Faction Intros

[Wolfezth Severus Deraine]

Here is where you'll be able to get introductions to get a feel for each and every faction here at Remnants - and I'll kick things off with the Amoraean Empire.

___

The land we all grew up in is no more, and we have fought tooth and nail to regain even the shadow that we are of our former glory, it is true. So much has changed so quickly, and so much of it was for the worse.

In our vast empire, we were complacent. We abandoned everything that made us strong, and instead fought each other in petty squabbles that weakened the entire country. Civil war after civil war, all weakening us for our eventual downfall. When the barbarians came, we were so focused on looking inward for threats, we did not look outward. We left ourselves vulnerable to attack from the outside, and in turn the Northmen sacked our once-great empire, destroyed even our capital and temples in the process.

The Blessed Isles, once our center of religion - was taken from us. Taken from us along with the southwestern desert, the coasts, and indeed even now the bulk of the barbarian horde rests upon our very doorstep - resting their laurels in our old capital, an affront to everything our forefathers stood for, and everything we stand for now.

We will reclaim it. We have already fought back the barbarians to retake the old province of Archenridge - the river valleys and hills of Lykaios, of Aquila, of Verris, and of Amastris. It took many years to get to where we are now - fighting inch by inch for the very dirt you stand on at this moment, but in taking our land back from the heathens we have returned more to our roots as true Amoraeans. Discipline is restored, and our entire country is unified in a way that hasn't been seen for centuries. We all know what must be done, and what it takes to do it.

Gone are the petty squabbles that separated us, and now we stand united in a front to reclaim what is ours from the heathens who stole it from us. In the time it took us to reclaim Archenridge, I hear that the barbarians have been fought back in other provinces too - and that truly is beautiful news - despite all of this talk of secession from the Empire from them - the founding of new countries. We have plenty of time to bring the empire together later - but today we must focus on the barbarians. The other reclaimed provinces will either stand with us to beat back the Northmen threat, or be killed like dogs just like the heathens. It makes no difference to a true Amoraean what color an enemy is- what weapons they carry or what armor they wear -- so long that it is a dead one. They have caught up to us in many areas, finally being able to match the weapons and armor we put forth on the battlefield - but one thing they lack - and will always lack - is true Amoraean valor. The contempt of death and pain that is instilled in each and every one of our legionnaires. It's something uniquely Amoraean, and something that the Northmen will never be able to copy.

We in Archenridge have survived because of that valor. We have endured because of our bravery and unity in the face of destruction. The heathens may have taken our heartland, but we stand in a position now to take it back. We stand in a position now to reclaim our lost honor, reclaim our lost lands, and usher in a new golden era for the Empire of Amoraea. But this time we will not stray from our roots, and we will not grow complacent. These heathens are not the unorganized, poorly equipped hordes that our ancestors fought against, but a wily and dangerous opponent that we would do well not to underestimate again. Fate has given us a second chance - and it will only be Amoraean strength and honor that will rebuild this empire. Amoraean determination and ingenuity that will take back what is rightfully ours.


They say that history repeats itself, and I certainly hope so. There would be no greater honor than to be able to reunite these shattered lands under our banner once again, to bring hope to the hopeless under foreign control, and bring stability back to a region which has lost it so suddenly and violently. We failed to protect our people, and every villager, every farmer, every woman and child who died to the Northmen... Their blood is on our late Emperor's hands for his inaction - for his contentedness, for his stupidity. We have learned from our mistakes, and we will rise from the ashes, stronger than ever. The Northmen think us defeated, the heathens think us easy prey in our weakened state, and I hope they keep thinking that long enough for us to cut off the head of the snake before the snake even knows we have a blade.


Our Senate is restored to its former power, and the autocracy of recent times is abolished - we have learned the sins of complacency and will not let it happen again. The days of forcing policies down the throats of our people are over, because a strong country needs to be a united country - and apathy is no way to stay unified.


Even in the army and navy, we have youth and new ideas abounding - a necessity for a country looking to regain its standing in the world. But with all of this youth - a steely determination is the result of a chip on our collective shoulders the size of a mountain. We have been given an immense amount of trust by the Amoraean people, and it is up to our leadership to repay that trust with success. Failure is not an option at this point. We cannot afford to lose anything more than we already have.


Pressure is at an all time high, and I welcome it - as I hope you do. I believe that trial by fire is the purest way to do things, and we are being tried in a fire that would make a dragon quail in fright. I welcome you, friend, to join us in our struggle. I welcome you, true and pure Amoraean, and I promise you that together we can forge our own legacy in these troubled times. Fate has not smiled upon us lately, but it is we and we alone that can change that. We are in control of our own destinies this day - this age - we are free to become the paragons of this era - or the dirt on the sole of a Northman. Our course is ours to take, and our lives are ours to shape. From the Senator to the freedman to the legionnaire to the farmer - this is a time of turmoil and change - and all have their opportunity to make their mark in history. May the gods be your watchward, friend.

The Eagle of the old Empire may have fallen, but the Phoenix of the new is rising from the ashes - and returning stronger than ever.

[Ismaea & Tingitanaea]

Ismaea

Life in the desert is simple. You find water, or you die. All else can be left until tomorrow.

The ethos of the Bedoueen once seemed crude to me, in the time before I began this journey. I had spent some time in the wilderness, to fast and pray before I first took my vows, and when the Holy Father bade me spread the word of the Blessed Iesinor into the heart of Ismaea I accepted my mission with a light heart. In my pride I thought I understood the burden of my task. Ha.

A week after entering the desert, I disgraced myself by falling asleep in the saddle and awoke to find myself alone among the dunes. There was no sign of the caravan with which I had been traveling, and the only prints in the sand were my own. It was at that moment the brutal logic of the desert set in: you find water, or you die.

I cannot say how long I wandered in that unholy waste -- I remember nothing but the thirst. My waterskin ran dry soon enough, and it was not long after that my horse sat down and would go no further. I began to walk, then to shuffle, and then to crawl. It was at that moment, when I could do no more than lie back and prepare my soul for the Blessed Iesinor, that the Bedoueen appeared.

Why they did not leave me to die I still do not know; I had no riches upon my person, and would bring them no hefty ransom. And yet they gave me water and nursed me back from the arms of Our Lord into the realm of the living. Perhaps they found my delirious ravings to be amusing. The children certainly seem to find me a source of great hilarity, and their laughter follows me wherever I go.

The leader of these Bedoueen is a man named Lucas, son of Nameth, who I am now told is the power in this country. His family, the House of Lai, control the caravan routes from the south, and I have learned quickly that this victory is due chiefly to Lucas himself. He is an exceedingly intelligent man, and speaks to me every day to practice his Amoraean. He listens politely when I talk of the Blessed Iesinor, but asks me questions about the world that lies beyond the desert. He is fascinated by my tales of the sea, of great battles and the fall of the Empire. "I would like have an empire, one day," he says with a laugh, but I am sure he is only half-joking.

As the weeks wear on I begin to wonder if it had been the will of the Blessed Iesinor that I find myself among these people. They are a simple, stubborn, and fractious people, and yet the desert is strewn with the bones of the mighty armies they have vanquished. If a clever and ambitious man could unite these parched and broken lands, he would wield a mighty and terrible force. Perhaps Lucas is such a man, or perhaps there is another.

Only time will tell the will of the Blessed Iesinor.

-Brother Josephos of Nafur

[Dorcades]

Archaea

… such are the sounds to which a titan dies: the clash of iron and crackle of flame.

We live in turbulent times, friends, but I doubt that I, of all people, need to tell you such. That constant of which we had always known, the ever-present shadow of the north, the Empire, is gone, and with it the tyranny that accompanied that bitter peace. Never did we know war, of course, but think of the last time that you could speak to your governor, much less your Emperor. That peace came with a terrible price, no matter how many lives it may have saved. I do not discount the Empire their many feats, as they certainly possess them, for every day of my life have I benefitted from the reservoir, the aqueduct.

But never let it be said that I, or any other Archaean, has benefitted from the rule of the Empire, our enslavement at the hands of the Amoraean.

Yes, I was legate of the third legion. Yes, I attended the martial academy of Archenridge. Yes, I am the bastard of one of the northerners. Look upon me, and ask, what trapping of his betrays such? Does this man cling to such worldly things? The third legion has been disbanded, I have not a uniform to wear, and so I am clad in that which belongs to me as it does to any other: the rags of the proletariat. For it matters not, friends, who my mother was and certainly not whom I can call father, their sins and actions have no meaning here save that I am their product; for before anything else I was what my blood decreed me to be, an Archaean.

What part of me disqualifies me from such a claim? My skin is just as tan as yours, my hands just as worn, if only by the grip of my blade and not the rope of the fishnet. Rather, one might be more suited to ask what qualifies me for such a brand? I have, after all, studied abroad and commanded an Imperial Legion. Know, countrymen, that I applaud you for your scrutiny, for your quick defense of your home, our home, as none should be complacent to ever lay their head down in such grave matters. But would you discount any of your sons, were it that they had served in the legions? So they may have marched under the eagle, but each holds in his heart the warmth of his Archaean sun, hears the crash of the waves against his native shore, smells the scent of the olive blossom.

Do not shun the very sons who sought to protect you, their fathers, and their hearth and home. They knew not what the next day would bring, and certainly not what hope might unexpectedly bloom: that the days of antiquity might soon return, that Archaean ships might sail across the seas once more. Those very men you might seek today to denounce might very well hold the same vision as you; to see our gods venerated once more, to hear our stories told and retold, from the depths of Ismaea to the shores of Yamatai. Which one of us grew without dreams of being as strong as mighty Rherios, or hoping to find a wife as noble as queen Skeluitia? They are not strangers to me, just as they aren’t to you, but the world has forgotten their value, their virtue.

The Amoraeans cared not for such tales or the morals they held, cared only to see others bend to the will of their patriarchs and governors. I, more than any of you, witnessed the horror of such a system first hand, suffered from it since the day of my birth. We ourselves were not innocent of such autocracy, but, like the child, we are always learning. Burnt is our hand from our flirt with rule by the few. The scars of the Empire are deep, and will linger for some time, but the Empire is gone, its dream dead. In its place does our dream stand, cultivated with the corpse of the Eagle, nurtured with the blood of the Emperor; for once again may the songs of old ring from shore to shore, once more might Archaean gold ring from the feet of the northern mountains to the depths of the southern desert.

For let it never be mistaken, friends, that I call for anything but war. We are no strangers to it, for how else could we claim to be the sons of Archaeus, lord of war? Never have we backed down from a fight, were it even that we would surely be defeated, as we have many times before. Think, however, as we are known to do. The Gods have shown us the error of our ways, if not at their own pace. What was it that brought on the shackles of the Empire, the bastardization of our sacred pantheon and culture? Just as the Empire crumbled of its own machinations did our lands fall, not only to foreign legions, to a brother’s blade. The Gods wish not to see their children spill each other’s blood, so complacent had we grown with killing that it needed to be stopped, and stopped it was.

But the sins of our forefathers are absolved in the servitude of their posterity, and now do we stand ready to avenge their shame, for shame do they surely feel. Not only did they fall to a foreign invader, one who sacked our temples, burnt our farms and raped not only our wives but our culture, but to watch as some of their children would abandon that culture and their very namesake. If such betrayal lights the same fire in the hearts of every Archaean that burns so fiercely in mine, then there is no doubt that Archaeus calls for their smiting. The ‘Blessed’ Isles have turned their back on their blood and Gods in this, this most paramount hour. We must remind them why it was they once so proudly called themselves Archaeans, and that Archaeus does not relinquish that title lightly.

The idea of a singular God is no different than the idea of a singular leader, and is of the same tyrannical sect, the wayward sons of Archaeus have simply substituted one for the other, one that, conveniently, cannot be killed. No matter, the blood of zealots flows just as quickly as tyrants. We need not a single God or a single leader. Always has Archaea been the envy of the world, from the beauty of Skyros to the steel of Tanagra, and always have we set the example. The first concern of any Amoraean is to camouflage that they were little more than illiterate barbarians when our ships did reach their northern shore, that they gleaned their ‘great’ civilization from what amounted to our table-scraps. Never has our policy echoed that of surrounding lands, never have we stolen away something that was not ours to begin with; rather, as history has proven, we ourselves are a pattern to imitators. So shall we set the pattern anew, for all the lands to see, for it is called democracy, because not the few but the many do govern.

There is no perhaps in our land’s future, no might or might not. There is only one fate for the blood which flows in our veins, for the sons of Archaeus the Wrathful. Our realm did once stretch from Yamatai to Ismaea, so will it reach once again. The Archaean phalanx will trample all underfoot: the tribal idol, the imperial eagle, the traitor’s God, none shall be spared. Never shall the lands again know the rule of a king, cruel or otherwise, and never shall the Archaeans again wear any chain. There is only one fate for our land, one destiny for our people:

No shore shall not know us, nor tyrant not fear us.

[Kanzaki no Kazuki]

Though it was not always called as such, the land currently known as Yamatai has been inhabited since ancient times. For much of its history Yamatai has remained isolated, cut off from the rest of the continent by mountains. Its people are not related to those of the lands to the west, and over the centuries they have developed a distinct culture and language.

In the distant past the lands that now compose Yamatai were divided into various petty kingdoms, which often warred with one another. Much of southern and central Yamatai was eventually unified under a single monarch. According to legend this first Tennō (heavenly sovereign), and by extension his descendants, was said to be descended from the gods, sent to unite the people. Over the following decades there were more wars with the encroaching horsemen, which resulted in the conquest of what are now Yamatai's northern regions. The region was divided into tens of administrative units, each overseen and defended by court appointed officials called kokushi.

For many years afterward, there was peace throughout the region. Yamatai culture and the arts flourished. However, with peace came complacency. Political power was increasingly held by the sekkan, regents of the Tennō, and other high ranking court officials. Nearly a century ago, the struggles between rival factions of the aristocratic kuge class to dominate court politics came to a head, erupting into open violence and plunging Yamatai into civil war. Taking advantage of the chaos, the Amoraean Empire invaded by sea. Although the defenders fought fiercely, it was ultimately in vain. Focused inward as they were at the time, Yamatai was unprepared for a foreign attack and was swiftly annexed. It was divided into four provinces, each headed with a praesides.

However, the people strongly resisted the empire's rule and cultural influences, tenaciously clinging to their own language and traditions. Rebellions were a common occurrence. In an effort to placate the population, the foreign praesides (which were known as "shugo" in the Yamatai language) appointed local prefects (known as "shugodai"), often drawn from the ranks of the former kokushi.

As the years past, and the once great Amoraean Empire sunk into its twilight years, the four praesides were able to exert less and less authority over their provinces. By the time of the Northmen's invasion far to the west, they were largely figureheads. Real power rested in the hands of the four greatest shugodai clans: the Hosokawa, Tachibana, Matsuoka, and Settsu. Each "served" their respective praesides, but in practice each had effective control over their province and the lesser shugodai within it. Like many others in distant parts of the continent, these four clans took the opportunity before them as the empire began to crumble. With the support of the Yamatai people, they rallied their forces and rose up in rebellion, successfully deposing the praesides and seizing power for themselves.

The heads of the four great shugodai clans, each now in control of territories roughly analogous to the former Amoraean provinces, have begun to style themselves daimyo (meaning "great name"). The lesser shugodai have in turn become their vassals and retainers. The daimyo rule their domains without interference from each other, effectively dividing Yamatai into four separate mini-states: Kiiro no kuni, held by the Hosokawa; Izumo no kuni, held by the Tachibana; Gekisenku no kuni, held by the Matsuoka; and Ueno no kuni, held by the Settsu.

For a time things were stable throughout Yamatai... but it is an age of great political and social upheaval, both within and without Yamatai. Recently the head of the Matsuoka clan has passed away without naming an heir, creating a rift between his two sons. The younger son has found an ally in the Tachibana clan, while the elder is backed by the Settsu. The Hosokawa have, for now, remained neutral. Will Yamatai descend into civil war once again? And what of the remnants of the Amoraean Empire to the north, and the Blessed Islands a short distance across the Shiraz Sea, and the other now independent regions of the former empire?

In these turbulent times what will become of Yamatai?

[Wolfezth Severus Deraine]

The Cisalpine Region

When I reminisce about all those years, I see many things. Life and death
Strung together like the mountains and valleys in which we lived. There was
Wealth and opulence, but also tribulation and loss. There was laughter and
Song, and there was also tears

But even more than tears, blood was shed. And so many were left to their
Unadorned graves, unburied. But to us, death was but another journey. And
Close by the darkness through which we strode, there was also light. The
Light of life and immortality.

And after all, when I reminisce about those years, I mostly remember our
Songs. We sang... as if to drown out the sound of clashing swords, as if
The battle cries fell silent... because war had lost it's meaning.
[Taken from the album Helvetios by Eluveitie]

[Wolfezth Severus Deraine]

Hjallstaat

Ours is a name that strikes terrible fear into the hearts of the Imperials - and all of their wayward children. The Cisalpine, the Archaeans, the Ismeans, the Daimyo of Yamatai, the Three Prophets of the Blessed Isles.

Veni, vidi, vici - as the Amoraeans would say. We came to their 'Great Empire', we saw what a pathetic pile of trash it was, and by Thor's hammer we conquered.

We fought back the legions from their poorly built strongholds in the mountains, we fought them back even into their very capital city - which they died in droves to try to defend. Even their God-Emperor, Gaios IV Atreides fell in battle with his best legions at his back.

We have single-handedly shattered their empire, sacked their land, and taken their capital. Amoraea is ours now, and we will never leave. The wayward factions have split off from the Empire that was, and now we are in a perfect position to take it for ourselves.

Our Jarls, individually, are the greatest warriors in the world. Each has their own land, their own army, their own government. Each has thanes that work below them to make the government and its functions run smoothly. Alone, we are fearsome. Together, with the High King, we are unstoppable.

With the pathetic excuse for a civilization - the Cisalpine to the west, and the broken and whimpering Amoraean Empire to the east, we have no shortage of foes to test our steel upon.

We are the terror of this land. Our enemies tell stories of our people to scare their children with. We are the Norska, and by Odin these pathetic peoples will learn again to tremble at the very mention of our name. We have already cut off the head of this snake, all that remains is to chop up the writhing body. Our howls will ring through the night as these people too shall know the fear of a longship raid upon their shores, the absolute panic of meeting a pack of our warriors in their forests - and tremble at the sound of our battering rams pounding against their gates! We are the Norska, and we are not here to merely survive, we are here to conquer.

[Episcopos Sofiya Maurenos]

The Blessed Isles

The law is very clear. "There is no God but God."

The Amoraeans, they were never true converts. They took the holy word and twisted it, twisted it until it said everything and nothing. Until it was so twisted, there was no need for conversion, for repentance. Until the Just God could tolerate their injustice.

But God does not tolerate heretics and sinners.

Though blind, God chose me as an agent of judgment. Throughout the Blessed Isles, the weeds have been plowed under, and the statues of the pagans lie smashed. Everywhere the holy law reigns in justice.

The holy fire has given me a new vision now, in my inner eye. I can see a glorious vision through its flames: a great cleansing, and a new, holy empire. The day comes when sacrifices will rise to heaven from all corners of the world, and the false gods will go hungry from ignominy.

The whirlwind is coming.