Lords of the East - Library

[Quirl]

Ghosts from the Sea

The black sea stood as still and quiet as the night air itself. The only noises came from the wildlife. Crickets played their usual instruments, but there was a certain discord in the way they played them .The birds had all left the area, only a few stragglers now rushing off and cawing their frantic goodbyes. The squirrels dug deeper into the hearts of their trees; the wolves retreated farther into the darkness of their caves; and on the ebony surface of the water treaded the ghostly visages of the fog, the only movements which now shown under the silver light of the moon. But it was what wasn’t being seen that would change this night.

The stillness on the black sea’s surface began to crack and slight ripples moved across the surface of its waters. Oars pushed through the black, moving the boats of their masters across. Torches began to come through the fog; below them were men draped in shadow and smiling silver masks. But underneath these masks, underneath the armor, were not men. They had no souls like men. They had no emotion like men. They had no thought, ambition, or desire like men. They were the ghul, the disenfranchised peoples of the tribes these lands had never before heeded—an untapped power which was only now united. They were the future of these lands, come at last to claim them.

The winds began to pick up…

From the black sea they came. Like the ghosts they were so named after, no one saw them coming. I remember that day. There was no tolling of the alarm bells. There were no shouts from the messengers. No proclamations from the khan! There was only silence… then screams.

The ends of the boats fell onto the shores. The men and their horses swarmed off of them like a quiet breeze, moving across the blades of grass like merely a wind. In the midst of a moment they were on the shore, and they wasted no time in continuing uphill through the fog and to the lights of the sleeping village beyond…

I remember their faces. The smiling faces of their helmets—approaching you like about to tell you a secret, before they drove their swords through you like it was all a game. But I remember one that was there—one man whose mask did not smile. There was no merriment in the way he directed the others. There was no idle glee in the terrors he was unleashing. Only the calculatory presence of something so beyond such emotions that one might justifiably wonder if it were at all human. The others called him “Qara-Khagan,” the black khan. We called him Karakura, a demon of the night.

When the smiling men had finally broken through the gates, the city was already overrun. Men continued to crawl over the walls like rabid spiders, and those swarming through the broken gates now loomed through like a tide of insects. Those on horses began to simply charge through the city, killing everyone they could, and those on foot hacked away at the few defenders still brave enough to die standing…

And it was then that I saw her. The woman of the ghul. She moved through the mayhem as simply as a leaf might through the storm, gliding across those dying and those killing, and seeming unnoticed by both, but somehow by me. Underneath the thick hood of her cloak, it was difficult to make out her face; but I knew somehow that she had seen me.

I was hiding in my room when she approached me. Such a small boy was I then that I thought such a feeble hideaway could protect me. She extended her arm to me, her frail brittle arm like dying oak or rustic metal, and she smiled. When I looked into her eyes, I saw only glossy white there. Somewhere underneath the cataracts I saw the dim glow of her pupils, staring away from me—beyond me—to the eternal shadow that must have been her vision of the world. Yet, somehow, she had known I was there and when she extended her hand to me, I took it. It was warm, the warmest thing I had felt all through that cold winter night. They pulled me up and I felt safe. We walked through that battlefield like it was all a dream. The men around us either ignored us or didn’t see us at all. We passed through the shattered gates of my hometown and I knew then that I would never look at it again—or, at least, not with those same eyes...

…And I have not looked back! And I have not regretted that day. In those times these lands were enthralled by weakness. Now they are without such chains and are as wild and as untamed as the great Khaganate itself! No longer do we slave ourselves over the question of nation or identity. No longer do we sit in our tribes and feud over meaningless bloodlines. The only nation that exists is that of ourselves and the only blood that matters is that of which we spill.

We are servants to the Black Khan, the scowling Ghul! He has united us—made us stronger—made us something more than we could have ever been on our own. And now we only smile. Now we are Qara-Suu!

…And the little boy walked off with the witch, watching behind him as his village burned.

[Thanatos Eclipse]

A History of the Omani Admiralty
Volume 1: Of the Sea

“The Omani are a people of the sea. For too long we have been led by tyrants, content with only dirt under their boots and their greedy eyes ever facing inland. Legend says the Omani rose from the sea and to the sea we belong. I do not wish to carry the burden of leadership, but if that is what it will take to free my people, then I shall bare it on my shoulders with honor, through the wind and waves from the deck of my ship.”
-Grand Admiral Walid, 1175 AD


Chapter 1: History of the Imamate
When Allah’s word first made it to the Oman coasts around 700 AD, most Omani were simple fishers and merchant sailors. Towns and cities were usually managed by elder councils. The introduction of Islam was a unifying force for the people of Oman. Religious leaders stepped up to govern the people and the Imamate of Oman was formed. These leaders guided the people justly till about 950 AD. As trade among the Islamic nations increased, more and more valuables and riches passed through the hands of Omani merchants. Soon the Omani leaders grew greedy for these riches themselves. They constructed vast mines, but when they could not get enough people to work the mines, they started enslaving their own people. They recruited massive armies to enforce their rule and keep the mine workers in line. In response, the Naval Council was formed, and elite marine training programs were started in the coastal cities. The Naval Council vowed to protect the coast, but the growing interior was left to the whims of the Imamate. The armies of the Imamate were too strong for the navy’s marines to take the interior, but too weak to enforce all of the Imamate’s laws on the coast.

Chapter 2: Fall of the Imamate
When Murshed came to power in 1149 AD, most of the Omani interior resources had been depleted. Although he still had his slaves and armies scouring the mainland for resources, Murshed realized colonies were his best bet for new resources. This gave the Naval Council the chance they were waiting for. Admiral Walid used this chance to make friends in the Army and insert naval spies into the army ranks. On the long journeys to capture colonies, sometimes uncooperative generals would conveniently be “lost in a storm”. While transporting Murshed’s chosen diplomat to the peace council in Baghdad, Captain Amr, under Grand Admiral Walid’s orders, threw the diplomat over and took his place at the court. When Murshed found out, he realized the Naval Council was getting ready to make their move against him. With the Caliph’s declaration of a Fatwa on the Seljuk, Murshed saw a chance to gain support from the other Islamic nations for his rule. Unfortunately, his diplomat/assassin was no match for Captain Amr and Amr was able to warn Grand Admiral Walid and the Naval Council of Murshed’s coming strike. When three battalions of soldiers stormed the council chambers, they found it deserted, but when they tried to leave they realized they were surrounded by marines. When Murshed welcomed back into his palace his victorious soldiers with a captured Grand Admiral Walid in toe, he was overjoyed; he realized only too late that they were actually marines in disguise. As Captain Amr led the marines against the palace guards, Walid chased Murshed to his throne room, where he cornered him. Murshed quickly surrendered, begging to be spared.

Chapter 3: Rise of the Admiralty
Against Captain Amr’s advisement, Walid chose to spare Murshed and the ruling family. He believed they were needed to perform the duties they were always supposed to, be spiritual leaders to the people. The ruling family was left as ceremonial and religious leaders, while the generals were allowed to live as long as they took an oath of loyalty to Walid and the Admiralty. To keep Murshed out of the way, he was banished to the most distant Omani colony. With the armies now under control, the Omani Admiralty was official. Walid’s first act was to free all enslaved Omani and abandon all fruitless mining operations on the mainland. The celebrations of the fall of the Imamate and the rise of the Admiralty lasted for weeks among the general population, while some sailors were reported to have continued the celebrations for months.

Chapter 4: Afterword
Many problems still lay ahead for the Omani. Many prosperous inlanders will miss the luxuries they enjoyed under the Imamate and the loyalty of the Armies is still shaky; not to mention, who knows what troubles lay beyond the Omani borders. It will take hard work and long nights for Grand Admiral Walid to keep the Admiralty together in the coming days, but for now things are looking bright of the people of Oman.

[Thanatos Eclipse]

Myths of the Omani
Volume 1: Rise of the Omani

Introduction
Before the light of Allah came to the lands, man’s heart was ruled by fear and darkness. In these dark times the ocean was something to be feared; the water’s surface the only barrier that separated man from monster. Many still whisper the tales of old, although one is whispered above all the rest, the rising of the Omani. No one can quite agree on the origin of the Omani. Some say they where explorers from a distant land, turned mad after spending too much time lost at sea. Others believe they were sailors who traveled too close to the ends of the earth and went crazy at the sight of the unending nothingness beyond. The more religious have said they were sailors out to sea at the time of the great flood, and through pacts with dark spirits, survived at the cost of what humanity they had left. But one origin is feared and repeated above all the rest. It claims that the Omani where not men, but demons bred in the murky depths at the ocean floor, for the purpose of waging a war for control of the underworld, but they were too feral for even their demonic masters to control. They escaped from their masters to ravage the lands of the living. Although their origin might be uncertain, the bloodlust and ferocity of the Omani of myth is a story told far and wide. Few along the coast have not heard the tales.

Chapter 1: The Storm
In times of old, when most people lived in but simple farming communities along the coast, war was a thing of distant lands and the Emarii (people of the coast) were left in peace. The Emarii feared the open ocean and the beasts that lay beneath its waves. They rarely ventured into its waters, and then only short distances to fish or bathe. The Emarii elders had long talked of a great ‘storm’ that they called the Oman, which would one day wash away their peaceful civilization. Few ever took them seriously, for they had been predicting this great storm for countless generations, yet the Emarii had weathered every storm that had come. One day the elders were particularly worked up, yelling and shouting that the Oman was coming, but the skies were clear that morning except for a few black birds, not native to this land, circling over head. Most people went on about their day as usual, but by noon the skies had grown grey and by mid afternoon the skies were black as night and strong cold winds began to blow in off the ocean. The worst storm ever had come to the Emarii coast. People ran for higher grounds as the ocean crawled up the coast, lashing out with wave after wave to pull unfortunate souls to its murky depths. As the night drug on the storm only got fiercer. Lightning lit up the night sky and thunder shook the mountains. From caves high in the hills the Emarii waited out the storm. Sometimes brave souls would go to the entrance to check on the progress of the storm. Over the wailing of surviving elders that ‘the end had finally come’, they would tell the others what they saw. How each flash of lightning revealed the ferocity of the storm now clawing at the base of their mountain hideaway. Some described it like the lions of distant lands; how the storm had pounced on the earth and now tore at its sides, ripping away at its flesh. While others recounted stories of seeing massive ships floating among the waves, as if Sheppard’s of a flock of wolves that were the waves. The storm grew steadily worse even as the elders ran out of breath and energy and succumb to asleep. The storm raged on through the night, with some claiming the water levels reach as high as the mouth of the lowest cave.

Chapter 2: The Omani
The people of the Emarii awoke to find the sun streaming into what they had feared would be their stone graves. As the first few stumbled out of their caves, their hearts sank at the sight that greeted them. Once fertile farmlands were now salty marshes, proud stones had been reduced to pebbles, and houses lay in pieces up and down the shore. But then they noticed something was off, there was way too much wood and debris for just their buildings. It appeared as if the wreckage of many other settlements had washed in. This was great, for wood and other building materials were hard to come by in these parts, plus they could make quite a profit off of selling what was left over. With new hope in their hearts they gathered together and headed back down the mountain. As they walked down they talked and boasted how, although their settlement was washed away, they had survived the Oman. Once they reached the wreckage they started right away to sift through and sort it. Everyone was helping, even children. One boy was searching in the shallow tidal waters when he tripped over something. It was a rope. He was suddenly filled with the urge to tug it; overwhelmed by curiosity about what was on the end of that rope. He tugged on it once. An elder near him gave a sharp yep, turned towards the boy and started shouting for him to stop, but the boy ignored him. He tugged it a second time. Loud piercing screeches filled the air. Many looked around to find all of the elders crumbled on the ground clutching their head as if their inner eye was burning with the intensity of an inferno. Their screeches turned into one drawn out word “Omaniiiiiiiii...!” However, the boy did not care, did not even notice. His mind was consumed by one thought, one care. His entire world revolved around what was on the end of that rope. He gave it a third tug and out of the sand and water popped an anchor. The screams of the elders subsided. As some helped the elders up the rest gathered around the boy’s discovery. Unnoticed by the gathering crowd, the water had stilled itself to an almost mirror like surface. The boy picked up the anchor, fascinated by the decorative pattern on it, but after only a few seconds it began to burn, searing the boy’s hands, until he let go. The anchor fell from the boy’s hands. He watched it slowly falling; followed it with his eyes, until it landed without a splash in the water. The only sign that it had even fallen in water was a single ripple that spread out in all directions. As if waiting for the signal, the water around the Emarii started to bubble and splash. “Ahhhh,” people started screaming and running as figures, dressed in light armor and carrying swords, started rising out of the shallow water. Those unfortunate enough to get close to the pirates saw only a cold bloodthirsty fury in their hollow soulless eyes. Their attack was quick, but after the majority lay slain and the waves turned red, they took their time torturing the rest; leaving only a few alive to go and spread the rumors and fear of the Omani attack. The boy, one of the few survivors, reaches the top of a hill, but before continuing he turns around one last time and is struck with horror at the sight of five massive ships on the horizon, with black birds circling their masts, bearing the same colors as the Omani pirates that just attacked them. The boy stands there horror struck, frozen to the spot. An Emarii man, with a bloodied face and a limp arm, swiftly picks the boy up with his good arm and carries him off.

Important Notes
Although many sailors and more cultured Omani enjoy this myth for a good laugh or as part of an old culture, others (often those from smaller religious communities) find it offensive for the Omani to be portrayed in such a barbarous way.
Interestingly enough, Latin merchants, trying to establish trade with the far east, enjoyed this story so much that they started using the word omen, mispronouncing Oman, to represent a sign of something to come.

[Thanatos Eclipse]

Captain for Life
A biography of Captain Amr

Chapter 6: The Ivory Sword

[Intro: This chapter covers the story of how Captain Amr earned the rank of admiral. Many may wonder at this point why then does everyone still call him ‘Captain’ Amr. It has to do with when he served under Admiral Walid, then only a captain himself (see Chapter 3). Amr had such a high respect for Walid’s strategic genius that he feels Walid will always be his superior. He has since insisted on always being addressed as captain, even occasionally threatening those who try to insist otherwise. His respect for Walid is such that he considers Walid to be the only true admiral in the fleet and addresses all other Omani admirals by their sir names occasionally adding the title of captain for those he holds some respect for. Now on this particular occasion, Captain Amr had been sent by the Naval Council, then led by Grand Admiral Nashmit, to discover why Omani trade vessels had been disappearing along the African Coast.]

The dim glow of the crescent moon was all that lit the dark desert night. A soft breeze blew in off of the ocean, making it surprisingly cold for the desert. At a sentry post on top of a dune, a small fire illuminates six guards sitting around it. The guards, charged with patrolling the beachfront, were instead sitting around the fire, telling jokes and warming themselves on this unusually cold night. After one apparently good joke, the whole group burst out laughing, but they were cut short when their commander stepped out of the tent behind them and ferociously started yelling at them for not being out patrolling. He stopped for a second to catch his breath, but screams of agony broke the silence, as six daggers flew from the darkness and dug deep into three of the guards, killing one who had got hit multiple times. As the guards drew their swords to go and meet their unknown attackers, the commander looked for the warning horn so he could send out the alarm. There it was, on the belt of the fallen guard, but before he could get to it six figures jumped out of the darkness behind the guards; cutting down half the guards before they could even realize they had been surrounded.

Captain Amr stands by the fire, surveying the bloodied guard post as his pirates rummage through the tent and corpses for anything of worth. A soft gurgling sound draws Amr’s attention to his feet were a guard lay coughing up blood; his eyes pleading for mercy. Amr snorts at such a futile act, but kneels down anyway, grabbing the guards arm to pull him closer. Amr leans in close to the guard’s ear and whispers “die with dignity.” He pauses, laughs a bit, and says, “or at least die,” and with a quick thrust of his sword ends the guard’s life. He says to the others, “leave the junk, keep moving.” The twelve pirates recover their daggers from the corpses and head off down the beach, back into the darkness.

They were heading for Nashadem-klujak, the palace of a powerful African warlord. Days earlier, at a popular trading port, Captain Amr had learned that this warlord had recently decided that it was easier to take trade goods then buy them. His fleet had been ransacking every trade vessel that tried to pass into the Red Sea. Many thought him mad, since he was practically declaring war on every nation whose vessels he attacked. Many believed that his madness was caused by his powerful ivory sword, which was called Olmonguhl. At this, Femr Ushem, Captain Amr’s first mate, got really excited, for Olmonguhl, was supposed to be a magical sword of Omani legends, lost centuries ago. It was said to drive any but its rightful owner mad with power lust. Amr, of course, dismissed this as legend. After slipping a few coins into the outstretched hands of some Dark Contacts*, Amr and his crew were heading for the warlords base, with schematics of its defenses and garrison in hand.

The pirates took out two more sentry outposts, before making it to the outer walls of Nashadem-klujak. They grappled over the walls at a blind spot in the city watch and quietly made their way into the town surrounding Nashadem-klujak.

Inside the palace of Nashadem-klujak, the African warlord paced in front of his throne as he ranted and raved to the generals that surrounded him. They all cowered as he pointed to the pile of treasures at his feet and then back to them, continually insisting that they were holding out on him, that there should be more treasure. From the shadows along the outer edge of the throne room eleven pairs of eyes stared past the pile of treasure and greedily at the ivory handled sword hanging from the warlord’s belt. Although Amr had continued to insist it was only a legend, Femr still spread the story about Olmonguhl to the rest of the crew. Now Amr was having to work twice as hard to keep his crew under control. The throne room guards were too distracted taking bets on which general they would get to behead today that they did not notice the Omani pirates moving into position. At Amr’s signal, his crew jumped out of the shadows taking out most of the throne room guards before they knew what hit them. As the remaining guards fruitlessly called for help, for their reinforcements lay in pools of their own blood back in the halls the pirates had entered from, the generals pulled their own swords out to engage the attackers. With the rest of the room locked in battle, Captain Amr was free to challenge the African warlord. The warlord grinned and laid his hand on the ruby studded ivory handle of his sword. In one swift movement, he pulled it out and brought it down with all his strength, cracking the stone floor where Amr had just been. Amr, agile for his height, had jumped out of the way and now assumed a defensive stance. Although the blows of the African warlord seem to carry more power than the thin ivory sword should have been able to deal, he was not fast enough to land any significant hits on Captain Amr. After a few minutes of parrying and dodging blows, Amr seized an opening to disarm the warlord. As the warlord stumbled back, a few finger short, the ivory blade landed at Amr’s feet. The warlord dove for the blade, but Amr had already grasped it. The warlord tried to scramble back to his feet, but Captain Amr, using both swords, beheaded him when he was still on his knees. (Later, when questioned if he ever tried to negotiate with the warlord, he responded, “I offered him the same deal he gave to our trade vessels ‘Either you agree to let me kill you and take you treasures or I’ll kill you and take your treasure.’ He chose the later of course”)
With the ivory sword in Amr’s hand, the remaining guards and generals laid down their weapons, apparently fearful of the blade. It quickly became apparent that the people of Nashadem-klujak also believed the sword to have magical powers, because none offered resistance after seeing Captain Amr use the sword for the public execution of the remaining generals. In a matter of weeks Amr had shortened the name of the city to Klujak (thinking it easier to say) and turned it into a colony of the Imamate of Oman. (It remained a colony of Oman till it was wiped out by a plague nearly five years later.)
Once Captain Amr had returned to Oman he was promoted to Admiral for his bravery, leadership, and ‘establishment’ of a new colony of Oman. Amr was noticeably absent from his promotion ceremony, but Admiral Walid made sure the promotion stuck anyways.


* Notes: Dark Contacts are a loose network of spies, pirates, and other well informed nefarious characters willing to share information, for some coin of course. They operate along the coasts of the Persian Gulf, Red Sea, and Indian Ocean. Omani captains usually set up their own list of Contacts, but will often share Contacts with others that they trust. Many believe Captain Amr to have more Dark Contacts than most Omani captains combined, although it would be hard to prove, since he rarely shares. Even Admiral Walid does not know the extent of Amr’s connections.