Talos I

This is the first part of a multi-part section, perhaps the first real chapter that I'll be working on, as most of the stuff that I've worked on thusfar has been more conceptual than it has been real writing meant to be published.  This would be in the first third to half, somewhere around there.  I imagine that I'd start in the ancestral capital (which I don't yet have a name for), and then the focus would move over to the new capital for a bit, which it where this takes place.  Then other stuff happens and the focus would start moving around.  How does that sound?  Also, I'm thinking of updating this biweekly instead of just once a week, updating every Wednesday and Saturday, instead of just Saturday.  Any thoughts?

Talos had never been to this “new capital.”  Frankly, he had thought it improper, to move away from their homeland, as it had been for hundreds of years prior, nearing even a thousand years as the center of the world and their illustrious empire, never minding that for most of its history, it remained nothing more than a singular city, a trade hub at best.  It was the home of their ancestors, and that was enough for Talos.  However, the Princeps had a giant palace complex built here and moved his entire governing staff, for reasons that it was so much closer to imminent military threats. Sacrilege, thought Talos.

However, he could not help but notice how grand the entire palace had become, with larger buildings of marble than he had ever seen.  It seemed amazing to think that just twenty years ago, within his very lifetime, this city was a mere collection of stinky huts sitting upon a couple of hills, now a sprawling complex housing the administration to govern the entirety of the civilized world and barracks enough to house thousands of soldiers, ready to march to where ‘ere they may be needed.  Even within the Princeps’ living chambers, everything was done to a grand scale.  The covered walkway he hastened down flanked him with two sets of columns, each some five feet wide and twenty tall, elevating a ceiling elaborately painted to appear as though tree branches stretched overhead on a summer’s day, each column a thick trunk supporting the canopy.  Talos doubted that anyone actually cared to look at it any longer.

At long last he reached the end of the hall, the doorway into the large room in which he was to meet the Princeps, the door flanked by four guards, the personal Agema of the Princeps, wearing their palace garb.  Each of them wore a tunic of bright white, sleeves and base lined with a band of crimson, and an ivory coloured chlamys pinned to their shoulders, partly concealing the soft leather armour they wore upon their chests, and entire calves checkered with the bands of leather sandals.  At one time they were forbidden from carrying weapons, but this new capital had no such sacred law that had to be abided by, and they all wore their distinctive Kopis at their sides.

One of them stepped forward with one palm outwards and the other resting comfortably on the pommel of his sword.  His voice was gruff, but it wasn't foreign or ill-spoken, a relief.  At least the personal guard hadn't changed with this new location.  “Where do you think you mean to go with such celerity?”

All the same, Talos was quite irritated.  He had not the patience at the moment to deal with these low-brow soldiers.  Surely they could see the purple band on his robes which marked his nobility?  He almost snapped back, “Surely you know where I mean, through this door to meet with your master.  I have not made my way here by means of horse and ship over so great a time and distance from the homes of our ancestors just so that I may be questioned frivolously.”  The guard lumbered slowly towards him without saying a word, a grimace having been struck across his face; obvious with the intent to intimidate the newcomer, but he failed on two accounts.  First, his breath had ever so slightly the sour, vinegar-like odour of old, cheap wine.  He’d obviously drank before his shift, feeling it necessary to get through it.

Secondly, Talos was simply bigger than the guard.  To become one of the Agema, one had to be quite tall, from a certain ethnicity, having at least one testicle, and a myriad of other attributes, supreme examples of what it meant to be a man all.  Talos was still bigger; he was taller than most men and somewhat thinner in frame, though not without obvious muscle.  His skin was of an olive tone, and his hair a light brown highlighted with blonde from the sun’s caress, his light stubble of a beard taking more this attribute.  His face had definite structure, with a strong jaw and cheek bones, with somewhat heavy brows, giving shade to his golden-hazel eyes which almost glimmered in the sunlight.

Nor was he a stranger to the field of battle, having participated in more than one campaign himself.  He would not be cowed so easily, staring down contemptuously as the Agema stared back up at him.  The guard started to pull out the blade from its scabbard, but Talos didn't let it move an inch before his hand was upon the man’s wrist, preventing it from moving any further.  Realistically, it was all a game, all a bluff, each man seeking to out-bluff the other and prove himself the more dominant figure.  This man was used to doing this on an individual basis but Talos was used to doing this as both a battlefield commander and a politician, where one’s opponent would not cede so easily, even if it meant their life or even the lives of thousands of others.  They stood there, eyes locked and hand on wrist, the remaining guard starting to become uneasy, restless, but saying nothing.

A voice called out from the room behind, sounding soft and kindly, but yet with a determination in it at the same time, “Talos Valerius Magnus, my old fiend, how good of you to come on such short notice.  Do come in, have a seat and refresh yourself.”  Talos released his hand from the Agema and looked forward into the next room, stepping around him without looking back at the man until once in the room, where he stopped and looked back

Still standing there was his personal slave, his valet, a thin aging man with grey-brown beard and balding head, a long tunic draping to his ankles.  He’s stopped as the now fuming Agema had turned his gaze and attention on the hapless slave.  He commanded, “Come Miko!  Ignore this citizen.”  Immediately the man scurried in after his master.

World Map

So, this week I’m taking a brief departure from putting up actual writing, as that this week I’ve done a lot more worldbuilding than I have actual writing, but in doing research and the production of this map.  It actually just started out as writing on a blank page "temperate area” (A), “forested area” (B), and “sea” (C).  From there I drew some coast lines to make this sea and worked until I’d had both continents created.  From there I added islands and then mountain ranges, marking where tectonic plates were separating or being fused together.  Finally I added in some lakes (and two inland seas) and had rivers drain from mountains down to the sea.  In the end, I determined that in order to make a world, or at least to make it well, it requires a good deal of knowledge of how the world works.  In general, I think that to have something written well at all, you require vast knowledge of everything.  I know that when I write, I end up doing lots of research on trivial things.  For instance, I spent about ten or fifteen minutes doing research on cylinder seals just because I wanted to mention them in a sentence or two.  However, I think it’s quite fun to do, or else I’d not do it at all.  At any rate, on to the map.

(A)- This is originally what I was going to use as an area which previous grand civilizations had existed, namely basing the area off of the Achaemenid Persian dynasty.  However, as I worked more on the map and introduced (E), I thought about changing this area to be more forested and temperate.  I’d also lowered where I would have the equator, closer to around the (G) area or below, making this area cooler.  Instead now I was thinking to make it the heart of the civilization I’m featuring in my writing, being more of a Macedonia/Asia Minor sort of area.

(B)- This area was supposed to be more heavily forested, receiving more rain due to the proximity to the ocean, and feature peoples more akin to the Celts and Germanic tribes.  Most of it would be owned and occupied by the preeminent culture, ruling much of this map, but not all of it.  It’s easy to conqueror and subjugate a people who are already civilized with roads, cities, and large governments, but not so much to do so to peoples who may be semi-nomadic, or live in small tribal confederations.

(C)- This is the central sea around which the nation revolves.  I feel as though the stable seas of the Mediterranean allowed for easier sea travel, and thus more trade and the easier spread of peoples, cultures, and ideas.  Thus a stable sea was necessary as well for me to create civilization as such.  If I’m wrong about that, it’s too late.  There’s a central sea now.

I made two C’s.  Whoops.  This thing must be sort of like Italy.  It’s narrow with a low mountain range in the middle.  However, one side borders an ocean, where the other side only borders the central sea.

(D)- This land is supposed to be more open grassland-y and tundra-y, depending on how north it is.  It’s supposed to be home to numerous nomadic and warlike peoples who are a great threat to anyone they encounter.  However, natural barriers of the two inland seas, one of the largest rivers in the world, and a mountain range prevent them from crossing over into the west… often.

(E)- This area I think I’ve decided to be the new home to my ancient Persian/Assyrian/whatever civilization which existed prior to what exists now, but is now part of the empire.  However, the borders would only extend to the mountain range just south of the E region, and so native peoples or a similar style may have their own nations there.  Once the center of the world with giant palaces to commemorate glorious rulers, it’s now just a province of a greater whole.

(F)- I would make this region, or perhaps the area just northwest of it, into either some manner of Phoenician state or perhaps a south Arabian, such as the Sabaeans or Nabataeans.  All of the borders around the central sea would be the centers of civilization with the largest cities and the most population.

(G)- This area would be mostly grassland and some desert, and around where this letter is at I would the equator for the world.  I’d also mused in having jungles in areas around here, but I’d not really thought that far into it.  This region would likely never actually be visited in person in any of my writing, though perhaps alluded to.  Just the same, the island to the east of here I might make into an Indian sort of culture, again likely only to be alluded to.

Apologies everyone, as this is likely much less interesting to read about than what I normally put up (which is already not very interesting, as is).  However, it should give you a much better idea of the world which all of this all is occurring in.  I’ll probably revisit this again later and place down cities and plop down borders, so it’s no longer just a physical world, but a cultural one.  As always, comments, questions, and suggestions are always welcome.

In the city pt1

I was waiting until I was able to finish writing the second part of this before I was to post it up, but I've just not gotten around to it yet, so you guys just get part one for now.  I believe that this is my last thing that I've had prewritten, so from now on out, I’m going to have to force myself to write every week to keep on updating this.  Also, I've been made hungry by both watching shows and reading books, but I had a new experience today:  I was made hungry by typing out my own writ.

The litter was of premier quality.  The frame was made of a beautifully carved white featherwood, imported from far to the south in the land without cold.  The curtains were of a fine silk from far to the east, imported from a land over the edge of the world, scenes sewn into its fabric.  The pillows and cushions were filled with a light down covered in dyed wool, imported from far to the north where the earth meets the ocean, a body of water which has no end.  It was the finest palanquin that one could buy, truly to be envied by his peers.  Why then did she not enjoy the ride, enjoy the fine fruits provided, or more importantly, his company?  Instead, she peered out the side, excitedly drinking in the city around her, eyes and head alike darting back and forth.  How dreary; how dull.

Contrast to her companion, Vivica had no interest in the walls of the litter.  Too much she was cooped up in a country villa, surrounded by only slaves to keep her company.  Now she was in the midst of a city, one of the oldest and greatest in the world, nested along the river Oxis, and it bustled with life.  She lived with her father far out into the countryside and visited now with her uncle who she had scarcely met in all her years, who knew personally a number of rich and powerful families to which she could be wed.  She was married once before, but after a number of years he was taken by the blood flux and coughed himself to death whilst acting as an envoy to a far off land.  It took him suddenly.  However, her period of mourning had past, and now she was fit to wed once more.

None of these thoughts were close to her heart at the moment though.  Instead, it was filled with the splendor of the city and produced the sounds and smells as only a city could; it produced that certain feeling one could not attain from a town or even a lesser city.  As they edged further away from her uncle’s urban villa and moved more towards main avenues, the people became more plentiful, along with everything else.  They passed a few shops that lined an apartment building, itself at least six stories tall.  The shops were selling food and spices.  She saw where one shop had barrels to prepare garum, with plenty for sale.  The barrels were filled with the entrails of fish and mixed with water and copious amount of salt.  A film would form on the top, a result of the fermentation, and then it would be scooped up after some great time and bottled, ready to be sold.  Many of the best dishes are made with garum.

As they entered the via Lobelia, one of the main avenues of the city, her spectacle only broadened.  Very soon her nose detected some manner of charred meat, which only served to make her salivate involuntarily; she hadn't eaten much today.  Her suspicions were proven correct as she heard the cook cry out that he was purveying lamb cooked over an open flame, marinated with honey and herbs.  Vivica wanted to stop and purchase some, but she knew that her uncle would forbid such an act, so instead she for once paid attention to the interior of the litter, namely the platter of food in the middle.  It was mainly fruit, some dates and figs which likely had been grown in the nearby country, as well as a few small apples and some mauve grapes.  As well there were plump green olives and some chunks of white cheese.  She tested at the cheese first and found it tangy but far too sour for her taste.  A shame, she thought, as normally she enjoyed the cheese of goat.  Next she turned to a couple of figs to fill her disgruntled stomach, but only enough to quiet it such that she may turn her attention once more outwards.

Vivica was glad that she had, as a sound which she could only liken to some material tearing drew her in, and what a sight she saw.  A man stood upon a stage prancing back and forth, holding the audience enthralled to him, his upper body exposed to display musculature worthy of a statute and a fine sheen of sweat coating his body, making him glisten.  Were that all to be seen, she would have been happy enough, but indeed more there was.  In one hand he held a torch, and in the other a cup.  Once and again he would drink form the cup and then breathe into the fire, giving birth to great gouts of flame, ripping into the air above the heads of the audience. They were fascinated.  She was fascinated.  Later during this visit to this marvelous city, there were a number of things she wished to do.  She added one more thing to her list, to see this man again.

Entry

I suppose I should have posted this before the last piece, as it gives you a description of the armour that Vakis wears.  I felt that it was kind of short, so I lengthened it by adding in the part where he looks out the window, but I don't necessarily think that the digression detracts overall from the section.


He approached the grand audience hall, walking down a cavernous hallway lined with columns, each with a different story carved into its face.  The breeze listed gently through the hall’s huge open windows, giving a pleasing respite from the summer heat.  It brought with it the chirping of songbirds from the gardens outside, as well as the smell of lavender.  It soothed him, and he needed soothing.  What was to transpire was a far-cry from the tranquil sounds and smells of the gardens which flanked him.

He even stopped for a moment and stepped to the side, resting his elbows wearily upon the wooden window seal, hunching over to take in the view of the courtyard garden.  Instantly the sun bore down heavily upon his brow, impeding his view, but soon enough it came to bear.  There was a garden on either side of the hallway he was in, each large enough to fit an entire home.  Before him he saw most strikingly the lavender which had its smell precede it, lining the far sides of the garden along the walls.  In the middle lay a small pond surrounded by Narcissus, many drooping towards the chill liquid, and many yet more resting in the shade provided by a number of olive trees, all surrounded by the walls lined with a trumpet-shaped flowering vine.

A number of songbirds enjoyed the scene whilst no one else was there to bother them, and he noticed in particular a swallow with a body of bluish-black and of a head of red, juxtaposed to its white belly with black spots, jumping to and fro in the shallow pool, enjoying itself thoroughly.  Were only that I could be that bird for this moment, to switch its life with my very own, he thought to himself.

As he approached the door he could hear the murmur of speech.  Few were loud, addressing all, but many whispered among the crowd.  This palace, this hall, it didn’t always belong to them, naught but a few generations before it belong to lavish foreign kings, unknowing of our justice, our prestige, our greatness.  We informed them.  It was designed with grandeur and decadence in mind, everything larger than it needed to be.  Even the entrance was large enough that horsemen could have ridden through it.

The door was flanked by two royal Agema, two of the Princeps’ sacred guard of three hundred.  They wore bronze muscle cuirasses coloured crimson, standing out from their stark white tunics and cloaks.  Their helmets bore a small metal crest and visor, as well as cheekpieces, all coloured crimson, framing a face-mask of iron.  So too did they wear ptyrges made of leather, bleached white, covering their thighs and shoulders, and bronze greaves made of the same bronze coloured crimson as their cuirasses.  The cloaks were parted in the middle to make room for the signature mark of the Agema, the palm branch they had strapped to their backs, fanning out behind them.

With one hand on the hilt of the long Kopis they wore and the other grasping an infantryman’s spear, they stood motionless, like two statues looming to either side of the door.  He wore a soldier’s uniform.  He wore a sash denoting his command.  He looked the part entirely.  These two statues should not give him pause, but even still sweat began to form at his temples, his hands began to shake, his heart began to race.  He tried his best to ignore all of these things, to not be scared, and he continued to hold his head up high and look forward as he continued on.  He walked right in.

Vakis

Well, I've been quite poor about keeping this updated already, and I've only just started!  Here's a second little bit from the same world.  There's a short bit which I suppose I'll put up next which describes the armour which the protagonist of this section is wearing.  I'm all about me descriptions of things which no one else cares about.  And arming scenes, which also no one cares about.  I need to write a catalog of ships or something like that sometime.  That'll surely get me literary acclaim.

Vikas was one of the Princeps’ Daughter’s Twenty, twenty of his personal Agema tasked with her wellbeing—at any means.  War had come to the capital, and he sought to send her away, somewhere safer.  He had sent her to one of his most trusted lieutenants, the governor of a Satrapy not touched by the lashing tongue of war.  It was only the twenty of them and a few wagons being pulled, her coach and her slaves.  Some of her friends had come as well, adding another lumbering wagon to the caravan.

Within a days ride of the provincial capital, they spotted soldiers of the Satrapy.  It seemed at first a welcome sight, but as they got closer it seemed wrong.  Vikas couldn't tell why at first, he could just feel it in his gut, but as they got closer it began to sink in.  The men marching towards them were of the Satrapy, but they were far too numerous, and they were marching.  This was no honour guard meant to safely see them in, but hundreds of infantrymen with a handful of cavalry at their head.  Was the danger in the area greater than they had known, or had something else transpired?

As they drew nearer the infantry began to leave their marching order and form up, a worrisome sign, but it gave Vikas a better appraisal of what stood across from him.  There were at least five or six hundred, vastly outnumbering their twenty, but they were local recruits with local armaments.  A good two-thirds of them held only a wicker shield and spear no longer than they were tall.  The rest appeared mostly to be archers.  None of them wore armour.  None of them except for the few horsemen to their front, also armed in a local style, but the stylings of the local nobility.  They were almost completely covered in bronze scale, including the front half of their mounts, just as the Agema’s horses were armoured.

One of them rode forward, accompanied with a standard bearer, a golden dragon’s head with a tube of silk attached to it, billowing in the wind.  A worrisome sign.  Vikas rode forth as well to meet this man, accompanied with a standard bearer as well, but his was merely a coloured banner hanging from his lance, emblazoned with a sigil of the Princeps’ family.  The man across from him had dark skin and darker hair, a flowing moustache punctuating his face.  He looked like he would have been proud of it.  Above all, he looked proud.  When he opened his mouth he did nothing but confirm this suspicion.  “Release the woman and all else can leave.”  His accent was thick and guttural, clearly not his first language.  Vikas would play this man like a harp.

“Only a coward would ask that of us.  Are you a coward?”  He was free to snicker, his mask concealing all emotion, all intention.  It was part of the reason they wore these masks of iron.

“Coward?”  The great and noble lord of obviously incredulous.  “My father and his before him were great warriors!  I could squash you if I like!  I was told to kill only if I have to.  I would be more than happy to do so!”

“A warrior, a man, a man such as yourself is sucking the cock of another?  Stand aside before you hurt your powdered cheeks.”

The man was red with anger and wheeled his horse around, back to his standard bearer who handed over a lance, grabbing it greedily and whipping his horse around, breaking into a gallop instantly.  Vakis carried his own lance, and so all he had to do was urge the pointed heels of his boots into the flanks of his mount and started off.  They came upon each other in almost an instant, both grasping their lance with both hands, spearhead pointed straight at one another’s chests.  Vakis had no interest in dying this day and deftly flicked his lance back and forth, knocking his opponents lance aside as intended, but was unable to bring his back in time, so rather than impaling his opponent, he was only able to bring the shaft down upon his shoulder, unhorsing him.  His helmet and scale aventail spun off and landed in the wild grass after its wearer had already noisily struck the ground.

Vikas angled his lance downwards and thrusted, making effort to kill his grounded opponent, but he had rolled too quickly to the side and pushed himself to his feet whilst drawing his blade.  He shouted something in his native tongue, and judging by the near uniform movement of the forces arrayed against them Vikas assumed it was some manner of command to attack.

Vikas responded in kind, shouting backwards, “To me!” as he thrust his lance up into the air.  He was no longer concerned with the grounded, bewildered man.  The Twenty rode up and joined with him, forming a wedge as they headed towards the mass of infantry, Vikas forming the point.  One of the Agema impaled the man as they rode up, the lance stuck in his standing corpse, quickly falling to the Earth.  They charged into the center of the mass of infantry, who to their credit stood their ground.  However, their spears were much shorter than lances, and their wicker shields did nothing to stop their impetus.  Within naught but an instant dozens were left dead, either impaled or trampled.  Vakis himself skewered three men upon his lance all at once before their weight ripped the lance sharply from his hands.

He drew his Kopis and reformed the Twenty to charge again.  He was not the only one to have lost his lance, but his men knew what to do.  Those with lances still took the first rank, one of them handing theirs to Vakis such that he could lead the way.  They crashed back into the infantry, killing dozens more.  Within such a short instance of time, these twenty men had killed a hundred of more.  Vakis knew this would happen, and had hoped that it would break their spirit, their will to fight, and cause them all to flee.  No such luck.

The archers seemed to have strung their bows and begun to loose arrows.  They were most vulnerable together and unmoving, so he quickly set to work, dividing his men in half, sending them back against the enemy.  He lost his second lance, this one breaking as it lodged its head into a man’s hipbone.  He drew his blade for another charge, but amidst the enemy his horse lurched and flung to the side, crashing to the ground and flinging him from it.  His compatriots leapt over him, giving him respite from the enemy whilst he lay on the ground.  His whole body singed with pain and his ears ringing, he struggled to his feet and quickly eyed his horse, seeing a spear in its belly entrails leaking out.

He had little time to mourn his steed, for soon the enemy foot was upon him.  A spearman lunged at him, but the Agema parried it and sliced straight through his wicker shield, severing his arm.  Another slice took off his head.  The rest were instantly more hesitant, and Vakis did not give them the luxury of the attack.  He grabbed a man’s spear by the shaft and pulled him in, chopping down through the clavicle, killing him instantly.  As he started against the others, they took a step back, each one clearly not wanting to face him next.

It was then that out of the corner of this eye that he spotted motion.  The masks’ greatest weakness was its lack of peripheral vision, and here it would seem to show why.  One of the armoured horsemen galloped towards him.  Vakis had no time to react; a blade came clashing into the side of his face.