Date: 1 Tolven, 1587
Time: 5:10 AM
Location: Imperial Palace, Tokasa

Hiraku Honda scowled as he marched down the hallway. As people attempted to intercept him, he gave them each a glare to scatter them back to the edges of the hallway. Even the guards, trained to suppress all expressions of emotion, showed signs of unease as he marched towards his destination. Behind him, hushed whispers began to arise.

"He looks infuriated." Well obviously he was. "I heard that he's going to pressure the Her Imperial Grace to fire them." Incorrect; he need not pressure her to do anything. "What if the Empress gets mad at him?" He stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway, dead in his tracks. The whispers fell silent at that moment as fear gripped the occupants of the hallway. Slowly, he turned, staring at a pair of people from whence he heard such a slight.

"That's Her Imperial Grace to you," He answered coldly, a bitter smile worming his way onto his face. "I will merely assume that I misheard though. My, deepest apologies." He turned around and continued his steady march without waiting for an answer; he never expected one anyways.

"He's pissed." He scowled further at this murmur, the destination within reach behind the golden doors coming into view. Pissed was a extremely improper way of describing his feelings at the turn of events that occurred just hours before. Whatever emotion he may have held for these events that awoke him from a fitful slumber a mere hour earlier he dared not show however. Not yet. Only when he crossed those golden doors... only then would he show just how "pissed" he is.

"Hiraku Honda, Chair of the Imperial Council and Trusted Adviser of Her Imperial Grace, Dragon Protocol." He held up his identification around his lanyard to the guards in front of the golden doors for inspection. One guard stepped forward, a male about his height. He reviewed it carefully, checking for the Dragon Seal pressed straight onto the card. Upon finding it, he saluted Chairman Honda before stepping back and allowing the other guard, a female about the same height, to step forward with a pillow and two gloves.

"You are permitted, Chairman Honda. Welcome to the Imperial Chambers." They bowed, then Hiraku took the gloves and slipped them onto his hands. Another bow followed before the female guard returned to the left of the door.

"Your welcome is appreciated," He replied, that scowl never leaving his face. "It would be most appreciated if you both were to clear this hallway of all occupants and seal it off, per protocol."

"At once Chairman," They replied in unison as they bowed. Moving in sync with one another, they flanked him on both sides and proceeded to go about their assigned task, leaving Hiraku to face the slumbering dragon alone. He opted not to explain why he wanted this protocol taken, a most unusual circumstance but not entirely unexpected. They clearly believed that he desired to protect them and the others in the hallway from the wrath of the dragon, and that was quite fine with him.

He took a step forward towards the door and placed his gloved hands upon it before taking a deep breath. Then, he pushed the doors forward and walked inside slowly into the lair of the beast. As he walked inside, a murmur came from within the room. Without responding, he turned and closed the doors behind him, before slipping the gloves off and placing them on a pillow on a nearby dresser.

Darkness. Nothing but himself, the darkness, and the dragon. Hiraku's scowl finally slipped away from his face as he took a deep breath. Slowly, he stepped closer towards the other end of the room, praying to Muze that he knew this floor well enough to avoid the squeaky floorboards. Thankfully, he had been in this room many a time before. "Yet another tradition shattered with 'reckless abandon.'" He thought with a bitter smirk.

Eventually, he reached the other end of the room and approached the side of the bed he knew she would be on. As he reached her side, he saw that one hand was sticking out beyond the edge. He knelt down next to it and gently clasped it, kissing it lightly before speaking ever so softly.

"Your Imperial Grace," He whispered calmly. "It is time to wake up."

For a few seconds, there was no reply. Then, her hand moved slightly, before realizing it was caught within Hiraku's grasp. A few seconds letter, she groaned, followed by the sounds of the sleeping dragon rising from its soft pillows to utter its majestic reply.

"Hiraku?" She mumbled blearily.

"Yes, Your Imperial Grace?" He responded wistfully.

"...Would ya stop fuckin' calling me that already!?" She yanked her hand out his grip and wormed her way out from under her warm sheets to give him a playful scowl, before freezing. "Wait. Is there anyone else-"

"Nope. But, unfortunately I come here on rather important business... no advisement today Mirai." She smirked for a moment before frowning, rolling herself up into a sitting position on the bed. Beckoning him with her hand, she reached down and helped him up onto the bed to sit next to her.

"Perhaps later. Now then Chairman, what important news is this that you have to wake me at..." She glanced at the clock before her eyes bulged. "Three in the morning!? This better be good." She glared at him silently and folded her arms, awaiting an answer. He nodded and obliged.

"The Chikasun embassy contacted us a few hours ago. It appears that there is a vicious split within their Parliament over the fate of the trade agreements."

"This isn't really something to wake me up about-"

"Our embassy in the capitol also contacted us. It appears that protests have surrounded the embassy and chaos reigned in the capitol as of five hours ago." She stared silently at him, taking in the information.

"Then, what you are telling me is..." She trailed off to let him say the sweet words he had been dying to say for over an hour now. He took her hand and smiled calmly.

"Everything is going to plan."

Near Orenhold, Kingdom of Phortain
12 Zechyr, 301 BCE

Prince Lyrn was only twenty-three when he first stepped foot in Zanaro. He was still quite baby-faced, albeit tall by the day's standards and certainly built to wear his unblemished bronze cuirass and swing a sword properly. A descendant of the Feryn the Glorious, Lyrn still had Florinthian features, as opposed to the largely ethnic Geinic and Syorid he commanded. His thick black hair, kept short and swept back from face, shined a dark mahogany under the sun, while his green eyes had the softness only one who grew up in the comfort of royal society could have. That would change soon.

On his mother's, Archking Hilfrid, order, he lead the 17th, 18th, and 19th Hosts and their auxiliaries across the Bastion river and into the Zanarite Kingdom of Phortain. His mother had told him much of the Phortainese: they were a vile pagan people, who persecuted and massacred Rune-fearing Messanites. They'd killed his grandfather, Lyrn I, and were obstructing Lanlania's Just Labor: the liberation of Azreae, as decided by Rune and decreed by his great-great-grandfather, Feryn the Glorious. He'd heard of how, after defeating his grandfather, they'd degraded his body and threw it in a ditch with the other Lanlanians they'd massacred. They were truly a barbarian people, and it was his duty, by Rune's Will, to punish them.

"Prince."

Lyrn finishing tying his boots and glanced towards the entrance to his tent. "Ordinskarl?"

"Aye, Prince."

Lyrn's second-in-command was a Syorid man, perhaps three-tens in age, with black, curly hair reaching his neck matted under his bronze officer's helmet. He carried a short sword at his waist, much like Lyrn did as he pushed aside the leather flap and stepped outside. "Scouts report the Phortainese army has exited Orenhold and is marching to meet us. They are reported four leagues away."

"How soon can we march?" Lyrn asked. He walked past his deputy, Doren, and accepted the bowl of breakfast handed to him by an aid near the campfire. The area ahead of him was a sprawling grid of tents, surrounded by hastily erected log walls. It had an unpleasant male smell, though it was somewhat drowned out by the stew the cooks had made. At least until the two smells mixed and it again became disagreeable.

Lyrn could see that the troops had already been roused, many gathered around their fires, sharing jokes and stories over breakfast. A few had donned their armor, but most were still in their tunics. Wasn't it too relaxed?

"Aren't we too leisurely?" He asked as Doren joined him on the log by the campfire. He'd accepted a bowl too.

"Nay, Prince," the man answered, after a spoonful of potato and meat stew. "The Phortainese are still four hours away. It's best to let them do the marching."

Lyrn nodded. It was his first campaign and he had no reason to doubt the judgement of a professional hostmen.

"Even at double time, we've at least three hours to ready up."

"Ah," Lyrn replied, taking a spoonful himself. It was surprisingly good, for marching food. Salt made just about everything edible.

"The vanguard is already in position anyway," Doren continued.

Doren and Lyrn had spent several hours back in Freesna choosing ideal battlegrounds. When they crossed the Bastion river the day before, crushing what meager garrison Phortain called its border guard in a swift battle, they'd noticed that the Phortainese weren't using guerilla tactics as they'd done the last time the Archkingdom attacked. They'd instead attempted to defeat the Lanlanians in a pitched battle, where they were simply massacred by the Lanlanian hostmen, the Archkingdom's elite heavy infantry. He hoped the Phortainese would continue to make it that easy.

"I've heard their current king is a child," Lyrn thought aloud.

"Aye," Doren replied. "Around ten-and-five. Maybe he's let their last victory get to his head."

"That'd be fortunate."

Doren nodded. The hostmen formed the core of the kingdom's army, organized into Hosts of eight hundred men companies. Professional heavy infantrymen who served in the army for a term of twenty years, the hostmen were well-trained and equipped with the best equipment in southern Brigidna. While their auxiliary troops wore mail hauberks, the hostmen used expensive laminar armor which offered exceptional protection against blows, cuts, and even arrows. With their tower shields protecting them from javelins and other heavy missiles and the auxiliaries covering their flanks, the hostmen were the nigh-unstoppable hammer of the kingdom.

Lyrn would not make the same mistakes his grandfather had. His troops were to be well-rested, would not engage after a long march, and he would certainly not recklessly pursue a fleeing enemy into the forest without scouting it first. And if the Phortainese were to throw themselves into the meat-grinder that was his three Hosts, all the better!

http://board.eternityrpc.com/showthread....43#pid5343

INDEED, INDEED. THE LANLANIAN HORDES ARE INVADING ZANARO...almost 20 centuries ago? Indeed, indeed. The Messanic High Kingdom of Lanlania is on a crusade to liberate the holy Lanlanian, and conquering southern Brigidna along the way. Beginning in 301 BCE with the destruction of the Kingdom of Phortain, High King Lyrn II will fight and kill Zanarites until they kill him in 276 BCE, after which his brother, Dyrfin I will finish the job for him.

Sadly, their campaign of murder did not forever subjugate the Zanarite FILTH, and they overthrow the Lanlanians in 424 CE, when the Lanlanians were at their weakest, following a lengthy and bloody war with the Galasian successor states, and a revolt in Rylmark-Soyabar.

BUT THE LANLANIANS SHALL NEVER SURRENDER, and I WILL HAVE MY BABY. >:V

Hello! I'm Rainbow NyanNyan, or just Rainbow for short please. I've RPed actively for like... a year now? Mostly RPed on Reddit however. I'm a guy but am often mistaken for a girl, so unintentional trap I guess? :x

Also I was brought here by Ikarius (who is cute *cough*) and just... ask any question you want and I'll answer if I'm comfy with it? ewe

Mestran conquest of the Masparian Southernlands.

I'll post details later.

Dein 1587

Zemaita
Kingdom of Nerysia

The sun had just gone under as a motorcade travelled through the capital of the Kingdom. The black, armoured vehicles carried the Royal Standard on the hood, signifying that a member of the Royal family was being escorted. Police escorts cleared the roads for the 20 royal vehicles, heading towards the National Assembly building at high speeds.

The illuminated Gothic buildings of the Nerysian capital were reflected in the black metallic paint of the royal cars as they drove through the historic center of the city. If a member of the Royal family was on the way to the legislature, it was probably the King himself. But King Algirdas, son of Aspar, was 70 years old and shunned publicity, preferring to wield his influence behind closed doors. It could also be his son and intended heir, Prince Azirkas, who had the authority to act in the name of the King. Prince Azirkas and his wife were frequently seen in public, attending ceremonies, religious celebrations, or making political announcements. He was a tall but skinny man, usually dressed in full uniform, with a well-kept brown-haired beard, short brown hair, and big eyes that stood out from his rather long, rectangularly shaped face. His narrow face was a reflection of his narrow mind. Prince Azirkas was disliked because he didn't just look like a police-man in his black uniforms with his polished boots, he also acted like one. He was also keen to correct those around him, impose political discipline on everyone, and even reprimand his wife when she read books that he deemed politically subversive. Pretty much everyone in the Kingdom dreaded the day that Azirkas would become King, for it was impossible to like the man, who to some extend seemed to enjoy being hated. For him, the hatred of others served as a form of confirmation that he was on the right course. To Azirkas, human beings were nothing but a bunch of cattle, shitting and eating as they see fit, and he saw himself - as (future) Monarch - as being tasked with instilling and maintaining order. Being disliked was part of the job.

It was indeed Prince Azirkas who emerged from one of the vehicles after they had arrived at the parliament building. The Prince was quickly welcomed by Chancellor Ricimer, the man through whom King Algirdas often operated and controlled the political system. As Chancellor, Ricimar was the chair of the legislature. He also sat in the Crown Council, the advisory board of the King. Executive and legislative powers were strictly separated under Algirdas. The National Assembly and the Senate, chaired by the Chancellor, approved budgets and could block and initiate legislation. Executive power was concentrated in the Council of Ministers and the Crown Council. Both were composed at will by the King, and answerable only to the King. In practice, this meant that the King and the Crown Council governed the country and developed its policies, the Council of Ministers was charged with implementation, and the legislature was allowed to debate the plans, but seldomly blocked them. True opposition parties were banished a long time ago - there were only varying shades of loyalty.

The fact that a member of the Royal family visited the legislature, instead of the legislators being summoned to the Palace, usually indicated that Royal family had an announcement to the nation - therefore symbolically addressing the representatives of the nation.

Once standing before the representatives of the Assembly, everyone in the room went silent – not knowing what to expect.

The tall Prince Azirkas, in his black royal uniform with all its golden braiding and decorations, stared into the chamber with his big, hollow eyes and his long face. ‘’Esteemed members of the Assembly,’’ he began with a loud and stern voice.

‘’I stand here with a message from our Sovereign Lord, King Algirdas, son of Aspar. I have been ordered by the Sovereign, my beloved father, to personally hand the Chancellor of the Assembly the following Royal Decree.’’

With his slender hands, he then held out an envelope, which was taken on by a herald who then took the letter across the floor to the bench where Chancellor Ricimer was seated. Ricimer, a thin man with a pale, wrinkly skin and his black hair combed back – highlighting his receding hairline – opened the letter. He turned even paler, to the point that some worried he was suffering a heart attack. He rose from his 700-year old wooden bench and read it out loud before the Assembly.

‘’His Majesty the King, Lord Sovereign of the Kingdom of Nerysia, Algirdas, son of Aspar, hereby orders the immediate dissolution of the National Assembly, the closure of its building, and the cessation of its activities, until further notice. The King expresses his gratitude to the Members of the Assembly for their hard work and commitment to the Nation. Signed…’’

Chancellor Ricimer looked up from the letter, then to Prince Azirkas, and then to his peers on the front rows of the parliamentary benches. The room quickly filled itself with the sound of whisper and buzzing as the members realized they were blatantly being cast aside. A man in the back rose from his seat. ‘’This is Tyranny!’’ he yelled. Prince Azirkas seemed rather amused at the scene. ‘’The King cannot do this!’’ yelled another short but fat man.

‘’We want to speak to the Majesty in person!’’
‘’I shall never give up my seat!’’

Some people started screaming and yelling, but the majority of the people seemed to accept their fate with resignation. Some members were visibly content with the decision – having never thought much of the Assembly and its role. But the people who mattered, like Chancellor Ricimer, were simply stunned. Eventually he rose from his seat again. ‘’Order! ORDER I SAID.’’

Everyone was silent again. Some were still standing though. ‘’With all due respect, Your Highness, but has His …Majesty… given any reasons or explanation for this unexpected Royal Decree?’’ Ricimer slowly turned his skull towards Prince Azirkas, who smiled arrogantly at him.

‘’Chancellor I can only assure you that His Majesty has taken this decision after lengthy consideration, and decided in all His wisdom that this was to be decided. That should be enough explanation. I hope that you do have faith in the judgment and wisdom of our King…’’

Chancellor Ricimer was now as white as the moon. The blood vessels in his forehead were pumping as he was fuming with anger. He rose from his seat again, crossed the floor in a few short but determined steps and walked over to Prince Azirkas. ‘’I am not playing games here. What is going on? I could still summon the King in person before this chamber,’’ he hissed at Azirkas.

Azirkas’ smirking face disappeared. ‘’You want to drag an old man to this floor because you’ve become too arrogant to accept a message from the Heir to his throne and his only son?’’

Ricimer turned around. ‘’You’ve all heard me. The King has dissolved the Assembly. Everyone is hereby dismissed and ordered to leave the building and do not return until further notice.’’

Then he turned back to Azirkas. ‘’I request an audience with the King for tomorrow morning.’’

‘’Your request has been noted.’’ Azirkas replied with an irritated voice.

Moments later, the Assembly members poured out of the building, while Prince Azirkas entered one of his Royal cars. Chancellor Ricimer wandered through the corridors of the building’s floors to instruct supporting staff and administrative personnel to go home until further notice.

Once he got to the highest floor however, two men appeared. They walked towards Ricimer who initially thought they might be from the security. Once he got closer to them, he noticed they were wearing doctors’ gloves. Ricimer panicked, and tried to run away as fast as his old legs could carry him. But his legs proved too old and he tripped, fell down to the floor and probably broke his wrist. The two mysterious men picked him up from the ground.

Outside, below the building, Prince Azirkas was looking at his watch while sitting in a stationary car. Then he heard a strange scream, followed by a slap. Azirkas noticed in the corner of his eye that an object had come down and fell on the ground. He turned his head, and saw a man lying on the ground, bleeding, with his arms and legs visibly broken.

‘’Drive.’’ Azirkas then told his driver.

Date: 12 Dein, 1587
Local Time: 5:30 AM
Location: 20 KM North of Safuto at the Imperial Summer Home

Mami Sekai, Crown Princess of Kazemura

In.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Out.

In.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Out.

In.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Shit! Out of space again.

I grumble for a moment as I look through my camera bag, bleary eyed from the early morning wake. Wish I didn't have to be up to get just the right damn lighting for this picture, but whatever. We don't have a lot to do these next few days, save for meet some pretty boy from the South. Mestran royalty or some such.

I find an empty card and smile triumphantly, before quickly switching the cards out. Now then. Breathe in. Hold, and snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. Sn- Battery too low!? What in Muze's name is this about!? Ugh, I told them not to mess with my stuff. Of course they don't listen to me. Now I'm going to lose the damn light and there's not supposed to be another misty morning like this for a long while. We leave in two days too! I can't just- ugh. Great.

"I'm kicking their asses later," I mutter, glaring at one of the guards near a tree. I slide the camera back into my bag and scowl, pulling out my smart phone. Not as nice, but at least I'll have something to work with. I take a few pictures with it, doing my best to make up for some lost time. After a few minutes and a series of photos of the house and seaside from different angles, I lower my phone and sigh. Pictures aren't too bad, but they aren't my greatest work... oh well.

I begin to make my way to the steps leading back into the house, stopping just before them. I turn and sit on them, taking a moment to stare out into the sea. The sun is beginning to climb its way into the Heavens above, bringing its warmth to its children below. Or, that's how the story goes at least. I must readily admit, I'm not much of a follower of the old ways. It's rather ironic I know; even more ironic is that my sister isn't much of a spiritual person either and she's the Empress. Then again, we've both a bit of a history of shattering stuffy traditions. The fact that I'm even allowed to engage in photography as an art form or a business is proof of such.

Or the fact I'm not married yet. Yeah, that one especially is really becoming a sore point; even my sister is prodding at it. I get I'm supposed to marry a member of some form of nobility, but if I'm to spend the rest of my life with someone, I need to enjoy their company. I need to be able fly free like the Heiwana dragon. I want to see the world with my eyes and show people how I see it, good and bad.

Still, I've a duty and I can't forsake it anymore. I need to be able to compromise, but so do they.

"Your Majesty, it would be best for you to get some rest." I lazily drift back to reality and turn my attention towards the guard that approached me. She gives me a stern look and I sigh.

"Yes yes," I reply, waving my hand at her. "I know, the Mestran royal family is paying a visit today and I need to look presentable. I'll go get some rest." I stand slowly and trudge up the stairs to the Imperial Summer Home. Slowly, I take one last look at the sunrise before entering the home to review the photos I acquired thus far. It'll just be a few minutes of that and then I'll sleep.

Science & Culture

Science & Culture (originally Znanost in Kulturne) is a monthly Florinthian-language international science magazine, founded in 1572. Since 1580 it has also run a website. The magazine covers current developments, news, reviews and commentary on science and technology. It also publishes speculative articles, ranging from the technical to the philosophical. Science & Culture publishes articles on a wide range of topics and fields, including technology, biology, astronomy, philosophy, anthropology, and culture.

Science & Culture is owned by Pismo Corporation, which still publishes a weekly Mordvanian-language named Znanost in Kulturne.

The Presidential Estate
Just outside Ka Drubang
The Drubang Confederacy
Septum 18, 1587
---

"President for Life." Heda thought. "Must it be for life?"

He had just finished having dinner with his daughter Rua and her family. Unlike him, she had a large brood of children, eight already, five boys and three girls. The eldest children were already grown adults, and one was already expecting a child.

"A great grandparent. Am I truly that old?" He thought.

He had first been elected as a young man, only 25 at the time. His fathers death had floored him, but he had been groomed for the role and fit in nicely. His daughter had been given the same chance, only she had many more years to prepare. She was now beyond child-bearing age.

Early on, he had expected to have more, but it soon became clear he would not. He was unsure of the specific medical reasons, but it was clear his seed was... not germinating. He had moved past that, and instead invested fully in his daughter and her husband. He was a strong, wise leader, and a general, and she did well to make him her husband. Should he die, he knew she would make an excellent ruler.

But would she get the chance? There were rumblings in the council that a woman as President for Life would not be tolerated, for whatever reason, regardless of who her father was.

This troubled Heda greatly, and he thought of it often.

He had several options to ensure she was his successor, but the most obvious one was not easy. He would have to relinquish the title and give it to her literally. The primary challengers would not likely accept this, and there was a good chance they would contest this. They were all military leaders, and the contest would likely come to armed conflict. This was not something to be taken lightly, especially given the fragile nature of the Confederacy.

General Manahashet Dua was a Kalimantran, same as Heda and Rua, and was widely seen as a potential favorite for the title. He was a respected military official and highly decorated for his age, a mere 35.

Admiral Hokkai Fitsu was an easterner, but older than Dua and more decorated. He had just as much a chance at taking the position, by force if necessary. It would be odd for a non-Kalimantran to be leader, but there had only been two so far so there wasn't much of a precedent.

Rua, meanwhile had the pedigree of being a direct relation, a grandchild, of the revolutionary father himself. She was trained for the role and had plenty of political experience and an international education featuring degrees from Nyland, Florinthus, and Lanlania. But her gender would remain a question. She was undoubtedly strong willed enough to rule, but Drubang was an old-fashioned sort of country, particularly with regards to gender relations.

Heda continued to ponder this problems and considered, again, resigning and handing the role to his daughter, Rua.