The Kalmar Ecclesiocracy

They simply do not want to move.  And what reason have they?  Their home villages are all they know, where they have lived and tilled and practiced their handicrafts for untold generations.  Their solemn duties to their Lord, you might say!  But alas, the Workers and Artisans know nothing of duties.  They do not pay the taxes which sustain the Warriors except by threat of force; how much harder it is to introduce a new duty to which they are unaccustomed!
-- Excerpt of a letter from a Warrior Lord to Antal Kalmar, following the Decree of Expansion

Convene the cityfolk to honor an Almur, and thousands will come.  For the defense of the city, tens of thousands!  But to move and settle new lands in the name of the Eternal Seeker?  I counted less than one-hundred.  Half were no-caste orcs, no doubt recent wanderers.
-- Excerpt of a letter from a Guild-Master to Antal Kalmar, following the Decree of Expansion

Every day, bands of them assail us with bows and jezails.  Thus far the cowards have not confronted us in open battle, but we bleed nonetheless, and the settlers are afraid.  Rumors spread that the river-folk are assembling a large army.  If the rumors are true, I fear we will not be able to both confront the army and ward off raiders.
– Excerpt of report from an expedition commander to Grand Marshal

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The first wave of Kalmar expansion to the West has begun, entering the Multewari Riverlands or simply Multewar (8 Pop, Food/Fabrics). The local population is a mix of humans and dwarves primarily, though elves and sylphs are also present.  They are mostly pagan, though the region is also home to some Dalam-Aedakom enclaves as well as syncretic communities adopting elements of Aedakom theology and social organization while maintaining pagan pantheons.  Politically, they can be roughly divided into the "River Lords," controlling hill forts as well as many rural fiefdoms, and the "Free Settlements," self-governing settlements including the region's largest towns.  The two blocs exist in tension, as well as having tensions within themselves, but historically have tended to unite against outside incursion.

Already, the expedition has encountered two major challenges. Firstly, the Ecclesiocrachy's deeply-entrenched feudal society leaves very few people eager to abandon the settlements they are attached to by tradition, trade, and caste. Of the mere thousand who did become settlers, a large proportion were recent migrants, either casteless or only partially integrated into Kalmar society.

Secondly, the expedition found itself harassed by local raiders almost immediately upon arrival. The army has warded off the raids so far, preventing the pillage of any of the new settlements. However, it has taken some losses over the course of months (200 Musket Warriors, 50 Heavy Infantry, 30 Knights, 10 Swivel Guns/20 Gunners). Casualties inflicted on Multewari warriors are unclear, but surely equal or higher.  Furthermore, some settlers and scouts report evidence of the many settlements and lords of Multewar mustering a grand army together.

If Multewar is to be incorporated into the realm as intended, the present situation is unsustainable. The Kalmari state must take some kind of action to resolve it!

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Choose ONE of the following points of emphasis. Elements may be combined using mechanics from multiple options (for example, pursuing diplomacy while using settlers and/or military action as leverage). However, the chosen emphasis will influence how Kalmar vassals on the ground organize the overall campaign, as well as how the campaign is perceived by the local population.

1) Settlement: The Eternal Seeker issued a royal decree! It must be enforced! If none will volunteer as settlers, Antal Kalmar's loyal vassals are duty-bound to make their subjects so. As our wise liege has forseen, this is the only way to incorporate new territory without either waging a costly campaign of sieges or making ludicrous concessions to the so-called “River Lords.”
This course of action is supported by his most loyal bureaucrats and courtiers, as well as an influential minority segment of the Warrior Caste known as the Crown Faction. They wish to see the will of Kalmar achieved according to his vision, which has brought so much good to the realm already.
May “move” up to 5 pop from any combination of provinces and/or cities to Multewar. For every pop moved, suffer -1 Order for 4 turns. However, investing more pop will incorporate the province more quickly. Until the province is incorporated, settler pop will generate +2 food/turn but no taxes and cannot be mobilized. Once the province is incorporated, settlers will add to its total population.

2) War: If the Multewari rabble want a fight, we'll give them one. With or without settlers, we can subjugate this territory. Even all the River-Lords and “free towns” banded together cannot hope to raise an army equal to ours in numbers or quality, if we send reinforcements and invest fully in a military campaign.
This course of action is supported by the bulk of Warrior leaders, together dubbed the “Hawk Faction,” as well as elements of other castes leery of forcing settlement but supportive of subjugating Multewar.
PM moderator with any reinforcements sent to the expedition, and moderator will open thread(s) for the war.

3) Diplomacy: For all their aggressive posturing, surely we can convince our would-be enemies to see the justice of our cause. Why unleash rivers of blood or force Kalmari subjects from their homes? The Multewari coalition is loose and fragile; perhaps we can promise power and concessions to some members, and they will subjugate the others themselves. In particular, the “lords” may bend the knee in return for rights to rule the “free” towns and villages, which they have doubtless coveted for generations. Or perhaps we can appeal to the latter, though it is unclear what exactly what concessions they would accept besides the same total autonomy and freedom from taxes they have already maintained so fiercely. Perhaps simple coin could convince enough key leaders?
Although this is the least costly option, it is only supported by minority “Dove” elements of the Worker and Artisan Castes, who would prefer to avoid any conflict whatsoever. It is the only option that risks serious opposition, as granting concessions or autonomy to the mostly-pagan riverlanders might prevent their full integration into the caste system.
Open Diplomacy thread with the Multewari Riverlanders. May choose to focus on the Lords, the Free Settlements, or both – though this last option will be the most difficult. Any option will involve concessions, perhaps in the form of gold, cultural and/or religious freedom, land grants, or even designating Multewar as a vassal kingdom rather than a Kalmari province.

The music was being played throughout the city, a beautifully discordant hum of sound being played from a thousand instruments playing a thousand tunes. All through the city, the citizens followed the sounds of the music to great squares, where cryers were waiting for them. Each had been given a script they were to read off at exactly mid-day, to coincide the the same speech being read by Antal Kalmar in the Palace. The palace was too small for everyone to hear the Seaker’s words, and so he had asked for and received volunteers to make sure his message got to everyone.

And as the sun hit it’s zennith, the music slowed to a stop, and the speech began. In the Great Hall of the Palace, Antal slowly stood up from his throne, and began to speak.

“My friends.

Today we celebrate one thousand years of existence as a nation. As I stood in the throne room of the dread Satone Vanala that long millennium ago, I did not know where we would be today. All I had to guide me was the dream of my father, now also dead, to create a nation that would be worthy of all those who had died to create it.

And over the years, you my people, have proved time and again that you are worthy of them. I may have lead you, but it is with your strength and courage that this nation has endured it’s many trials.

It is with the perseverance of the Artisans that we have thrived through hardship and found prosperity. It is through the sacrifice of the Warriors that we have survived our enemies and been found so strong. It is through the advice and aid of the mages that we have. And it is through the tireless strength of the Workers that we are fed and housed and clothed.

Together we are far greater than the sum of our parts. And each and every one of you are an important part of that, and I can but hope that in another thousand years, we will still stand here, strong and united.”

After the speech came more food and drink, whether the great lunch feast of the palace, or smaller fare of the city. And then came what most had been eagerly awaiting.

Outside the city, a great range of games and tests of skill and luck had been set up. Running tracks to discover the fleetest of foots, horse races to find the best horseman. Archery ranges, jousting lists, brawling rings, card tables, bordes for games of stones and other such games of the mind. Sculpting contests, painting contests, debate stages. All and more, and any were welcome to enter and compete, with prizes for the winners.

For long hours did the citizens enjoy these games and distractions, exhausting themselves in the attempts, before fortifying themselves with more food and drink. Eventually the sun began it’s slow slide towards the horizon, and the final part of the celebration began.

-999.12.31-


The night sky was clear outside the palace. The moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the inky blackness with it’s clear, penetrating whiteness. Around it sparkled the million stars of the galaxy, shining faintly but proudly next to the grand brilliance of the full moon. Their light spilled in through windows and over courtyards, lighting up tapestries and walls in a ghostly silver. Save for the light of the moon and stars, the city of Pahagara was shrouded in darkness. The city lay in quiet contemplation and meditation, taking in the festivities of the day and ruminating on what was to come in this new millennium.

The city was still and silent, even the animals in their pens and the rats in the sewers resting tonight. It was as if the city held it’s collective breath, waiting to see what was to come next.

In the palace, only one figure was about. Antal Kalmar had found himself strangely energetic when the sun had set, perhaps buoyed up by the energy of his people’s celebrations. Perhaps one last spurt of energy from the ring that still rest snugly on his finger. When the rest of his home had taken to their rooms for the night, he had left his own and begun to simply wander the grounds aimlessly.

He passed corridors and rooms he had not seen in over a hundred years, one’s he had ignored long before he had begun to fade, far too busy with the life of a ruler to take the time to simply appreciate his home. But now he did. He sat in dusty sitting rooms, on couches covered by cotton dust covers, and allowed himself to wade back through the mists of his mind and recall memories of these places.

The time when he had taken tea with a foreign king and dissuaded him from attempting to invade his western lands. The many happy days he had spent simply educating the Almur youth on the Search, before there had stopped being any Almur youth. The mantelpiece he had shattered in a grief-fuelled rage when he learned that Balsan Szalai had been slain, and he was truly alone.

He spent a long hour simply sitting in the Courtyard of Ivory, meditating and remembering. He could name every statue resting here, their existences carved into his mind by long years and loneliness. But as the moon began its slow, inexorable crawl down towards the horizon, Antal found, for the first time in many centuries, that being in this somber place did not bring him sadness. Instead he found himself remembering happier times, when these Almur had lived and he had swum in their reverence and comradery. As he looked around at the Almur, they almost seemed to move in the ghostly light, as if they were beckoning him to join them.

That was when he knew.

He had known this day was coming for almost a hundred years now, ever since the Ring of Immortality had failed. He had awoken one morning to find that the strange energy, that had coursed through his body ever since he had taken the ring off the still cooling corpse of a Dwarven Tyrant, had suddenly vanished, leaving him feeling weak. Over the next several decades he had slowly lost the energy to run his country, then to even get out of bed. Over a decade spent bedridden. And now, on his final night, he was gifted the strength needed to roam and enjoy life. There was a bitter irony in that. Perhaps He-Who-Forged-The-World was trying to teach him something.

Or perhaps he wasn’t, and a lifetime of religious fervor was simply making him see a miracle where there was not one.

Still, even as the moon began to dip towards the horizon, Antal could feel the energy start to leave him. He stood from his spot in the Courtyard and began to walk back towards his quarters. However, he stopped when he left the rings of statues, and turned. He knelt, ignoring the creaking of his bones, and bowed his head towards the statues, pressing his horns into the dirt on the paved slabs of stone.

Thank you for everything my friends. I shall join you soon.

He stood up, and look back at the statues. The light that had seemed to have given them life had settled down, casting them into a field of stark shadows and brilliant white ivory. Truly dead now. He turned and walked back into the silent depths of his palace.


His throne room was as clean as it had been when it had been in regular use. The detritus from the ceremonies and celebrations centering around the reunion with their eastern cousins and the new millennium had been cleared away. The only sign of them that remained was the banners that hung in the room. The red and black of Kalmar hung from the marble pillars at the sides of the room, and streamers in every color of the rainbow hung between them.

Through the high windows, the moonlight fell upon the back of the room. It’s light fell on the throne there, and the statues around it. The large, dark throne rested atop it’s raised pedestal at the back of the room. The twin staircases leading up to it were still bearing their deep red carpets. And flanking the throne were the Four.

On the far right was the exquisitely carved statue of Vator Dirana. His youthful elvish features held in a prideful face, his body wearing the archaic armor of his time, his sword planted in the ground, held between two strong hands. He stared out from his symbolic resting place with strength and determination. The Paragon of the Vahara stood guardian over the hall as he had for the last hundred and thirty years.

Across from his rested the remains of Betok Szekele. The mage’s strong hands were wrapped around his staff, still topped in the brilliant bronze spiral he had always insisted helped him channel healing energies. His face was as it had always been in life, kind, but with the hint of fire that spoke to his strength of will. The strength that had allowed him convince five hundred of his fellow mages to walk with him into death to save as many as they could. The strength that had convinced Antal to let him. The hero of the Revana rested the rest he had enjoyed for four hundred and ninety eight years. A rest well earned.

Next to Szekele was Etelka Kelemen. The brilliant woman’s hands held a book and quill, poised as if to write down the latest wildfire throughout that had sprung to her mind and upend society again. She had always been his greatest student, a voracious learner who had begged him to answer her many lists of questions. In a way, it had not come as a surprise when she had seen the truth of where He-Who-Forged-The-World had gone, and he had enjoyed many long afternoons debating the topic with her. Her death had hit him hard, as it had the entire nation. And for the three hundred and ninety eight years she had been entombed here, he had often taken inspiration from the greatest member of the Urasa and her remembered strength.

But it was not her remains that Antal’s eyes lighted on last, or longest. Standing next to Vator, in place of pride, was his father. One thousand years to the day since he had fallen in battle with Satone. One thousand years since he had heard his father’s voice speaking with such strength and conviction, telling him of his dreams of a new nation, founded to be dedicated to Search. One where all were welcome and dedicated in purpose. The deep, booming sounds of his commands as he led men into battle, or the kind gentleness with which he spoke to the joyous, weeping men and women who fell at his feet as he freed them from tyranny.

It had been a long millennium, and looking up at his father’s remains, he was struck suddenly by just how tired he was. People were not meant to live so long. He felt as if he were about to collapse from the onset of exhaustion. But he fought through it, latching onto that vanishing strength and forcing himself to continue on. He had endured a millenia of heartache and pain for his people. He could resist the pull of the final sleep long enough to do them one final service.

Antal stumbled his way over to a nearby clerk's desk and sat heavily on the ground next to it. The simple wooden seat would be unable to take his weight, and he was tall enough to be comfortable like this.

He reached across the desk and pulled a fresh sheaf of paper towards him, and a quill, and began to write.


When he had finished, he let the quill tumble from his fingers. Holding it was too much work. The quill fell to the floor and left a smear of ink on the grey marble beneath him. He ignored it, instead giving one last check over his note. It had to be perfect. His last chance to ensure his nation would outlive him. He had spent nearly a century preparing his people for when he would die, but there was so much to do. He could only hope he had done enough.

He had delegated rulership, strengthened local rule, welcomed new Almur into the land. And yet so many threats still rested in wait. The Castes were poised on the brink of conflict over who would rule in his wake. Cultural issues with his cousins could easily spiral out of control. And Tola still sat in his city, with the Star of God and an army at his command, waiting for the moment to strike.

But the note was done, and it was as perfect as he could make it. He carefully rolled up the papers and tied them with a length of black ribbon, the silk standing in stark contrast with the brilliant white of the paper. He studied the way the light played off it.

With a great force of will, Antal stood from the ground and slowly began the walk to his throne. Across the grey floor, up the stairs, and into his chair. He sank into it gratefully, the cushioning of the throne embracing him almost eagerly.

Across the hall, he could see the light of the moon begin to dwindle as it slid below the horizon. The sky was starting to lighten as the sun rose from directly behind him, spilling over the top of the mountain and illuminating the world.

As the last of the moonlight began to sink away, Antal found himself turning to face the remains of his father to his right. For the first time in many centuries, Antal wondered if his father would be proud of what he had done with his dreams. He opened his mouth and, for the first time in almost a millenia, spoke to his father.

“Well father. I did as you asked. A shining and prosperous kingdom, a land dedicated to the Search. Almost a thousand years of peace for our people. I think I have ruled them fairly, I think that I have done well. I think that you would have been proud of me. I think... I think I am ready to go now. I have done what I could, it is their turn now. Time for them to stand on their own. Time for me to rest. I am very tired. So very...very...tired...”

As the last mote of moonlight vanished, Antal felt the last of his energy go with it, vanishing into the ether and leaving him only with the deep, eternal weariness. His eyes slowly closed on the world, and his breath left him. He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into darkness, his mind fading. As he faded entirely, he felt as if a hand had rested lightly on his right shoulder.

As the sun rose over the west, Antal Kalmar died.


His remains were found by a young woman not long after. A member of the Worker Caste, she had been given the honor of cleaning the Throne Room today. When she entered through the large doors at the end of the hall, she almost missed the bone-white figure sitting on the throne at the end of the large hall. She only noticed due to a flash of light catching on it’s ivory exterior. It took her a long minute to realise what she was looking at, and another two for her body to accept the impossibility of what she was seeing.

The Palace was woken by the woman’s mournful screams. Kitar Apani, a guest of the Palace during the Millennial celebrations, ordered the Palace locked down to keep word from getting out. In a show of shocking inter caste solidarity, the Grand Marshall agreed and within half an hour the Palace was surrounded by the silent figures of the Pagahara Wardens.

Whispers began to fly through the city when the citizens noticed this, but locked deep within the palace, the representatives of the four remaining castes neither knew nor cared what the populace thought. They had a crisis on their hands the likes of which their nation had never endured.

Plans, concocted iron strong in the dark, seemed like mist in the light of this terrible day. The four argued back and forth about what to do next. But any attempt at plans were undercut with panic, and shattered under competing ideologies. By midday they had reached no consensus, and took a break to deal with other matters. They ordered the young cleaning woman into the Throne Room with them, in order to hear from her the story of how she had found Antal.

It was she that noticed the letter, still held in Antal’s hand. The black of the ribbon stood out in contrast with the white of his ivory remains. It was Rendith Dirana who retrieved the note, breaking his silent vigil guarding the four bickering leaders, and it was he that read the note. Antal’s final words to his people.


Friends and Citizens.

As I write this, I am dying. I have been dying for many a long year, but I know now that the end is finally upon me. I have had a thousand years to rule over you, and for that I am thankful. But all things must come to an end, and I am now at mine.

However, I do not go into this great unknown saddened, or fearful. I go with the knowledge that what has been built in my lifetime will continue on when I am gone. I go with the strength that you have given me, and I go in peace for knowing that I leave my people stronger and happier than when I found them oh so very long ago.

When I founded this nation, I did so with a sense of trepidation, and unsurity of what the future would bring to my fledgling nation. But through all the years, the good and bad, I was shown time and again the strength and resolve of my people. And it is with that knowledge that I go in peace, for I know that you can truly survive without my guidance.

I ask that my people not mourn my passing. I have lived a good life, and there is much to celebrate instead. The turning of the Millennium, our reunion with our eastern cousins, the days of peace in which we live.

With my passing, the Religious Caste now stands empty, and rulership of this land will be uncertain. I could lay down in this document plans for a new rulership, orders to keep chaos at bay and allow my land to continue. But I shall not do so. I have led and taught you, my people, for one thousand years exactly. It is now time for you to grow and live beyond me. Take my lessons and use them well. Decide, at last, your own future.

Trust in the eastern Almur. Their ways are not our ways, but they are our cousins. Mine in blood, and yours in spirit. They join us in the Search for He-Who-Forged-The-World, and they have much to learn from us, as we have much to learn from them. Together, our nations are stronger than apart.

Beware the threats of petty infighting and isolationism. The Castes are at their strongest when they move as one.

Do not tolerate evil, never cease in the Search, and above all else live well. It was the fondest dream of my life that my people would be free and happy, and it is now you duty to carry out that dream for me, and I did for my father.

I find my strength is leaving me, and I have little time left. There is so much more I would tell you, my people. But I must be brief, and so I shall. I go now to await the day we know the face of god.

So once more, thank you. Thank you for allowing me to rule over you, to guide you, and to teach you.

Thank you, and Goodbye.


News of Antal’s death swept through the nation like wildfire. A national period of mourning was called by the leaders of the four castes, and the celebrations of the new Millennium were replaced by wakes and memorials for the dead Almur.

Antal’s body was allowed to remain where it was, in it’s throne between the Four. The hall was renamed to the Hall of the Five, in honor of the intering of the fifth and greatest of the nation’s heroes among it’s ranks. Antal the Eternal Seaker now rested forevermore next to his father.