Blogs - Benjacoto

This is just a quick demonstration of the level of detail I put into world building. The world has three major nations, each with a religion, culture, mythology, social hierarchy and so on. These are the note I wrote for the military of one of those nations. Just the military mind.

Sorry for any grammatical errors, like I said, these notes were just the ones I jotted up for myself.

Weapons, armour and warfare - Southern Isles

Tactics –

In keeping with the Japanese theme of this land the warfare between the city states, and thus their overall style of warfare, is cohesive with Japanese tactics and soldier composition. Using highly skilled upper class professional warriors to form the ‘core’ of the army is key, with the island leaders and their entourage forming a unit of very heavy, very skilled cavalry mounted on small, sturdy horses and more than capable of fighting on foot.

Below them in terms of class and skill is the ‘bow caste’ of the southern isles, these men a land owners, business owners and form the upper middle class – they don’t work. Instead they practice their archery, competitions, archer duels and sporting events keep them practicing in times of peace. These archers, while relatively small in number, form a deadly force that lacks the military discipline of other cultures but despite their incoherent shooting each man is a deadly marksman.

The garrison class are employed part time, the slaves and casteless of the southern isles allows them to practice their spear work regularly while working as city guards, personal body guards, and private guards. These men use naginata style spears and are deadly at mid-range and against cavalry.

Finally the lowest caste – the conscripts – are only brought into war when there is no other choice, these men have no military training but are handed spear, shield and dagger and quickly taught how to march and stand. Their main tactical role is to hold the bulk of an enemy army in place while the small, highly skilled castes above them do the real damage.

Weapons –

Heavy armour has made the use of the fast, light katana decline quickly. Instead Dao are now the most common weapons, with two handed versions more often used. These weapons are quick, heavier than a katana and can both cut an unarmoured/ lightly armoured foe and batter a man in armour.

Longbows are the common weapon of the ‘bow caste’. These bows are often highly personalised, with feathers and ornamentation at the ends along with elaborate grips. The arrows are around 70cm long and can be shot around 300m.

Naginata are the weapon of the ‘garrison caste’. These weapons are longer, and thus can keep professional full time soldiers at a greater length, but they require more skill than a standard spear and a naginata wielding warrior will often have an advantage over a man with a spear, even if the spear is longer, because of the greater manoeuvrability of the naginata. The naginata stands taller than the man using it.

The yari is the basic weapon mass produced and passed out to conscripts. It is often a more effective weapon than a common spear as its blade is longer and shaped like half a sword, this gives it more penetration and makes it harder for an opponent to lop the spears head off.

The Scutum is the shield that accompanies the yari. It is large and its oval shape makes it effective against incoming projectiles. Lightly armoured conscripts can move quickly under a canopy of these shields, safe from incoming fire.

Roundel daggers are also given to and carried by most men. These are little more than very large, very sharp nails. They are designed to find gaps in armour, and have enough penetrating force to smash through skulls and ribs.

Armour –

The higher classes (island lords and their entourage) wear a set of armour that is not dissimilar to a combination of European plate and the Samurai armour of the 15^th – 17^th centuries. Steel plates cover the body, legs, back and other parts, while a face mask and helmet protects the head. Armour sets are always personal and plumage atop the helmet shows the man’s clan colour. The armour is good against the now out of fashion katana and other cutting weapons, but heavy weapons like the two handed Dao that is now in use can dent and split the armour. Short stabbing weapons may find gaps in the defence (roundel into eyes for example). Arrows fired at a close enough range can penetrate the armour.

Lamellar armour is used for both the bow and garrison caste, this armour is easy to produce, and good. It suffers from being more vulnerable to crushing attacks than plate, but it is far lighter.

Leather armour is very cheap, it is mass produced and stored for soldiers to train in and to equip the conscripts with. It offers basic protection but a strong cut, stab or blunt force strike will still kill.

Animals –

Large Yacatchi dogs are often used in war on the Southern Isles (bigger than a GS, black and fluffy). These animals are highly intelligent and are considered by many to be the successor of wolves. They were first used to guard flocks, then to actively hunt wolves. Now there are no wolves on the southern isles. Now the men of the isles use the dogs to hunt men.

Aduu horses (mongol horses) are sturdy, very good in harsh conditions and capable of carrying their armoured masters into war. For a long time they have been simply a transport to the battle, but since the invasions of the empire they are being used more and more in actual combat. Because of this the country has begun breading them at a high rate.

Special features –

After the arrival of Pegasus horses almost 200 years ago a small number of women have established a new caste – Valkyrie – these women are the highest women in society, and some argue the highest people. They carry light weapons including jian swords, double bellied crossbows and thin lances. Used as shock troops and assassins their position in society is based solely on their unique flying horses. Men have tried to fly the Pegasus, but the leaders of the isles have concluded that the horses are the domain of women – not only are the women far lighter, but the horses buck and rear when ridden by men. (This is deliberate as they were created by the mages of old and thus have strange behaviour patterns nature cannot explain.)

So a lot of people regard the lore of a game or novel or film to be almost a decoration; nice but not really necessary or important. How true is that? I mean really, do the writers need to know who the nasty king's uncle was, or what the dashing hero did before he took up the sword and saved the world. Well, in my humble (actually I get called arrogant quite a lot, so maybe my wish-I-was-a-little-more-humble) opinion they do. To me lore and world building are not things that we add to a finished piece to make it nicer to look at, they are what we use to build our foundations, a rich lore and a realistic well made world nurture and help a story grow.

Currently I am writing a novel (The Shadow Hunt, can be found on authonomy.com), this novel is high fantasy. There are not other races, no dragons, there are things that call themselves gods, but really are just very powerful sorcerers who clung to life after their bodies were destroyed. Now, when I started the story I wrote a paragraph, that's all. This paragraph introduced one of the main characters to me, I got a very brief feel for him. And through him the world around him. Next I drew a map. Maps are fantastic, I can't really draw, but even if you can only just manage to do stick men you should be throwing out maps for what ever work you are writing about or creating - they help make the fantastical real.

So after the geography I sculpted the history - an Empire ruled by mages with tremendous power, men who could raise the dead, alter the weather and even see the future. Then came a schism, a civil war broke out. The mages killed one another and those that survived locked themselves away from the world, and shut away their most dangerous knowledge underground. Now, 1200 years later, the Magi at the time of the book are a pale comparison to their ancestors, but once again they are the lords of all they see.

Huge amounts of time went into the cultures, the religions, working out how the cultures and religions interact with one another. The technological level of the different societies. All this before I really started the story. When I started the story I found it progressing in ways that I had not expected. It turned at points where I had planed to go strait and plowed right over some of my original ideas. And this is why one must build their foundations - their world and lore - first. Because fitting lore to a story will result in an ill fitting lore and a misshapen world. Whereas letting your story grow from the lore and world will give you an element of natural realism that will help fix your reader or gamer firmly in your world.

I smile with sorrow

Darkness around holds me close

A blade in the dark.

Chapter One

Gerald swore softly into the black cloth tied around the lower half of his face. Around him rain began to fall, turning the slate of the roofs of the Outer City slippery and black. He moved forwards, carefully letting the soles of his boots slide over the roof top. Coming to a halt in the shadow of a chimney he looked down on to the street, two stories below. Directly beneath him the paving stones were also beginning to darken. The shallow cobblestones that made up the road itself were glistening as the moon was reflected dimly from their wet surfaces.

Sounds from the city permeated through the now determined hammering of the rain and Gerald allowed himself to sink down into their embrace. Shouts echoed across the rooftops from a brothel or tavern down the street to his left. A scream of fear then a laugh rose from below him to where he crouched and, through it all the never ending rumble of hundreds of horses, men and carts entering and leaving the city.

Gerald brought himself out of the torrent of noise and focused instead on the task at hand. Weeks had gone into planning this night. Preparations had been made, rumours spread and favours called, all for him to perform what would be his greatest piece of work to date. Not that an accomplishment of any degree would stop the other members of the Sorrowful Smiles from berating him for his lack of an apprentice… Though he was beginning to agree that he might be leaving it late. He drew a knife slowly from the sheath strapped to his calf and tested the edge, razor sharp.

‘From the world of light to beyond the veil I send a man tonight,’ he whispered into his mask, running his palm over the flat of the blade, ‘may those beyond accept my gift and forgive me my sins.’ Pulling his left sleeve up past his elbow he moved the point of the knife across the inside of his forearm, searching for an area of skin unmarked by scars. Finding smooth unblemished flesh Gerald gritted his teeth and pulled the knife across his arm. Blood welled from the deep wound but seconds later the cut closed, leaving a shining white scar beneath a red stain. He was ready.

Moving with the softness of a panther, he made his way towards the edge of the roof and spun himself over the edge, gripping onto the guttering before dropping down into the narrow street below. He landed lightly and felt the familiar warmth of the runes across his body activating, absorbing the energy from his fall. As he moved out of the shadows of the alley a street urchin clipped his shoulder. He spun with the slight impact, stifling a smile as he saw the little girl’s hand dart back into her sleeve from where it had been reaching towards his purse. His eyes followed the child as she darted away, noting the lightness of her steps, and her balance as she rounded a corner, not slowing or slipping on the slick wet cobbles. Gerald pushed the nimble child from his mind as she disappeared and instead brought himself back to the present, back to the task, back to the death he was about to deal.

Drawing his cloak around him, Gerald sat down slowly on a bench in one of the parks that clustered along the length of the main road through the Outer City and towards the Grinning Gate. From within the long garment he pulled a small rectangle of white painted wood adorned with seven small runes. He frowned at the piece of wood, then smiled faintly as the first rune crumbled into dust and was taken by the light breeze. Gerald grinned; he had spent three nights prying certain cobbles out of the road in key places all along the route he knew his target would have to take. Each of the seven cobbles he had then replaced with runes drawn on their undersides. He had then drawn the same runes on the piece of wood. The idea was that once a trigger rune came within a certain distance of the runes beneath the cobbles the runes on the wood would dissipate, allowing him to follow his targets progression through the city. His only problem had been getting the trigger rune to his mark. He had sent an official letter to the mark, with the rune drawn on, hidden amongst the crest of the Consular: Magi elected to lead the city. There was no way to make sure that the target would keep the letter of course. So he had sent seven, along with several forgeries to the people traveling with him. He had been sure that at least one would make it into the city and he was pleased to see that he had been right.

He would have to share his discovery at the next meeting of the Sorrowful Smiles of course, but that was the price of belonging to a society where discoveries, contacts and secrets were shared. It was always a thrill when someone told you of a new route behind a guard patrol, or a new contact in a wealthy family’s household. But when it was your turn to give up information there was none of the same excitement. It made him smile faintly to himself. The discovery he had made would cause a lot of excitement indeed: though he hoped the practice of tracking one’s target in this manner would not become too commonplace; he had always feared that developments like his would rob the Sorrowful Smiles of the principles and skills that had passed to him from his master years before.

Looking down at the piece of wood in his hand Gerald noticed that the second rune was beginning to crumble away. That meant that the mark had just begun to cross Jack Bridge; one of the six bridges to span the great moat that separated the Outer City from the slums beyond. Between the moat and the walls of the Inner City the Outer City was a network of well-planned roads and neat brick houses with slate roofs and glass windows. Beyond the moat however the city had grown too quickly and a slum had emerged with houses made from wood, thatch and scavenged stone. In that warren of twisting unnamed streets and alleys the City Watch marched only in squads, with weapons drawn. At night they withdrew over the moat and locked down the bridges to unauthorised travel, turning the one rough area of the city over to the rule of thieves, thugs and murderers until the sun came up and the Watch marched across the bridges again, carting off bodies and hanging likely suspects from the bridges.

Gerald had not yet been born when the old slum had been destroyed and the brick and slate houses erected in their place, but his master had, and he had remembered the time with a wry amusement; riots and open rebellion in the streets had ensued until the people had realised that their new homes would be palaces compared to the ones they were losing. That had been years and years ago however and the inevitable expansion of an imperial city had led to a new slum growing up, beyond the wide waters of the city’s great moat.

As the third rune dissolved from the piece of wood still in Gerald’s hand he sighed and rose from the bench, some exertion would be necessary if he wanted to intercept the target without being stopped by any of the Watch. With the two short, curving swords on his belt, a banderol of vials across his chest, and throwing knives strapped to his thighs, a meeting with the Watch would probably be an inconvenience. He walked from the park, taking care to keep to the shadows that lurked outside the range of the two gas street lights on the road, and crossed to an alley. Half way down he ducked into a door and found himself in a dingy hall. The paint on the wall was peeling off and the room had the clinging stink of rotten garbage and flesh. Moving quickly he climbed the stairs two at a time, missing the three that he knew contained various traps, designed to painfully incapacitate, but not kill intruders. The Sorrowful Smiles were not kind to people being where they did not belong.

Gerald emerged onto one of the many rooftops dotted around the city that acted as entry points to the High Road: a series of rope walks, thin planks and zip lines that the Sorrowful Smiles had been cultivating since the building of the new Outer City. Gerald and his fellow assassins were not the only users of the High Road; a collection of thieves, gangs and smugglers paid a yearly tariff to the Smiles in order to be allowed to use the High Road without fear of the assassins who had created it. Gerald looked around quickly to get his bearings. He was directly south of the huge main road that ran from Jack Bridge all the way through the Outer City to the Smiling Gate and into the Inner City. There were aspects of the High Road that only the Sorrowful Smiles could use, such as the incredibly thin sheet of glass that spanned the wide road onto which Gerald stepped. He felt a slight heat as the rune on his boot met the rune etched into the glass, strengthening it enough to hold his weight. He moved slowly, making sure that one of the runes drawn onto the heels of his boots was always in contact with the glass. Though the invisible bridges across the city were invaluable to the Sorrowful Smiles, they were unusable during the day, or even on light nights. Gerald thanked the low clouds that made his movement high across the cities roads invisible.

As his feet left the glass Gerald felt the familiar warmth seep out of his boots, leaving his feet slightly chilly. The assassin smiled as he looked back across the near invisible sheet of glass. If anyone without the knowledge of runes; anyone not a member of the Sorrowful Smiles, tried to cross they would fall three stories onto the traffic and cobblestones below.

Looking down at his hands Gerald remembered the lessons his old master had given him about the origins of the runes that not only covered Gerald’s boots, gloves and belt but also wound their way around his body in a complicated sequence that supported and powered one another.

He had been taught that once, before the Mages Guild had opened its doors and ventured into the city, before there was an empire, before runes, there had been more than one guild of assassins, and these guilds had constantly been at war for contracts and respect. Until one young apprentice had found a tattered book in a box, buried at the base of a ruined library he had discovered far beneath the sewers of the city. The book had contained the first of the runes. The runes tipped the balance in the war between assassins and the guild known as the Smiles had quickly stamped out all competition. The apprentice had become their leader and renamed the organisation the Sorrowful Smiles, as a testimony to the other orders that had been defeated and the men they themselves had lost in The Shadow War.

Gerald kept moving, leaping small alleys and walking quickly across ropes to traverse larger ones. He knew his balance was more to do with the runes running up his calf than any natural skill: he had been ungainly as a youth to the point of self-injury. But he couldn’t complain, it had been that which had gotten him noticed by his former master; he had tripped and fallen into the assassin, who had pushed him away in anger. Gerald had lashed out and knocked the assassin to the ground. He had laughed as he rose, and offered Gerald a place as his apprentice there and then. Damn, I was a foolish youth back then, Gerald thought to himself as he grasped a zip line and flew across a wide lane with tall shops on either side. Coming up from a role he ran, and jumped from the tall shops to the houses behind them, before stepping lightly over the edge of the roof and dropping.

Runes all along the back of legs took the energy from the fall, and sent it instantly inwards to strengthen the bones in his calf and knee. Much of the energy remained however and he felt the heat of runes activating all the way up his legs towards his midriff where the runes designed to store energy flared to life with a sudden heat, before settling down to a dull warmth. The heat from the runes on his stomach was the only indicator an assassin had of how much energy their runes were storing. Sometimes, after long missions, they became almost too hot to bear, that was when an assassin had to be careful, for the runes could only store a finite amount, and with no other way of gauging how full they were than their heat, the potential for accidents was high. And those accidents could be…messy.

As he moved out of the cover of the alley into which he had dropped Gerald saw a flash of something in the corner of his eye. He spun around, crouching down and whipping a knife towards the source of the motion, there was a clang as the knife struck a wall. Heat flowed along his body as the tiny runes tattooed across his eyes activated, turning the world into a sea of black and grey. A spot of colour glowed from underneath a pile of rubbish, the runes on his eyes died and he walked towards the spot where the colour had been, drawing one of his swords and readying himself.

Before he reached the mound of rotting garbage it erupted and a small ragged figure burst upwards, showering Gerald with a torrent of stinking waste. He lashed out with his sword blindly, and felt the flat of the blade connect with something soft and alive. A scream cut the air and he rubbed his eyes clean quickly, wary of an attack. On the ground before him was a little girl, the same one who had tried to pick his pocket earlier that night. She was crying softy and holding her obviously broken left arm in her right hand. He smiled softly and reached down, picking her up from the ground, gripping her throat tightly in his right hand. His left streaked across the light stubble that covered his cheeks and neck. As his hand came away from his face Gerald felt the sharp pain of the runes along his jaw line activating and making his closely shaved stubble erupt into a full beard. He turned and threw the girl from the alley into the road, where she landed at the feet of the first rank of Gerald’s target’s fifty guards.

Gerald hobbled out, walking with the arthritic limp of a far older man, his hair was now grey and reached down to the small of his back, while a huge brown beard with streaks of grey covered his face. He aimed a kick at the girl, missed and stumbled forwards, seemingly oblivious of the guards before him, each with drawn steel and suspicious glares. Continuing to ignore the guards Gerald reached down and cuffed the girl hard, her nose erupted with blood, he grasped her throat in his left hand and lifted her to her feet, before pulling his right hand back into the makings of a vicious punch. A hand caught his fist and he turned to find himself face to face with an ostentatiously dressed little man.

‘I am the mark dux to the Magi Marius, War Magi of the Mages Guild, Soldier of the Empire, Honoured Favourite of the Consular and the Iron Fist’ the mark dux; head of the household of Magi Marius finished listing his master’s titles and puffed himself up, ‘the esteemed Magi Marius wishes to know why you are holding him and his retinue up with your breach of the peace.’

‘Breach o’ peace?!’ Gerald spat, his voice now old, cracked and full of aggression, ‘you breachin’ peace no’ me!’

‘Sir, how-‘ the servant began, but Gerald cut him off with a vicious finger to the chest.

‘You! You breachin’ peace. Dem’ guards,’ he gestured at the fifty guards around Marius’ carriage. ‘Dem’ are Watchmen, they should be guardin’ me!’ he gestured at the girl still clutched in his hand, ‘arrest the pocket picker!’

‘You two,’ the mark dux said, gesturing at two of the guards, ‘take this girl into custody.’ Gerald shoved the girl at the men angrily, she bounced off the chest plate of one of the men and dived to the ground, ducking under their outstretched arms and down an alley. The two men hesitated for a second, caught between their training to chase the pickpocket and their orders to guard Marius. The second hesitation was enough for the little girl, she had already vanished.

‘You bastard!’ Gerald shouted, grabbing mark dux and shaking him viciously, while slipping two thin glass vials into the folds of his clothing. Guards grabbed him in a second and he was pulled away from the pompous servant, snarling in anger.

‘Get off me!’ He shouted, shaking the guards off and storming down a side street, hurling curses back at the guards as they reformed their ranks, some still watching him with hostility and apprehension.

Gerald scratched at his face vigorously, he hated growing a beard, especially that fast; it itched, hurt and looked dreadful. From a satchel on his belt he selected two glass rods; the companion rods of the glass vials he had stowed on the mark dux. The chemical vials of the assassins were possibly their most powerful tools. Each vial was filled with a solution that could hold runes, taking on their properties, to make the solution safe a rune of binding was added before any other runes, and on the outside of the glass a rune of unbinding was daubed in resin. When the glass broke the solution came into contact with the resin rune, unlocking the other runes dissolved in the solution. Some vials released violent flashes of light upon breaking, others let out huge clouds of smoke. The ones on the mark dux were explosive, very explosive. Gerald dropped the two glass rods, and crushed them under his heel, there was a brief dull flash as the twinning runes on the rods activated for a heartbeat, then from the main road behind him. He heard a sound akin to a dozen thunderclaps.

Dropping down through a sewer grate Gerald looked left and right before pushing one of the bricks in the wall before him. A section of the wall only just wide enough for him to squeeze through swung open and he dived through it, quickly closing the secret door behind him. The hidden rooms and tunnels through the cities sewers were used far less often that the High Road: the Low Road was only slightly less patrolled by the Watch than the streets above it, and the gangs that inhabited its dark recesses would put a knife in a stranger without thought or pause.

Despite its dangers the Low Road was still essential to the Sorrowful Smiles; there were days in the summer when the sky above Imperiorum was clear and bright and even the stealthiest assassin would be seen leaping from building to building. Gerald had prepped this particular hideout for this particular mission; a small wardrobe stood in one corner, its door open and a single well-tailored nobleman’s suit hanging inside. On the other side of the room the basin was full of cool water, a razor sitting on the rim. Walking to the basin Gerald removed his swords and banderol, peeled off his gloves and threw his cloak over a chair in the corner of the room. He splashed his face with water and began running the razor across his face. Soon the great shaggy beard was gone, and in its place he sported a neat goatee. Next he sheared his hair into a short, fashionable ponytail. Before leaving the room he stripped the last of his clothes off, and donned the tight shirt, dark trousers, high boots and short shoulder cape that was currently the fashion for young, noble men in the city.

He emerged from the sewer entrance slowly, making sure that there were no guards in sight, the street was clear so he swung himself up hastily. The end of the slightly curving rapier at his waist caught the lip of the sewer entrance and banged softly. He paused, waiting to see if the sound attracted anyone, two minutes passed before he moved again, pulling himself fully out of the hole and straitening. He nudged the cover to the sewer entrance back into place with the toe of his boot and walked away, adopting a slight swagger as he stepped onto the main road. Men of the Watch were everywhere, and, where the convoy had been, a great crater had appeared in the middle of the road. He stopped and gawked, hooking his thumbs into the sword belt on his waist and staring around at the devastation.

‘Sir,’ an officer said, coming up behind Gerald.

‘Watchman,’ Gerald replied, with a haughty look up and down and a dismissive nod.

‘We may have to ask you to vacate the area.’

‘May?’ Gerald drawled in reply. ‘Have you not quite decided how to deal with this mess?’

‘No sir, we have been ordered not to intervene, by the Consulars.’

‘Some Magi get drunk?’ Gerald asked.

‘No one is really sure yet, doubt anyone will be until Marius wakes up.’

‘Wakes up?’

‘Yes, one of my friends dragged him out himself. Oi Derrick, get over here!’

‘What ya want?!’ Derrick shouted back, pushing through a throng of chattering Watchmen to get to them.

‘Tell this chap about old Marius,’ the first Watchman said.

‘Dragged him out myself,’ Derrick said, ‘not seen anyone with injuries like that still breathing; lost a hand, his lower leg, half his face,’ the man shuddered.

‘Magi should know not to go drinking,’ Gerald said, shaking his head. ‘Anyone else hurt?’

‘We can’t tell for sure, too many of em’ are in bits,’ the first Watchman said, gesturing to row upon row of shapes, each covered by a white cloth. ‘We haven’t found anyone else alive, and we think we have put together about sixty bodies.’

‘Well, if this Marius wakes up, I hope they try him for the damage to this road, all my trade caravans will have to be diverted. He should probably be punished for the dead people too,” Gerald added, as an afterthought. He turned and swaggered away, behind him he heard one of the two men mutter, ‘bloody nobles’ to his partner, and heard a grunt of acknowledgement in response.

Damnation! He thought to himself. How did the bastard survive? Then, more rationally; it doesn’t sound like he will survive though, and even if he does he hardly sounds like he would prove a challenge. One way or another, he decided, Marius was dead. The bastard just didn’t know it yet.