Ton Tríto Pólemo

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The afternoon sun shines brightly on the capital of Amali, warm rays filtering through the spring air. The sea breeze blowing in from the open ocean is a warm, kind reminder of the world of before. Commerce, luxury, ideas, ideals, aspirations, promises - the winds of change were kinder in a different world.

The winds now stung of a world breaking, the orders of yesterday collapsing and the once-assumed hegemons now buckling under their own weight against an unrelenting onslaught. The International Staol Trade Treaty laid in ruin as members of the community assumed they were meant to rule and command. The Confederation of Nations was assaulted on every front, and in domains they were all considered experts in, losing. Within their own city, Galran and Veraki citizens were expelled, with the consulates allowed to remain under house arrest or be returned to Galra; only the embassy itself remained active with a skeleton crew of Galrans. Anxiety, fear, blood, and fire blew upon these new winds.

In her western locales, Amali was fighting against her longest and sworn enemy, Verak. Her men and women were putting up the fight, but more was needed. More must be brought to bear and break the enemy of its haughty attitude and its assault. Brutal fighting born of centuries of anger and disgust, fighting waging inch by inch, pound of flesh for every pound of flesh. An ever growing and always consuming hunger for metal and flesh, wherein the victor would build the foundations of a new order in their own image. Democracy and monarchism, Thessasidi and Karovi, pitted against one another in the final test of will, sacrifice, hopes, and industry. Their peoples waging one final, bloody war that would decide their fates, on a scale their own ancestors could have never predicted.

Yet, all was not lost, as Detti’s surrender meant that Amalian and Grecian state soldiers were freed from the front to engage against Verak and Galra. Experienced troops in fighting quick and hard, useful for the open plains and tundras of Verak and Pomazanniki. The rapid redeployment and maintenance of internal infrastructure was giving the Amalian Army Engineer Corps and the various civil engineering enterprises the practical application of their skills and lessons. The fall of Detti represented a unique turning point and a potential avenue of success. Lessons that must be rapidly applied and affixed to the military’s spear. A ray of hope for the people in these dark times, that an enemy can be defeated soundly.

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President Maridi-Milani walked with his entourage through the halls of the Parlamentia, a tense silence about all the men and women. In the President’s hands was a speech prepared for the victory over Detti, and the massive overhaul the citizenry of Amali was about to be asked to endure. In an ever present darkness that encroaches on their lives, there must be sacrifices to ensure a future for their children and their children ever after.
The entourage looked over their own notes, their own reports, and their own decisions. The shuffling of well-to-do Balmorals and Mules echoed down the halls. Emergency actions, legislation, and well-to-do words were all on their dockets; a path forward for the nation in a war of survival. Technical and brief, and meant for those who knew, to know and prepare for what was coming. The layman would scarcely understand what the jargon was, but that distilled version would come with the President.

The President slows, letting the group move ahead, before stopping in front of a mural donned in whitening paint. Karovi, the supposed King of Gods, being overthrown and pushed out of his seat by Imel, daughter of Thessaside after having his stomach pierced. Underneath was a depiction of Amalians pushing out the then-Emperor. Of course, everyone knew the early Nevarrans helped to destabilize the empire from outside, but the grip on the region’s independence had to be won from the inside. The organized states that came after, and the multitude of wars, had solidified Amali’s presence as the eastern threat against Verak. The painting was created in the year 1700 to commemorate five hundred years of continuous democracy, however painful of a process it was. Yet before them, in the here and now, Karovi’s spears were plunging deep into them and their allies and new friends. Much like today, it would take the world to quell the Sovereign Union, and Amali would play her part.

By this point, the group had continued into the main hall and had taken their seats. The event was to be televised and broadcast through all radio frequencies, allowing all to hear and listen in to Amali’s next move and the statements of her government. The hall was too quiet and even more so after the doors had closed and the discussions of the PMs were blocked again; the President looked up at Imel, her expression of one of unbridled fury and rage marred by a scar up the right side of her face.

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In the mythos of Amali, when the region was first conquered by Verak, it is said that the victory was only gained after Karovi had caught Thessaside’s calf with a blighted arrow. A wound that wouldn’t have killed, but the arrow was carrying with it a curse that rapidly began to spread up her leg. A young Imel attempted to protect her mother as Karovi approached, but was overwhelmed and kicked aside. Fearing her and her daughter dying here, on the fields of what is believed to be north of Capannoli, Thessaside bade her daughter flee. She refused by attacking Karovi with fists, leading to the aforementioned scar as he swung up and cut the side of her face open. Still, the young goddess fought, being forced back and back and back until her mother intervened.

Thessaside drew Karovi’s attention right before he swung down in what would have been a killing blow. The goddess was ill-equipped for fighting an opponent like Karovi, and her mother was rapidly declining. Thessaside’s veins were said to have been marred in a green-black hue that were slowly inching their way throughout her body. Imel could only watch as her mother was beaten back by the monster, her own spear’s movements sluggish and slow, a far cry from what she once was capable of doing. Eventually and inevitably, Karovi won the day, first catching Thessaside’s arm and disabling it and then piercing his sword through her chest.

In those moments, Imel had learned what it meant to be powerless. In those moments, Omlusia had fallen, and the monarchs entrusted to stewarding the land were cast aside by the Emperor. Imel fled, and fled, and fled; her mother’s dying expression and final words burned into her mind. The sight of Karovi slowly pulling the blade back, his other blade shining in the twilight sun. The clatter of Thessaside’s spear on the ground, clattering against the rocks before being snapped in twain by Karovi. Eventually, all of Thessaside’s peers would be killed or exiled.

It is said that Imel fled to the North, and hid with her adoptive uncle Fato. There, she’d begin her long and arduous journey to reclaim her home. Not just in the ways of combat, as her sword was gifted from him, but in commerce and relations; while Thessaside’s domain was strong, it was fractured and hurt by her inability to navigate the intricacies of mortals.

It wasn’t long, however, that Karovi came and demanded Fato’s lands. In much the same fashion of the surprise attack against Thessaside’s people, Karovi sought a quick and determined confrontation: Fato’s son was kidnapped and held for ransom. Fato’s peoples were unable to mount a defense at the scale of Thessaside’s, so he relented. Some resisted, but the smaller population bases meant that Karovi and his armies could just as easily raze and remove the people. Fato saw no ability to resist, and thus no reason to risk what he had managed to build in these harsh climates. Karovi however, wasn’t satisfied. He knew Imel was still out there, still somewhere biding her time. Karovi grew paranoid, and continued marching north, assuming she would continue the trek to evade him.

Before Karovi’s arrival, Fato had bid her travel from the Eastern Granahuras states to further inland. To learn and explore, much as her mother did before settling in Omlusia. Only by virtue of knowing various peoples and cultures can one be a good leader. And so, with Pyre, one of Fato’s children, Imel began her journey westward through the endless sands. Unknowingly, however, they were being pursued by Polis, from Karovi’s pantheon and the god of retribution, with his own reason for wanting Imel.

Imel is said to have met a few members of the Nevarran pantheon in their early days, as their own cultures were beginning to take root. Learning from them and adding to her wealth of knowledge from her mother and Fato, with Pyre learning how to fight with a bow. The Nevarran tutors brought forth new ideas and concepts, of progress and technology and the future, that truly began to shape her eventual ideals. Upon her departure, she received an amulet to help her explore. The amulet is said to have been imbued with the precise knowledge of directions of the sun, north, landmasses, rivers, etc.; modern interpretations depict this amulet as more abstract in ideas rather than the literal compass and map of yore.

From here, the mythos begins to diverge depending on the source. Early Amalians in the region regard the long silence of Imel as her having gone further west, to what is Diria, and then south through modern day Kumosenkan and Pomazanniki. In this interpretation, Imel is said to have killed Polis, with his blood forming what would become the Great Granuras River. This is largely why Omlusians were able to know of Kumosenkan (a greater belief in spirits and honoring the past) and the greater western half of the continent (Amali’s spirit of exploration and wonderment). On the other hand, more modern - and less religious - interpretations depict her as having gone south from Nevarra, through the modern day Sicelis, and defeating Polis around the time of the Sicelian Revolts of 303.

Regardless, Imel and Pyre found their way to ancient Pomazanniki, and learned far more of the natural world through the shamans and druids of the area. It was at this point, Karovi had learned his target was nowhere near him; he turned around and left the front with another of his pantheon Dyati the Cruel. His rapid turn around led to the eventual destabilization of control over the eastern Granuras provinces, requiring him to spend some extra time in this area. Imel, fearing for her people now that Karovi knew what was happening, left to return to Omlusia in the dead of winter. During this time, Imel was attacked by Karovi’s wife, Oncleese, Goddess of Wisdom and Tactics. Imel was able to hold her own against Oncleese when the fighting began but, as she was panicked, ultimately struggled to subdue and kill her. It was only when Pyre entered that Oncleese was forced to retreat, an arrow in her right shoulder.

Pyre convinced Imel to return, if only until the morning came, as the druids of Pomazanniki had a gift for her. Upon the arrival of the sun, the druids presented her with a pelt of hides to protect her core and keep her warm during the winters. Thanking the stewards of nature, Imel began her journey back to Omlusia, only to find that Oncleese had returned with an army at her back. The druids called upon nature to devastate the army, but the speed at which they marched had meant the majority would still be able to descend upon them. Knowing Imel’s desire to return home, they informed her of an alternative - and dangerous - path through the northern mountain ranges between modern Pomazanniki and Hatu. It would be a ways around, but more direct and Oncleese’s army wouldn’t be able to follow in a meaningful way. The druids offered to slow them down as best they could; and the duo left for Omlusia.

Their journey north was long and arduous, and the mountains even more perilous than the two could imagine. On this leg of the journey, the two ran into an unknown entity that is believed to be the centerpiece of Hatu’s modern religion. Blind, tall, sickly, and carrying a large staff, the god was the embodiment of true death that even the gods feared. The entity demanded sacrifice and blood. The blind creature was eventually fooled by presenting a syrup-water mixture over a woolen cloak that Imel no longer needed. It was presented as a lamb, after which the pair began a brisk walk away from it. The god, deciding it was best to taste it, realized the folly and began to chase them through the mountains. For two days, the duo goddesses ran until they found their way out of the mountain passes. Pyre and Imel had to take turns trying to slow down the god, its gaunt features screeching as it reached for those who had fooled it.

As the tale goes, they managed to find their way out of the mountain pass and into the tundra. The creature-god was forced to retreat, its domain only being those wretched mountains it called home. Other travelers would present more fitting offerings. The two pressed on… Only for Oncleese, frostbitten and angered, to crawl her way from the mountain. Her army was broken and gone: mince meat for the creature-god, or frozen in the winters of Pomazanniki. One might have thought it was foolish for a tactician to pursue this one foe so vehemently, but Oncleese had learned from Zaira that Karovi was going to die at the hands of Imel. Naturally, she wouldn’t want her husband to die. In this disheveled state, and still wounded from earlier, Pyre and Imel were able to dispatch Oncleese.

Yet, it is said that, when the final war begins, Karovi would return to his old ways. Karovi would attempt to steal and maim and destroy fast and hard, to break Omlusia for the final time. That Karovi would be far, far less merciful both during the war, and should he win. That the peoples of Omlusia should build and build, and prepare, and stand tall in the face of an unrelenting horror that has resurfaced.