For an outsider, Andash is its history. It is nomads and cityfolk living in the ruins of a once great empire, scratching their chins while they try to emulate the long dead who probably were as similar to them as the Drowned are. It is a land of abandoned ambitions, lost hopes, and forgotten glory.
But it is so much more than that.
It is the next generation of Nomads striking out across the sands, because there is no one who can do it better. It is the thriving city of Obregon that refuses to die, even as its waters continue to dry up. They are a people who can see failure all around them, and will do their best to avoid repeating the past. We can only hope that they succeed.
Steelsun Lost
With the water shortage in Obregon coffee is all the more expensive. Sure it can be brought to the city, but only for cafes willing to pay the premium. So many of these hallmarks of Andashi city life are still closed, or home to only a handful of inhabitants. On the eastern side of the city, nearly as far from the new oasis as can be, an old Janissary by the name of Valtir Al-Abqala has been holding court. Weaving a tale of the distant past, in the way that Andashi are known to do…
Ahhh… you want the Hawk, do you? Hah! Sit. Sit. You don’t stand for this story. Not unless you plan to duel at the end of it. Javier Al-Corvarrias. Steelsun Lion. Greatest blade Andash ever bred, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. Though not very well anymore.
He weren’t born wealthy. That’s important. No silk cradle for him. Salt wind and tax ledgers, that was his nursery. Half coast. Half conqueror. That’s why he understood us.
Solvane, his sword, curved like a gull’s wing. Could split helm and still flick to signal left flank. And his bow? Falconwake. Spheres, I saw it once. Sang when it was fired. Not metaphor. Sang. And the armour! The Auric Carapace! Blazed so bright at Aguinaldo’s Horizon the enemy thought the sun had come down to fight. Or so the legends go.
You know what really happened there? Hundreds of years ago?
The Grand Empire thought it could bind the gods. Command them. Make them pump water and bless harvests like obedient oxen. And when the gods, or whatever that Witch was, said no? The Empire panicked.
The war was so extreme, so painful, that it turned the deserts to glass. That it broke the mind and soul of an Empire, of our people! And Javier was in the midst of it. Leading soldiers, slaying monsters, getting paid, as all honourable warriors should.
He was there on the last day in Sarimento. It was said that The Steelsun Lion was the only one of the Grand Empire’s commanders who held against the Witch and her army of magick, cultists, and monsters. That he drove the blade Solvane into the ground and would not step back from it for a day and a night.
But that was still a battle we lost. The Grand Empire cracked, crumbled, and forgot what it was. The Steelsun Lion wandered far and wide, fighting battle after battle as the Empire that he grew up in slipped through his hands like sand through his fingers.
We don’t really know what happened to him. My friends, Jameni Al-Nazafeza and Diego Del-Arcadian had been working at it for years. Scouring every record, troop movement, inscription on stone, or divine whispering. What had happened to the Steelsun Lion? To Solvane? To our Grandest Empire?
By the end of it all, when the Warjackal and his cronies broke down the door Tadribar, when the Master Janissary was hauled off into the desert to die because The Concordian heroes failed to save him, all they had was this. These papers, these legends. It's the shape of a tale that I have tried to follow, but my bones are tired, and my joints are dust. Now I am forced to hand over the life's work of dead men to the same heroes who failed to save them.
All so the legend of another dead man might live again…
Game Information
An old Janissary has come forward in Obregon, lamenting the final loss of Tadribar, although its mercenary swordfolk had been lost for some time. His revelation that the monk-like sages of Tadribar had been searching for the lost garb of Javier Al-Corvarrias, The Steelsun Lion, makes the loss all the worse.
But the old Jannissary’s notes have been handed over to the Champion of Tribes, so that through them, the Janissaries may continue to pursue The Steelsun Lion’s legacy.
There will be more information regarding this quest for the Champion of the Tribes and plentiful opportunities for Jannisaries and other Andashi to pursue it.
Dancer of Gold and Green, Why Do You Cry?
Abqala remains a place of many. Beyond those nomadic peoples who find solace within its comforts and traditions, and beyond those refugees who seek safety in the illusion of a home far from their roots. Beyond the dead and the living, the heroic and the banal. Abqala does not settle itself into some rigid form, the hard place near to the rock. It remains fluid, allowing its people, traditions and culture to flow as if the waters from within its very core.
The Shepherd of the Reeds, Mowgli El-Tanebar Del-Solas, would extend this intent to each of the people beyond the northern border. To those that made themselves known, with heritage shared of Peaks, Old Seas and Hawks. Those who claim to be of Andash lost to ages past, those of Villacres nomadic in soul and with a willingness to show sincerity to their neighbours and lost kin. It is this combination of intent and sincerity, shown and given to all of the Lost Clans rather than narrowed to but one, that would possibly bridge the gap that separates.
However the gap remains for a reason, and one that becomes particularly hard to ignore in the Summer Season.
The Lost Clans of Villacres were always treated cordially by the people of Abqala, but a natural distance formed as the seed of distrust sprouted as it always must. Andashi would not make those of Villacres unwelcome, so long as they presented themselves as of the Peak, Old Seas or Hawk; nonetheless they remained a people under the thumb of an enemy. They remained a people that were by all means Zekartaal, even if they do not always wear their colours nor strictly follow their customs.
Despite this, their tales of oppression ring with truth for the Andashi people, and so distrust and kindness sprout entwined.
Still, they come to Abqala, and they are welcomed for so long as they bring with them trade and respite rather than conflict and strife. It finds itself rarer in these past Summer months, but the presence of a particularly vocal person of the Hawk reminds Andash with whom they have accepted into their home. This nomad, despite the suspicious colourings of green and yellow amongst the other colours of their garb, would be well vouched for and face no opposition to their presence.
They spoke loudly of the crushing weight of The Zekartaal people on the lives of The Lost Clans, but they did not speak with a venom that would be expected from their words. They spoke as if it was a fact of life, unchanging and uncaring, a facet that could not be ignored but neither corrected. They spoke softly about their life, and they spoke with purpose. It seemed obvious to any who listened that there must be more to their tales than simple story, but never did a request for help appear.
But still they spoke. More than any other. Enough to draw attention. Enough to exist as a foreign person in a place that should be their home. Enough to be encouraged to tell their story at The Summit.
And so a nomad makes their way to Passage, wearing colours of purple and green and gold. Will the tale they tell be a call to action? Will it turn from one of oppression to one of acceptance? Will they be slain for simple words misspoken regarding a tragedy of circumstance and birthplace?
Will they be of any note at all?
Game Information
The Lost Clans of Villacres continue to trade with Abqala where appropriate, given welcome by the Shepherd of the Reeds en masse. The trade itself dwindles in the Summer heat, but its presence is still notable for those who do not often get opportunity to trade for barter, such as the refugees surrounding Abqala.
This small amount of trade makes the life of the refugees easier to bear, a much needed relief for those lucky enough to have something worth trading, but provides no additional benefits at this stage.
Members of The Lost Clan of the Hawk are expected to journey to Passage, with tales of life under The Zekartaal and possibly more hidden beneath the surface.
Yes, Wonderful Things
It must have been a beautiful place, even being formed during the decline of the great and powerful empire. They could imagine it at its finest - flooded with hundreds upon hundreds of Grand Andashi trading goods and stories alike.
As they reinforced doorways and roofs, if they squinted just right, the long-rotten fabrics and more-than-desiccated flowers could bloom again in brightness, dancing upon the eaves and arches in the breeze. As they cleared out dilapidated tapestries and carpets, now too worn to truly make out the pattern, if they were quiet enough they could almost hear the bartering occurring about them - voices from the Basilisk Gate arguing with those of Tasa Mana, while those of Sirunar commented to others from Obregon on the sale.
As the Delvers uncovered and restored more and more of New Kodiri - more and more of their new settlement - it began to feel increasingly like home.
There was enough of Grand Andash to engage them. Minor discoveries of scrawled messages, seemingly left by wayward teenagers in the corner of what once was an office, felt like buried treasure to those wishing to see where culture had shifted and stayed the same. Major discoveries, like the internal doors of the largest market hall still retaining their ornate carvings of some of the native flora and fauna of the area that still thrive, were celebrated as the miracle that they were.
And throughout the settlement, as the halls that had stayed empty for generations began to bustle once again with Andashi trading stories, objects, and knowledge in equal measure, it felt a miracle indeed.
It is no grand temple built for Maestras and Maestros - it was a central spoke for merchants and common folk then, and merchants and common folk now. It is no brilliant den of magic - whatever forces of Grand Andash that rumbled there years ago have long since gone quiet. It is no phenomenal nexus of productivity - more friendships and connections are crafted there than industrial objects ever would be.
But it was theirs at last, after years and years of work without claim - a home for the Delvers of Andash.
Game Information
The commission of New Kodiri in Tanebar East has been completed! As expected, this new focal point has increased the tax income of the region.
Any Characters who would have visited the Kodiri dig site during this Season would have seen Grand Andash in miniature, with various artefacts, scrolls, tapestries from the historic empire being brought together by their Delvers in an attempt to find meaning.
The Senator of The Tribelands will receive a letter about the first of these instances, brought about by the Delvers coming together to discuss their work.
Those of the Delver archetype are invited to take the following roleplay prompt as they see a site for their finds restored:
“Regardless of how the sands and stones change around me, I know who I am, and what I am capable of.”
Drowning, Not in Water but Grains of Sand
Leire wiped the sweat from his brow and continued on his way. His shoulders ached. His feet ached. His back ached. He wasn’t sure if there was any part of him that didn’t ache. But this was an absent thought. One that perishes under the burning sun just as quickly as it reappears. The Summer Season is not kind in Obregon. Another absent thought.
But Leire ached for good reason, he thought. Each carefully placed step across the burning sands surrounding his home was one that brought him closer to fulfilling his task. Every bit of burn on the few exposed parts of his skin, worth the damage it must be causing. Every second of discomfort, for the sake of those who could not endure it themselves.
Leire knew he had no need to look behind him, even if he could given the weight on his shoulders. He knew he only need look forward enough to ensure his destination remained in sight. This was his task. He would receive no coin for this, but he did not need it. He would receive no glory, but he did not desire it.
There were people who relied on him now. He would not fail them, not while it was just discomfort, just an ache, just nothing compared to the suffering of the people who need him. He chuckled to himself, ever so briefly, thinking that he must sound like the people of the woods who claim the forests east of home. The chuckle died just as quickly as it came.
Another absent thought, he supposed.
-=-=-=-
The reality of Obregon is not quite so pleasant as one may wish to imagine.
The magical Oasis formed a safe distance from the city sustains it, and continues to do so even beneath the overbearing pressure of a Summer in The Tribelands. But it is this pressure that begins to wear on its citizens, mentally and physically. Beyond the danger felt by those unable to obtain water from the Oasis themselves. Beyond the fatigue felt by those who can carry the water such a great distance. Beyond what has become a simple requirement for survival in the second largest city in The Concord.
It barely feels a relief when the great Corazón El Acueducto begins construction, under order of the Senator of The Tribelands. For whilst it signals a coming end to woe, it presents a challenge in its construction alone. To work is to become thirsty. To be thirsty is to suffer within the walls of Obregon.
Clan Lothali, who had offered their services in carrying water to the entirety of the city, would initially create a disturbance near the Oasis itself, claiming that The Senate does not see the plights of its people, and merely acts to build for the sake of vanity and the opportunities it will bring them. Such claims, while drawing the attention of some, would primarily fall on uncaring ears. Those who claim to want to help but merely complain offer no help at all, some would say in response.
In reality, most were too exhausted to care.
In the deepest and highest places of Obregon, those places that require steep steps to climb or otherwise great distance to travel to, would feel the lack of water the harshest. Some would even fall to drinking from the cursed wells, less they risk death by dehydration. The Arboreal Putrefaction would take them regardless. It was a choice between a slow death, or a slower one. It is hard to say if some felt perhaps misled by The Senator of Mukarrem’s motion to amend the quarantine and restrictions of one of the Gardens of Obregon, causing those already in the throes of panic to make a mistake that would ultimately kill them.
But no, such thoughts and actions would be the sole responsibility of those making them, even with their mind degraded by a lack of water. The masses of Obregon, those lucky enough to survive, would not attribute such foolishness to anything other than mad rambling, and the desperate desire to survive at any cost.
Civil Service offices, also greatly affected by the functional drought, have not had the capacity to perform as they usually must. A mimicry shared in circumstance by the entire city. Since the attack by the Cult of the Starved, and the beginning of the crises, the cost of life has continued to rise. There is little hope that remains, save another miracle like the Oasis or something more foundational like the Corazón El Acueducto.
Something must change, or the city will fall. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow. But the people of Obregon are only able to endure so much.
Game Information
The drought in Obregon continues, and its consequence is felt particularly harshly over the Summer Season. The death toll rises and many people flee the city, as many pressures begin to cost the people more than just the simple yet taxing effort of carrying water. Construction has begun on a grand project to see the problem solved for so long as the Oasis exists, Corazón El Acueducto, but with only a single Season gone the project will still take another year to complete.
The longer this crisis continues, the worse it will affect Obregon and its people. As of this Season, all Commissions in Obregon will now cost twice as much Upkeep, representing the struggle of the people of the city to maintain daily life. This includes this Season, and lasts until the crises is solved.
Additionally, the Appraisal to ‘Hire Clan Lothali’ is no longer available, as they feel the pressure and break beneath it.
Noisiest Authorities Insist on Being Received
“Did you remember to fix the hole in your basket?” Antia called out from within her dwelling, the ever-warm air carrying her voice not unlike the coastal breeze. “Or do you want to borrow one of mine?”
“What do you take me for?” Carreriro responded, an easy smile on his lips as he melted slightly into the shade of the open doorway, eyes fluttering open when the shadow of his friend moved in front of the window.
She looked him up and down, eyebrow quirking into the waves of her greying fringe as she nudged him out the entryway with her hip and locked the door behind her.
“El cariño, I take you for someone who said that he would, and then forgot the last three times I asked.”
Carreriro raised his hands in clear defeat, at odds with the wink he shot at her bemused face, then snatched the basket out of the older woman’s arms as she stepped past him into the midday sun.
The two walked alongside each other out from her homestead along to the main street, chatting idly. The packed dirt moved beneath their feet, slowly being joined by the occasional slab of sandstone, until they were walking along the newly finished road leading to the manor at the centre of the town.
Meeting the shadesails that cast shadows of cyan, scarlet, and violet across the path, the two sighed in unison at the pleasant relief of being out from the bright light that had been upon them. They paused their conversation briefly to nod silently at the guards in front of the meeting hall who nodded back in similar quiet, only broken by the slight shifting of their armoured feet on the ground.
By the time they reached the newly germinated garden to the west of the hall, the sweat that had pooled on their brows and backs had dried in the shaded breeze, ready to be accumulated again as they began their weekly harvest and prune.
Their conversation continued as they worked, occasionally joined by others. Discussions of the refurbished collection box at the pillared church were accompanied by the teaching of healers as they collected herbs with their apprentices, while gossip of why exactly that particular Legionnaire had been seen leaving Hector’s store in the early morning, tassets askew, was cut short when children came to pilfer the underripe berries.
Finally, when their work was done, Antia and Carreriro stood, cracking their backs and picking the dirt from under their fingers.
Even after the hours crouched over, the walk to the port was not a difficult one, made more gentle by the jewel-coloured shade, the afternoon breeze, and by their privacy to share the detailed report that Hector had given Julia who had told Matteo who went for coffee with Antia’s sister. Even the sun glinting off the few featureless gold warriors that remained was not overly blinding.
As the ocean came into full view, and the ships along with them, their exchange of information paused. It was more than a year since those at port had flown Concordian flags. Now, as they walked along the pier towards the harbourmaster’s office, that fact sat much lighter in their hearts.
They had been left, yes. Abandoned, some may say. But as they gave their collected herbs from the communal garden over to the master of the port, and she gave them Trade Principality coins and a bureaucrat’s smile for their work, it was not quite as difficult a blow anymore.
And as they sat together that evening, drinking hot chocolate bought with a small portion of their coin, it was barely a blow at all.
Game Information
The citizens of Nazafeza, following a tumultuous year under the Trade Principality, have reached a stasis of sorts. Almost certainly aided by the fading effects of the Fools Gold Fortress cast by The Trade Principality before the previous Summit, the city has prospered under their new rulers - roads repaved, gardens replanted, and people cared for.
All Investments held within The Salt Road territory have now been lost, representing their people giving up on, or perhaps no longer needing, The Concord to save them. Investments secured by effects such as a Syndicate’s ‘Under their Noses’ action, or the Shadow Veil ceremony may remain, provided there is no unbroken period of these effects.
The Concord will no longer receive updates from Nazafeza, as it is functionally and realistically no longer theirs. This extends to the full area of the Salt Road, including the lost Janissary Monastery of Tadribar.
Songskins Sing Into Empty Hills
The road south from Mukarrem ends long before the land does, that little path from the shrine becoming a memory shortly after it.
Where the Mitricasa Rise falls away into broken hills and choking green, the scrub thickens and the wind loses its voice. What lies beyond is called The Serpent’s Heart, though few Andashi had seen it with their own eyes in living memory. It is a place where the land seems to remember a time before roads, before clans, before the careful lines that keep people safe from the wilderness.
It was into this green and tangled world that three companies of Andashi warriors descended, accompanied by a proud host of Bordevarian knights. Steel and silk alike vanished beneath the canopy as the expedition pushed deeper through thorn, vine, and jagged shale. Progress was slow and often violent. The Serpent’s Heart does not welcome travellers.
Great tusked pigs with hides like iron bark charged from the thickets. Long-limbed cats that stood as tall as an ox with pale eyes watched from the branches above. In the deeper gullies strange things stirred in the mud, scaled shapes too large to be crocodile and too silent to be natural.
Yet for all its savagery, the land bore little mark of its supposed masters.
The Serpent’s Heart lies within lands claimed by The Drowned, yet their influence here is strangely absent. No shrines of salt and bone were found and the land did not reek of brackish sinking. No drowned banners hung in the trees. The deeper the companies travelled, the more the region felt untouched by the ambitions of humanity and worse things. It was not an empty land, it was a wild one.
The Taliskin themselves were never seen. But signs of them appeared often enough to keep the expedition restless.
Stone piles arranged too precisely to be natural were found along riverbanks. Not cairns nor markers, but spirals and arcs that defied simple geometry, their curves seeming wrong to the eye no matter where one stood. Some were half-buried in mud, others perched delicately upon narrow outcrops where no human mason would bother to climb.
There were footprints as well, broad impressions in clay with a peculiar asymmetry, as though one limb carried more weight than the other.
In one narrow gorge the mercenaries found a structure that none could properly describe. It appeared at first to be a simple arch of stacked stone, yet those who walked beneath it swore the forest beyond seemed subtly rearranged when they emerged. No one could explain why.
If the Taliskin did not wish to be found, then they could not be found.
The expedition pressed as far as supplies and patience allowed before turning north again. They returned with little in the way of proof, but with many uneasy stories and a quiet understanding shared among them all. The Serpent’s Heart is not the land the old songs remembered, it is wilder, more dangerous.
And perhaps more ancient than the nomads ever realised. What this means for the future of the south remains unclear. But the winds of Mukarrem carry a new whisper among the clans:
If the Taliskin are truly guardians of the stones, then something in the deep places of the world may have begun to stir.
Game Information
Four military investments, led by Senator Daud El’Priado Del’Anarch Al’Sabre have entered the Serpent’s Heart in search of the Taliskins. While much of what they experienced will be revealed to them in great detail, a lot of it has spread as rumour and whispers since their return.
None of the investments have been damaged, but neither have they found great riches.
Serpent’s Heart has had its ‘Beastial’ trait, replaced with ‘Primal’
| Trait | +Cas. Inf. | +Cas. Suff. | Special |
| Primal | - | +25% | Movement into this territory costs one additional movement point.
Armies under 3000 strength cannot enter this territory, as they will be overwhelmed by hostile nature, and lack the manpower to carve a meaningful path. Wilderness investments in the region begin at Tier 2 but cannot produce Hartswood. |
Their scouting has revealed that there are no Drowned constructions, actions, or maladies present within the territory.