Magical Realm Cyoa/Naracel
This is a journey into money... Loads of money.
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Trapped! Nightmare! Area Increase 5 Portals Protection 2 Population Increase 5 Attitude Adjustment Culture & Customs Metahuman Population Technology Upgrade 2 Aesthetics Mercantile Industrial Technomagic Mystical Mechanical Affinity Gambling Affinity Warfare Affinity Cosmic Adjustment Landscape Adjustment Exceptional Materials Magical Phenomena Fauna & Flora 3 Malice Theme Intellectual Affinity Fate Lifestyle Upgrade 3 Automatons 1 Influence 3 Equipment Immortality Spirit Walk Shape Shift 2 Tongues Memory Friendship 2 Harem Guidance 1 Familiar Dominion Machina Mind Energy Manipulation Teleportation Dungeons 2 Spirits Magical Upgrade 3 Diplomatic Enchanting Elementalism 1
World Structure
The Realm of Naracel is a fractured one, made up of a large number of floating islands, roughly level with each other, floating many many miles above the floor below. Beneath these islands lays a layer of freezing mist, which nobody has ever entered and survived. Despite the plane being around five times the size of earth, the 'civilized' and most populated section of the world is a section that occupies roughly 1/10 of the world. This section, known as 'Narius' the only truly known, mapped part of the sky to the inhabitants, is made up of 4 major continents, Arelia to the east, Disnacht to the north, Entilles to the west, and Naxis to the south. Numerous smaller islands and remnants also populate the sky between these continents.
The world beyond is largely unmapped and unexplored, filled with massive floating jungles, deserts, ruins, glaciers, all imaginable landscapes and vistas. This area 'beyond' is colloquially known as 'the Cel'.
Nations & Peoples
The most distinctive feature of Naracel is the remarkable power balance in Narius. Narius currently features four major powers: Tinrell, Taron, Naxis, and The United Republics of Arelia. The true power, however, rests in the hands of the traders, merchants, adventurers, and mercenaries.
Naracel is, however, reaching the end of an era. The Freiport is calling in it's debts, effectively annexing many central Islands. Taron is pushed increasingly to reform, while Tinrell is a mere step or two away from tearing apart at the seams. In Naxis, the Machine-mind has lost it's control, and the Naxians are leaving in droves for the open sky, while enterprising nobles and freicaptains carve out petty fiefdoms in former Naxian land. The artisan of yesterday is giving way to the engineer, the farms give way to the factories, and the grand wooden warships of yesteryear cloak themselves in steel and fill themselves with ever-more powerful engines. In this new era, everything has been called into flux. The Freetraders organize into factions, the workers into unions, the merchant houses into trading companies. In this uncertain time, only one thing is certain: Riches will always be there for those with the strength to find it.
The Impirium of Taron
The Impirium of Taron, of the easternmost continent is filled with a robust, hardy people, hardy and disciplined, yet they retain an exploratory spirit and ambition burns brightly within them. A visitor from earth might catch himself remembering literature and stories of the old British Empire, or the Kingdom of Prussia. Tinrell holds within itself vast forests, expansive fields, and in the easternmost provinces, massive mountain ranges.
Tinrellian Empire
Residing on the westernmost continent, and the Tinrellian empire is characterized by the carefully constructed, elegant architecture one finds wherever a Tinrellian engineer has had his day. The Tinrellians are a people rooted in tradition, focusing on quality and substance above all. In their society, artists and poets are highly prized. Tinrell is, unfortunately, a dying nation. Its focus on individual ambition is demonstrated in both its military and government. The scheming nobles and barons frequently clash, and politicking and internal conflict has left it open to both foreign incursion and internal dangers, and the empire has been slowly crumbling for a century with little to no sign of improvement. This is shown to its greatest degree in the Lanskin Rebellion, where a vast chunk of the interior rebelled against the current monarch's attempted innovations and seceded to form an even more dogmatic and traditionalist kingdom. A visitor from earth might wandering through a Tinrellian city might find themselves comparing it to Babylon, or the Byzantine empire.
Naxian Technocracy
Naxis is a strange and enigmatic place, perhaps the most unfamiliar to the outsider. The lands it inhabits is largely desert and wasteland, and their population is a scant few. Their people and history however, are incredible. The Naxian ideal can be traced back to when the Tinrellian empire was at it's height, controlling more than half of the known world, including the southern continent, Naxis, which was in those days a land of vast rolling hills and plains. A genius scholar and inventor, who's name is now lost to the sands of time, did the impossible- he created a thinking machine. A massive construct the size of a hill, it was a delicate, intricate construction of brass and gold clockwork. Upon the announcement of this momentous even, he locked himself within his fortress with his machine. What was done in the years following may be only known to the Naxians themselves. Half a century later, however, the fruits of his labour were made available to all across naxis. Machine-Men, a little more machine than man, built from Serfs and clockwork soon became the de facto source of labor on Naxian farms. Yet another half-century later, something went wrong. The Tinrellian metropole suddenly ceased receiving reports from the inventor's fortress. In a sudden explosion of fury, the machine-men turned on their masters, slaughtering the inhabitants of Naxis. From the fortress of the machine-mind, strange and intricate brass constructs began to take flight. What follows next is burned into history books forever. Normal humans were driven from the continents, and through arcane methods the Naxian seers began sapping the life from the land to power their ships. To this day they remain a vehement enemy of Tinrell, and the two take any excuse to make war. The Naxian Machine-men and their ships are few and far between, but each are powerful and advanced, and will not hesitate to kill trespassers on sight. The Naxians today are isolationist, ruthless, yet inventive and efficient people, of which little is known. They worship the sun, a great heresy to the Tinrellians, who worship the far-stars. Though traders and ambassadors regularly ply the skies beyond Naxis, they stay tight-lipped about their homeland.
The United Republics of Arelia
The final great power is the United Republics of Arelia, a federalized alliance of republics, communes, and free-states sandwiched between the southern border of the Impirium of Taron and the Naxian Technocracy's holdings on Arelia. Bound together by necessity, the United Republics are a hotbed of innovation and individualism. Many of the greatest mercenary and merchant captains trace their lineage or success to the URA. It is difficult to characterize the URA due to the fact that it's a collection of different governments, cultures, languages, and peoples. They do as a whole, however, place a great emphasis on one's freedom to determine one's own fate, and eschew allowing one to be controlled by great powers beyond one's control.
There are also a great number of smaller, less directly powerful nations and islands dotting Narius.
The Open Sky
While one might initially think that power still lies in the hands of the monarchs, nobles, diktats, and myriad rulers of the isles, the true power lies in the Open Sky- that is, the hands of the traders, pirates, adventurers, and mercenaries. Until very recently, it was highly unusual for a nation to maintain a standing navy of any sort, and mercenaries would form the bulk of the conflicts of Narius. Unlike those from earth's own history, mercenary captains of Narius see conflicts as a matter of pride and honor,and break the misconception of them as beings devoted to the financial aspect. While captains who will abandon a host at the first sign of defeat do exist, they are the exception, and certainly not the rule
Similarly, nation-states of Narius are wholly dependent on the Free-traders for to maintain the continued flow of resources, people and money. Throughout history, since the very first sky-ship was constructed, sky-captains have enjoyed autonomy and freedom in their dealings thanks to the precedent established by the first true king, the Rose King. Upon the presentation of the sky-craft to the Rose King, he blessed the Carpenter, the Magus, the Pilot, and the Sailor, and told them to sail "In my name, and with my blessing, and only with your consent." Since this day, all sky-captains have entertained a degree of independence and freedom, even within modern standing navies.
Pirates, of course, are a natural consequence of this. Though not too common, pirates are a definite and persistent danger in the open sky. From the common bandit squadrons junk skiffs, accosting personal craft and lightly armed transports, to elegant privateer frigates, acting as noble and gentlemanly highwaymen, the ideal of all petty robin-hoods.
The Freiport
If the lifeblood of Naracel is trade, the Freiport is its heart. A massive man-made island at the dead-centre of the Narian Sector, The Freiport is the de facto centre for all traders, wholesalers, adventurers, and vagabonds of all sorts. Since the earliest days of international trade The Freiport has been a popular neutral ground for captains to rest, refuel, and resupply. Nowadays it is the very centre of power in Narius, if not the entire world. The Freiport is a massive wood and metal construct the size of a small city, 'orbited' by numerous smaller stations. Featuring expansive docking facilities, vast commercial trading floors, conference rooms, inns, whorehouses, and even a decently sized permanent population, the Freiport is constantly bustling with activity.
While many might think that such a place would have been brought low by ambitious kings and emperors long ago, such a thing is almost unthinkable to much of the inhabitants of Narius. From massive gun emplacements, to hulking steel bulkheads, to a small flotilla directly loyal to the 'Golden Prince' himself, it is evident that attacking the Freiport would be a highly risky maneuver for even the most powerful of admirals. What's more, due to its singular importance to the free population of The Open Sky, if anyone were to attack the Freiport they would not only be shunned and embargoed by a large part of the captains that ply the clouds, but many would likely answer to a mustering of the Prince's Merchant Marine.
The Golden Prince
The Realm Lord and undisputed master of the Freiport, the Golden Prince is an enigmatic and often distant figure to many inhabitants of Naricel. Those who have gained his favor, however, know him to be a affable, friendly man. While it is difficult to determine whether one could call him 'young', he maintains the appearance of a young adult, of the age a son of a merchant house might make his first solo journey. Of course, appearances are frequently deceiving. He is one of the few remaining true Magi, capable of manipulating energies in the ways the Rose King did so many centuries ago. Though nobody except his personal staff truly knows the worth of his holdings, it has been estimated that he is near as rich as the Emperor of Taron. As in his administration of the realm, his administration of the Freiport embraces the ideal of decentralization, the core tenet being that 'delegation is the better part of leadership'. Truly, his lieutenants and advisers manage much of the goings on within the Freiport and without, while the Prince himself selectively involves himself in what he sees as being a 'grand' or 'adventurous' venture. This should not be taken to mean that he is averse to managing operations himself, however, as in the 30 day war he commanded the entirety of the Merchant Marine from his seat aboard the Frei flagship, The Dreadnought, and anyone who has had direct financial dealings with him can tell you how cunning and ruthless he can be when he wishes to.
Naracel Today
Naracel is, however, reaching the end of an era. The Freiport is calling in its debts, seizing the central Islands. Taron is pushed increasingly to reform, while Tinrell is a mere step or two away from tearing apart at the seams. In Naxis, the Machine-mind has lost its control, and the Naxians are leaving in droves for the open sky, while enterprising nobles and freicaptains carve out petty fiefdoms in former Naxian land. The artisan of yesterday is giving way to the engineer, the farms give way to the factories, and the grand wooden warships of yesteryear cloak themselves in steel and fill themselves with ever-more powerful engines. In this new era, everything has been called into flux. The Freetraders organize into factions, the workers into unions, the merchant houses into trading companies. In this uncertain time, only one thing is certain: Riches will always be there for those with the strength to find it.
The tech-level of Naracel fluctuates greatly. While the Freiport contains technology not developed on earth until the early 30's, the outlying colonies still operate as on a technological level equal with the early to mid 1800's. The average level in Narius itself is ~1910, however. While there are a significant level of holdovers, the people of Narius are rapidly developing new and innovative technomagical solutions. From the Tarrasque Beam Rifle of the Elite Taronnian troops, to the Great Skyway of the central islands, to the great processing centres of the Naxian citadel, Naracel is on the brink of greatness on the technological and scientific front.
Writefaggotry
The Letter
“A rent in the fabric of reality does not, interestingly, appear so striking and apparent. It's the sort of thing a portraitist can't capture. It isn't a hole, there are no spiralling colours, or maddening shapes as the penny-dreadfuls so love to proclaim. It is simply a section of space that is... Missing. When you cast your glance across it you get a feeling in your gut that something is dreadfully Wrong, that something incredibly important is Missing. That Something Terrible has needs to be fixed, now.
It was this that I pondered as The Dreadnought slid through the clouds towards the tear. Already around it, a terrible battle raged. Many-tendriled beasts seemed to be simply slipping from the gate, to be met with volley after volley of fire from the Taronnian navy ships. They were woefully under-prepared, a patrol of a paltry three destroyers, now being torn from bulkhead to-bulkhead by the things that were making their way across the sky.
These Beasts, I fear, I cannot reflect greatly on. When I review my memories I find them blurred, their actions hazy, their images missing, and a sense of unease and fear left in their place. What follows, at least, is what I can recall clearly. They were the size of ships themselves, seething, their 'hulls' constantly twisting and wrapping into impossible positions. Their vast tentacled appendages lashed too-and-fro, attacking anything that came within range, tearing the poor Taronnian ships to shreds.
As we drew within firing range, I gave the order to prepare the Beam. It was obvious that these things were not natural, and the 24-pounders of the patrol were barely scratching them. From my observation post, I saw signal flags rise along our armoured flank, ordering the fleet following to prepare arms. We had been stationed on the coast for months, waiting for something to come through, and the men had grown restless. Even from my place high above the gunnery decks, I could feel the shudder great steel shutters rising, and the thudding of great 110-pound cannons sliding into place.
Across our flank the fleet began to take up position. The great battleship Bane and its battlegroup began a sortie directly into the enemy’s midst while the twin cruisers Tezuka and Satou, captained by fresh-faced new Outlanders, led their part to the right flank, positioning for a broadside. What happened next, I did not care to comment on at my tribunal, and I care little to expand on now. I will, however, record it, for history must know. From the spine of our great ship, the Beam tore forth with a fury seldom witnessed in hinterlands such as these. Were it not for the tinted glass, I fear I myself may have been dazzled by simply the flash of the muzzle. When it hit the first beast, though, something went terribly, terribly Wrong. A horrifying keening filled the air as the thing burst open, spilling green flames across the landscape below.
The rest of the battle blends together. There was fire, yes I remember that much, and we won, that much is evident by how I survived. Barely a third of the fleet made it out of there, though. The bane was cut to shreds by a great maw, seemingly unattached to all else, and its escort set aflame with that unquenchable green fire. The vessels hung there for hours after the battle, burning green yet never quite being damaged. The crew, we can only assume, burnt to death. Not a quick way to go, yet some would argue a better end than that afforded to the survivors. The cruiser Satou was entangled by a beast, and detonated its own core to destroy it. I vaguely remember being pelted with hot fluid, yet cannot for the life of me remember leaving the bridge. The sister-ship, Tezuka, followed the last of the beasts into the rent. Only the Stars and that poor captain knows what became of him, for we ourselves have seen neither hide nor tail of him since.
I, I fear, came from the battle not as unscathed as you might expect. When I woke, the great metal shielding of our ship was aflame with green terror. Half the crew was dead. The other half had taken to doing... unspeakable things. I did my duty as a commanding officer and dispatched as many as I could before I took to the life boats. The nightmares haunt me to this day. I sit here today writing this not solely as a record, but as a warning. This is what awaits us on the other side of the veil. The riches, the glory, the whores and the tech that the traders seek in their hedonistic greed, it comes coupled with this. As long as we remain in contact with the outside, the Outside remains in contact with us. If we are to so much as hope to survive the next century, I fear that we must become what we once despised. It is this that I plead; no matter how much they grovel, they grandstand, they argue, the navy must remain. Not only that, the Navy must grow, if we expect to live in peace and sanity on our thrones of stolen gold.
[Editor's notes: The Dreadnought was recovered 2 weeks later. Not a soul remained on board. Beneath the site of the battle, the forest refuses to regrow, and the villiagers refuse to rebuild. While the Tezuka is as-of-yet unaccounted for, rumors fill the trading halls of half-familiar shapes flitting in and out of the fog within transit between here and [REDACTED]. The interior ministry is investigating.]