Inverse Earth II

[reformer]

Go for it. . .

[DuQuense]

Cabelloe Port.*
Captain Ahriman Perseus watched as the Cargo was loaded several large Wheels* *of Cheese , Yellow and White. Plus two small Wheels of Blue, and one of Limburger.

With good Winds he would be back in Rio-Dzil it time for Race Day***, and with a fine Cargo.

*There is only one permanent town in the Country—Cabelloe Port
** large wheels are 1000 pounds, Small Wheels are 250 pounds
***Think Carni'val

[Lauranthalas]

Captain Maraki stands in front of his small ship. He looks to the horizon seeing the sun go dark from all the clouds. The wind is blowing towards the mainland in the west. "There is no chance to come home today before the storm arrives" he thinks and gives order to sail towards Barbarian territories.
Later that day they arive at the shores just half an hour before the storm broke out. It was a horrible storm. If they were on the water they all would have died. He thought about the other ships that were out and hoped they didn't loose any. THen he fell asleep and when he awoke the next morning the sky was as blue as mostly. Nothing but his wet clothing reminded at the storm. He sent some of his men to hunt some animals for breakfast and aftrewards they left the forsts on their way home. It was time for it. He did not attend to stay away for so long.

[G.Bone]

Henrik scanned the beach. It was pristine. It was very nice to look at.

A total waste of space. He turned around and walked back to his cart. Hasti was just standing there, nibbling on some grass.

Henrik brushed the side of Hasti's neck. Hasti looked up. Henrik went around and got on the cart. Hasti reared towards the inland areas. He took a step forward. The cart moved.

The land was barren. The land was covered with the long bladed grass that melted into the pristine shores. It was all so picturesque. It was all so clean.

It was all too warm. There were some bumps as the cart got back on the road. There wasn't much noise in the rear of the cart. Everything had been strapped down. The canvas helped.

There was always something so desolate about the inland plain. You could hear yourself think. There would only be the wind and the sea. Now and then there would be a seagull. Everything was so...natural...about the land.

Henrik started whistle. The road snaked down the plain to a distant spot on the horizon. It simply stood there, a stick in the mud, just sitting there in the middle of a vast plain.

There was just one stop. Henrik took a look at the seagull. The land would be different from there. It would be nice to see all the towns and villages across the land. It would look so nice.

Henrik hopped in his chair. That was a bump. Hasti he-hawed at the sand. There was something so natural about the accursed hills on the road.

[Psychomeltdown]

The single note of the eagle bone flute played out over the packed but silent square. The haunting note continued to play, a soaring sound that echoed across the marble and limestone that lined the large square.

Thousands of helmeted faces all turned east as the final note played, a sudden sharp crack of sound as the gathered moved with a cooridinated movement. A slight breeze played across the square, gently waving feathered helms, tassled swords, and ribbons tied to armor and chainmail.

To the east the sun began to rise, along with it long wisps of red smoke, After a moment a huge fire exploded to life upon the top of a huge step pyramid, a thick cloud of red smoke pouring off of it.

As one, swords, spears, bows, pikes, axes, and other weapons were raised as the smoke rised straight into the suddenly still dawn. The sunlight passing through the red smoke bathed the square in a red hue, making the gathered men seemed to be covered in blood.

Four heavy beats upon a drum brought an end to the erie silence. The sounds of men moving, leather creaking, metal scraping, hobnails clacking, filled the square as the armored men began to file out. In minutes the thousnads that had gathered were gone, except for a lone man sitting upon a chair made of slender wood and cloth, puffing contently upon a long stemmed pipe.

A shaven headed woman, dressed in red robes and sandles quietly walked up to him, she bowed before him and sat upon a small mat resting beside his chiar. She was silent, watching as the red smoke continued to rise, becoming difused as a breeze began to break it up and the sun rising over the tops of buildings.

"it went well." She suddenly said.

The man nodded, puffing on his pipe. "That it did. Then again the Sun God has always favored us in war."

The woman was silent, continuing to watch the shadows in the square retreat from the morning light. "We serve the Sun God." Was all she said.

The man nodded. "And we will bring all nations to their knees and sacrifice an ocean of blood to the Sun God."

The woman bowed her head in agreement, touching her heart, lips, and forehead.

[reformer]

Mr. Clayton stared to the east in distain. The Dzil-Naa, once almost destroyed had rebuilt, and grown again. It was the duty of the order, the purpose of exsistance for it to end such an exspansion.

According to cult myth, the only way to bring stability and order back into the land was for all stability to once again colapse, as it did in the days of old. Three hundred years ago. But when the fires of caos once again depart, the world would flurish in a new golden age, with the old islands restored to their former glory.

To this purpose, Mr. Clayton was seting forth his plan. A simple strategy which would overthrow everything. It would spread to every corner of the globe. But it would start . . . with the Dzil-Naa.

[Diamond]

Lionwood Forest, northeastern Marraro

Prince Rand crouched deep within a leafy thicket near a small clearing, his hunting bow cradled loosely in his hands. He was so still that two deer, a doe and her fawn, passed within fifteen feet of him without more than an ear-twitch.

Around him, spread out in a wide circle, his hunting companions waited for their prince to make his move. Rand tracked the deer, his eyes the only thing moving. As the animals passed through the clearing, the prince began to raise his bow with glacial stillness. Just a few seconds more, he thought.

And then the stag appeared. It was a magnificent creature, nearly seven feet high at the shoulder, with a rack of antlers wider than Rand was tall. As Rand prepared to shoot, drawing the three-foot hunting arrow back to full extension, a twig cracked sharply somewhere off to his right. The stag's head came up, and the animal tensed.

Just as the stag leaped, it's muscles bunching like coiled springs, Rand let fly. The arrow shot from bow to animal in less than a heartbeat, catching it in mid-leap. The arrow sank deep behind its left foreleg, behind the ribs, and split its heart, killing it instantly.

Rand slowly stood, wiping sweat from his brow and listening to the flight of the remaining deer. He was a tall man in his late twenties, with deeply tanned skin, lively brown eyes, and long black hair pulled back in the Marraran fashion. But where common folk bound their pony-tail with leather and copper twists, Rand's was encircled in silver and precious stones. Taking a small cloth from his belt, he wiped off the mud that he'd rubbed on his tail to obscure it's glitter and keep it from alerting his prey.

As the prince cleaned his hair, an older man with massively muscled arms made his way over. Rand waved and grinned. "A good kill, eh, Paar?"

The big man didn't return the grin. "Would've been a perfect kill if not for this dirt-lover." He dragged a smaller man, one of the local peasantry they'd hired to act as brush-beaters to help drive prey out.

The smaller man twisted uncomfortably, his collar clenched in Paar's meaty grasp. As he struggled, a small pendant dropped from his woolen tunic. It was an iron triangle, unadorned and plain, hanging from a leather cord.

"I knew it!" Paar grunted, catching sight of the pendant. "See? What did I tell you - he's a Shadian dirt-lover."

Rand sighed. The Shadians were a local ethnicity here in the north, one which dated back even before the Old Nations. They practiced a heathen religion honoring earth and tree spirits, and their symbol was the triangle, symbolizing birth-death-rebirth. The prince, like most other good citizens of Marraro, had been raised to venerate Aios, the Sun-God.*

The other peasants, along with the hunters, shifted uncomfortably and busied themselves with minor tasks, staying well clear of the confrontation. Most Aiosians were content to let the Shadians live and let live, but some, like Paar Val, the Royal Huntmaster, had... a lesser tolerance. It was said that his sister and her family had been killed long ago by Shadian bandits.

"Let him go, Paar," Rand said, smiling at the peasant.

"But my Prince--"

"Now, Huntmaster."

Paar heard the chill in Rand's voice and sullenly dropped the small man, who scurried away, rubbing his neck and scowling blackly at the Huntmaster.

"You see how he glares at me, Rand?" Paar said. "He's probably already plotting to kill me in my sleep. Bloody Shadian savage--"

"That is quite enough." Rand said softly, and Paar's mouth snapped shut like a trap.

The prince helped the peasant to his feet. "What is your name, seir?" The other man goggled, amazed that the ruler of the nation would use the ancient honorific to address him.

"Uh... my name is Extu, my prince. And I didn't mean to break that twig!" he said defiantly, glaring once more at Paar.

"No harm done, Extu," said Rand. "It's a fine animal; come, we'll butcher it here, and you can take a portion back to your family as payment for a job well done today."

Extu's expression grew even more wondering. Shadians were expressly forbidden from hunting within Marraro's borders, and fresh meat was a rare thing on a Shadian's dinner table.

Paar Val threw up his hands in disbelief and stalked away to prepare for the return to the hunting lodge.

______________________
*Aios: The religion traces its roots back to the Aiodillan and Tarkosian sun-worship of centuries before.

[G.Bone]

Excerpt from the Appedices (II), Karian Codex
130 After Foundation

....not concern ourselves with what the Gardi* think. They had years to come up with a decent sort of government and they didn't. They didn't even build roads.

Therefore it should be prudent to the Karinians to help educate the Gardi about the ideals and concepts of government. We should not exert total control over them for it would be wastefull of resources. Roads are key. Towns are key. From there we can place commercial control. Economics is the base for good government.

(...)

...not deviate from the usual standard. This means a basic fort and a market place. Within the fort would lie a barracks, mess hall, and temple. From there the surrounding buildings can be built. Although the size of the town may deviate according to the resources, there should be ample amount of room given the connection it will have with other forts. It is this connection that will make the Karian State large and never more in the shadow of the Gardi*.

---------
*(Ze)gardi

[reformer]

It would start as a small action, merely a gesture. Noticible, but only barily.

The man was a Dzill-Naa priest. A younger one, but an influential priest rising in prominence. Bassically a hotshot.

His assasination was simple enough. Ambush. Carved into his neck was the cults symbol.

The next day, once again a messanger asked the Dzil-Naa to recognsider their offer, to avoide more, how to put it, unpleasantness.

[G.Bone]

There was three bodies hanging in the wind. They were strung up. They had postcards. Further down the road were pieces of bodies in closed cages. Then there was the town.

Henrik sighed. It was the same but different. There were more militia in the coastal cities. The Plainer Folk were banding. They were rising. They were swining.

A couple of the militia men waved to Henrik. He waved back. It was a comfort to see the familiar green tunics of his native land. Then there were their pikes and axes. It was a welcome sight.

Henri swayed towards another mule that was tied up to a post. Henrik pulled him away. The market was more crowded today. There were carts of every size and shape.

The house of object lay three doors down from the tavern. It had no fancy sign. It had not even gilded drawings on it's door frame. All that it stood was a picture of an open hand, crossed with two axes.

Henrik steered Henri to the post near the boardwalk. He got down and tied Henri to the post. He then went back to his cart and took something out from it.

It was a few minutes later when he crossed into the threshold of the building. The interior had not changed. There were the racks with various blades nestled in perfect order. There were were even some spindels with bowstring wrapped around it.

The keeper looked up.

"Henrik" he said.

Henrik nodded in respect. He walked up to the table and placed the blade on the table. The keeper picked it up, turning it around in his large sweaty hands, and looking down on it as if it were a diamond.

"Good size. Do you have anything else?" he asked, placing the blade down on to the counter. The keeper hadn't aged much. There were new wrinkles and new scars but he was the same.

"A couple of pike-heads, shafts, and spear-heads." Henrik replied, noticing some militia men march a plainer folk to the gallows.

The keeper noticed his stare. He shook his head. He clicked his tongue.

"Some yazbpa thought it would be keen to reply to a Norder*. A whole group was found. He's the last" the keeper replied.

Henrik sighed.
---------
*Greenwood Tongue for "Lenton native"

[Psychomeltdown]

Dzin-nal
Tanchii River
Dzin-nal Expeditionary Force

Hazikan considered himself a student of history. Not the usual religious history that one, especially a Soldier, was expected to know, but the actual history of the People.

Centuries ago the Dzin-nal controlled a vast empire that held millions. A glorious strong empire that fell apart from greed, infighting, and barbarian hordes fleeing southward. The Tanchii River and the Lake Regions, as they were called, had held vast cities and great peoples. it was a center of trade and knowledge, the River leading to the great Shashin-shii Bay and to the great world beyond.

Now as Hazikan looked down at the slowly winding Tanchii River he found it hard to believe that the old histories. The vast cities had been razed by the Barbarian Seehdiin and the people slaughtered as the hordes of barbarians from the great Deserts of the East descended upon the lands of the Middle Land.

The Northern Barbarians were never able to really recover from that. Those that survived were scattered to the wind, small groups huddling in mountians, forests, losing all knowledge of what it meant to be civilized. The land had gone to barbarians and small bands of hunters, but over the last century they had been rebuilding. Reclaiming lost cities and once again reaching out to other lands via the Tanchii River.

The Dzin-nal had not been scattered to the wind, but they had had no easier time of rebuilding, their people ravaged, their Holy Cities destroyed, but the heart and the will remained. They had rebuilt, they had fended off the other city states that had moved to crush their old rulers, and now after centuries a reemergence was at hand.

It was for that reason that Hazikan stood upon the banks of the Tanchii River.

Behind him a city was burning. The raging fire that engulfed the city brightened the eastern sky, making a false dawn that confused a few birds and illuminated the Tanchii River for Hazikan who watched a fleet of small boats heading down river.

Behind him he heard a noise. The soft footsteps of a man who'd stood by his side all his life. Hazikan continued to watch the small fleet of boats, noticing the pale faces that occasionally turned back and watched the city burn. He wondered how long it would be before they dumped their cargo.

"We have the final tally, sir." Zhinya said. Hazikan nodded. "Five hundred and seventy women and children captured. We have twenty three dead, forty two wounded, seven who won't see dawn. We've reloaded up on supplies and what loot there was, we'll be prepared to move in a few hours."

Hazikan nodded, not surprised by Zhinya's efficiency. Twenty three years they had served together and not once had he let him down.

"Good." Hazikan said, turning away from the river. "We'll settle in for a few days, give the men a break and send word back home that we have won a great victory. Send back the wounded and the captured. For now we'll see what the Barbs make of our diplomacy."

Zhinya nodded, watching the boats. "They are weak and they will tremble and roll over to the might of the Dzin-nal."

Hazikan nodded, glancing back toward the boats fading in the nighttime gloom. Seventeen boats, all filled to the brim with the head and body parts of every man who dwelled in the city. The Sun Emperor's diplomacy to Barbarians, people less than human.

"If not. Then it shall be a hell of a fight." Hazikan grinned savagely.

[Psychomeltdown]

Dzin-nal
Western Diyiinmaz
General Nigan

General Nigan was the son of a Trader. His father had once owned a large fleet of trading ships that had prowled the Diyiinmaz and traded Dzin-nal iron and ceramics for goods from other city states and lands beyond the Great Valley. They had prospered, until the war with the Southern Cities. The fierce Trade War that had turned the Diyiinmaz red with the blood of traders and sailors from all the cities that bordered the Diyiinmaz.

Three years of bloody war had destroyed all his father had built, along with his life and the lives of Nigan's three older brothers. The Southern Cities, an alliance of city states, had finally called for peace. The war had been bloody on both sides, the Dzin-nal never a people who looked to water and for the Southern Cities who relied heavily upon trade for their survival.

As always the Dzin-nal were bloodied, but they were not defeated. They had been shown a weakness and they prepared to rectify that weakness. Now a nearly two decades since that war, Dzin-nal ships prowled the Diyiinmaz and ruled it's waters. The Diyiinmaz that was the road upon which all wealth flowed.

As a son of a trader and now a General in the Dzin-nal Armies, Nigan knew that money and military might went hand in hand. Gold and silver were the blood that made the Dzin-nal military move, it was what kept the Holy City clean and gleaming, it is what made them strong. But it was not something that was taught in the religious schools he had grown up in. There spirit and dedication were expounded, faith in the Sun Emperor and the Sun God.

The pale moon gleamed off the near still waters of the Diyiinmaz. The lake was always nearly still, only when storms came and strong winds did the waters move. But now the night was quiet, beyond the creaking of wood and the dipping noises of oars in the water.

Nigan stood and watched as the distant western lights gleam.

Gold and silver made the Dzin-nal strong. Gold flowed upon the Diyiinmaz and the rivers leading from it, the Tanchii and the Toliin. The barbarians lived upon the Tanchii, naked savages and weaklings. The Western Cities thrived upon the Toliin River. Fat, rich, and lazy.

Nigan turned and looked behind him, he could almost make out the ships that made up the fleet. Scores of vessels, brimmed with soldiers and the supplies. Two armies strong, all under his command.

Nigan looked back to the distant western lights and smiled savagely.

[reformer]

I'm dissapointed Phsyco, I was hoping for SOME kind of response. . .