves unable to do so again, disliked and outcast as they become… That is not a threat on my part, mind you, but the people of Ardans may feel otherwise. Please take this as my advice.”

“And I welcome it. If these last few days have taught me anything, it is that I would do better to talk to and take advice from generals such as you than pore over useless, dusty old maps for solutions to my problems - our problems.” The Marcher’s face, temporarily lightened by the words of the Vandal, darkened again. “I hope you know that all the stress I have placed upon myself is not for nothing, Reynald. You know as well as I do that there are dark days ahead for Ardans, and we need to give everything we have if we wish our people to be alive and free come the spring. Despite the overconfidence of certain … individuals, I know that you understand the threat the Dalmirans pose, no matter how cowardly their King.”

”Certain overconfident individuals. Ah, yes... Dupont.”

The Marcher shifted in his seat and leaned forward, resting his elbows above his knees. “I understand you have some ideas on how we might cause frustration to the invaders. I’d had similar thoughts myself, but those I’d spoken to seemed to think they would divert attention from our main priorities. I’d like to hear them from you.”

Haaken glanced at the open windows. The office of state was one floor up, but one could never be too careful in these times. “I, ehr…” Haaken glanced at the window again, rather absent-minded, thinking more of potential spies which could stand below them than his conversation with the Marcher. “Excuse me. I… feel we should probably use the population of Ardans to our best advantage.”

The Marcher blinked, but was undeterred. “Yes, of course. That is what the defender of any invasion such as this must prioritize above all else. But if we are to best the invaders, there is a need for specific and detailed plans.” The Marcher paused, and looked at dan Haaken expectantly.

The Vandal grabbed one of the maps off the floor, starting to collect the small wooden pieces which his superior had thrown on the carpet. Blue pieces for the Meddish, green pieces for the Dalmirans and fiery red pieces for the proud armies of Ardans. Depositing the pieces onto the map in a small pile, he started talking, explaining his strategy on the map as they spoke.

They talked long into the night. Of troop movements and supply trains, of terrain and weather, of army composition and siege preparations. When at last the Marcher retired to bed and the Vandal to his, they had a plan. As the Marcher drifted off to sleep, he thought of the hills outside Moraille where he’d lived as a boy. Of the farmers in their fields and the miners in their caves, of the merchants in their stalls and the blacksmiths in their shops. He thought of Ardans.

“I will be damned if I let this country fall once more.” He murmured to himself. “We will fight to the end - no matter how long, no matter how bitter. If this country is to be bought, they will pay in blood.”

In blood.