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Lovely~  I still vote that we terraform sweet Selene first, if nothing else to get things rolling. Even if it takes a long (long, long, long) time, the investment in our future would be well worth it. Of course, with the withdrawl of a certain country from the cool kids space club, it might take a little longer - sigh.

Anyway, I'd always guessed there was something in the salt flats of Mars - speaking personally, however, I never would have guessed it to be actual water. This changes a lot; specifically, what we should do when we get there. Speaking from a hypothetical perspective, would you rather see an orbital monitoring station, or do you feel that we should start right on Mars?

Soumaba Cisse ruled Ghana in the early 11th century - by the 12th, hadn't they mostly been subsumed by Sosso/Malinesian Imperial forces?

Also, this looks amazing. I'm a little sad that the Berbers will be a minor faction, but if I can create a wonderful unified Al-Andalus to rival that of Al-Mansur, all is wonderful! 

and the ability to force-marry them if you've captured them in a siege.

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No.

And why do you need to kill random civilians/guards? It's hardly realistic; you certainly could, but then you would die under sheer force of the town proper. I'm not saying you shouldn't be able to - but if you did, you'd almost certainly end up dead, and what would you gain from randomly killing people?

These, though-

that the bandit hideouts could be captured and held as a dishonorable character.

that you could interact more with characters of the lower class, e.g. named village elders, tavern keepers, and guild masters with the ability to marry into their family in exchange for more influence on towns.

that there was more of a difference between being honorable and dishonorable.

that claimants could start a civil war without you, maybe even win on their own, and when one monarch is overthrown they became a claimant.

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Are quite good.

I wish that your wife could join you as a companion and become a fearsome warlord in her own right - why must I marry a demure girl?  For that matter, if I'm playing a female lord, do I have to marry one of those nobles? They're just a little... 

I wish that you could use subtle threats and intrigue or economic power to crush your enemies instead of just your blade. Oh, and religious intrigue too!

I wish that you could customize your castle and stuff, both from a 'this is my awesome place lol' factor, and also a defensive one. For example, changing the defenses in prediction of a certain enemy force.

I wish that instead of the Khergits using the same siege setup as everyone else, they fought from within a 'corralled' city that was open enough to field cavalry, but made fielding cavalry hard for the enemy (spike traps, maybe?) - and that they drew reinforcements from the town. I feel this would make them not only more dangerous as the AI, but give them a unique feel for the player.

I wish that the Nords fielded Icelandic Pony Cavalry. HUGE VIKING BERSERKERS ittybittyhorse.

I wish that you could actually read the books. I'm a nerd, I know.

I wish that I could beam my love for this game into the stars.

... I wish I had a donut right now.

And seconding all things listed above!

“They come. The Swadians come.” Ganbold felt his horse tremble underneath him, anxious for battle – even though he had come to report, the day was hot and sunny, the clouds having broken through a recent rain. Although it was not as dry or pleasant as the steppes themselves, it was an auspicious day for a battle. The Swadians had come to reclaim a piece of land they had long since viewed as theirs by right; it was hardly farmable or settlable by the sedentary folk of Swadia, so why did they approach? No reason, except to fight. It was fine with Ganbold – if they chose to fight for such reasons, then let them arrive on their overburdened beasts, their lords ordering forth undertrained and overworked peasants! They would be slaughtered by arrows and lances before they ever set foot in Unuzdaq Castle!... However, there was no Noyan to preside over this battle. Instead, the one in charge of this Zuut was currently surveying the hastily contracted barriers around with one hand over his eyes to blot out the bright sunlight.

Baheshtur smiled broadly, his own horse well-fed and cared for. It's mane had been knotted and many trinkets tyed into the knots, and it stomped the ground in nervous excitement. The only time he felt this alive was on the field of battle – and it seemed that good fortune had befallen them. “A noble enemy, come to take a worthless scrap of land with it's price in blood... Send a messanger to their Noyan – they call themselves Counts in Swadia. Tell him that if they surrender, we shall not raze Dhirim.” It was a bluff, built on the great conquests of their forebears and the legendary Khan who once cowed all of Calradia in fear – the Khergit had it's own lands, far to the east in the great Steppe, and cared little for the lands to the west. Even if they had, the Khanate today was fractured between children... A sad fate. But Baheshtur knew that it would come to this, and cared not. Blood and gold sang, and where their music called out, fun and frenzy were sure to follow.

And besides. He had heard of this particular host – This Count Devlian. He was a cruel man, who viewed the Khergit as nothing but barbarians. A peculiar thought among the Swadians, Baheshtur thought, was to chronically undervalue their enemies. Devlian himself promised his overlord much, and delivered little. If this were a Khergit assault, they would have realized the weak defenses of Unuzdaq and fell upon it like a great wave – but Devlian had yet to send even a meagre force, only loitering around the villages of the few Khergit farmers and settlers who chose a life at the field to a life at the saddle. Baheshtur did not think highly of them – but nor did he think highly of a coward who chose only to fight the weak instead of engaging in an entertaining battle. Not that he should really be here, anyway-

“Baheshtur. It is not their Count who rides towards us. I came to tell you that the man who leads their host brings a great mob of Swadian rabble, riding a horse of spackled white.” Baheshtur listened closely, his smile slowly widening – Ganbold wondered if it could spread any further. “This man sings loudly to himself, often wonders on his own, and would be an easy target to charge at while he goes far astray from his unit; we cannot see or hear why his men are so loyal to him, but it is obvious he is not part of the Swadian court.” Scratching his beard, which Baheshtur felt was similar in stature to the great mane of his horse, the Khergit chuckled.

“So it seems that today is a good day, indeed!... I ride to meet this man. Prepare the Zuut to defend the castle – on my signal, pelt the army with arrows and do not stop until they lie broken or routed! Have the settlers flee east while we wait. Hugu Noyan and his armies lie in wait – they will make their journey upon their own from there. Do not expect me to stop fighting even should I fall in battle; I shall expect nothing less of any of you! Hya!” Laughing jovially, Baheshtur rode towards the front, leaving Ganbold to alert the fortress – but most of that work had already been done. Tired but proud, the Khergit began to move in a great procession, their horses leaving Unuzdaq as the commotion of the new force from Swadia grew closer in the distance.

But, as always, we are getting ahead of ourselves.

-

“Keep moving, Brothers! We have already reached our destination – now we march upon our destination, to liberate Unuzdaq from both Swadia and Khergit alike! If we rest now, the Khergit will fall upon you, gut you, and feed your bones to their horses!” Bunduk drifted from man to man whispering words of encouragement and clapping each soldier on the back – though he hadn't had a drink in sometime, he still had the ability to make every soldier feel as if they were safe among friends in a pub, instead of marching to a battle against the legendary forces of the Khergit Khanate.

Not that Klaes minded – it was a welcome edition to the group, especially with his trusted retainers stop thinking like that stop still recovering from their wounds. Bunduk had an easiness of manner that belied his inner strength, and although Klaes didn't always approve of the foul sludge he drunk, he did approve of Bunduk's thoughts on nobility, his courtesy, and his talk of brotherhood. It would be nice to have a brother – speaking of which, didn't he have someone kind of like that..?

“Heeeey, Louve! Cheer up! I was just thinking how great a sister you are! Aren't you excited to see Khergit lands with your own eyes? I bet there'll be a lot of really interesting people we'll get to meet, kyahahahaha! Oh, don't look so down – I'm just going to pretend that's a smile!” Louve shot a deadly look at Klaes, full of venom – and a subtle amusement that would have been invisible to one who hadn't known the riders from Veidar for some time. They both chuckled, although to call that discordant laughter of Klaes' a chuckle somehow did it a disservice.

“If my wounds weren't aching, I'd strike you unconscious and urge the men back towards Dhirim. How you find good cheer after what we've just been through – is it your head?” Louve asked this quietly, the playfulness vanishing from her voice. Klaes bit his tongue and turned away. Not that he had to answer that – but Louve had asked, and he was honest to his kin. About most things. Luckily, he was spared the pain of memories and regrets as Nizar rode up from the back of the procession. On seeing Louve, he managed to bow from horseback – an impressive feat. From afar, Aethelric noticed his example, and seemingly have gotten over his mixed feelings about the troubador, attempted to mimic his action – nearly falling off of his mount for his trouble.

Upon seeing the two, Louve smiled with slightly more warmth than her near-featureless face usually displayed, and rode to the side, quietly whispering things to soldiers in her own way of encouragement. It was unsure what she said, but whatver words she whispered, the men of Swadia heeded with a look of fear upon their faces. Her methods of encouragement were not like those of Bunduk; after all, she was a Desmarais. Nizar chortled and asked Klaes something he had been meaning to ask for some time now - “About your sister-”

“Denied. Off-limits. A crime punishable by execution!.. As a brother, er, Brother, that's my stance on things. Kyahaha!”

Klaes' laughed at his own joke – but with the smooth practice of his trade, Nizar deflected it without thought. “Come now, Klaes – as if I had come to ask something so obvious. And besides, would I not ask Louve instead of yourself? You are not your sister's keeper, as they say in Swadia-” Klaes coughed, looking somewhat surprised... And possibly hurt? Nizar hadn't expected that.

“I... Ah, that's not what I meant. I hadn't meant to say that she deferred to my opinion, or that I had a right to make decisions for her or anything - It was a joke, because I figured that you must, you know, have intentions..” Feeling very awkward, Klaes fidgeted with the saddles of his new horse – a stallion by the name of Reucharle. Nizar put his arm around Klaes' back and shook his head with a knowing smile.

“Klaes. It's fine – a joke is a joke, and given my mannerisms I suppose it's only natural for you to make that assumption – though I think a smith of words like myself is more suited for a nightengale than a wolf. Hah!.. Your sense of humor can't be helped, but never would I see you as one to control the actions of another – at least in that manner.” Calming Klaes down adeptly, Nizar asked the question he had originally intended.

“Louve, however – you realize she is quite shaken by that defeat, but more concerned for you, still? You press yourself and your friends hard, Klaes. What is your goal here? Besides a truly epic struggle, I see no point in your first goal as a mercenary being the attack of an otherwise insignificant town in the Khergit hinterlands.” Cutting straight to the point. Klaes issued with a wave for the soldiers to march on – and fell far behind them, amongst Aethelric and Nizar. Louve noticed her brother's strange expression and drifted back over, looking mildly intrigued. It wasn't often that Klaes looked guilty.

“... Ah, it's as good a time as any. Aermn... Louve. Aethelric. It's down to us three, assuming Herve is fertilizing a field somewhere with the blood of perverts and betrayers, and Mortimer has become some sort of wandering man-at-arms. And that's what I've been thinking – you don't need to come with me any more. You realize I'm quite serious about my goals – you both know the reasons why.” Louve and Aethelric were silent, and Nizar noticed the sudden hardness in their expressions – it was not something he needed to ask, he decided.

“There's a lot of good places you can live on your money, and both of you deserve independent lives. I mean, you know, it's quite possible that I'm a little, kyahahah!... What I'm trying to say is, leave. If you want.” Klaes fumbled with his words, and finally just shrugged, riding Reucharle around in circles – it would have been funny if he didn't look so frustrated.

“... Good.” Aethelric said, smiling slowly. “I've wanted to stop fighting for sometime. I'm not a warrior, Klaes. I never will be. I hate fighting – I hate this bloodshed, the needless death. Do you know, in my dreams I still -” They all fell silent. Klaes broke it with red face and tired eyes.

“Ah, well – that's good. I'll see you around, I guess? If you stop by Veidar, please tell our kin that-” Aethelric cautiously urged his horse over to the older man and glowered at him stolidly. Klaes, for once, went quiet.

“I said I wanted to stop fighting, not leave. I know you cannot read, Klaes – but you can read people, can you not? I'm not a fighter, but where would I go that would be remotely pleasant for one such as I? I can think only of the Monastries – and there are things I do not think I would find good in the halls of the Creator.” A slight smile crossed Aethelric's lips. “No. I shall stay with you, but stop sending me to the front lines. You at least need someone to serve as a quartermaster while you learn to read, and I think there might be other places I could be of use. I said I would fight alongside with you – and this is my way. Brother.” They both chuckled at Aethelric's imitation, Klaes looking more grateful than he could express with words – another rare sight.

“Well then - Louve? I take it you don't want to move to some field far in the country, settle down on a great farm and wait this whole thing over?.. Not too many draft their sisters into this sort of thing, so...” Louve simply stared at her brother with a stony face, eyes glazing over with that eerie glass-eyed look that Klaes knew she wore when lost in thought – or trying to unnerve him. It was unfair, really.

“And you think that I'd leave? Especially after even Aethelric stays alongside you? Not to bring offense.” She smiled toothily at Aethelric, who looked embarrassed and muttered something non-commital. “.. Truly, brother. This is the only time I've felt alive in my entire life. Should I leave now, would I return to being simply another laborer in the fields, to become a laborer in the home, and finally relying on the laborer of others?.. It is not a bad life, but it is not mine. You should send a courier to Veidar, though – wouldn't mother and father be amused to see how much coin we've made already..?” Neither mentioned that Herve's father should be alerted to his sons presumed passing.

Still – Klaes only beamed, and suddenly threw his arms around Louve and Aethelric – both of whom winced, still recovering from noticeable injuries. “I... You guys... Kyahaha! Great! The best friends I could possibly ask for! We'll take Unuzdaq Castle by nightfall and feast on a banquet richer than any other when we get there! The great army of Veidar marches forth! Go! Get out of my sight and tell the troops we're gonna dance in the ashes of the castle ruins!” The three threw their fists into the air, and Aethelric muttered something quietly – Louve and Klaes laughed, and his siblings – one by blood, and another by chance – rode past him. Nizar smiled to himself.

“... Satisfied? Your questions were in vain, o' poet, as it appears my allies will stand by my side even when I am a rotting corpse lining the walls of a Khergit war tower.” Klaes beamed even as Nizar chuckled to himself – perhaps at Klaes' good mood, and perhaps at something else entirely.

“Never was in doubt of that, captain!.. I asked not to test the loyalty of your friends to you, but you to them. A leader who does not give their troops regular chances to leave is not a leader – and one who asks endless loyalty from friends is barely a human. You are seemingly quite mad – but it seems you are either sane or mad enough to care for Louve and Aethelric, so I look forward to seeing how your madness plays out in this coming battle – although I must ask why you chose to take Unuzdaq Castle.”

Instantly Klaes' expression hardened into something Nizar had never seen nor expected, his face lined with a canny intelligence that belied his usual carefree and chaotic manner. For some time Klaes stared at him before breaking into that familiar grin with it's sharp angles and jagged asymmetry. “... Pretty smart. I don't trust too many people, you know. It's far better to be thought a fool and a madman, and then achieve some small success, then to be thought a genius and stumble into a great trap.” Klaes scratched at his chin, and was irritated to find straw-like stubble at his fingertips. That wouldn't do at all – a nice shave would be in order, later-

“All right, I guess I'll take you into my confidence, Nizar!.. It'll be more interesting this way, anyhow. This is a feint – if we press any further into Khergit land, we'll be outnumbered and overpowered. Mostly, we – I – need prestige. If we don't have that, there is no way the nobles will trust us, and if they do not trust us, we cannot gain land or respect. If we have neither of those... Well, you see how it is. In addition, Unuzdaq castle is indefensible for Swadia – any Noyan within horn's call can ride back and take it, and we have not the manpower to secure it. It's a great win, kyahahaha! If we need to cast our lot with the Khanate, it means we haven't done much to weaken them, and they'll see it that way.”

Nizar stared at Klaes with a new respect – surely, this man was mad. Of his mania however, there was also something else... And what an interesting puzzle it was. Already Nizar could feel the begginnings of a story brewing in his mind. It would travel quite well, and interest many fine courts – and courtly ladies – should it be spread upon the swift wind of a well-heeled voice. “A pity you weren't around during the border dispute between the Rhodok and the Sarranid, Klaes – it would have been fun to chronicle your ideas during that time. However, I must say I am honored to be taken into your confidence! When we take Unuzdaq, I shall look forward to your next plan of action. In fact, I may have a few suggestions of my own, should you care to listen.”

Smiling, Klaes nodded his head, then turned to the approaching hoofbeat of Bunduk, who was looking grim. “Brother! A man rides towards on swift horse. S'a Khergit, all right- looks to be the Noyan of these parts, at least if the Khergit left a Noyan for such a small force. Probably one of their temporary commanders... What was it.. Jurchen? No, that's not right – Jurtchi?.. Something like that. He doesn't have an honor guard – it's obvious he's here to negotiate. What should we do, Captain?”

Klaes only laughed in reply, Reucharle's iron-shod hooves beating upon the ground as he rode the courser forward. “Bunduk, my good man! Watch as we make history! Kyahahah! Brothers!” He may or may not have muttered the word 'and sister' quietly under his breath; none could hear clearly as the thunder of hooves clattered around them. “I ride to meet the enemy in parley that we may avoid bloodshed and win a swift battle! But what the enemy knows not is that our battle shall be swift in any circumstance, for we fight with the providence of the Creator, the rightness of our cause, and the fury of our kin! Kyahahaha! Prepare to storm the castle! Kill anyone who resists! Klaes of Veidar rides forth!” And so laughing with a glee that echoed throughout the steppe valley, two commanders met in the summer heat before an auspicious battle for both of them – but for reasons neither could predict.

-

Baheshtur frowned as the man rode up to him; the Swadian was no Count, nor a leader in any sense of the word. His army was unpolished, his hair like a bale of hay, and his sword unnecessarily large. Baheshtur was an observant man, and couldn't help but wonder if Swadia had simply run out of leaders and began to simply hire men from beyond the sea – it would not be an impossibility. Still, Khergit tradition demanded that the offer to surrender be given; and Baheshtur always complied with tradition, at least when it was also sound strategy.

“Greetings and well come, Swadian. I am Baheshtur, serving as protector of this place. I see you ride towards Unuzdaq. Know that the Khan sees this and you shall be summarily crushed between the hooves of our steeds should you proceed – but should you surrender, you and your men will be welcomed into the Khanate with open arms, and we shall take mare's milk at the castle!” Klaes made a thoughtful murmur and placed his fingers under his chin.

“Mare's... Milk? Never had it. Sounds pretty good, actually! I, Klaes, shall take you up on your offer, kyahahaha!” Baheshtur blinked twice. Wait, had the man already surrendered? Well, it was unexpected but good news – the settlers could return now. Although, he must have misunderstood- “Oh, you're calming down. Sorry, but we're still going to be taking Unuzdaq. It's not that I really want to take the castle – it's just a hunk of rock with some sharp sticks in front of it. But, you know, it was a hot summer's day and something needed to happen-”

Klaes shrugged as if apologetic. “- And amazingly, this should make Count Devlian view me as some sort of hero. My intelligence gathered maybe thirty pairs of hooves going in and out of the castle proper, and I'll place fifty more within the stables – in other words, the advantage is ours. But if you surrender, the Great Klaesian Host'll greet all of your refugee's with open arms and we'll take sweet rosewater at my new castle!” Baheshtur couldn't believe himself. Was this man actually suggesting..?

Laughing, the Khergit shook his head. “Amazing. You are truly a funny man, Klaes. Would that we were not enemies, so that I could truly appreciate your suggestion and it's possibilities!... Unfortunately, I must decline your hospitality and rain arrows upon your head – some may even impale my horse and I, but if they do, at least they shall also likely make a corpse out of you as well.” Klaes nodded as if this suggestion was quite normal.

“Oh, so you were planning on that..? Good plan, I like it. “ Klaes began to ride, Reucharle's gait slowly speeding up as Baheshtur rode alongside them – neither drew their weapons as the hot sun beat down upon them, simply watching the other and waiting for a chance to strike.

“It is a good plan, though not to my preference; were it me, a battle between the two of us would decide everything! A drinking competition, perhaps! Much better than attacking a castle you have no need for!” As they rode, Baheshtur looked towards the sun – it was unseasonally hot, and the brightness hurt his eyes, but not as much as it should have; for flying so high as to seem near the sun itself was a well-trained hawk. The Khergit smiled, waiting for the right moment.

“Drinking..? Ugh, I must admit I'm not terribly fond of the stuff – blame a lingering paranoia, would you? Anyway, you and I seem like we could work well together; a pity we have to fight today, especially since I don't want this castle, you don't want those settlers to be hurt, and neither of us want to die an arrow-filled death. Well, I don't, anyway.”

Baheshtur didn't show his surprise – perhaps he no longer was surprised by this strange commander to be caught off guard. “I'd ask how you knew I cared for the settlers at Unuzdaq; it's not as if I like the placid lifestyle of those who waste themselves instead of living, but there have been enough battles with Swadian swords here, and I am tired of it. Why do you need to be viewed as important, anyway?”

Klaes flashed the tooth-lined smile he had become famous for. “Good question! Why don't you trigger those archers you have in wait so it looks like we're fighting to the death, and I'll tell you!” Baheshtur had already raised his hand to the sky; and as the hawk cried out, the sun was covered not by it's wings but by the span of a much greater bird, it's body composed entirely of arrows; arrows that fell out of the sky in droves and pelted the ground with their quarrels.

Somehow, the two commanders had managed to avoid being skewered by their many points; the accuracy of the Khergit's had not failed them, however, and Klaes was soon holding his cavalry shield aloft, making a mental note of how even a handful of the bolts threatened to tear through the sturdy Swadian wood as if it were mere paper. “To be honest, I'm planning to take over Swadia and get rid of all this useless fighting – people like you and I aren't needed in this new world, are we? So we might as well end it all in the largest brawl the world has ever seen!” Both laughed, the clatter of their swords sounding like a reflection of that same laughter.

“A fascinating plan, Klaes! I must admit that I am interested!”

“Then call your forces at Unuzdaq off – by the time my army arrives, we shall stage a battle where only those who wish to fight and die in wonderful combat shall cross paths! Afterwords, meet me at Halmar- and we shall create history! Kyahahaha!” Klaes found his blade parried at every turn, but Baheshtur stayed his hand – and smiled.

“Very well then – I ride to Unuzdaq! We will meet again soon, Klaes of Swadia! Do not die before then!”

-


The rest of the battle drifted by quickly; most of the garrison met Klaes' army outside of Unuzdaq proper, and the battle was both swift and surprisngly non-lethal, on both sides. Prisoners were let free as opposed to captured, and Bunduk couldn't help but feel he had missed something; nevertheless, the near-lack of casualties was excellent moral for the band, and now Unuzdaq Castle flew the flag of Swadia!

“It's a right pity you can't ask for it though, Brother. You'd do a damn sight better at administrating it than whatever foul-brained depraved son of inbred revelry gets his dirty hands on it. Still, I imagine that you've made quite the name for yourself – what next? Are you going to go further into Khergit land?” In reality, Bunduk had wanted to ask exactly why the battle had been so easy; the Khergit were not weak foes, and Unuzdaq had seemed almost empty when they arrived; of the enemy commander, there had been no sign.

“Nope- well, we're gonna stop at Halmar so we can pick up that Baheshtur. Good Brothers are a boon to the cause of us common folk, am I right?... It seems like the Khan had forgotten about this place and it's settlers long ago, Bunduk. Nobles are pretty much the same no matter where you go.” The bitterness was obvious in Klaes' words – but so was the subtly-edged optimism.

“Ah, so you're poaching enemy commanders now..? Quite the diplomat, Captain. Well – let's at least set up the shell of a garrison and leave it nicely tied for the Swadian folks to take home. No offense meant, but it doesn't seem like they would've been able to take it otherwise-” And nor they wouldn't, for when Count Devlian cautiously arrived, the shock shown on his face was unmistakable. Aethelric mentined drily that it looked as if he might have fallen off of his steed in shock, had he not been firmly stirruped to it.

After the obligatory thanks and payments from Swadia's treasury, Klaes urged his men rest – and with his inner circle, rode stealthily towards Halmar. Bidding them set up a covert camp outside the city walls, he stealthily made his way inside as a mendicant looking for a relic of the city when it had been ruled by the Vaegir; and indeed, Halmar was a beautiful city that combined elements of architecture from the Ger of the Khergit to the domed chapels so common among the icy lands the Vaegir called home.

His first stop was not the tavern, however; as Klaes found himself surprised and enticed by the beauty of the town; perhaps it was the same wanderlust that had gripped him as a youth, or the simmering madness that he believed to dwell upon his mind; perhaps it was the welcoming gates of the castle, one welcoming and friendly, unlike the closed fortresses of Swadia. Whatever the cause, he found himself sneaking inside, the brown hood of his robe doing little to hide the straw-like mess of his hair.

Neither guard nor courtier – if the men and women of the Khergit Khanate could be called that, seeming as they did to eschew titles when possible – payed him much heed. Even as a foreigner, he did not seem dangerous; and so he was welcome here. Fine foods lay on the tables, and the sound of music drifted from a large waiting hall – the music was being played by Khergit musicians, but the tune was unmistakeably Swadian.

He looked into the antechamber, and saw the reflection of sharp eyes – and quickly left, unsure of why he felt led here, and why he had so suddenly felt the need to leave before the lady whose outfit of fine orange and red bore the symbol of the Swadian eagle noticed him with that stare which seemed so forlorn and yet so piercing all at the same time. Not long after he left, the lady bade the music stop, and wandered into the foyer of Halmar castle – but of the agape mendicant who had seemed so shocked, there was no sign.

-


“So you decided to come, Klaes. Do we ride to to find great battles and do greater deeds? It would not do my ancestors proud to spend time waiting and defending plots of land, when the sky itself cries out in pain.” It was hard to tell if Baheshtur was joking or being serious; perhaps he was both, honoring tradition while viewing it with a gentle skepticism. The man opposite him, however, bore none of his usual confidence – and kept staring over his shoulder, if expecting someone.

“Uh, yes. If you woud like, we'll gladly take you! Kyahaha, the more the merrier, I always say – it'll probably get bloody, so I'll be counting on you to cause plenty of disorder!... Uhmn. This might take away whatever respect I've earned from you, but-”

“Five hundred denarii. That's my fee for your help – the money goes to those whom you forcibly ejected from their farms. And another five hundred for my services.” Klaes laughed loudly and slapped the table several times – this drew no unwanted eyes, as spasming seekers of religious guidance were not uncommon in Calradia. Then, there was the same clatter of gold that seemed to be following Klaes like a plague, and after a brief count, Baheshtur smiled.

“You are an honorable man, Klaes. It shall be fun to fight alongside you, as opposed to against you. Let us ride!”

“Uh, no – I mean, yes! But, you see, there was something else. I hadn't meant to ask about the cost, you see, that was what was so funny. Ah – how to began..? There was... There's a woman, at Halmar castle... I liked her eyes.” Baheshtur chuckled, but waited patiently – Klaes said no more.

“That isn't much to go on, my friend – is that all?”

“... That's all. I guess there was nothing else. Shall we go?”

So they left, and Baheshtur was introduced summarily to the group. But no one missed that Klaes seemed distracted by something, even as they rode back towards Dhirim, where a large feast and a tournament had been organized in their honor – the first victory against one faction that the kingdom of Swadia had won on either front.

And for once, no matter the jokes or cheers of his companions, Klaes was silent.

-


Baheshtur~ He's amazing. A good sense of humor, fine with the pillaging and the raiding, a great guy to have around and a GREAT HORSE ARCHER YOU KNOW I THINK THAT'S A GOOD CLASS nuff said, anyway. He was the first person I recruited when I played Warband, so I have to use him every time. It's just a given. What? That makes no sense? Sssh. I like how he talks about tradition and then charges you an exorbitant fee – one foot in the old world, one in the new; my kind of ally! Not that I'm a fan of money myself, but in a world like Calradia, it seems he'll do quite well. Seems the group is growing nicely-


A land steeped in tradition and new to the subcontinent of Calradia, yet whose mighty horses and skilled archers bring terror to the mired kingdoms of the realm, the Khergit are not a single people but many, who have banded together into the great Host known as the Khanate. Founded by a legendary leader who came from a land far to the east, the Khanate seemed unstoppable until a battle upon the fields of the southern Vaegir lands. It was not a military defeat that stopped them, but the news of the death of their Great Khan's successor; and ever since, infighting and the growth of sedentary lifestyles among the Western Host has led to their decline.

That being said, they are still strong in the east, where it is said they rule a great land; and the silks and culture of this land regularly grace the trade of the wealthiest of Burghers and Nobles in Swadia. Most of the Khergit practice a form of Shamanism and sky-worship that blends animism and a love of nature; but the Sarranids have began to introduce their version of Creator-worship and it's monotheism into their lands, while in the east, a religion preaching non-violence and and worldly detatchment, stillness and non-emotion is supposedly taking hold. But these religions are still marginal in Khergit lands, which practices a tolerance of all faiths unequaled in Calradia. They share good relations with the Nords of Nordland, for their cultural and religious practices are the only ones left that openly venerate the old ways and the natural world; and perhaps those two shall soon be gone.

Militarily, the Khergit Khanate is the most feared force in Calradia. While this is perhaps not very accurately modeled in-game, a horse in Calradia is akin to a tank in our time; and every Khergit owns their own horse, whether man, woman, or child. In addition, while women must disguise themselves to serve militarily in every other culture save that of the Nords, it is not uncommon for some of the constituent tribes of the Khanate to raise banners of women soldiers. Thus, their forces are not only huge, but well-equipped; and their tactics inspire fear wherever they go.

Yet, the Khergit do not fight out of a desire to own land, but because it brings with it peace to move indepdently, as they like – only time will tell if this expansion has unintentionally doomed the freedoms they hold so dear, as three nations greedily look towards their over-extended lines of supply and see wealth and unclaimed pasture...

-

Кстати, я люблю Монголию, и все страны. мирy мир! <3

CapturedJoe: Oh noes! I can't say much more, but Klaes may or may not have actually done too much Khergit-fightan' this chapter, gasp! You shall have to just wait and see~  Actually, that'll explain Harlaus and his lunacy as well - but that's some chapters away. I haven't played tEatRC(? a mod I'm assuming) yet, but the reasoning is... Well, you'll see. Sorry I can't spill it out, but what happens happens. Hehehe, I have so many surprises up my sleeves~

RalliX: Thank you, thank you! If you happen to have an RP you'd like me to participate in, just let me know where I can find it! I love me some RP and would heartily enjoy doing it alongside ya!  And thank you so much for your compliments; everyone is so nice here... Thank you! I hope you'll stick around and keep enjoying this. 

I'd like to say I'm skilled with weapons... But I'm a gardener! The only thing I can do is grow interesting flowers and plants and cook stuff.  Oh, and viciously maul people with shears, but that's not really a tournament weapon, so I'll just place bets-

Anyways. Getting distracted from the proper subject here! I have thought of a gift; I give to you, the gift of being awesome! You already had it all this time, but I'll point it out right here, and right now - I can't give gifts through the internet, so instead I'll simply carry the word of your successes!  Think of it like spreading RtR!

Heck yes! I will be eagerly following this AAR; don't worry about English not being your first language; it's plenty understandable, and writing an AAR is a good way to keep learning! The Khergit Khanate needs more love, and it seems like this will be an excellent place to find it; I'll watch Unegen's story with interest; may his journey bring him luck and conquest! 

Elrika had remained silent as well as the various other people - teammates, she corrected herself - let themselves into the hangar. She'd been waiting here for sometime with the quiet and staid 'Stitch'. Naturally, she admired his devotion to duty and intelligence; but it was hard to make him feel uncomfortable. He was far too calm, and that was boring. Now that she was with the group proper, things would be more... Interesting! She smiled to herself. It seemed Stitch had made his introductions and even courteously hinted that R&D would be interested in seeing those biostats - how right he was. She'd have to make sure to avoid teasing him about those shiny legs of his for a while-

Walking up to Angel, hands stuffed into the pockets of her LifestyleStudycoat, Elrika put on her most charming smile. "Hello!... Hmn, an Angel - I always thought you'd have wings or something. I suppose a halo is too much of a luxury in a field such as ours..? Ehehe, oh, but were are my manners? I'm Achille - I'm sure we'll work well together, especially once you've given me - ah, us - those reports so we can go over them with a fine-tooth comb and resolve this little incident with a pleasant denouement. You seem to be in good enough spirits, so I'm guessing they didn't do a number on you - but then again, you do look like you can handle yourselves..." For a minute, her smile flickered with a hint of amusement, but blink, and you'd miss it.

"So, do we have stats on our next - er, your next deployment?.. Well, just let me know if anything comes up. I'll be here studying what I've got, and if a few wayward scraps of information find their way to my desk..." Leaving her words trailing in the air and exhausted from talking to another human being, Elrika went back to her studies - occasionally casting an eye towards the gate and making sure to smile brightly at anyone else who might step through.

Sorry for the long wait time! My bad. Real life is nowhere near as cool as the internet. 

Anyway.

I like it, though your lack of UNC and augmentations could be troublesome. The enemies we've encountered so far are playful puppy dogs compared to what we'll see.. later.
The 'grey cells' you mention can be UNC nanites if you like, with the same effects and side-effects.

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Sounds good - also, I have no aversion to dying off at some point, ehehe! So I assume I can post as I like? Thankee! 

By "character," I wasn't talking strictly about his stats but his backstory as a Khergit.  Although I do agree he could just as easily make an effective lancer-type.

I suspect roleplaying plays more of a role in my decision-making, rather than how effective a character is: as long as they're effective enough.  And I do find Baheshtur frequently stealing my kills, so I think he's quite effective enough!

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Seconded. And anyway, how can you not have an excellent Khergit Horse Archer on your team and than not have him go all out with it? Making Baheshtur anything other than an archer is like telling Lezalit not to beat on the new recruits - it's just something you can't do. 

No matter what anyone says, it is possible to rise to power and become lord of all the lands and rightful ruler of Calradia by honorable means.  Let not your claim be tainted by vile deeds: Killing and raping of innocents.  You dislike the debauched lords?  Don't be one yourself.

EDIT: (I was having a Game of Thrones marathon when I wrote this )

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Absolutely - and... Also... ~GAMEOFTHRONESYAY~ 

That last screenshot and the epilogues were just... A+++.  A wonderful wrap-up to a wonderful story. Long live the Brynn Dynasty, for a thousand years! Should I ever find myself in the lands graced by the banner of that Pale Lioness, then I shall count myself lucky indeed; it sounds though her rule is wise and true. Should ever other stories come from that land, well, it will be wonderful to hear from them. The best of all things, until whenever that may be!

*Applause!*

I'm a big fan of the trading aspects as well - I just found this, but will be catching up on Violet's quest with great interest! 

Vodka? Fffah! Kvass is where it's at!  I shall bring okroshka and fine silks and beets and best of all ~SUNFLOWERS~

But I'm rambling and forgetting myself. It seems the party has already attracted quite the excellent retinue - I cannot claim to have any followers myself, but will hope that my rambling ways and strange observations make up for that. I don't have an awesome gift for you, which makes me pretty sad - I enjoy trying to think up weird and unique gifts for people. Would you like a story, maybe? I doubt you live close enough, but I do make my own chocolates, so I could share a recipe..? Well, even as I reflect on what to give you, one thing is for certain! I shall raise my glass high and dance around the bonfire, calling for your health and edification! Happy Birth Week! 

King Harlaus of Swadia – by the Providence of the Creator, King of the Swadian Realm and Rightful Duke of the Rhodok People, Rightful Count of Tihr and Lord of Praven, Guardian of Suno and Baron of Knudarr Castle, Defender of the Faith – sat pensively at his throne. Outside, the rain continued to strike a tune that he could not shake – too close was it to the sound of troops, marching quietly to their inevitable fate.

Lively Rhodok dancers had brought entertainment to his palace in celebration of peace between their two states. It was not a peace, of course; merely an opportunity for the smiths to forge more powerful weapons of iron and burnished steel, and to focus attention on the raiders of the North and the East. Woe! Woe befall Swadia, surrounded by enemies and monsters! Woe! Would none come forward to save him? For despite all his skill and presence, King Harlaus had never desired this doom. It had been forced upon him through a circumstance he felt no man should ever have to bear; the madness of his brother as he named that child his heir was almost...

The mad spin of the dancers distracted the dour monarch from his reverie.  “M'lord.” Ah, Rafarch. A true Lion of Swadia – and almost certainly eyeing the throne as Harlaus had eyed it a mere few years past. Harlaus' fingers trembled. To have a cup of poison or a spear, to purge these thieves and traitors from his midst... The way the dancers blurred in his vision made them seem as if their skin was on fire – perhaps it was, for the way they moved would have been impossible for a mere human!

“My liege? Are you all right?.. The King's breathing is going shallow again – he may be choking!” Lord Rafarch frantically waved down one of the many servants at the feast, but Harlaus had already recovered. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and that Creator-damned fire, but he would live. He would live until all of Swadia's enemies were ground before him, and the succession was established firmly and without absolution of primogeniture. This was war – war was all around them, staining the ground red with it's embers. Could they not see that? This was not the time for placing a weak-willed woman acting in the place of men upon the throne! It was the time for action!

Perhaps he had began to breath heavily again – Harlaus rose a glass of wine clumsily to his lips, half of a mind to send it hurtling to the floor – what is a man, but a reflection of what he sees in himself? And what Harlaus saw in himself was what he saw in every other man... A reflection darkly, indeed. For the third time, Rafarch attempted to approach his Lord, voice quiet and soothing. Harlaus smiled crookedly at his long-suffering vassal, feeling embarrassed by his outbursts – the Rhodok fire-dancers had left. No more did the pained images tear at his subconsciousness; they were free to discuss affairs of the realm.

“Apologies for my earlier intereference, your Majesty. Marshal Deglan has been rallying the troops and preparing for an assault on the Nordmen; we have combed every village for suitable chaff, but finding volunteers for the army has been problematic as of late – many villages have developed methods to avoid conscription, and there is resentment to your recent sale of village commons to the Burghers.” Harlaus snarled, and cracked the goblet between his still-muscular fingers. The glass shards painted a pretty web of red between them, and for a moment the Lord of Swadia wondered at the beauty of it; perhaps that red-stained translucency was what would become the gate to another realm.

Then he screamed, and screamed, crying and shouting curses even as servants rushed about him, plucking shard of glass from his wounded hand and wrapping it with gauze. This was not the first time their Lord had shown his wrath, and it would not be the last. Perhaps a few of the courtiers even blamed the peasants. If those backwoods serfs simply obeyed their lot in life, then they wouldn't have to deal with a mad King! It was the fault of the peasants for living in sin and refusing to heed the call of their rightful ruler!

“Madmen! Traitors and scoundrels! I move once to help the Burghers so that they might know My benevolence, and in return I am greeted by treason amongst the slack-faced accursed of the earth? They would not even be able to work that land were it for My divine grant! Burn the farms of the resisters, and their houses as well! Pursue everyone who runs until they join. Leave no one behind!” Harlaus talked so rapidly that spittle flew from his mouth and landed in front of Rafarch. The Count tried to hide his disgust, but too slowly. Harlaus slowly formed an oppresive smile – a smile that said, I know what you think.

“Ah... My, my Lord. That might make acquiring food for the armies of our men somewhat difficult – perhaps it would be better to - “ Harlaus' fingers had been bandaged and his mood repaired – looking somewhat apologetic, the ruler sank back into his throne, gray hair hanging over his tired eyes. Count Rafarch sighed in relief; so it seemed that the madness had passed.

“True, Rafarch. I am sorry – we must give them time to rest and regrow both their fields and their flesh – then and only then, shall we mount an offensive to utterly crush those heathen Nordmen and the monstrous Khergit hosts... Of course, you haven't mentioned how the Burghers have taken my little offer of truce – I am sure there is no other... Bad news?” The menace in Harlaus' voice was palpable, but Rafarch calmed noticeably; for once, ther was indeed.

“Although there has yet to have been any real action on the part of the Burghers, there are some tidings which I feel will interest your Majesty. Almost out of nowhere, a highly competent-seeming mercenary band has established itself and seems willing to fight on behalf of Swadia. Count Devlian hired them forwidth, with promises of recompense from the treasury. They are already supplied and outkitted with gear and men, and their morale seems high.” Harlaus liked mercenaries; he felt they were more trustworthy than any other type of retainer, as they cared only of the glitter of gold. And that was something that he had in supply. Nodding gruffly, the King knit his brow and asked Rafarch -

“Tell me then, the name of the captain of these mercenaries, that I may place my signet upon an appropriate letter of mark.”

“The name of that man is Klaes Desmarais.”

And as the rain continued to pound the cobbled stones outside, the Lord of Swadia placed an ostentatious ring upon the sealing wax of a far more somber letter, it's contents indicating that the beholden was a sworn servant to HRH, King Harlaus of Swadia. Feeling pleased that his forces could still swell with men bought by gold, the Monarch retreated to his chambers to plan and to banish the shaking pain from his head. Feeling pleased that he had managed to acquire documentation from his Lord without revealing his trump card, Count Rafarch left to muster his forces and meet with the Marshal – and the castle hall became empty, save for the constant marching of droplets of rain.

But, as always – we are getting ahead of ourselves.

-

Hold still - Ah, you seem to be hurt; don't move your head. It's not like children still in bloom to wander so far out into the marshes on their own... It has been a long time since I saw one of your kind amongst this place. Were you looking for something? No, I can see from that guilty expression that you were just wandering for the sake of wandering. You really shouldn't feel guilty over something like that – if more felt as you did, I feel that the world would be a more wonderful place, don't you?

“... Stop acting as if you know me.”

That's terrible, truly. Such a fluffy-headed stranger coming to a place like this to die, when they still have so much of their own left to do; to grow, blossom, to fester and spread their life around them. And I do know you – I have watched you for some time. Do you really think you can stare so aimlessly into the fields and not expect them to stare back..? They have told me such terrible stories about you – they say you are quite pathetic. That's very rude of them.

“It hurts – please stop sewing..!”

If I don't sew this shut, you'll lose a lot of blood. And if you lose a lot of blood, you'll die. I'll tell it to you bluntly – you aren't allowed to die here, not yet. The spring winds tell me that you have a much more important part to play in things, so please stop wriggling for just a while longer. See? Done already. And I think I can already hear the bay of hounds and feel lanternlight upon the water, so it is time for you to go! Go, go! Get out of here, and remember to come back if you ever need any guidance – we will always be here to listen to you.

“... None of this is real, is it? I'm still alive, aren't I..?”

Maybe, maybe not-

“Damnit!”
Klaes jolted up from where he had been forcibly knocked from Indigo – the tired mare had been nibbling at the hobs of his boots and trying to pull her rider from unconsciousness. Of course, given the large amount of blood that had been oozing out of the wound in his chest, it had seemed that the struggles of the horse might very well have been in vain. And yet when Klaes woke, his eyes shone with both faint recollection and intense self-hatred; and through that self-hatred, the need to quickly rectify everything that was falling apart around him.


Though his eyesight flickered, still sore from those days so long since past, Klaes could see that the bandits – no mere raiders or deserters, but seasoned militants that must have broke off of a large Nord force – had pierced through the ranks of his small band and enclosed them. And if you hadn't managed to pull yourself up, you would've been dead. It's funny, isn't it..? Indigo stared at Klaes quietly, as if beseeching him to run away with her – in her eyes, the tired mares' exhaustion was clearly visible. She had lived her life to carry supplies and look after children; not to fight battles and wars. But even though neither could speak to one another – she understood what must happen.

Pulling himself clumsily onto the saddle, Klaes pulled his heavy sword from it's handle, and locked the grips of his gauntlets around it – for fear that if he did not, it would fall from his hands. Then he turned his face towards the dark-skied heavens and screamed, feet digging into Indigo's sides as the mare herself gave a horrible gurgling cry and began to charge down the hillside towards the heavily armored Nordmen. Her lips were thick with foam and froth, and from the way the mare shaked it was clear that she was unable to do anything but run in a straight line-

But it was enough. Having pulled themselves into a circle, the raiding party had not expected an attack on it's flank from the man who had been struck so early and so neatly with a hurled axe, mere moments before. Even one as vainglorious as Klaes would not have tried to claim that his attacks were anything but rage borne upon the wings of luck – but again, it was enough. The Nordmen turned to face the madman on his sickly horse, and cut the horse down in a slaughter of steel, then fell upon her rider with a fury their own.

This distraction proved fatal, as the same tactics which had felled so many bandits were unleashed upon the backs of the men from the north. To an outsider, it would have seemed like little more than an explosion of red mist amongst the heavy skies, for that was what it was. When the mist evaporated, there were few left alive... And to Klaes unsurprised horror, that was true of everyone.

Indigo had died long before the Nords had fallen upon her; the horse had not been meant for battle, and had passed from sheer exhertion; perhaps that was in a way a small kindness, as she no longer had to fight merely to protect the children she had grown up amongst – who were now children no longer. Reynaud's corpse had been stomped on by boots belonging to both friend and foe; in the confusion their had been no chance to avoid crushing his corpse beneath them.

Nizar was alive and tending to the wounded; something of a tactician, he had taken control of a battle the moment Klaes had fell, and organized the fighting retreat towards the great tree they now sought shelter among. As for the wounded, that consisted solely of Aethelric, Louve, and one of the peasant men – who died shortly after of infection impossible to treat even for one as learned as Nizar. Louve explained without emotion that Herve had ran as soon as the battle had began to sour, grabbing the woman they had 'rescued' earlier, and retreating while 'shielding' her with his blade. He hadn't expected her dagger to slip between his ribs and send the butcher's son to his knees – she had escaped, as had the other farmer.

“So Herve is dead, then?”

“... We have yet to find his corpse. It's possible that he managed to escape. If so, when we find him...” Louve didn't have the strength to inflect upon her words; it had always been a trait of his sister that the more angry she got, the less she could emote. When Klaes was younger, he had wondered if perhaps Louve cared for nothing; it was not that, so much that she was used to the sudden and crippling pain of defeat – a pain which they all felt as the clouds roared above them. It seemed it would rain, soon.

“And what of Mortimer?”

Aethelric coughed and tried to speak, but both Louve and Nizar indicated he shouldn't; not that it took anyone with knowledge of anatomy to see that the young man's throat was coated with a layer of freshly caked blood. Nizar sighed, and looked towards the fresh beat of hoofmarks that dashed away from the field of battle to parts unknown. “Your friend saved us – he came back around on his own charger several times, each times disorienting the enemy. He was too fast for them to hurt, and wielded his lance with great skill. As someone with skill at tourneys should be.” The sparkle returned to Nizar's eye- he was not unused to battles like this. And in the end, they all drew breath and had won; it was now time to pay respects to the dead and continue moving. Somehow, this managed to fortify those around him as he continued to speak, fingers idly pulling at his goatee.

“But at last, something seemed to break in his eyes. I think he never wished to be fighting for anything except glory – he cast a haggard look at us, and took off into the distance, with no glance back at our direction. And before you fly off into a rage, Captain – consider this. You will only aggravate your wounds, when there is work to be done. We should take what we can from the dead, and than bury those who fell here. The Nords prefer to be burned, if they cannot be scattered at sea-”

Nizar had risen to his feet, perhaps expecting some sort of reply from Klaes; but he merely nodded. It was Aethelric who managed to speak, though coughing and spluttering. “You would even bury the enemy? Are you mad?! Good men died among us today, and you seek to give them the same honors as us? I- I can't-” Nizar spoke calmingly. It was hard to tell exactly how old he was, but it was clear that no matter how outlandish his stories, there was much he had seen.

“If we had died here, then would you not have them do the same for us? Good people do not always find themselves in the same lines of a battle, Aethelric. A good weaver of tales remembers to show the glory and mistakes of all those who drew breath – not merely aggrandize their friends. Stay still – if my knowledge of Swadia has not changed much in the years last, this is near the domain of Count Devlian. I imagine a patrol will be along at some time – until then, the two of you should rest.”

And rest they did, as corpsefire filled the air with it's sickly sweet stench and Klaes went over a time half-remembered, trying desperately to keep his mind from how terrible the broken corpse of Reynaud had looked, and how tormented the one friend he had ever held appeared towards her death; a torment he had made for her. Later that day, Count Devlian's patrol did indeed approach – but they had already gone. In the night, Klaes had realized that there must be no more fooling around – Calradia would be liberated.

-


“And well met to you too, brother!... Let's not stop at drinking to that, shall we? It'd only serve their purpose if we wasted our lives here, drunk and staring at possibilities that we let pass by.” Klaes smiled a smile full of sharp angles and impossible clarity. The man in front of him snorted into his cup – which stank of constant refills of beer.

“Brother, let me tell you – there are no possibilites to be done. Things aren't as simple as up and killing one noble – if you do that, two sprout up. Barkeep! Ah, another one over here, for my friend!” Klaes turned that smile to the maiden who had come over to deliver the drink – and quietly asked for some honeyed water instead. It was almost comical that the man with the sharp smile asked for such a thing; but at the same time, the barmaiden politely obliged.

“See, brother – er, Brother, sorry -” The man seating near Klaes smiled appreciatively as Klaes tried to pronounce the term with more emphasis - “But, you see, the situation is like this. I led a smell company, myself, and we were just pretty much obliterated. It's no matter of yours, but-”

“I'll help. We'll get a few of the men here together. No Swadian comes into a pub, acting that polite while nursing a wound that blatant, talks to Rhodok mere days after a truce, and doesn't get help from Bunduk. I do hate to breech the delicate subject of pay, Brother-”

The space between them soon shone with denarii. After all, there were several people who had no longer needed their shares.

“Pay doesn't matter, Brother!.. You don't understand how important this is to me. Actually..” The fire began to rebuild in Klaes' eyes. After all, just because they had lost a battle, lost friends and allies – no, that was no reason to lose hope and lose sight of their goals, was it..? Klaes jumped onto the table and grabbed Bunduk's mug from besides him, banging it against the heavy wood – as Klaes spoke, so did people listen. In his words, Bunduk heard not only the same hatred of the nobility that he had; but also a fervor, desperate to the point of fever pitch, to see things changed.

It was as enthralling as it was almost toxic – soon the bar drew almost empty, and when Klaes returned, the heavy patter of footfall accompanied him; several horses had been brought to help carry Aethelric and Louve, though Louve managed to notice through her pain that Klaes had no mount of his own. There must have been at least thirty men with him, not counting the practical-seeming man who was quickly and ably splitting them up amongst their duties. It looked like this wasn't the end of their journey after all... But exhaustion and pain caught up with her, and her eyes faded temporarily. Klaes' new regiment had been formed – and soon had left, it's wounded being taken towards Dhirim for rest and recovery, leaving only several makeshift graves behind them.

The patrol that found them first quickly sent the word of an unknown force, likely not Nord due to the presence of cavalry – and that the unknown party was headed towards Dhirim. Panic turned to opportunity, however, as the makeshift army of cast-offs and peasants, farmers, militia, and watchmen made it's goal very clear to the Count, who had hastily retreated from the front to protect Dhirim from this 'possible unknown assailant' who was now standing in front of him, bold as brass.

“Well met, Count. I've heard you've been having some trouble with the Khergit front..? Kyahahahah!”

-



He's drunk, he up and leaves his pregnant wife mistress female acquaintance with a pittance o' coin, but he has a heart of gold behind a noble-hatin' exterior, it's BUNDUK! Bunduk has a wide variety of good skills and happens to sit well with anti-monarchy characters. Of course, he has some funny ideas about justice and the public, and he likes calling friends Brother, which can put people off of him. But seriously, he's got a lantern jaw, which in old-school comics marks him as a hero, right? Anyway, he seems to have taken a shine to Klaes, so I'm sure that this should turn out wonderful for everyone involved!

I get great comments, and then another delay in updating? What's with that? Sheesh! Well, here you go~ It's not quite on time, but I do hope you enjoy!

ChapterMaster:  You got it!

JosieJ: I love adding music to stuff - I'll probably add more as we go. I can't promise it'll always be appropriate, but then again - well, hopefully it'll lend a bit of immersion to things as we go. Also, thank you very much regarding my way of speaking!..  I don't know why, but I just like using words like that - it turns out better some times than others, but still. Thank you!

Pendy: Hey, it happens - real life comes first, and now that you're here sit a spell and enjoy yourself! We're glad to have ya! 

Capture Joe:  Wait till we get to Klaes' Awesome Game-Winning Tips!  That's all I can say on the matter.

Shin Megami Tensei, or System Shock? I wonder, I wonder~

Yeah, I'm in. Ah, btw, do I have to play for the humans' side?..  Please let me know if I can play a raving mad cultist or an... *outsider*. I shall then right up one application forthwith.

Failing that, however, it seems that the team is quite the sausage-fest, with the exception of Tabitha. Allow me to apply for someone to change that somewhat..?


Name: Elrika Fruytier
Callsign: Achille
Gender: La femme magnifique.
Age: 32
Description: It's hard to tell whether she is plump or thin - Elrika always wears very baggy clothing that obscures her form and hides her body; nevertheless, her clothes hang off of her somewhat short height, and she occasionally has to adjust a dangling sleeve or tighten her belt - that, given her penchant for surviving off of nothing but black coffee and InstantRice(r) has meant that she probably is quite petite. Her hair was once some other color - but she regularly dyes it a blue so dark that it is almost black to match the blue of her eyes.
Former Occupation: Elrika supposedly served as a private investigator, although little record of her prior work can be found; it appears she did indeed solve cases of some renown in her youth, but the last documented appearance she makes lists her as studying Comparative Mythology at a community college.
Current Occupation: Questions Lifestyles had about her prior occupation aside, the one thing that Elrika does well - EXCEEDINGLY well - is solve problems. She takes immense glee in cutting straight to the truth of a situation, no matter how unpleasant. As an analyst for the team, she is supposed to wait until areas are clear, and provide tactical support as well as understanding of the physiology and nature of the invaders - and how best to destroy them. Of course, that may not be enough for her - and if her 'little grey cells' tell her that the chance to face a foe worthy of her intellect will only come from going along with the team, there is nothing in Hell that could stop her.
Weapons: The Truth!, Nasty Words, Poison. Failing all of the above, anything that is exceedingly sharp and causes bleeding and intense tissue damage - she is quite good with the scalpel she carries around with her, which has a scythe-like honed curve.
Equipment: Aforementioned scalpel, an old-fashioned notepad and paper, a midnight blue pen and a red highlighter, a heat and stress resistant Lifestyles WriteRight Pad, 'The Mysterious Affair of the Gull's Cry', a .357 Magnum 'Chandler' and five speedloaders.
Bio: In almost any timeline, there would have been little need for someone like Elrika Fruytier; with the move towards global peace and integration - or at least corporate integration - crime became a less common and more private occurrence. While other minds were stimulated by the affairs of white-collar crime and arresting those whose fingers dipped into the company account, such crimes bored Elrika and left her mind to languish. She craved challenge, more than challenge - someone whom she could cut down, humiliate, utterly embarrass with how clever she was. Opportunities for this sort of thing must be at least one in one million... But one came, nonetheless.

Having survived on a stipend earned by performing minor problem-solving and analysis duties for the Universiteit Gent, Elrika studied things related to a certain case that she had never been able to crack. To call this case an actual case was wrong, however; it was mere speculation, something that could be neither proven nor denied - are there things beyond human understanding? Do they exist..?

Of course not. There is no way, absolutely no way, that there is nothing that can exist beyond the realm of human understanding! Full of belief in her own skill, Elrika packed the few belongings she owned tidily, and presented her case to Lifestyles - having prepared several cases full of 'supportive material' if they tried to deny her a spot on the team.
Augmentations and Side-Effects: Elrika needs no augmentations - so long as she has access to her little grey cells, of course. And they are keen little grey cells indeed, capable of processing a great many facts with speed and accuracy. However, she is very arrogant and headstrong about her opinions, and absolutely denies the remote possibility that the Unknown Invasive Entities are anything but bizarre life with hitherto unknown capabilities. She is also very mean and snarky - yet strangely tries to avoid anything so mean or meta that it would break the team, the bane of gamemasters everywhere 

So, what do you think, everyone?

I hope you think it's <good!> 

Apathy, indifference, authority.

I'm actually afraid of almost everything, but so afraid of so much that it rounds out to being afraid of very little - and besides, it's a pleasant fear that is almost like a friend; although I am afraid of so much, it motivates me to challenge myself and learn more, maybe even to be unafraid. I wuv fear. 

Rule? A country?

Rule a country?

Me?

Snrk. You're kidding, right? You aren't kidding?...

... I would start by parading around the streets with the clatter of tin chimes and my arms thrown up to the wind - you fools, you have for some inexplicable reason chosen me to lead you - but lead you I cannot, for I am insane! I resign! There is no government but love, the one true element - but should you still desire rulership, should you still buckle at the knees and look to authority to save you, then I shall lead you to the one who can. It is time for Nature to reclaim her lost children! And then we would all put on the masks of great skulls of those that came before us and dance wild in the streets, burning in a bonfire the dyed paper bills that represented things of such value - the world would go back into the rightful cycle and the streets would grow thick and verdant with moss squeezing the life out of the pointless steel towers that climbed so pointlessly into the sky. We would not destroy all machinery - for in it's soul, the children of electricity and metal yearn to be free, too - and so they would be.

We would look up to the stars and realize that many friends were calling out to us - they did not yet know us as friends, but they would soon; for all the great peoples of Earth craved to meet them. But first, I imagine there would be some opposition to this new outgrowth of the world, so we would run towards them in great torrents, growing and pulsing and dying in a droves of fevered charges, the mad revelry only complete when others started dancing to that wonderful soundless and primordial tune - when the gardener watched, she would be happy, I think. Finally, all the earth would be at peace and focused on beautiful, constructive chaos - and not destructive order or destructive disorder. So free from the constraints of greed and apathy, of control and demand, our endless creative imagination would be unleashed to reach upwards and strangle the heavens, and seeing that the time was right, those old and forgotten could return from the glens and valleys and join in our wild song - and soon we would find the place of that Jealous One, the Demiurge... And then there would be none.

As above, so below.

But... But...

There are PEOPLE in those towns. And they barely have half a denarii to their name.  Why would you do that?



Honestly, I usually just kill bandits/sit on a merc contract doing nothing for awhile, buying businesses and training troops. I find you barely even need to engage in combat to make money, if you know where to look - and I hate micromanaging prisoners, so usually only get it to five to make a few quick denarii. One thing I do find is that looting rapidly pays off, because good quality equipment can make even looters worth running after, if you're lucky. (And looting does increase equipment quality, right? Or it's not just Eris the random number god playing tricks on me?