Kingdom of God: A Quest of Holy Revolution

Cetashwayo said:

Esterkezy Oshana is a striking rogue with a shock of crimson hair, workman's clothes, pointed boots and scandalous Vasp trousers. She sits backwards on a chair in the remains of a burnt customs house when I come in, rolling the cylinder of a Mare revolver and clicking the hammer, watching me with unrestrained amusement as if I am a jester come to entertain her

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The First of the Mushad Oathtakers, former exile to the Mare, Arch-feminist, and radical among radicals, Makabam's fiery dame of freedom Esterkezy Oshana

To be a witness of the Yuhwa, persecuted to death, is to brace the soul for the same fate and join the ever-swelling throngs of martyrs following the Vehicle of Salvation. Few nations know this so well as the Gushans. The first ministry to their nation ended when the executioner's axe hewed into Yuhwasattva Yoonha's neck, from whence milk rather than blood splashed on the flagstones of Hugthgar Rohir's mead-hall. The Sword-Saint Binah meekly went to hang from the boughs of a tall tree like a common thief when she could so easily have escaped after taking her captor's own sword to defend him from the spears of bandits. Saint Euna of Gyerim endured harrowing violations and cruel indignities at the hands of the wicked Theogar Rohir to see her son by his seed, the blessed Walmas Rohir, raised up on the shields of the eorls and proclaim his reiks to be Magian, now and forever. When the Parajasper Rohirs strayed from the Way by indulging themselves in multiplying evils, righteous Magi fearlessly lined the depths of lightless gaols and nameless wells with their bones rather than recant their repudiations of the Lie. After it pleased the Good Principle to tumble the Rohirs to the mire of their charger's hooves and the Yazdas to give dominion over to Amalgast, his Jurors and Priests send uncounted martyrs to the House of Song as dust from burnings at the stake.

Oh Ormuzd, how many Gushans have given imperishable witness to the Yuhwa by their steadfast example? Onward then does the Caravan of Martyrs travel in Gushnaram. How speedily they go, and so gladly, as if carried off by the Simurgh to the House of Song!

Even so, the Magi love Amalgast in each of his many reincarnations at this Wayside Inn. He is the yoke to bend forever the pride-stiff necks of the Rohirs who madly thought to be sovereigns of the whole world, the rod that rebukes them for making their whole nation false witnesses of the Yuhwa. As the Patriarchs, their stern father and protector many times over, he has saved the Way and the Yazdas from obliteration in his country. With their whole hearts they pray to Anahita for his health, to Engwas and Melik Tawus for the commonweal of the whole of his Kingdom of God, dance the Irminsul so that Verethegna and Tiwaz will make his juror-armies victorious, to Baridegi to guide his immortal soul from one incarnation to the next.

The Gushans love Amalgast…but it has been eight hundred years and threescore since the Rohirs were given unto Amalgast's hand, fourfold and half again the whole reign of the Parajasper Rohirs, and heavy has the hand that disciplines them. It cannot be the will of the Good Principle and the Yazdas for Magians to repay forever the crimes of the Rohirate, nor for so many generations of Magians to be born merely to perish in pain.

Nachivan then is the haven where the Magians of Gushnaram dream of spiriting away their children, pinching and scrimping every sliver of treasure – fibulae from heirloom wedding dresses, gold belt buckles and cloak-brooches furtively passed from distant forefathers – for the smuggler's fee, sparing no hope for themselves. The Witch's Quarter there is protected above by the gaze of the Patriarch from the Heavenly Mount and below by the loving embrace of the City's kind sects. It is within the Navel of the Amalgastene World that a Magian can live as a witness, and not merely die as one.

Yet living is hard. Every day the Witches – and they will always be Witches – of Nachivan shuffle through streets deposited with the dust of a near millennium of idol-smashing abuse, where the broken visage of a Yazda or Gushan heroes might stare at them accusingly. Harrowed by guilt, they fill the hands of smugglers and peddlers with their wages to remit for their families back in Gushnaram, who might have perished without a word. Come every week of Korban, when the whole city is drunk with the frenzied delight of Amalgast's victory against the straw-head Rohirs, the Witches huddle together behind locked doors and dare not venture out into the streets where frightful pilgrims from Sufgar and Gushnaram might have brought their cruelty to the city. When a Witch is raped, robbed, beaten, or defrauded by a powerful master against whom the fists of friendly pugilists or the spirited castigation of a friendly rector might have no justice to mete, there is nowhere for them to turn; if even the sons and daughters of God are beneath the notice of pitiless Exarchs and Tatas, what hope have they? Even here in Nachivan, parents must teach their children to keep the brims of their hats low lest they accidentally meet an Amalgastene in the eyes; for they are born Gushan and Witches both, and so long as the Kingdom of God reigns the Vasp will never, ever let them forget.

Where their fathers and mothers dreamed of going to Nachivan, the witches in Nachivan dream of the coming of a Mahdi. The one who, even if there were only an hour left in the life of the world, could prolong the last hour so that heaven and earth might be aligned for the Matreiya Yuhwa to come. It is the Mahdi who will do battle with druj for all the nations and bring peace to all the four corners of the world where it was once full of injustice and tyranny. It is the Mahdi who can redeem the Rohirate's terrible burden on the Gushans.

So when Sarbadgar came to the Sanhedron as an elder, some Witches already nursed secret hopes they dare not voice. The Pale Horse may have turned on the Rohirs and renounced the Yuhwa, but their ways are still the old ways of the Gushans, and Sarbadgar is their son – a son of Gapt. They looked and liked to look at Sarbadgar, who stands tall in the saddle with unbowed righteousness, skin darkened by martial dust, his face inscrutable as a Yuhwa. Yes, some began to think in the corner of their hearts where only Ormuzd can look, it must Sarbadgar.

When he passed by on his horse, they bowed their heads and clasped their hands in whispered benedictions – and a prayer: Oh Ohrmuzd, oh Yuhwa, oh Gapt, may it be Sarbadgar!

When Sarbadgar railed against injustice in the Sanhedron, whispers turned to furtive cries: Sarbadgar, Verethegna is ahead of you! Sarbadgar, Tiwaz rides with you! Sarbadgar, bone of our bone, do not forget us!

When Sarbadgar stood for the Metamoa the hopes of a few fused with the dreams of the many, and now everywhere Witches would stand on tip-toes or pressed against the crowds to see him pass, for the first time lifting up the brims of their hats to behold the world with clear eyes: Sarbadgar!

On the fateful day of Tislev, the beer gardens where wounded are laid to rest on tables and drink wets lips blackened and cracked with gunpowder, at the witch's temples and monasteries where the Magi command the faithful to aid the uprising, in alleyways beside the fighting, Sarbadgar's name – the Mahdi's name – is on all the Witch's lips. Sarbadgar atop the walls of Karogen Academy, hand tucked in his jacket, becomes giant. The bullet-spitters of the Pale Horse become his shouts, the knuckle dusters, knives, and clubs of the crowd that came to his defense his fists. He strides across Mushad bridge, sweeping aside bayonets, and tears away the banner of Sword-Altar in his mighty grip. Verethegna burns on his brow.

After the Midnight Bull, they mob Sarbadgar when he passes, kiss the hem of his tunic, his boots, his stirrups. Cloaks, jackets, even bedsheets are thrown to the ground to guard from mud his charger's hooves. They raise their infants up to him and beg him to grace them with a look, a word, a touch; a blessing to last a thousand years. Yuhwasattva Sarbadgar, they chant, Yuhwsattva Sarbadgar, Yuhwasattva Sarbadgar! Redeemer, savior, they scream too, bone of our bone, the Mahdi!

And Sarbadgar's name, the Mahdi's name, travels thence like a thunderbolt over the Jasper Gates, to strike the dry grass of Simurghshahr.

Forget-Me-Not

What is Memory? For the yeshiva student, it is mnemonic devices and candle-lit pages. For the country rector, it is births and deaths and land disputes. For the peasant, it is gossip and bad winters and the old rituals. The High Priest's response may be more practiced: Memory, by his mark, Memory is a type of thought. A Memory is an image of something that no longer is, a kind of non-existence. It is the present-past, kin of expectation (the present-future) and attention (the present-present).

A Juror will say that it is whipping or burning. That is it pride and penance. That it it is Kentelken. There are the survivors, he might say. There are the memory-men.

A man in a tattered coat trembles on a corner. In the morning Sword-Altar beats him, in the evening exiles feed him. It is cold in Nachivan, bitingly cold, but it matters not to the trembler. His eyes will not focus, his ears will not listen. He has no need for present-present or present-future, no desire for any beauty this world might have to offer. The Mare's Garden Corps has gifted him sights and sounds to last a lifetime.

Across the street, a man pulls his hat down low and slips through a door, seeking cures for what ails him. Enough booze and he will stop feeling the fragments in his back - enough yamroot and he will obliterate Mind, beating back Memory's host of demons for another night.

Above a cafe, thirteen Jurors gather. Twelve are fresh off a grinding shift in Pesselpan, one has stopped seeking work. There are others who cannot be here, working other shifts. But not many. This room is the best their pooled funds can manage. A little space and some chairs, a raised cafe table for an altar and a scrap of homesewn fabric hanging on the wall. It is too small and too crude to be a proper standard, a crimson eel speared on an amber background.

This is what remains of Dargang's Blood-Eel Standard, the old foe of Nesra. This is the culmination of four centuries of warfare, four hundred years of tradition. When the Nesrans rose for the Pugilists, Blood-Eel rose against them. When Nesra sided with the Antipatriarch's march up country, Blood-Eel resisted them bitterly. When Nesra fought the will of the Infalliable Patriarchs, Blood-Eel enforced it with barely restrained glee. And when the Mare landed on Nesra's shores, Blood-Eel marched south one last time.

The men who will sit above the cafe, they survive Eykshir. As the army disintegrates and standards immolate, they stand firm and retire in good order. They march home to Dargang exhausted, hounded by the enemy, denied even enough time to bury their dead. There they meet salvation in the form of Varhan Sarbadgar, his Pale Horse, and all the other far flung standards rallying to the defense of God's Kingdom. Then they march again. Men fall out from heat and exhaustion, but not them. Their cheap boots disintegrate, but their bloody bare feet reach a priestly estate called Rechobot.

The unemployable man is behind the altar. His right shirtsleeve hangs down, pinned and empty. He is Seye, the standard-bearer of this Blood-Eel, re-elected with twenty-four votes. He hangs his sleeve as a sign, an unavoidable reminder, a challenge to this shrugging city, Dare ignore my sacrifice? Once there was an arm - now the arm is but a thought, a memory. He is done leading the prayers. It is time for a speech.

Recently, Seye says, he has dreamed of traveling home to Dargang. It will be better than the march up. On horseback, not barefoot. Meals purchased, not scrounged. He sets his own pace and smells sweet flowers instead of rotting horses, the sweat on his brow instead of the metallic tinge of blood. The horse leaves the road without orders, climbing a great slope. The branches of the trees shiver and shake, birds launch into flight, but he does not jump or duck. Here he feels safe, here he does not scan the horizon for dust or smoke. And there, before him, a valley between two gentle hills. Vines and stone walls and a beautiful brick manor. Familiar to him, but not recognized. No, not recognized.

He approaches the outer wall, fine stone blocks higher than a man. There is a gatehouse - new, unsplintered and unweathered. Not defensible, not for long. There is an image in his mind, the crack of rifle fire - just skirmishing until the guns come up to tear the wall down, then a frantic withdrawal, men in red hats - A cough snaps him out of it. A fat man in the robes of a High Priest is waiting there, his face indistinct. Come in traveler, he says, it is late and there is nowhere else to stay.

And they walk through the vineyard. It is not the season, the vines are bare, but he knows the look and taste of the grapes. Blood red, like the caps worn by the men between the rows. They are sleeping or chatting or eating, calm despite the looming assault. Then closer to the house he sees them kneeling in line, anxious, then closer they are firing. There should be a gap here, he thinks, this row was wounded by enemy action. A soupsir lieutenant slashes through the vines, a sapper's sledge in his meaty hands - but no, this is not that place.

The inner wall. He stoops down to check for the firing holes drilled that morning. They are not there. This wall is new also, no more than five years old, pristine in places. Seye stands and places his hands as if he is about to vault it, and the sounds are clear as day. Shouting in a strange tongue, the clanking pteruges on the shoulders and skirts of the red-jacketed invaders, the crackling of fire. He looks left and yes, there it is, the little private temple. But it is not burning now.

The priest invites him to dinner. He apologizes for the sorry state of the dining table, the wife says it's an heirloom and they can't get rid of it, you know how these things are - Seye runs his hands through the grooves made by bayonet, saber, and bullet, he taps gently on the massive crack made by the soupsir's sledge, he imagines himself holding it against the door as the sky falls, the weight of the Garden Corps pushing back.

Stairs are new. Unchipped by fighting, unstained by blood. So is the glass in the guest room window. Seye wonders if anything on the property is more than five years old as he looks out on the hill. The path is overgrown, but he can still picture the Gushans. There they are, charging to the rescue with wild abandon, sabers flashing - Varhan Sarbadgar prying open the jaws of death, saving what remains.

The priest catches him staring. I've heard there's some famous battlefield out that way, he says cheerfully, if you'd like to see it in the morning.

I do not need to go back there, Seye concludes, and I cannot. I do not know that estate. It would not welcome me. Rechobot as we know it...it does not exist in creation, not anymore. The land has forgotten that battle, forgotten Blood-Eel and the Garden Corps. The vines that grow there are watered by rain, not blood. Rechobot is a memory, an idea, not a place. It is here in Nachivan, not in Dargang.

Tears fall in the small audience. Hundreds of men fell within those walls, and this is their reward, their memory entrusted to a few dozen exiles. Few of these men have wives, none have children. They work mindless shifts in the Ironshrine, they sleep, and every mindful moment is consumed by remembrance. They remember absent friends, the march, and Rechobot, always Rechobot. They talk to each other because no one else will listen.

They do not follow the news or theopolitics, they do not even complain about work. They remember. There is no present for these men, certainly no future. They are living past, living non-existence. When they die, no one will mourn, no one will remember. Blood-Eel will finally be forgotten, erased for its sinful failure. The landlord will tear down that standard and toss it in the alley, just another scrap in a pile.

---

Orlachag. 30th Tislev. Standard-cult Blood-Eel lacks an altar for the day's services. They were evicted due to the 'recent unpleasantness' in the city - their landlord fears Sword-Altar, fears that a group as unsavory and 'agitated' as Blood-Eel might be targeted in their next attacks. Despite Seye's protests ("We're not radicals, Aaron, what do you take us for, those thrice-damned Nesrans in the 'Scourge'"?) the decision is final, the room has been rented out.

Desperate to find something before the holy day, Seye reached out to the prayer bulletin Day's Orders - radical, yes, but beloved among Kentelken's exiles. He begged for some kind cult to take in his flock, just once, just for the evening services. They would be fine in the morning, but if they did not light candles for Havadar before dusk, well, the ancestors would rip him apart.

Effect: Varhan Sarbadgar. A short note in the good komandir's hand, delivered to Seye's tenement. "Many such cases in Nachivan this year. The dean of Karogen Academy has made a chapel available, though you will likely have to share or take shifts etc. Present this note at the gate." And so Blood-Eel sits in the Park of Pillars, listening to distant parades. It is early morning. They wait as Jurors do, sleeping, chatting, carving sticks and playing dreidel.

Distant explosions and distant gunshots. They have heard those sounds on many mornings like this, before many battles. It fits so well with the waiting in their minds that they do not even stir until they hear the bells and the golems. At first, knowing not what to do, they sit. Then the gunfire is closer, approaching Karogen, and Seye moves.

It is a day for prayer, so they are in their finest dress. The streets are panicked but they are all order and calm, marching towards the fray in their blue jackets and red caps. By the time they arrive Karogen has already repelled the first assault, and thousands of sectarians and witches and workers are rushing to its defense.

The crowd, the Pugilists, they are not Jurors. Pale Horse is brave - every man of Blood-Eel here owes his life to that famous courage of theirs - but they are horsemen of the Hamgad Steppe. This kind of warfare is still new to them, and novelty brings nervousness. But the men in the red trousers are serene as they pull weapons out of dead Sword-Altar hands. In lieu of a staff, one ties the standard around a rifle barrel and hands it to Seye. This one they shall not lose.

This is not the present. This is not new to Blood-Eel. Besieged by the Iconoclasts, their ancestors licked condensation off the walls. Their great-grandfathers piled Nesran bodies around a customs house, a hundred men holding off the wrath of one of Camad's greatest cities. To live as Blood-Eel is to live in a world that no longer is. They look up at Karogen's battlements and dream of Rechobot.

A shell blasts a hole in the wall, and it begins again. The Pugilists jump back stunned, the Gushans flinch and draw their sabers, the men from Dargang smile because they know what follows. Silence, anticipation. Then in the smoke - the jackets look black and not red, this time they are wearing masks. It does not matter. They're coming on in the same old way.

Blood-Eel, all two dozen of them, fires and advances into the breach, a thin wall of red and blue tipped with steel. This is not the present, this is not the Battle of Nachivan. This is an image of the War of Behemoth and Leviathan presented before an audience of hundreds. Here, now, they will erase their shame. Here they will repay Pale Horse and Blood-Eel alike for their survival.

God willing, they will have luck enough to die.

---

Ten still live when the Nesran convinces Sarbadgar to create the Mass Jury. They swear his oath, but their wounds are too extensive to follow him to the Sanhedron. Three succumb before the day's end. The survivors are in no condition to light candles, but they hold a late evening service from their hospital beds. While sectarians shout at the House of Creation and the people celebrate their survival in the streets, Blood-Eel prays for their ancestors who fell at Havadar. Six will survive to be released, Seye among them. But there are small mercies. This time they bury their own dead.

Six men is not a standard-cult. It is nothing at all. But they still live and they still remember. They must talk, and listen, and try to understand the present-past that haunts them. So six men wander the streets of Nachivan looking for others like them, men struck with the Juror's curse. The city is trying to swallow them up, but this battle has left behind hundreds of memory-men. Everywhere they look they find them, in ruined streets and cafes with bloody floorboards. And Blood-Eel is kind but not smiling as it asks, What is this place to you?

And a cabinetmaker in the east gestures to the cleared street and says, That was the barricade where we tried to stop them, and we failed and everyone died except for me, but I guess we won anyway. And a cooper's son sitting at the Yovan gate says, I was there and I still don't know why. And Blood-Eel sits with them, gives them all the time they need to wander aimlessly through memory and try to describe friends they loved who are now thoughts and breath, or the things they saw, or the things they did, or anything else that seems relevant. And Blood-Eel does not judge.

Then there are meetings. The Blood-Eel Standard still hangs from the wall, but invited guests greatly outnumber the Jurors and the ratio worsens daily. And one day Seye says that Nachivan is a city with no memory, a city that refuses to have a past. The barricades are gone and the blood is washed away. Only ghosts remain. It is not healthy to stay. The Mass Jury can take them away from here.

Thus a company is formed and drilled and marched. None want to march; the amateurs worry they'll look silly, the veterans fear they'll be sloppy. But Seye insists, and he is right to do so. Children wave, women smile, and it mends wounds in Mass Juror souls.

Then, a pale horse.

The first rank slams to a halt, and the second smashes into them from behind. The men who have not yet seen collapse into cursing and squabbling, forgetting themselves. And then they spot him and freeze also. Ahead, watching them, a lone rider, their good komandir. Varhan Sarbadgar in the flesh.

Even on horseback, he seems smaller than he ought to be. Those who were at Karogen remember him impassive on the battlements or wheeling about the fray. They wonder how he could be but a man's size. The street is silent and empty. There are no onlookers, no witnesses. The great charger approaches, halting before the standard-bearers. Sarbadgar gazes upwards and his face seems carved from stone.

On the left, the flaming orange standard of the Mass Jury, elegant and beautiful. On the right, a bloody eel on amber, hastily sewn onto a sheet to enlarge it. By weight, more bedding than Blood-Eel. The komandir lingers on the second flag for a moment, and Seye thinks he sees a flash of recognition in those flinty eyes. Do they still live in his past, too?

He can see it now, can't he? Sarbadgar is on that hill again, pushing the foaming horses forward. Rechobot should have fallen two hours ago, it was only a forward position, but the men there did not take the easy way out - though outnumbered they have not fled, though surrounded they have not immolated, they stand and fight and die by inches. And now the forces of the Mare withdraw and the Gushan riders press them harshly, seeking an opening to wreak havoc. Sarbadgar looks above the whirling smoke, white from the guns and black from the fires, and spots crimson and amber. There is still time - in his mind there is still time to relieve them, in his memory there is still a chance.

And the invaders are retreating but not all of them, not yet. Burning Jurors stumble out of the temple too pained to scream, gardeners rip down the walls of the stable and butcher the men found within. In the manor house, that most hellish of hell-spots, the smoke is too thick to tell red-jacket from blue. Bayonets are useless. Men who enter become beasts, killing with knives and feet and teeth and nails. And the Blood-Eel still waves above it all, flown from the highest window and riddled with holes. He is so close now. It is too late to save the men, but the memory - he can still save the memory.

A lone figure appears on the roof, his shoulders silvered, his hat outlandish. From birth, this man's far-flung empire has shaped him for this moment. Sarbadgar sees him, realizes the brash insanity he intends, and pulls up his horse to bark orders at the surrounding horsemen. The gardener Chorbaci is placed under a withering fire by Pale Horse carbines, but he dances through it all and lunges for the edge. Even as bullets slam into the woodwork, he hangs over the side of the roof by his feet and snatches the staff out of the window. The Gushans can only watch in horror as he slides down the roof and vanishes into the smoke.

It is over soon. There are survivors, but not many. All are wounded, few seem to notice. Dozens wander the estate, mute and numb. The carnage is horrific, hundreds of bodies scattered through the orchard and the buildings, the smell is...indescribable. Outside the house stands the old standard-bearer, his uniform soaked in blood, his ruined arm hanging by his side. He does not cry or whimper. He stares blankly at the empty staff that was left behind once the gardener ripped his prize free, unable to comprehend that he failed and still lives.

And the Komandir of Pale Horse looks upon this and wonders if the gardener knew. Did he realize, when he did that absurd and courageous deed, how much damage he was doing? Did he realize how this strange land would react to him absconding with that standard? No, he couldn't have. These men fought him to a standstill. He will respect them for the rest of his days. He wanted a token of their courage - something to hang on his mantle. And so he stole their standard. That is why he destroyed their souls and sentenced them to pseudo-obliteration. For a conversation starter.

Until his death, Seye will swear that somehow he knew Sarbadgar was thinking these things. That some angel placed him inside the komandir's head for the long seconds he spent staring. That divine grace interceded to let him know there was someone else who remembered.

Rechobot, the komandir says, you were there. It is not addressed to the standard itself, though he is looking at it. It has never left Nachivan. The teenager bearing the orange standard nods and then feels like a damn fool. He was only a child when the war started. He has hung on every word of the stories, but they aren't his to claim. Seye knows it is addressed to him. Sarbadgar's eyes drop down to the standard-bearer's face, and Seye tries to hold his intense gaze. It is impossible. He looks away, and the rider scans him intently.

That was fine work, Sarbadgar says. Seye's eyes snap back to the komandir, who gives him a little nod. The eyes are still intense, but warmer now - almost human. He waits a full second to return the nod, and then the Gushan is leaving, pushing his horse through the stunned body of Mass Jurors. They want to reach out and grab something, his leg or his tunic, his stirrup leathers or his horse. Something, anything to confirm he is real and present, not merely an image. But the old guard, the veterans, they are stock still. The new blood sees their example and maintains discipline as Mass Jurors ought.

Seye stares off into space, unmoving, until he is sure the rider is long gone. Then he allows himself to collapse. Olam Seye, who did not even cry at his own unanesthetized amputation, starts to bawl in the street like an infant.

This is the sway Varhan Sarbadgar holds over these men, the discarded veterans of the War of Behemoth and Leviathan. This is the depth of their affection for him. It is not enough to say they would die for him - if he asked them to die a hundred times over, they would gladly claw at their coffin lids. It is not enough to say he has given them a future - he has given these lost souls everything they were, everything they are, everything they could be.

By his words, he has redeemed their past glories, sanctified their memories. By his actions, he has given them a place in this world, a righteous pride. By his very person, he has promised that they shall never bear such indignities again. No more will courage be met with shame. No more will honor be persecuted. No more will the glorious dead be erased.

Blessed by the Patriarch Amalgast Santsarran, approved by his Grand Sanhedron, the ever-burning banner of Extinguishment flies across Vaspukaran. The old order that crushed the warriors of the Lord underfoot is collapsing. All that is needed is one more push.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.

Find below the players of the game, those who have unleashed the deluge of freedom, those who seek to brave its waves, and those who brace for its coming impact.

HaKhofshim

You. A miltiant pugilist sect founded in Yomri in Ralabarak Circle, exiled to Kutan as penitents, escaped to Nachivan at the eve of the Grand Sanhedron. Militant and radical, the stormers of Vikrag, heroes of the 30th of Tislev.

Guru Kendanaya Wendam, a Kokabi Juror deserter from Sufgar. Known for his humor, antics, disguises and charisma. Married to Kendanaya Dvorah. Called Wendam the Wall for his defense of Nachivan.

Rector Poranana Qanam, a rector and public defender of unknown origin who fought on the northwest frontier. Known for his fiery speeches. A companion and teacher to the Bride of the Ischak, Maryam Vashti of Metamoa.

Baba Tanda, a Maranine nun involved in radical politics for as long as any have known her, an unapologetic gunslinger. Marital status unknown. Known as Tanda the Terror for her defense of Nachivan.

Kendanaya Dvorah, Bradi daughter of a High Priest from Sarvadar and radical intellectual. Exiled to Zarnai and not Kutan. Married to Kendanaya Wendam. Known as Dvorah the Dreamer for her speeches on behalf of the Midnight Bull.

Hyanaki Akov, Nesri Juror defector of the Black Elephant Standard and new member of the sect. Joined in Xococo, leader of the Scourge of God. Does not speak on his family. Man of the Mass Jury.

Galavani Chana, Young Yomri orphan and adoptee of the sect, militant defender of women's rites and de facto leader of the Convent of the Gunpowder Eucharist. Stormer of Vikrag and Mushad, the Red Maiden.

Vadar Bukak, railway monk from Ralabarak and labour organizer, elected leader of the Ravs of Labour. Has a significant smoking pipe. Called Bukak the Builder for his fortification work during the storming of Vikrag.

Old Strong Belman, former criminal and huge martial artist, victor of the local Great Ghadi tournament and premier sect heavyweight.

Qelala Elena, a young Nachivan ferrywoman that joined the sect during the first months in Nachivan. Rower of the boat of Muri and Canassatego, that smuggled the crew of the Sakarog.

{Tandana Yoni}. An orphan found and a boy lost, on his way to the world to come.

Ma'On

A militant pugilist sect founded in Heldargast Circle, focused on developing a new method of martial arts and forming a strong urban pugilism centered on street gurus. Bulwark of the Western Navel, devastated by the 30th of Tislev.

Guru Bluff, also called No-Eyes Annihilator, legendary blind martial artist and pioneer of One-Tusk Art. Eternal gabbi of Ma'on and its foremost leader.

{Ulvarani Bharya}, also called Giant Grandfather, former cantor of Ma'on and co-founder of One-Tusk Art. Assassinated by explosives by Sword-Altar Standard on the 14th of Tislev 822.

Ohr

A disciplined and organized true confessor sect founded in Nachivan and emphasizers of the liberation of time of the transmuting toilers from the demiurgic class. The grand detonators of Karnak, popular among students and artisans.

Cantor Ghadan Nasir, a pedantic but well-learned low priest professor of moral economy who has risen to become the pre-eminent leader of the sect. Also editor of the Ain Soph, radical sectarian epistle.

Gabbi Eghuli Baharan, a former juror engineer and explosives expert, known for being incendiary and dangerous. Architect of the destruction of Karnak.

{Tyavanako Verkana}, deceased former Gabbi of Ohr. Known for her compassion and care for the disciples of the sect.

As Hahayiim

An Amalist federation of sects and temples formed from obscure sects and schismatics in Little Eykshir. Focused upon unveiling the mysteries of the root and the unity of God. Saviors of the Sanhedron and the Sailors Karaban.

Cantor Hadat Bhadan, moustachioed grandmaster of the Trance-Knights, an order of chivalrous warriors dedicated to Amalism. Returned from exile in the Guarded Domains to the west, co-writer of radical works on heathens and the godhead.

Hadat Sutri, Ashareian painter, writer, and artist from the Guarded Domains, major sect disciple and married to Bhadan. Met and married Bhadan in the Guarded Domains, co-writer of radical works on heathens and the godhead.

Makabam

A radical Iconoclastic sect of sects merged together into a single governing consistory of radical Iconoclasts in Nachivan. Stormers of Doshan Castle, liberators of Mushad Bridge. Popular among artisans and toiling mouflons.

Cantor Takarati Fordo, a focused and understated organizer who has welded together the major radical Iconoclastic sects of Nachivan. Rector and sacral priest, famed for his singing voice.

Esterkezy Oshana, force of nature and former exile to the Mare, returned in time to participate in the Battle of the 30th of Tislev. Accomplished marksman, spinster, and writer of radical works on women's theology and advocate for the deluge.

Kedesh

An ecumenical sect founded in Nesra that seeks to use reason as a mediating force by which to reveal the mystery of God and bring about the Moral Kingdom. Protectors of the Sanhedron and its most radical section. Popular among low priests generally.

Cantor Elder Massima Rachel, famed rector, orator and legal advocate for the downtrodden in Nesra, outspoken and focused elder of the Sanhedron, rumored oddity in her personal life, married once and widowed early.

Gabbi Elder Kardon Hadi, southern rector and Vadashta boy, strong advocate for reason, free silver and the abolition of serfdom, crippled by falling under his moa during the 30th of Tislev, now uses a self-crafted wheelchair.

Melecha

An infamous and once-banned High Confessor sect that seeks to restore a world of standard time and strengthen the power of the Sanhedeon and Patriarch. Revealed themselves during the Battle of 30th Tislev. Popular among the monastic priesthood.

Cantor Elder Abbess-Superior Tessel Tori, the hidden cantor of the sect and its guiding light for near to a decade. Elder of the Sanhedron, head of the educational Order Marina, Haviva in the Patriarchal Fellowship, and proud mother of five girls.

Gabbi Goradi Zhao, outlaw veteran juror who deserted his post during the War with the Mare after killing his komandir. Actually gabbi of Melecha and leader of the Clockwork Section, its secretive and well-supplied militant arm.

Yam Soph

Radical and novel Iconoclastic sect that wishes to sweep away the old order, destroy the tyranny of rent, 'assess the value of creation', and return to a simple, natural, and owning moral economy. Popular among radical Jurors.

Unlike a traditional sect, Yam Soph operates as an intellectual brotherhood of like-minded individuals, and has no cantor or gabbi.

Komandir Akabar Morsi. Elder of the Sanhedron, destroyer of Sword-Altar, Yovan of the Patriarchal Fellowship, komandir of White-Gold Standard. A dashing man of many personages, professional and mercenary.

Patriarch Amalgast & His Prophetic Fellowship

The Patriarch is the immortal ghost of the Prophet Amalgast, passing from elected High Priests for near to five hundred years. He is the defender and leader of the faith, and with victory in the Battle of Nachivan, the most powerful man in Vaspukaran. Around him is the resurrected 'fellowship', each corresponding to a figure near and dear to the first Amalgast. The Patriarch's seat of power is the Heavenly Mount, the most holy place in all of Vaspukaran.

Patriarch Amalgast the Fourtieth Santsarran, the holy ghost, prophet, and father of Vaspukaran. Guarantor of the Sanhedron and the Midnight Bull, obliterator of origination, restorer of piety and good humor to the eternal city. The strongest Patriarch in seventy-five years, he promises an age of miracles to those who follow in his wake.

Esther Abbess Bronkar Kenturah, wife of the Patriarch and his second only in office, beautiful and cunning. Schemer of the Heavenly Mount, mother to two sons and a daughter, known to sincerely love her husband and be loved in turn. Now one of the most powerful people in the country, and the Esther to his Amalgast.

Haviva Abbess-Superior Tessel Tori, high priest charged with improving the rites of women and children, revealed cantor of Melecha, elder of the Sanhedron, head of the Order Marina, and proud mother of five girls.

Boros Abbot-Superior Cretavami Vinderbalg, high priest charged with improving the state of the country, abbot-superior of the railway Order of the Golden Spike, exceedingly wealthy, engineer of the Tebet Hermitage.

Yovan Komandir Akabar Morsi, juror charged with finances and working with the juries, elder of the Sanhedron, destroyer of Sword-Altar and komandir of White-Gold Standard, a powerful man in a powerful position.

Yataryan Noyan Nobi Kobatai, Cheshvan charged with repairing the frontier and borders, noyan of the Patriarchal mothguard, formerly exiled from Nahad Chesh for criminality, hero of the 30th of Tislev with his Cheshvan charge.

Urmah Elder-Captain Edagar Teoch, Eykanani charged with reforming the Autocephalates, veteran of the War with the Mare, accomplished merchant captain, hero of the 30th of Tislev for the stand of Bambisnan's Revenge.

Elder Pontiff-Prelate Tobara Jegersan, charged with reforming Vaspukaran's laws, elder of the Sanhedron, pontiff-prelate of the Yeshiva Kamilvari, the foremost legal school in Uraran, the great city of the north.

Fourth Grand Sanhedron

The Fourth Grand Sanhedron is an assemblage of the four chambers (High Priests, Jurors, Low Priests & Mouflons), the autocephalates, and the missions, called from across the country by the Patriarch Santsarran on the 1st of Alul, 822. It is the premier assembly in Vaspukaran, and now, after the Midnight Bull, also the foremost legal authority. The Grand Sanhedron sits in the Muvad Mekdash, a grand spire-temple in Nachivan.

Grand Sanhedron

Nasi Pontiff-Prelate Amalgani Samangan, High Priest Kusri speaker of the Sanhedron, pontiff-prelate of the Yeshiva Hastata, aged scholar-adventurer, discoverer of the civilization of Baalon, acerbic and famed popular historian.

Elder Verata Maya, comic and unexpected elder of the Sanhedron, representing southeast Tzadar. Pro-merchant and a popular writer of amusing religious texts. Was saved by Tata Targon and his Trousiers during the Battle for Nachivan.

Elder-Hime Shushan Hayasaka, capable princess of Kusro and its elder-representative in the Fourth Grand Sanhedron. Leader of the reformers among the Autocephalates, she is ultimately loyal to the Kusri Chrysanthemum Union.

Varhan Sarbadgar (Mass Jury), Kardon Hadi (Kedesh), Massima Rachel (Kedesh), Buman Burs (Sorrowful Circles & Grand Jury), Tobara Jegersan (Prophetic Fellowship), Akabar Morsi (Prophetic Fellowship & Yam Soph), Tessel Tori (Melecha & Prophetic Fellowship) and Edagar Teoch (Prophetic Fellowship) are all elders of the Sanhedron, but have their full description elsewhere.

Lower Sanhedrons

As per the Midnight Bull, every circle must form a Lower Sanhedron with 101 seats, the 101st being for a Nasi elected from their number. The Lower Sanhedrons replicate the Grand Sanhedron in form, with four chambers, and have varying authority, sometimes totally replacing synods and sometimes existing awkwardly in tandem with them.

Tepe Nasi Ifelayo Iles, Ataman of the Shiroso Verge Juror Palatine and leader of the Tepe Sanhedron. The Ataman couped and arrested the circle synod and proclaimed a Lower Sanhedron upon hearing the news from Nachivan from the 30th of Tislev.

Eternal City of Nachivan

The city of Nachivan is the largest and wealthiest in all of Vaspukaran, boasting close to 4 million souls. It is also now the the epicenter of the deluge, rising from the dread Battle of Nachivan on the 30th of Tislev to revival as the center of Patriarchal Power and now also the center of new, Sanhedral power. Nachivan's government is divided into the new elected Communion of Nachivan, the Patriarchally administered Preceptories, the High Priest Exarchates, Tata Targon's territory, and the All-Alangan assembly of the Sailors Karaban.

Exarch Tata Targon, also called the Glutton for the Good and the Padisash of Poverty, is ruler of the east bank by virtue of his gumption and extensive criminal connections. A magnate of machine parts, Tata Targon, or father Targon, rules the eastern city through networks of patronage and community support that all ultimately owe loyalty to him.

Ragata Habila, a radical aging Eykanani exile, pirate-matriarch and shipping magnate running a co-op shipping company along the central Hadit. Financed the founding of many sects in the leadup to the Grand Sanhedron. Was away from Nachivan at the time of the 30th of Tislev and is now returning. Sympathies for Yam Soph.

Yeladada Delada, matriarch of the Yeladada merchant clan, some of the most proficient smugglers of contraband and banned goods, not to mention guns, in Nachivan. Have a strong working relationship with HaKhofshim.

Gassalith Leyla, legate-ambassador of the Mare to Vaspukaran and wife of the state. Lives within the fortified Mare Embassy inside the Legation Quarter, and prefers a conciliatory relationship with the Patriarchate. Actual Mare name is Leyla Gassalith, but has reversed surname order to reduce confusion with Patriarchal dignitaries.

Hari Rashman, Mare adventurer, soldier, scoundrel, and debtor in far above his paygrade. Nominally serving as a guard of Gassalith Leyla and in reality undertaker for her covert dirty work in Illuminated Nachivan and beyond.

Mass Jury of Vaspukaran

The Mass Jury of Vaspukaran, founded in the drama of the 30th of Tislev by Varhan Sarbadgar, is an ecumenical militia formed by defenders of the city and later expanded to cover any areas where the local juries had been inimical to the common peace of Vaspukaran or obliterated. A nascent and undefined institution, the Mass Jury is sworn to the Sanhedron and receives funding from its budgets.

Elder-Komandir Varhan Sarbadgar, Gushan hero of the Sanhedron, hero of Karogen Academy, hero of Mushad Bridge, founder of the Mass Jury, called Mahdi by the witches of Vaspukaran, formerly komandir of the Pale Horse Standard and after his efforts in the 30th of Tislev elected as first komandir of the Mass Jury.

Hyanaki Akov, soldier of the Mass Jury, leader of the Scourge of God, and disciple of HaKhofshim.

Hadat Bhadan, soldier of the Mass Jury, grandmaster of the Trance-Knights, and disciple of As Hahayiim.

Pelagic Order Karaban

Originally purposed as an order policing Vaspukaran's waterways and later evolving into a quasi-Patriarchal navy, the Holy Order Karaban failed disastrously during the War with the Mare in 817 AA. In the wake of the drama of 30 Tislev in Nachivan which involved naval combat between ships of the Order, the Sailors of Alangan, the island bequethed to the order beside the city, declared the Alangan Aluv sailors' council and took direct control of the island.

Grandmaster-Abbott 'Rough and Ready' Regura Kook, former captain of the Sakarog, hero of the War against the Mare, and now hero of the Battle of Nachivan, steering the Sakarog to victory against the Dread Tagami and Yugarana and securing the Hadit waterway. Elected by the Alangun Aluv, Kook must now somehow reform the disaster of the Patriarchal navy.

Chief 'Cannons' Canassatego, Azamite chief and hero of the War with the Mare, portaged alongside 'Fire Friar' Muri over the Ashamarka Highlands and ambushed a Mare fleet with torpedo canoes later into the war. Torpedoed the Dread Tagami during the 30th of Tislev.

'Fire Friar' Muri, neurotic Hospodari naval captain and commander, portaged along Chief Canassatego over the Ashamarka Highlands and torpedoed the Dread Tagami during the 30th of Tislev. Remaining in Nachivan with the chief to work with Kook and Urmah Teoch on naval reform.

{Grandmaster Trevagon}, former grandmaster of the Order Karaban, killed on the 30th of Tislev for disgracing his order by siding with the Originators and the Unspeakable Assembly formerly known as the Great Synod. Prioritized profit over the pride of the fleet.

Sorrowful Circles

Created by way of a secret bull agreed to by the Patriarch in the most desperate hours following the massacres of 14 Tislev, the Sorrowful Circles are effectively High Ataman Buman Burs' personal fief. Having betrayed and then slaughtered the Synods of Sufgar, Alanar and the Great Synod, Burs has simultaneously struck what seems to be a death blow against origination and enriched himself and the Banner Steedeater, his vast host of poor and fanatically devoted jurors.

Guardian Buman Burs, ambitious, charismatic, tall, broad-chested Cheshvan Ataman of Ramayan and undisputed Guardian of the West, final destroyer of the Originators and ruler of a new self-made dominion. Also commands Steedeater Banner and is an elder of the Sanhedron.

The Nameless One, formerly the obliterated archdeacon known as Gendelgar Dabami, now a tormented soul that knows no peace, a scapegoat for origination branded with a mark upon his forehead and ritually humiliated to absolve the west of its sins.

The Grand Jury

Founded by the Patriarch Amalgast and the first Ataman, Yovan, the Grand Jury was originally a holy order devoted to protecting Vaspukaran but now prefers mostly to bleed it dry. Wildly internally divided, the Grand Jury represents a whole chamber of the Sanhedron and is one of its most important social classes. Jurors are at once frontier guardsmen, professional soldiers, secret police, merchants, bankers, industrialists, toilers, and tillers, and maintain privileges including, until now, non-appeal of decisions beyond their high juries and significant tax privileges.

High Atamans

The High Atamans are the foremost legal and military authorities in Juror life, but their power has been eroded significantly by decades of neglect, military defeat, and recent events. There are five geographically-restricted High Juries, each with a High Ataman elected by constituent officers of the lower juries. The High Jury is the final Juror authority in the areas it commands.

High Ataman of Yelisan Milanovica Vorje [North]. Schismatic, devout Amalist, and farmer, Vorje has a tepid disposition towards major social change but supported the collapse of Hospodari Rite's orthodox monopoly on priestly power and is a strong adherent to the words of Magarami Lazar, famous Amalist preacher and fireband.

High Ataman of Ramayan, Buman Burs [Northwest]. Wildly ambitious Cheshvan juror elected on the basis of appeal to the poorer jurors of the northwest, has recently won himself a fief in Sufgar and Alanar and may be under pressure to resign from his post as High Ataman, especially with his opposition to pogroms in Gushanaram and Hamayan.

High Ataman of Kedarkan Yusmani Feroqi. From Kular, banker and Morsi ally drawn from among the Atamans of the central juries. Commerce-oriented, supportive of Patriarchal initiatives, and installed following the coup and arrest of the prior High Ataman on the basis of inaction. Kedarkan has thus effectively been neutralized as an opposition to the Patriarch.

High Ataman of Dvarim (Vacant) [East]. The position was formerly held by High Ataman Gorgamam, who oversaw the despoiling of Kutan by way of its special debt administration as well as the defeat of Vaspukaran in the War with the Mare. His shelling of mutineers in Dvarim sparked the Nullification Crisis and led to his resignation.

High Ataman of Barabanan Kanarab Ajay [South]. Conservative and from a priestly family, Ajay works in lockstep with the archdeacons of the major southron synodic circles both in suppressing oblate serfs and maintaing the power of the plantation and cash crop system which has made the region so wealthy even in the midst of recession.

Angelic Banners

Garrisoning the four missions and the major frontiers of Vaspukaran, the angelic banners are significant standing armies have their own internal culture, traditions and society, and do not take kindly to orders even from the High Atamans. Their training and solidarity is high, but their equipment is poorer than in the interior juries.

Ataman Ahav of Simurgh Banner [Nahad Chesh]. Cheshvan-Vasp lineage, elected following war with the Coven. Known to be prideful and acerbic and defensive of the honor of the Simurgh Banner.

Ataman Tesselin of Barabas Banner [Tunturus]. Little information is available on this banner, far in the north.

Ataman Delan of Khyrus Banner [Kutan]. From family of settlers in Kutan. Brutal in suppressing resistance to tax measures.

Ataman Hutul of Lhazaran Banner [Nesra]. Supporter of the Nullifier Juries and the Nesra Sanhedron, newly elected after the death of the last three Atamans of the banner during the War with the Mare.

Ataman Ingwe of Rehabam Banner [Barban]. Third Ataman of his lineage. Broadly supportive of Sanhedron.

Ataman Hohannes of Gadeon Banner [Zarnai]. Little information is available on this banner, high in the mountains.

Ataman Obasy of Tzargon Banner [Danaan]. Risen through the ranks from the local city-states. Concerned about the Mare.

Abbies Monopolistic

Formed to manage the Juror monopolies on the production of iron, salt, and coal in Vaspukaran, and now becoming the largest financial institutions in the country, far and away more powerful than any individual jury besides the Angelic Banners and High Atamans. They tend to regionally operate, having become entirely disconnected from their original purpose as they sell licenses to exploit their monopolized goods freely to other juries and priests and collect rent from the licenses to put into investment.

The Salt Abbey. Operates mostly in the east and south, especially focused on investing into mechanized agriculture and involving itself within the massive web of debt that exists within Vaspukaran, especially low-level lenders and debt traps for minyan communions. Headquarters in Dvarim, with significant investments into Kutan and Danaan.

The Iron Abbey. Operates mostly in the center and west, prioritizes railways and infrastructure projects, and has made itself one of the largest creditors to the Patriarchate, has the largest gold reserve in the country outside of the priestly vaults. Headquarters in Kedarkan. Ataman Feroqi of Kedarkan was a banker-abbot of this institution.

The Coal Abbey. Operates mostly in the center and north, prioritizes verticial integration of heavy industry and extraction from mmines. The least focused on debt manipulation, most of its credit is extended to industrial juries and priests and the financing of major new industrial concerns across Vaspukaran. Headquarters in Uraran.

The Synodic Circles

Owing their lineages to the synods first founded by Sufgan, the synodic circles are the preserve of the High Priests and have an institutional history more than a millenium old, and were until recently the main legal authority in the country, with an unbroken legal chain from the lowly proctor all the way to the Archdeacons of the Great Synod. However, recent events have put them on the defensive, with the overthrowing of many of their most ancient synods and the restricting of others by new Sanhedrons. They are among the most likely to despise the new order, and most eager to oppose it, save where they can find ways to accomodate themselves.

Where a month ago there were sixty-two synodic circles, now only 55 remain.

The Sanhedron-granted Rites

The four Grand Sanhedrons have expanded and reinforced the rites of specific circles in relation to other circles and the Patriarch.

Folk Rite, granted by the First Grand Sanhedron, grants legal protections to Mouflons from unjust prosecution, puts their Minyan communions on legal footing equal to local priests, grants them the rite to bear arms, reduces the tax burden on mouflons, and bars serfdom.

Tranquil Rite, derived by the Great Synod from the First Grand Sanhedron, grants the southern synodic circles oblate serfdom, expands protections for witches in these circles, and grants them greater self-government in taxation, law and customs to encourage profitable estates and the cultivation of a strong high priesthood.

Vernacular Rites are specific rites created by the Second Grand Sanhedron which grant some specifically enumerated circle or number of circles privileges and rites unique to them. In some cases this replaced already agreed-upon patchwork privileges, while in others it created new rites.

Hospodari Rite made allowances to syncretism, northern self-government and traditional folk belief while explicitly barring Amalists from holding high office.

Kazar Rite confirmed the kongsi canton system by which religious commercial co-operatives participated and voted as corporate orders in public life, and integrated merchants into the priesthood.

Perusian Rite affirmed the 'conquerer's caste', preserving a hierarchy of castes of blood and ancestry that crushed Gushans and made witches serfs and servants.

And some circles (Sarvadar, Titarkulan [now abolished], Tiktaran and Besim Besin) also maintain their own Minor Rites, with some specific obscure allowances for that circle specifically.

The Missions

The Patriarchal Missions are regions of the country theoretically in the process of being converted but in actuality massive self-governing domains ruled by a Vicar-Superior and the Vicars General. Wildly divergent in both culture and government, and filled with a significant number of both heterodox and syncretic versions of the Amalgastene Creed and 'heathen faiths', the missions are a huge and mostly underdeveloped area of Vaspukaran, with its lowest rates of literacy and least integration into the system. They hold to significant self-government in both law and military control, and the banners stationed here often answer more to the Vicar-Superior than their theoretical High Ataman.

Mission of Kutan, in the bracing and glacial-lake peppered Ashamarka highlands, the oldest mission in Vaspukaran and its most integrated. Under a widely despised special debt administration after the Vicar-Superior was couped due to railroad-related bankruptcy by the High Jury of Dvarim. Under the iron grip of Vicar-Superior Ardizman. The sect was exiled here, and met both the indigenous mummy-speaker Wani Capac and Vicar Wari Tiwakaru, who is clearly plotting against the Vicar-Superior, during their escape.

Mission of Tunturus, in the freezing north, beyond the reaches of the Tiran-Peshutun. Famed for the pelts of its bears and the spiced beaver, a delicacy across Vaspukaran. Siida assemblies of the mostly nomadic reindeer herders often clash with Hospodardi settlers, and the treaties which maintain the peace are tenunous.

Mission of Zarnai, at the roof of the world, ringing the huge Shevan Sea. Known for its mines of silver, its isolation, and its grandeur, Zarnai was once under the rule of the Negusa Vaspat, a great king who ruled over a vast kinship bureaucracy and claimed lineage from Amalgast despite the distance. The Mission has incorporated much of that iconography, and bureaucracy.

Mission of Danaan, at the southern extreme, at the turn of the continent. Known for its rubber, palm-oil, fertile soil, trading culture, and fractious city-states, Danaan was conquered by the Infallible Patriarchs and the cities incorporated into a confederacy managed by the Vicar-Superior. It is a huge hub of global trade, especially the port of Zoan, a burgeoning entrepot.

The Autocephalates

The Autocephalates, modeled on the basis of the Melik of Usral's special privileges to worship his own faith, and then transformed into a general principle by the Second Patriarchate, are a unique series of self-governing regions in communion with the Patriarch. Governed by the Autocephalous Treaties, these Autocephalies vary massively in size, wealth, and importance, from the distant and thinly populated Karman in the far northwest to the huge Autocephaly of Kusro, the single largest administrative unit in all of Vaspukaran.

Karman, in the hilly and mountainous realm between steppe, boreal forest, and tundra, is one of the last refuges of the mammoth south of the great barrier mountains in Camad. Following a creative interpretation of transmigration, Karman is ruled by Hamidamis, who claim to have portions of the soul of Hami, the original unifier of the Shamanic confederacy of kinship clans that make up the territory. Karman mostly interacts with the rest of Vaspukaran through the trade of ivory, beads, and furs.

Azam, in the temperate rainforest east of the Hospodari circles, is the great place of the longhouse and the totem pole. Created by the union of two warring peoples, Azam is a confederacy of nations that practices the potlach gift system to maintain the peace. Known for their naval and trading process, Azam is also slowly being integrated into Vaspukaran's money economy thanks to the construction of railroads and the significant timber industry, which is disrupting its traditions.

Kusro, in the rainy limestone karst plain of the northeast, is defined by the River Mu and its huge and plentiful forests. A romantic and beautiful country, Kusro is ruled by a mandated political marriage between the Prince of Flowers, the most powerful of the powerful aristocratic clans of the country and the Avatar, reincarnating form of the All-Mother on the earth. New Avatars are chosen by way of priestess-oracles scouring the country for the newest incarnation, whereupon they are married to the Prince of Flowers. Humiliated by the War with the Mare, and with many demanding reform and modernization and blaming the clans for holding it back, Kusro stands at the brink.

Eykal, in the poor soils and fine harbours of the jagged coast north of the estuary of the Hadit, produces Vaspukaran's greatest sailors. Ruled by the galleyhouse assembly, a confederacy of what were once pirate captains, Eykal's vicious merchant republic is as cutthroat as it is incapable of uniting against foreign threats. Increasingly pressured by the Kazars to the north, the Mare which destroyed its navy, and with traditional religion centered upon the Serpent-Leviathan and the monsters of the deep declining in favor of Vasp faiths, the basis for Eykanani society is increasingly coming apart.

Usral, in the center of Vaspukaran, defined to the south by the high inner mountains and the north by the Hadit, is old and proud. Claiming lineage to the copper merchant Rip Tang Goo who was struck by lightning and saw it as a challenge from God, Usral is ruled by a line of Stormcrowns boasting direct lineage to Goo, even if the geneology has sometimes been exceedingly suspect. However, with Juror and Priestly interests massively investing into Usral, and the Stormcrown Barakaran Rab uninterested in doing anything to stop them, Usral is coming apart. Its succession is riven between the newly legitimized baseborn Prince Sen, who calls himself Santson in honor of the Patriarch who did it, and the trueborn Prince Narem, whose attempts to impress the Patriarch only embarassed him. Prince Sen is supported by Amalists, veterans, and the lesser Ishkur nobility, while the greater Ishkurs and the traditional priesthood back Narem. Rab himself is mostly content to stay with his concubines and partly wildly as he gains corpulence and loses senses.

Hayabiru, in the south-center of Vaspukaran, is the last and most successful successor to the pre-Patriarchal kingdoms of the Monadai and Mendavai. Fertile and wealthy, Hayabiru is a 'perfect priestly paradise' where a narrow hereditary priesthood embracing a syncretic and legalistic version of the Amalgastene Creed, ruled by a High Calligrapher chosen on the basis of competitions of the art, rules over a huge serf majority. Supporting the calligraphers of the priesthood are caste-warriors who control the countryside, many of whom are increasingly given over to fanatical and strange forms of syncretism.

Mangar, in the far southwest of Vaspukaran, is a desert merchant confederacy in steep decline, formerly the gateway to the west. As the sea route expanded by the Mare has become far more important, the mountainous land route has collapsed, and with it the caravanseries and oasis towns which Mangar has traditionally relied on. Now dependent on financial support from the Patriarch and protection from the ambitious Shehu of Gontagora, Mangar is a place of dust, only recently improving thanks to the discovery of certain precious minerals and the connection of a railway. Mangar worships the Simurgh directly, and Vasp scholars have acknowledged its form of worship has more in common with Sufgan's than their own.

Nahad Chesh

Forged from the conquest of the Western Gushans, who split off from the Gushan Rohirrate before the latter's conquest, Nahad Chesh is the sole domain of the Cheshvans. Ruled by a Cham with the blood of Yataryn and elected from among the sich clans of the steppe, Nahad Chesh is a land of its own, extremely distant from Nachivan and operating on its own rules. Like Mangar, Nahad Chesh is in economic decline, and must fight for the frontier with the Great Western Coven. Worshipping Amalgast and the Ravs, the Cheshvans incorporate old folk beliefs of the sky and a tripartite division of the cosmos, as well as Amalism and Yuhwaism, both of which have made significant headroads in this border region. Banditry and inter-clan warfare is rife, as is resistance to expansions of central control.

Cham Hemagai is the ancient and stalwart Cham of the Cheshvans. He has ruled over them for near to a half-century, has outlived many of his sons, and is now nearing true senility. Many Cheshvans fear the coming death of the old stallion, for what it may unleash.

Metamoa

A pugilist-influenced mouflon uprising centered on the Ischak plateau in reaction to the revocation of folk rite by the Ischak Synod. In the aftermath of 30 Tislev, virtually ascendent, having ejected the priestly ruling class entirely from their territory.

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Reaper Maryam Vashti, a young but charismatic mouflon leader acclaimed as Bride of the Ischak and foremost speaker and planner of the rebellion, Vashti has been likened to a prophet or holy leader by the people of the Ischak to which she owes her place.
Rector Qanam Poranana Qanam, Vashti's teacher and companion, a sage of HaKhofshim and an accomplished military veteran of war in the northwest. Believes Vashti to potentially be a true prophet of God, and is attempting to sway her to HaKhofshim's ways.

Nullifier Juries

A disorganized protest movement by juries, mostly self-ruling palatine, resisting the authority of the High Jury of Dvarim and claiming suzerainty to another authority such as the Patriarch directly, or a local synodic circle or sanhedron. Instigated by a growing agreement among many Jurors that the High Atamans are illegitimate and should be, if not abolished, then severely curtailed.

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Ataman Hutul of Lhazaran has sworn the entirety of Lhazaran Banner to nullifcation and declared his loyalty is to the Sanhedron of Nesra first and foremost.

Originator Remnant

A movement to return to what its proponents saw as the true and fundamental traditions of Vaspukaran by shutting down the Sanhedron, revoking the results of the three prior, and creating a new covenant for the country based only on the most original and originating documents. Representing the most orthodox and dogmatic elements of the old order, the originators alienated everyone, including potential allies, by their actions. Utterly and completely destroyed save for a few small remnants in Sufgar in the month after the 30th of Tislev, the Originators inadverdantly have massively accelerated the pace of change in Vaspukaran in their attempt to forestall it.

A small remnant remains in the Lekgolo flesh-eating tree thickets in the extreme west of Sufgar, but it remains to be seen if they shall even survive a season in the harsh expanse.

Komandir Verto, komandir of the Sufgari Gore-Mastodon Standard, participated in the Bloody Day of the 30th of Tislev, obliterated by the order of Patriarch Santsarran. Still at large, having disappeared following the flight west from Nachivan.

{Archdeacon Beselsevi}, Archdeacon of the Great Synod and now largely acknowledged as the architect and major founder of Origination as a movement. Killed by Steedeater in the Massacre of Mushad Palace in Harasdad.

{Archdeacon Dabami}, Elder of the Sanhedron, formerly a leader of the anti-reform Conformer faction of the body, and Sufgar Archdeacon. Killed in spirit by High Ataman Burs after the massacre of Mushad Palace in Harasdad

{Archdeacon Revano}, Archdeacon of Sufgar, friend of Archdeacon Dabami, author of a series of histories affirming Harasdad as the oldest city in Vaspukaran. Killed by Steedeater in the Massacre of Mushad Palace in Harasdad.

{Komandir Reganan}, komandir of the infamous Nachivan Sword-Altar Standard, major planner and instigator of both the 14th of Tislev Massacres and the Bloody Day of Nachivan. Killed by White-Gold Standard when Tzinhas Barrack was shelled to rubble on the 30th of Tislev.

{Komandir Gharan}, komandir of Opabinia Standard, participant in the Bloody Day and Slaughterer of Hendar. Sniped by a White-Gold Standard sharpshooter on the 30th of Tislev.

{Komandir Shenaram}, komandir of Jaekelopterus Standard, participant in the Bloody Day and responsible for giving the order for the Massacre of the Ma'On Mekdash. Killed by Metamoa raiders during an ambush near Tendavara fleeing west.

The war with the Mare has showed the obsolescence of the Jury system by exposing its inability to defend the state. The most obvious failing was a matter of equipage that had too many of our Jurors armed with ancient muzzle-loading rifles, or even bows and spears, against the modern rifles and breach-loading artillery of the Gardner Corps. And then all too many of the Jurors called up to the Lhazaran Banner and the standards which participated in the war had not been trained or exercised, and so were defective in discipline and martial readiness. There were notable exceptions such as the White-Gold Standard, whose Komandir had personally invested in arming his Jurors and maintaining their keen discipline. But such komandirs were few and far between, with the balance made up of incompetents or upjumped bankers and merchants forced to fight a war without the proper preparation, martial training, or education in modern warfare.

To this the bane of an absence of unified command must be noted. The Mare Gardner Corps operates under a designated officer in charge of a particular campaign, with full control over all available assets. No such figure was appointed by the Patriarch, which led to squabbling between the komandirs and Atamans involved in the war. Even the White-Gold Standard achieved its victories in the war by ignoring directives and pleas from standards of the Lhazarene Banner and cooperating with other komandirs on an ad-hoc basis. But most komandirs did not display notable initiative or a willingness to take risks, and felt justified in picking among the most cautious and conservative of the many paths before them. In doing so they prioritized the safety of their Standards, one might say, their investments, over victory for the Patriarchate. The standards that held fast while others around them withdrew provoked the spectacle of Immolation so frequently as to astonish our foes.

This failure was not the result of a lack of individual leadership, or defects in one area or another, or due to a lack of funds to purchase modern weapons. It was a failure of the entire Jury system. The roots lay in the independence of the Banners and High Juries, the wont of standardization in the training and equipment of our Jurors, the uneven state of military education, and the degradation of the martial spirit as Jurors have become more focused on trade and industry than on waging war. In a sense the failure is a failure of greed and self-interest triumphing over the warrior spirit, though the stupidity of mass Immolation warns that it cannot be rectified merely by reifying the simplest virtues of a Juror. Rather what it means to be a Juror must be rethought, and above all the defense of the nation must be conceived of as a duty of all of its subjects and not the preserve of a small privileged elite whose very privileges encourage them to neglect that duty.

The Mass Jury of Nachivan represents a precious opportunity to reform the entire Jury system by presenting a new model of army to the nation. Status as a Juror of the Mass Jury is linked to deeds and action, to serving in arms, and is not a hereditary possession to be hoarded even by the fourth or fifth generation that has never held a rifle in hands. It possesses no factories, no banks, no mines, no trading companies to distract it from the business of war. And starting from scratch it may be armed and trained and organized to wage a modern war, with all of the lessons learned from our late humiliating defeat taken heed of and implemented immediately. Accordingly I petition the Sanhedron for the following measures, so as to bring the Mass Jury in better alignment with the needs of the state and for the perfection of the defense of the faith;

That the Mass Jury as a whole shall be united under a single commander, including all Mass Juries later established in other parts of the country. The commander of the Mass Jury should retain a staff of officers tasked with taking charge of the planning and execution of campaigns, making use of the authority of the commander to insure that all Mass Jury units committed to a given war fight as a unified force.

That the Mass Jury be organized into Banners of 20000 Jurors each, further divided into four infantry Standards of 4000 Jurors with a Cavalry Standard and Artillery Standard to make up the balance. Such a force will be capable of acting independently as needed, while the uniformity of organization and size insures that each unit is equally capable as any other similar unit.

That the elected officers of the Mass Jury be required to attend specialized military training to prepare them for leadership. A system of military academies should be expanded to this end, serving not one Banner or Standard but rather the Mass Jury as a whole.

That the Standards of the Mass Jury should be equipped to a unified standard, with a Quartermaster-General and staff established to take responsibility for supply of Jurors out of the hands of individual komandirs and instead place it with the Mass Jury as a whole. If every infantry Juror has the same rifle it becomes far easier to supply these units and again insures the uniformity of capability desired for the new model of army.

That Immolation be forbidden to the Standards of the Mass Jury. Too many officers in the late War wasted the lives of their men in futile and pointless frontal attacks against overwhelming strength. Units that might have withdrawn to reinforce a defensive line further back instead immolated out of some perceived disgrace to their Standard and made the advances of the Gardner Corps too easy. Self-sacrifice is a key virtue of the warrior, but it must be tempered with a sense of responsibility to the state that the warrior guards.

That a requirement of training be established for all inactive or reserve Jurors of the Mass Jury, to require that they remain up to date with the drill and physical requirements of war-fighting. We cannot afford a caste of so-called Jurors who have spent their lives growing wheat or toiling in a factory being dragooned up into a Standard only when it is to be plunged into deadly combat.

I believe all these proposals to be common-sensical, well supported by our lamentable experiences in the war with the Mare, and if implemented will greatly improve the defense of the state. This new model of army will serve as a vanguard of the New Order of our beloved Patriarch and can strike telling blows against any heretics or foreigners who dare threaten the peace and tranquility of Vaspukaran. Furthermore the development of the Mass Jury along these lines will unite together all the estates of our glorious nation by the common experience of service. The example of an ecumenical order on the scale of the Mass Jury, working together with discipline and precision, will inspire the new Age of Miracles in a concrete fashion of bringing together the Sects and Rites into a singular unified purpose. The blasphemy of the Sword-Altar Standard and of the Sufgar Banner would never happen again if any such depraved plotters faced a singular instrument of the national will and Patriarch's authority.

As such these measures are not merely practical and desirable, but required to meet the promise and threats of the dawning day.

With the greatest humility, and due acknowledgement to the service of Jurors past and future, I commit these thoughts to the consideration of the Sanhedron.

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In the days after 30 Tislev one retired Starshy Idly Minoji circulated around a set of recommendations for the organization of the Mass Jury. They were drawn from a previous work by Minoji on the defeat of the Lhazarene Banner in the war against the Mare, and collected into a petition form here identified as the Proposal for a New Model of Army. A stripped down version of the proposal was circulated in pamphlet form to members of the Jury and on the Temple Mount among Confession-sympathetic monastic priests.