Central Volshan
Plain of Antyr
A few miles from the capital
Arnthe gazed out across the vast expanse, the poppy fields glowing blood red in the dying light of sunset. The ancients had referred to the plain as the “blood fields” enraptured by the seemingly divine beauty of the place, it was a crude appellation but a fitting one. The deep red of the poppy fields was not the sole reason for the grim moniker however, the plain was the only truly arable land in the entirety of Volshan.
in the millennia that had proceeded the unification, untold numbers fought and died to claim these sacred lands. The volcanic soil of the Antyr was a prize fit for any king, the barren lands to the north and the miserable fens to the south only adding to its allure. Legend had it that a wife of the god Auvoi had sacrificed herself to green the plain, her divine blood seeping into the soil and endowing it with life, she had not been the last to water the hallowed earth with her blood.
“Enough gazing! Come let's not keep the dead waiting” Arnthe’s wife, Vitellia said feigning annoyance
He smiled, in the 40 years he had been married he had always found his wife's humor to be the greatest comfort, he relied upon her now more than ever. He turned painfully on his cane, a dull ache flowing through his back and joints, he was feeling the weight of all 63 of his years today. Arthritis had not yet advanced beyond early stages, but already Arnthe had been forced to give up the pleasures of riding and long walks.
“Aye wife, no sense drawing things out,” he said warmly
The tomb of the gens* Sentina was old, the ancient stones laid when the world was young, figures danced across the walls, frescoes of feasting gods and victorious warriors lining every surface. The Sentina were not the wealthiest family on the plain, they could not boast the greatest military record or the vastest tracts of land, but they had birthed a Zilathe* despite humble origins. It was to this hallowed place that Arnthe now came, here to make offerings to the long dead.
Countless others across the autocracy would be doing similar as the evening descended, these were dark times and the Volshan rarely took any action without first consulting the ancestors. Many families would be praying for the safe return of sons and daughters, the preservation of the country, or even just survival. Arnthe had not come to pray for such things, he was wracked by the fears of a man thrust into a position of profound responsibility and the wisest council he had ever known lay in the tomb whose steps he now walked.
“Father, I have come to pay homage and beseech guidance, may these offerings please you as you feast eternally in Leinthe’s* twilight halls” he intoned solemnly
Arnthe’s father, Thucer, had not been a man of high status, no generals' epaulets or vast estates proceeded him. Thucer had been a simple farmer, an honest and loving father, and a dutiful husband and his legacy was greater than all the titles in Eras as far as Arnthe was concerned. He needed his father's spirit at his side now, needed to know the spirit that had steered him through so much adolescent trial watched over him still.
It was a longing made worse by his father's sudden death some thirty years earlier, a heart attack in the horse paddock snatching away the anchor of Arnthe’s young life. Thucer had not lived to see his son's ascension to Zilathe of the autocracy, but Arnthe believed the old man still watched his steps from Leinthe’s distant shores.
“Everything is ready excellency” Teitu, the household attendant, said pointing to the offerings with their hand
Arnthe nodded and signaled for the ritual to begin, bowls were brought forward with their gory contents, the blood of a lamb, the eyes of a cow, and a bundle of wildflowers were all cast into an open brazier. The hiss of burning viscera and singeing flowers filled the evening air as a priest chanted the ancestral summons.
“Blood for vitality, eyes to pay the Eye-Eater*, Wildflowers that the gardens of the dead might bloom” the assembled gathered chanted in unison
“Father, grant me your strength for what is to come” Arnthe mouthed silently
The sun had now vanished beneath the horizon, Arnthe gazed up and noticed a strange visitor on the domed roof of the family tomb. A Seeker bird rested upon the ancient stone, its silver beak idly pecking at its midnight blue plumage. Arnthe made the sign of the gods and mouthed silent thanks to his father, it was a good omen, the bird an ancient messenger of the dead.
*A Volshan clan bloodline, the members sharing a common ancestor
*Zilathe-An elected official who serves as the de-facto head of the Volshan government, an ancient role that replaced the prior Laucon’s (kings) of earlier times.
*The Volshan God of the dead, both man and woman and neither, ruler of the underworld and keeper of the dead. The souls of the Just feast eternal in their halls.
*A terrifying Eel-like creature that terrorized the Umbrials in myth. Defeated by Auvoi and cast down to the underworld, Eye-Eater swallows the souls of the damned and ferries the virtuous dead to the Halls of Leinthe on its back. Believed to cause earthquakes when it moves underground, placated traditionally with offerings of Eyes or Metal Eye Tokens.
Villa Sentina
Plain of Antyr
A few miles from the capital
Arnthe gazed out across the vast expanse, the poppy fields glowing blood red in the dying light of sunset. The ancients had referred to the plain as the “blood fields” enraptured by the seemingly divine beauty of the place, it was a crude appellation but a fitting one. The deep red of the poppy fields was not the sole reason for the grim moniker however, the plain was the only truly arable land in the entirety of Volshan.
in the millennia that had proceeded the unification, untold numbers fought and died to claim these sacred lands. The volcanic soil of the Antyr was a prize fit for any king, the barren lands to the north and the miserable fens to the south only adding to its allure. Legend had it that a wife of the god Auvoi had sacrificed herself to green the plain, her divine blood seeping into the soil and endowing it with life, she had not been the last to water the hallowed earth with her blood.
“Enough gazing! Come let's not keep the dead waiting” Arnthe’s wife, Vitellia said feigning annoyance
He smiled, in the 40 years he had been married he had always found his wife's humor to be the greatest comfort, he relied upon her now more than ever. He turned painfully on his cane, a dull ache flowing through his back and joints, he was feeling the weight of all 63 of his years today. Arthritis had not yet advanced beyond early stages, but already Arnthe had been forced to give up the pleasures of riding and long walks.
“Aye wife, no sense drawing things out,” he said warmly
The tomb of the gens* Sentina was old, the ancient stones laid when the world was young, figures danced across the walls, frescoes of feasting gods and victorious warriors lining every surface. The Sentina were not the wealthiest family on the plain, they could not boast the greatest military record or the vastest tracts of land, but they had birthed a Zilathe* despite humble origins. It was to this hallowed place that Arnthe now came, here to make offerings to the long dead.
Countless others across the autocracy would be doing similar as the evening descended, these were dark times and the Volshan rarely took any action without first consulting the ancestors. Many families would be praying for the safe return of sons and daughters, the preservation of the country, or even just survival. Arnthe had not come to pray for such things, he was wracked by the fears of a man thrust into a position of profound responsibility and the wisest council he had ever known lay in the tomb whose steps he now walked.
“Father, I have come to pay homage and beseech guidance, may these offerings please you as you feast eternally in Leinthe’s* twilight halls” he intoned solemnly
Arnthe’s father, Thucer, had not been a man of high status, no generals' epaulets or vast estates proceeded him. Thucer had been a simple farmer, an honest and loving father, and a dutiful husband and his legacy was greater than all the titles in Eras as far as Arnthe was concerned. He needed his father's spirit at his side now, needed to know the spirit that had steered him through so much adolescent trial watched over him still.
It was a longing made worse by his father's sudden death some thirty years earlier, a heart attack in the horse paddock snatching away the anchor of Arnthe’s young life. Thucer had not lived to see his son's ascension to Zilathe of the autocracy, but Arnthe believed the old man still watched his steps from Leinthe’s distant shores.
“Everything is ready excellency” Teitu, the household attendant, said pointing to the offerings with their hand
Arnthe nodded and signaled for the ritual to begin, bowls were brought forward with their gory contents, the blood of a lamb, the eyes of a cow, and a bundle of wildflowers were all cast into an open brazier. The hiss of burning viscera and singeing flowers filled the evening air as a priest chanted the ancestral summons.
“Blood for vitality, eyes to pay the Eye-Eater*, Wildflowers that the gardens of the dead might bloom” the assembled gathered chanted in unison
“Father, grant me your strength for what is to come” Arnthe mouthed silently
The sun had now vanished beneath the horizon, Arnthe gazed up and noticed a strange visitor on the domed roof of the family tomb. A Seeker bird rested upon the ancient stone, its silver beak idly pecking at its midnight blue plumage. Arnthe made the sign of the gods and mouthed silent thanks to his father, it was a good omen, the bird an ancient messenger of the dead.
*A Volshan clan bloodline, the members sharing a common ancestor
*Zilathe-An elected official who serves as the de-facto head of the Volshan government, an ancient role that replaced the prior Laucon’s (kings) of earlier times.
*The Volshan God of the dead, both man and woman and neither, ruler of the underworld and keeper of the dead. The souls of the Just feast eternal in their halls.
*A terrifying Eel-like creature that terrorized the Umbrials in myth. Defeated by Auvoi and cast down to the underworld, Eye-Eater swallows the souls of the damned and ferries the virtuous dead to the Halls of Leinthe on its back. Believed to cause earthquakes when it moves underground, placated traditionally with offerings of Eyes or Metal Eye Tokens.
Villa Sentina
The Villa that the Zilathe resided in was a humble abode, far less ostentatious than the palaces of many a president or monarch. A small courtyard led the way to a rustic home that was comfortable but minimalist. Arnthe eschewed ostentation as much as possible, taking pride in his origins, it was exactly that quality that had ensured some 8 years of steady approval ratings. Other liberal democracies in Ethia could boast all they wanted about being the light of liberty, but here in Volshan a farmer's son governed a proud republic.
The fate of that very liberty now hung in the balance, Ethia gripped by a tide of apocalyptic upheaval that threatened everything. Even now as Arnthe sat in the serene quiet of his study Aurorean forces were rampaging across the Scalvian border. In the last day alone, a nuclear scare had rocked the continent, it had proven false but been sufficient to ensure that any lingering hopes of diplomacy had been abandoned. Democracy would either die in the dark or be upheld in the fire of battle.
“The Council is here Excellency,” Teitu said respectfully with a slight bow of their head
Teitu had served the house of Sentina for the last eight years, the role of Seneschal to the Zilathe of Volshan providing vital support in the otherwise chaotic mess of high politics. Teitu was an impeccably presented person, their blond hair kept neat and short cropped and their blue household uniform pressed and without the slightest hint of a stain. Teitu was a quiet soul, but their management of the house was invaluable and now growing more necessary as Arnthe’s ailments grew more pronounced.
“Very good, send them in Teitu” Arnthe said with an approving nod
Arnthe took one last look in the desk mirror, his bald head and grey mustache making him feel ancient, his eyes had once been brilliant green but age had caused them to dim to a watery hue. He did not resent his age, but it now seemed to be a hindrance he could not afford, he had hoped to retire before the next election and pick a successor. however, War had come and dashed any hopes of peaceful dotage.
He felt inadequate to the task ahead of him, a man who had never so much as raised a sword in anger was now required to lead his nation into battle. He was no soldier, his youth was spent first as a clerk and then later as a politician, he stared down at his hands and felt a sudden feeling of disgust, he was no warrior king of old like Tollus of Korrior. That was of course the whole purpose of summoning his council here to the villa, what he lacked in military experience he would make up for in his ability to listen to those who possessed it.
The doors to the study opened gently to allow three people inside, Aranthur Macula in his indigo suit, General Thana Masu in her immaculate brown dress uniform, and Velchur Atna head of the state intelligence dressed in their casual evening clothes. They were a mismatched group, an odd mix of stiff discipline and languid strides, they were also the advisors that were going to help Arnthe win a war.
“Welcome, please have a seat” Arnthe said motioning to the seats in front of his desk
“Could this not have waited till the morning Arnthe? With all due respect” Macula began, his voice a nasally entitled whine
“It cannot,” Arnthe said calmly, cutting off Macula’s protests
Aranthur Macula was not a pleasant man, he was arrogant, petty, and frequently so selfish that Arnthe wondered if he had ever possessed a moments humility in his entire life. He was also a certified genius, able to make the economy purr with his insights into business and industry. Arnthe would have liked to do many things to Macula, would have loved to push him through a window on many an occasion, but he could not deny the minister of business was indispensable to his role.
“The war will test all our resolve in coming days and as you have no doubt seen, the rest of Auroria is faring little better than Ethia, I need an honest assessment of our situation and a plan to allow our state to emerge intact!” Arnthe said tapping the table with his finger for emphasis
“If I may excellency” General Masu began, Arnthe nodded affirmatively “The current crisis presents a window of opportunity”
“Opportunity?! I fear you will have to elaborate general; I see little of that when I look at the situation reports” Arnthe responded unsure what to make of the general's suggestion, the word opportunity seemed practically offensive given the current situation
General Masu gave a knowing grin, she was in her late forties, one of the youngest commanders ever to reach the position of head of the military. Much like Macula she was brilliant in her field of expertise, able to assess a combat scenario and chart the best course of action. Masu had built a reputation for unorthodox doctrine, pushing for the modernization of the armed forces and using the Stahl* paper to shout down the countless naysayers.
“The Aurorean military has thrown the bulk of its forces against Scalvia, leaving their borders with limited defense, if we can open a second front, if we can push into Aurorea, we can deliver a killing blow to their war effort”
“And what of Scalvia?” Arnthe asked
The situation was grim, even the most optimistic projection warned that loss of life would be immense. Outnumbered by their Aurorean counterparts, the Scalvian military was being forced to fight a moving battle of strike and feint, organizing retreats where needed to preserve their forces. It was going to get worse before it improved.
“Scalvia’s terrain is essentially flat, which makes the theatre of war challenging, with few defensible positions, and no real strong points. The Scalvians will hold them, but it will be costly and the front won’t likely stabilize until fighting hits urban centers” Masu explained her tone calm but serious
Scalvia had held back the Aurorea on three separate occasions, the small nation bloodying the nose of its aggressor each time, but the cost was always high. In an age of modern field artillery, missiles and rockets the human cost threatened to be immense, the longer the Aurorea was able to field armies the more innocent people that would be killed, maimed, and displaced in the chaos. Volshan had to act, any other course of action was unacceptable.
“What of Esthursia and the UAS?” Macula piped up “Surely our “esteemed” Neighbours can pick up some of the slack?” he said in his usual snide tone
“Not so” Velchur answered their tone that of an adult correcting a petulant child “Esthursia is adhering to a policy of neutrality and my analysts are fairly certain their leadership lacks the stomach for a war, the UAS is currently debating a potential intervention, that will likely pass but it will take time, time that Scalvia does not have”
“Bloody tea drinkers!” Macula grumbled
Arnthe did not hate his northern Neighbours, they championed values that his own nation held dear, however, there were distinct cultural differences that made cordial relations challenging at times. Where the Esthursians were prone to haughty self-praise, the Volshan mentality was quiet pride, the urbane Esthursian having little in common with the Volshan miner drinking in Canis dive bars. One thing was clear, they would not be coming to the rescue.
“We cannot wait for help, the time has come to act, Masu what are our options,” Arnthe asked posing the question to his military advisor
“We could hold the Aurorean's at the border, but I would advise against such an action, we need to put them on the defensive” Masu explained
“What do you suggest?” Arnthe asked
“That the Synod authorizes a full offensive, we need to cripple the Aurorean military before they can dig in and turn this into another war of attrition,” Masu said bluntly
“The Aurorean military on the border won’t be expecting a full-blown offensive, if we can knock out their air assets before the main push, we can take their entire southern front by surprise,” Velchur said enthusiastically
“Macula? Does our economy have the ability to absorb the shocks?” Arnthe asked
“Our mining contracts with the imperium are up in the air following the coup, but domestic industries can pick up a lot of the slack, our primary industries will endure if we can bring this thing to a close in a reasonable amount of time, worst case scenario we can go to the IBU for monetary support” Macula explained his tone suddenly that of an artist describing technique, calm and almost soothing
So, there it was, stay put and let the enemy dig in or launch a beheading strike against the Aurorea, the time for diplomacy had passed, and the time for war had arrived. Arnthe sighed and rubbed his temples with a free hand, the decision to invade was yet another unenviable choice he would be forced to make, the declaration of war only days old now. He knew that if he gave the order, there would be casualties, generations robbed of life by conflict, it was a grim calculus that had no silver lining.
“What are your orders, sir?” General Masu asked
“Ready our forces, we strike as soon they are prepared,” Arnthe said in a decisive voice
With that, the council was dismissed and the Zilathe was left alone to ponder his decision, the deaths that his order would cause, the consequences great and small that the war would create. The price of liberty was one steeped in blood, like the plains of his home, but to sit idly by would be to accept a far worse outcome, the time had come to fight.
*A paper written by Prydanian Brigadier General Caleb Stahl, the paper theorized that armies that pushed for cutting-edge technology and doctrine tended to succeed whereas those that chose to rely on tried-and-true equipment and strategy did not.
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