The Rising Star | Stories from Aretia

This will be a thread for stories from Aretia, mostly Aretian War of Independence for now. It will be a more A1-0 or Aurora character driven, narrative RP that isn’t common in Pacifica. I will write stuff from time to time if you wanna read it.

Trigger warning! There will be extremist ideologies, war crimes, people who aren’t by any measure good and most likely gore. If you have issues with things like that, don’t read.

There will not be stories in this post, but there will be historical context. So, lets get started.

13.8 billion years ago the universe was created. And a few thousand years ago the ancestors of modern Aretians, Calydonians and Sclavinians arrived from the Mediterranean and Central Bareland. Over the years there existed many different petty kingdoms, principalities, city states and many other entities. By the 13th century AD the two most powerful states were the Kingdom of Aretia and Kingdom of Calydon.

At that time Tylianism, the primary religion within Aretia, was very different. Though it was still mostly monotheistic, it was very decentralized and incorporated many regional myths, spirits, lesser gods and mystical practices which today would be considered blasphemous. That is when a young woman started giving sermons in Farsala.

Celestina, today known better as the Prophet, started out as a member of a very strict cult of Tyl, calling for absolute monotheism, rejection of material possesions and pacifism. Though she has made a break with this cult, it still shaped the faith she would create. Her critisism of her times opressive elites, poor economic conditions and deteriorating faith would draw in followers, allowing her to overthrow Farsala and begin the First Asteripole (holy war), which lasted in between 1235 and 1244 AD.

A pivotal moment of the war happened in 1243 AD, when Celestina was captured and set to be crucified in Sidon. But when she was being dragged onto the arena, the balcony holding the leaders opposing her revolt collapsed, killing them all. The event was interpreted as a message from Tyl, confirming Celestina as his one and only Prophet. Following that event, almost all leaders in Aretia sided with her reformist movement, ending the war. 1243 is also considered the first year of the Aretian calendar.

Almost the entire area that comprises modern Aretia, excluding most northern areas, was unified under the Aretian Empire and its first Emperor, Karolis Solar. The Prophet would become the first Supreme Archon, the leader of the unified and structured Tylian Church.

In the early 17th century the Empire would experience a catastrophic civil war caused by a power struggle between the Emperor and Supreme Archon as well as a sucession crisis in Calydon. At the same time the Plymon tribes, popilated the independent northetnmost mountains of modern Aretia experienced a period of unity and modernization, forming the Plymon Confederation.

In 1624 the Confederation would attack Aretia and achieve victory by 1629, seizing all of Calydon and Sclavinia (northern third of Aretia). What remained of the Empire would fracture and become tributaries of the Confederation. Directly annexed territories would have to contend with centuries of Plymon resettlement, oppression and heavy, genocidal reprisals after attempts at rebellion.

After an attempted rebellion by the tributary states in 1878 they would be fully annexed as well and the Confederation was reformed into the Plymon Empire. In order to occupy all of Aretia, it woukd have to rely heavily on the military, leading to most territories outside the core Plymon lands coming under the rule of warlords.

By the coming of the 20th century the new military elite would have almost total control of the state and grow close to frankist ideology. As eruption of the Great War would disrupt trade and raise fears about the Empire entering the war, a series of strikes in Aretian ports would change into a country-wide revolt in 1951.

By 1955 the entirety of Aretia would be liberated and the Aretian Empire restored. Fighting ended two years later, as it would take until 1957 to conquer all Plymon-held territories. All Plymon outside their mountainous holdouts were resettled or killed over the course of the war, killing between 80% and 95% of their population. What remains is today scaterred in small villages in northernmost Aretia and are considered one of the largest stateless peoples in Pacifica (Aretia doesn’t recognize them as citizens).

Due to the volume of war crimes commited during the war, international pressure was mounting on Aretia. The government decided to blame and punish the most radical, typically frankist, rebel group, such as the Sclavinian Red Army or the Sons of Calydon. The Sons of Calydon in particular gained a lot of notoriety as one of the largest rebel groups. They controlled all of Calydon, which suffered the worst of Plymon oppression (the city of Calydon was completely levelled before the war). They attempted to declare Calydonian independence, starting the Calydonian Bush War. The Sons of Calydon qujckly lost most of their popular support and countinued a losing guerilla campaign for years until being declardd defeated in 1966.

The country remained a royal dictatorship until 1971 when the first post-inependence Emperor died. The country then transitioned to a constitutional monarchy with the Emperor being mostly a figurehead. This also ended a wave of fanatical traditionalism and attempts at a “return to the past”, bring modern political and ideological concepts to Aretia. Through the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s becoming a middling/kinda strong power in Pacifica.

That was longer than I expected, but at least now I got it written.

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20th of September 666 BP (Before Prophet, 577 AD)

Calydon looked over the hilly landscape covered in a greyish-green sea of grass, occasionally broken by sparse shrubs or low trees, that streched towards the wall of snow capped mountains that covered the horizon. Grey clouds were blocked out the sun, making everything look drained of color. Calydon’s expression was similarly clouded and for a good reason. The situation wasn’t looking good. The Plymon force managed to retreat uphill before his cavalry could press their left flank against the anvil of his infantry. Now his lines were struggling to hold against against the superior numbers of the enemy, while getting pelted by arrows.

He looked around him. To his right and left were various lords he managed to bring into his coalition, some of which he fought and forced to swear fealty just months ago. Some were probably already considering ordering their troops to retreat, hoping to strike peace with the savages or try their luck holding out in their forts. Behind him was Patrias, his only son, surrounded by his elite guard. He looked both pensive and worried, as if desperately trying to find some obscure ancient tactic that would help turn the battle.

Calydon looked further south-west, towards where he knew stood his castle and the town that had grown around it in recent years. For a moment he considered retreating, preserving his forces for a new battle. But he quickly rejected the idea. It would not be long before the rains set in and any large scale maneuvers would need to wait till spring. The Plymon would have plenty of time to raid and pillage, while he would lose momentum. And with it allies. All that he built would collapse.

Calydon prayed silently, asking Tyl for one last miracle, one last stroke of luck, one last sign, one last anything.

His cavarly broke off from the far right of his flank, unable to bear the shower of arrows. A force of light infantry was coming down the east side of the hill, ready to encircle the right wing of his army. That was it.

Calydon jumped on his horse and shouted “Guard, with me!”. They too mounted their horses and followed him downhill. Under his command they formed a battleline, blocking the valley. The retreating riders were fast approaching in a chaotic stampede, stopping just ahead of Calydon and his guards.

“Warriors! You swore oaths on your souls to ride into battle under my banner. You swore oaths before Tyl to fight these pagan barbarians that invade his lands. You promised before yourselves and your fathers to uphold the codes of bravery and honor. Has today really been enough to break your faith.” A wave of murmurs and hesitant looks passed through the crowd. “As long as our faith remains unbroken, just like our armor, our walls and our battlelines, the battle is not lost. Tyl’s light never stops shining on his faithul. Do you wish to return now and live out your days with a heavy soul and a mark of shame, or ride with me, today, and live your days out in glory?” Calydon never bothered to specify how long these days would be.

The warriors raised a cheer among the clatter of weapons and turned around, leaving space for Calydon to ride through. One of his guards raised his standard, a white flag with a golden horse-riding knight and he led the horsemen towards the exposed light infantry of the Plymon. As they approached, leaving thunder and dust behind them, the clouds opened for a moment allowing a ray of the sun to pass through, blinding the enemies, preventing them from throwing javelins.

Calydon’s lance striked true, easily piercing the scale-covered leather armor of the enemy warrior. He pulled it out and stabbed at another enemy before his horse smashed into the dense heart of the enemy formation. He threw away the lance and drew his sword. He slashed at the head of another enemy, before he felt a force push him from behind, causing Calydon to sway in the saddle. He then felt a sharp pain as he realised he couldn’t draw breath. As his vision blackened, he felt the strength go out of him. The last tging he rememberec was falling to the chaos on the ground before everything went dark.

He saw warm, yellow light before him, and a deep yet gentle voice, very much like his grandfather’s, beconing him to come closer.


13th of October 666 BP (Before Prophet, 577 AD)

Patras knelt on the cold, stone floor, trying his best to ingnore all those Lord and Ladies staring at him. The priest was telling a prayer, meant for Patras, but he didn’t listen. Ever since the battle his mind came rushing back to that day almost a month ago. How the amazement at seeing the charge guided by the light of Tyl like in on those stories he liked and the celebration after seeing the Plymon troops rout after their archers were destroyed by the cavalry, were crushed just half an hour later when he recognized his father’s armor among the bodies being brought from the battlefield.

The priesr finished and now all the nobles came forward one by one, in some mysterious order of power and prestige he was yet to be let into, and knelt in front of him, saying prayers and oaths of feilty. Patras still remembersd somd of them doing so to his father. Many of his allies and even a few of his vassals remained standing or never showed up, but a decent number chose to swear to the young ruler. He even noticed one or two new faces.

This was not how he imagined this. He thought he would have a decade or two, that his fathef would grow old and white before dying peacefully in his sleep. That Patras would accept his death with stoicism and a sense of duty to carry on his father’s legacy. He never knew that he would have to accompany the body from the battlefield, that seeing it lowered into a stone tomb at the temple would hurt so much, that he would cry more snd longer than his mother and sisters. That he would be so young, barely 16, so unprepared. Maybe at least the name of the city, Calydon, would survive.

As the last lord said his oath, Patras stood up and took a crown presented to him by the priest. It was coverd in gold and jewels, but Patras knew it had a core of iron, forgem from his father’s damaged backplate and the tip of the javelin that killed him. He ordered it made like this, not sure yet what it meant. Just that it felt right.

He carefully placed the crown on his head, making sure he didn’t tangle it in his hair. He sat on the throne, trying to appear proud and royal despite the guilt chufning within him. Guilt for taking something that his father should have held before him. The title of King. King of Calydon.

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