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”A Barbarian's Visit to Is-Taash”
January 17, NL 15

Mother told him not to go,
Not to journey, not to stray
But oh how he loved it so!

I could never remember how that old proverb ended. I had heard it many years ago, when I lived when father was still alive in the southern wilds of the Empire of Dayan. In fact, I was so young then that I’m surprised I remember any of it at all. I was only a child, in fact. Mymother would sing it to me every night, and I would dream of the greatest adventures. I would slash through the brush of the tropics and saunder across mighty dunes.

One day, I found that my legs and arms had sprouted, and I was a man. And I decided to go on adventures—the real thing. My first journey took me across all the great states of Erdova. I languished in the woodlands of Reichskrieg and witnessed their mighty marches and drills. I sat at court in Weisland and listened to the great composer Durlans play piano. I saw trading vessels leave port at Nuderdame, and even caught a glimpse of the great Beast of Deauxlans whilst staying a year in Morsain. I returned to Dayan with a debt so great that I was almost sworn into the serfdom. Then, my dear father died during one of his fits, and I inherited his wealth. Because I never learn, I at once endeavored to return to adventuring, and then spent a year in Alstin, which is really a rather queer country. Alstinians are so obsessed with politics and equality as words that they lose their meaning. But anyway, this is all to say that I am rather a good traveler. And certainly the best traveler of any from the village of Sever, whose population is but four hundred.

Before setting off on my next, I was lucky enough to hear a speech from the mighty Overtsar. I shan’t write what was said, for to repeat even the word of the Overtsar’s address is a grave felony. The Overtsar is our guide and our spirit. But—And this is not to repeat anything, only to playfully allude—I was interested on the repeated mention of that nation on the southern border, the Celestial Empire, of the continent of Marior. I have decided to visit. I am more excited than words can describe. And when I am finished, and truly broke, I will publish this journal, and surely become a mill—no, no! Trillionaire!

Dmitry Yoskalev journeyed through his home country of Dayan, swept over the border into Sartak, and rid on horseback through, until he had come before the March of Kolch.

I asked one man who I rode by what the March of Kolch was. He gave me a sideways look and asked if I was a foreigner. I said truthfully that I was from another country, but a man of the world at heart.

“Man of the world, eh?” he said, “but does the world want its man, I wonder?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I said, but getting back to my question, “what is the March of Kolch?”

“It was the land of the Ismorlen before, of course, but was conquered a good few hundred years ago, when Ren Osarrus was on the throne. The people there are still ever so cultured, with their own traditions they keep by, but the government is as Celestial as any heartland province.”

I thanked him for this, and offered my blessing in the name of the Overtsar. He said he didn’t believe in gods, or popes, or magi, or this Overtsar. He said he was traveling north to Sartak because he was sick of killing for such things and wanted to kill for nothing at all. This rather frightened me and I was soon on my way again.

Late that night, I could see the white moon reflected in the River Yabes, the stream that made Kolch worth living in at all, but from the sands that surrounded I knew such a conclusion could still be a controversial one, at that. Amidst the rivers was a grand city mounted on a mighty hill, which I knew was the March’s capital, Is-Taash. The gates were not opened, for they only opened for three hours in the mornings. The sound of music echoed from one side of the walls, so much that it was as if the valley was swaying left and right with each thrum.

Like a moth to a torch, I was drawn forth as if I had lost the use of my self. The hooves of my steed glided across the sand. As it was, the music was coming from deep within a trade caravan just outside the gates. The lights perched in the city windows slowly died, as I gathered with them around their own fire, and they told me they were the Narmen of the eastern province, who occasionally came west to trade their silks and spices for water and solari. They entreated me to one of their lesser tents, and I slept beside their mules that night.

I awoke to a grave pain ,for I had slept upon a sharp rock in my blanket sheet. I staggered outside, a trickle of blood on my back. The traders had gone, and they had taken my horse with them. I figured it must have been morning, and they had made their deals and were already well into the desert with their mules and his horse. Cursing here and there, I made my way to the gates. When I saw they were closing, I ran like a madman, until I had crossed the great timber bridge and made my way inside.

As I walked through Is-Taash, I noticed immediately the smell of roasted lamb. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, so I stopped by one of the venders and bought a stick of something golden. Munching on it as I walked, I observed that the sloped city was littered with cats, the fattest and proudest cats I’d ever seen. Here, too, were many soldiers, fairer-skinned than those they occupied and dressed in shiny armor. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I had found my way into a fort, and not a city. I had only realized that in the March of Kolch there was no difference when my face was thrown against the pave, and I hands bound with rope behind my back.

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

A short, stocky man with mutton-chops sat at a desk in the long hall, occasionally dipping his feather and ink whilst working with his papers. It was a rather strange place. The palace outside had been so wonderfully tall and interesting, but on the inside, it was rather unfinished and cold. One wall was painted rather ornately with a landscape of mountains and grasslands and sea. The other was an empty beige littered with doors. The ceiling was also barely painted. If this was the empire’s chief in Kolch, they had not given him a good place. As for the man himself, he only stuck with his work, never recognizing that a man had entered.

“Your sufficiency,” said the captain who had brought Dmitry in, “an outlander in Kolch. Blood soaks the shirt on his back.”

The captain forcibly turned Dmitry around so the governor could see. He slowly gazed up, still gripping his pen. “Did you stab him?”

“No, sir,” said Dmitry, “I slept on a rock.”

The governor laughed along with the captain, putting his pen down. “Why on earth would you do that? You must be from one of the barbarian countries, hm?”

“No, sir,” repeated Dmitry, turning around, “from Dayan, sir.”

The governor straightened out his back. “Dayan? Come closer, man. Yes, yes, I can see it now. Indeed, you must be Dayani. So, I see how it is. Just as old Laurent Mast is cleaning up his province, send a smuggler to bring D’yavod in. I see he has none, Captain, so he must have already sold his entire stock.”

“Indeed,” agreed the captain.

Dmitry was rather startled by the accusation. “No, sir! No, I’m not a smuggler!”

“Not even one of their good smugglers,” mouthed Governor Mast, “one who sleeps on rocks. Oh, great exalted majesty Ren Osarrus, why could I not have been made a Grand Admiral like my father and his?”

“Sir,” said Dmitry, growing rather crossed, “I swear to you, I am not a drug smuggler.”

Governor Mast laughed. “A Dayani’s word is worth little to me.” Dmitry’s heart sank. “But anyway, what made you think you could just saunder into our borders and not face the consequence?”

“Well,” said Dmitry, “haven’t you heard? There has been a coup in Nhasa.” The captain shifted uncomfortably in place, “the Empire is in turmoil.”

Governor Mast laughed very loudly now. “Oh, don’t be a fool. If there was a coup, I would’ve been told about it. Captain An, tell us of this coup.”

“I have heard of no such thing,” said Captain An.

“There you have it.” He narrowed his eyes, “Dirty, devilish liar, you are!” Before Dmitry could respond, the governor waved his hand dismissively. “Give him fifty lashes and send this man to the dungeon. We shall deal with him later.”

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Deep below the palace, in the governor’s cell and still smarting after his lashing, Dmitry finally remembered how that ryme ended.

But one day, to the Celestials, he flew
And his head rolled for it
For he had not given the false gods their due!

Prologue
1910
Ngara, Province of Erhani

Kotof waited by the platform for the train that would take him to Punakhsa, the regional capital, and silently swore that today would be the last time he would ever step foot in this accursed city and suffer the humidity of the summers. Far off on the horizon, the snow-capped Garze mountains loomed over the city like a gargantuan wave about to crest. In one hand, he held a ticket, the other the briefcase packed with what meagre possessions he had in his name.

Passerbys, all so-called "first-class" citizens of the Empire, gave him filthy stares as they tiptoed past. Somewhere, Kotof felt a brewing resentment that he, and his people by large, were treated like barbarians in their own homeland, but brushed the feeling aside. Further down the platform, a group of students also passed the ticket booth and made for the Erhani-only area where he stood.

He recognized his friend, Luten, a youth of Kaishani heritage with a more-than-recognizable mane of black hair streaked brown, approaching, and waved.
"Luten! Over here."
The Kaishani ran towards Kotof, and the two slapped each other on the back.

"I wasn't expecting you, of all people, to get into Punakhsa University," he quipped. "It's a miracle that you even passed the scholarship exam." In the morning light, Kotof could just barely make out the letters "S.E.I" on a badge his friend was wearing, and made a note to catch up on whatever trend was circulating amongst his friend group now.
"Got a cigarette?" Luten asked, and Kotof handed him a soot-stained box labelled "MONARCH" on its cover.

Luten took a cigarette and lit it, but then cursed as the tobacco fell out of the end.
"Damned things!" he complained, stooping to pick it up. "They really couldn't get any sh*ttier, could they?"

The two continued to smoke as the train pulled into the station, and stumbled their way inside, averting the hostile looks from the foreigners while making their way to the Erhani-only portion of the carriage.
"It's a bloody disgrace," Luten grumbled as he shoved his briefcase into the luggage rack, "That things are in the abominable state that they're in now. I happened to pick up a history book from the bookshop," he said as the train began to depart, taking a seat opposite Kotof. "The Empire happened to partition Erhani and divide its peoples, and they still dare to treat us like second-class citizens in our own home."

"Well, are you planning on doing anything about it?" Kotof asked, sighing. "Protesting isn't going to get us anywhere except the flogging-post. Twenty-five lashes for acts of sedition as petty as wearing traditional Erhani clothes or having literature deemed "inappropriate" by authorities."

"No, I don't believe protesting would get us anywhere," Luten replied. "However," he continued, slightly lowering his voice as some foreigners passed, chattering about the stock market. "If enough of us go out on strike, or inconvenience the government..."

"We're one province among hundreds. If we somehow achieve even partial autonomy the entire force of the Army would descend on Erhani and put things back in order." Kotof looked out the window, at the landscape rushing by, and back to Luten.

His friend huffed. "I suppose you're right."
The two shared the ride in silence. Luten briefly left to use the latrines, but then the carriage rocked and there was a thud, followed by the sound of Luten cursing. Kotof ran out, only to be knocked aside by a man- a foreigner, who pushed past the two cursing and ranting, before tackling and proceeding to savagely beat Erhani man. Kotof looked about, and saw a suitcase cracked open on the floor nearby. The guard standing at the end of the carriage hurried over, and the pair caught only snippets of the argument that followed as the entire carriage turned to stare.

"-That Erhani rat tried to steal my luggage!" One of the foreigners hollered as he was pulled away by the guard. Kotof turned and spotted the suitcase lying on the floor.
"Sir, I just accidentally knocked it off the rack," The Erhani coughed, stumbling to his feet, his lip cut and bleeding. "I assure you I wasn't stealing anything-"
The innocent man's protests were drowned out by a tirade of expletives and derogatory names from the foreigner, who had to be carried off by another two guards to the next carriage. Two more guards took the Erhani by the arms and escorted him away.

"We'll let the constables deal with this once we're in Punakhsa," the guards were saying. "For the meantime, we'll have to detain you."
The foreigners sitting in the carriage muttered in unrest as the man was escorted away.

As they walked back to their carriage, Luten was positively quivering with fury.
"Did you see anything?" Kotof asked.
"I did," he replied. "That man didn't do anything wrong! He truly did knock the suitcase off on accident. I could barely even call it an accident! The train just rocked and he grabbed the suitcase for support. The guard must've seen it as well. How can they possibly be so complacent as to defend a case of- of assault?"

"That's unfortunately the way things are in this country. You're out of luck if you're an Erhani."
Luten huffed, and sat down again. "Say, what courses are you taking?"

"War Studies," Kotof replied. "You?"

"Trade," he said. "Kotof, you plan on going into the military?"

"I do," Kotof said as a porter came to clean up the mess caused by the foreigner's fight with the Erhani. "I want to be stationed at Fort Kaihoku, near the border with Ryujin.. that's the only way I can get out of this horrid country and go somewhere else, where I'm considered a first-class citizen and not just a pest."

Luten muttered something, as he pulled out a large history textbook, labelled A History of Erhani, From Year 652 to the Modern Day.
"That's how they keep us divided," he hissed, angrily brushing through the pages. "The more Erhani leave, the less united this country will be. It's a horrendous problem in the west, where we are.."

Kotof just sighed, and returned to gazing out the window. He remembered Fort Kaihoku from the illustrations he had seen while on summer break, a nightmarishly well-defended fortress with a pentagonal wall, atop a hill from which the fort's artillery pieces could rain down havoc on enemy forces, patrolled day and night by two armoured trains that wove in and out of tunnels hidden in the fort's bowels. The seat of the Imperial Army.
The two stirred again when someone knocked on their compartment door. Luten slid it open, to reveal a man dressed in the light khakis of the Army, a rifle slung over his shoulder. The man's dark hair, green eyes and olive skin gave away his identity as a fellow Erhani.
"Good morning, gentlemen," the soldier grinned modestly. "I'm sorry to ask, but would you happen to have any spare solari? I lost my wallet back at Ngara station and I need to catch another train to my post at Baksumh. I'm unfortunately lacking five solari."

"Oh! Of course," Luten shot up, digging through his wallet before producing a handful of coins and offering it to the soldier. "You look like you're about as old as we are. Did you recently enlist?"

"I did, as a matter of fact." The soldier lit a cigarette and stepped into the compartment as another foreigner brushed past outside. "I'm turning nineteen in two months. Just enlisted four months ago. Name's Kamin."

"Huh. My friend Kotof here plans to enlist too once he finishes his war studies course. He wants to go to Fort Kaihoku." Luten grinned, as he too lit a cigarette. Kotof noticed Luten's eyes wandering to the soldier's coat, where there was also a badge with the initials S.E.I on it.

"Fort Kaihoku? I'm going there in another three months when my rotation at Baksumh is over." Kamin took a long, drawn-out huff of his cigarette, letting loose a continuous stream of tobacco-smoke from his lips. "Trust me, Kotof, you don't want to. The power dynamics there are something else, really. You'll get devoured alive. The officers at Kaihoku are determined to hold their ranks and don't like it when others get promoted."
"It's the only way out of Erhani that doesn't need six months of paperwork and another month of background checks," Kotof shrugged, as he joined the pair in smoking. "Just going to enlist once I'm finished with university and try to see if my prospects are any better in, say, Temris, or some place like that. The system here's too discriminatory against us. Hopefully, I can get assigned to duty near Nhasa."

Kamin huffed. "I understand. But if you aren't a Rephik, you'll have a hard time getting to the position of trust where the higher-ups will allow you to be moved to Kaihoku, let alone get sent off to other provinces."

"Then how come you're going?"

"My family is a Rephik household. We've been serving in the military since the 1700s," Kamin said. "I'm a Rephik, as a matter of fact." He pointed to the sword hanging from his belt, and the golden thread running through the rims of his overcoat, trademark signs of the esteemed Erhani warrior-nobility.

"Lucky.." Luten muttered.

"Funny thing is," Kamin said, "You'd expect to get treated better, what with being a Rephik and all, but no. Every time a foreigner calls my name, it's still the same old "Oi! Hanny!"." He sighed bitterly. "Even as semi-nobility, you can't get out of being called that. No matter what you do, you're still some worthless hanny. Say," he looked at Luten. "Have you read the treatises of Inara Kereshi?"

"Who?" Luten asked, perplexed. Kamin fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, before producing a book bound in blue leather.
"Inara Kereshi. She's an up-and-coming political writer. This is her most famous work. It's called The Land of the Blue Sun. It's talking about this new political ideology called "Ennobled Democracy". It's been banned all across Erhani in the past few weeks for seditious content."

"Interesting," Luten breathed, eyeing up the blatantly-nationalist Erhani iconography on the front cover.

"I need to get rid of it," Kamin whispered. "It's contraband and the higher-ups at base will burn it on sight. I might also get demoted if I'm unlucky. Would you be interested in having it?"

"Of course," Luten hurriedly took the book, and slid it into his pocket. Then, the two seemed to immediately strike up a conversation. It hadn't even been five minutes, and they were already getting along like a house on fire over the subjects of nationalism and politics.
It seemed like an eternity, the way they talked. Kotof occasionally checked his watch to see how long the conversation had lasted.

Thirty minutes. Thirty-five. Forty. Kamin opened his mouth to speak, before a train attendant tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sir," she said, looking around the compartment which was now filled with the haze of cigarette smoke. "I'm sorry, but I must ask that you return to your seat. We've gotten complaints that you're loitering.

Indeed, several of the foreigners were glaring at Kamin with barely-masked hostility.
"My apologies," he said, shifting his rifle to the other shoulder as he straightened up. "Well, it's been nice getting to know you, Luten- and you, Kotof. I hope we'll meet again."
With that, he collected his things and returned to his compartment some paces down the hall.

"Kamin.." Kotof muttered. "He looks a lot like Antare Talmung. Remember him? The general who visited our school two years back to give a presentation on why we should enlist in the army."

"Now that you mention that..." Luten muttered. "Yes. He does. Perhaps he's Talmung's son."
The two returned to an awkward silence again as the train roared past Lake Mansarovhar, which Kotof distinctly remembered as the place he'd gone boating when he was thirteen with his class. The lake's teal waters sparkled in the mid-day light and true to its popularity, half a hundred small boats bobbed up and down on its waters, hovering around Bugonh Island in its center, home to a long-abandoned shrine to the goddess Alhritsa.

He knew there was something important about the lake in Erhani folklore. But alas, he thought, the Imperials had not bothered allowing that information to spread in order to tear down the Erhani culture.

With that, he fell asleep in the compartment, dreaming of a new military career, and woke to see the golden pagodas of Punakhsa and the Palace of the Blue Sun atop the summit of Mount Kalma, its thousand windows glimmering like jewels inlaid in walls painted deep red and blue. A lonely light flickered from the topmost floor of the palace, and he reveled in the first gust of mountain air that embraced him as he stepped off the train.

From this day, Kotof Sehika’s life would change. Just not in the way he expected.

The Tyrant of Punakhsa
Tokua, Erhani
1878

Kavel had seen too much. He vaguely remembered that he was seventeen, a trainee in the Erhani Army, and that right now as he lay motionless in the middle of the street, surrounded by bodies bearing the sigil of the Empire on their uniforms, that the Octobrist Revolt was in full swing and had consumed almost all of Erhani in its violence. Gunfire rattled faintly in the distance and the warm, orange glow of fire bathed the street in an unearthly light.

A rebel cannoneer coughed weakly, slumped over the sandbags of his former position, now overrun by the Imperial troops, groaned something, and ceased to move.

Kavel’s hands were smeared in a coat of grime and blood. His blood, or that of the others around him- he didn’t know. He didn’t know much at present, only that he was somewhere in the city of Tokua, previously meant to have been suppressing the Octobrist revels in the city. What he did know was that he was now truly alone, more alone than he had ever been, and that his mother was standing before him.

“Mother?” Kavel breathed. What was she doing here, in the midst of this bloodbath? Her hair was tied up and combed over, untainted by the soot-choked, sulfuric air. Her clothes and skin were clean, unlike his; it was as if a messenger from the heavens had come down to meet him. He dropped to his knees, looking up at her face which seemed shrouded in light, her eyes two violet gemstones twinkling down at him.

“Kavel,” she whispered. She knelt down and embraced her son, who began to quiver and cry. The threads of her dress seemed to flow over his skin. The man hugged his mother back, burying his face into her shoulder and sobbing.

After a few seconds, his mother stood up again. Her clothes had not been dirtied by the blood that covered Kavel. There were no black smears from his grime-stained hands, nor were there any wet spots from his tears on her shoulder. Then she faded away just as fast as she appeared, and a view of the bodies draped in front of him replaced her image.

“Mother,” He cried. “Mother! Don’t leave me!” the boy fell on his side, curling into a ball and wailing for his mother.

There was no sound but the symphony of distant gunshots, the crackling of embers, and the cries from the young man.

He returned from the war an officer in the army, lauded and having earned one of the highest awards in the Empire, poised to soar through the ranks of the military and find himself a general under the tutelage of an Imperial war hero in some years- even a candidacy as the governor of Erhani. But he felt nothing when the then-Governor Qaoshi pinned a medal to his chest, nor when the ranks of fresh young conscripts saluted him as he stepped onto the podium to deliver a speech.

He continued to feel nothing, and even as he was eventually granted two months of leave in exchange for his efforts in putting down the rebellion- by all means it was a beautiful day. The violet adunia blossoms of Punakhsa seemed colorless, the dazzling blue sky devoid of any warmth. The world, to him, had simply ceased to acknowledge his presence. Everything and everyone else moved on, leaving the hollow young man that was Kavel Yuei behind.

When he saw his mother again, she was wearing the same dress that he had seen her wear in the war-torn streets of Tokua. His eyes watered up again, but he did not let a single tear fall.
“Why did you leave me?” he gulped. He was still questioning himself, was his mother really there in the field?
“What do you mean, Kavel?” she asked as she hugged her son.
“You left me.”
“You know I would never leave you.”
Even with assurance, Kavel still felt abandoned. Did she abandon him, or did he abandon everyone? He began to think it was the latter. He left his dead comrades in the streets of Tokua, he left his dignity, and he left his soul. He had seen it all: The burning grasslands of Tashighang, the blood-stained jungles of Ngara, and firefights in the mountains around Punakhsa.

Had she abandoned him, or did he abandon everyone?
Those were the thoughts he had as, another seven years later, he stood in the pouring rain, watching his mother’s casket be gently lowered into her grave, as his surviving comrades from the military gave condolences and reassurances.

And still, he felt empty inside. The Kavel eight years before would have wept, cursed the gods, and been inconsolable. He felt nothing inside as the final shovelful of soil was filled over the grave, and did not feel the rain soaking him to the bone. Nor did he feel the biting cold wind.

Twenty years later, when Yuei ascended to the governorship of Erhani, he vowed that never again would he, nor any other man, would suffer the flames of war, and yet did so emotionlessly. Not once did the boy that once was Kavel Yuei stir from its dormancy.

-

1910
Fort Kaihoku

“Make ready… present… fire!”
The smoke wafting from the chimneys of Fort Kaihoku’s barracks reminded Governor Yuei, rather gruesomely, of the flames he had witnessed in Tokua. The man stirred from his stupor and sat upright in his seat. Below the balcony on which he was perched, a column of khaki-uniformed soldiers passed below.

At the firing range, new enlisted tried their luck hitting targets with new bolt-action rifles.
How these fools prattle about in their worlds, he thought. They know nothing of war’s true horror.

“Governor,” an aide bowed. The tyrant of Erhani turned to give the assistant his full attention.

Even two decades after the Octobrist Revolt, the man’s eyes still lacked spirit or warmth. The real Kavel Yuei had died on that street in Tokua, the thing possessing his body thought. In the general, the governor, there was nothing to suggest that the boy who, twenty years before, had enlisted in the military as a starry-eyed youth still lived.

“Yes,” he spoke. “Go on.”

“Reports from Nhasa… indicate that there has been a coup.” The aide bowed low. “Indra Ko, our delegate, is en route back to Erhani. He claims that the Imperial Diet was massacred by the coup’s perpetrators, Admiral James Gong.”

The governor continued to stare at the aide, his dazzling violet eyes completely devoid of the warmth that the sunlight cast on it.
“I see,” he said flatly. “I want the borders closed for two weeks and all newspapers to stop printing for that time, until I decide what to do.”

“Yes, your excellency.”

As the aide hurried away, Yuei continued to stare at the trainees on the firing range.
And as always, Kavel Yuei felt nothing inside.

Whisper of Freedom
January 29, 1910
Sunyang-Fawai District, Punakhsa

Kotof stared out at the street in boredom. It was an overcast day, and the papers had not been delivered to the university for some time.

Rumors were exchanged of the Celestial Emperor’s death. Some said it was at the hands of the Diet, which had stabbed him to death with knives hidden in their suits; others a stroke, an early heart attack, an unfortuitous sign from the gods.

He could not have cared less, if it weren’t for the fact that he hadn’t been able to get his hands on the crosswords for nearly a week now. The clocks in Chruying Square, some blocks away, struck twelve, and in the street below delivery-boys were pedaling furiously on bicycles, balancing stacks of boxes filled with food headed for the offices on the other side of the city, to make it there and back before half-past.

The familiar scent of grilled eel wafted in through the window, intermingling with the must of old paper and ink. Kotof, and his class, was thoroughly bored, having sat through one hour and fifteen minutes of defense theory.

-

Meanwhile, in Chruying Square, at the intersection of Kharak and Sulhova street, Galv Kamosi stood under the shadow of a bookshop, watching the growing mob that was now blocking the street.

“The constabulary are on their way,” his co-conspirator, Nazin, said, pointing to a dozen policemen dressed in gray making their way down the street. “I should hope the initial disturbance goes well. You know the plan.”

“Indeed.” Galv watched as the constables approached, truncheons out, but at the sight of the crowd gathering in the square, now some six hundred strong, balked and hurried back to their horses only to find another crowd of two hundred had emerged from the buildings along the street and were blocking their way.

He could vaguely hear the furious shouting of their leader. On a roof three storeys above, a small rat-like man poked his head above the roof and looked expectantly at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The chief constable blustered, as Galv drew closer. “I am the chief of the Karghik District constabulary! Let me pass, or you will all be executed! You damned hannies!”

At the mention of the word “execute”, the two mobs surged forward, and the constables disappeared under a thrashing mass of limbs, carried down by rioters with cleavers and shivs hidden in their coats. The screams subsided some time later, and as quickly as the mob had formed, they dispersed, having made off with the constables’ revolvers.

When the full force of some three districts’ worth of constables swarmed the scene, they found eleven dead policemen lying on the street in pools of blood, and the chief constable of Karghik hung from a lamppost by the legs, upside-down, with the words “FREE ERHANI” painted on the nearby wall in his blood.

-

“How could you let this happen?” Governor Yuei said, as the street filled with constables and soldiers of the Erhani Guard Regiment. It was night now, and the citizens of Punakhsa peered down at the scene from their bedroom windows.

“Sir, with all due respect, this should be a one-off incident. There are no indications of a mass conspiracy-”

“A mass conspiracy?” Yuei turned and stared the chief of Punakhsa’s constabulary down, though his expression showed no emotion at all. “Chief Constable Yukamoso, bystanders say that there were anywhere from five hundred to a thousand rioters who murdered these constables.”

The man bowed deep. “Sir-”

“Double the number of night watchmen around the Karghik and Maiwa districts,” Yuei said. “I want the districts locked down for two weeks. No one shall be permitted to enter or leave.”

“Yes, sir.” Chief Yukamoso hurried away, and Yuei turned to an Army Lieutenant.

“You. Fetch me a field telephone to Fort Kaihoku.”

The young man returned some minutes later with a large box, which he unfolded to reveal a field telephone. Yuei punched in a number to the fort, and held the receiver to his ear.

“General Cassius Vorgen, Fort Kaihoku,” a voice said from the other end.

“Vorgen,” Yuei said. “This is Kavel speaking. There has been an incident at the capital. I want you to take eight hundred men and meet me at Punakhsa South Railway Station when you can. Rally the Rephiks, too, and bring them here. I want the entirety of the Karghik and Maiwa districts under your command, locked down.”

“Yes, your excellency.” General Cassius hung up the call.

Two dozen leagues away, Cassius Vorgen smirked, his gray eyes glimmering in the evening light. The nineteen-year-old Tiger of Kaihoku would finally earn his moniker, at long last.

Beginning of Tribulations
11:06 AM, January 21, NL 15
Lord Commanders office, Ahlen

Lord Commander Thomas Becker stood up and yelled at Mayor Klein, “I understand we have our differences, but claiming my knights are corrupt? Bah, that's too far, even for you.” The Mayor narrowed his eyes however before he could speak Thomas spoke again, “May I remind you Klein, the Emperor places us in charge of this port city. This city you claim to rule over, you only rule with my permission. And I am getting, quite frankly, sick of your constant nagging.”

Mayor Klein finally spoke up, “I understand that sir.” He spoke with venom in his voice, “However, I am just thinking of the people here. If your Knights are out of line the people need to be compensated, and justice served.” He leaned back some in his chair, trying to look uncaring, “Unless you consider the Knights above the law, Lord Commander.”

Thomas really wanted to reach over and beat the life out of Klein, but he held back, “Of course not, Klein. However, a proper investigation needs to be held before any punishments are handed ou-” Suddenly, a loud knock was heard at the door, the Lord Commander regained his composure, and spoke up, “Yes?”

A voice came from the other side of the door, “Excuse me, sir, this is Lieutenant Cristoph. I come with worrying news.”

The Lord Commander's brow furrowed, “Come in please.” The door pushed open and in came three men, Lieutenant Cristoph and two Teicherian Knights. The Lord Commander looked at the three men, “Yes?”

Lieutenant Cristoph spoke quickly, “Sir, I bring poor tidings, His Majesty, the Emperor is dead.” The Lord Commander put his head in his hands, and Mayor Klein gasped. The Knights remained silent, however were clearly stunned. Cristoph’s face was grim, however he pushed forward, “Not only that, but he was murdered. Either by the eunuchs or someone who calls himself, Grand Admiral… Wong? No, sorry Gong.” He let that news sink in for a minute before continuing, “Not only that, but Gong ordered all members of the Imperial Diet killed.”

Thomas’s sadness was replaced with a fury he had not before felt, like the core of the sun was placed in his chest. Klein looked over, suspicious and asked, “How did you receive this info?”

Cristoph smiled, “Lord Delegate Leopold Weber managed to escape and write this letter to us.” He pulled out a piece of paper, “If what he says is true he managed to escape by knocking down a chandelier and incapacitating, likely killing eight of the guards before escaping through the main door.”

Klein nodded, “Quite impressive.”

Thomas smiled, his anger subsided, “As is expected of the most honorable Teicherian Knights. Write back to Weber and make sure he knows this information is most valuable, and he did the Teicherian Knights proud.”

Cristoph simply nodded and bowed slightly, “Of course, Lord Commander.”

Silence fell over the room for a brief moment, as the Lord Commander gathered his thoughts. Finally, after about a minute he spoke up, “Gather the Council… meet in Central Hall. Get them here as soon as possible, tell them it’s of utmost importance.” The two regular Knights nodded their heads and left the room. Thomas then turned to the others, “Well, lets get moving.”
______________________________________________________________

01:10 PM
Central Hall, Ahlen

The Hall was a sight to behold, above it sat two pristine chandeliers that sparkled brightly in the light. And paintings sat along the walls, with a large table in the middle that had been set up for the meeting. Twelve seats surrounded the table. At one head, Lord Commander Thomas Becker sat, at the other head was Mayor Keith. In between were the three Lieutenants, these being Lieutenant Klein, Lieutenant Anton, and Lieutenant Bastian. The Chief Lieutenant and right hand of the Lord Commander, Charles Anderson. The Deputy Mayor, and Klein’s right hand, Gabriel Martin. The head of the Knights Tribunal Baldwin Fischer, the deputy head of the Knights Tribunal, Lucas Archambault. And then, lastly Director of Engineering, Felix Armstrong. There was one seat that was empty, however it was almost always empty as it belonged to the Lord Delegate, who spent the vast majority of his time at the Capital.

Whispering surrounded the hall as the nervous Council Members spoke, finally Thomas stood, “Thank you all for getting here at such short notice, I understand usually a Council meeting is planned weeks in advance, however this is necessary. Before we begin this meeting does not override next week's meeting, that is still in place I’m afraid. This meeting is specific to one topic, Lieutenant Cristoph, I pass the floor to you.”

Cristoph stood, pulling out a piece of paper, he then read from it, informing the members of the council just what had transpired at the Capital.

Thomas took a shaky breath, then stood, “I’m sure you all understand why we were called here now.”

The Council muttered in quiet agreement, however Bastian stood up, “It's clear what happened! This ‘Grand’ Admiral clearly had the Emperor killed and planned a coup! I say our response is obvious, get in contact with the Provincial Governors, and march our armies to crush this traitorous piece of sh*t into the ground!”

Klein spoke up, “While I understand your anger, we have to think about this logically. Gong could be not totally lying, the eunuchs may have had the Emperor killed, and Gong then took advantage of the situation to take control.”

Bastian yelled back, “Regardless he coup’d! He killed the eunuchs AND the Imperial Diet! No one, other than the Emperor himself, has the authority to do such a thing!”

Klein nodded, “While true, we must not be hasty.”

Gabriel, the deputy mayor, nodded before speaking up himself, “Kleins right, plus how do we even know we’ll get the provincial governors support? There's several provinces that may very well use this chance to try to become independent, or worse change the very nature of the Empire and depose the Emperor as a whole.”

Thomas raised his hand and spoke, “I have decided on a course of action.” He rubbed his temples some, he was developing a headache, “We reach out to the other provinces, see who's able to help us depose this… Grand Admiral Gong. I imagine the remaining Lord Delegates will attempt to meet up and plan a course of action. It is imperative that they are kept safe. Once we’re able to get in contact with him, write to Weber immediately and tell him we will take an appropriate course of action. Chief Lieutenant, I will leave the gathering of allies for a potential retake of the city to you. Does anyone have anything else to add?”

No one spoke up to oppose the Lord Commander, so Thomas sighed and said, “Good, then we’ll go with this course of action, dismissed.”

The Teicherian Knights
1:33 PM, January 23, NL 15
Outskirts of Ahlen

Thousands of Teicherian Knights stood, shoulder to shoulder. Flags of the Celestial Empire and the Knights Order darted out from the innumerable lines. The largest gathering of Teicherian Knights since they were mobilized out of fear of the foreigners pushing further into the Celestial Empire, these fears would be unwarranted however as the foreign dogs stopped before coming to the heartland. The Lord Commander stood in front of the lines, behind him the Lieutenants. He stared out before shifting a bit to his Chief Lieutenant “It’s not enough.”

The Chief Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, “What's not?”

Lord Commander Thomas Becker shifted slightly before saying, “Our Knights, we need more.”

Chief Lieutenant Charles Anderson chuckled, “Sir, no disrespect, these troops are the most elite in the Celestial Empire. No foe can stand against them.”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, soldier for soldier. But it’s a numbers game. An enemy without enough numbers can overwhelm him, even if the kill to death ratio is five to one in our favor.”

Anderson shook his head before saying, “Alright, what are we going to do then? Tell the soldiers to return to base. That they’re free to return to their wives for another couple… days? Weeks?”

“Sure, whatever. Tell em’ it was training. Get the mayor in my office before the end of the night.”

Anderson rubbed his temples for a minute before yelling to the troops, “Alright, dismissed. Return to your families. This was just… training.” He turned before muttering, “I guess.”

The troops broke, clearly annoyed at being called out for nothing.
____________________________________________________________________

10:03 PM
Lord Commanders Office, Ahlen

A loud knock was heard at the door, Thomas spoke quickly “Come in.”

The door was pushed open, and Mayor Klein walked in. “Sir, you called for me?”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, Klein, please sit.”

Klein took a seat, and eyed the Lord Commander suspiciously, usually when he was called to his office it was for nothing good. Thomas finished writing something then looked up, “You're not gonna like what I have to say Klein, but the decision has been made.”

Klein rolled his eyes, “Quite frankly sir, I hardly like the decisions you make, out with it.”

“We have decided to slash public funds, and funds to the Navy and forward them to expansion of the army.”

Klein went wide eyed, “Excuse me? We are already low on public funds, and now you want to take more away? Why? The Teicherian Knights are some of, if not the most skilled troops in the entire Empire, for what purpose would you need more.”

Thomas sighed, “It’s not a major hit, we just need more troops temporarily for the impending invasion of the capital. For the first time in… well almost since our inception our troops will be marching out of the city.”

Klein shook his head, “Fine, whatever, not like I can do much to stop it.”

Thomas looked apologetically at him, “Look Klein, I’m sorry but the Knights cannot look weak. Especially now.”

Klein just stood up, “Thank you for informing me sir, I’ll forward this to my team.” He then walked out the door. Thomas didn’t even try to stop him.
_____________________________________________________

01: 22 AM January 24, NL 15
Ahlen

A loud boom of thunder was heard as rain poured down over Ahlen. The streets had long since cleared out, however one Noah Trout had a hood on, and was walking through it.

Formerly a Tiecherian Knight, he was kicked out when he was found to have been in an adulterous relationship with the daughter of another Knight. His relationship with her was also cut off, and he was forbidden from ever seeing her again. Since then, he has harbored a deep hatred for the Knights, believing they kept him from his one true love.

Finally though he made his way to his destination, pushing the door open. Inside was a shabby looking building, some old chairs and at the center a reception desk that was manned by a city guardsmen. The guardsmen were a small group of soldiers, who technically followed the Mayor over the Lord Commander, however in reality their loyalties lie almost entirely with the Lord Commander.

He walked up to the desk, the guardsmen looked up at him, his face contorted into disgust, “You come into here soaking f*cking wet?”

Noah just sighed, “Just get me the Deputy Mayor.”

The guard looked down, “You don’t have an appointment I’m afraid. Plus… It’s one AM. Why don’t you come ba-”

Noah interrupted him, “Listen… just call him, tell him it’s Noah Trout.”

The guard looked at him with a piercing gaze before just sighing, “Fine, but if he’s angry its on you.” He dialed the Deputy Mayor's number, it rang once, twice, then it was picked up, “Yes, hello sir… I apologize for waking you up, there's a man named Noah Trout here… Yes… ok, I’ll send him up immediately.” The guard put the phone down, before looking up at Trout, “Huh, go ahead.”

Noah immediately began moving up the stairs swiftly, before arriving at the Deputy Mayor’s office, he pushed the door open and saw a groggy old man, in a dusty old office. He pulled out a packet from his vest and placed it on the Deputy Mayor’s desk, “Here, the info on Lieutenant Bastian that you so badly needed. Now, I held up my end of the deal. Bring Alice to me.”

Gabriel smiled, “Good work, Trout. However, we need another thing from you.”

Noah stood, angrily, “That was never the deal! You said I do this, and I get Alice!”

Gabriel leaned back, “Yes… however let's think about what you are asking of me and the Mayor here, you are asking us to kidnap the daughter of a Teicherian Knight. One of the most well-trained soldiers in the nation. And not just the daughter of any Knight, but the daughter of the esteemed Sergeant Jacob Brigs.”

Noah looked at him, his eyes pierced daggers into Gabriel, “I just want to see my love again.”

Gabriel laughed, “Yes, yes. Then we have one more task for you. Kill Lieutenant Bastian.”

Sword Saint and Lord
The Tangwen Wilderness
(1910)

The tall grasses blew and wavered in the rising orange sun. The plains stretched out to infinity in all directions. Had you walked there, without the knowledge of where you were going and where you'd been, you'd think it a sort of limbo; a place before eternity.

But this limbo was, in fact, of this world and its name was Tangwen; a dominion of the Celestial Empire; a borderland between civilisations; a wildland, untamed.

Shadows knelt in the grass. They were all in a line with their heads bowed, as if meditating. Another figure walked along their length, a broad brimmed and conical straw hat atop his head, a red tattered cape aflutter, a steady hand resting on a sheathed sword.

He delivered a proclamation unto the kneeling ones. He spoke of crimes and dishonour and death and mercy. His words were not the emperor's. His words were his own and he was Wu Tseun, a Sword Saint, a knight who now had the audacity to declare himself Lord of Tangwen.

He walked past them, a shadow against the leviathan sun, and repeated his words ad nauseum until they became as natural sounding as the wind itself. He reached the end of the line of the accused and their crimes became the truth. He then unsheathed his blade and cast off the first man's head.

When he returned to the other end, another group of men stood awaiting him, a unique clan banner to each of them. The accused, who'd once knelt there, all lay headless in the grass.

“Sword Saint Tseun,” one of the men said and stepped forward. They were all mere shadows on that plain. “Is it over, this war of ours?”

Tseun looked back at the execution and said, solemnly, “this wasn't a war, Sword Saint Ang. Not at all.”

“Not a war? My clan lost nine hundred men. It was a war as brutal as any other.”

Tseun took Ang’s arm and spoke in a hushed voice. “You were not at the capital, friend. You were not there when the Emperor was dying and those faithful servants of his stood poised to break his trust and his empire. There are those that would see this empire burn and there are those that would die to defend it. A terrible war is coming between the two, in our lands also. This was not that war.”

“What are you saying? You want us to pick a side? We'll be decimated.” Sword Saint Ang looked at the group of shadows behind him and spoke hushed too. “Some of us are less valiant than others, some of us are more self-serving and will break at the first sign of struggle.”

“We must be unified. Without the emperor we- we executed half of our peers here today, in his name, in the name of his divine dynasty. Does that all mean nothing? Is that not already a choice we've made?”

Sword Saint Ang took a deep breath and thought for a moment.

Tseun went on, “there is talk of a coalition that will march on the capital, that will restore some level of imperial order at least. Ride with me, let us all ride west and play our part.”

“The others, Tseun, they'll never do it.”

“They will. It is time for us to elect a lord.”

Ang looked at him. “A lord? Is that wise? The emperor abolished the title. The loyalists who don't understand will question us, maybe even march against us, declaring us traitors.”

“Without the emperor, we need strong leadership, we need to elect one of our own to carry his torch until a new emperor is found. We can organise and restore the divine dynasty quicker, Ang. Don't you see?”

“I see, but who? Who has the courage and the enlightenment, not only to lead us, but to know the limits of his power and step down once the empire is restored?”

Tseun bowed his head. “Do you trust me, old friend?”

“No- No, Tseun, you can't.”

“What choice is there? The others look to me. I rallied them to quell this secession. I have the legitimacy, weak as it may be. Everyone else has none. They'll be overthrown in a day. Their respect for me, while not permanent - it's never permanent - will buy me time. No one will want to be the first to rebel against he who gifted them a traitor's lands.”

Ang began to nod. He sighed. “Very well. If this is your death wish, what are we to do?”

“We each have our allies and they amount to a majority. Can you convince them to vote for me?”

“Yes. But, be careful, friend.” Ang placed hand on Tseun’s shoulder and gave him a stern look. “Power is treacherous, your father knew that better than most.”

And there, on that field of execution, the Sword Saints convened and elected the first lord of a new age. Lord Wu Tseun was crowned in peacock feathers and bejewelled gold in The Palace of The Elysian Lords. The court was half empty, and the cheers were meek in that vast space; and there was no celebratory feast.

Marshal and Devil
The Palace of The Elysian Lords
(1910)

Lord Tseun had summoned Marshal Olekov to the palace. The former was the ruler of Tangwen, a first amongst equals, with a title that garnered respect from most foreigners. The latter, an exiled mercenary from Dayan who’d found employment in the dominion as an enforcer of unparalleled brutality.

Olekov walked past the guards who were all dressed in their flamboyant uniforms of blue, orange, and white and with a peacock feather in their helmets. Olekov walked with his usual swagger. He was a small and skinny man, in a faded blue Dayani Officer’s uniform. He stood pitifully against the Tanwenmen, like a beggar. Upon reaching the throne room, he did not bow before Lord Tseun. He did, however, remove his hat. He swept his hair back and then replaced it. For a moment, an inkling of respect seemed at least possible.

Lord Tseun was seated on his throne in his gilded attire and with his consorts on either side.

Olekov sniffed. His bright blue eyes, in their darkened sockets, flitted around the room.

“You have taken more of that accursed D’yavod, Olekov,” said Lord Tseun.

“I know.” Olekov twitched and then gave a sudden, low bow. It seemed as if his head was about to come off his neck; and the speed at which he moved nearly shook it loose.

“I told you, it is not a habit befitting a courtier.”

“Courtier?” Olekov scoffed, “I’m not a courtier. What court would welcome me?”

Tseun looked around.

“Oh no, your court doesn’t count. For one, it’s empty. Where are your tributaries, Lord Tseun? And, for two, even if they were here, they’d put me in with all the other Dayani invaders. I ain’t like them, no, no. Not sitting up there, beneath the wings of an eagle with two heads. I’m on the ground. I was beneath their boots but now I’m crawling away. But my hands are still calloused by their wars, their orders, their taxes, their-.”

“Enough of your ramblings, you madman!” Tseun stood up. “I called you here for one reason and one reason only. I do not wish to hear the ramblings of that devil in your head, Olekov. Calm yourself and heed my command.”

Olekov’s chest arose and fell, his eyes were wild and that wildness became affixed upon the lord. He closed them, and his shoulders also sank. He took one last deep breath and reopened his eyes. He was calm again.

“What is it, my lord?” he said, softly now. He wiped his mouth, pushing past the low, droopy, and stained, moustache.

“I will confess, it is about my tributaries.”

“It always is.”

“The Sword Saint of the western Yan clan, has fallen behind on his tributes. He has no respect for Elysian authority. I want you to compel him to pay his debt.”

Olekov sniffed and smiled. “You want me to be a glorified debt collector? How dare you, lonely lord.”

“How dare I? I was the one who offered you sanctuary, who hid you from the Dayani as they scoured our lands looking for you and your men. I do not know what you did back in your own country, but if the witch hunt for you is anything to go by, my forgiveness should be enough to convince you to dance to my tune, exile.”

“The Dayani ain’t nothing.” Olekov spat. “You ain’t nothing, I could blow this palace to kingdom come, then march around these barren plains and burn everything until it looked like hell on earth. Your men can’t even find the bore of a rifle, let alone stop mine.”

“I will summon the Dayani.”

“You wouldn’t dare bring a hated foreign power in just to stop me.”

“Wouldn’t I, Olekov?”

Olekov set his jaw. “Coward,” he muttered.

“Do as I command and bring me my tribute and I will pay you yours. A keg of D’yavod will be waiting in your chambers upon your return.”

Olekov bowed but kept his eyes on Lord Tseun. “Yes, my lonely lord,” he said and, despite having scarcely finished the sentence, he walked out of that silent palace.

[Reposting because the original was deleted in the great crash of April, '24.]

”A Barbariani’s Trip to Is-Taash”
January 17, NL 15

Mother told him not to go,
Not the journey, not to stray
But oh how he loved it so!

I could never remember how that old proverb ended. I had heard it many years ago, when I lived when father was still alive in the southern wilds of the Empire of Dayan. In fact, I was so young then that I’m surprised I remember any of it at all. I was only a child, in fact. Mymother would sing it to me every night, and I would dream of the greatest adventures. I would slash through the brush of the tropics and saunder across mighty dunes.

One day, I found that my legs and arms had sprouted, and I was a man. And I decided to go on adventures—the real thing. My first journey took me across all the great states of Erdova. I languished in the woodlands of Reichskrieg and witnessed their mighty marches and drills. I sat at court in Weisland and listened to the great composer Durlans play piano. I saw trading vessels leave port at Nuderdame, and even caught a glimpse of the great Beast of Deauxlans whilst staying a year in Morsain. I returned to Dayan with a debt so great that I was almost sworn into the serfdom. Then, my dear father died during one of his fits, and I inherited his wealth. Because I never learn, I at once endeavored to return to adventuring, and then spent a year in Alstin, which is really a rather queer country. Alstinians are so obsessed with politics and equality as words that they lose their meaning. But anyway, this is all to say that I am rather a good traveler. And certainly the best traveler of any from the village of Sever, whose population is but four hundred.

Before setting off on my next, I was lucky enough to hear a speech from the mighty Overtsar. I shan’t write what was said, for to repeat even the word of the Overtsar’s address is a grave felony. The Overtsar is our guide and our spirit. But—And this is not to repeat anything, only to playfully allude—I was interested on the repeated mention of that nation on the southern border, the Celestial Empire, of the continent of Marior. I have decided to visit. I am more excited than words can describe. And when I am finished, and truly broke, I will publish this journal, and surely become a mill—no, no! Trillionaire!

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Dmitry Yoskalev journeyed through his home country of Dayan, swept over the border into Sartak, and rid on horseback through, until he had come before the March of Kolch.

I asked one man who I rode by what the March of Kolch was. He gave me a sideways look and asked if I was a foreigner. I said truthfully that I was from another country, but a man of the world at heart.

“Man of the world, eh?” he said, “but does the world want its man, I wonder?”

“I don’t know, sir,” I said, but getting back to my question, “what is the March of Kolch?”

“It was the land of the Ismorlen before, of course, but was conquered a good few hundred years ago, when Ren Osarrus was on the throne. The people there are still ever so cultured, with their own traditions they keep by, but the government is as Celestial as any heartland province.”
I thanked him for this, and offered my blessing in the name of the Overtsar. He said he didn’t believe in gods, or popes, or magi, or this Overtsar. He said he was traveling north to Sartak because he was sick of killing for such things and wanted to kill for nothing at all. This rather frightened me and I was soon on my way again.

Late that night, I could see the white moon reflected in the River Yabes, the stream that made Kolch worth living in at all, but from the sands that surrounded I knew such a conclusion could still be a controversial one, at that. Amidst the rivers was a grand city mounted on a mighty hill, which I knew was the March’s capital, Is-Taash. The gates were not opened, for they only opened for three hours in the mornings. The sound of music echoed from one side of the walls, so much that it was as if the valley was swaying left and right with each thrum.

Like a moth to a torch, I was drawn forth as if I had lost the use of my self. The hooves of my steed glided across the sand. As it was, the music was coming from deep within a trade caravan just outside the gates. The lights perched in the city windows slowly died, as I gathered with them around their own fire, and they told me they were the Narmen of the eastern province, who occasionally came west to trade their silks and spices for water and solari. They entreated me to one of their lesser tents, and I slept beside their mules that night.
I awoke to a grave pain ,for I had slept upon a sharp rock in my blanket sheet. I staggered outside, a trickle of blood on my back. The traders had gone, and they had taken my horse with them. I figured it must have been morning, and they had made their deals and were already well into the desert with their mules and his horse. Cursing here and there, I made my way to the gates. When I saw they were closing, I ran like a madman, until I had crossed the great timber bridge and made my way inside.

As I walked through Is-Taash, I noticed immediately the smell of roasted lamb. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, so I stopped by one of the venders and bought a stick of something golden. Munching on it as I walked, I observed that the sloped city was littered with cats, the fattest and proudest cats I’d ever seen. Here, too, were many soldiers, fairer-skinned than those they occupied and dressed in shiny armor. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought I had found my way into a fort, and not a city. I had only realized that in the March of Kolch there was no difference when my face was thrown against the pave, and I hands bound with rope behind my back.

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A short, stocky man with mutton-chops sat at a desk in the long hall, occasionally dipping his feather and ink whilst working with his papers. It was a rather strange place. The palace outside had been so wonderfully tall and interesting, but on the inside, it was rather unfinished and cold. One wall was painted rather ornately with a landscape of mountains and grasslands and sea. The other was an empty beige littered with doors. The ceiling was also barely painted. If this was the empire’s chief in Kolch, they had not given him a good place. As for the man himself, he only stuck with his work, never recognizing that a man had entered.

“Your sufficiency,” said the captain who had brought Dmitry in, “an outlander in Kolch. Blood soaks the shirt on his back.”

The captain forcibly turned Dmitry around so the governor could see. He slowly gazed up, still gripping his pen. “Did you stab him?”

“No, sir,” said Dmitry, “I slept on a rock.”

The governor laughed along with the captain, putting his pen down. “Why on earth would you do that? You must be from one of the barbarian countries, hm?”

“No, sir,” repeated Dmitry, turning around, “from Dayan, sir.”
The governor straightened out his back. “Dayan? Come closer, man. Yes, yes, I can see it now. Indeed, you must be Dayani. So, I see how it is. Just as old Laurent Mast is cleaning up his province, send a smuggler to bring D’yavod in. I see he has none, Captain, so he must have already sold his entire stock.”

“Indeed,” agreed the captain.

Dmitry was rather startled by the accusation. “No, sir! No, I’m not a smuggler!”

“Not even one of their good smugglers,” mouthed Governor Mast, “one who sleeps on rocks. Oh, great exalted majesty Ren Osarrus, why could I not have been made a Grand Admiral like my father and his?”

“Sir,” said Dmitry, growing rather crossed, “I swear to you, I am not a drug smuggler.”

Governor Mast laughed. “A Dayani’s word is worth little to me.” Dmitry’s heart sank. “But anyway, what made you think you could just saunder into our borders and not face the consequence?”

“Well,” said Dmitry, “haven’t you heard? There has been a coup in Nhasa.” The captain shifted uncomfortably in place, “the Empire is in turmoil.”

Governor Mast laughed very loudly now. “Oh, don’t be a fool. If there was a coup, I would’ve been told about it. Captain An, tell us of this coup.”

“I have heard of no such thing,” said Captain An.

“There you have it.” He narrowed his eyes, “Dirty, devilish liar, you are!” Before Dmitry could respond, the governor waved his hand dismissively. “Send this man to the dungeon. We shall deal with him later.”

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Deep below the palace, in the governor’s cell and still smarting after his lashing, Dmitry finally remembered how that ryme ended.

But one day, to the Celestials, he flew
And his head rolled for it
For he had not given the false gods their due!

"Morat's Return
January 21, 1910
The March of Kolch

In collaboration with Sartak

Morat hated Kolch. It was a rotten, uncivilized place in what he thought was the armpit of the world. As he and Tabur's steed progressed east, he began to remember why he hated it so. "Ow! Ouch! Gods, why!" With each trot, the ground was becoming ever more uneven and rocky, bouncing his frail body up and down with increasing result. Groaning, he tapped Tabur's shoulder for the fourth time in the last hour. "Bru—I mean, Tah-bur, are we there yet? It is impossible back here!"

Tabur collected himself internally, glancing backwards. "No, we are not there yet. Much like the past fifty times you've asked." He spoke plainly, bobbing up and down with the movements of the horse beneath him. Tabur cast his gaze to the sun and squinted. "It shouldn't be more than a few hours ride left, however."

Morat groaned loudly. "This place is terrible, isn't it? All sand and rocks and scorpions and beasties!" He wailed with discomfort, "it's all just impossible! Don't you agree?"

He shrugged. "It could be worse. Hardly impossible." Tabur said as he guided the horse over a particularly rough patch of rock.

"Oh, you're just impossible too!" After a while, they could see a river snaking through the sand. It was the River Yabes. Morat collected himself and asked, "what do you think's going to happen? What with the coup? Do you think we'll be killed?"

"According to yourself, you're already dead, thrice I believe?" He smirked to himself. "Anyways, the governors won't stand for the injustice. The Khan as well." He pondered for a second. "And no matter his strength, I reckon he won't be able to defeat the combined armies of the provinces."

After processing that initial jibe, Morat shook his head. "My brother will be furious. He is a true loyalist, not that the Empire ever really did him any good. What about your Khan? Loyal, or no?"

Tabur paused for a moment, pondering the question. "Hrmmm... yes, the Khan is loyal. Perhaps not as stalwart as some, but he ultimately is."

"Well, alright then," Morat said. He didn't really know why he asked the question. He did not care for politics, despite his position.

There was little time for further conversation. Is-Taash was there, just over this hill, swaying in the valley between two streams. "There it is," said Morat, checking his watch. "We must hurry! We only have ten minutes before the gates are closed!"

"And why does it close-" He sighed and shrugged to himself, the heels of his shoes spurring the horse forward into a canter towards the gate. "Quite the city..."

"Oh!" Morat shook violently with each speedy movement, "ow! Not that fast, slow this beast down!"

"Do you want me to hurry or do you want me to slow down? I can only do one, so you best make up your mind."

"Hurry!" Morat clarified, "but not like this! Do you Sartooks know nothing of moderation!?"

"Sartak." He slowed the steed once again. "You act as if you have never ridden before."

Morat laughed a rather curious laugh. "Well,. um..." But before he could clarify they had come to the western bridge. The gate was beginning to shut. "Tabur, you fool! The gate is shutting! You were too slow! Hurry, I said! But you didn't listen, you brute!"

"ancestors grant me the strength to drop off this buffoon-" He mumbled as he leaned down, bringing the horse to its full gallop, a trail of dust and sand kicked up behind.
Just barely, they made it through the gates. A moment later, a thud emanated behind them. A series of citizens watched them with curiosity. Morat coughed on the heap of dust. "Oh, goodness, did you have to go so ungodsly fast?" He scoffed, "now my suit is covered, and I spent all the time at camp after Nhasa cleaning it! I do hope you're happy!" A modest palace loomed in the distance, with the Celestial Banner fluttering high above it.

"Did you want to camp outside the city? I will gladly throw you over the walls back outside, since that is where we would be if I had not gone that fast." He groaned.

"Typical Sartons," Morat said, "always veering between fast and slow, never finding the happy middle." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, there is my brother's palace. Take me there."

"Must I?" He looked forward. "No time to waste, I suppose..." He nudged the horse and they began moving ever so slowly towards the palace. "Is this more your pace?"

"Yes, and do be careful. Most of the Kolchites are..." He cleared his throat, continuing in a quieter voice, "dirty thieves. They would rob us both blind."

"Splendid..." Tabur responded in the same, quiet voice. "And how do you know this, if I may ask?"
"Oh, everyone knows it. The Kolchites are..." He scoffed again, "I struggle to think of them, even. Let us continue on."

A hobbled Morat was helped into the office of the government palace, where a man with mutton chops sat dutifully behind a desk. This was the governor of Kolch, Laurent Mast. When he looked up to see his brother and a Sartaki, he rose an eyebrow. "Brother, what on earth are you doing here? Has the Diet's session ended early? And why are you walking like that? And who is this?"

"There's been a," Morat stumbled over his thoughts, "what do you call it... a coup! Yes, that's it."
Cheese.

"I am Tabur, Sartaki representative to the Diet." He said, adjusting his trail stained clothing. "We had to flee the capital after the admiral leading the coup sicked his soldiers on the entire Diet. We were lucky, if anything, to reach here."

Laurent blinked twice, in something of a trance. "Admiral? Which admiral?"

"I believe it was... uhm... Dong? Wrong? Wait, no, Gong. Grand Admrial Gong, I believe."

Laurent slumped into his chair. Captain An of the city guard and a few of his cohorts arrived, and began helping Morat to a nearby chair.

Suddenly, from one of the room's side doors, a boy, who couldn't have been older than nine, rushed out, galloping on a playhorse with each hop. "Morat's back!" He declared, "Morat's back, Morat's back, Morat's back!"

Morat shot the boy a disapproving glare as he sat down. "Can't you see I've suffered, baby brother? Away with you!" But the boy just kept chanting "Morat's back!"
For a minute, Morat kept yelling at the boy, but he just kept on. Laurent brought his finger to his temple. "Nate!" he said, and the boy suddenly stopped and turned around. "Give us peace, you can torture Morat later."

Nate smiled, "OK!" And he trotted off, as Morat mouthed the word 'parasite'.

"Anyway," Laurent said, "stranger, why did His Exalted Majesty not intervene to stop this alleged

Tabur swallowed "His Exalted Majesty... was murdered, in the coup. Alongside his Eunuchs. Gong assaulted the Diet last."

Laurent's face immediately drained of color. He stirred for a few moments in stunned silence, tapping his desk once every few seconds. Swallowing, he straightened his posture. "I..." he stood up, turned to the sword at his waist, unhooked it, removed the blade from its scabbard, and threw it upon the desk, knocking off his pen and quill.

The governor moved around the desk, until he was closer to Morat. "What happened to your legs, brother?"

Morat took his eyes from the sword on the ground to Laurent's eyes. Smiling, he turned to Tabur. "THAT brute broke them! He landed on me from five stories! I thought I was dead! Arrest him immediately!"

Tabur cast a steely glance to Morat. "So you would have preferred to get stabbed through by imperial blades? It is good to know lugging you across the country was well worth it..."

Laurent looked harshly toward Tabur, before looking back to Morat. "Go rest, brother. I will deal with him." And one of the guards moved to help Morat away. He was yelling curses and "that will show you!" as he was carried out.
Nodding, a small smirk appeared over Laurent's face. He moved closer, and put a hand on Tabur's shoulder. "My brother is... very dramatic, I know you did the best you could. This is a..." he sighed deeply, "difficult time, and having my family, mostly together is a blessing. We are in your debt, Sartaki. You may lodge anywhere you like in Is-Taash while the gates are closed for the night."

Tabur nodded. "You're welcome, governor. And I thank you for your generosity..." He allowed himself one of the few smiles of the last few days. "You have my best wishes, but I shall take my leave."

"Wait," Laurent said, "before you do, deliver a message to your Khan. Tell him that in this time of chaos, Kolch and her garrison stands ready to defend Sartak, as long as Sartak pledges the same. Have your Khan send his reply on horseback." He pat the man on the shoulder once more.

"Of course. I will see to it." The Sartaki said, nodding a few more times before turning and leaving.

After the Sartaki had left, Laurent stared up at the banner of the Empire hanging above. Tears rolled down his cheeks, as he fell to his knees, his hand placed firmly over his heart.

Radio Silence
January 24th, NL15
Qaimong City, Qaimong

For the last 10 days, all word from the capitol has gone silent. In the upper reaches of the provincial hall, Governor Alexander Duan watched the docks of the city as the sun set and a soft rain fell outside. Behind him, Erton Strutt, the Secretary of Economy, approached.

Governor Duan turned around. “Is it… Ah, just you. Any news from the capitol or from our delegate by chance?”

Strutt gestured for Duan to come closer as he began to speak in a hushed tone. “I’m afraid it’s not good news. If the rumors from the traders are true, then His Majesty is dead.”

“Dead?!”

“...And worse yet, the Diet was stormed by the army. It stands to reason that we must assume that the army has seized the apparatus of the state… And that our delegate was killed.”

Duan began to appear visibly worried. “I must thank you… For bringing this to my attention…” He walked away from the window and sat down. “...And what of the garrison here? Where do their loyalties lie?”

Strutt grinned. “They lie with us. For better or worse, as long as we continue with their ‘bonus,’ they shall remain by our side. You have me to thank for that.”

Duan began to look somewhat better. As his uneasiness left him, he looked back over at the city. “These rumors… How long have they been spreading?”

“At least since this morning.”

Duan thought to himself. He knew rumors were quick to spread, and that such rumors could lead to his downfall one way or another. He needed to act now. He turned to Strutt.

“Close the docks and halt the trains for the near future. I will order the quartermaster of the garrison to place the province under martial law until we know what is going on. If the rumors are true, we cannot allow them to undermine our position in the government. Above that however is if this new government will continue to turn a blind eye to our actions.” He stood up again. “I ultimately fear that if the new government finds out of them they will have our heads as they did with the Diet… I cannot trust this new government, at least not now.”

Strutt looked uneasy, but understood the necessity of the actions taken. “Very well. I will head to the docks now. May God help us all.”

Duan turned his gaze back outside. The rain began to fall harder. “May we prevail through these dark hours,” he whispered to himself.

Humble Beginnings

Tanjin, Province of Kalquen, Celestial Empire

January, 1910

Above the green tiered rice farms, up on top of a great hill, below the golden sun, smoke rose. As the smoke flew higher into the sky, past the flocks of Kalquen Sparrows and the rolling winds cresting off of the hills, the smoke rose to the sky, dissipating into mere nothingness as it rose, the sky cleaned for the sunset.

Below this clear sky, fire. The hundreds of homes, shops and buildings making up the small city of Tanjin surrounded this flame, a controlled burn of godlike proportions. Around this giant fire, this massive flaming pyre, stood a group of possible thousands. The geers and cries of the massive throng washed over the roaring fire, as one figure stood before the rest.

General Wei Lanceson, a man of regal posture and finely combed jet-black hair, his clean shaven face and proper black uniform stood out from the majority of simply-dressed farmers and craftspeople of Tanjin. As the masses cheered and shouted, Wei shouted remarks towards the crowd. After a few moments, he looked to the sky, as the sparrows continued their flight, he bellowed the words “MY SISTERS AND BROTHERS!”, much in the tone his father used to use. As his words carried across the crowd, bodies began to shift, quieting down as hungry ears stood ready for the words their leader had to say.

The General turned to one of the eager-eyed peasant boys before him, the others in the crowd clambering between each other for his view. Many of them smiled, their eyes filled with genuine care for their leader. The son of the popular diplomat to Alstin Wei Lanceson Sr. The younger Wei Jr. had always sought to be popular amongst his friends, compatriots and fellow Kalquenans; now, the large-scale political instability has proven Kalquen’s need for freedom, of the ideals his father once learned from.

The fire behind him crackled as the crowd cheered as Wei looked into the peasant boy’s hands. In the hands sat an idol of the Emperor, carved of brightly polished wood and signed with the seal of the Governor of Kalquen. Wei smiled, lightly picking up the boy’s offering as the sunset above gleamed in the young child’s eyes.

Wei cleared his throat, standing once more. He turned to the crowd, smiling as they cheered.

“My brothers and sisters, fellow Kalquenans, people of sound spirits and deserved freedoms” shouted Wei, walking back towards the pyre as he flitted his gaze across the intently listening audience.

“As the sun falls, we all may think of the events which have occurred within these last few days, the death of the tyrannical Emperor and the beginning of our new rebellion. These thoughts are not wrong, nor are they something we must abandon. We must take the confusion and uncertainty which has been caused inside us, and channel it out to return as determination and clear mindedness” continued Wei as the crowd cheered. The young leader turned his slim frame back to the pyre, the orange light bouncing off his silhouette.

Wei gripped the wooden idol tighter, as the feeling of an uncertain path filled his mind. Every loose end, every stray possibility. All of it could cause a failure of the campaign the Celestial Empire so desperately needed.

Cleaning Things Up

Zhouchen, Province of Kalquen, Celestial Empire

January, 1910

The sound of dripping water filled the corners of the dark cell, each water drop making a wet smack as it hit the wet brick floor, barely different from the dirt of the rice fields. The noise of insects skittering across the thick walls echoed through the lonely room, only a small few slivers of light dared enter his rotten place, devoid of humanity.

In a dark corner, facing the door, a portly figure sat, his brilliant gold and white robes covered in several days worth of dirt and muck. The figured barely stirred, his head hanging low between his knees, his mop of scraggly black hair falling around his outfit.

Drip…

Drip…

The Provincial Military Commander looked down at his aching, filthy body. His brain filled with the anger he felt towards the peasants, those imbeciles.

He clenched his hand around his mouldy food bowl, slamming it against the wall from his seated position. The splinters filled his hand as the congealed rice splattered against the floor.

A rushing sound could be heard outside the cell door, feet pounding against the ground. A pair of eyes blocked off the only source of light.

“Prisoner, what is going on?” shouted the voice, cold, devoid of care.

“You can't keep me locked up in here, you dog…” retorted the Commander.

“Stand back from the door” the voice said, a tone of annoyance readily apparent in the spoken order.

The Commander looked to the doorway, his mind rushing with confusion. Had they let him out? Was he in trouble?

With a steady clank, the door swung open. Light filled the wretched room, the insects on the walls rushing back to their alcoves, the sorry sight of the Commander now seeing light. He was a fat man, although his cheeks looked sunken. His once-regal black and grey hair now fell around him, as he moved upwards in a startled squat, blocking his tired brown eyes from the light.

Before his vision steadied, a rough pair of hands grabbed his arms. The feeling of cold steel clamped around his wrists as a pair of manacles was secured on his arms. Before he could think, a rough shove brought him to his feet, the scene was now visible. Two guards now stood within his chamber, one holding a spear at the ready, the other now partially behind him, with two callused hands on his shoulders.

“It's time for the verdict, Prisoner” jeered the spear-wielder, smiling at the Commander’s sunken face.

“It will do you well to keep silent, although people like you seldom do” added the rough-handed man.

Without another word, the defeated Commander was brought to his feet, outwards from that horrid cell. He could see a corridor, filled with similar room, behind which doubtlessly sat similarly defeated men. The Commander was brought on, past each iron door, down to a bend in the brick hall. Around the turn, a set of wooden doors, the brilliant lights beside it burning brightly. The spear-wielder opened the large set of door, behind which, another hallway. Several other guards filled the hall, each one staring daggers at the Commander, some even spitting at him.

As the guards reach the middle of the hall, they turn, a pair of fine doors ahead of them. The Commander collected himself, swallowing deeply, his stomach growled slightly. The spear wielder opened the doors, behind which, a small hall lead outwards to a more proper room, made of properly finished wood. The Commander walked out, on his own, into the new room. As he came in, he saw a larged tiered seating room above him, packed with several on looking peasants. Before him, a small table, behind which stood a far greater one, three men seated behind it.

The Commander walked in, confused, his robes suddenly feeling out of place. The men before him sat, the man in the centre wearing an odd suit of black fabric, matching the man's circular spectacles. As the Commander looked on in confusion, the man spoke.

“You are now approaching the Provisional Court of Kalquen. You will address us each has Judge. You, Commander Kai Liang, are being tried under the crime of treason. At this time you may offer a plea, guilty or not guilty?” said the Judge, his tone level and calm, a hint of a foreign accent in his voice.

Commander Liang looked up towards the Judge. This was far from the Imperial Court he was used to, far similar to the courts of the Barbarians, of the demons who ruined the chosen land.

“Why are you doing this to me, you fools? Why are you turning our blessed nation on its head? Is this was the Emperor wanted? Is this what the Gods want?” said the Commander, anger and hatred coming through every forceful breath.

“Guilty or Not Guilty, Commander Liang” stated the rightmost Judge, a man dressed in blue robes.

“I am not guilty of TREASON. You lot all must me, you people appointed by Barbarians!” stated Liang, his rage still growing.

After a small moment of silence, the Judges looked to Liang with stony faces.

“You plead Not Guilty. Before we move on, you should know that we were elected by the legal scholars of Kalquen. The people have put us in this position, Commander. Unlike yourself.” stated the central Judge.

The Commander attempted to stammer. The mere idea of the peasants having a voice was enough to make him feel nauseous. Is this what would become of Kalquen?

“You may now defend yourself, Commander.” stated the rightmost Judge, looking on at the bumbling man across the table.

“Do not tell me what to do, you lowlife. You and your vision of a tainted state should be burned away in mere months, just like all the other revolts!” screamed Liang, his face now red with anger.

“You will address me as Judge, Commander. Now, did you or did you not act in a way harmful to the people, establishing harsh rationing and policing in tandem with the late Governor?” inquired the rightmost Judge, deeply sighing as he watched the Commander calm down slightly.

“You common folk, always ungrateful. That food belonged to the Emperor. You don't even need it, the peasantry breeds like rats. As for the policing, it was only a formality if any of you dared become complacent. Clearly it didn't work well enough” spat Liang, the peasants above him hissing and insulting him as he spoke.

“You’ve directly admitted your full involvement in the thousands of deaths by starvation and needless executions of the Kalquenan people. I see it no longer helpful to have you here” stated the leftmost Judge, an older man clad in grey robes.

Liang’s stomach churned. For what had become of his province, his state? First, his own army turned against him for some new “General”, and now the Imperial Provincial Court had turned to the treasonous rebels. The Province which will raise his sun, tainted by the grubby hands of the masses.

“YOU CAN'T DO THIS, THIS IS TREASON, YOU DOGS!” shouted Liang, as the two guards from earlier begin to walk into the room.

“This Court hearby sentences the former Commander Liang to death, under the crime of treason. The guards may now escort him outside for his execution” stated the central Judge, slamming a small gavel on his table.

Commander Liang’s arms were grappled by the two guards, his hands still manacled. Liang thrashed, hurling curses outwards to the Judges and onlookers. This cannot be, this is madness!

The Commander continued to struggle, as the guards pulled him outside. Forced out of a door opposite from the fine wooden entrance. He looked out, before him spanned the roads of the provincial capital, across them was collected a massive crowd, common folk, tradesmen, scholars, peasants. All of whom jeered, shouted, screamed at the Commander. Before the distressed man, hung a noose, tied to the large set of hastily built gallows. A mere week after the “General” had turned his men, the Commander would meet his death.

The rough-handed guard pushed the Commander forwards, moving him upwards onto a small stool. The guard smiled, his sour breath filling the Commander's nostrils.

“Well, dog. It looks like it's time for a new dawn” stated the guard, his sneer and domineering tone now at full visibility.

“I’ll tie this for you, dog. You have such unworked hands, they bare no mark save for the blood of my family. I’ll enjoy watching your final twitches”

Liang’s eyes widened, the fear and cold shiver filling his body. This could not be, this can not be. And yet… it is. There is no divine hand to save him. In the end, his actions were his own.

A single tear rolled down Liang's cheek, as the noose was fastened around his neck.

“I… I don't want to die…” stammered Liang, his voice shaky and wavering from his fear.

“Neither did my family” stated the guard, stepping back for one moment.

Liang looked out, into the crowd of people, all of whom waiting for him to die. He deserved this. Liang thought of every act of treachery, ever peasant he ordered killed, every shipment of food he used his soldiers to rip away from crying families. The Empire wasn't the divine hand. The Empire was merely a front, one only perpetuating suffering, not ending it. Liang began to cry, his eyes falling on one man in front of him. A slim man, his hair slicked back, his proper black uniform clinging to his body.

Liang's last thoughts were of the General, clapping as the stool was kicked away.

This was not a mere treasonous revolt.

This was inevitability.

A New Era

Khottar, Hoydland, January 19th, NL 15

Governor Chaguye Ayush smiled as he peeked around the corner. Thousands of Hoyds, a majority of them women, cheered in dresses of purple, red, and pink variety. Infants from as young as two to elders as old as ninety waved white handkerchiefs in unison in a dancing line of smiles. Today was a momentous day for the republic. After years of struggle, Hoydland would finally be seen as the beacon of liberty it truly is. Just one speech would make it official. All Governor Ayush had to do was step towards the podium.

Governor Ayush made his exit from the Navchny Gurtar, a grand palace made of pristine red brick, marble, and wooden accents that houses the Governor of the Republic of Hoydland, along with the High Office (where the Representative Diet of Hoydland meets) and the Hall of Justice (the highest level of judicial court in the province, which is controlled by the Hoydland military). Surrounding the elaborate series of these three segments is a beautiful lawn of olive green and a forest of the tallest trees in the republic. Behind the structure lies a small beach used privately for the Governor and his family and an open view of Od Lake, its waters still a glistening blue even with the constantly gray, gloomy weather. As Governor Ayush began on the winding path of red bricks, an applause began from the very front. With every step he took, the applause spread throughout the crowd until Governor Ayush found himself standing in front of a bronze microphone with thousands cheering his name.

With the flags of Hoydland and the Celestial Empire draped over the stage behind him, Governor Ayush tapped the microphone lightly. Seeing the sound as satisfactory (this was a new invention in the empire after all), he took a deep breath, and began.

“I am honored to see all of you here today to celebrate this momentous day in Hoydland’s history. For years, the fight for the right to vote has been a struggle for all of you today. The wait has been a long, arduous one, indeed. Those that have died in the crossfires of this debate will forever be remembered for giving their lives for this cause. It’s unfortunate that it had to come to that in the first place. The Hoyd dress will forever be a symbol of righteousness and justice throughout the empire as other provinces will no doubt recognize the evolution of our republic as one to look up to for peace, prosperity, and growth. Hoydland will inspire generations of women and young girls to no doubt fight for their right to have a say within their own governments. It is a treasured right of every Hoyd in this republic to have a say in the elections and decisions that shape our province today. The wait for suffrage is no more for all of you. I am pleased to announce the ratification of “The Women’s Act”, which enacts the right to vote for all Hoyd women throughout the province in every public election!”

At his word, white handkerchiefs flew into the air as the crowd rallied together in celebration. The fight was over. They had won. Governor Ayush couldn’t help but smile, lightly clapping his hands together in a subtle celebration of his own. A gentle breeze swept through the lawn as the flags behind him waved in light applause. A touch on the Governor’s shoulder took him smile away, as he turned to see his lead diplomatic advisor, Erchim Zorigtyn, with a grave look on his face.
“Governor, we need to talk. Now.” Erchim grabbed Chaguye’s arm. Startled, he took a step back. However, realizing the weight of the unknown situation, he nodded. The two quickly marched amongst the deafening celebrations along the red brick road, entering the closest conference room. Erchim nearly pushed the Governor into the room before shutting the wooden entrance. It was silent.

“What is the meaning of this, Erchim?” Governor Ayush asked, regaining his composure. Erchim nervously adjusted his suit.

“I received word from Imperial Representative Rai Chinzorig. He explained that at the last convention of the Imperial Diet, the Emperor was declared dead.” Governor Ayush looked to the ground, realization striking him in the face.

“I see-” He was cut off.
“That’s not all. Rai detailed that after a vote to move the Diet outside the capital, which passed, a man named Admiral Gong attacked the representatives. As they tried to escape, some were killed among the chaos. Rai said he managed to escape the city by hiding until nightfall and running in the darkness. Traversing the countryside, he ended by telling me that he had made it to Erhani and was planning to find his way back with a group of merchants. His writing seemed awfully shaky. Perhaps he has not fully recovered from the attack…” As Erchim finished, Governor Ayush stroked his chin, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“Thank you, Erchim. Send a message to the north to expect Rai’s arrival. I’m sure he will find his way. We need to get him here as soon as possible so that we can plan our next move. We need to regain order to the empire. Prepare messengers to be sent to the provinces of Erhani, Kalquen, Temris, Kidai, and Kolch. We need to learn their plans for this relocation of the Diet. Let’s act fast before our enemies hear about this. We don’t need our fallen empire to be attacked among this chaos…”

Of Dynasties and Destiny
Chasewater, Democratic Republic of Temris
January 16, New Life 15

Marcy MacDarcy clenched her teeth against the fire that raged in her bosom. Again the midwife urged her to push, and again Marcy did. Veins pulsed against her forehead. Capillaries burst like fireworks across her body. Her hand, clenched like a lion’s paw against its prey, dug into her husband’s arm. Spencer MacDarcy, a man of 26, could only coo sweet nothings into her sweat-soaked ear as her nails dug deeper into his flesh.

Agony pierced the early morning hours. Marcy pushed again, her screams filling the mansion Spencer’s father had built for them as a wedding present only a year before. Laying her head down against her pillow, Marcy gasped for breath. “Gods,” she said, “have mercy.”

“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs. MacDarcy,” the midwife said. “I can see the baby’s head poking through.”

Marcy took a deep breath and pushed.

As her scream faded another, shriller, cry took up the empty space. “The head’s through!” The midwife smiled at Spencer. Whispering more encouragement, Spencer urged his wife to keep going. Marcy squeezed her eyes shut. Her tongue stuck like peanut butter to the roof of her mouth. How much more of this would she have to endure? Hearing her baby cry, Marcy mustered one final push.

“It’s a boy!” The midwife said, rushing to wrap the newborn in a clean blanket. “The MacDarcys have a baby boy.”

Spencer’s face lit up, his smile beaming through the early morning gloom like a radiant sun. “Congratulations, momma,” Spencer said, kissing his wife’s forehead. Marcy offered a silent nod. After several agonizing moments, the midwife handed the newborn boy to Marcy.

“Spencer,” Marcy said, her eyes drifting between the baby and its father, “I can’t…” Spencer took the child as Marcy’s strength waned. “Kayden,” she said, her voice hardly a whisper. A tear slipped down her eye, her trembling hand reaching out to touch the baby’s cheek. “Our little Kayden.”

“Marcy,” Spencer said, his face contorting with a confused amalgamation of joy and grief. “Marcy, you can’t do this. Not to Kayden.” Marcy smiled, her eyes growing dim.

A beam of soft light crept through the windows. Piercing the white curtains, it traveled over the baby’s head to touch the pale cheeks of its mother. As Kayden cooed in his father’s arms, Marcy MacDarcy breathed her last.
______________________________________________________________________________

January 17, New Life 15

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Colin,” Dean Higgins said, his hand in his vest pocket. “I will remember the boy and his father in my prayers.” Clicking the button on the top of his pocket watch, he fought the urge to withdraw the gilded item to check the time.

Colin MacDarcy’s iron gaze never wavered. From beneath a tall, dark hat, his green eyes searched Higgins for any sign of weakness. “Marcy will be missed,” he said at last, casting a sideways glance at a third man. “Kayden will grow up without ever knowing the love a mother can offer.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “It will make him a stronger man.”

The third man scoffed. Clearing his throat, Higgins finally allowed himself a glance at his watch. It was almost noon, thank the gods. “I trust you’ll set him a fine example,” Higgins said after a long moment. Rising from his seat, Higgins motioned for the two men to do the same. Ridiculous, he thought, that he should have to prompt them. Their rise should be automatic.

MacDarcy was slow to stand, but once he was on his feet he towered over the other two. Higgins cast the third man a glance. MacDarcy wore the tall hat for a reason. Striding for the door, Higgins could feel the relief building in his chest as he reached for the knob. An hour with these two felt like an eternity.

“Mr. Murphy,” MacDarcy said, offering the man his hand, “a pleasure as always. Just remember our little deal.”

Murphy nodded. Shaking MacDarcy’s hand stiffly, he then turned to offer Higgins the same hand. “Lord Lieutenant.”

Higgins moved to shake his hand when the door to his office suddenly burst open. Narrowly managing to jump out of the way, Higgins opened his mouth to scold the newcomer.

“My apologies, Lord Lieutenant,” the newcomer swiftly said. “I’ve just received an urgent message from Jesse O’Rourke in Cigallo.”

Higgins’ eyes narrowed. “Cigallo?” Searching the other two men for answers, Murphy shrugged while MacDarcy leaned ominously forward. Higgins swallowed. O’Rourke was supposed to be in Nhasa. “Why in the blazes is Delegate O’Rourke in Cigallo?”

“Sir,” the newcomer said, presenting a series of telegrams. Higgins took them, his mouth puckering under a raised eyebrow. The man’s intrusion would need to be dealt with. His eyes fell to the telegrams.

“My Lord Lieutenant,” Higgins began, “I regret to inform you that His Exalted Majesty, Ren Osarrus XXIV, has died.” Murphy gasped. MacDarcy leaned backwards slightly, only to swing his body forward again. “Admiral Gong has seized control of the Capital and attempted to dissolve the Diet. After a fierce debate, he resolved to slaughter its members. I was one of about two dozen survivors.”

“Gods…” Murphy whispered. The man’s hand rose to his forehead where, under the scrutiny of MacDarcy, he brushed his hair back. “A coup?”

“It would appear so,” MacDarcy said. “Continue, Lord Lieutenant.”

Higgins cleared his throat, his mind hardly able to keep up with the developments. “Outside the walls, the survivors voted to move the Diet to Cigallo. There, we intend to rebuild the exiled government, search for Ren’s reincarnation, and build an army to challenge Gong. Let Maggie know I’m alive, and that my thoughts and prayers are with her and the children. Yours, Jesse O’Rourke.”

Deafening silence filled the office. For a moment no one dared look at each other, then slowly, the four men exchanged fearful glances. Everyone except MacDarcy. Colin MacDarcy stood unreadable; his towering presence like that of the dark side of the moon.

“Lord Lieutenant,” Murphy said, his voice barely audible. “What are we going to do?”

Higgins put his hand back in his pocket, his fingers finding his engraved pocket watch given to him on the day of his election. His eyes weaved through the spaces between the three men who now looked to him for guidance. Temris had found itself in an extraordinary circumstance. An unprecedented circumstance.

“We will carry on,” MacDarcy said, answering Murphy’s question. “I see no reason to halt normal operations. The people will want to know that Temris is secure and that the Diet is doing all it can to ensure a peaceful transfer of power.”

“How can we continue on as normal while a madman commands the Capital and the Empire’s troops?” Murphy’s pale face slowly reclaimed its color. “From the sound of it, most of the Diet is dead. We can’t sit back and pretend.”

“We can’t cause an alarm either.” MacDarcy cast a dark look in the Lord Lieutenant’s direction. “What will it be, Lord Lieutenant?”

Higgins withdrew his hand from his pocket. His heart beat in his ears. Had someone spoken? MacDarcy repeated his question, his tone borderline insubordinate. “We will wait for further information from Jesse,” Higgins finally said. “I don’t want to act a couple of telegrams alone. Perhaps I’ll contact the Capital myself and see what’s really going on.”

MacDarcy pursed his lips. “Wisdom and patience have always been your virtues.”

A chill shot down Higgins’ spine. “Let’s hope for the best, shall we?”

Trouble in Celagia

Winter, Celagia City, Celaguun

It was a brisk Winter day. I was trotting through the sparse streets of lower Celagia, the bakery my destination. The grand harbour was covered in a thin sheet of ice, scattering the flaming colours of the rising sun across the small fishing huts, making this Winter day feel a little more warm than any other. I advanced through the street, until the sound of conflict caught my attention. I turned my eyes towards the source, an alleyway next to the grocer, but could not identify any danger. The noises kept getting louder, however. At last, the source of my worries came barging into the street. There were three men; two dressed very neatly, in black and blue uniforms, and the other in garments of what looked like burlap. A struggle seemed to be taking place, with the two gentlemen at the upper hand. After a few minutes, they were able to pick up the third by his shoulders. Curious, I followed them closely while noting down everything I saw in my leather-lined notebook.

The man in burlap cried the weirdest things. I could not hear exactly what he was trying to say, but the words “revolution” and “swines” seemed to be prevalent. Possibly a scientist, who had just discovered a new way to cultivate pork. The two gentlemen seemed to prefer the quieter alleyways, although the populous didn’t seem concerned when they were walking through denser crowds. Their destination appeared to be quite a ways away. I followed them through at least five-and-twenty alleyways, before one of them pointed out a tower in the distance. It reminded me of something, but I could not put my finger on it. In the meantime, I kept following the company. Four alleyways later, I could get a clear sight of the building. It was thinner than I was expecting, its height alluded to a building at least twice its width. It looked very organic, almost no straight lines were present. The stained glass depicted scenes with boats and the sea, typical for Celagian culture. I once again looked at the building in its entirety, and I finally recognised it. It was the building depicted on the first Celagian Sol I’d received.

The two gentlemen made their way through the dense crowds, still carrying the third by his shoulders. They stopped in front of the steps leading up to the gate, and said something to the four guards, which I could not hear as I was too far away. I thought about following them inside the building, but decided against it. I was probably not permitted to enter. I walked around the square looking for more inspiration for my book. My father had been a writer, and his father too. They were fairly unknown, and mainly made a living off of copying documents. After walking around for a few minutes, I found a small stone statue guarding the entrance to a garden of some sorts. It looked like a quiet spot to sit down, away from the crowds, so I entered.

It was smaller than I’d originally expected, around the size of the park in the city I grew up in. The trees were big enough to block out the sun near the edges of the garden. Remarkably, they had not yet lost their leaves, in spite of the cold. A few people were sitting on the frozen benches, reading newspapers or eating bread. I chose an empty bench near a statue of a mermaid, and sat down. I took out my notebook and started sketching the garden.

I had finished a rough sketch and was about to start adding the details, when a man wearing an overcoat approached. He tried to sit down, so I moved a little to the side. I continued drawing, and glanced at him now and again. He appeared to be writing something, and judging from the pot of ink next to him, it was probably a letter of some sorts. He didn’t look Celagian to me, but I’m not the best at determining ethnicity. I added the final details to my drawing just as he had finished writing. He put the letter in an off-white envelope, and wrote the final words on the back. Probably the address. He took the envelope and tucked it in his coat. He turned to me and said: “You don’t look Celegian. Where are you from?”

I turned the page in my notebook and wrote down what he said, all while answering him. “Well spotted, sir. I moved here from Nhasa. You don’t look like you’re from around here either. Where are you from, if I may ask?”

He paused for just long enough to make it sound suspicious. “My great-grandfather was from… Temris. But I was born in this city. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Gado, sir. I’m a writer.”

He chuckled. “I can tell. My name’s Liabotele.”

I flipped a couple of pages back in my notebook. “I don’t believe it is, good sir. “Ele” is not a correct suffix.”

He started turning a little red, and murmured something in a language I could not understand. “That’s… uh… because it’s a common name in Temris.”

I frowned. “Well here it says…”

“I… uh… have to post this letter urgently. Pleasure talking to ya.” He sprang up from the bench and hurriedly left the garden.

“What a strange man”, I remarked as I wrote down the last words he said. “I guess I should get a move on too. I still need to go to the bakery.” I closed my notebook and stood up from the bench. I strolled out the garden and entered the busy crowds of the street.

“Peculiar Movement” — Meeting of masters
January 11 1910,
Hanyou Imperial Naval Base.

The sun floats above the sky, above the turquoise waters of the South Celesia Sea, spreading long shadows across the port's brand-new piers. It was a spot where the line between the land of life and the majestic sea drew thin, and sailors spoke of pirates and forgotten mythical creatures. The air smelt of salt and adventure, and the cracking of ship hulls rang through the polished boards. It was here, at the crossroads of fate, that two great people met—one a governor of the imperial province, the other a seasoned admiral who had sailed the furthest borders and fought many wars and battles of the known globe.

The governor of the province of Karakez, Master-Principal Gi'an Stitura, stood beneath the majestic banner of the province, his red uniform robes decorated with shiny metals that shimmered like trapped starlight. His eyes gazed at the horizon, as old as the mountains that embraced the nation. The naval base officer, who had seen too much and wished he hadn't shifted anxiously next to him, fixing his cap. The man who managed the base was called Yuel; he was a scrawny man with pepper-and-salt hair who was always squinting but kept his figure as the leader of the base.

"Master-Principal," Yuel stammered, "Master-Admiral Chouyo Nanan approaches."

Gi'an nodded, his gaze unwavering. Chouyo Nanan—a man of storms and thunders—strode toward them, his uniform full of medals that he had accomplished for the past years of his service. His eyes, sharp as the saber at his side, bore witness to countless battles, mostly with pirates. The KIN Nagasura, his ship, was docked nearby, its white sails furled against the wind. Chouyo's first lieutenant, Zhenguo, a man with a scar across his left cheek, stood guard at the top, his hand never far from the hilt of his dagger.

"Gi'an," Chouyo said, clasping the governor's hand. "It's been too long."

"Indeed," Gi'an replied. "Your patrols take you far from the beauty of the mainland." Chouyo grinned, revealing teeth as white as the moon. "The mainland is obviously a beauty, my friend. But the seas are restless, yet full with thousands of stories." They both laughed.

The light dappled their way as they strolled along the pier. Gi'an's staff pattered in time with the stones, each one resonating with a tune. Chouyo's boots created a pattern across the walk. The naval base was alive with bustle, with cadets and officers, even though it was pretty much abandoned for the past years by the Imperial Navy. Who knows why.

"You've notice it too, haven't you?" Chouyo asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. Gi'an glanced at him. "The strange behaviour of the imperial navy? Yes. Ships seem to sailing to Nhasa as if drawn by some unseen force—was it from any official orders?." Chouyo's jaw tightened. "I’m afraid there’s no official orders. No explanations. And at the heart of it all, Grand Admiral James Gong." Gi'an's mind raced. To even think that Chouyo, the head of the Southwestern fleet didn’t even know anything particular. And yet there’s Gong—a name whispered in the darkest corners of the empire. A man of shadows and allegiances, his loyalty is doubted by various admirals. Was he a patriot or a rebel? The fate of the empire hung in the balance like a pendulum poised to swing.

"Chouyo," Gi'an said, his voice barely audible above the lapping waves, "what do your sailors say? What rumours have they carried from distant shores?" Chouyo's gaze hardened. "They speak of a gathering—an assembly of captains and admirals. A clandestine council, convened by Gong himself. They say it was His Majesty’s order, something forbidden to know. What secrets could it be?"

Gi'an's pulse quickened. "That sounded suspicious," he whispered. "I believe he has a hidden motive. But I can’t say much, we haven’t heard any full story yet.” Chouyo nodded. "Couldn’t agree more” Chouyo turned to Gi'an, his eyes unyielding. "Gi'an," he said, "we must uncover the truth. If Gong is a rebel, we'll expose him. If he's a patriot, we'll aid him.” Chouyo glanced toward the KIN Nagasura, its rigging swaying in anticipation. "What game does he play?"

Gi'an's gaze shifted to the north—where the capital, Nhasa is located. "The imperial capital," he murmured. "I believe we shouldn’t act rashly as of right now. Master-Delegate Enka is already there. It seems a diet will soon be hosted. We’ll hear from him then"

As if summoned by their words, Zhenguo approached. "Master-Admiral," he said, "Isn’t this somewhat similar to what our Great Sage has said? In the pure book." Chouyo clenched his fists. "Great Sage? You mean Sir Mahee, the Great Sage?" Zhenguo nodded. "He predicted something about the empire, soon to fall."

Gi'an's mind raced. "The empire will fall? Nonsense," he said. "But it was his excellency's word" Chouyo drew his sabre its blade etched with ancient texts. "We will wait for Enka to return," he declared. "I’m sure the truth will soon be revealed."

The naval officer approached, his voice trembling. "Masters," he said, "Let’s go inside. It seems like it will rain" Gi'an raised his staff, "Indeed, we should head inside," he replied.

The Siege of The Yan Fortress
North Western Tangwen
(1910)

On the field of battle the cannons had fallen silent. Olekov’s army, of both Tangwenmen and exiled Dayani, stood peering over their trenches. The dead lay before them, scores of Sword Saint Yan’s men, all lying in poses of frozen agony, reaching for the enemy line they’d never cross.

Several of Olekov’s soldiers shifted in the mud and watched the hanging smoke shift and warp. Some of the Tangwenmen muttered and pointed and claimed to see the spirits of the fallen move through the false mist. The Dayani laughed and then froze in fear as the D’yavod in their systems conjured demons instead.

Behind the line, Marshal Olekov was sitting in his tent feasting on roasted pork, a map of the battlefield serving him as a tablecloth. He wiped his mouth as one of his subordinates entered. The marshal’s piercing blue eyes were upon the man immediately.

“What?” Olekov asked.

“Sir,” the subordinate saluted. “The men are hesitant to attack. The gunsmoke isn’t moving and they’re afraid to charge headlong into what might be a wall of Yan machine guns.”

“They’re scared? Scared?! And they call themselves soldiers. Hah!” Olekov then took a small bag out of his pocket, licked his finger, dabbed it inside and then placed it on his tongue. “I’ll come out and whip the cowards into a march- no, a charge. Just go and tell them so.”

“Yes, sir.” The subordinate saluted and left.

***

Olekov came out of his tent dressed in the furs of animals he’d slain in the weeks prior, with a helmet atop his head that was horned and menacing. He mounted his horse and unsheathed two Shashka sabres, flourishing each of them as he rode towards the front. The sun glinted off those blades as he rode and he looked more akin to a Sartaki raider than a Dayani officer there, but he was pale and withered beneath his furs, like a corpse set in motion by dark magic.

He reached the line and swung his two swords wildly. They passed, whooshing, over the heads of the men in the trench and they looked up to see a great warhorse looming, with its pale rider staring at them with eyes that seemed ethereal.

Olekov rode up and down the back of the trench and spoke in a booming voice one would not expect from such a diminutive frame. The men turned around and watched him.

“Men,” He said. “Ye cowards, ye cut dogs! These are the serfs of a dead god, you have no right to fear them. Did they shoot off your manhood during the last attack? When they charged and died, like true warriors, at your feet? So far they seem braver than you.” He sheathed one of his swords and drew a great hulk of a revolver and cocked it. “Go through that smoke, shoot any peasant you see, run ‘em through, beat ‘em to a bloody pulp, take their trench or I’ll make sure you're unidentifiable for the coroner’s report.”

The shout that followed was one of terror, not courage, but all the same, the Tangwenmen and the Dayani flooded over the trench and out into the smoke. Whistles echoed and more and more ran forward with their guns at the ready.

Olekov holstered his gun, drew his sword again and galloped over the trench and ahead of his army with madness in his eyes, swinging both blades wildly and without care for friend or foe alike.

***

After the battle, the Tangwenmen and the Dayani waded through the dead and the dying to plunder or to kill; and Mashal Olekov stood watching with his arm around Sword Saint Yan’s shoulder. Olekov had ridden up to the Yan fortress gate, after decimating their army and demanded the sword saint step outside.

“Yan!" he'd said when Yan appeared atop the fortress walls. "You have been defeated. Now, I have no qualms with starving your sorry lot if you want to carry on being stubborn, but I would like to get back to the palace soon, because our gracious lord has promised me a bonus. So please, if you don’t mind, come out and pay his highness his due.”

Yan had not walked but a few steps out of the gate before being set upon by Olekov’s men. They killed his guards and tore at his bejewelled cloak, stole his hat, and beat him where he fell. Olekov watched on and, only after some notion of right punishment in him had been fulfilled, did he order his men away.

They now stood together, watching the gun smoke and the bloodstained mud and listening to the groans of the dying as they were run through and robbed. Yan bowed his head in submission as Olekov spoke to him.

“So, Sword Saint Yan, I hear you have fallen behind on your payments to Lord Wu Tseun.”

“It is not my fault. The harvests have been poor and the Dayani raid my borderlands nearly every-”

The mention of the Dayani seemed to anger Olekov. He slapped the Sword Saint. “Look at me, look at me. Do I look like a reasonable fellow? Do I look like a fellow you should be pleading innocence with?”

Yan tried to avoid the madman’s blazing eyes but he could not. Nevertheless, he stayed silent.

Olekov looked away to a small town on the horizon. “The lord wants your tribute, I’ll take whatever’s in that town over there. Understood.”

“That town? Why? It’s just a farming town, what could you possibly want with it?”

“Oh, I know a smuggler's den when I see one. There’s D’yavod in that there town and I want it.”

Yan only now looked horrified. “You’re a madman.”

“I know.” Olekov spat.

“You can’t take it. My guard will-”

Olekov looked around again, “Quite frankly, I don’t think your guard could run a fox off a chicken coop let alone us from that town.”

Yan, again, bowed his head.

“I’m glad we arrived at an understanding. Have the tributes in front of the gate in an hour.” He patted the sword saint on his back and walked over to one of his subordinate officers.

Just as he reached the man, he seemed to freeze. He heard what sounded like a sword unsheathe, a gasp, and the gargling of a man just killed. He was now turned around and watched, without expression, Sword Saint Yan collapse to the floor and die.

“Oh for God’s sake! I didn't-” Olekov mumbled.

“What just happened?” the officer asked.

“The Sword Saint’s dead,” he said.

“What now?”

Olekov looked at the fortress.

“Storm the fortress!” a voice called from behind.

“No!” Olekov whirled around and shook his fist. His subordinate drew back, afraid. “We have not been ordered to take the fortress. We have not been ordered to destroy the Yan clan. Are you mad? I say, are you a mad man?”

“N-no sir, I’d never suggest something like that,” his subordinate said.

Olekov looked at him. He looked at the town and sucked his teeth. “Have the Tangwenmen collect the tribute from the fortress. That town is ours. Find me the D’yavod.”

“Yes sir.” The subordinate saluted, gave one last concerned look at the marshal, and then walked away, barking orders in Dayani and then in Nhasan.

And so, the fortress city of the Yan clan was plundered of all tribute. The Tangwenmen left with what was expected of them and Olekov’s company followed shortly after with just one thing that was far more terrible, taken from a town nearby. Its streets were left silent and bloody. There was, indeed, a smuggling operation there, but it ceased to exist after their visit and would never return. The leadership of the Yan clan fell to the infant son of the dead Sword Saint.

Division

The wall rose out of the ground like a mountain. Towering above the road, watching, ensuring those on either side stayed where they were. The wall was part of a larger structure, colloquially known as “The Line” which separated the industrial heartlands, and the poverty stricken suburbs, from the more well off side of the country. The Line expands in both directions from the southern, to the northern coast. Most of the time the line is an electrified barbed wire fence standing 10 metres high with anti-climb equipment on either side. However, on roads and highways, The Line turns into giant walls watched by several armed guards under the Department of Border Control.

Originally meant to prevent the expansion of industry, The Line now represents poverty amongst the nation. Moving across involves taking one of three ways. The first is a PS (Permanent Shift Pass) which allows citizens to move across The Line permanently to start a new life, or a TS (Temporary Shift) which allows a citizen to move across for a few days to see family or do business. The third is taking a mountain road across the Kushmire Alps which the nation is named after. The fence that forms The Line ends at 5000 feet, as above that level are nothing but ravines, glaciers, sheer drops and freezing temperatures. The people who survive the dangerous trip illegally settle on the more developed side. They live knowing if they are caught they would be sent to a prison or worse.

A border guard raised his rifle as an automobile rattled up to the heavy iron gate. The gate in question was located at the Sparticus - Luggate highway. Spartacus was the largest city on the Industrial side of The Line. The car came to a stop and a captain from the Border Patrol stepped out. The guards nearby went into attention. The captain motioned for them to relax. The officer in charge, who was a Lieutenant, trudged through the snow. “Sir, what can I do for you?” The captain looked around the landscape. Winter had set in and the ground was covered in a sheet of undisturbed white. Masking the damaged and broken land underneath.

“Lieutenant, very shortly a very important member of parliament, coming directly from The Keystone Chamber, will pass through this gate.” The Keystone Chamber was the seat of parliament located in the capital of Barricus. “I’m just here to make sure everything runs smoothly. Another battalion of guards will arrive with more arms, motor vehicles and machine guns.” The Lieutenant looked around. The blanket of snow was left undisturbed. “Has the rebellion heard of this movement?”

“Most likely.” The captain replied. The Rebellion are a coalition of former criminal gangs and rebels who banded together to fight the authoritarian government. While not powerful, they still have a presence and an underground trading scene in the cities on the industrial side of The Line. They are also a constant thorn in the side of the central government, attacking convoys, military and civilian, blowing up bridges and planting bombs at government locations.

Lieutenant William Kinkaid and Captain Raymond Williams climbed to the top of the main gate. Five watchtowers were placed at equidistant points from the main gate on either side. William grabbed a sniper rifle and looked down the road that led to the capital. The road lay abandoned but clear of snow thanks to the efforts of inmates from a prison nearby. “Shall we head to the break room sir?” William asked. Rayomnd motioned him to go ahead. The two climbed down from the upper balcony and inside the main gate. The break room consisted of two tables separated by a central walkway and surrounded by wooden chairs. The floor was carpeted in with red wool with the emblem of the Kushmire, a cross with a red outline with swords intersecting below, embroidered in. Though the room was industrialist in nature, an oil heater kept the room toasty. The pair removed their coats as they entered. Four soldiers who had returned from a patrol stood to attention. “At ease gentlemen.”

Raymond made a coffee as William entered the commander’s office and made the announcement over the loudspeakers about the upcoming operation. Raymond entered shortly after. The office overlooked the industrial side of the wall and had a singular desk and chair. The desk had papers containing the expected passersby and a cracked photo depicting the construction of The Line. A cabinet contained documents of passings dating back to 1882 when the wall was first built.

A few hours later the reinforcements arrived, carrying with them, as promised, several machine guns, snipers, barbed wire and trucks. “Why the barbed wire?” William asked. “Temporary, it’ll be taken down once the convoy passes through.” It brought the number of guards stationed at the gate from 50 to 170. In the waning hours of the day the barbed wire was set up and the machine guns and sniper outposts were made.

William watched the sunset. Its orange glow made the undisturbed snow shimmer. He surveyed the soldiers that were scattered around the landscape in their dugouts and foxholes. A team of ten on either side controlled who was to be let in and out. Slowly, one by one as the sun set and the moon rose. The headlights of three motorcars drew closer to the gate and the guards raised their rifles. Lights were shone and lamps were lit. The cars arrived at the gate and the guards surrounded it.

One of the guards approached the vehicle at the front. The window slowly wound down to reveal a man in a dark suit. “Credentials.” The man reached into his glove box and showed the guard his credentials as well as the official papers stamped with the central government seal. “Thank you officer, we’ll do a search of the car now.” The guard whistled and two dogs were brought out.

Then began the lengthy process of checking the credentials of each of the twelve people in the motorcade. Weapons, credentials and IDs were checked. WIlliam and Raymond went down to meet the man that the motorcade was protecting. Minister for Science and Development Blake C Clearwater. “Sir.” William reached his hand out for a handshake. Blake returned it with a firm grip. “Welcome to the Kushmire District.” William said. The Kusmire district was a mostly mountainous area, barring the central road to the district capital of Halford.

“Thank you officer.” Blake replied.

“May I ask what you are doing here?” Blake looked around at the sparse landscape. “On the other side of this hill, when the snow melts there is no green grass. Animals won’t return to their grazing. Forests won’t regain their leaves. The other side of The Line is the closest thing The Celestial Empire will get to hell. The government for the past few years has only been sitting around twiddling their thumbs on the issue, as if doing nothing about it will make it go away.”

“The locals don’t exactly make it easy.” Raymond said as a smile creeped across William’s face. “Well, that is what you get when you, well, for a lack of a better word, violently oppress them. Not saying that fell on your shoulders. Our armed forces, police and border patrol are often unfairly given the blame for being too violent.”

“We’re just doing our jobs.” William said. “Exactly.” Blake said, pointing at William. A whistle blew from the other side of the gate. “Well, that’s your signal to go.” William held open the door as Blake climbed back in. William and Raymond went inside the main gate structure and watched as the first gate was opened. The three vehicles were let in and had to go bumper to fit in. The middle vehicle which carried Blake was a luxury vehicle made by the Empire’s best coachbuilders. “So what do you make of him?” William asked as they watched the second barrier creak open. “A people pleaser.” Said Raymond. “I don’t think he genuinely believes that the citizens on the Industrial side of The Line deserve what the Capital side has, nor does he believe that our servicemen are not violent individuals.” William nodded, as he did. The three cars exploded.

Almost 2 kilometres away. Several teams of Rebellion soldiers lay in the snow, covered in white ghillie suits hashed together with duct tape and sticks. They saw the explosion cloud and klaxons start around the gate. Soldiers spilled out from the gates and took their positions.

William ducked as shrapnel flew into the sky. The gates were rapidly closed and anti-blast barriers were dropped. William and Raymond ran inside with Willliam grabbing a sniper rifle and Raymond picked up a pistol and a regular rifle, which could fire 10 rounds in a single load. William climbed to the upper balcony and fired several flares. Using the light from the flares he scanned the surroundings. “Again!” He shouted. William looked down the sniper scope. He stopped when he saw a clump of what looked like small hills. One of them moved and stood up into a humanoid shape. He fired the sniper, the sudden gunshot scaring the rest of the guards as since the explosion, there has been nothing but silence.

William saw the figure suddenly fall down and several more standing up. Several gunshots pinged around the gate. “Fire several flares that way.” Most of the guards had already figured out the position of the rebels due to the gun flashes against the night sky. Machine guns and rifles fired in the direction. With flares providing light beyond the reaches of the gate.

The rest of the rebels stood up with their commander ordering them to stay down. Gunfire cut down most of the troops. “Move when their flares die out!” He shouted as bullets whizzed over his head. The first round of flares died out and he shouted “Move!” The survivors stood up and ran back to a small clump of dead trees where they had hidden their horses. Another round of flares were fired and they dropped back to the ground again.

The flashing stopped when the flares ran out. “Get more flares in the sky!” Raymond shouted as he fiddled with his jammed rifle. William ran down the steps and out the main gate. A second round of flares were fired. “Hold your fire!” He shouted. The gunfire stopped and the flares lit up nothing but a small clump of trees. “That’s where they will be heading.” He looked at the trucks and their thin wheels. “Will they be able to cut through the snow?” William asked one of the drivers. He shook his head. “Not snow this thick.”

Raymond ran down, the night air now still with silence. “I’ll take one of the trucks and look for them. You wait here for reinforcements.” William looked at the burning wrecks of the three vehicles. “They’re not going to like this one.”

Qaimong wrote:Radio Silence
January 24th, NL15
Qaimong City, Qaimong

For the last 10 days, all word from the capitol has gone silent. In the upper reaches of the provincial hall, Governor Alexander Duan watched the docks of the city as the sun set and a soft rain fell outside. Behind him, Erton Strutt, the Secretary of Economy, approached.

Governor Duan turned around. “Is it… Ah, just you. Any news from the capitol or from our delegate by chance?”

Strutt gestured for Duan to come closer as he began to speak in a hushed tone. “I’m afraid it’s not good news. If the rumors from the traders are true, then His Majesty is dead.”

“Dead?!”

“...And worse yet, the Diet was stormed by the army. It stands to reason that we must assume that the army has seized the apparatus of the state… And that our delegate was killed.”

Duan began to appear visibly worried. “I must thank you… For bringing this to my attention…” He walked away from the window and sat down. “...And what of the garrison here? Where do their loyalties lie?”

Strutt grinned. “They lie with us. For better or worse, as long as we continue with their ‘bonus,’ they shall remain by our side. You have me to thank for that.”

Duan began to look somewhat better. As his uneasiness left him, he looked back over at the city. “These rumors… How long have they been spreading?”

“At least since this morning.”

Duan thought to himself. He knew rumors were quick to spread, and that such rumors could lead to his downfall one way or another. He needed to act now. He turned to Strutt.

“Close the docks and halt the trains for the near future. I will order the quartermaster of the garrison to place the province under martial law until we know what is going on. If the rumors are true, we cannot allow them to undermine our position in the government. Above that however is if this new government will continue to turn a blind eye to our actions.” He stood up again. “I ultimately fear that if the new government finds out of them they will have our heads as they did with the Diet… I cannot trust this new government, at least not now.”

Strutt looked uneasy, but understood the necessity of the actions taken. “Very well. I will head to the docks now. May God help us all.”

Duan turned his gaze back outside. The rain began to fall harder. “May we prevail through these dark hours,” he whispered to himself.

A Clandestine Meeting
January 24th, NL15, 18:23
Port of Qaimong City

Amidst the darkness of the sun setting and the heavy rain that arrived in the city an hour prior, the docks had fallen mostly quiet. However, along the warehouses storing an abundance of cargo, things couldn’t be busier. Amidst the laborers manually hauling boxes, in an office above the floor of the warehouse, a young man, well suited and groomed and of foreign appearance, watched the laborers as they did their work. Suddenly the door opened from behind him. The man swung around towards the door and drew his hand gun from the holster on his waist before realizing it was Strutt who had entered the room.

“You treat all of your friends like that Jean?” Strutt asked as he closed the door behind him.

“You son of a b**** you scared me, you haven’t been the first to come barging in here unannounced,” Jean retorted as he holstered his weapon.

Strutt sighed. “Well, can't say I blame you, but you still haven't anything to fear my friend, I merely come bringing news.”

“News?”

“Yes, and I’m afraid it’s not good news. Governor Duan wishes for the ports to close for the foreseeable future beginning tomorrow. I'm afraid our operation has to… adapt. The ‘goods’ won’t move themselves after all.”

The young man scoffed. “‘Not good news?’ This is bad news!” The man sat down on his desk. “At least tell me you have a solution to this!”

“...And I do.” Strutt took a seat beside the desk. “You know… The great thing about being a man of such power is that you have… Connections. Through these connections I now have the local Navy in my pocket. Now I'm sure once we have a few men who are willing to accept a little kickback we will have the means to continue as before.”

Jean thought to himself. “That's not the problem, Strutt. The problem is that Governor Duan is a stubborn old ass who's more than willing to shut down our operation. You know how he feels about the drugs! Frankly I don't give a damn if D’yavod took the life of his nephew, I don't want him getting in the way of our operations any further.”

“I understand how you feel,” Strutt said. “But you know I can't do anything about him, at least not now.” Strutt looked out onto the floor. “I believe perhaps one day I will take the mantle of Governor and when that day comes I believe I shall appoint you as the Secretary of the Economy. I am very much… Delighted by your hard work Jean.”

Jean looked at Strutt. “How ambitious. You know Strutt, I do appreciate that you see me in such a way. I believe that we are both long due for a promotion.” Jean stood back up. “Very well, I suppose it’s best that we look to solving the situation at hand then, starting with your ‘connections.’”

Hidden Horror

Treinor City, Hoydland, February 24th, NL 15

Suvdan hopped off the large orange bus, planting her feet firmly into the ground. She turned to thank the driver, but he quickly speeded away down the narrow track. Disappointed and slightly embarrassed, she quickly lowered her hand and brushed off the small amount of dust on her long, thin, navy blue dress. The street was noticeably empty this morning, with only a small number of men making their way to work. Whenever she passed one of them, they always gave her a perplexed look before continuing their day. Not many women worked in the city, after all.

Making her way towards the hospital, Suvdan saw a bundle of traffic up ahead. Without skipping a beat, she turned down a narrow alleyway between a run-down tavern and a humble shop. Even this early, a few drunkards were leaning against the tavern’s wooden walls, chatting their worries away with glasses in hand. She quickened her pace, passing them eventually, but not before a few inappropriate remarks. The smell of cheap alcohol caused her nose to twitch. Making her way out of the darkness and onto a dusty street, Suvdan approached the small hospital she had known to be her home. Although she was only paid a thousand mongos a day, her job as a nurse provided her with two free meals and a shower. For a single Hoyd woman, that was the best she could do. Although no one had seemed to be near, Suvdan soon found herself hurtling towards the dirt below.

A soft thud can be heard as a middle aged man can be seen stamping his foot into the ground, arms flailing to keep his slender frame upright. The man, dressed in dark fabric in the style of an artisan, quickly steadied himself, turning to the woman whom he had just accidentally shoved onto the uneven surface of the street. The man's brown eyes were bloodshot, his eye bags a deep purple. It is clear the man had been up for several days. His face was otherwise average, patterned with the blemishes and scars of his trade. He spoke in a thick Kalquenan accent, his works quiet and shaky.

"M-my mistake m-madam!" The man shuffled forwards, awkwardly holding out a calloused hand, his mind clearly lost along with the missed hours of sleep.

Still reeling from the impact, Suvdan's sight recentered on the hand held out in front of her. Studying the man, he was like no one she had ever seen before. His strange eyes, mysterious scars, and thick accent. He was clearly not Hoyd, and he seemed so out of place on these rugged streets. Her head beginning to work once again, she realized they had been standing like this for nearly a minute. Swiftly taking his hand, she planted her feet in the dirt, but not before a shout could be heard across the street. It was one she knew very well.

"Stop right there, foreigner!" Doctor Ghonn called from across the street. He had been Suvdan's boss ever since she began working at the hospital. Being the only licensed professional and owner of the building, Ghonn nearly controlled her life. He was well known for charging insane amounts to struggling families, taking nearly their entire life savings in the process. However, that's the way it was, especially since this was the only hospital in the entire suburb.

At his call, several men made towards the pair, all eyes trained on the foreigner. Suvdan barely even noticed they were still holding one another's hands, and she quickly pulled away from him. The men, all obviously Hoyd, were of different shapes and sizes. Some looked more threatening than others, Ghonn being one of them. Mind racing, Suvdan quickly pieced together what was happening. After all, foreigners are not welcome in Treinor City.

The Kalquenan man recoiled quickly at the sight of the approaching mob, frantically, his eyes darted across the street to find any means of escape. After a quick moment, the man turned back to Suvdan, his face confused and frightened. He pointed a firm hand towards an alleyway, between two of the burly men closing in on the pair.

The man then turned back towards the Doctor, stammering as he began to slowly step closer to the alleyway.

"S-sir... I meant n-no harm! I m-mean it!" said the man, bowing his head slightly and showing his palms to the twisted man.

The man looked again to Suvdan, his tired and bloodshot eyes looking to her with a sincerity. This man was far more apologetic than most, putting his full faith in this stranger he had met just moments prior. He looked, hoping for any help that could be offered.

Suvdan stepped between Ghonn and the Kalquenan. "Please, sir, he didn't do anything!" Suvdan begged for the foreigner, but it was no use. The mob surrounded the man, before the first punch was thrown. Stripping him from all of his valuables, the brawl shifted into the alleyway. Cheers from passing pedestrians rang out as they watched the violence, slurs mixed amongst them.

Suvdan watched in horror. Although she had heard about these daily occurrences, she had never witnessed them herself. With the recent migration of immigrants to the province, groups such as the Hoyd Clan had grown exponentially in numbers. With minimal laws protecting them, Clan members have wreaked havoc on foreigners in the cities. This man was now just another victim. After minutes of shouting and cursing, the mob eventually dispersed, smiling to themselves as they returned to their daily lives. Suvdan rushed to the Kalquenan man's side, covered in even more scars and bruises than before. Luckier than most, he was still breathing at least. The only items he had left were the clothes on his back, which were soaked in blood and sweat.

The man shakily drew his breaths, his entire body moving in waves of pain and anguish. Between a blood stream above his brow, one of the man's eyes opened in a mere sliver, his other eye swollen shut from the beating.

The Kalquenan man reached to his sleeve, the motion causing him great pain. His calloused fingers found the weak seam of his artisan's shirt, the left sleeve's end bulging just a bit. The fingers pulled back the folded cloth.

Rip...

The Kalquenan man pulled something from the seam, a small metal object, nearly slipping between his bloodied, weakened fingers. After letting out a short cough, the man turned to Suvdan. He placed his rough hand on hers, letting go softly as he let the metal trinket fall into her open palm.

A quaint, yet beautifully made brooch, made of interlocking iron plates, polished to a mirror's finish. The man smiled, attempting to stand, yet falling back down to the ground before even reaching a crouch.

He spoke, through broken teeth, to Suvdan.

"You're... different... You... You can be... b-better....... I... I.... I think... I'll rest now..."

The man trailed off, falling unconscious yet again, his scarred face living to see another day.

The Activists
February 4, NL 15, 1910 (January 1832, Erhani Standard Calendar)
Chrukhari Palace, Punakhsa

"General Vorgen!" Came Governor Yuei's call. Vorgen sat in his room beside a small pile of powder D'yavod spread across the table, smoking the stuff out of a pipe.
"Yes?" Vorgen replied, looking over his shoulder. The ageing governor walked into the room shortly after.

"Your father's report is officially in. His majesty is truly dead and the Diet has installed the Temrisian delegate as its new Chief Lord."
Vorgen slowly turned, eyeing the governor.
"I see." He blew a long, thin stream of bluish smoke from his lips. "Should we prolong the gag order for the newspapers?"

"..No," Yuei said, scratching at his chin. "Release the news that the Emperor is dead and that Admiral Gong's staged a coup tomorrow. The military presence in the city should be enough to deter any would-be dissidents. You should get your soldiers in place overnight to prepare for whatever repercussions may follow tomorrow. I have the Soruk surveilling the city from the air," he pointed to an airship hovering above the rooftops, branded with the crescent of the Empire. "I've placed surveillance orders on some four hundred individuals across the city, all suspected dissidents."

"I see." Vorgen took another breath, pausing to scoop more D'yavod from the bowl into his pipe. "Where have you placed the detachment of Rephiks?"

"Chruying Square," Yuei said, eyes flitting over to the plaza down below. "They'll be ready tomorrow to disperse any rally there. I'm bringing in armoured cars from Baksumh too."
His hands brushed over the ornate Erhani mural mounted on the wall, framed in mahogany and jade. "Are there any other scenarios we need to prepare for? Tell me."

"A general revolt across the entire city," Vorgen replied, smirking. "I'll be having another ten thousand soldiers waiting on the periphery of the city if that happens."

"Good. Have a palanquin prepared. I'm going down to speak to the Chief Constable."

"As you wish." Vorgen stood and covered the bowl of D'yavod, setting his pipe down on his chair. The two left the room, proceeding down the halls of the palace.

As they passed the throne room, Yuei's eyes very briefly flitted to the empty throne, seat of the ancient Emperors of Erhani; nothing about it had been changed, except that the seal of Erhani above the throne had been ripped off and replaced with the sun of the Celestial Empire. He could still see the spots where countless generations of monarchs had worn down the seat and armrests.

Then a Rephik ushered a maid into the room, and as she began to dust the corners he pulled the screen doors shut, concealing the room from view. Vorgen parted ways at the offices of the armed forces, where he stepped inside; Yuei continued with his guards down the hall.
"..Keep an eye on General Cassius' usage of that cursed drug," he muttered to one of the Rephiks escorting him. "I don't want him using more than fifty grams a day. Go back to his chambers and search for hidden stashes- if there's anything more than fifty grams take it and dispose of it."

The man nodded, and hurried back towards the General's quarters. Then, a clerk met the procession, and bowed deep.
"Your excellency," he whispered, "A tip from the Constabulary. They have a list of names they want surveilled." His hands were still stained with ink, and he was holding a bundle of papers.

"Lieutenant," Yuei directed another one of his guards. "Deal with this matter. You have my authority."
The guard nodded and followed the clerk back to the offices of the imperial administration.

-

"Rephiks! Forward stance!"
"Hah!"

Some hours later, Yuei watched as two lines of Rephiks drew their training swords and spears swaddled in cloth, and approached in the traditional Erhani battle formation. When they met, the skirmish was brief but violent; a rapid flurry of blows and stabs ensued until one side, half their members winded by strikes to the solar plexus, hastily retreated and re-adopted their formation, a single-file line of swords. The two sides met again, and this clash was even fiercer yet shorter in length; in another few seconds all of the Rephiks in that group were groaning, rubbing bruises on the floor of the courtyard.

"Is this training really necessary?" Vorgen sighed, now thoroughly irritable after he had found almost all of his D'yavod stocks suspiciously missing. "Most of the army's well on their way to receiving rifles by now."

"Erhani has very limited industrial capability," Yuei said, unmoved. "I'd like to remind you that owing to procurement issues with Nhasa, half the army still uses bows or swords, or even old muskets."

The Chief Constable of Punakhsa, Yukamoso, stood behind the two uncertainly; the sparring rounds had lasted well over two hours by now. His constables had attempted to do their best in the sparring dictated by Yuei, but every time had been swiftly put down by the Rephiks.

"Chief Yukamoso," Yuei finally said, turning. "While I am concerned about the possibility of an uprising in Punakhsa, I am more concerned about grassroots movements arising in rural Erhani, where our troops cannot reach easily. Imperial power must be maintained at any cost. Have your men start heading out to smaller towns and villages and man their signal fires- the ones from the days of the Erhani Imperium; if any insurrections arise, light the signal fires."

"Yes, Your Excellency," Yukamoso bowed. "I'd also, uh-ah- like to request that my men be given the T03-model revolver for everyday use. We only have truncheons and the occasional firearm."

"That shall be arranged for," Yuei replied, turning away from the man. "See to it that the Constabulary is not overwhelmed by rioters tomorrow, or I shall have to reconsider its use."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

-

University of Punakhsa
Sunyang-Fawai district

"The papers haven't come out in five days," Kotof remarked as he washed down a mouthful of mutton with a shot of black coffee. The cafeteria was awash with the smell of coffee and sour greens, fried goat meat, and freshly-baked bread rolls. He was beginning to rue his decision to leave Ngara, as compared to the more temperate countryside the capital was positively frigid in winter, particularly at its worst in January. The spices in the coffee gave him a warm feeling inside, and temporarily made him stop shivering underneath the many layers of clothing he wore.

"Something's definitely wrong," Luten remarked, thoroughly unaffected by the cold, busy gorging himself on a dinner roll and grilled eel. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of tobacco, as the students finished with their meals produced cigarettes and began to smoke. "There are rumours that the Emperor's died. But the authorities won't say anything."

"By the way," Kotof said, reaching across the table for a mug of tea. "I heard some constables were murdered near Karghik. Eight of them.. or was it? I don't remember."

Luten paused and looked up.
"How do you know about that?" He said, in a tone that was almost casual, but not quite so. "Where'd you hear it from?"

"I-" Kotof fell silent, as a cook walked by, pushing a cart filled to the brim with used plates and mugs. The man paused, and reached over, refilling the flasks of coffee and tea on the table. Once the cook had walked away, Kotof continued. "I heard it from two constables who were smoking outside the university. When I went to buy cigarettes yesterday."

"..Oh." Luten slumped over and took another swig of tea. "I see. On that matter.." He paused, until the cafeteria had grown noisy again. "There's a... club I'd like you to join. It's held every Wednesday afternoon in one of the lecture theaters. We have a meeting today.. in three hours."

"What kind of club?" Kotof asked, thinking it would be another group of eccentrics dedicated to one of Luten's many bizarre interests.

"..A political one," was all he replied.

Without another word, he left the table, leaving behind only a card with the location of the "club" written on it.

Kotof had a sneaking feeling the group was somewhat suspicious, but ultimately his curiosity got the better of him, and that afternoon he found himself standing outside chemistry hall number four. A roughly-cut cardboard plaque reading "Chess League in Session" was pasted onto the door.

He knocked three times, but received no answer. As he turned the handle and pushed it open, he spied a large group sitting, seemingly playing various versions of chess, mostly playing at menkh, something unique to Erhani with its eccentric circular board.

Nothing seemed out of place until Kotof spied a large stack of placards piled in the corner, and massive boxes filled to the brim with armbands. And then he noticed the large stage, built from pallets, assembled at the front of the room.

"You came, Kotof." Luten waved him over from the corner of the room, where he was playing a round of menkh with another student. "Here's the thing. This is a sub-branch of the Society for Erhani Independence." He pointed to the badge he wore on his chest, the one he had seen on the train to Punakhsa; a five-pointed navy-blue star edged with white, and the initials S.E.I marked on them.

"...Are you part of an illegal group?" Kotof shook his head. "I'm surprised you haven't been caught yet."

"This university is a safe haven for all manner of wayward thinkers," Luten said. "Three-quarters of the faculty and students are in on this. The other quarter.. well, they see a chess league and think nothing of it."

He handed Kotof a placard. "We're organizing a protest march. It'll take place in two days. We'll gather at Chruying Square at ten in the morning, launch off fireworks to make some noise, and march around the City Circle after we do so." As he spoke, he ran his index finger along a map, tracing a near-circular route looping around the innermost belt of the capital, a route that would bring them past various important government offices. "This is the largest demonstration we'll ever stage. There're going to be massive strikes city-wide, and we'll join up with a group of students from the Ren Osarrus State University up east, along with.. what was it again? Twenty other smaller schools?"

"Thirty," the boy sitting opposite him corrected, moving a piece in towards the centre of the circular chess-board. "Also, checkmate. Your queen is blocked off from escape."

Luten grumbled something indistinct. "Thirty smaller schools along with two of Erhani's most prestigious universities. The number of people attending from those schools alone is expected to reach well over three thousand, and there'll be fifteen thousand marching. The Constabulary and Army... well, I doubt they can stop fifteen thousand people."

"Won't they open fire?"

"Not without fear of inciting a massive revolt," Luten shrugged. "We'll be out of the University's dress uniform, but we'll be wearing our badges or armbands. The former Imperial Diet delegate, Indra Ko? He's making a speech at the rally in Chruying Square."

Kotof's doubts were somewhat quashed- he now felt entirely confident that they could not be stopped, that the governor knew nothing of this planned march.

Nothing could stop the SEI, he thought. He was greatly excited by the prospect of marching for a cause so many others agreed with him on.

Nothing could stop them.

Revenge - Barricus - The Keystone Chamber

The Keystone Chamber was a large building that has housed the seat of parliament for over 100 years. First built during the 1740s the building that now houses the main entrance was initially built as the private residence for a military officer and his family as a gift from the government for his excellent service. In 1870 there was a collapse in political leadership shortly after the completion of The Line. The coup led to a bloody 10-year-long civil war that ended when government-backed army forces flew the Kushimre flag over the house. What remained of the losing forces formed The Rebellion. After the war a new government was formed and an updated constitution was signed at the house. In the years forthcoming the palace was extended with a new senate, offices and residences for the nation’s president and prime minister were built.

The building now stood on the western end of the capital of Barricus and has housed the seat of parliament since then. Today flags around the building all flew at half mast to commemorate the passing of a minister. A passing that occurred through assassination. The Supreme Commander of the Kushmire Armed Forces, Fleet Admiral Albert V.N.M Hull watched from his chair as the cabinet members filled the round table. Beside him sat the Chief of Security Forces which included the police and its affiliated special task groups. The two surly men were only here to witness the course of action the parliament will take in response to the assassination of Blake Clearwater.

Albert grunted as he shifted in his chair and checked his watch. Any other time the cabinet met to discuss matters on The Rebellion, Albert didn’t bother to attend as the decision would be telegrammed to his office. Most of the time that action involved dispatching several army units to raze a small village or town, and then a tightening of security around government departments in Maplewood and Ironwood districts. However, that was often in response to minor activities by rebel forces such as attacking the army and Department of Border Control patrols or capturing small farming communities. Today the parliament was meeting to discuss the death of one of their colleagues. Albert imagined the course of action today was going to be different.

The President. An unfortunately short man with balding hair and wrinkles stood. “Gentlemen I am sure you have heard the terrible news that Right Honourable Blake Clearwater, the minister for Science and Development was assassinated by Rebel forces last week. The Rebel Forces ambushed the convoy escorting Blake at the Main Millstone Maplewood gate on the road to Halford City. Blake, along with all 11 members of his convoy were killed. The death of one our most senior ministers is nothing short of a disaster. Our thoughts are with his family as this cabinet meets today to discuss our course of action. Gentlemen, if you have any thoughts please say them now.”

The table lay silent. Every man in that room knew what they wanted to do. It was what they were doing for the nearly 50 years since The Line had been completed. Raze some farmland and kill some villages. President Frederick Baldwin was about to lean forward and regurgitate the same order that had been passed to military command when Albert raised his hand. “Gentlemen, may I propose.” He stopped to take a breath, “A new plan of action.” Frederick leant back in his chair, “Go ahead Admiral.” Albert stood from his chair and began walking around the table, his rows of medals clinking and with hand on sword handle he began. “Gentlemen for the past decades the government and its affiliate powers have had a similar reaction to The Rebellion. A group of ragtag factory workers, socialists, has-beens and terrorists.” Albert paused to look at a map of Kushmire. It depicted the districts, their capitals, Mt Kushmire, several large lakes and most importantly The Line. “It is common knowledge that this map of Kushmire is not true. The map that is posted up on the Armed Forces headquarters commits The Badlands. The Badlands is the colloquial name given to a desert with almost no fertile land but plenty of natural resources, that is currently controlled by rebel forces.

“Now this territory, while still under our jurisdiction, thanks to Rebel efforts, is no longer under our control. We have known for years now that this is where rebel command lies right in the heart of The Badlands. Our frontline soldiers, including police and border patrol have been bearing the brunt of the rebel forces. Only one member of parliament was killed compared to around 1000 soldiers over the last ten years.”

“But haven’t they just killed one of us?” Albert raised his finger, “Astute observation my good friend and I admire your desire for safety, 1000 young men have died under your watch and the moment your precious life is threatened you panic.”

“Well this clearly indicates that the rebels are getting braver and more confident.” Said Frederick. Albert smiled, “Yes, indeed, and that is exactly where I am going, only ten years ago they went after four man patrols, that quickly escalated to motorised patrols, then to small training camps and then battalion headquarters and so on. Now they have just killed a member of parliament and his security detail, if we don’t deal with them now, in the next ten years they will be attacking entire army camps, and perhaps even The Keystone Chamber itself.”

Albert let the last line hang. “Well then, Albert, what do you suggest?” Albert leant forward on the table covering the view of Frederick. “I propose a military-led operation spanning an unknown amount of time, however I predict a minimum operation schedule of one year. I want intelligence, access to all government documents,”

“Whatever would you need that for?” The Minister of Finance said.

The Minister of Internal Security, Leon Allen, spoke up. “The only people who knew about Blake’s movement are the people sitting in this room, the Chief of Police, Chief of Border Control. Somehow, The Rebellion found out, which means there are leakages either in this room itself, or within our offices.” Albert nodded towards him.

“Carrying on, we will start with intelligence operations led by the KFP.” KFP stands for Kushmire Federal Police and is the primary undercover investigation organisation headquartered in a depressing square block 10 kilometres away from Barricus. “Then once information on suspects have been gathered we will start a military operation to retake the badlands.” Albert stopped and turned. “Any questions.”

“How concrete is this plan?” Leon asked. Albert sighed. “This is what we hope to do. Specific details might change if we run into challenges, or come up with new ideas.” Albert returned to his chair and sat back down, The Chief of Security Forces was smiling and nodding.

Frederick leant forward from his chair and looked around the rest of the cabinet. “If anyone has anything to say, now is your time.” The Minister for Finance once again spoke up. “The opposition is not going to like that we passed an order as large as this without consulting the senate first. What if they try pushing for a vote of no confidence for the order?”

“The opposition are a bunch of cowards who are scared of losing their non-existent power, the only reason they oppose it is so they can say something. Do you really believe that the Liberal - National coalition, who benefits off the impoverished areas of Ironwood and Maplewood, would like to see their factories stop being attacked and bombed by rebels. I believe bringing it up would be a mistake on their part.” Said Albert. “As for the vote of confidence, trust me, they won’t be able to get that far.”

The Minister of Finance leant back furring his eyebrows. He was the newest addition to the cabinet only joining a few months ago after the previous minister tragically passed away after suffering a heart attack. “Very well then,” Said Frederick, “If no one else has anything to say, then I say we should go ahead with the operation. Albert is indeed correct, the government has been sitting, twiddling their thumbs for too long on The Rebellion. We should go and take back what is rightfully ours. Leon.” Frederick turned to face the minister, “While this shouldn’t fall onto the hands of a single minister seeing as you are also the minister responsible for the KFP I don’t see why it shouldn’t.” Frederick looked at Albert, who nodded. “Thank you gentlemen, this emergency meeting is convened.”

Albert and Leon left the main building. They reached a handrail at the other end of the plaza and turned around to admire the architecture. The Kushmiran flag flew on a flag post on the main dome. “Remind me, the name of the financial fellow.”

“Al Harrison. Former CEO of South Harbourview Shipping and Logistics Co. He left the company to his brother when he became a politician.” Albert grunted, “He’s a strange fellow, I don’t like him.”

“He’s a good friend of Frederick, chosen because of his history of working with large corporations. He’s also the only person in that whole room that actually has a university diploma related to his portfolio.” Albert grunted again. “Is he going to be a problem?”

“I doubt it, he’s just one of those people who are in the interesting position that want to develop Ironwood and Maplewood districts, but find themselves fighting The Rebellion.” Leon turned to face Albert. “Anyways, that’s not our concern, if there is indeed a leak within our government or dare I say the armed forces it's only going to be a matter of time before The Rebellion finds out.”

“The Rebellion aren’t in a position to topple the government, our light infantry alone could stop them. We have manpower, technology and commitment over them.” Leon raised an eyebrow, “Commitment, what does that mean?”

Albert looked around, “One of the KFPs goals should be to find out the general publics’ view on The Rebellion, especially in the Ironwood and Maplewood districts. Not just those in the big cities but in towns and villages. I imagine the central government isn’t that popular but,” Albert leaned in closer to Leon. “What I want to know is, if they hate us so much, we raze their villages, violently murder their people under the guise of law, and yet, they choose to stay under our bracket. If they hate us so much why not support The Rebellion. Ironwood and Maplewood account for almost 60% of our population and nearly 30% of our economy, if they sided with The Rebellion and formed their own government.” Albert shrugged, “Hell, the armed forces still get good recruitment numbers from the other side of The Line, and it's only been going up over the last ten years.”

“Which lines up with the intensity of attacks from The Rebellion.” Leon finished Albert’s train of thought, “Exactly, whenever The Rebellion attacks a government facility, we notice a surge in enlistments from beyond The Line.” Albert said.

“So you believe the citizens of Ironwood and Maplewood don’t necessarily support The Rebellion?”

“I don’t believe they support us or The Rebellion. They are just stuck between a rock and a hard place.” Albert looked out over the extravagant gardens and buildings that completed The Keystone Chamber. “They are forced to choose between two evils.” Leon smiled and shook his head, “So you are doing all this to…?”

“To prevent The Rebellion getting too strong, If we can restore our flag and anthem into the hearts of Ironwood and Maplewood, that’s a bonus.”

It Begins - Halford - Maplewood

The Saturday market was busier than normal today. With National Day, the day on which Kushmiran government forces climbed The Keystone Chamber and flew the flag of the republic, banishing The Rebellion, was only a week away. The citizens of Halford and all across Kushmire were preparing for the day of celebration and remembrance. A worker at a stall selling fresh meat from a nearby farm was handing a slab of sirloin to a customer when he heard the sound of approaching vehicles. He turned to look at the gates of the old city, erected in 1304 the city has since spilled out from the old confines. The first truck of the army convoy turned the corner and headed down the cobbled street.

The people stopped what they were doing and looked. A total of twelve trucks turned the corner, all carrying troops dressed in the brown-green uniform of the Kushmire Imperial Army. They carried an assortment of rifles and machine guns. The trucks clattered past the market with people swiftly moving out of the way. A leather ball rolled out into the street and with it, a boy came running out. The lead truck stopped suddenly as the driver cut out the engine. The convoy drew to a stop as an officer got out of the first truck. “Get off the road kid!” The officer barked at the child who was previously unaware of the army convoy. The boy jumped as a young woman ran out of the side street and swiftly carried him away leaving the ball behind. The boy reached for it as the woman ran back into the alleyway.

The officer sighed and bent down to pick it up. “Hey!” He called out. The woman stopped in her tracks and turned around, a frightened and shook look on her face. The officer threw the ball back to her and it landed beside her feet. The officer nodded before climbing back into the vehicle.

The convoy arrived at the Halford Capitol Building. The seat of Maplewood District Government and contained the administrative, and judicial buildings of Maplewood. Opposite the capitol building, which was a 1800s era moderate gothic-revival style building with a central clocktower with grey tiled roofing, was a depressing grey block which was recently completed and formed the Police headquarters for Maplewood District.

The convoy stopped and the soldiers jumped out. The officer from earlier also got out and straightened his cap. “They should talk about adjusting the ride quality on these.” He cracked his back as he walked up the steps to the main entrance. There were two troopers standing guard who were reaching for their batons. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The officer said as he walked past opening the door. Two of his soldiers pointed their rifles at them and they raised their hands.

The inside of the building was as grey and interesting as the outside. The officer looked around the abandoned hall. “No welcome party? Has anyone even told them?” One of his sergeants closed the door behind him. The officer looked around once again. “In this country I’ll be surprised if they even thought about sending a letter.” The officer and his sergeant worked their way through the building until they found the main office. “Who in the bloody hell puts a main office at the back of the building?” Two office ladies were working with their typewriters. The officer walked up to the counter and tapped on the glass. “Hello, can I see the chief superintendent please.”

“We open at 12pm, and also you have to make an appointment through telegram. We are full for the rest of the week.” The officer looked back at his officer and raised his eyebrow. He tapped the glass more aggressively and put his hand on his pistol. “Excuse me madam, we are from the army. Let us in, or I’ll let myself in.” The office lady looked up momentarily irritated before fear crossed her face. “My apologies officer, I… I didn’t know. The superintendent isn’t here right now. He’s with the governor, but he will be here shortly.”

The office lady quickly opened the door. “The brown one at the very end, thank you sir.” Before the officer could say anything the lady closed the door and hurried back to her desk. The hallway was long and grey save for a lone Kushmire flag pattern on the carpet. The sergeant turned to his superior, “I’ll go outside, make sure that boys aren’t killing anyone.”

The officer opened the door to the office and sat down on one of the chairs. The office faced out towards the industrial side of the city. The hundreds upon hundreds of factories pumping out materials for the country and the empire. The door opened behind him and an old man with poorly dyed hair walked in. “Captain Lukas Weslington?” The officer nodded, “That would be me.”

“My apologies, I only found out that your battalion was coming when one of our stations in the outer city reported a large military convoy coming in.” Said the chief. “The name’s Jeff by the way.” Jeff reached out for a handshake and Lukas accepted. “Well, me and my sergeant were discussing our inter-department communications earlier.”

“Well captain, the governor tried his best to fill me in but couldn’t give me much details. Said something about the KFP being involved.” Lukas nodded, “Apparently the information I’m about to hand you only The Citadel, the cabinet and myself know.” Jeff raised his eyebrows, “Really, The Citadel, the nation’s highest military command, the cabinet itself, the seat of our power, and a lowly captain from the…72nd Grenadiers, are the only people in the country that know about this top secret operation.” Lukas laughed.

“Listen, I was dragged out of bed this morning by some surly looking KSP officers that scared the s**t out of my wife.” Lukas leant forward, “No one scares my wife like that, especially since she’s recovering from childbirth, if that child had woken up they would have had it.” Jeff nodded, pulling out a pipe and lighting it. “Anyways, I had one of them in headlock, pistol on the other hand pointed at the rest. That was when their leader had some brains to bring it outside, there I had a chat with a Brigidar who claims he was the chair of the KSP, and that is where I learnt, whatever the hell we are up to. Why they chose me and my unit I have no idea. But hey, if I do well enough a promotion to Major or Lieutenant Colonel will be in line.”

Jeff grunted. “Well, if they are willing to tell a captain that’s clearly overdue for a promotion, can you tell me?” Lukas nodded, “Well, here’s the thing, there are a lot of holes, and strange details, I have the full documents with me in the truck, I’ll give it to you before I leave.”

“That’s nothing strange, that’s how the KFP works, those holes and strange details are only known to those at the top.” Said Jeff. “Sometimes not even the cabinet knows, almost all KFP operations at the national level give the parliament a simplified version of events.”

“Well that should keep them from breathing down our necks.” Lukas said as he stood. “I’ll have the papers on your desk by the afternoon. In the meantime I’ll head out to where they want to build a base of operations. My boys are available for your services until the base is completed.”

Main Naval Base - Sentinel Island

Albert stood at the hurricane deck just above the main bridge of the Navy’s flagship. The IKN Eagle was the nation’s first dreadnought style battleship. Her sister ship, IKN Bear was sitting in the drydock having her final touches completed. The two ships were part of a new generation of vessels entering the navy. Known across the empire as dreadnoughts. The new vessels are being deployed by the largest navies in the empire.

He turned around and watched a task group returning from a training mission docking in the harbour. Leon joined him wrapped in several layers of coats. “Are you not cold?” Leon asked. Albert moved from his post and returned to the deserted bridge. “No, after a while we get used to the temperatures.” Leon put his hands inside his pocket and looked around. The base was active with sailors moving supplies and ammunition into vessels.

“What are you preparing for?” Albert opened a door into a small office behind the bridge. The office contained maps of Kushmire on the walls and tables with several strings and pins dotted across several. Albert pointed to one which showed several arrows pointing towards unclaimed territory. “These lands here are currently inhabited by tribal communities and rich with resources, those that aren't are more fertile than what we have here in Kushmire. The best part is it's mostly plains and rolling hills until the sea. It will wake up the armed forces, and, if needed, allow them to test some new technology.”

Leon looked up from the map. “Admiral,” He said, “Are you sure this is necessary, putting down the rebellion in your fashion is already unpopular with the government which is currently preoccupied with who is leaking government information to the rebellion.” Albert grinned;

“That is good, let us keep it that way.”

Leon turned towards the plans, “You’ll have to seek approval from President Frederick, who’d most likely consult the relevant ministries and authorities, most likely the Territorial Authority. It could be weeks before you could get an answer back.”

Albert grunted, “No matter, that gives us more time to prepare.” He looked at the dry dock as the final naval artillery housing went over the main guns of the Bear. The housing came down with a resounding thud marking the completion of Kushmire’s second dreadnought.

Back from Cigallo
The Palace of the Elysian Lords
(1910)

Lord Tseun was irate. He sped through the palace halls. Attendants bowed to him as he passed, but he had no time to return the formality. He'd not long gotten back from the Imperial Diet with good news pertaining to the formation of a strong coalition, when a messenger had told him about Olekov's assault on the Yan Fortress.

"Damned mercenary. Damned devil in uniform," he muttered as he went. Some attendants heard him and watched him with fearful eyes. He waved his hand at them and they hurried in the opposite direction.

Tseun came to Olekov's chambers and went to hammer on his door. With his fist raised, he suddenly stopped. "I am the Lord of Tangwen, I should not have to conform to such politeness. It is beneath me!" he thought.

So, he grabbed the handle and slid the door aside; and there, he gazed deep into the bore of a 15 pdr gun. He gasped and froze, but then saw that no one was there to fire it. He relaxed and stepped around the barrel.

"Crazy fool."

The room was dark and the silk curtains were closed. There were numerous hunting trophies adorning the walls. The bed was not made and Olekov had not made use of the wardrobe provided. A pouch of D'yavod sat on his nightstand. Tseun wondered why the attendants he'd assigned Olekov had not tidied the room, but then he considered the fact that there was an artillery piece trained on the door and soon understood.

He needed to speak with the mercenary, but he didn't know where he was to summon him. Thus, Lord Wu Tseun sat on the edge of Olekov's bed and waited.

***

He heard Olekov approaching. He came, cursing his way down the corridor in both Nhasan and Dayani. He was shouting at the attendants and didn't stop until he was outside his room. He came in and sauntered past the cannon without even noticing his Lord, chuckling to himself all the while. He had a a large bag of powder.

"Gun powder?" Tseun thought. "No, you fool, of course its more of that accursed drug."

He stood up. "Marshal Olekov!" he said.

The Marshal turned around, wide eyed. His hand was on his holster. "You? What are you doing here?"

"Silence. What have you done to Sword Saint Yan?"

Olekov sniffed. "I haven't done anything. I did what you asked, got the tribute. I did take something for myself though." He held up the bag.

"You killed him!"

"The fellow killed himself. I turned around and he did himself in."

"You are a fool, Olekov. There are eye witnesses. You slit his throat just as he left."

Olekov stared. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark. "No, no, I saw what happened. I turned away and then I turned back and the fool was dead I didn't-" he thought, but then lost himself there; and a crippling new emotion overcame him. "Tseun is trying to kill me. He's brought me here to get rid of me. Look. Look! See how he hides his hands in his robes. A knife. A knife! He's talking about Yan in order to distract me. Well, I won't lose my grip here. No, not here; and I have a gun, see."

He looked down and reached for his holster and it was just that, there was no gun there. "He's stolen it!" Olekov thought before muttering: "You lordly thief."

"What did you say?" Lord Tseun asked. "Do you confess?"

Olekov was silent. He was frozen, mid-motion. His eyes seemed to tremble, scanning some internal landscape. "If I answer wrong, he'll stab me. No, I know what to do. I must stay vigilant. I will answer and if he goes for me, I'll turn that hidden blade on him. Yes, haha! I shall not die!" He then looked back up at Tseun and said: "I know what I did, and I did not kill him."

Tseun sighed. "There is a power struggle in that region now, Olekov. Yan's infant heir cannot hold power, his mother rules as regent and the other Sword Saints are divided between seeking to take over the clan lands, or are in uproar over one of their peers being killed by a low life like you. There's a rumour that the Dayani will try and garner more influence over there too."

"And you blame me?"

"Yes."

"What good is chastising me gonna do? Condemn me and send me to the gallows then."

Tseun smiled and Olekov smiled back, not entirely sure why he did so.

"You're a valuable asset to my reign, Marshal. However, most of the other sword saints desire your execution. I cannot oblige them. No, that would be like shooting myself in the foot. Marshal Olekov, I hereby place you under indefinite house arrest. You may not leave the palace until I decree it."

Olekov's smile disappeared and he staggered forward, placing his hand upon the wheel of the cannon with an audible slap.

"You can't do that to me. Valuable asset? What good is a valuable asset when it's locked away. An asset! An asset!? I am an officer! A man! I am Marshal Olekov, scourge of your enemies. They've started calling me the Pale Sartaki now, because I am their terror incarnate. Oh, if only you could see such terror, my lonely lord! But you want me imprisoned? No, I say. No!"

Lord Tseun swept his arms outwards, palms down.

"Enough!" he said. "This is my command and you shall obey. You may wander the palace and its gardens but you may not leave them."

Olekov went to speak but Tseun interrupted him and continued his decree in a calmer manner.

"Do not even try, Olekov. For you will be watched. From the very corners of your eyes, my informants will stand vigilant and never leave you. They will be like a shadow over your life and there they shall remain until I declare it otherwise. Such is my power over you."

Before more could be said, Tseun left the room and closed the door behind him. Outside, he heard a series of crashes. He didn't turn back, but hurried off again, to the throne room.

***

Lord Tseun entered the throne room and was immediately hit with a wall of sound. Voices. Many voices, all echoing and rabid with debate.

"It was clearly a failure of our Lord. He set that brute upon the Yan clan!"

"Silence, you fool. The Lord is here!"

"What of the clan's lands? That infant lord cannot consolidate them. If we do not divide them between Yan's neighbours, the Dayani will surely muscle in on us."

"You say that as a neighbour, yourself. A blatant land grab!"

By then, Lord Tseun had reached his throne. He walked up the steps and stood, for a moment, beside his throne. He looked out over the bickering sword saints and could not help but worry: "How can such people be unified? How, when a small mishap almost causes war?"

And then, he said: "Silence!"

The room gradually quietened and all eyes drew to him. He sat down.

"What will become of Yan's territory, my lord?" the sword saint of The Dayisan Clan shouted.

"Hold your tongue, you ignoramus. Speak only when the lord permits you," Sword Saint Ang said. He stood, leaning casually against a pillar with his arms folded. As he spoke he cocked his chin to Sword Saint Dayisan and then rolled his eyes back to Tseun in anticipation for the Lord's address.

Tseun nodded. "Yan's death was an unfortunate tragedy. I have taken measures to prevent such a thing from happening again. Relevant punishments are being doled out."

"Have you hanged the mad man?" Dayisan shouted again. The room erupted into a debate. Ang rolled his eyes. Tseun stood up.

"I'll hand you all if you don't be silent!" he shouted. They obeyed. "But," he went on, "I have not summoned you here to discuss Yan's death, as tragic as it is. No, I have come to speak on my recent visit to Cigallo and the Imperial Diet."

The court stirred and the sword saints began to murmur amongst themselves.

"But since you deem it a pressing matter, Sword Saint Dayisan, The Yan territory will be held by the late sword saint's son, under the stewardship of his mother, and both of them shall be under my protection.

"Now, the Imperial Diet. A coalition has been secured. The Temrisian delegate has been elected as chief lord and has called upon us to rally against the usurper, Gong, and so restore Imperial order once and for all."

The court stirred once again, doubt was in the air.

"I was close to becoming Chief Lord, only beaten by those who would view our realm as a backwater region and so voted for a bureaucrat. Oh how mistaken they are! Tangwen, alone, outnumbers, out guns, and out classes the usurper at every turn. Victory is assured and I have vowed to ride to attain it. Let us prove these weaklings - those who've doubted our warriors, those who've doubted you're right to rule - let us prove them wrong and wage a good war, let us carve the name of Tangwen into the very fabric of our empire so that we will be remembered forever more! Who will ride with me?"

For a few moments the court was quiet.

"I will go," Sword Saint Ang said. "I will go, and all of you who doubt are surely cowards." He turned to the court, "Your Lord promises victory. Do you want to stay at home? Stay safe in your forts and your palaces? Are you so unfit for your titles? Stand up now and declare your loyalty. Declare your willingness to fight for your lord and empire. Prove your worth on the field of battle as our forefathers once did."

By the end of the session, all of the Tangwen clans had vowed to provide men for Lord Tseun's army, and to march, with him, upon Nhasa.

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