For as long as anyone can remember, Thibudis has been a nation desperately caught up in two things: politics and war.
In the early days of the first eras that none can remember any longer, there were simply tribes. Tribes spread across a huge landmass, accustoming and acclimatising in their own personal ways. As was the nature of this climate-hardened people, and, to an extent, humans, wars were always prevalent and frequent in one place or another. Across the land, battles raged; and fighting sword-and-shield, alongside each other, there were the Sorcerers of old.
Three powers reigned supreme about the land. Tyripolis in the North, Yataris in the Midlands, and Sabran in the South. Of these, Yataris ruled the lands with an iron fist and a steel will imbued in its people; the Yatarians were hard workers, and those that didn't mine fought viciously and ferociously to defend stack upon stack of extracted precious metals. Their blades were forged of the finest Yatarian iron, and their king was fair yet bitter to a T. Yataris was consistently locked in a cycle of war with both Sabran and Tyripolis simply due to its nature; a vast majority of its early years had been spent in bitter defense, and now it was the city's turn to reign supreme.
Beneath the sweltering desert sun, one day, however, a child was born. Aenias Cyrus Menos II. The progeny of a Yatarian nobleman and his Tyripolian bride. The marriage, however, quickly broke down, and in fear for her and her son's life, Aenias' mother fled to her heritage and home city, where for years she rose Aenias in poverty and constant fear of being hunted by either brigands or her viciously jealous ex-husband.
Eventually, the latter, now a failure of a drunkard, finally found his ex-wife and her son cowering in a decrepit, dilapidated old ruin, and advanced upon the pair, knife in hand, the stench of vodka upon his breath and the fire of jealousy upon his eyes. He gutted the woman and turned next to the boy as he watched his own mother die; and moments before he could advance upon his own son, turned insane by jealousy, a few guardsmen happened upon the scene, and restrained the man. In his struggle, Aenias' father was executed.
The boy then, barely twelve years old, was taken to the guard tower. The guards themselves continually told each other and their superiors that they'd find a home for him, but, eventually, Aenias simply took the tower as his home. He was always welcome, provided he pulled his own weight; and at the ripe age of sixteen, a supple, excellent combatant, he took up arms and fought for his country.
Eventually, the king changed. The new monarch, King Idas IV, had succeeded his father after the late king's demise, and, subsequently, the city quickly became a vile, despicable place. Crime and horror filled the streets as the typical, clichéd capitalist dictator simply only cared for his own money as he attempted to oppress the Tyripoli people with an iron fist.
Around four hundred and fifty years ago, Aenias Menos forged a resistance and mounted a coup on the Dominion, the Tyripoli's grand fortress. With vicious fighting spirit and the morale required to lead his own men, he was decisively successful, slaughtered Idas but a year after his reign had begun, cleaving the king's head straight off and taking the crown for his own.
Aenias was a fair leader, but, similarly to the ways of the kings in Yataris he'd become wise and observant to, he was kind to his friends yet deadly to his enemies. A true warrior king. His reign was long, and fruitful, and as Tyripolis became the commercial centre of Thibudis, despite the weathered Yataris' advances, he retained solid integrity and morale in his people. The city was even renamed in his honour: Aenias City.
Eventually, however, thoughts of conquest came to his mind. Yataris had grown too powerful and too cocky, and it was weak; the mid-desert civilisation was ripe for the taking. And, so, Aenias mounted a devastating force, over one hundred and fifty thousand strong to match the Yatarians', and marched on the desert. The climate was horrific, but, eventually, the journey made them successful, and over three months, they besieged the city, and left in their path nothing but rubble.
Those with sense left fled west, to build a new Yataris, having seen the fall of their old home on the horizon. It was a shattering blow to the world and the people that dwelt within the city, but it was not unexpected considering the cruel, cold demeanours of the people. This siege has since crippled the growth of the new Yataris, and caused them to become closed-off and bitter towards just about any other hostile power on principle - but, however, in battle, Aenias was struck by a stray arrow, and his supposed immortality was proven wrong. Archers had been both Yataris' and his own demise; Aenias was killed almost immediately, and thousands encircled their dying leader as he made his last request: to find a leader to rule more fairly than he had.
This marked the beginning of a new age: this year was 0 AR. The first year of the Aenian Revolution. Dedicated to the man that had made so much from so little.
The invasion forces returned to the city and united those settlements that sat beneath their grasp under a single banner: The Aenian Empire. They would build an army so strong that they would be able to once more march upon any who opposed them and call their city their own. But first, they needed a ruler. Dozens of the wisest and most powerful men in the city gathered not moments after Aenias' public memorial and the congregation discussed one thing: their late king's successor.
And, infact, it was not to be a single successor, but three. The Prophets. Three wise men who, with their supposed link to the world of the Ancestors, would guide and rule the world with an equilibrium of clashing personalities.
Sabran renamed itself Sabrie. Beneath the sweltering sun and scorched rubble centuries old, the Syndicate, a society of honourable criminals and assassins, formed an underground complex. Yataris, slowly but steadily, grew upon a depleted plain. Four hundred and forty years passed.
The Prophets now number three. Some have come and gone, but none of the original trio remain. These three are named Daedalus, the oldest, Barius, the youngest, and Irassos, he who would sit in the middle. Once more, principle has maintained; each has a vastly different personality, but they are united under one thought: conquest.
Technology too has still advanced, with ranged weaponry prevalent and found frequently around the world. Yataris sits in an obsolete state, with their new king having just taken the crown, Alicon Savat, as they still fight bitterly with the same blades and bows they have for eons now. The Sky Pirates have formed, criminals and looters who took to the air with new technology under an alliance with Sabrie - the city which now opposes the Empire's oppressive rule in a movement known as the Sabrian Uprising, lead by Prime Minister Elisa Castillo.
Millions of people dwell now upon Thibudis' vast temperamental landmass. The Empire itself has an army numbering a devastating one and a half million strong. So the scene has been set; the characters and powers established. How will events unfold from here on out?
Only time will tell...
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