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[Xeron]

Dorf me in as Jon 'Xeron' Python

[Iituem]

Stonehenge and the Great Wall have already been built, in other news.  A shame, because without Stonehenge expansion is seriously slowed (free +1 culture/turn, which is used to expand city borders - I have to build monuments instead), and the Great Wall basically makes me immune to barbarian invasions.

Eh. Here, chop/whip the Oracle if you can, and if you can start now (or in a couple hundred years probably), you can. It's a cookie-cutter strategy but this is going to be a very good continent to trade techs on.

You don't need a fifth city right now, especially not next to Miss Creative Hatsepshut. The marble might be nice but you probably won't get it hooked up in time to help with the Oracle and workers spent building roads aren't chopping forests.

Sirus - I believe it is alt-S, but in any case it's in one of the Civilopedia help files.

Marble isn't that important - I'll get that soon enough when my borders expand.  But there are only two sources of stone on the entire continent; one right next to Egypt and the other on the far side of Jova next to Russia.  I think I may have to settler-rush for the Egyptian stone, because stone is far too useful Wonder-wise.

Edit: Cicero and Cyrus will need to wait, namedrop wise.  I need to reach the Maga valley for one and I need to find a name-appropriate time period for the other!  As goes for all the 'John Smiths' and so on.  We're sort of in Biblical times right now.

[EuchreJack]

I love how you describe Civ 4 in historical terms.

[ansontan2000]

Great work on this. Wanna play a multiplayer match together ?

[Delta Foxtrot]

Good updates so far. Keep it up.

[Jarod Cain]

Dorf me please.
-J-

[Iituem]

Excerpts from and Analysis of the Aradai Sutra - Commentary by Daniel Foxly


A buddhist monk preparing for prayer in the traditional Mayan fashion.  Photograph by Tao55.



"I indulged in merits and demerits, which are a mine of miseries,
And regarded demerits as undesirables and merits as desirables."

Thus spoke Sera Pa in his final days,
reflecting upon the profits of his rule,
In which no joy had he gained from riches,
but miseries from attachments to tangible things.

His gold bought not wisdom, nor his jewels peace,
His spices fired not the spirit of his heart, nor the furnace of his mind.
Sera Pa reflected upon such things and wept,
For all things pass, and he had not contemplated
Upon that which still persists.

Gold flowed freely in the latter days of Sera Pa's reign, as spurred on by his desire for wealth and power he drove slaves into great open pits and later into deep tunnels in hungry search for the wealth of the Mercian peaks.  The sutra reflects upon his achievements with mixed praise and admonishment.  Much of Sera Pa's urge for wealth may well have sprung from necessity; in his day, there was no such thing as an absolute monarch.  A king was simply ruler of the lands immediately surrounding his seat of power.  Sera Pa and his line could be considered 'king of kings', but Ucra had a separate throne and both Duroch and Drūn had their own kings as well.



How high rose the walls of that first house,
Where Buddha's words spoke to the forgotten of Aradai.
Thrice high as any other, thrice walled,
With gardens to contemplate and beds for the needy.

Though Sera Pa would never live to see his monastery completed, the lessons learned in attempting to build a greater and taller complex of buildings than had before been attempted in England revolutionised Ucran masonry.  Though expensive and difficult to import, stone buildings began to more regularly replace common wood or earthen constructions and baked clay bricks became a favoured material.




The present day monastery, on the edge of Lake Bowman.

The monastery itself would not be completed until the early reign of Sera Pa's grandson Sar An, whereafter monks freely travelled from its walls to spread the word of Buddhism across the Ucran world.



In the many heavens and the many worlds,
There are stranger things than Man may dream of;
Yet Buddha stands outside this wheel of strife,
Beyond gods, beyond man, looking out upon them all,
And offering release.

Buddhism had a particular appeal to Sar An and his followers; because Buddha was not a god, Buddhism could neatly step around the fractured and complex divinity that was Ucran paganism and claim to be beyond and outside the reach of mortal and divine.  As an ascended teacher, Buddha and his teachings could make their way into every corner and every home regardless of what gods might there be worshipped.



This appeasing and adaptive aspect of Buddhism allowed it to spread freely to the capital and seat of power; Ucra itself.







Pity the Barian, for his heart is full of desire;
It rages, desperate to fill a hunger that cannot be sated.
By fire and blade he seeks to be remembered,
But all things pass and are forgotten,
Save enlightenment.

Between 1200 to 1170 BC, Barian raiders persistently threatened the northern frontier of the Drūn clan; in theory the last remnants of the Fair Folk, but by now they had racially been replaced almost in their entirety by Sinites.  The Barian peoples lived nomadic lifestyles along the Humber (then the Abar) north of Yorkshire and were known for periodically harassing villages, but internal strife had driven them further and further south in search of new grazing lands and pillage.  Acres of grazing land were laid to waste and thousands of cattle captured or slaughtered in their wake.





The Barians were eventually driven off by Ucran clansmen after many of the Drūn were killed from the long fight.  The Ucrans brought Buddhism with them and the act of valour led to its spread and to the Drūn finally consenting to be a part of the Ucran state.  A second clan of Barians attempted to strike at the Aradite mines in search of their vast wealth, but were broken by the clansmen as at Drūn.


The Oracle, Confucius and the Divine Buddha








The ruins of the Oracle's temple in York.

Blessed be she who the Buddha has touched,
She who can see beyond the wheel of suffering.
The Buddha speaks to her, guides her,
Lets us know his teachings and his will.

The history of the Drūn is one of violence, intolerance and brutal oppression.  In 1120 BC, two generations after the Barians were repelled, a young Buddhist woman began suffering fits and visions.  She claimed insight of the future and whether through mystical aid, insight or a keen knowledge of human nature many of her prophecies became true - or true enough for her to be elevated to the status of Oracle; one who sees Buddha.

This young Oracle at first tried to aid her home city in every way, but whether through a change of heart or perhaps through 'interpretation' by her carers and advisors (and carers she had, for the woman continued to suffer fits throughout her life) her prophecies began to target the remaining true Drūn population of the city.  Throughout her life, more and more Sinites began to see the Drūn as enemies; cursed by Buddha, responsible for their ills.  Oppression became subjugation, which became slavery.  Thousands of Drūn died at the hands of Ucran migrants, many of whom were worked to death building a temple in which the Oracle resided (perhaps unaware of the terrors her prophecy had brought).

One key theme throughout the Oracle's prophecies and sermons was the veneration of the Buddha above all else.  No longer was Buddha apart from man and god; he was above them, and ruled the gods as a mentor, guide and lawgiver.  This monotheistic view of Buddhism was particularly popular with the new ruling class in Ucra, who espoused it along with the ideal that 'Earth should be as Heaven; one Buddha, one king.'

The Oracle died in time, but the structure of her temple remained and for several generations a new Oracle would somehow always be found - reincarnated, as a Buddha might be.  The Oracle would in time be known as the first Lama.







Buddha sits above and beyond the mortal and divine,
His teachings and guidance will set you free.
Without Buddha, teachings alone are meaningless,
Without study, Buddha alone is mute.

Wary be then of he who learns the teachings alone,
Watch for those who ignore Buddha for lessons alone.
Wise may his sayings be, but flawed from the start,
For without Buddha to guide, he walks alone.

In what is commonly regarded as the start of the Classical period, the Oracle's visions and mandates inspired a change in organisation of both religion and government.  A heirarchical structure evolved in the Buddhist church, with the Oracle at its peak as speaker to Buddha and a layer of priests below who would communicate her wishes.  At the same time, the Ucran ruler Xeron Py mirrored such changes by instituting laws and ordinances to define punishments and procedures of sentencing for criminals.  This code of laws created a small class of scholars devoted to interpreting the law in matters of civil and criminal justice.


One of thousands of statues of Confucius, based on artwork from the time.

One such scholar was a man named Carmac Cleough, but better known by his later Egyptian title; Confucius.  Confucius was not in fact part of the Ucran state at all but a citizen of Duroch who migrated south to Aradai in search of enlightenment at Buddha's knee.  He trained at the monastery for three years before leaving in frustration at the blind obedience to the Oracle in Drūn.  Confucius travelled to Ucra, dissatisfied with what the Buddhist faith had become and seeking a return to earlier beliefs; Buddha as teacher and guide, not as god.  He reasoned that if one lived a worthy and noble life, one might transcend the bonds of life as well as if one accepted the Buddha's divinity.

The greatest political accomplishment of Confucius was becoming an aide to Xeron Py and preaching the concept of the Mandate of Heaven.  Ignoring Buddha's position above the gods, Confucius argued that the reason earlier dynasties such as the lines of Sheb, Moab and Claegh had failed was because of the philosophical inadequacies of their lines; they had ruled bitterly and oppressed their people, they had eaten the flesh of their enemies and engaged in sexual inpropriety.  So long as xeron Py and his descendants behaved according to the Right Way, the Mandate of Heaven would remain in place and their dynasty's rule would be secure.

How convinced Xeron Py was by this is uncertain, but he allowed Confucius to remain in court and preach his philosophy.  One possible reason for this is that Xeron Py realised that if the more troublesome kings below him accepted this faith it would force their loyalty; how could they stand against the Mandate of Heaven?  Thus Confucianism survived, albeit as a minor philosophy.



High and mighty are the walls of the Buddha's temples,
Firm and stall stand his brothers' houses.
As firm as the stones that support these walls,
So Buddha's guidance shall support his brothers.

Around 1090 BC, increasingly difficult conditions in Duroch led settlers to make the difficult journey north across heavy forest to the coastline by the river Braigh and found the town of Breoch.  Breoch would remain a quiet and largely unobtrusive settlement for several centuries, during which it would export small amounts of the local limestone for construction.




All things pass, all things build and are destroyed.
The mightiest of the works of men are but dust in the wind,
The greatest towers and the most learned scrolls,
Are doomed to pass to fire and water, as all things do.

In 950 BC a particularly disastrous flood struck Ucra, washing away the library and all the texts contained within.  The library would not be rebuilt for decades, in which time the original ruins were torn down and used to build houses for the swollen population of the city.  Disastrous as its floods might be, the fertile plains fed by the Thames were the source of of the city's ever-growing multitude - one that would periodically be cut down by exodus and slaughter.

Sadly, the game did not give me the choice to murder my population and spare my precious library after all.  Oh well, it just means even more of them are going to die to get it back.

Bright then is the spirit
of he who follows Buddha's teachings,
Shining like gold, sharp as bronze
and flexible as copper.

Around 865 BC, 95 years after the flood wiped out the original library, a new library was constructed in Ucra using Durochite slaves.  This actually provoked a war between Duroch and Ucra which was won by the superior Durochite archers who attacked the city.  When they returned home, they brought thousands of Ucrans with them in chains and forced them to work in the copper mines, the first time that copper was produced in enough quantity in Duroch to be freely available for trade.

Getting bored of textbook.  Time for a style change.

[Iituem]

Urai Culouch - 754 BC


A trader at work - An image of a trader such as Urai Culouch with servants.

I spit out the mouthful of date onto the street.  Bad purchase, bad waste of copper.  Maybe I will pass on the rest of the bag to the slaves as a gift.  Malinense dates, pfah!  Fatter than Ucran dates, but do they keep for the journey?  No.

I glance at another stall selling Drunish and Mayan jewellery.  Gold again.  Everybody seems to have gold these days.  A ring's trollhead design pleases my eye and I barter some of the dates and a couple of slips of copper for it - no doubt it will please my wife better than the dates.  I find myself a little impatient waiting for the merchant to weigh up the copper.  He apologises for taking longer than usual; some Egyptian traders have been cutting slips with lead of late.  We exchange a few words about it; one cannot trust Jews; and part company before he tries one of the dates.

The market is more crowded than ever; so many people, too little space in the street.  In my father's time there was a field we could sell wares upon by the river, but the temple's skeleton stands there now, waiting for marble skin to climb the supports.  They say it will be finished in a few years' time and we shall finally meditate upon Buddha's teachings in a sacred place.  Perhaps; always I am hearing of delays in construction.  There are more and more Malinese monks around the temple site these days, praying and meditating.  One of my suppliers tells me that the Oracle's priests have made their way across the coast to Mali and there they practice Buddha's teachings much the same way.

I squeeze past a cart and donkey, closing my nose to the sharp stench of the fishmonger's stall until I reach my own.  The copper delivery is late, but so am I.  The wagon forces its way through the traffic a handful of minutes after I arrive and I take the opportunity to harangue the waggoner over his delay.  Not that it matters too much.  Duroch copper is plentiful down here, even at what I bargain it for, and of course there are a few foreign imports.  Poor grade metal, impure.  Would not trust it.

I check the tablets of sale; a mess of Egyptian, Mayan, Malinese and Ucran scripts as usual.  One or two words are unfamiliar; I mouth the letters until I get the sound right.  Most of the words I know from business or tax, as the taxman's receipts are often written in the new alphabet.

Morning trade is slow; small traders picking up copper slips for trade and depositing grain, fish, whatever goods they have.  A few of my usual clients are here, a smith, a beater, a jeweller.  They take their orders in exchange for the usual goods - or so I expect.  Today the smith, David, gives me a dagger not of bronze but of bright silvery iron.  I test the blade and argue it will not hold as well; he gives me a small working knife in compensation, again iron.

We break whilst the workmen have their mid-day meal and I leave the wagon with my guard.  I walk to David's forge and ask him about the iron; why forge such an inferior metal?  He tells me that he knows some Malinese smelters in Druna able to get iron from local ore very cheaply, and the ore is more abundant than copper.

I thank David for his time and for lunch and return to my stall, my mind burning with thoughts.  If Drunish iron is so common and so easy to work and smelt, would it not serve me to send one of my sons there with slaves to dig out a new mine?  Perhaps.  When Seth arrives from Duroch, we will discuss the matter.  Until then I settle back by my stall, calling out my wares under the baking Ucran sun.

Spoiler: Game Pictures (click to show/hide)

Mansa Musa researched Alphabet a little before us, so he offered to trade it for the priesthood.  Since we were only 5 turns from researching it ourselves, I got him to swap iron working for priesthood and monotheism.  Puts him a little ahead in the tech race, but saves us about 18 turns of research.



Alphabet arrives and with it the power to freely tech trade - and to build Spies to send against our enemies.

As a side note, at 770 BC we are now 273 turns into the game.  Time still progresses at a rate of 1 turn/10 years.

Jeremiah Culloch - 607 BC

Poor iron from the new vein, have to smelt it almost to destruction to get the slag out.  Brittle.  I walk along the edge of the pit, away from the bloomery to get my breath.  Below me, slaves and criminals toil away at the rock with picks and chisels.  I give a nod to one of the guards as I pass him, then head to the small adobe building where the quarry records are kept.

I settle down in a chair and open the records chest; the cool, dark chest keeps the wax within from melting.  I pick up my stylus and spend some time working on the accounts, then push them to one side in favour of letters.

Ada informs me that Elijah is well and teething.  She will bring him down to Druna next year to meet me.  I spare a moment to smile at my latest son's health and pour out a little beer in celebration - and because I am thirsty.  I wish I could have seen his birth, but all my sons are too young for the business and my brother must manage the copper mine back home.

The road will help.  My father would tell me about the long road:

"Your grandfather's legacy," he would say.  "When your great, great uncle began mining here in Druna he wanted to keep both parts of the business together, to bring the copper and the forgers from Duroch and send the profits and goods of the business back home without having to pay the tolls and tarriffs of the Ucrans."

At first it was just a dirt path, trodden by caravans my great, great uncle paid to make the dangerous journey.  Then over a hundred years our family dredged out the marshland, raised the road with stone and gravel and paved it, easing the path of the traders between both towns.  My grandfather himself laid the last stone, linking the two cities together.

I turn to the next letter.  Orders for more iron from the Drunish king.  Production orders too; breastplates, greaves, axes.  Or perhaps not axes.  With bronze we could only afford an axe blade for the scarcity of the metal, but a longer blade could be affordable with iron.  One of the weaponsmiths has shown me a long axe with a short handle, akin to a spear but all in metal and with one sharpened edge like a sickle.  It strikes me that such a weapon might take months more training than an axe or spear, but manages to combine the cutting power of the former with the reach of the latter.

I will present the weapon as a gift to the king, for I know a man who can use it.  Goliath, the king's champion, is most skilled in both the axe and spear.  If I approach him first he might well be able to make use of it; I understand he has taken to training young soldiers in his house and grounds.  Perhaps this would be a good place to reach him.  I will send my assistant, Cain, out for the city at the end of the week.

Spoiler: Images (click to show/hide)

In 650 BC, there were half a million souls culturally Ucran or Durochite.


In 620 BC, iron mining reached full capacity at Druna.  A road was built between Druna and Duroch.


In 590 BC, a barracks was built in Druna.  A large order for iron swords and armour was placed by the king.

Benjamin Cullock - 552 BC

Lilith waits for me in the courtyard.  Oh, to think that I should not see her for seven long months!  I straighten my breastplate and cloak, sliding my sword in and out of its scabbard as long practised at Goliath's Green.  Satisfied, I take the money pouch at my neck and finger the treasure within; still safe, still where I left it.  I put my helmet under one arm and rush out to meet her.

She is wearing a white shift, cotton and woven with crossing brown patterns.  It gleams in the moonlight, which flickers on the pool by which she sits.  She is facing away from me, so I sneak up behind her and put a hand over her eyes.  She gasps, then giggles once she realises.  She pulls my hand away, stands and kisses me.  The soft touch of her lips runs through my blood, twinged with regret.  The embrace ends and she looks up at me with bright doe eyes.  Around her neck I see her necklace, an ivory charm on a golden chain.

"How long?" she asks.

"A few hours, perhaps less," I say.

"You go that soon?"

"Sem Na commands it.  I cannot go against the king of kings' command."

Lilith snorts.  "He is only that king's son.  I do not like him."

"It will not be long, I promise.  I must serve our king, and our king commands I serve that one.  Come now, let us talk of other things."

We embrace again.  Time passes.  I become aware of the light filtering over the horizon; dawn is coming.  I stir, trying not to wake her.  She wakes anyway and smiles at me, a fresh touch of sadness to her eye.

"Before you go," she says, "take this to remember me."

She takes the necklace from around her neck and places it around mine.  I hold her hand to my chest for a moment.  I reach for my purse and take out the treasure within; a golden ring, its face engraved with an image in a style two centuries past.

"Take this also," I say.  "It belonged to my mother, and to her mother, and so on as far as our family can remember.  Take it to remember me-" and here I kiss her hand "-for when I return, we will be married."

She holds me tightly, so tightly the air is pushed from my chest.  I feel the touch of tears on my shoulder, and also running down my face.

"Yes," she whispers.  "I give you my heart, Ben.  What is mine is yours, what is yours, mine."

We kiss again, a final time, and it tears my heart to part from her.  We do part, though, and say our farewells.  I take up my sword and armour and rush to meet the priests.


Benjamin Cullock - 551 BC

The priests are busy arguing.  The Sioux priests are demanding the Oracle's men come with them without their guard, to 'teach them their ways'.  Our priests are insisting they will not go further without us escorting them.  The Sioux aren't even Buddhists, they just want to ape the Oracle's temples so they can con their people into believing in false gods.

It is late.  The Sioux priests are asking for a night to consider the matter, which our own priests are more than willing to agree to.  We all need sleep, though having first watch I envy the priests for getting a little more of it.

--~o~--

I wake up, drowsy.  It is still night out, but something is gnawing at my nerves.  I shake myself a little more awake and reach for the jug of water by my bedroll.

There is a rustle outside, different to the leaves moving in the wind.

I stop reaching for the water and instead move to take the scabbard by my bed with one hand, then the other.  I inch the blade slightly out of the sheathe, ears pricked.

A series of quick, light thumps, then a heavy one as something wet hits the ground.

I mutter a curse under my breath and glance at my heavy armour by the bedroll; no time to put it on.  I stand, straining my ears for sound.  I can see a warm glow outside from the fire, the shadow of a rock on the ground.  Two shadows, one of them moving.

I leap out of the tent, screaming an alarm cry.  My sword sings as it leaves the scabbard, slicing up and into the chest of the Sioux axeman as he makes a gurgled scream of his own.  His torch strikes the ground and the shadows skulking around the tents come alive and let loose warcries.  Some of them come for me, others try to kill as many unprepared in the tents as they can before the real melee begins.

I do my best to hold my own, but there are half a dozen of them and I lack armour.  I fight for my life, swinging my scabbard like a shield and a second sword.  An axe bites into my shoulder, another into my hip.  I can feel blood flowing freely, my arm loses its strength and I am ready to collapse.  I drop my sword and a Sioux comes to finish me.

He collapses over my body, an arrow from his back.  One of the priests stands at the entrance to the tent, a shortbow in his hands.  He nocks another arrow, but a Sioux axe cuts into his head and he strikes the ground.  The few remaining on my side are falling quickly, though we have cut down many of them in payment.

I crawl through the mud, shifting the dead Sioux's body to one side.  As it falls, its purse comes open and I see a slip of gold poke out.  The gold bears an imprint; the wolf, the mark of Aradai.  The mark of the king of kings.

I go as far as I can before I drag myself to my feet, hobbling through the forest until pain and exhaustion finally get the better of me.  I collapse by a stream somewhere in the forest, bright lights piercing my vision as everything else fades to black.  The last thing I feel is the ivory charm at my chest pressing into my skin against the ground.

--~o~--

Time has passed, I know not how much.  I recall events vaguely, images and sounds and smells and touch.  Hands dragged me from the shore where I lay dying, threw me into a boat.  Other hands cleaned me, dressed my wounds.  I felt my arm again, and it burned with pain.  Heat, sweat, the marks of deep fever.  By the grace of Buddha, it passed.  Hands feeding me broth, water.  Hands helping me up.  Hands chaining my legs, my arms.  Hands hurling into a cart.  The glint of gold, the faint smell of metal.  A Mayan fisherman selling me, his sweat bound with the oils of fish.  A Mayan trader buying me, his sweat soaked with earth and sickly perfumes.  The white heat of a brand in my chest, the stench of cooking flesh.

I can smell the dust in the air as I and other slaves go downriver.  The barge moves slowly, and it is dark and cramped where we sit, waiting for our destinies.  A mine?  A field?  Some king's personal aide?  The pit, to fight for death and glory?

I do not know.  I may never see my Lilith again.  No doubt she thinks me dead, a victim of a tragic raid, or Sioux deceit.  Yet one image from that chaos of violence sticks in my mind; that golden wolf, leering at me from the Sioux's purse.  Was that chance?  Could there have been a deeper motive?

I do not know, but I will not rest until the day I find out.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

In 560 BC, arrogant demands were made by Sioux priests.  They were refused.

Jarod Cain - 524 BC

I finish my morning meditations and review Confucius' teachings once over before prayers to Buddha.  Some of my brothers do not appreciate the dual devotion, but just because I became Confucian does not mean I must abandon my Buddhist birth.  I rise and move to the hearth to prepare morning meals for the other monks, as is my duty today.

I gaze up at the fine Buddhist temple close by with a slight touch of envy, then admonish myself for wrong behaviour.  The monastery will take a lifetime to complete, so for now we make do with our simple shacks as the slaves work at its construction around us.  An unhappy people, but such is their lot in life; this is the punishment for those who ignore Confucius' guidance and break the law.  I spare a moment to watch the naked men work, lifting stone and breaking it at the mason's directions.

One of the slaves stands out, muscled like the rest but not of Mayan or Egyptian descent.  A Durochite I would guess, but heavily tanned from his labour.  A criminal, no doubt.  What strikes me is the number of brands on his chest and arms; a slave who has tried to escape or has started fights many times.  Why he has not been killed escapes me, but the lines on his face and the slightly sagging muscles tell of long service.  He is not completely naked either; he wears an ivory charm on a leather thong around his neck.

As I watch, meditating upon their just punishments, one of the guards spits at the necklace -wearing slave.  The slave grows still, his muscles bunching up.  A moment later, he continues working.  The guard spits again and laughs.  The slave turns to face him.  The guard walks up and slaps the slave, shouting at him.  The slave remains immobile, even as the welts appear on his face.  Then the guard grabs the slave's necklace.

"No slave should own such a-" begins the guard.

He does not finish.  The slave's fist strikes him just beneath the ribs and he doubles over.  The slave tears the necklace out of the guard's hand.  Other guards draw long knives and clubs and move to descend upon the slave; they have had enough.  The slave stares down at the guard with a cold, hard eye, as if deciding whether that man should live or die.

"Halt!" I cry.  I run down to the working pit, holding up my purse.

"This slave is trying to escape," says one of the guards.  "The Maya might have let him get away with that, but we won't.  Come, slave!  A quick death, or a slow one?"

The slave takes the club from the fallen guard's belt and readies himself, as if to take on all the half dozen guards at once.  I throw myself between him and the rest, pulling a handful of gold slips out of the bag.

"Wait, I will buy him!"

The guards pause.  The one who spoke before purses his lips.

"Not ours to sell.  King's labour."  The guard glances at his comrade on the floor, then at the slave, then at me.  "This slave has to die, holy one.  But I suppose we could accept payment if you wanted to take him away from here and do the honour yourself."

I pay the bribe and order the slave to hand over his weapon.  The slave reluctantly does so.  We leave the site to the glares of the guardsmen, bringing the slave to the camp where the other monks wait.  We reach my tent and he speaks to me.

"I will escape," he tells me in a calm but resigned voice.  "I do not want to have to kill you, monk."

"You are but receiving just punishment for your crimes, slave.  Even so, I take pity on your plight.  There are better lives for a slave; you could be a body slave, or with your strength a guard.  Lives with comfort, with luxury."

"But not with freedom."

"No."  I shake my head and take the basin of water I use for washing.  I wet a cloth and raise it to clean the slave's face.  He grabs my wrist; a little more pressure and my bones will snap.

"I told you, monk," he growls.  "I will escape, even if I have to-"

The slave stops.  He squints, peers at my face for the first time and his grip loosens.

"Cain?" he asks.  He shakes his head, the confusion fading from his brow.  "No, of course not.  He would be dead by now."

"What are you talking about?  How do you know my name?"  I shake my wrist free of the man's grip, taking a step towards the exit.

"Are you- Did you have a father named Aaron Cain?"

"That was my grandfather's name.  Why do you ask?"

"Your grandfather, was he a servant?  A servant to a rich man by the name of Cullock?"

"Well yes, if you must know.  The Cullocks were kind to my family, when they still lived.  My grandfather would speak of them often."

"When they lived?"  The slave's eyes harshen with fear and anger.  He raises his voice.  "What do you mean?  What happened to them?"

"Confucius beyond!  Who in the Buddha's name are you, slave?  Who are you that dares speak so to your betters, and how do you know my grandfather?"

The slave's eyes grow less angry, but no softer.  He stares at me as he did the guard, as if he alone could choose if I lived or died.  When he speaks, his voice is a hoarse whisper.

"My name is Benjamin Cullock."

I swear ingraciously at the slave.  "That is nonsense.  Benjamin Cullock died before I was born."  The slave growls, but calms himself and speaks in a clear, level tone.

"He did not die in that forest, though he was betrayed and left to die.  He was saved and sold, and worked in a mine for twenty five years before he tried one too many times to escape and they tried to drown him.  He escaped again, and got caught again in Aradai, then was sent along to Ucra to break stones until his life wore out."

The slave sighs.  "I can see you cannot believe me.  Who would?  Did your grandfather ever mention a ring?  A golden ring, worth the world to the family he served?"

"He did."

"Aradai gold, sent to Druna and wrought into shape, then back along those roads to Ucra.  Not a large ring, just large enough to fit a woman's finger.  Not the finest or most precious of rings, but fine enough to be fine.  It had no stone but upon its surface there was an old design, a horned beast in the shape of a man; a troll of old.  On the back of that design were two initials, those of my ancestor Urai Cullock.  I know this because my mother wore it, and I held it before I gave it away."

I stare dumbfounded at the slave.  My grandfather had but mentioned that ring once in passing, that it bore a troll's head, but I knew his story to be true through other means.

"I have seen that ring, Cullock," I say, choking a little on the name.  "I have seen it on the hand of the queen."

--~o~--

Benjamin Cullock - 524 BC

I am washed now and properly dressed, the marks of my years of shame well covered.  The warmth of the fire soothes my skin, as does the beer Cain has given me.  We spoke at length of what had become of my family, my loved ones.

A fire swept through my family's home during a great feast.  My father, my brothers and sister all dead.  My mother passed away not long after, my cousins struck down by harsh winters in Duroch.  I thought this at first mere tragedy, but then I learned of the owner of my clan's former estate; Sem Na, king of kings.  Husband to Lilith of Druna.

When Cain told me this, I gripped the mug of beer so hard it cracked.  Just thinking of this makes my heart burn.  I keep trying to tell myself that it has just been a series of accidents, but everything is too neat, too convenient.  It cannot have been coincidence - I know that Sem Na is responsible.

I cannot stay here.  Vengeance will drive me to try to kill him, and whilst this would be a most satisfying end, what will it accomplish?  I cannot get past all his guards alone.  Cain has agreed to help me in this.  He will send me to Druna with a letter of reference from the monastery; I will arrive in Druna a celebrated warrior to teach at Goliath's Green, a false man but a free one.  Perhaps there I might find peace, and if not then I can work to train soldiers fit to fight for the king.

Or just possibly against him.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

In 520 BC, the Trollkin are formed, an elite unit of swordsmen specialising in urban warfare.

Benjamin Cullock - 515 BC

I never thought I would love another, but even a bitter old man's heart is not so cold.  The Drunish king favours the marriage, for his daughter is both shrewish and his only child, but the young girl has taken a shine to my scars.  I often did beguile her of her tears, when I did speak of some distressful stroke that my youth suffered.  She gave me for my pains a world of sighs, she wished she had not heard it, yet she wished that heaven had made her such a man.  She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them.

I told the truth of my story to the king today, to ease his worries that his daughter was marrying a man of no stature.  He told me that he knew my father, in his youth, and that his iron had helped him keep order for many years.  He hoped that as his son (though in truth I am older than he) I and my children might do the same thereafter.


Benjamin Cullock - 508 BC

Only six months since the old king's death and already I find myself away from home.  I should stay behind to rule in his stead, but reports arrived of dangerous new men landing on the beach and I have come to investigate with my warriors.  There is a ship on the coast, larger than any trade ship I have ever seen.  It is moored by a small fishing village, Eed, and runners tell us they belong to a people known as the Ottomans.

I approach the ship with my bodyguard of Trollkin, men I have trained and fought with personally, men I trust with my life.  To our relief the precaution seems unnecessary; the men emerging from the ship are not warriors but sailors and fishermen.  Their cargo consists primarily of sealed grain, dried fish and tools.  We quickly discern that we share no languages, not even Malinese, but after a great deal of miming and drawing pictures in the sand we learn that they were blown off their course by heavy winds and happened upon our shores by accident.

We perform some small trades and invite them to eat with us.  The evening goes well, though since neither party shares the other's language it is quiet, at least until the singing starts.  It turns out that drunken singing sounds about the same no matter what language it is in.  When the meal is over, we retire to our tents and the soldiers to their ships.

--~o~--

I wake instantly and my hand goes straight to the sword beneath my pillow.  I spring to my feet and my sword arm swings up and out in an arch, bringing the blade across the assassin's throat.  He gurgles softly and falls to the ground.  I stare at him for a few heartbeats, still as a mouse.  In those heartbeats I pray to Buddha that my wife and sons are safe at home.  Then I call for the guards.

My men enter the tent as I wipe the blade clean of his blood.  They look at his foreign clothes, his strange knife.  One of them calls to have the Ottomans arrested.  I raise my hand to stop him, breathing a little more heavily than I would like.  I am not as young as I was.

"Look at him," I say.  "The clothes are wrong.  The right style, but they don't fit.  He's not the right race either, the man is clearly Ucran.  I think we will find one of our guests has gone missing."

One of my men takes a closer look at the body.

"I've seen this man before," he says.  "A bondsman at the court in Ucra."

I feel my gut sink.

"Then Sem Na has finally made his move against me." 

I turn to my men, all of whom have gathered now.  "I know you, each and every one.  Many of you I trained myself, all of who have fought beside me.  You know me, too.  You know who I am and what I have lost.  You swore an oath to me when I came to the throne, and I swore one to Sem Na, though I did it through my teeth.  Now I break my oath, for he has broken his.  Will you do the same to me?"

"No!" shout the men.

"Good.  We march back to Druna at first light.  Pack up the tent and use my purse to buy off the sailors, their crewman is almost certainly dead.  Give them the body too, as proof that it wasn't our fault.  When we get back you will have one day to kiss your families and prepare; after that, we go to war."

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

In 500 BC Ottoman sailors arrive on the Drunish coast.  Trade commences immediately.

Lilith Sem Na - 503 BC

They are at the gates.  Sem Na is pacing backwards and forwards in our chambers.  We should have taken the escape route hours ago but he tried to wait.  He waited too long; the Trollkin found it and he had to collapse the tunnel or risk them getting in.  So now he paces, struggling for any answer that might save his life, his kingdom.

We are old, and our children are dead, murdered by a man I once loved.  What future, what kingdom does he hope to save?  What future dare I hope to have?  I remember when the messenger came, when war struck the towns and we fought to repel the warriors.  It failed, and all we could do was hide behind our walls and scorch the surrounding lands.  That was when he revealed his true name, brought back a ghost from Sem Na's past and my own that I thought long buried.  The siege is spent, the walls have surrendered and now only those blindly loyal or doomed to die will fight for us.

He is here.  I cannot lie, there is a flutter in my heart when I think of him.  Even after all these years, even after everything he has done, all the atrocities committed in the name of revenge, a part of me cannot hate him.  A small, insignificant part, but a part nonetheless.  If he found me, what would he say?  Would we say anything?  Could there be anything to say?  I hate everything that he has done to me, yet I cannot hate him.

Sem Na has taken up his sword; a gift from the Cullocks in his youth.  Does he plan to fight at last?  Will he go out in the glory he never showed in life?  He looks at me now and realise I have seen that look in his eyes before.  I have seen it at court before the guilty criminals.  I saw it when news came of our sons.  The look of a man with power over life and death.

A man deciding: Live, or die?

--~o~--

Benjamin Cullock - 503 BC

I strike the door with my axe and it splinters before me.  No attempt has been made to barricade the door.  Behind me Trollkin and Durochite axemen fall into position and gape at the scene as I do.

There is Sem Na, sword in hand.  There is Lilith.  Both are dead; Lilith's blood soaked around the wound in her chest, Sem Na's guts strewn where he fell upon the sword.  There is silence.  Seeing no threat, the axemen melt away to return to the looting.  My trollkin linger until I signal for them to leave me.

I approach the easier of two terrible sights first, standing over Sem Na's body with a growing, futile rage.  I spit bitter words beneath my breath.

"Sem Na, you robbed me of my life, my freedom, my wife, my home and my family.  You stole everything precious from me and now, now you steal even this!"

I draw my sword and stab the corpse.  It is little more than cutting meat.  I let loose a scream of seventy years' rage and frustration and stab the body over and over again, tearing apart the fine royal robes it wears.  When I can stab no more, when I am exhausted from desecrating this corpse I reach down and pluck the thin golden diadem from its forehead.  A wolf's head scowls at me from the crest.  I place it back on the old king of kings' face and make one last stroke with my sword.

It would have been appropriate if the soft gold had split in two, but iron is soft too.  The diadem bends and is notched cruelly, the wolf's head disfigured but not bisected, much like the face below it.  I will have it melted down to make a crown of my own.

I turn away from that broken king to view a broken queen.  She is old now, we both are, but I see in her still the beauty I loved those many years ago.  I touch the necklace at my neck, the gold long stolen by an envious master but the ivory still my own.  The blood around her neck is disturbed by drops of salt water.  I brush my hand over my eyes and take hers.  Her fingers bear two rings; one opulent with pearl and sapphires, the other simple gold with a gemless face.  I take back the golden ring; the blood lubricates the finger, making it easy.

I take the thong from around my neck and place the ivory charm in that hand, closing her fingers around it.  I kiss her cold cheek and I whisper.

"What is yours is mine.  What is mine, yours."

--~o~--

Jarod Cullock - 491 BC

My father is at rest.  At his request we buried his body by my mother's side, but his heart in the grave of the old queen.

Order is all but restored.  Since Ucra was pillaged and razed to the ground in my youth, Father gave control of the city to the clan of Durochite axemen that helped him take it; the Cassae.  I might not have done the same, but a strong presence of the Trollkin has kept them loyal.  They pay their tax, they contribute to my armies.  They are vassal kings to me, no more and no less.

So too is the king of Duroch, so too the lord of Breoch, so too at last the king of Ardat - what once was Aradai.  I am high king of Druna and of all the world that matters, and I do not pay service to those beneath me.  I am the king of kings, not the slave of slaves, and by the Buddha, by the Oracle, by the Mandate of Heaven, my word is law.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

A violent revolution led by the Trollkin happens in 500 BC as they join up with the Durochites and attempt to seize control of Ucra and establish an absolute monarchy. 




In 480 BC Aradai finally swears fealty and accepts the rule of the Cullocks, becoming known as Ardat.  Ucra is pillaged and razed and the ruins given over to the Cassae clan to rebuild and tax.  Druna is the new capital, under rule sanctioned by Buddha, the Oracle and the Mandate of Heaven.  Thus ends the Line of Jack and thus begins the Drunic state.


The unified Drunic state in 480 BC.

You know something?  I don't especially like writing in first person present tense after all.  This just isn't a time period where I can get away with doing it epistolary.

Fun note: That whole rebellion didn't happen as a battle in game, I'm literally just adding fluff to the two turns of revolution that happen when you change a civic.  In this case, changing to Hereditary Rule.  The sole benefit of Hereditary Rule is that it lets you violently suppress your own population; military units in cities create happiness.

That said, it's a decent benefit for low upkeep.  Ucra's been kept small for years because it didn't have sufficient happiness to get past a certain size.  That's all about to change.

Revolutions in game aren't that cool; you just spend a few turns making no production, tax or research.  Revolutions in real life are rather more exciting, and we're going to see plenty of revolutions as this LP continues.

[Iituem]

[Double post!]

[cerapa]

Awesome revolution is awesome.

[Sheb]

Totally freaking awesome.

[Boksi]

I have to admit, I am very impressed with this LP. Although I know this style is rare for a reason; I hope you don't burn yourself out on it like so many others.

I don't suppose I could get a tiny mention in one of the next updates?

[Iituem]

I have to admit, I am very impressed with this LP. Although I know this style is rare for a reason; I hope you don't burn yourself out on it like so many others.

I don't suppose I could get a tiny mention in one of the next updates?

I'm sure I can work the creator of one of the grandest plant mods in somehow.  ;P

Yeah, the aim is to be a bit like Dresden Codak; infrequent but high quality.  The K-selection strategist of LPs, as it were.  It's getting more common updates right now because I'm on holiday, but in a couple of weeks it'll slow down to weekly or fortnightly so I don't burn out.  =B  This LP is very strongly inspired by one that did burn out but was nevertheless fantastic; look up Zoolooman's Civ 4 LP on the LPArchive.  An excellent read and sort of what I'm aiming for here.

[Sirus]

I have to admit, I am very impressed with this LP. Although I know this style is rare for a reason; I hope you don't burn yourself out on it like so many others.

I don't suppose I could get a tiny mention in one of the next updates?

I'm sure I can work the creator of one of the grandest plant mods in somehow.  ;P

Yeah, the aim is to be a bit like Dresden Codak; infrequent but high quality.  The K-selection strategist of LPs, as it were.  It's getting more common updates right now because I'm on holiday, but in a couple of weeks it'll slow down to weekly or fortnightly so I don't burn out.  =B  This LP is very strongly inspired by one that did burn out but was nevertheless fantastic; look up Zoolooman's Civ 4 LP on the LPArchive.  An excellent read and sort of what I'm aiming for here.

I've read that one! The Russians, right? Shame it never finished

[Boksi]

I have to admit, I am very impressed with this LP. Although I know this style is rare for a reason; I hope you don't burn yourself out on it like so many others.

I don't suppose I could get a tiny mention in one of the next updates?

I'm sure I can work the creator of one of the grandest plant mods in somehow.  ;P

People still remember that old thing? Hah.

I don't think it was that grand, to be honest. I bet I could do something much bigger and more impressive now. Maybe I should; I need to get back into the game and that seems as good a way as any.