《The Rise of the Red Ruler》 Traibel Marshgraves The Royal Zachariyan Academy, a grand edifice to power, skill and ambition. Built in the shape of a pentagon, enclosing 2 square kilometers of classrooms, barracks, and practice fields it give the impression of great wealth, and unstoppable strength. The walls are 50 meters tall, and half as thick. At every point of the pentagon is a tower, each of which flies the Zachariyan flag; A gray axe over a green field. With one main gate, all traffic in and out of the academy can be viewed from the top of the wall over the gate. Standing in this spot are two people; a young woman with flaming red hair and a lithe build, and a young man also with vibrant red hair, and a wiry build. Both seem to possess a force of character, a natural arrogance and power most associate with kings and nobles. In fact, the two were Razza Zachar and Geffe Zachar, first princess and second prince of the kingdom of Zachariya. As the two stood silently, they watched as a horde of people lined up before the gates, awaiting entry. "How many do you think, Geffe? There are so many, and it is not even dawn." asked Razza. Her voice was strong but lovely, as though a wind had blown through a rose bush and translated the scent into sound. "Certainly over 2 thousand, maybe double that." replied her brother in a strong, arrogant tone. Their hair aside, the two did not bear much resemblance. They shared their father''s dark green eyes, pale skin, thin brows and sharp chins, but that was where the similarities ended. Razza was average height, surely no more than five and a half feet, and was petite in all areas. Her hair was long, coming nearly to her waist, and was straight as an arrow. She had a light dusting of freckles over the top of her nose, and had been described as cute, adorable, and precious. (Of course, never to her face.) In contrast, despite his wiry build Geffe was heavy, about six feet, and had rather heavy features framed by his military short hair. Also in contrast was their attire and carriage. Geffe was dressed in a gray button down military coat with ruby highlights, with gray military slacks and black polished boots. He stood ramrod straight, and held his chin slightly in the air. Razza on the other hand was dressed in a deep red dress that came down to her knees, with black highlights and tight sleeves that encased her arms to the wrist. It was cut at the breastbone, providing just a hint at the creamy white skin beneath. However, even this was partially hidden by a black silk scarf. She wore Knee high black boots, and had red/black stockings on above that. She leaned on the battlements, tilting her head as she stared out over the crowd. "Why do they come? Surely they know that almost all of them will be turned back before even the second stage?" again Razza questioned her brother. "Perhaps they hope that they will be lucky, or perhaps they truly believe they have what it takes to enter. But in the end, the trash will be removed and all that will be left will be those with skill." Again Geffe responded with an arrogant tone, as he stared down his nose into the crowd. To the east, on the siblings left, a glow appeared on the horizon. Turning to face it, Geffe spoke, "It is dawn, sister. I need to return to my dorm to prepare for the new arrivals. I hope you will not begrudge me my departure, and my coming victory." Geffe turned with military precision and began to walk briskly towards the wooden door leading off the ramparts. "Geffe. Don''t count your hens before they hatch. You might find a fox has eaten a few." responded Razza in a deadly calm tone. With the sun to her right, her face was hidden in shadow. Geffe couldn''t help but shiver slightly, but shook it off and pulled the door open and left. Razza turned back to the ramparts edge and looked out over the crowd. "I wonder... Are any of you worth my attention?" said the young woman, an arrogant smile set on her lips. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In front of the academy''s door, the crowd was being formed into three lines, shepherded by armed guards and pages. At the head of each line was an instructor from the academy. On the left was the first-year mage trainer Mali Stwarz, on the right was the first-year tactics instructor George Lazzer. And in the center was the third-year combat instructor Malik Hizzer. Malik was known for being a harsh man, and had no pity for new applicants. As such, his line was significantly shorter than the others, and he was looking forward to finishing up and getting a hot meal. "Alright, first applicant step forward!" He barked in a harsh, booming voice. The first potential student that stepped forward was a young man, clearly a noble from his apparel. While the boy appeared to be in good shape, he was dwarfed by the combat instructors bulging muscles, impressive six-and-a-half foot height, and cold stare. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work."Name?" asked the instructor. "My name is Rudalphus Calceus Roke, son of--" began the young nobleman in a pompous tone. "Shut up. I don''t give a damn who''s son you are, inside the academy we don''t care about pedigree." Barked Malik. "Now, if you want to enter you need to do one thing. You need to tell me why I should allow you to pass." Rudalphus was visibly shocked by the way he was being spoken too, having never recieved such treatment before in his life. However, he quickly gathered himself and proudly stated, "I am a close friend of the first prince, and I am widely recognized as a masterful swordsman. I have decided to attend this academy to--" Again he began to prattle, and again he was interrupted. "Nowhere near good enough. Denied. Try again next year. Next!" called Malik as he gestured for the nobleman to be lead away. As the arrogant brat was dragged off, yelling and cursing, another young man stepped forward to take his place. This one was clearly not a nobleman. He wore a sage green tunic with a black belt, and wore black trousers and well-worn traveling boots. On his left shoulder hung a large rucksack, and strapped across his back was a long object wrapped in black. on his belt, on the left side, hung a sword. And on his head sat a simple peasant''s straw hat. "Ahhh? and why should I let you enter, boy? You don''t look like much." asked Malik, looking the boy up and down. The boy looked to be about six feet even, and was clearly very fit. But that could be said for over half the hopeful applicants around him. The boy reached up and tilted the brim of his hat back, revealing a handsome face with high cheekbones, thick brows, delicate nose, and slate gray eyes, The youth had lips of medium thickness, with a single scar on the right side cutting down from his eye through his lips to the tip of his chin. The boy spoke in a flat, serious tone. "My name is Traibel Marshgraves. You''ll want to admit me, because if not I''ll kill you and everyone nearby, and then insinuate that YOU attacked ME. Of course, you won''t believe me, but I mean this none-the-less." The youth named Traibel issued this threat in a voice that never sped up, never got louder, it was a voice that conveyed complete seriousness and competency. As he spoke, his left hand tapped on a small black pouch secured to his belt. "You little brat! Where do you get off talking like that!?! You two, get this fucker out of here!" exclaimed Malik, anger twisting his expression. Where did this brat think he was, talking to him like that? Well, there was no way he was ever getting in. He, Malik, would make sure the other instructors didn''t admit the brat either. Malik turned away from Traibel, dismissing him, and prepared to call the next applicant forward. Following Malik''s orders, the two armed and armored guards stepped forward and each reached for one of Traibel''s arms. As they made contact, the both experienced a sudden, fierce pain in their abdomen. Caught off guard, the two soldiers well to their knees, and began retching in pain. Startled by the noise, Malik turned around to see the two men down, and Traibel standing their in a relaxed stance. "If you wish me to go, you''ll need to make me go yourself, Mr. Third-year instructor Malik ''Rage-Blade'' Hizzer." Traibel called out, a mocking tone entering his voice. Malik froze in shock at hearing that name. It had been nearly a decade since ha had earned the name "Rage-Blade" from the late Jurian Emperor. Nobody should have known it... "Who are you?" questioned Malik in a dangerously calm tone, placing one hand on his sword. "How do you know that name?" Traibel now had a full-blown grin on his face as he drew the sword at his waist. It was a saber, about three feet long. But this was a strange blade. It curved like a normal saber, but it curved forwards instead of backwards, and it grew thicker the closer to the tip it got befor narrowing to a sharp point. "I wonder, How do I know that name? Maybe I came from Jurias? Maybe I''m a challenger that heard old tales of your glory days. Or maybe I''m simply here to enter the school, and I recognized you from tales my mother told me. Beat me, and maybe I''ll tell you. Of course, If I win, I want something." Hearing this, Malik narrowed his eyes. "What are you after, you brat?" "I will only answer if you beat me. But, I don''t think you will. You see, you may be an incredibly skilled veteran, but I''m better." Responded Traibel, his smile falling away as he launched himself across the ten feet separating the two in a heartbeat. As Malik prepared to intercept the attack, and the crowd surged back from the two men, Razza watched from the ramparts above. "Haha, I wonder... What will you show me, I wonder?" chuckled Razza. And so the curtain lifted on a play of darkness they would change the world. The Mage and The Hunter "well, shit." Traibel coughed, staggering to his feet. Looking around, he found himself in a crater embedded in the ground, surrounded by swirling dust clouds. What happened? he thought, looking around for his sword. The last thing Traibel could clearly remember was clashing with Malik, and he had felt he was getting the better of the older man. Seeing a glint of metal in the dust, Traibel stumbled over, feeling very off-balance as he did so. As he got closer, he saw that it was his saber, embedded in the ground tip first. That''s gonna be a bitch to repair. groaned Traibel inwardly as he pulled the sword from the ground, stumbling as he did so. And WHAT is wrong with my balance?! He demanded to himself, nearly face-planting as he began to stumble through the dust. Thinking back, Traibel tried to recall what exactly had led to him being hit with a meteor, or something similar in size... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- As the crowd surged back filling the air with shouts and gasps, Traibel landed before Malik, bringing his curved saber down with shocking force. Malik blocked, angling his own straight sword as to force Traibel to turn with his momentum. As Traibel twisted, Malik brought his blade around in a hack aimed at Traibel''s exposed side. But Traibel, showing speed that could barely be seen, twisted fully around to interpose his blade between Malik and his own vital, all to choppable, bits. "Wow, you Are serious!" Exclaimed Traibel, darting his left hand forward in a jab that Malik caught. Twisting Traibel''s arm, Malik brought his blade around like a windmill, aiming to disarm Traibel. Literally. Turning with his arm, Traibel kicked at Malik''s arm, the one holding his, aiming at the elbow joint. Hitting it forced Malik to let go, allowing Traibel to spring back, all his pieces still attached. Even as his feet were hitting the ground, Traibel swung his blade in a tight arc upwards, driving back Malik who had charged forward to keep the pressure up. As the two continued to exchange strikes, the soldiers who had been attending the examiners gathered in a group at the edge of the massive crowd that surrounded the two fighters. "Sir!" barked one soldier, his upper face covered by the visor-like helmet of the Zachar Home guard. "Should we attempt to subdue the attacker, Sir?" An older soldier, his face uncovered, let out a short laugh. "Ha! You want to get in-between those two, be my guest. Malik alone is worth two squadrons of our best soldiers, and He''s fifty years old! This other guy, I don''t know who he is, but he''s younger and still keeping up with our best champion!" Another soldier spoke up, his face hidden as well, but clearly younger than the others by his lack of stubble and higher voice. "But, Malik WILL win, right? Sir?" The older soldier sighed, and ran a hand down his stubbled face. "I don''t know. Ten years ago, I would have said certainly. I''ve fought beside Malik, in the border wars with Marchibald, and I''ve sen him do the impossible. But I''ve also seen him slow down. Age gets all of us, you, me, even ''Malik the Monster.''" Shaking his head, the soldier tightened his grip on his sword handle, and drew the blade. "For now, make sure that the crowd stays back. If anyone tries to get close, stop them, even if you have to use force. It''ll be easier to justify some roughed up peasants, rather than some chopped-up peasants." As the troops spread out to follow orders, the older soldier looked back to the flurry of blades that was Malik and the unknown assailant. "Just how much of a monster is this man, to fight on even terms with a man with a lifetime of fighting experience?" He muttered, an uneasy feeling in his chest. Turning from the fight, the old soldier moved to help hold the crowd back. Meanwhile, Traibel and Malik were still exchanging blows, but while Malik was visibly tiring and had some cuts and bruises, Traibel appeared fresh and untouched. He wasn''t even breathing hard, Malik noticed, feeling the same sense of despair he had felt every time his joints popped as he got out of bed. There really is no reversing time, huh? he thought bitterly, springing back from Traibel to try and catch his breath. Traibel, on the other hand, was impressed. Interesting. At his age, most fighting men are too stiff to move, or have lready retired. Yet here he is, doing his best to divorce my head and neck. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation."I am honored to have fought with you, Ser Hizzer. Truly, no man your age, nor even a man ten years younger, could claim to possess the skills you do. But I''m afraid the time to end this has come. Don''t begrudge me my victory, alright?" Called Traibel, smirk in place and sword in hand. Taking a new stance, saber held loosely in his right hand, Traibel folded his left hand over his heart and began a low, incomprehensible chant. Malik felt a shiver roll down his spine at that. What ever the brat was doing couldn''t be good. He would never admit it, but Malik was hard-pressed to even match Traibel at this point, let alone overwhelm him. If Traibel used magic, or some other combat technique, Malik was sure he would not be able to stand against him much longer. Quickly drawing upon his mana reserves, already depleted from using "Rock-Skin" to block Traibel''s blows, Malik began throwing up the best personal shield he could create on short notice. So, he''s trying to shield himself? Not a bad idea, if he doesn''t know what I"m planning. Thought Traibel continuing his chant. Focusing his attention on Malik, Traibel finished his chant and prepared to attack, when a flicker of power licked at him. Recognizing the signs of a spell, Traibel instantly shifted his focus, looking for killing intent or any other sign of attack. He found it in abundance. Feeling enough killing intent to bring down a house, Traibel made the split-second decision to fuck off and try to save his ass, rather than continuing to attack Malik. Yet even as he turned and began to run, he felt the unknown attack closing in on him. With mere seconds left to him, Traibel uttered what could possibly have been his last words. "I really hate mages." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pausing in his drunken stumbling, Traibel realized something was missing from the world around him. Kicking a chunk of rock blown from the ground, Traibel figured it out- Sound. "Damn, must have blown my ears out." He groaned, resuming his stumble in the direction he remembered the walls had been. As he stumbled along, he considered just how skillful the unknown mage would have to be. To not only cast such a powerful spell, but to redirect such a spell after it had already been cast spoke of skills beyond the norm. Traibel wanted to finish his match with Malik, but he knew that trying to go toe-to-toe with the more experienced older man would be suicide now, what with his ears blown and his balance gone. And what was worse, he couldn''t even ambush the man because he had a damn mage on over-watch! Traibel knew the mage had to be high up, because that was the only way they could have seen the fight with enough accuracy to keep targeting Traibel even after he moved. Cursing the mage internally in as many ways as he knew how, Traibel finally saw a massive shadow rising in the dust before him. Reaching the base of the wall, Traibel knelt and placed a hand against it. From this close, he could see that it was made of large blocks of some dark stone, held in place by mortar. The spacing between the rocks was as wide as a large thumb, and Traibel had to wonder just how much work had gone into making so much mortar. Shaking the useless thoughts from his head, Traibel looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of any threats in the noticeably thinner dust. Seeing none, he sheathed his saber and tightened the straps on his luggage. Standing to his full height, he turned to the wall and folded his hands over his chest, reaching out with his will towards the life force in his core- his Chi. Drawing on his chi, Traibel spoke quickly "Shad-Es-Conce," and flashed his hands outwards. Almost as though a god had reached down and plucked him up, Traibel seemed to vanish. And the dust, like water filling a void, rushed in, filling the spot where Traibel could previously have been seen. Having concealed himself, Traibel drew more heavily on his Chi and focused his will on his fingers. Reaching up, he placed his right hand against a line of mortar above his head. Tensing his fingers slightly, Traibel drove them into the mortar, almost as if it were dry sand, yet when he put more weight on his hand it only moved down to the edge of the rock below it before stopping. Mirroring the action with his left hand, Traibel braced his boots against the wall and began to climb. Traibels face was as still as a mask. A mask showing death. "Just wait right where you are mage. I''m coming to have a little chat with you." Intermission Before reading any farther, know this: I don''t write happy stories. I don''t write cheerful stories where the good guy gets the good girl, the bad guys are punished and all the characters you love go home for dinner. I don''t write like that. My stories take place in a fantasy setting, and contain more than a fair share of my off-brand humor, but people will die. Maybe a character you love dies, maybe one you hate dies, I don''t know nor do I care. I am not just putting pen to paper here, but rather am creating a living breathing world that will keep turning, even if the character you "Love so much, because he/she is cool and kind," does die. Now, being on this site means most of you will already expect a level of this, but I just wanted to make my intentions clear before I continued posting. As for posting, I know I''ve been pretty slow and inconsistent up until now. I''ve been dealing with some personal stuff, but I''m past it now and a regular release schedule is starting to take shape. Later tonight, I''ll be posting a medium to short-length post about the world, Himeachea, and the factors and kingdoms at play. I will also be explaining this stuff throughout the story, but it will come slower and in context. If you want to have a basic lay of the land, and want to know what some of the references the characters make, and some of the conversations as well, read it. But, if you prefer to find this stuff out via traditional story telling you can safely skip it and wait for the story line to reveal it. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.Well, that''s about it. I don''t like interrupting the flow of the story, so I''ll try to refrain from many more posts like this in the future, unless it directly involves you folks- My readers. Again, sorry for the slow releases, that will change within a few days. I''m going for a three-a-week set up, if I can swing it. And thank you, to everyone who took some time to check out the beginnings of my world, even if it wasn''t to your taste. -BSTR Himeachea- The People, Places and Powers The world of Himeachea, a beautiful and idyllic world when seen from a god¡¯s eye. A marble of azure blue seas, verdant green lands, and pale caps of ice and stone. Beautiful, almost as if it had been crafted by an ethereal hand, guided by an omniscient eye. In reality, it was created by thirty-four such eyes. Before this world, and before those that inhabit it, there were Gods. Seventeen beings of unimaginable power, unmatched strength, and bottomless wisdom, these gods existed in a state we mortals cannot comprehend. Each inhabited their own plane and so they were separate, yet aware of each other as all were omnipotent and all-knowing. For eons unknown, these beings existed in semi-solitude as only gods can without succumbing to loneliness and madness. And then, something changed. No one knows why, not even the gods themselves, but suddenly the gods changed. At first, it was just one, one who began reaching out to the other gods- To create something new. Perhaps the god had grown lonely; perhaps it had come to desire something more than the endless solitude and contemplation that was godhood at the time. I cannot say. What I can say is this; over the following eons other gods began to change as well. Now, to us this is an unbelievable length of time, but to the gods it was but a moment, a short period of yet more contemplation. And they changed, as a coal catches fire- Slowly, than all at once. Seventeen beings of un-explainable power and un-knowable desires came together, on one plane of existence. Each conferred with the rest, and for a time that was all. The gods all shifted to one plane and spoke, and that seemed change enough for the gods. But then, they changed again, as a group this time. Simultaneously, the seventeen beings converged on one place and did something that had never happened before- They created, weaving the very fabric of space and time to give birth to the aforementioned world, and the vast darkness that surrounds it. And again, the gods stopped. They had their beautiful world, and to it they added the flowers and grasses, the rivers and trees. But nothing Lived. The world was a centerpiece, pretty to look at but achieved nothing, caused nothing. It remained as such for millennia, with the incorporeal gods contemplating as before. But then, something new occurred. A god took independent action, and invested part of its power, part of its essence, into a creation- An animal. A living, breathing, Thinking being came into existence, one that had never existed before. The god was delighted by this, and called the other gods to it to show what it had made. The other gods were suitably impressed by this, for they had all grown bored with their endless contemplation. Creating their world had been the most exciting thing any of them could recall, and this new discovery, the ability to add life to their creation brought back the excitement. Soon, all the gods began experimenting, bringing forth new shapes and colors, filling the world with beasts and creatures that had never before existed. Many took on the corporeal form of the creation they most liked, giving the gods the first concrete form they had ever taken. And so the gods were pleased for a time. But, as always, something changed. One of the gods grew weary of the world the others had made, and desired to return to its solitary existence on its own plane. But, desiring to leave its mark on the world it reached deep into itself and tapped its very soul, adding animas to its final contribution to the verdant world before its departure, and unknowingly giving rise to our species, the Anduine. And unknowingly sowing the seeds of this world¡¯s trouble. ¨CHeimos Zashapo, ¡°On our Home¡± The Anduine and Society Anduine males average on five feet and a half in height, with the females averaging it five feet and a third or so. Do to the hardships of life in this age; the life expectancy for a man is around fifty years, while a woman stands near sixty on average. While skin shade, hair color and facial expression all vary from land to land, all Anduine are bipedal, with above average cranial cavities and opposing digits. Due to this, and their almost unique capability of speech, the Anduine have been the only species to build and thrive in communities and kingdoms. With a nominally patriarchal society, it is common to see male heads of house, and males in positions of power. This is not to say that females don¡¯t have their own fair share of rulers and authority figures as well, however. -Anonymous, ¡°Hearths and Hierarchies¡± The kingdoms of Himeachea In the past, there were fourteen kingdoms of note. After the majority of the world advanced past the tribal life-style, twelve Duchies of considerable power rose up across the continents, clashing and allying, trading and warring for centuries, until one became a true kingdom- The Duchy of Reame. Due to a series of political marriages and ¡°Unfortunate Accidents,¡± this Duchy swallowed up three others in quick succession, instantly making it the most powerful kingdom in existence. Following this, a decade-long series of wars and treaties saw this kingdom swallow up two more duchies, giving it control of nearly half the world¡¯s land, and the entire continent of Maris. Fearing this threat, the remaining duchies rapidly formed alliances and began taking steps to limit the power of the Reamen kingdom. Those duchies on the continent of Jurya, numbering three, quickly formed an alliance now called the Imperial Marches, so named because the duchies elected an emperor to serve in times of war. As the mountains of northern Jurya rang with pick-axes digging for iron and bronze, and the southern foothills echoed with the battle cries of training armies, the two duchies spread across the vast archipelago of the Middling Isles took a decidedly different approach. Instead of gathering under one ruler, they gathered under many. Forming a council composed of dozens of princes; these Islemen spent not their coin on war, but rather their favors. Gifting gold and supplies to those duchies that offered them advantageous deals, the Isles quickly formed into a collection of mini-kingdoms, each led by a merchant-prince, and loosely guided by the Council. Within another half-century, the Isles would become the greatest naval and trading power in the world. The Isles are also home to the largest information network in the world, as a prince is not decided by blood but by coin, and by collusion. It is not a mistake to say that intrigue and Islanders go hand in hand, more so than coin and conflict. While one kingdom united and geared for war, and another ruptured into dozens of Isle-states, on the final civilized continent of the world something even stranger took place- Three duchies entered into A Triumvirate. Bluya, the final continent, is naturally split by a channel running down the center of the rounded land, naturally dividing the land. To the north, the channel splits into two great rivers flowing east and west, effectively splitting the continent into three massive islands, each home to their own duchy. While acrossed the world, coin and sword and backroom dealings were used to unite the duchies, these three decided to wait, and simply entered into a loose triumvirate of alliances, promising aid in times of need and the like. And so, while the rest of the world forged ahead into time of war, these three duchies stayed at peace, yet their military suffered for it. For nearly a decade a cold-war raged between The Marches and The Reamen Kingdom, before it finally boiled over after a rash of assassination attempts on the Reamen royal family, killing the heir-apparent which in turn sparked a series of revenge killings on the Imperial electors and their families. (It should be noted here that Islemen were contracted out in both situations, and perhaps even by the same princes.) After the attacks, The Marches hired a massive fleet of barges from the Islanders to transport 25,000 soldiers across the sea, south to Maris. Unknown to the Imperials however, was the fact that the Reamen had paid the Islanders for any information regarding an attack. (The Islemen continue to do such things to this day. They will honor any treaty, but only to the word. Any loophole to be exploited will be.) Thanks to this, the 25,000 Imperials were faced with 30,000 entrenched Reamen soldiers when they marched inland from the barges. Having expected to have surprise in their favor, the Imperials were quickly slogged down into a months-long running battle, from the south-east tip of the continent where they had landed to avoid giving warning, to the extraction point on the north east tip, some four hundred miles north. Losing over a fifth of their number in just the first clash, the Imperials soon found themselves in a hell of forced marches at night, desperately fighting of ambushes, and facing starvation while their enemy easily replaced their lost men and filled their bellies with the summer¡¯s harvest. When the imperial army finally reached their escape, their dead numbered over ten thousand with another seven thousand in captivity. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. When the army returned home with only a third of its number, the empire shuddered at the losses. With public opinion firmly against the war, the Imperials felt no need to pursue any conflicts for the foreseeable future, what with their loss of man-power. But peace wasn¡¯t in the cards, for the empire OR the Reamen Kingdom. In the mountains that comprised the northern third of Jurya lived only a tenth of its populace, in the Chenyi region as it was called. In the ¡°Great Rout¡± as was to be called later, the son of a local hero was one of the captives taken. The Reamen offered to sell the captives back, but the empire was skint at this point, what with the costs of hiring the fleet and the cost of raising an army, and so it declined, assuming the prisoners would be treated honorably. However, the Reamen king decided to take drastic action in retribution for his son, the dead heir. He ordered the seven thousand captives to be ritually executed, as a blood debt for his son. This decision was immensely unpopular at home, but it sparked an even greater outcry from the Empire, as one might expect. The emperor, who had a cousin among the captured, immediately ordered a new army raised, and prepared to sally forth in vengeance. And the cycle of bloodshed nearly continued, were it not for two simultaneous uprisings. In the empire, the Chenyi rose up and seceded, declaring their mountains the Kingdom of Chenyi. Meanwhile, in Maris, two great families allied to overthrow the Reamen royal family- The house of Zachar and the house of Marchibeld. While the conflict in Chenyi quickly turned into a series of guerilla skirmishes, the situation in Maris exploded into a full war, culminating in the massacre and sacking of the royal city of Mathel, and the total execution of the Reamen bloodline. With the war over, house Zachar and house Marchibeld divided the continent between them, with Zachar getting two-thirds the land while Marchibeld got the lion¡¯s share of the trade ports. And so formed the kingdoms of Zachariya and Marchibeld, allies to this day. -Walthos E. Fontra ¡°Pre-modern Historia¡± ¡°There are three major religions in the world, all based upon the gods of creation and their diminished forms, The Sacred Beasts. 1. The Temple of Sea- Focuses on the belief that the sacred beasts that govern the oceans are the greatest The Temple of Land- The Temple of Sea, but for land based creatures. The Temple of Heaven-The Temple for air creatures. 2. The God-King worship, present in the Empire. It preaches that the Emperor is a blood descendant of the gods of creation. 3. The Allfather-Present in Bluyas, but spreading, this religion teaches that the gods of creation are but children of the one true god, the Allfather Other pagan religions are practiced by individuals, and tribal customs rule the northern Ice Barbarians.¡± -Excerpt from ¡°Silly beliefs, and where the idiots that started them live¡± Mana. An intangible substance that allows beings to influence the world around them, in a way described only as magic. No scholar, no summoned spirit can explain where mana originates from, or why only certain beings can wield it consciously. Even the Holy Beasts, beings of endless knowledge and power cannot explain where it stems from, only how to wield it. Mana is found within all things that have a soul, and is stored in what is widely referred to as a "Mana Pool" within the soul. But the amount of mana varies wildly from soul to soul, and only those with a large mana pool can even sense magic, let alone use it. This means, that even in a world of billions of souls, not even 15% can effectively wield mana. And even among those mages, only a fraction can wield truly world-ending powers. Those few that can use it to rain fire from the sky, or summon windstorms to shred their enemies, are called Battle-Mages, and are highly valued for their services. Those skilled in the healing arts are paid a princely sum to be Royal retainers, and those who excel in the arts of killing are promised the world in exchange for their prowess on the killing fields. Almost universally, mages have been courted by kings and queens as well as lesser nobles, marrying magic and nobility, privilege and power. Due to this treatment, mages have grown from a quiet, dangerous minority to a loud, powerful and dangerous minority. Many mages come from a noble family, and as magery tends to run in bloodlines, very few mages are born commoners these days and even those who are born common often earn a nobility for their family through their services. As such, the title "Mage" is synonymous with "Noble," and vice-versa. That is not to say, however, that those mana-sensitives that are not mages aren''t dangerous as well. Even without the ability to cast world-ending spells, they can still make use of the mana through self-fortifying techniques, such as hardening their skin and quickening their reflexes. Many mana-sensitives find work as bodyguards or soldiers, and most thrive in such action-oriented positions. These sensitives are referred to as "Mage-Knights," even though many are not actually knighted. Mage knights are sought-after partners for powerful mages, who are not in the line of succession, if there are no true mages available for marriage. And despite their awesome power, not even Battle-Mages are invincible. Drawing on mana so heavily often overtaxes the body, leaving the mage frail and tired after using magic. This makes Mage-Knights incredibly valued as bodyguards and as retainers, as using their limited mana does not tire them. Much the opposite, in fact. There are also rumors of a group of people, known only as Mage-Hunters, who are said to be a mage¡¯s natural enemy. They are said to be unable to use mana, and yet are able to track those who can. They are said to be invincible monsters, which drink the blood of slain mages, and feast on rotting fleash. Stories, I am sure. Tales to frighten rebellious magelings, who tend to cause trouble when they first discover their talent. There are some facts to be found, however. There is an organization that tracks mages and other people of note, and it is said to be based in the Isles. They are said to sport a tattoo on their body, signifying their specialty- A bird for spy and messenger, an herbivore for negotiator and contact, and a predator for a true hunter, a killer. These are the only known facts about this shadowy operation, and since many Islemen port tattoo¡¯s it becomes next to impossible to get any more information¡­ -Prince Malgo IX Teesh, in a letter on mages and affiliates Immersion Breaker Ahead!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ How to tell the time/date in this story: Similar to Chinese calendar, Sixteen animals-one each year. Cycle reverses at end of sixteenth year, ex, Green Crested Serpent>Golden Bull>Golden Bull>Green Crested Serpent. At end of cycle, it becomes a Rot. (Based on Rotation) Example, at the end of the second recorded cycle and the first year of the third, the shorthand became ¡°2nd Rot, Year of the XXX.¡± Years in general are referred to as Tal. For example, the year of the seventh animal is called 7tal. Seasons: There are four seasons representing spring, summer, autumn, and winter. They are; Verdantos, Hermos, Dealthos, and Barrentos. The ¨Cos at the end of each season, called a Ron, denotes them as seasons. Months: There are eight Month-equivalents in this story. There are about two months in a season. The Months are, in order starting from spring: Birta, Lueta, Heta, Coleta, Seta, Kirta, Colas, Depa. The ¨Ca at the end of each month, called a Ralk, denotes them as months. Days: There is no unit of measurement equivalent to weeks in this world. Instead, the days are counted until the end of each month. This world has a slightly longer night and day cycle than earths, meaning there are about 264 days in a year, and 33 days a month. Days are referred to as Unas (From Units.) The ¨Cas denotes day. Hours: Due to the longer-than-normal day/night cycles, there are about 17 hours in the day, and 10 hours at night. There are two moons, both about a quarter the size of the normal one. Hours are called Oaus. The ¨Cus denotes hour. How to tell time/dates: Dates go Days/Months/season/year/Rot. Ex: 27as/2a/1os/15tal/347rot. As for time, one of the moons is always visible, even in the day, providing a reference point for the hour In this era, pikes and swords, steel and crossbows are the norm as far as weaponry goes. Think ¡°Game of Thrones¡± but with more magic and fantasy.