Mukarrem has seen more than its fair share of violence and would-be conquest since the inception of The Concord, with no perpetrator more consistent than The Imperial Prince of the Western Empire, the Trade Prince of The Trade Principality of Aprivano, The Chosen of The Magistrate, Majiid Del’Majiid.
The last time that the forces of the Trade Prince stepped blooded boots into Nazafeza, they razed the city, destroying dwellings, docks, and denizens with the same vermeiled vehemence. The last time that he had his bejewelled hands on Concordian Heroes, they were almost killed for Spheres that hold no place in his heart, justified by perceived slights and ill-maintained ‘friendships’.
In the past, Majiid Del’Majiid has fought The Concord with blazing rage, and blistering scorn, lighting fires for the suffering they bring. But this time is different.
This time, the Imperial Prince means to stand by his self-given title, calm and collected in his conquest. This time, he will not burn Mukarrem, but begin to take it as his own.
Going to War Seeking to Win
As The Concord has done many times before, soldiers from far-off realms found themselves stationed on the far western coast of Andash for the summer. They were treated to breathtaking sunsets over a tranquil sea, blistering days beneath an unyielding sun, and far more warfare than they could stomach. The charade of peace talks and the hollow exchange of bribes from empty coffers could only last so long. As summer unfolded, the time for bloodshed arrived; no longer the skirmishes of stray bandits or wayward Jackals - this was a war of over thirty-thousand souls clashing with daggers drawn and death sought in pursuit of treasures.
Far out at sea, beyond the reach of anchors, The People’s Gift prepared to strike. Admiral Bruleé Dupont, running his fleet with the chaotic camaraderie of a bawdy tavern, kept morale high and his sailors eager to “have a go at ‘em.” Confident in his strategy, Dupont planned to exploit the discord among his enemies, tearing Carine Del’Majiid’s fleet apart sail by sail. By the time he was done, her proud vessels would be nothing more than tattered pennants and forgotten coin purses lost to the depths.
In the quiet streets of Nazafeza, the air was heavy with unease. The people of this port town knew the cost of conflict all too well. They had seen their city crumble under the onslaught of the Warjackal just a year ago. They had watched their neighbors starve and die on the beaches, waiting for salvation. Now, they prepared for another storm. Concordian soldiers encamped on the outskirts of town shared this grim understanding. These were The Valley’s Own—sunburned and weary—who had fought house-to-house to reclaim Nazafeza. Now the tables had turned. The Valleyfolk stood ready to defend this distant town with its alien architecture, scarred inhabitants, and hollowed homes.
Yet, amidst the foreign sands, a piece of the Valley endured. Tucked off the main avenue lay a courtyard adorned with Valleyfolk shields, a flowerbed of steel blades planted in the earth, and an arcstone monument inscribed with over nine-hundred names. This shrine honored the Own who had fallen when they last fought to hold Nazafeza. Fragile flowers grew among the blades, and strips of cloth tied to the hilts bore witness to the gratitude of the Andashi people. Though this land did not celebrate their dead, it would not forget their sacrifice.
But there was little time for mourning in these solemn halls. The war followed the Trade Principalities’ timeline, and it moved swiftly.
Three formidable forces opposed The Concord. To the north of Nazafeza, a disciplined army—trained in the Artebazzani style but composed mostly of conscripts masquerading as legionnaires—waited for General Ericsson and his Valleyfolk to march through two days of scorching desert to meet them. Meanwhile, five-thousand blooded tribesfolk roamed the borderlands, raiding Tadribar, striking the Salt Road, and feinting at Nazafeza repeatedly. The Valley’s Own found themselves stretched thin, fighting a battle hundreds of miles long as they held the Salt Road, ensuring that supplies and trade could still reach Mukarrem. The forces that remained in Nazafeza rested when they could but spent much of their time shadowing Questor Vikandius and his faux-Artebazzani army to the north.
Then came the disaster the Concordians had feared. Nearly a hundred Aprivanoan ships, led by Carine Del’Majiid herself, sailed into Big Bev’s Bay, the trade harbor so cherished by Concordian Heroes of Andash. Even as The People’s Gift prepared its counterattack on the horizon, the Trade Principality’s forces closed in on Nazafeza from three sides. Exhausted and outnumbered, The Valley’s Own sharpened their axes and prayed to their gods as the enemy descended.
Game Information
The following forces saw battle over the summer along the Salt Road and Nazafeza:
- The Valley’s Own, supported by 950 Mercenaries, commanded by Godric Ericcsson
- The People’s Gift, commanded by Bruleé Dupont
These two Concordian forces faced off against two Trade Principality armies and a fleet intent on taking the Salt Road territory.
Concordian characters who want to roleplay having been present at the conflict can tell stories of a large Trade Principality force, arrayed on multiple fronts and prepared for battle. The conflict is widespread and varied, with small skirmishes through to field battles. The enemy is dedicated, wiley, and bloodthirsty. But they are human, the Principality forces bleed, retreat, and die somewhat easier than the Concord’s other enemies.
When the Burning Sky Is Done
Brulée Dupont’s strategy - to tear Carine El’Majiid’s ships apart plank by bloody plank, and sail by cursed sail - was not an ill-informed one. Examining the disparate individuals that made up Majiid’s forces certainly suggested that to pick them apart would be a sound choice - to search for a crack in their supposed unity and pick at it, not unlike a child picking at an almost-healed scab, until it became a bleeding wound.
Perhaps, then, this strategy would have worked on Questor Vikandius in all of his golden Artebazzani pride - perhaps he would have slunk back to fight for the only empire his heart belongs to. Or, perhaps, it would have worked on Bareeva Al’Shakti El’Basalisk in all of her bloody splendour - perhaps she would have turned her fervour against the Trade Prince, and let the sands run red with the blood of his men.
It was unfortunate, then, that this strategy did not work on Carine Del’Majiid El’Majiid, blood of the Trade Prince - a woman both of, and devoted to, her father. For, when the fine Lerona Mere ships crashed against the bronze-bladed galleys of Aprivano, there was no pride to weaponise, and no wound to pick.
Carine Del’Majiid El’Majiid was yet to earn her own pride, to fight her own battle, or to owe the Trade Prince; she was not sailing this fleet for money that could be offered elsewhere, or as the terms of trade near completion. Carine was waging war with her father’s fleet against her father’s enemies to prove that she could do so. And, as any good commander knows, victory is not about winning the battles, but living to win the war.
As sailors slit the throats of skinkeepers, and pirates were pierced by Mivaran-made blades, Majiid’s third daughter stood tall and strong on the waves - she did not need to be victorious; to drown those already conquered in foreign oceans where they would never be remembered, and to raze their pitiful port to the ground. She simply needed to endure until the other forces under her father’s control repaid his promise to The Concord - to bring them death.
The Hunters of the Bloodwind and the forces of Questor Vickandius, for their part, were more than willing to uphold this promise. As the sunburnt and scorched of The Valley’s Own attempted to hold their ever-thinning line, those fighting at Majiid’s behest eroded the Concordian forces like a surging river against its weakening banks.
Those of and supporting The Valley’s Own fought hard, fought well, and fought tirelessly, but there is only so much fighting that can be done when the front line shrinks with each circulation. A Farseer, strangled by an Al’Shakti with their own Bands of Fate. A Huscarl’s Bannercloak stained red from the swing of a Corsair’s blade. A Graver’s skull caved in, never to be carried by their brethren.
After the arrival of Carine Del’Majiid El’Majiid’s fleet, there was no great surge of enemies - no colossal, crushing wave of foes that drowned the Concordians in seas of blood. Instead, it was a slow, unerring push, as step-by-step, The Valley’s Own were forced back, and back, and back, smaller, and smaller, until they were no longer in front of the Salt Road, but behind.
Until they were no longer protecting Nazafeza and Tadribar, but praying that the people would be safe now that they were lost.
Game Information:
The Concord has been defeated in the Salt Road Territory, losing control of it to the Trade Principality of Aprivano. The casualties suffered by the Valley’s Own are immense, totalling in 2400 dead. While this is 800 fewer than those suffered by the Principality forces, it is a crushing blow for the Valleyfolk. Such is the nature of the defeat that there is no time for burials or reclamation of banners, many legacies lay buried by desert sand or picked clean by Principality scavengers.
The following Military investments have been damaged:
- Eshaan Al’Mai
- Bevedes Al Bevan
- Thorin
- Leif Eored of Heinsgraf
- Thane of Brakenloh
- Godric Ericsson
Such is the brutality of the defeat that some of these characters may also have traumatic wounds in their character packs.
The Valley's Own has retreated to Tanebar South.
There will be decisions relating to the defeat on the Salt Road for the General of the Valleys Own and the Senator of Mukarrem.
Strangled by the Weight of Home
The people of Andash are no strangers to war and loss. To live in this harsh world is to accept a great risk, knowing that your entire way of life could be lost in the blink of an eye. It would be false to claim that such a thing is unique to Andash, yet who better to reinforce this grim belief than the gold-driven enemy of The Trade Principality of Aprivano. An enemy all too content to reave anything and everything, all in the name of one man. All in the service of one Prince.
Majiid Del’Majiid. Trade Prince of Aprivano. Ruler of The Western Empire. A name spoken through gritted teeth and with pointed venom, the root cause of the pain and suffering of the people of Nazafeza, Tadribar and greater Mukarrem. The true claimant to the oppressive occupation of Mukarrem’s greatest settlements, yet the very same man who ordered their destruction a few seasons prior. There would be few Andashi whose eyes would not turn steely at mention of his name, and fewer still unwilling to turn to violence should he appear before them.
Yet such a thing would remain a wishful daydream, as the boots that pressed down on the throat of Mukarrem were worn by bandits, mercenaries and loyalists of Aprivano, not by the Prince himself. It would be the blooded warriors of Al’Shakti that would try to turn Tadribar into nothing more than a simple outpost, a place to return to between raids. It would be conscripts and marines that try to turn Nazafeza into a place of Aprivanoan loyalty, paving the way for future expansion.
The Principality would not attempt to take coin and goods from Andash, but the very essence of life from its people. A people who would now have to live side by side with an enemy, barely able to flee or fight back for fear of their very lives. Forced to make a choice between risking it all once more, or instead choosing to support those that would now lay claim to their homes. A wordless question asked by their invading occupants, with a wordless answer in overwhelming reply.
The people of Mukarrem would persevere.
There would be no large scale defection, nor risky rebellion that would throw away countless lives. Instead there would be harsh glares from behind boarded windows and harsher words behind turned backs. The people would wait, patiently and hopefully, for The Concord in which they place their trust to save them from an expectant and forceful foe. They have done so once before, and there would be faith that they would do so again.
Such intent would be made clear to not just those that worry for the people of Mukarrem, but to the enemy that has invaded it. For only so long can The Principality accept steely stares and muttered insults. For only so long can a reluctant occupancy be allowed, where loyalty is required. The future of Nazafeza and Tadribar lays not just in the hands of its people and the greater Concord, but in the whims of the one who clutches them in his golden fist.
Game Information
The people of Nazafeza and Tadribar live under the invading occupation of Aprivanoan forces, many choosing to keep to their homes and lives as best as possible rather than choosing to flee or fight back. While theft, assault and other crimes against the people of Mukarrem are rampant in the early weeks, it is clear that The Principality are intending to retain the settlements.
Compared to the actions of Principality forces a few seasons ago, Nazafeza and its infrastructure remain primarily undamaged. Big Bev’s Bay stands strong and in good function, though now catering to Aprivanoan ships rather than Concordian, and many other critical buildings appear in fact bolstered and cared for by the invading force rather than sacked and destroyed.
The rest of Mukarrem, those beyond the Salt Road and its territory, appear to match the response of Nazafeza and Tadribar’s citizens. Such actions of war which would normally have severe adverse effects on a Region’s taxation appear to be surprisingly mitigated, though there is no telling how long such things could last.
Further reading at Winds of the World Autumn 225