A meeting of the Nine

[Scott of Hyperborea]

Useful background reading: Governmf Raikoth

The Thanart was a low, domed hall a few hundred meters above Tala, linked to the city by a slender stairway up the mountain. The Nine were required by tradition to hike the whole way to each meeting of Council, lest they forget the importance and difficulty of the proceedings therein. Meetings always began with each of the Nine short of breath, preferring to listen rather than to talk. That was how it should be.

Aeri Lusunion, the leader of the Talotal, was giving his report from the court in Lirikoth. The news was stunning. Duke Harald had appointed a foreigner - a Babkhan, even! - as Count of Hyperborea. Such had never happened before in all the history of Raikoth. Nithi could see where this was going. Sure enough, right on cue, Avri Aetyurion gave the signal he wished to speak, and was recognized.

Not even the dull tones of Kadhamic or the ritual rationality of koinve could restrain the emotion in Avri's voice. "I remind the Nine of my speech upon the Day of Rains and Roses, when I assigned this chance a probability of .35," he began. A speech in Kadhamic koinve could go on arbitrarily long without being interesting. "I assign a low probability to the success of peaceful efforts to resolve the situation, for reasons I will now detail..." Kadhamic koinve was supposed to be a form of language completely immune to rhetoric and vagueness, and it mostly succeeded. The trouble was listening to it.

Luckily, in this situation, Nithi barely had to. They all knew Avri's arguments. Lirikoth, known as "Elwynn" or "Froyalan" to its inhabitants, was historically Hyperborean land. The Hyperboreans had pacified it, built its infrastructure, and given it an age of unparalleled prosperity. A combination of feudal reforms abroad and apathy at home had led them to grant the territory its independence, and since then, it had all gone downhill. Immigrant Babkhans were clashing both with native Elwynnese and with their more established Babkhan brothers. As usual, the Osmani clan was at the center of it, and likely fanning the racial tension for their own purposes. The Duke was importing Stormarkian culture willy-nilly and had even renamed the area after his foreign gods. And the native leaders were bloodthirsty and belligerent, and had gotten involved in a war that ended, quite predictably, with the destruction and inundation of several Lirikothlin cities.

Avri's solution was simple, maybe too simple. Retake Elwynn while no one was expecting it. Land a Raikothlin army somewhere, wait for the oppressed people to rise up to join it, appoint a native as governor, and gradually solve the fractured Duchy's many problems, just as they had done before.

He should not have been appointed to this Council, Nithi thought to himself. Avri's views were attractive, and even the Kyyrhasi had to fight off their inherent appeal. But they were impetuous and potentially deadly. He swiftly organized his thoughts into koinve and rose to speak. As the Elder of the gathering, he needed no recognition.

"I acknowledge and thank my colleague from Voynim for his contribution," he began, as was traditional. "I concede the following - that the conquest of Lirikoth would solve our current problem, regarding the appointment of Yesmi Jayandrion as Count. That the conquest of Lirikoth would solve many of the problems plaguing that region. However, I disagree for two reasons. One, the probability term of the function is too low to justify investment. Two, the potential cost term is too high. Consider..."

He had to run some quick calculations with the most popular variant of Kadham's utility function in his head. Despite what some of the military hotshots like Avri might think, he was pretty sure their odds of taking on Elwynn were quite low. The area suffered from enough war and barbarism that its military might had grown completely out of control. Although it was possible the oppressed groups would rise up to support the invasion, it was just as likely they wouldn't. And in any case, the death toll would be immense - at least in the tens of thousands, possibly higher.

"I suggest an alternate strategy," he continued. "Recall the Queen of Night's Repentant Children for defense of the home islands. Elwynn's navy is weak, and they have no known carriers. Raikoth is out of range of most of their fighter planes. With the two ice-ships present, our islands are impregnable. We will have nothing to fear from Jayandrion, the Duke, or anyone else."

Valana Spinrion, a priestess of Einai. was giving the signal that he wished to speak. Nithi recognized her.

"I suggest a third alternative," she announced. "I propose for consideration the personal history of Jayandrion, accessible from the main library at Tala. A renowned historian and archivist. A former economist who reformed Babkha's financial system. Descended from several heroes of the wars against the Atterans. We're not dealing with another Osmani thug here. It might be possible to work with this one."

Some people muttered, but Nithi motioned for her to continue.

"Yesmi has vast personal wealth and many high-level contacts in the Babkhan diaspora. It is possible although uncertain that he may share some of our goals. In the days of Ragmi Volakion, the Elder of Raikoth and the Duke of Hyperborea were two different people. The Elder controlled internal and traditional affairs, while the Duke represented us on the wider Shirerithian scene and in the councils in Til Rhaenor."

"I suggest the following: Invite Yesmi Jahandrion to Tala. Make it clear to him that the Elder and Council are in control of this island, and that a title granted by a foreign Duke is meaningless to us. But tell him that if he will abide by our laws and customs, he may keep the title, represent us in Til Eliria and the rest of Shireroth, and work with us to restore Hyperborean control of Elwynn or whatever other goals we and him deem necessary."

Nithi nodded. It would be several hours yet before anyone reached a final decision, but he was starting to have some idea of what it would look like.

KYSNI SODARION
DAY OF CLOUDS AND LOTUSES, ICEBOUND, 5904 SACHION

The Queen of Night's Repentant Children will be recalled back to Taesar Harbor in preparation for possible conflict.

KYSNI SODARION
DAY OF CLOUDS AND LOTUSES, ICEBOUND, 5904 SACHION

The Arkyajoi-Amphion will request permission to enter Elwynnese airspace from Duke Harald, and, upon that permission being granted, an Opal airship will be sent to the city of Ardashirshahr to receive Hesam Jahandar, accompanied by at most two bodyguards or advisors, and bring him to Tala.

KYSNI SODARION
DAY OF CLOUDS AND LOTUSES, ICEBOUND, 5904 SACHION

Hesam Jahandar, formerly of Lesser Zjandaria, will come before the Elder and the Council of Nine to explain his intentions and make his case for why he should be Count of Hyperborea.

KYSNI SODARION
DAY OF CLOUDS AND LOTUSES, ICEBOUND, 5904 SACHION

The Talotal will bear a message to Duke Harald of Froyalan, asking him exactly what part of "All these lands are yours, except Hyperborea. Attempt no landings there." he does not understand.

[HIH Hesam Jahandar]

(Note: I was unsure if Thulel was the capital, however I assumed that I would set up in Thule as it is far away from your council so as not to appear invasive. I also declined an airship, as my story was dependent on the atmosphere I wished to create of being "uninvited")

Hesam looked out the rear right window of his Black Bentley 1957 S1 Coupe. Traditionally Babkhans were loyally exclusive to the Rolls Royce however The Atebeg considered this to be a tasteless indulgence. He had departed Lesser Zjandaria via a Babkhan transport ship, loading him in his vehicle directly. He had paced the deck of the transport ship noting the weather going colder the further the ship went. Hesam began wearing a wool overcoat when taking these trips to the deck, as the temperature dropped further than anything Alkhiva had to offer. As he sat peering out of the window he noted the desolate landscape of Hyperborea. He had only visited once, years ago and found the majority of the culture unintelligible. They spoke a completely different language than the rest of the Barbarians, a different way of life and for all purposes still remained a sovereign state.

Coasting through the city of Thulel, Hesam noted that there was no fan fair for his arrival, and yet unlike the typical scene of a Kamalshahr Bazaar, the people also declined to throw vegetables or the occasional ceramic pot. They simply stood barely interested, which caused a shudder down Hesam's spine. When he last visited, he required two separate translators to even give him a state sponsored tour and even then, the only true Hyperborean that spoke to him was this desolate land's most famous son. Back then, Hyperborea was its own state. Nearly isolationist, and always aloof, its culture was mostly known through third party sources from Treesia. Ofcourse, Hesam thought to himself, those days were long gone as well, and Treesia in its real sense, had been overshadowed by the Aerlig elements of that old barony.

The stoic glares of the natives caused Hesam to wonder. These people were barbarous. They live mostly in earth walled sod houses, their land almost completely unindustrialized and their environment, (harsh as it is) gave the natives a nearly animal like quality. And yet! somehow, despite their lack of appreciation for civilized society, these people had the proud audacity to think themselves superior!

Babkhan culture demands that new friends be impressed by their might. Even the most humble families will spend their meager fortunes entertaining guests and remaining rial-less for the remainder of the month. Industries such as Fine Clothing Rentals, Furniture Rentals and even short term Villa rentals are a thriving part of the Babkhan market for this very reason. But here, the aesthetic has no value except as a utility of function or to the honour of a higher being. It seems there is almost a disdain for those that display wealth in pride. The car he drove was more than a means of conveyance, it was a symbol to these people, a symbol of the outside world with its pleasures and promises. The car's black high polished finish emulating a black bead of mercury rolling silently along cobbled streets, poisonous to those that touch it.

Before departing, Hesam had inquired about the island, and it seems all were ignorant of its nature. To those in the room at the time, it seemed almost cursed. There was some mention of a council, some local tribal leadership no doubt. These people and their superstitions had always followed the will of their gods and shamans, whatever name they go by. He supposed that like most local leaders, they were oppressive and used the very superstitions that held so much power to control their people. Hesam thought he would likely have to import some cheap Babkhan products to buy their loyalty or atleast tolerance. He had figured some utilitarian products would work, shovels, boots, perhaps some construction equipment and ofcourse SAVAK advisers to ensure everything went smoothly. And yet there was that shiver, which told him it wasn't going to work this time. There was that other consideration, those "superstitions" again.

Once through the Hurmu gate, a great improbability to begin with, things become different. Hesam had held the belief that magic only exists to those that believe in it. That may well be true, he thought, but it doesn't mean it cannot effect you. The Khan, or more appropriately, The Emir of Raspur had used this to his advantage. His understanding of the Barbarian traditions had allowed him to gain appreciation in this uncivilized land. Perhaps, over time, belief becomes relative. Perhaps, that IS the power of magic? Turning unbelievers into true followers. A troubling hypothesis for a venerable Babkhan.

In Alkhiva there was a local religion mixing the pantheons of the Treesian slaves with the orthodoxy of Zurvanism. A mixture of two religions, one which cares for the living and one that cares for the cosmic. The half-breeds of Alkhiva were strictly forbidden to follow this faith as it was deemed dangerous to the state. All concepts of magic and superstition were deemed the same. However, in closed ceremonies during celestially important evenings, the people and workers of Kamaltoon could be seen slinking through the streets to practice what was considered a dark art. From the cliffs of Sajin, Hesam could see the firelights down below in Bir Hesama blazing well into the evening. This trip had reminded him of that. The looks in their eyes were not just judgement, but held back an apocryphal knowledge which was to be protected from outsiders at all costs.

Hesam's Bentley rolled toward a large white stone building. Large doors trimmed with intricate line carvings in a brilliant blue colour, a massive blue dome covering the square stone palace. As he stepped out of the car, he noted the complete silence. No one stood watching him, but went about their business without a single word. There was no one to great him, there was no indication of any recognition of his warrant. Hesam lit a cigarette and almost immediately an unseen universal twitch could be felt by the Hesam in the people of the city. He stood on the steps looking over the square, at the architecture and at the narrow streets which comprised this small capital. There was a tension, always unseen. He wondered what would happen if he threw the cigarette down and stomped it out on these ancient steps? Is that the concern? Would he find a warning nailed to his door the next day if he did so? While he stood, his Babkhan man hastily unpacked the car and brought baggage into what was now the Palace of The Count. Offices and Salons, Apartments and Keeps all held within these walls. Like a prison more than a fortress, it provided no reason for Hesam to ever leave its walls. None of his staff were local, no ministers or chiefs had appeared to show their support to him. His household included only 50 Gendarme Babkhan guards, 5 SAVAK men, 5 secretaries and 5 servants. All Babkhan save one. A Treesian secretary, Hakim Doherty. An Alkhivan by birth, His father, a Treesian who managed to send his eldest son to Kamalshahr university. Hakim was a man of dignity and competence, who's hidden disdain for The Atebeg was overshadowed by his professionalism. His father had been to Hyperborea in accompaniment of the Ard-Baron but had immigrated to Babkha in support of his family which had fought during the Orchid wars. It seemed to Hesam, the only person which may be able to speak directly to these mistrusting folk and perhaps open a dialog on his behalf.

As Hesam finished his cigarette, he extinguished it in a handkerchief and handed it off to a servant. This new task would not be an easy one.

[Aurangzeb Khan]

SAVAK-YEMIN ZOKA-KOMITEH POLIS
MOST SECRET
BABKHA-ELWYNN EYES ONLY

REPORT ON HYPERBOREA PREPARED FOR AGHA SAHIB HESAM JAHANDAR

Hyperborea has existed since ancient times. It was believed that Apollo, patron deity of many ancient empires on Micras and a clear manifestation of Ahura Mazda, would travel to the far north in winter for his repose and there delight himself in the company of the frigid folk.

There are two islands associated with Hyperborea, the first and largest is called Biforst, and a second known as Volsung.

The main island is dominated by the great volcano known as Mount Yaanek. The natives did in ancient times ascribe to this geological feature the gift of prophecy. It is widely believed in our lands that the Goddess Elwynn does reside inside the crater of Yannek where she is hidden from her brother Lest as insurance against the possibility that he might be tempted to sample her favours and once again trigger the apocalypse.

It is a well known fact that Hyperboreans have tails and wear the skins of their ancestors on ceremonial occassions. Rumours of sloping foreheads have been dismissed in the past as mariners tales but could be the result of binding from an early age.

It is believed that Hyperboreans worship Arctic Rodents and build shrines to the same. By contrast they are reported to have been locked in a four hundred and fifty year war against against the mighty polar bears of the Micras North Pole, which was incidentally first reached by explorers from New Britannia on September 16th 2006 - who were promptly devoured by the bears as they started their return journey on September 17th 2006.

We have recovered from our archives a list of Hyperborean phrases which may be of service to you. These may prove the difference between being correctly identified as the new Count and welcomed or being mercilessly speared to death as a spy in the service of the Bear-King Santa Claws.

ith dathena marise!: Good morning!
ith kadethateleman marise!: Good midday!
ith tashena marise!: Good evening!
ith kanina eshanira daranidhal karithalo!: May truth and beauty warm your soul! (formal greeting)
raterithilo Negel?: Do you speak English?
siwinikida ezaluka'Shirithan. I come from outside Shireroth.
ku bavuda a'Thulel?: Which way to Thulel?
ku'ner i koreda ikosoka?: Who is currently the Elder?
ipokunakururen, magora onatevamasisen i'kur asekela omagoral ovukunal oraterel oboyatel onateval.: In a right triangle, the length of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the lengths of the other two sides.

The Polar Bear Kingdom stretches across the entire Arctic region but centres on the island of Leng. The war between the Hyperboreans and the bears is believed to have stemmed ultimately from the refusal of the Hyperboreans to accept the fact of Leng's existance. They maintain that the Isle of Biforst is the northern-most inhabited zone on Micras and the suggestion to the contrary proved sufficient to trigger a war of extermination between the two sides. One neither of which was able to conclude successfully but which has been replaced by a holy peace where both polar bears and humans regard the other as sacred - the peace being disturbed only on certain times of the year when the religious calendars of Leng and Hyperborea stipulate that humans and bears be sacrificed in each domain respectively to placate the dread gods in whose name the peace was pledged.

Hyperborea was once a part of Tymaria which was before that a part of Alexandros and Benicia, and before that free. When the Tudeh-Atteran Militarist Conspiracy against Babkhan Truth and Decency in Tymaria was exposed - triggering the downfall of that hated empire - Hyperborea was annexed to the Duchy of Elwynn in Shireroth. Hyperborea once overthrew this relationship to become the master - indeed this was the cause for the Great War between the First Osmanid Baron of Elwynn and the Paladins. Since then it has been remote from the Imperial Republic - no more so than today.

By our calculations you my lord are the first Babkhan to set foot on Biforst in over six hundred years. SAVAK and other interdepartmental agencies would like to arrange interview at the first opportunity upon your return.


SAVAK-YEMIN ZOKA-KOMITEH POLIS
MOST SECRET
BABKHA-ELWYNN EYES ONLY

[Scott of Hyperborea]

Thulel was partly destroyed in an earthquake, see "The Fallow Time Ends". The new capital, Tala, is in some sense a reconstruction of Thulel a few miles away. If you want a town that's far away from Tala but still pretty big and important, try Kalen or Midhoth.
There aren't really regular boats to Hyperborea, so you might want to expand upon exactly how you got there.
And the phrases that Ardashir's given you are in a very old form of Kadhamic and would probably elicit the same reaction in Tala as Shakespeare would in New York.

[HIH Hesam Jahandar]

Any bad news then?

I'll re-edit the story to be more accurate.

[Aurangzeb Khan]

To call the SS Albatros a 'Babkhan transport ship' would be a little bit like calling Malarbor a tree - while valid as a simplification it also stripped away any of the subtle connotations that might have come to have been associated with the thing in question and so render it completely meaningless.

It is fair to say that there were, at the time of writing, two key facts known about the origins and nature of the Albatros; firstly that it was Paulovian, secondly it could penetrate the ice packs.

This particular icebreaker had been discovered the previous year adrift in the Southern Ocean of Giess, seemingly abandoned by its crew but still flying the tattered flag of fallen Paulovia. A skeleton crew deposited by the Babkhan nuclear submarine, HMS Umra, had carefully nursed the icebreaker safely to port in the tropical island dependency of Majorca where the vessel was refitted and auctioned to a preferred bidder, a certain Mr Khan, the representative of Osman-Almagro Shipping, a private concern. The prize-money from the sale was split, as is the custom between the Captain of the Umra and the Shah. The Captain wasted his winnings on camels and rum while the Shah did something similar - not withstanding the fact that under Babkhan law all camels within the empire belong to the Imperial Herd.

For a while, the directors of Osman-Almagro Shipping in Majorca, the fief of the Almagro family whose influence permeated every aspect of society in that island backwater, had almost begun to regret their purchase. There was after all very little in the way of demand for an icebreaker in the tropics. But it was then that a curious commission arrived from a mysterious gentlemen with acknowledged ties to the Jahandar Clan. The Albatros was required in Old Hurmu. The Island of Old Hurmu was ice free all year round but as the rogue paid in gold dinars looted from the Commonwealth treasury so it was that no questions were asked.

Only when the icebreaker arrived at its ultimate destination, a sunny spot called Viking Bay, just as it happened as war clouds were gathering over North Point and the first Babkhan bombs were primed to fall on that unlucky Ocian outpost, that the purpose of the voyage became apparent - before the vessel loomed the towering edifice of the infamous Gate, that umbilical cord which joined the squabbling worlds of Micras and Giess together and at the same time prevented the catastrophic collapse of the otherwise unsustainable dimensional paradox. That matter however belongs to another story. What is important is that more golden dinars were liberally distributed amongst the officers and officials of the Gate Command and that the Albatros did, by a series of locks which defy any attempt at description, proceed from Giess to Hurmu in Micras and whence sailed the oceans to Vijayanagara and an assignation with the newly appointed Count of Hyperborea who wished by some means to get to his new charge. Considering the number of suposedly thriving nations which existed marooned on ice islands at the polar extremities of Micras there was an almost careless lack of provision for vessels capable of withstanding the damage that could be inflicted by pack ice. Indeed so hard were such vessels to come by that the Babkhans had resorted to the expedient of importing a stolen icebreaker from another planet, possibly another dimension, the exact nature of the Hurmu Gate and the portal between the worlds had never been satisfactorily explained after all. All that was known was that by any known laws of physics it should have been impossible for such a thing to exist. Yet still it did.

The icebreaker itself was an antique, but robust, indeed it was better built than many modern vessels afloat - a testement to the superior skills of the old Gotzborg naval yards, such was the assumption based on the superb engineering involved which had stood the test of time - no Paulovian designer or engineer could have constructed such a vessel. The Babkhan crew and their Captain, Ahabshahr, had every confidence in the icebreakers ability - indeed it had been proven for the Albatros had punched its way through the ice and safely attained the mysterious Hyperborean coast. Ahabshahr put the new count ashore, a canny looking fellow who looked curiously akin to the Babkhan Grand Vizier whose term of office was drawing to a close - Jahandar blood now doubt. That would explain the looks and the money. No questions asked the Captain put the Albatros back out to open waters as quickly as the ice would yield.
The Captain had no desire to tarry. As the Albatros had approached the Hyperborean islands their radio had picked up one looped transmission which repeated all day and all night without cessation or interuption. The message the transmission carried, spoken in the common tongue of Micras but with an almost impenetrable accent was a simple one - and it chilled the blood:

"Attempt no landings here"

Captain Ahabshahr felt accursed - and so did the crew. Ever since they had set the Count and his fancy motor and his retinue ashore and returned to international waters they had been aware of a great white beast on the horizon, an iceberg perhaps, but yet it seemed to shadow their every move.

In any event it was via the Albatros that the sole communications link between the new Count of Hyperborea and the outside world, specifically the outside Babkhan and Babkhanised portions of the world, was maintained and it was via the Albatros that a curiously pedantic though undoubtedly learned message was received.

Thulel was partly destroyed in an earthquake, see "The Fallow Time Ends". The new capital, Tala, is in some sense a reconstruction of Thulel a few miles away. If you want a town that's far away from Tala but still pretty big and important, try Kalen or Midhoth.
[...]
And the phrases that Ardashir's given you are in a very old form of Kadhamic and would probably elicit the same reaction in Tala as Shakespeare would in New York.

The reference to shaking a spear in this mysterious "New York" confused everyone on board but dutifully the message was relayed to Vijayanagara and a few hours later a reply was received with the instructions to transmit to the Count.

It is pretty much to be expected that information concerning the islands would be somewhat out of date considering the four centuries that have elapsed without any regular communication between the island and the known worlds.

[Scott of Hyperborea]

The man who greeted Hesam at his palace stared at him wide-eyed for a second, and then blurted out "Babcha chavnion kyuu? Rhantium? Rhanart? IURKYUU?" His eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Yes, I bloody well am here!" guessed Hesam. "Now can someone come out and help me with these bags? They're not going to carry themselves!"

The Hyperborean looked mortified. "Paha...an paha! Raenimi Shirislich kardarph!" He handed Hesam a slip of paper, and then he ran off, leaving Hesam cursing on the doorstep. It was cold outside and looked likely to snow any moment now, and even though Hesam was bundled up far beyond sensible levels, he was starting to shiver. Well, it was his house, after all. He stepped inside.

It was warm inside, obviously built for insulation. The rooms he could see were large but surprisingly bare. He could hear voices from further inside; he wondered if the house came fitted with servants. If so, maybe he could send a few of his own boys back to Sajin and save a few rials. That would be nice. He looked at the paper. There was a message on it, in standard Shirerithian. It read:

"We're very sorry, there's no one here who speaks Shirerithian right now. Please wait a few minutes."

The room was bare, featuring only a few geometric decorations, a shelf, and a table that was too low. He sat down at the table and called for Hakim and a few of the most senior of his entourage. They sat and brooded for a little while, complaining about the darkness, the cold, and the poor service.

"Ah, um, hello!" A short man of about fifty with long, yellow-white hair and a closely cut beard walked in from the cold. He was speaking standard Shirerithian, with an accent and a time lapse of about five seconds while he carefully considered his phrases. "I'm Tiari Nissedion, one of the Nine. Selected me because my Shireroth language is better than others. I hope my language should be can understand for you."

"More or less," said Hesam, curtly. "My men are outside. They're cold and they want to move in. Can you send some people to get our bags?"

"Ah, slightly otherwise," said Tiari. "Know, this building for two hundred years no Count. It is a big and beautiful building because, we are using it as the office for the Talotal. In your language maybe Emissaries. For two hundred years this building was office of the Emissaries. Now too much trouble if they leave. We prepared other home for you. It's very beautiful."

"And you didn't ask me?" asked Hesam.

"Sent Luminescence to Elwynn for bringing you to proper new home, but you arrived not. Learned the Nine of your presence only today. Came...ah, we came as quickly as we could come."

"This new home. Tell me about it."

"V...ah...villa on upper outskirts of Tala, good view of the city. We have tried to make it in the Babkhan style; Alsori Nikedion, one of the Elithyarph with an interest in Babkhan culture supervised the decoration, although very quick, not much time to get all what right. Rooms for ten people. We have vuetni-style winter-homes made for your other men on the lower outskirts of Tala, near the coast plain. Very nice. By next winter, maybe they learn to make such themselves, viku?"

Hesam cursed. Room for ten people, with the rest of his men living in some kind of unspecified native dwelling nearby. The Babkhan style sounded nice, though he had a very bad feeling about it. Everything else, though - what were they doing? Were they being open with him? Or was this a plot by the Nine to get control? It sure sounded like it might be. Separate him from his men, stick him in the capital close to the Council Hall, give him a modest dwelling unlikely to awe the unwashed masses with his magnificence. Yet, listening to the sounds coming from within the old County Palace more closely, it did sound as if it might be an office of some sort. Or was that a trick too? He needed to gain these people's respect and cooperation, but he also couldn't let them walk all over him. The obvious solution was to slit their throats and make an example out of them for the other, but he was too far away from Alkhivia to be confident that the solutions that worked there would work here as well.

"Is good it?" asked Tiari, innocently.

Summary: Tiari Nissedion, one of the Nine, comes to greet Hesam after a long wait. He says that the old County Palace, a magnificent building in Thulel, was converted into offices for a group called the Emissaries two hundred years ago, after the last Count left. Because it would be too much trouble to move the Emissaries, he suggests that Hesam move into a smaller but still opulent villa in Tala, which they have decorated in their idea of a Babkhan style to welcome him. His men will be housed in small traditional winter-homes constructed nearby. He apologizes for the inconvenience but obliquely blames Hesam for not taking the airship they offered, where all of this would have been explained to him. Now the ball's in Hesam's court - does he take the house they've offered, or make a fuss about it?

[HIH Hesam Jahandar]

Hesam arrived at the new Villa, decorated in the "Babkhan style". Internationally, this is akin to saying chop suey is 'chinese food". The architecture of Sajin has striking differences to that of Kamalshahr. The capital, which sits on a desert plain is known for low level buildings and are an amalgam of cinder blocks, plaster and occassionally sandstone. The government officers differ only slightly in that they are marginally better kept although most civic spending is diverted directly to The Emir's neo-classical monuments to himself. The Reign of Babak Shah was the last major attempt at civil reconstruction. He had ordered the building of hundreds of government offices, police stations, fire stations etc... Since that time, most have been converted to 3 level apartments or mixed commercial/residential. Their construction had never intended for them to be lived in and they are in a constant state of disrepair.

The majority of Kamalshahr is unplanned and quite often new levels are built on top or adjacent to pre-existing buildings. Adjacent to the Bazaar in an area know as the "Bazaar Narrows" the original buildings were the cinder block government buildings. Facing each other across a narrow winding road, had originally been the cobbled path leading to the ancient city that was the original Kamalshahr 5000 years ago. The buildings themselves were erected during Babak's reign and have since been converted into a mix of stores, butchers, gambling dens and dwellings. Originally there were no third story windows, but the new occupants cut holes in the walls for ventilation. Later, balconies were added and eventually these were converted into rooms of their own. At the present time the road that leads through the Bazaar narrows is more a tunnel as the buildings from either side have built together over the street. This is the style that typifies the capital.

During the reign of Osmani Shah, the entire budget was dedicated to the previously mentioned neo-classical monuments. The Emir during his reign had built a palace complex which in essence was a city unto itself. Marble, gold, granite, all the trappings of the tasteless and wealthy, this was the Kamalshahr that outsiders were allowed to see. Windows have a special meaning in Babkha, just as the poor build over theirs, the wealthy ensure that their windows only see beauty. So its no surprise that the entire Palace complex has not a single window which reveals the slum reality of Kamalshahr. All windows face inward to massive courtyards and parks.


Alkhiva however is a different case. Sajin was built by Treesian slaves less than a decade ago. It's construction was built around a pre-existing citadel and remains that way in essence. Located half way up the Alhivan mountain range, its stone was cut from those mountains. Most of the rock is sculpted with designs and contains veins of the infamous salt mined from deep within those same mountains. While Hesam had ordered Moorish themes and gardens, the embittered slaves introduced hidden messages within the linear designs of Sajin. Cut into stone and written in Treesian, these messages are woven within intricate line drawings and are invisible to any non-Treesian. This is why there is a saying that you will never find a Treesian without a smile on his face in Sajin. It's a saying known by Babkhans and Treesians alike, but the meaning for each is very different.

When Hesam saw the interpretation of Babkhan culture adorning the walls of his villa he could barely speak. Whether it was a joke or a sincere attempt made in ignorance, the villa was a ungodly nightmare. It seems the Hyperboreans had little resources to work from, and so assuming Babkha to be similar to arab culture, they decorated based on that instead. The villa had been covered with a souk tent made of linen. This would have to go, Hesam thought. But walking into the building was more offensive than he could imagine. He was greeted in the lobby by two camels who seemed to have been consistently relieving themselves on an imported Persian tapestry. It seems the Hyperboreans were under the impression that Babkhans live with their livestock. Moving past the camels with a handkerchief over his nose, Hesam noted that someone had been commissioned to paint murals on all of the walls. The murals, done with the highest level of artistry depicted vague battles fought in a desert landscape. He also noted the Matbaaic icons which made it seem that once again the Hyperboreans simply mixed together what they knew of the outside world. The furniture was roughly fashioned from hard wood and accented with skulls. Tapestries covered the entirety of the floor and seemed to be draped over every imaginable surface. A tea service was set out although likely as a conversation piece as no tea, coffee or cups could be located. In going past the main gallery to a salon, Hesam noted more murals, these depicting an interpretation of Zurvan feasting on a pyre of what looked like Treesians to the acclaim of a crowd of Babkha peasants. Hesam also noted a rather pungent smell of burning flesh. A Fireplace located at the far wall across from the entrance seemed to be the source and as Hesam moved closer, he noted a pig roasting directly on the coals. Beside the fireplace was a cart covered with a white table cloth. Resting on the cloth was a table setting and a line of "utensils". This amounted to a series of metal hand instruments including a salad fork, a surgical scalpel, a small jewelers screwdriver, and a glass cutter. Adjacent to that was a tumbler glass of water and a chair covered with yet another persian carpet.

The bed chambers of the villa were much in the same taste. Hesam noted the interpretation of a bed which was essentially a large sack stuffed with feathers sitting atop a bed frame. Painted on the ceiling above the bed was yet another mural. This one, an interpretation of Hesam as the count of Hyperborea staring down at the bed while a crowd of Babkhans dressed in Hyperborean clothing admired his visage. This too was painted in the Matbaaic style.

Further on was a small study which was decorated and furnished rather nicely. None of the bizarre cultural interpretations or honorifics. A Large oak desk and chair looked Treesian in origin until Hesam noted the import sticker on the side. "Almegro Exports". Hesam also noted the bare walls of this room. Perhaps the locals hadn't time to finish decorating? Hesam could see that the walls had recently been whitewashed and the vaguest trace of the original signature blue line drawings of Hyperborean culture could be seen. It is likely this was the case with the entire building. Hesam peered out a stain glass window and could see the distorted image of the sod houses his staff would be dwelling in. The short scrub grass of the tundra spotted with a series of earthen piles with small plums of smoke rising from within.

Hesam turned to Hakim,

"Send a communique to The Emir. We will require a construction team as soon as humanly possible, and get some one to take that bloody pig off the fire!"

Hesam didn't bother looking at the remainder of the villa. He had no time to consider the comfort of his subordinates. He sat at his desk and stared straight ahead while his staff brought in hard cases containing the elements of His Excellency's Campaign Office. Computers, Papers, files, monitors, everything that would be required to "run" this county. His staff had known precisely how to set everything up and were working without direct around him. Once established in the villa, Hesam would begin preparations to speak to the Council of Nine. He would also send for the Babkhan scholars necessary to document and study this isolated land.

He began the necessary planning to determine the spheres of influence he had here and what authority would be given to whom. Outside he noted the soldiers he had brought with him began moving into their hovels.


"Hakim, get me books and a translator. If I'm going to lead these people I need to be able to speak to them".

[Scott of Hyperborea]

After an indefinable moment of time, Nithi Kirenion opened his eyes, and returned from the cold darkness of eternity to the cold darkness of his ice-home. The glowing dials of his watch told him it was almost noon, though in Deep Winter no hour brought more light than any other.

It was the coldest part of Icebound, when all decent people ought to be holed up in their vuetni, meditating, writing, and pursuing the Ways of Elith that the hustle and bustle of the diurnal months left no time for. All across Raikoth, people had abandoned the world to spend their time in sleep and silence. Just as night brought respite from the trials of the daytime, so Deep Winter should allow one to relax from the troubles of the year.

Nithi's single-room ice-home was equipped with enough food and water to last him until Cloudcloak, but he knew this year his rest and meditation could not last. The southerners had no such custom, and he knew Hesam Jahandar and his Babkhan crew would be burning the midnight oil to get established on the island and begin whatever plots he intended.

Nithi reached for a glass of water, downed it, and then returned to the supine meditative position he had been using. In the lore of his people, the cold silent darkness of the vuetni gave a supernatural clarity to thought, but Nithi found himself no better able to discern the Count's purposes than he had been before. What did the Babkhans, or Elwynnese, or Zjandarians, or whichever of the thousand feuding southern power structures, want with Hyperborea? And why did they think the Hyperboreans would give it to them?

He was tired of wondering. It was time for the ritual of y'yaan. No doubt Count Jahandar would be unaware of it. Well, Nithi would be happy to educate him.

He turned on his light, and the tiny circular interior of his ice-house burst into view like a revelation. His eyes, grown accustomed to the days of darkness, briefly shone with pain, which soon subsided into a dull static of protest. He located the pack of belongings he had brought from his summer-house, and found his sigils. Reaching around his neck, he detached the star-set-into-a-spiral he was wearing - the sigil of meditative truth-seeking, and replaced it with the comparitively rare sign of the rain-cloud, used primarily for the y'yaan ritual. No doubt it would be meaningless to Hesam's Babkhans, but courtesy nevertheless demanded he broadcast his intentions.

Putting on his double-coat, his gloves, his hat, his snow-mask, his scarf, and the formal garland of faux nipil-roses that marked him as Kyyrhasi, he stepped outside and began the trek to Hesam's palace.

The entire world was cold and dark and silent. There was not even wind. Around him were hundreds of ice-houses like his own, each home to a single person or a family spending the Deep Winter in rest, meditation, and creative endevour. No one else was about now, though footprints indicated a few people had recently traipsed around the makeshift town of vuetni that ringed Tala.

There was no wind or clouds, as there never were during the Deep Winter. Just the silence, the thin blanket of snow, and the countless, countless stars that shone down from every corner of the sky. The children of the queen of night, who repented of the darkness they had created and sat in pefect meditation upon gigantic crystal pillars rising from the pole to guide travelers and poets.

Nithi needed no guide. The Babkhan's villa was easily spotted by the great blobs of light blazing from every window. Perhaps after a few seasons here, Count Jahandar would learn the uses of darkness. Or perhaps not, he reminded himself - southerners had their own ways, and could not be trusted to come to share the opinions of civilized people.

Which made Nithi wonder how, exactly, the Count would take to y'yaan, a ritual beginning to lose popularity even among the Hyperboreans. Nithi himself was quite fond of it, though he used it very sparingly. The principles behind it were simple; the intricacies of politeness prevented people from ever getting the information they needed. Put on the rain-cloud sigil, call y'yaan, voice your worries, and simply start asking questions. If the other party refused to answer, that was his right; but at least everyone knew where they stood.

It was almost half an inshon to the Count's villa, and Nithi felt properly invigorated when he climbed up the stone stairway and reached Hesam's door. He gave the five short knocks that signified personal business, and after a few seconds, one of the Count's servants answered the door.

Nithi's Shirerithian was not as good as Tiari's, but he'd read several books in the language, and trusted it would do for the matter at hand. "I want to speak to Count Hesam Jahandar. Am Nithi Kirenion, Elder of Raikoth."

"Please, come into the reception room and wait for a moment," said the guard.

Nithi entered. It was different than the last time he had been here, preparing for the Count's arrival. The camels were gone, for one thing. He was surprised; the professor of Babkhan culture had been adamant that Babkhans liked camels. Perhaps Hesam had eaten them? Well, it was of no matter.

Hesam arrived after a few minutes. "Ain...Einaiku, no...Einaikyu Elith karathichi...um...sarimi."

Nithi spent a few seconds trying to make sense of this cryptic utterance before it hit him; Hesam was trying to speak Kalasperin! He must have learned a few basic phrases and greetings to test on the Raikothlin who came to visit him! Impressive!

"Arphitsi ruri," responded Nithi, placing only the slightest stress on the syllable Hesam had misprounced.

Hesam mulled for a moment about whether he wanted to try another Kalasperin sentence, and decided against it. "Elder Kirenion. I haven't been getting a lot of visitors lately. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?"

[OOC: Although Nithi's Shirerithian is poor, I'm going to write his speech in perfect English from now on, for ease of reading. You can assume he's using simpler words and making some major mistakes, but nothing so bad as to prevent you from understanding him.]

Nithi took a deep breath. "For four hundred years, this island has been happy and successful on its own. As Elder, it was and is my job to keep it that way. Last month, you arrived, and although we resent mainland interference in our affairs, we have accepted your presence out of politeness, loyalty, and desire to avoid conflict. However, your position is a potential threat to us and to our way of life, and you delay giving the Council knowledge of your intentions. This prevents me from achieving the level of calm proper for Deep Winter and has filled many of our people with fear and foreboding. Therefore, I ask of you in complete honesty, under the code of y'yaan, that you explain clearly why you have developed an interest in Hyperborea, what you intend to do as Count, and why the government of Hyperborea should aid you in this. I beg that you understand that I ask this not out of distrust or impoliteness, but out of a serious desire to know the truth in order to work for our mutual betterment."

Summary: Nithi, the leader of the Council, is worried over Hesam's presence and cannot complete his traditional winter meditations. He decides to confront Hesam directly and ask him what he's up to.

[Kaiser Jayatar]

Hesam had been busy, very busy when the Elder arrived at his door. After six months of re-establishing Babkha as an influencial power, he had then the issue of Ocian expansion to deal with, no small feat considering the rumours that a former SAVAK chief had been involved and was allowing that state to progress at an unnaturally rapid rate due to his experience. Then there was the final touches on the re-conquest of Eura, after many years of Babkhan exile from the continent, it was now Babkhan once again.

Following all of this, Hesam had decided to retreat to Hyperborea for an isolated rest, away from the politics, war and intrigue of the greater world. Hyperborea offered Hesam an escape and the ability to research a long standing culture of which little was known.

When Elder Kirenion had arrived at the door, Hesam had been researching the etymology of Hyperborean Language with the assistance of some texts and files borrowed from Vizier Kufukhaf, Babkha´s resident language expert.

After Nithi finished his prepared speech, Hesam paused and thought. It was entirely likely that the Elder had no knowledge of Hesam´s reputation as much as Hesam was ignorant of his. Hesam briefly explained the situation.

"I want nothing from Hyperborea but recognition of my title as Count. In return I offer myself as a shield against the intrusions of additional outsiders who would wish to turn Hyperborea into a personal fife or use it as a political tool".

Nithi seemed to nod slowly with an uncommitted expression. He had noted that the villa was taking on a more natural look, but scepticism prevailed.

"I will return with you to meet the Council of 9" Hesam suddenly mentioned.

"We can travel by any means you wish, obeying the custom you follow. If I may, I would like to bring a tutor so that I may be as prepared as possible"

[Scott of Hyperborea]

It was supposed to have been different.

The old regime of Shireroth had been marked by bloody civil wars each time a Kaiser died without an obvious, well-placed heir. Hyperborea had done well for itself in those wars, getting its own Kalir bloodline on the throne no fewer than four times, but all the while it had deplored their necessity.

This time, with the universally beloved Kaiser Mors V on the throne from arguably the most powerful bloodline of all, a strong Steward, and most of the lesser bloodlines dead or impoverished, Nithi had honestly thought Shireroth would be able to handle a succession without any fuss.

He'd never met Jacobus Loki, Duke of far-off Yardistan. But he felt he scarcely knew more about his own Count, Hesam Jahandar (or was it Jayatar?), who had been holed up in his villa near Tala since arriving. On one hand, it would give Hyperborea immense prestige to be the home of a Kaiser once again. On the other, he still did not understand Count Jahandar's reason for being there. Was he a carpetbagger, hoping to gain control of Hyperborea's resources for some unspecified end of his own? Was he an afficianado of whatever Hyperborean culture had managed to penetrate to the far shores of Babkha? Or was it something else that he hadn't even guessed yet? And why would a Babkhan, fresh-off-the-boat so to speak, with only a tenuous claim to Shireroth's least accessible province think he had what it took to rule Shirekeep? Nithi found himself smiling. The new Count was obviously either insane or a genius, and in either case that meant working with him was going to be fun.

He would not have to wait long to find out. Hesam had arrived at the Council Hall at the designated hour, along with a translator provided by the Council and a second translator from his own staff. The restrictions against non-Kadhamic speech had been lifted, and everyone of any importance on the island had crammed themselves into the domed hall to hear what their apparently fearless leader had to say.

"Count...ah...Kaiser Jayatar, you have the floor."

[Kaiser Jayatar]

Hesam began by citing the same speak he had just presented in the Landsraad, since the Throne was vacant he had been forced to explain his intentions in many places in Shireroth. Babkhans have a very unoriginal saying "Once a Babkhan, always a Babkhan" but that phrase might be true by benefit of the fact that where ever you go, no one will let you forget where you came from.


Hesam continued after the Landsraad speech,

"I have come to Hyperborea for one purpose only, to learn. I have announced my candidacy for Kaiser for another purpose. That Shireroth should be a leader in Micras the way it once was. I realize the larger state is of no consequence here, however the effects of that state can already be felt. I personally believe that this is an important time not just for Hyperborea, but for Shireroth as a whole, it is the difference between the continuation of what was, verses the possibility of what may be.

While I've not been Hyperborean long, Babkhans have an extremely long memory comparatively, and I can recall a time when Hyperborea was involved in every aspect of the world stage. I remember a time when your scholars wrote histories, political theory and chronicled the events of the world. I would not force that here, but if I were to become Kaiser I would ensure the option is open. Regardless of what happens with the Throne, I will remain Count of Hyperborea, and my intentions will remain the same. As I said, I am here to learn."


With that, Hesam stood waiting for the Elders to confer, the dark room was silent enough that only the wind outside could be heard and so he paused to think about what the near future would bring.

[Scott of Hyperborea]

[Out of character]

Okay, here's how I think we should settle this. You are a former Babkhan Grand Vizier who lost the position for some reason or other (something exciting like scandal, or something boring like term limits). Around the same time, you found some odd family heirloom that suggested you were distantly descended from the Hyperborean line of Kalirion, something you knew nothing of before. Being bored with your retirement in Babkha, you fly off to Shireroth and use your Babkhan connections with the community in Zjandaria to be named Count of Hyperborea. Your motive is to get a new challenge and discover your roots.

You don't tell the Hyperboreans about your ancestry at first for some reason...maybe you're doubtful of it yourself, or you think they'd find it absurd? And you don't fit in well because you've been a Babkhan since birth. However, with the death of Kaiser Mors you suddenly realize your bloodline gives you a claim to the throne, and for some reason (blatant ambition or some RPish backstory) you don't find Kaiser Loki acceptable and decide to claim the throne yourself. You then reveal to the Hyperboreans (who are justifiably wondering what the heck you're doing here) your bloodline.

If you like it, I'll consider their reaction, which will probably be along the lines of accepting you as a long-lost brother.

[Kaiser Hasan I]

[out of character]

That's fine, we can work with that, the next piece I'm going to write is a retrospective bit from before I arrived at the council. Unless you post first.]