Past Story Arcs
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This page will offer links to past story arcs that have concluded on KushielMUX. They are considered in character knowledge, and can be incorporated into backgrounds at whim.
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The Game of Thrones
100 years and more have passed since the turbulent reign of Queen Ysandre de la Courcel and Drustan mab Necthana in Terre d'Ange. Their marriage provoked much of the peace and prosperity over the passing years -- both the Alban and d'Angeline people saw stability at the alliance. The Skaldi retreated after their crushing defeat in Terre d'Ange, and the elders of the nation began to organize the Skaldi from their new capitol city. The other nations opened trade with each other and new inventions and discoveries greatly eased the rough life of the commonfolk the world over.
However, the times have changed, as all things must.
For decades the Senate have played a significant part in d'Angeline government. While the nobility and royalty ruled by bloodlines alone, the Senate were elected on a popular basis and slowly formed the backbone of the decision-making process -- the Ministers began to wield more and more power and the nobility began to feel their pressure more and more. Would Terre d'Ange become a Republic? The common people were divided on the issue, though being able to elect their own politicians and rulers made a significant impact.
Thus, it was the last Queen, Eliresse Andelieu de la Courcel, who made the grave decision to disband the Senate entirely, after they enacted a series of forgettable laws - but without her consent or knowledge. The Senate was enraged -- but technically the Queen still ruled in Terre d'Ange and had every right to do so. However, her popular support among the rest of the Peerage crumbled as well when she made the startling decision of having an heir with a commoner lover, one Mathieu Ghyselin, rather than the now-traditional marriage with the Cruarch of Alba. Indeed, it was almost taken as a personal blow against the nobility themselves -- the cementing of the Alba - d'Angeline relationship is one that's lead to the success of the country for nearly the last century.
It was a crippling blow to the nation when, on May 9th, 1180, the Queen died in childbirth with the new heir. Many blamed the commoner father - either believing him to have instigated it or diverting the real culprit to him instead. A consort of Jasmine House was able to whisk him out of harm, hiding him in a Yeshuite temple. So thus, the Throne now stands empty and the Courcel line has vanished forever.
Meanwhile, more recently the Foreign dignitaries, ambassadors and nobles that were in the City to await for the birth of the dauphine, quickly send this news back to their homelands, preparing to hear the advice of their superiors. Now they're instead present in the City of Elua for a more ominous task - overseeing the Royal Vote and the election of a new Royal Family. The Dukes/Duchesses of Siovale, Azzale, and Eisande are in line for the throne, being the ones closest related to the Courcel family -- however, if those Houses lose their heirs or otherwise are ineligble for the throne, the other Duchies have a spot at the Crown..
In any case, rumors of murder fly about the City of Elua; murder of the queen, her lover (who faked his own death to escape the clutches of the irate nobles) and the unborn dauphine. Regicide, or an unfathomably bad-timed accident? It's a classic 'whodunit' mystery; many groups are certainly culpable. And to top it all off, there's rumors of war between the Hazaran Empire and the Hanzu in the Far East, which threatens to spill over into the West..
More recently, aa blistering Winter has descended upon the land, the likes of which have never been seen before. Even southern Aragonia and Caerdicca Unitas have seen snow for the first time in recorded history. All the roads have been blocked to neighbouring cities, though travellers occasionally manage to straggle in. The Skaldi have taken to calling it the Fimbulwinter - the storm before the end of the world. Without messengers, those trapped in the City of Elua can only wait out the Royal Vote and hope the storm fades sometime soon.
With winter fast descending on the land, things in Terre d'Ange continue to get worse and worse. Though food supplies are still considerable, much of the unpreserved supplies have been used, more out of the desire not to waste any due to rot than anything else. Many of the City of Elua's citizens have taken to drowning their worries in booze at the Hall of Games or the many taverns still open during the harsh winter. The city watch constabulatory, the Palace Guard, and the local militia under the command of the Master of Arms have been working hard side-by-side to keep the snow within the city limits to a minimum, dumping most of it in the Avaline River, which still flows strong thanks to the deep current.
Worries are many in the City- anxiety over the upcoming Royal Vote; the increasingly unpleasant rumors of the Hazaran Empire's exploits in the Far East; and more mundane matters such as the dwindling supply of lumber for firewood. The Night Court has never been busier as citizens and foreigners alike spend what money they've stored for a few evenings of warmth and company to relieve the boredom of the winter.
Mathieu Gyselin, the much-sought-after Consort of the dead Queen, made an unexpected appearance when a foreign vessel of the Almohad Moors, commanded by their Prince, docked at the pier. Negotiations will likely take some time, to much grumbling by the citizenry who hold no love for the aggressive southerners. It does, on the plus side, give the population something to gossip about.
The future of Terre d'Ange itself hangs precariously in the balance - its future success, or failure, depends entirely on the resolve and determination of those who would lead, and those who would follow.
The Kusheline Crown
As winter's embrace begins to fade and Spring tentatively starts to return the countryside, the coronation of the Duke and Duchess of Kusheth draws visitors from all over the City of Elua. Trumpets play, people cheer, and by the time things are settled the Regalia is settled on royal heads and things are back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be in such a place, anyway.
The country's not quite back to normal yet, though. As messengers begin arriving for the first time in months, news of the world winds through the city and causes a stir of its own. The populace, grateful for some sort of excitement that doesn't involve the Crown, spreads the rumors like wildfire.
The Moors have made a full invasion of Aragonia, for one, capturing several cities along the southern province and making good headway with their skilled desert-bred cavalry and fierce warriors. The Moors have already taken Albaicin, a large city to the south with an enormous citadel called the Alhambra; they've used this as their main base to send their regiments into Aragonia proper. Can an invasion of Terre d'Ange be far behind? Or will the Moorish threat be halted in the Aragonian mountains? A topic of much debate indeed in the city.
The Albans and Eiran come out of the Fimbulwinter relatively unscathed, though they lost a considerable amount of cattle and their snow has yet to truly thaw. Alban trade goods are already flowing into the city, including some rare new dyes.
The Caerdicci ended up the best-off after the winter; too far south to be overly affected, they viewed the sharp cold and piled snow with amused disinterest and kept trade routes open with Akkadia and the rest of the known world during the winter itself.
They were even grateful for the winter in some ways - Skaldia has been completely silent since the Fimbulwinter ended, no messengers having arrived in the other countries. Fairly ominously, the Skaldi border towns and patrolled garrisons have been reported to largely be completely deserted by the d'Angeline border troops. Various messengers and ambassadors have been dispatched to discover what's going on but none have returned with any notable information. The Skaldi in the City of Elua are restless.
In fair Terre d'Ange herself, things are slowly rebuilding. News of the new Royal Family has spread outside the City of Elua - though the people rejoice, there's much work to get done. Several cities in Eisande and Siovale report outbreaks of winter plague, and an extraordinary amount of damage to forests and lumber has been done due to freezing rain all over the country. The people are wary about any new taxes, but the treasury is getting tight and renewing the country after the Fimbulwinter is expensive.
The one benefit the Winter brings is that it's brought people closer together, particularly in the City of Elua. With the retirement of Nicolas the Grey, the Crown Regent, he's made one last proclamation -- that the rulers of the Provinces are highly suggested to remain in the City of Elua itself to govern their provinces and send messengers and runners when necessary, rather than live in their capital itself. Of course, it's always prudent to visit the commoners once in a while.. Nevertheless the Regent's suggestion is carefully heeded and construction of a fantastically lavish edifice nicknamed the 'Tower of Blue', specifically for nobility to gather and live, is already underway near the Royal Palace.
Will the new Royal Family govern leniently or harshly? Will the Dukes and Duchesses try to exert their will on royal decisions - or will they try to take matters into their own hands? What of Ghyselin, or al-Ash'ari? What of the Hazaran, the Skaldi, the Hanzu? The Crown's position is a tentative one, this early - a house of cards that could collapse at any moment.
Iron and Blood
With the spring arriving and Winter on the run, the world seems to awaken from a deep slumber. Whispers of war turn to rumors, then panicked discussion - war from both the south and the east, with two powerful enemies on the move. It's the collapse of Skaldia that's on everyone's lips these days; travelers tell tales of the invasion while hushed whispers make their way through the populace. Fearful tales, indeed..
The first true stories of the fall of Skaldia come from none other than Marinna Skarnsdotter, the Skaldi's elder counsellor. She arrives in Terre d'Ange being turned aside by the Caerdicci with a ragtag group of weary war survivors, many of which are sick, dead, or somewhere in between the two. Her own explanation of Skaldia's defeat is quick and to the point -- the Hazaran are quick, tough, brutal, merciless, and above all, extremely numerous. Not to mention they are unafraid of using new tactics and weaponry.
Their leader, Tiemuzhen Khan, is supposedly a god among men - he fights with the front lines on an enormous red stallion, with a bow the size of a man and arrows black as pitch. Cities who fight against the horde are crushed, often by strange tube-like weapons with projectiles that explode on impact - fearsome weapons of steel and gunpowder not unlike the weapons crafted by the Caerdicci. Entire cities are nought but smoking craters.. and for now it seems the Hazaran are content to regroup in Berolinum, no doubt to plot their next moves and settle their hold upon the Skaldi.
From the south, the Moors have begun their invasion. Like the Skaldi before their defeat, the Aragonians are suspiciously silent, with few enough messengers sent in or out and little word to their out-of-country people. Rumor has it, though, that thus far they fare quite better than the Skaldi, able to defend their homeland readily in the hilly, rocky country. Only time will tell if Aragonia, too, is to be defeated.
The people grow restless. Will the invaders turn to Terre d'Ange next? The country, thus far, seems somewhat unready for an invasion -- no call to arms has been sounded and no extra precautions are being made in such a case. The people turn to the King and Queen in the hopes of finding an answer.
Summer finally blossoms across the land, spreading greens and reds and all manner of other plantlife far and wide. It's a busy summer, to be sure - preparations are being made for wartime and there's nervous talk among the townsfolk about invasions and attacks and all manner of things. The Skaldi, in particular, have much to talk about -- the ones in the City of Elua and indeed all of Terre d'Ange seem to be gearing up for war. Marinna Skarnsdotter has emerged as the de-facto interim War Chieftain of the Skaldi exiles, gathering those who wish to train properly; outside of the City of Elua itself has been built a tent city that has been steadily growing since its creation.
The Skaldi themselves are restless, training day-in and day-out and constantly looking eastwards.. dreaming perhaps of the day they can return to their homeland and free their people. Rumors abound from travellers and refugees still streaming in from Skaldia, of the Hazaran ruling Berolinum with brute force. Many Skaldi heads line the main gates to the city. However, even more ominous is that the Hazaran appear to be preparing to get on the move again, their massive army slowly lurching awake out of its winter slumber around Berolinum proper. The Caerdicci, perhaps wary that the Hazaran might strike south first, begin to muster what militia they can and prepare their defensive forces with a unique mix of pikemen and pistoliers.. how effective this might be against massed cavalry archers is anyone's guess.
The eastern passes of Terre d'Ange are being closely guarded, as well; the Camlach forces, firmly united, keep a close eye over the north and south pass while the various noble houses begin to gather and train their provincial militia.. watching for the inevitable, no doubt. The King and Queen do what they can and the people rebuild from the brutal winter, an undercurrent of fear in everyone's activities.
Meanwhile, to the southwest, the Aragonians are embroiled in their own bitter war against the Moorish invaders. It is at least significantly less one-sided than the Skaldi and Hazaran conflict, with a series of brutal campaigns spread across Aragonia; in this, at least, the Aragonian kings stand united against a common enemy, their provincial distaste for one another cast aside. Still locked in combat, it's unlikely there'll be any significant headway made by either side until the autumn approaches.
Winter arrives slowly to Terre d'Ange, as if it spent its energy last year on the ferocious Fimbulvintr that stopped everything in its tracks. This year it arrives like a slow wave, the days growing more and more chill until that tell-tale flicker of snow starts falling from the skies.
This year there's an underlying tension, as opposed to the overt and open tension of last season's. Then, there was the death of the Queen and the new Royal Vote to deal with, the dance of thrones played; won by some and lost by others. This year brings a new threat - the barbaric Hazaran, seeking to spread their empire and bring glory to the Great Khan, the fearsome and charismatic leader who's somehow managed to unite the steppes clans.
The Hazaran army has been camped in the city of Berolinum for quite some time, the fields around the city filled with tents. Regrouping and resupplying for the winter, the army has been waiting for the right time to leave the Skaldic capital. Obviously uncaring of the winter weather, they set off at the first sign of snow. Frozen rivers make it much easier to travel than unfrozen ones, and their hardy steppes ponies are easily led across the light dusting of snow.
Now that they are on the march, the first question, of course, on everyone's minds is which direction are they headed in. The Caerdicci have reinforced their borders - including the d'Angeline border - and seem intent on guarding their mountain passes with their newly-crafted firearm weapons. It seems, after all, that the Caerdicci may have discovered the method for extracting saltpeter from the Tiberian hillsides to create fairly crude gunpowder, using flint. These "flintlock" pistolets and longrifles are effective, though still quite rare; the Caerdicci city-states still don't work together as well as they used to and gathering materials is slow, particularly in winter.
The Hazaran seem both respectful and envious of these weapons, as rightly they might be - the Eastern barbarians have shown no problem with stealing their conquered foe's technology for themselves. Thus it comes as only a minor surprise when it appears they have split their forces into two hordes. One heads west, one heads south from Berolinum, heading, it would seem, for the passes. In under a month, the passes will be under attack.
Clearly, the Hazaran feel that these smaller armies can deal with each of the country's defenses, particularly through the passes. Their confidence is an ominous portent, perhaps, as the defenders in both countries are heavily dug-in and probably hard to budge. Nevertheless, they are obviously on the move and have left Berolinum behind.
Berolinum itself is largely a waste. The surrounding areas are rubble and the inner ones are only a little less so, though the good stonework has made is somewhat easier to rebuild for the inhabitants. A group of Hazaran chieftains have remained behind as castellans of the city, ruling over their new territory. Officially, Skaldia is now part of the Hazaran Empire, and for now they seem to be keeping it. There is little resistance - at least outwardly. The Hazaran are brutally harsh with renegades.
Thus does winter begin - war is not just rumbling, it is right on the doorsteps of the world. The d'Angeline nobility and the commonfolk alike are worried. There are no reinforcements, not yet - if there will be at all. No word from the Caerdicci or Albans, and the Aragonians are busy defeating the Moors. Only time will tell what happens next.
February 20th, 1185,
Brigadier-Chevalier Roderigo del Oro de la Tega overlooked the battlefield calmly as the winter sun glared feebly from overhead. A brisk wind had picked up, thank the one God, to blow the stench of the dead from the hill he and his trusted red stallion stood. The field of grim dead was already being picked over by carrion birds.
"Captain," came a breathless young messenger, a smear of crimson on his forehead. In Aragonia, everyone fought. The messenger panted and leaned up to pass the missive he had been carrying, before scurrying off again on another errand.
Roderigo broke the seal of the envelope - expensive paper, gilded with gold leaf - and peered thoughtfully at the elegant writing, holding it up as if to block out the sight of decomposing men and horses. Flies buzzed impatiently around his head.
Finally he gave a heartfelt sigh, turning to ride back towards his cavalry platoon, the Shining Spears. Stuffing the envelope back in his riding leathers, he cantered to a halt and waited patiently for his resting troops - three companies, hard veterans all - to clamber to attention.
"We ride," he shouted, his warbling Aragonian crisp and calm. "Break camp. Orders from the Crown." He lazily waved the gilded envelope, grinning at the impressed looks from those nearby. "We ride to the Land of Angels, my kinfolk, to drive off the devil Easterners with them. Triple war pay and enough time to visit any family we have along the way." He glanced far back, at the remains of the last Moorish army, and stared at the Northeast horizon, imagining, perhaps, the hordes of barbarians awaiting the blade of his spear.
