Introspection: The Spirit Of Maxim [open]

[_Nagash_]

Nagash was sitting in his 'warroom'. The room, a large chamber with many paintings depicting past wars and battles, had been the nervecentre of the campaign of the Order Of Almighty Fishingrods against Elementum ab Fides. As well as many other wars of the past. On the long tables, people were folding up maps. They were not needed here anymore. A cartographer would adjust them to the new situation and then they'd be stored until the next campaign or agression against the Order.
Once again the war was over. Another war in a long series.

It had been a bloody war, with many victories as well as quite a few defeats. But the Order had prevailed and were ruling the largest portion of Tonan now. The other guilds were small factions when compared the the Order of Almighty Fishingrods. Only Elementum ab Fides had equal numbers, but they were driven back to the coastal regions and into the mountains.

The realm ruled by Nagash once again spanned from the coast to the steppes many miles to the west and south. The tribes were moving in to live in them, and pick up their nomadic life after a forced stay in villages and cities. The current situation was much like that before the Natives came and annihilated any and all that crossed their path.

It was a much discussed issue across the whole of Tonan: was the Order of Almighty Fishingrods abusing it's powers when it declared war on Elementum ab Fides, a guild that held much more acres, but had less realms? Was it something they could do to bring victory to Isonia and drive the heathens from their lands, or was it like transgressing an unwritten rule?

This age had seen many wars, shifting hegemonies, bi- and even multipolarity. At first Isonia reigned supreme and descended upon all the other faiths with terrifying power. The Nyamafu Vurumai, the Order of Almighty Fishingrods, Isle of the Mastabas and the Ministry of Stone were the undisputed superpowers. When the Isle of Mastabas disbanded and converted to Foret, starting the Lithanian Empire, even then, the Isonians kept their reign.

The reign of Isonia was tested once again by the sandstorms, the disappearance and reappearance of the gods and the exploding temples. But the Isonians stood strong as the Foretians and Dardenites both challenged their strength and lost.

The first big blow to the Isonian hegemony was dealt by no one less then the Prophet: Decae. He and his red-eyed priests, zealots and templars took out many realms. The destruction in the Isonian lands was greatest because the Isonian realms were greater than the Foretian and Dardenite realms. The Isonians still were the most powerful, but they could not repel the attacks of the heathens as effortlessly anymore.

Fortunatly is was around that time that the Sekhet-Aaru was formed. This guild came to reinforce the Isonians and gave them a better grip on the heathen agression again. The reign continued.

The second blow, later considered a deadly one, was dealt by the Natives. The Natives felt that balance was disturbed by the Isonian hegemony and started killing virtually all inhabitants and soldiers of the largest realms of all faiths. Isonian realms that spanned millions of acres were wiped out by the genocidal fury of the Natives. Still Isonia was considered the dominant faith, but the faith was weaker than ever before in this age of their dominance.

The third and decisive blow to Isonian hegemony was dealt by Elementum ab Fides. They had heard about the damage the natives had done to the Isonian realms and had taken advantage of it: they crossed the open lands and assaulted the now helpless Isonians. First the Nyamafu Vurumai (which disbanded after the disappeareance of their leader Ryloc in this turmoil), then the The Order of Almighty Fishingrods and the Ministry of Stone. Now that these three Isonian guilds were forced into a position where they were only a marginal force, the Dardenites took their chance and organized themselves under the leadership of DarkHorse, whom had recently founded the Black Dogs Unspoken. They assaulted and annihilated the Sekhet-Aaru.

This was the time when Foretian hegemony started. The Dardenites, feeling they had to settle some old grudges against the Isonians now that they had the chance, descended on the Isonian realms and made the Isonian leaders wonder if there was even a future for them on Tonan with all this animosity.
The higher one climbs, the harder one falls......

After a while though there was a period of relative peace in which the Isonians reorganized and assaulted the Elementum ab Fides for the first time out of their position as underdogs. The war was lost, but many realms of the Elementum were damaged beyond repair, reduced to barren wastelands. When the Isonians were repelled by Foret's chosen, the Dardenites united and waged war on the Elementum ab Fides as well. But they also were repelled after taking out a few of the realms. The Foretians were losing ground though and as soon as there was peace between the two battling factions, the Isonians took over. It was during this war that the Natives took out a few invincible realms, including that of Regicider. Again this was a lost war, but the Elementum ab Fides were vulnerable again and lost their hegemony.

The situation of tripolarity that was the reult of this had been most kind to the Dardenites. But power was distributed equally and the wars were won and lost by all three the faiths. From this position the Nights of the Flesh had taken a mighty position in world politics. They were taken out by the overwhelming forces of the more powerful Elementum ab Fides though.

It was then that the last war had started: the Dardenites were scattered across the lands by the Elementum ab Fides. The Order of Almighty Fishingrods knew that it'd have to strike now or be struck. Thus they struck first. And the results were that Isonian Hegemony was restored.

The age of the Fishingrod had dawned........



This was the right time for the Isonians to consider their positions and wonder if their actions were right or wrong. It was time for introspection. For all. The Dardenites were wondering if their existance was still needed on Tonan. They were but a shadow of their former glory. And Foret had to cope with Isonian hegemony once again. Would the Natives come and save them again? Or would the age end? Were it the actions of the Foretians themselves that brought them in this position?

It was time for philosophical debates in the early stages of the age of the Fishingrod.




OOC: Please do not attack other guilds or their actions in this thread, rather judge your own actions. Do feel free to describe the age from the point of view of your faith though. Thanks...

[A hooded man]

The Flying Dutchman, tavern in the harbour Quarter of Ran'Kur, a few hours after sunset.

The crowd gathering inside was constantly growing. Few ships entered the harbour anymore at this hour and those who had arrived a little before the setting of Intop had their crews eagerly working to finish the unloading. Finishing unloading ment money to spend, which again ment liquor to be spilled, every man's dream after having spent months at the open sea drinking water filthed with rat droppings or worse. These were the men attending to the landlord's barrels of beer and he was making more profit than usual, judging from the bright smile on his face while he continued to pour drinks for his guests.

Besides the feasting men, in the proverbial dark corner, was a stranger to these lands. Wrapped in a dark cloth of excellent fabric - for it reflected the torchlight with a bright glow emanating from it - and topped by a hood of the same textile, he, assuming him to be male, was the embodiment of mystery, as found in the countless volumes of excellent writers which haunt the late hours of many a man or woman's day when they read through their favourites. He seemed to watch - for his face was of course just hidden from sight by the shadows of his hood - the crowd with mild interest, the hood moving from left to right every now and then, while his left hand held a glass of elven wine. The hand, the only visible body part, was lifted up into the hood, showing slender fingers holding the glass with reverent subtlety: only three fingertips touched the glass and held it as well when he brought the glass down again, bringing the other two fingers up to gently bear the weight of the cup.

The crowd didn't mind the stranger much: they had seen stranger stuff, they were sealads and sailors sailing the seven seas and were now in the mood to drink... and they did. They drank, they sang, they danced, they bend over their table with a head full of boose and were swept up to thier feet again by their comrades to continue their nightly escapade, which had only recently begun. And the stranger didn't mind the crowd. To him, it was the perfect environment to think, it was comparable to usual chaos in mind and therefore well suited to this purpose.

His mind was currently set on the end of the age. Little did it matter to this sailor folk, as long as they could work and drink, it wouldn't matter in the least, but he liked to watch the flow of history and was curious what it would have in store. He let his mind go over the speech of Nagash, mightiest among the fishingrods, who had adressed the whole population of the isle over a month ago, to no avail. He then compared the numbers of the last age with the early documents on land possessions that he had seen this afternoon and remembered lists of old with the same statistics. Much had changed over the years.

The isle, his beloved isle, it was falling back into wilderness. People were not eager to explore anymore, they stayed in their safe havens at the coasts, using these as base of operations, but the countryside was slowly engulfed by nature. Fewer remained to battle in the name of the three gods and now there was not only a rumour of the gods having deserted the isle, but as well the prophet planning to leave the god forsaken place. Of course, there were mighty bastions of ideal and enterprise. The Isonians had shown last age that they were not only cunning in battle, but as well the holders of tradition, shown by storytelling. Foret had a new alliance crusading for his name which upheld this tradition as well and he had heard of newcomers in both the Darden and Isonian faith that these goals as well. He wondered if it would be enough to preserve life here.

Above all, he hoped they would endure. Not that they would return to the ways of old, for what was gone, was gone and would not be brought back. The divine triangle was eternal and as look as it would exist, people would fight for this cause. But the need to fight seemed to lessen as the Three abandoned their loyal followers, then what would become of this isle...

[Bran]

Bran sat in the main room of Father Blu’s and peeled an apple with his knife as he contemplated the events that had led him to his current position. What had set his mind traveling this path was rumor, or rather news – it all depended on how one took it – that Lord Nagash had spoken to the sages of the isles and passed on his version of events during the past age. It was an interesting idea and one that Bran was not adverse to but to have only the Fishermen’s viewpoint stand as the definitive word on the last age really left a bit to be desired.

Not that Nagash and his crew of fisher folk were wrong or in error; Bran just thought that perhaps they spoke with a bit of bias, which is honestly to be expected. With that in mind and a idea or two about his own biasness Bran finished his apple and retired to his room to enter into his own personal journals his take on what the last age had meant, what it had shown and who, when the dust had cleared, had stood tall as heroes in his eyes.

Where to begin is the question…..

It began for Bran with the retirement of Taff from the lands of Tonan and dissolution of Callineb, all those months ago. This was not the last age, but the one before; but it was that event that had led him to join the Ministry of Stone. The Ministry was an interesting group that seemed to mesh well together despite the differences in temperament and desired direction.

The personalities of the individuals in the Ministry are what makes it such a great guild, it was only the call of family and friends – the reformation of the Crusaders of the Realms that had drawn Bran away from his niche at the Ministry. The main thing that had shaped the last age for Bran had been the tenets of the Ministry, the standards by which they played.

No down hits, no opportunistic wars, participation was a must and petty squabbling between guilds was frowned upon. The wars all seemed to blind together after a while and Bran could only remember with clarity a few of them, age does have its drawbacks. The one thing he did remember was dieing.

He had succumbed to what he assumed was the Reaper on a humid August night while lying in his bed in Helios Keep on the Shinning Coast. His recently revealed bastard son Kellen Farstrider had been by his side and he had simply slipped away peacefully. Kellen had taken over the ancestral lands then and Bran’s place in the Ministry while the other Ministry members eulogized Bran and he was buried in the catacombs beneath Helios Keep.

Of course he did not stay dead for Darden had designs upon him. It was Darden’s protection that enabled him to survive the attempted poisoning that had placed him into a trance like death. But that was a tale for this age. Needless to say his time in the Ministry had been fruitful and very enjoyable. Kellen had been acknowledged his son, his kingdom was in good hands and when Aidan had contacted him about the Crusaders reforming Bran had jumped at the chance for a fresh start with old and new friends.

At the end of the last age he had rejoined the Crusaders as one of the Co-Guild Masters and now here he was again. Waiting for the opportunity to unleash upon the isle the Crusaders brand of justice in the name of Darden.

[Eltharion]

Eltharion stood, looking out meditatively over the expansive plain that laid before him. As the sun set, it cast brilliant rays of glossy red light over the battlement that Eltharion leaned against.

He wondered if he would ever be able to enjoy such natural beauty without the worry of other tasks gnawing at his relaxation. The last five months had been remarkable for him.

The founding of the Ascension was significant, to Eltharion, but he knew even now few people knew of it's existence. In a world where the number of your followers determined your importance, it was difficult to matter when you renounced all of the known Gods.

Still, over time, The Final Ascension had gained prestige. They established themselves as a uniquely powerful guild. Though small, they were counted superior to all others for some time. A week after their mortal ascension to power, The Final Ascension sacrificed their status to make a point. As those faithful to Foret stood by and failed to lift a finger, The Final Ascension declared open war on the Order of Almighty Fishingrods. Though the OAFS barely even took note of FA as they crushed them under their indifferent iron-shod boots, Eltharion had learned several valuable lessons. The first was that not all enemies wear colours different from your own. The second was that not all those who wear different colours are your enemies. He had established Nagash as a friend, and Eltharion felt that if the need was dire, he could rely on Nagash to provide the assistance that the Foretian lords had denied him.

The destruction of his lands only barely preceded the fall of Foret in general. As the major guilds of Isonia worked with brutal efficiency, they cut down all who stood against them. They established an unquestionable control over the realms, even as the age drew to a close.

The final war of the age was brought against The Final Ascension by the order of Draconis. Taken by surprise, Eltharion remembered the anger that overwhelmed him as he had to concede defeat. This anger faded to concern as he wondered how he would deal with the return of Draconis this age. He refused to stand by and allow his followers to be taken by surprise a second time. Instead he would have to establish a reasonable compromise.

Though he awoke late in the age, Eltharion felt as though the Final Ascension had left an important mark on it. They were developing a reputation as fierce adventurers. Even if they never attained an everlasting status as a guild of power, they would be known as the crafters of excellent stories. And that was an honour in itself.

[_Nagash_]

It was said during the wars of the Order that the Order's actions were against the "Spirit of these lands". Both Dardenites and Foretians had claimed them to be whenever they were targeted by the Isonians.

Still, the Foretians and the Dardenites had taken actions very similar to those of the Order when they had gained the upper hand in the power-struggle on the Isle. What then was the "Spirit of the Isle" in their eyes? Nagash still wondered.
Some wars might be considered unfair indeed. But was unfairness within or against the nature of the events as they unfolded on the Isle? Nagash had learned through the ages that the nature of the isle was cruel. He had been battling against hegemons, both Foretian and Dardenite. And the age that just had passed, he had become a hegemon himself. In the last age, Isonia and her followers had prospered.

It seemed that sages of all faiths were thinking about the very same subject as Nagash. And many rules seemed to have seen a light. Seeing the light seemed to be a matter of perspective. But those who claimed that the Order of Almighty Fishingrods was leading the isle to its demise had either left the Isle, died or stopped saying so.

The war of the Order of Almightly Fishingrods and the Final Ascension ended in some kind of brotherhood between the two guilds, although the Order had crushed the Foretians in the short but bloody war. This showed that the bonds of Faith were fading. Mayhaps they were being replaced by bonds of friendship or shared political views. Did this have anytihng to do with the absence of the gods in the past age? Or maybe with the disapperance of certain leaders and guilds?

The Sekhet-Aaru had been converted to the Foret faith. Still Nagash liked the mysterious people. Would they still cooperate as they had in the past? Or would animosity be the fruits of conversion?

Time would tell...

[A hooded man]

The Flying Dutchman, an undefined number of hours after midnight

The tavern was slowly falling asleep. Most of the town had given up hours ago, taking off to bed before midnight, but here in the Harbour Quarter people just needed more time to understand the urges of their body, filled as they were by alcohol. Now, sleep was kicking in and the first few sailors had dozed off at their tables. Some had managed to find the exit and were now torturing the ears of the other citizens around with their singing and wailing, some were still dancing around with full energy, but they would soon stop as well, collapsing into a pudding of body parts and fluids oozing from their mouth.

In this chaotic scenery, the hooded man was still around. His grasp on the wineglass wasn't as steady as it had been before and he had broken one of his usual habits, namely solitude, by grabbing a nearby sealad by the neck and forcing it to listen to his speech. "So lad, and what do you think of the Spirit of the Isle?" The man eyed him suspiciously, then noticed the glass of wine nearby, grabbed it and downed the drink in a single gulp. He threw the glass on the floor and nodded to the void below the hood encouragingly, as if it was telling it to continue. "Oh I see, you're not the 'input' kind of person, at least, not when it comes to... conversation, drinks seem to be another thing altogether" He motioned the barkeep to bring two more glasses of wine and continued his story, trying to keep his voice steady.

"The debate on the Spirit of the Isle is probably as old as Maxim itself, and most likely older if you consider its ancestors. We've had a fair share of hegemonies, of divine intervention, of endless wars by both sword and goose feather, and there was always arguing on the rights and wrongs of all these actions and events. There was always something for someone to complain about. It's almost like the story of the Four Men* you all well know. But in the end, I suppose you would have to consider wether the spirit of Maxim is defined by its own nature or by its inhabitants." It was at this point that his listener's attention had dropped below the required level, resulting ultimately in the sailor falling asleep on the spot, but the hooded man continued his rambling nevertheless. "If you think that Maxim is inherently cruel and potentially lethal to all its inhabitants, it doesn't matter who inhabits the place. No matter who governs the countries, who dictates guild policy, who tells the stories we live on, Maxim lives on as it has always done. It's due to the isle's character and the god's whim that we live and die and there's little we can do about it."

"Then again, you might consider that the Isle changes by the acts by those who are born into it. Let's say that there's a fresh stack of souls waiting to be 'implemented' into this world, then there would be a constant change in the build-up of the inhabitants. Maybe there's a sort of resurrection process with souls continuously returning to the living world, hoping to do better than they acted in their former life. Both these systems would result in the isle's inhabitants constantly growing or at least changing, so that the Spirit of the Isle is not a constant but a variable, something that changes with its denizens." The hooded man paused for a moment, took a sip from his glass, decided to empty the glass instead and looked down at his snoring audience, disgusted as he swayed on his own legs. "Still, I suppose I can ramble on this subject for hours, hoping that the latter case be the truth, but as long as Maxim's citizens don't realise they hold such power in their own hands and really don't care about a concept like 'The Spirit of the Isle', then there's nothing that's going to change. Nothing at all, no... nothing at all." He looked at his empty glass disappointedly and decided it was a good time to retire anyway. With an uncertain motion that looked like raising his hand he greeted the bartender and then left the establishment, into the cold, dark night.

*a wellknown urban story

Four people named Everybody, Somebody, Anybody, and Nobody had an important job to do and Everybody was asked to do it. Everybody was sure Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it. Somebody got angry about that because it was Everybody's job. Everybody thought Anybody could do it but Nobody realised that Everybody wouldn't do. It ended up that Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done. Somebody will be employed to do what Nobody did. Anybody may be missed.

[_Nagash_]

The events of late drew Nagash's attention to the almost forgotten question of the Spirit of the Isle again. One of the members of the Order of Almighty Fishingrods had brutally assaulted a kingdom from the Founders of Unequivocal Lunacy and took several thousands of acres.

It later turned out that he did so mistakenly and unrightfully, so Nagash ordered the man to give the Founder in question, Orrha, her land back. The cuprit refused though and Nagash gave the Founders the green light to take it from him by force.

The Founders then showed great chivalry by refusing to take this action and forgiving the crimes committed by the renegade Fisherman. Nagash greatly appreciated this and sent his thanks and regards to Orrha and the circle of Guild Masters of the Founders.

Not too much time had elapsed though when the same Fisherman decided to quit the Order and to assault Orrha's kingdom yet again. This time he did much more damage than he had before and defiantly refused to give it back again. An infuriated Nagash had gathered his army soon thereafter and went from fort to fort, demolishing or occupying every single one of them, until the culprit's army was forced to meet them in the swamps. Nagash's armies outnumbered them ten to one and no one was left alive. A missive to Orrha was sent and she took back what was rightfully hers.


What did this have to do with the Spirit of the Isle then? One might argue that the actions taken by the Founders, or the lack thereof, was against the Spirit, for they refused to defend themselves. But one could only hope that the chivalry they showed therewith was the essence of the Spirit.

Or the renegade fisherman's attacks and refusal to let people take land he occupied: was he a selfish stubborn moron or someone defending his values and people?

And how about Nagash's actions? Attacking and massacring the followers of the same dominion, helping people of another dominion to defeat one that only recently was his ally?
Didn't this break all rules, written and unwritten? Or was he simply righting a wrong and serving a greater goal than one could define in terms of dominions, faiths and small-scale quarrels?


Nagash himself did not know. Nor did he care. He did what he thought was right and didn't care much if everyone would approve of it. He'd do it again without hesitation...