Iron Sun

"Across the seas, but still beneath
Our Iron Sun, Our destiny,
Rise! Rise! Tordassia, fair
This land of ours, beloved, where
The hearts of patriots alight
Tordassia! Tordassia! Your rule is ever just and right!"
- An excerpt from 'Rise Tordassia Fair', a patriotic song of Iron Sun

"These foreigners know nothing of our ways, of our gods. By the time we drive them into the sea, they will know both."
- Sha'Hiran, First Lance of Daset, Thousand Spears tribe

A brief tale of Mervis Castling, Iron Sun admiral

Serfs
Marines
Caravel
Rook
Corvette
Frigate

Their arrival marked the first true incursion of Tordassia into Korash. Explorers had known of the region, and merchants had traded with it long before there was ever official sanction to do so. But the empire's military might? That was new to the continent.

It is the age of conquest. Burgeoning colonies rise now in distant lands, footholds the empire has secured with no little effort and sacrifice. But worth it - in time, always worth it; once the worst of the fighting is done, the local politics yolked, the old ways leashed and brought to heel.

Necessary. Always necessary. Tordassia has one shore - it can count itself lucky in that regard. Not landlocked, like some nations. Under the constant crushing squeeze of neighbours, in time they all either surge outward with a great shove of steel and might - or meet a more likely end: to be gradually ground down under the pressure; their resources plundered, their might shattered, the pieced co-opted to the strength of their conquerors.

But not Tordassia. We will not let this happen.

No, we will search abroad for the materials and opportunities needed to make ourselves stronger. Six hundred years of progress - steady progress - has shown us that this is not just a desire born of love of country. It is destiny.

Though in the case of the Korashi colony, there have been... complications. A colony needs supply to, and from, the mainland. That is its purpose, after all, and its lifeblood. Without that stream of nourishment - of men, of materials, of culture from the empire - it withers on the vine. Or worse: it turns, becoming something else entirely.

That supply has not arrived. We cannot say why, and that is almost as troubling as the dwindling materials themselves. For to be on stranded, but equipped with understanding - that is something one can rally too. A call to courage, if you will. The obstacle can be recognised, and surmounted.

But this not knowing... This accursed isolation not just of material and contact, but of reason why -that is a threat most insidious. If lack of supply or native threat do not kill us, this sapping of morale - the slow drain - that will be our doom.

But we will hold firm. We will hold our heads high and bare these times of uncertainty, come what may. Because we are Tordassians. The colony fleet of the Iron Sun. And we shall prevail.

Factions (the tribes)

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