Adelartian events
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This is a list of 
Adelart's events from /1826643372/events/Adelart Events.txt.
Twenty Days of Celebration
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Twenty years of freedom called for twenty days of celebration for the free merry griffons of Adelart. Any incredulous planners for such a tall plan were swiftly reassured by Adelart's charming national hero – the one and only, Merlock Wood! – and soon the streets and squares of Bergelun flocked with celebration. Griffons all over Adelart were beyond eager to join these grand festivities, and for twenty days straight was Bergelun filled with fluttering party banners, scrumptious food, beautiful minstrel tunes, and cheers and drinks all around. For the peasants, local heroes, and everygriffon in between, twenty years of freedom from the tyranny of Greifwald was more a reason than any for such grand celebrations.
Among the many partygoers came the many community leaders living throughout, traveling to Bergelun not only to celebrate, but also to represent their homes in Adelart's congressional assembly. Beyond the doors of Bergelun's makeshift national assembly hall, long ago appropriated from its use as a Greifwald court of injustice, community leaders and representatives from highly interested factions would meet for twenty days to debate and decide Adelart's future.
Everygriff in Adelart knew that tensions with Greifwald were at an all-time high and would only grow no matter how much Adelart's population partied away. A course had to be decided, and soon, but the final decision would rest with Merlock Wood: the living legend who led Adelart to freedom. Or at least, it was widely believed so. Events across Griffonia had drawn in many new prominent groups over the last years, and most had packed a delegate or two in this year's assembly.
It was looking to be a very devisive future for Adelart.
Merlock Wood sat idly listening to the chatter throughout the court. Adjusting his green bycoket on his head, the living legend reached for his pint and took a swig.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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 Times have changed in Adelart, but we merry griffs endure.
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Twenty Hours of Argument
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Later that day, Merlock found himself nursing a mug at his favourite bar. With a sip, he tried to relax. The muffled drinking, debates and merriment were familiar. It was like being on the hunt with his merrygriffs again, and it was the closest to being with them since Luca talked his ear off about 'Not running off on his own and leaving Adelart leaderless.' It made sense, but that didn't make him miss the merrygriffs any less. They missed him as well, but with Luca's 'suggestion' and the debates ringing true all around Adelart he just couldn't join them on raids, the situation was too tenuous. Something was going to give, and when it did he'd have to make the choices.
Merlock was shaken from his thoughts by a shout coming from the counter nearby. Two griffons, one wearing a robe adorned with symbols of Eyr and the other having a PAT symbol on his beret, were arguing about spreading their doctrines in Lissay. Annoyed, Merlock stood up and walked over to them, tapping the PAT exile on the shoulder. "Keep it down, gentlegriffs," he said calmly. "You're making the beer taste bitter." Both griffons nodded sheepishly, and Merlock returned to his seat.
Merlock sat down with his head in his claws. If these arguments continued, then he'd be stuck playing babysitter until someone went too far and nogriff knew how long that'd take. Taking a sip from his drink, he put some thought to it. If any faction pulled something drastic while unsupported, it'd be politically disastrous for them. But if he was behind one of them...
That could work. He'd have to call a meeting with the delegates, which would be a worse headache than after the celebration but it could be a way out of this mess and a way to get the delegates off of his back. With a determined nod, Merlock finished his drink, it'd be a rough few weeks so he may as well take what joy he could get for now.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Twenty Days of Celebration” option “Times have changed in Adelart, but we merry griffs endure.” |
Can't we all just get along?!?!?
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Descieux's Polemic
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Fancy timetabled meetings weren't Merlock's style, but that didn't prepare him for the doors to be kicked open by a retinue of red-clad, rifle-boasting Merrimane partisans. Merlock gripped an unseen pistol. "You're bold to coup me, Alexandra."
"We're here to stop such a coup," squawked an undeniably Aquileian voice as Alexandra Descieux—knit in suit, tie, and prim glasses—stepped out of her score of bodyguards. "It's a plot, one you've sown against yourself for twenty years," she continued. "You and your friends have watered such a fertile soil of class consciousness, but just as the seeds have begun to flower, you choke the revolution by planting the thorns of capitalist and clerical collaboration!"
"What can I say?" he said smugly. "If they're with me, they're with all of us Adelartians."
"They, too, are capable of deceit," she answered back. "You speak of liberation for all, yet your younger self sought to curtail the 'freedoms' of the sheriff and his Greifwalder lords. Your newfound 'friends' would've put your younger—your truer—Merlock to open shame." She slipped a folder to his table. "These are our demands. Our points are three: one, to actualise this pre-existing Adelartian communalism into a vanguard-led workers' republic; two, to bar bandits and mercenaries from participating in this republic, as they only plunder the fruits of our labourers; and three, to implement the dual-wielding policy of agricultural collectivisation and collective industrialisation."
Merlock blinked as he took the document and skimmed the whole thing. At least Descieux was content that the charming face of Adelart was taking interest in this vision once more. Soon, though, when the papers were clawed back to her, she got her answer:
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Option conditions
 "We can centralise later on, I can promise you that, leastwise."
AI logic:
"A proper government you'll have only if I call the shots."
AI logic:
"All this bossing around just makes you a socialist sheriff. Get out."
AI logic:
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Enabled if:
The Prelate's Confession
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"Seems I was right about your age slowly catching up."
Merlock glanced up from his meal and found a very elderly griffon hunched before him adorned in simple robes with a walking staff. To any foreigner, this beyond ancient Priest of Eyr seemed fragile enough to be knocked over with but a simple poke, but the griffons of Adelart knew very well the tales surrounding him.
Merlock smiled, remembering how true the tales were of those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of that staff. "Nonsense, Luca," he gestured for his friend to sit, "I get better with age."
Prelate Luca vun Lissay chuckled as he obliged, "Only by faith can you hope to live as long as I."
Merlock laughed, "Of course, by faith, and by not standing in front of your armored tractors." The two compatriots spoke reminiscently of the old times they had together and the many more adventures that culminated with Adelart's independence. They talked about their shared past like the old friends they were, and only when the sun was well set and other patrons had left did the Prelate finally bring up the topic he wanted to speak of.
"Merlock, many of the faith are concerned with the "Going to the Griffons" movement. I've seen PAT operatives in Adelart trying to stir up anti-clerical sentiments and communistic leanings in the shadows. You might think it good for everygriffon to be heard, but it's a far cry from democracy: it's populism manipulated to strip away the self-determination of our temples and Adelart's institution of governance we fought for. Something has to be done, Merlock, and it has to be done soon."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Option conditions
Order the exiles to suspend operations in rural territories.
AI logic:
Permit PAT propaganda, but ban anti-clerical operations.
AI logic:
Decline the Prelate's request - the temple is not without scrutiny!
AI logic:
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An Unexpected Petitioner
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Wood sighed once he reached the back of the congress building. He nearly collapsed against the wall stained with years of misuse and reuse. It was like Maar himself possessed the griffons in the hall the moment they walked through the threshold.
"Merlock Wood, the legend," a smooth, devilish voice spoke from behind. Wood spun around at the sound and put one of his claws on his flintlock. Before him stood a clean-cut, handsome griffon with a dark grey suit so clean, it felt alien compared to the mildew-ridden wall and the gravel path they stood on. Jaume de Conard, the richest griff in Adelart. Wood let go of his gun, but kept his piercing gaze on the griffon.
Jaume chuckled and held his talons up. "Relax, Merlock, I come in peace. I'm just here to talk."
"If you want to talk, you can do it in the hall," Merlock responded, tilting his head towards the congress building.
"Talk?" de Conard gasped out through a chuckle. "You call that talking in there? If that's talking, then what we're doing right now is a whisper. No, nothing I say will be heard if I speak it in there."
Wood couldn't find himself disagreeing. "What do you want, de Conard?"
Jaume walked closer. "What everygriff wants: A better Adelart. I just don't think screaming gets my point across, like the Aquileian commie or that old fart."
"They just want to be heard," Wood replied.
De Conard snorted. "The Vanguard doesn't want to be heard. It wants to be in charge. And the Prelate isn't any better. Didn't you work together against Greifwald? What gives him the right to treat you like that in there?"
Merlock squeezed his left claw into a fist. "Then what do you think will help?"
The oil griffon grinned as he straightened out his suit. "Gold. I know griffons in Flowena. Influential griffons who want to change Adelart into something else. They wouldn't mind loaning some flowins to transform this backyard of Aquileia into a country that can stand on its own. We'll build factories, feed griffons, and make this place a true republic."
Jaume put his surprisingly cold talon on Merlock's shoulder, and whispered, "Relive your old dreams, Merlock. With my help."
The legend looked into de Conard's eyes and opened his beak:
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Option conditions
"Tell me more."
AI logic:
"Leave, Jaume."
AI logic:
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The Rights of Petition
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Petitions, petitions, petitions. They never end.
Merlock stared at the end of the congress hall as voices of griffons yelled above one another. Vanguards, Eyrites, mercenaries, businessgriffs, reformers, republicans, peasants - they never stopped yelling at one another. Even his fellow band of merrygriffs, honest and loyal folks who always listened to Merlock's commands, devolved into a tempest of insults at the Adelartians they had once fought for.
When did it get this bad, Merlock ruminated. He remembered the day several years ago that he and Luca agreed to the system of petitions. A way for all voices to be heard, equal and without prejudice. It was an ideal system that both he and the Prelate agreed on.
And now, the Prelate was yelling at him, as well.
Merlock gazed at his old friend, eyes full of rage as his beak directed demands at Wood. The words were overshadowed by every other voice in the hall, but the sting hit harder than any other insult he heard.
When would it end? Merlock put his head into his claws and sighed. Exhaustion became his center of being, a state that veiled the world in a shade of grey. If only he could go out with his merrygriffs and fight the sheriff once more. Be a symbol of hope and peace in a country invested with darkness. He'd give anything to go back to those days once more.
But no, he had a place to be. A position to be in. He had to be the voice of reason in these arguments. He was no longer a merrygriff nor a hero protecting the commongriff from the bad guy, but a judge in a world of grey. A world where good and bad no longer existed.
He was just another sheriff.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Twenty Hours of Argument” option “Can't we all just get along?!?!?” |
And thus, the petitions go on.
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Partisan Divisions Disbanded
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In the gloom of an Adelartian evening, a group of Descieux's partisans camped out by a small town. They leisurely relaxed after a day of training in the forests, the grunts laying out their tents while the commanders kicked back and watched.
It wasn't peaceful for long, as with a click of a rifle the commanders turned to find a group of Merlock's bandits staring them down. With a cocky smirk and a look, one of the bandits pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to one of the commanders.
The letter was presumably one of many, as it laid out an order from Merlock calling for the immediate disbanding of partisans across Adelart. It did, however, have a clause stating that any partisans who were willing would be allowed to integrate into Merlock's bandit armies.
With an uneasy look at each other, at the partisans and at the barrels pointed towards them, the commanders acceded
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Adelart submits to no power, no ideology, no master!
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What to Do With So Much Gold?
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"1 million flowins," Merlock gawked. Not even he himself had seen an amount this large. Ten bags of a hundred thousand gold each lay on his desk, stacked so that they could all fit. Even then, some bags partly hung off the edge. Just one poke, and the whole thing could come crashing down.
"Directly from Flowena," Jaume spoke with a muffled voice as he held a cigarette in his beak and lit it with an aluminum lighter.
Merlock shook his head. "And how am I to pay this back?" he asked.
The tip of the cigarette lit up de Conard's face. "Don't worry, Wood, think of this as an investment. Use it for Adelart and make it rich first. And if you can't," the corners of his beak curved upwards, "we can figure something out."
A chill ran down the old griffon's spine. He had better make use of this as best he can. For the sake of Adelart.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Spend the money on salvaging our trade reputation!
Spend the money on mobilisation - Greifwald lurks!
To Tartarus with the economy, we need loyalty and griffons!
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Flowenan Businesses Occupy Lissay Oil Fields
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Bordeau awoke in his office to the sound of scuffling outside. Piles of paper laid on his desk, and stains tainted the edge of the documents where his beak touched. Disoriented, he wiped his face with his sleeve and stood up from his chair. The sound outside his door grew louder and familiar voices appeared through the discord.
With a slam, Bordeau’s office door shot open as one of his workers scurried in, sweat accumulated on her brow. "Sir... Flowenans... coming in... they have... mercenaries..." she muttered in between breaths.
"What?" Bordeau tilted his head at his worker for a few seconds before his stomach dropped and his memory returned. He turned to his trash and threw out paper ball after paper ball until he found one of a higher quality at the bottom. He unfurled the ball until it expanded into a single, crumpled piece of paper that he had thrown away days ago. A single, terrifying piece of paper that was so absurd Bordeau believed it was a joke. Big, red letters lined the top of it:
TRANSFER OF PROPERTY
The genuine strokes of Merlock Wood’s signature sat on top of the document's dotted lines. Bordeau couldn’t help but release a nervous chuckle, the sound of which froze his worker in her place. His legs almost buckled under him. This had to be a joke, didn’t it? Merlock himself wouldn’t sign the rights of this oil field to Flowena, right?
Bordeau read the document again. No, it wasn’t just this oil field. Every oil field in Lissay was now under Flowena's control.
A yelp redirected Bordeau’s attention to the entrance, where two large, scarred mercenaries pushed Bordeau’s worker away. From behind them came a well-dressed griffon with pulled-back hair. He looked around, sneered and sniffed, then turned to the mercenaries holding the oil worker.
"Let de Conard know my discontent. This is clearly a downgrade from my old office! He'd better deliver on what he promised."
Bordeau raised his eyebrow. "Excuse-"
"And get this griffon out of my sight!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Signed away without a say...
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Le Shérif de Nottemagne
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"Griffons of Adelart, hear my call! I am Shérif Jean de Nottemagne, your rightful liege! For the past twenty years you have been fed lies by bandits, opportunists and traitors! Told stories of baseless horror and fear towards your true rulers! This must end, lest the insanity of your ragtag leaders spread further and hurt more griffons."
"To those who continue to believe in me, come! Come and aid me in taking what is rightfully mine! To those who are good, and free! Merely led astray by the utopian dreams of madgriffs! You shall be granted full pardons if you aid me in my righteous reclamation! To those who have led the griffons of Adelart astray for so long, hear me! My Griffons are ready, and waiting, to take your heads. May Boreas have mercy on your heretical souls!"
Councils and Assemblies across Adelart were panicked by the radio address, to those who faced the Sheriff himself over 20 years ago the lies were plain to see. But those who never knew, or those that dislike Wood and his choices, were easily swept up by his words.
Ultimately, the choice of how to respond lies upon Wood’s shoulders.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Option conditions
Well, we didn't take all those loans for nothing...
AI logic:
Raise militias in the West, the griffons still stand with Wood!
AI logic:
The old bandit companies will drive them back once more!
AI logic:
Descieux's partisans shall prove their loyalty!
AI logic:
Time for the prelate to rev up his tractors!
AI logic:
We can't just sell our country to them... raise any Western militia we can find!
AI logic:
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Red Eminence
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"...but we can't ignore Descieux's reports," Merlock continued in the heavily crowded hall, his gang at his side and the prelate not so far away, everyone enraptured by the mere truth of his past heroism: "dealing with the sheriff will call down Greifwald's wrath, and we've got to prepare everygriff for that. Until we've skewered every doddering piece of Greifwalder flesh, Adelart's under a national emergency. I'm asking all of us, for the sake of our liberty, to shore up our border against the pesky pig-mouthed Nottemagne bootlickers..."
The mastermind behind his speech, though, sat not in the hall but across the crowded street, where Descieus made coffee from an Aquileian press, careful not to let it spill on her suit.
"It's going splendidly, hm?" asked Dominique Limbourg from across the table, a budding unicorn economist and a fellow Aquileian emigre. "For all his help, it's the Merrimanes that will do the bulk of the work. Monsieur Allard will be proud of you."
"I would be honoured if I had a tenth of his attention," Descieux muttered. Victor Allard was, in communist Aquileian politics, an enigma, diverging from Cru and the majority of the movement by his substantive emphasis on vanguard parties. A monarchist in red to some, he was the sanest of them all to Descieux: capitalism's war against organised labour could only be won by a counter-organised force of the workers' most class-conscious; without such a masterful guide, the labouring class would be easily fooled by the wiles of reaction.
A great battle cry escaped from the hall, and Merlock shouted yet more invectives against Greifwald under a sea of raised flintlocks and sabres. Untrammelled by war fever, Descieux smiled: Merlock was now under her claw, his bycoket a facade for the red eminence.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Their emancipation, soon...
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One for All and All for One
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Merlock walked between the bandits, one by one. His bandits. His fighters. His revolutionaries. Each got a wink, a clawshake and a word as he passed.
"Abigail, glad to see your eye's healed up. Any new tricks to show me?"
"Yolanda, cannons haven't gotcha deaf yet? Good griff."
"Claudius! Never got the chance to congratulate ya for that raid on Falcontown, well, congrats!"
"Jacques, glad you made it. Don't look a day over ninety, haha you old devil!"
He'd done this sort of thing many times, after a raid or whenever there was loot to pass around. But this time he'd gathered them all in secret, under an old tree.
"Listen. I know you all saw me there, at the big assembly. Twenty years, eh? What'd ya think? No, I know what you'll say, you were great, I loved hearing you say that thing to those griffs. No. Don't lie to me. Be honest thieves and tell me what you thought."
"It was embarrassing!" Jacques said after a pause, "That prelate walked all over you, and the nerve of that commie, coming before you and saying you couldn't govern. Twenty years ago, nogriff woulda dared!"
"That's right!" Merlock howled, years of frustration finally coming out, "It's like they've all forgotten! We've forgotten! Look at us. If we'd led our revolt like we are now, the Greifwalders woulda walked all over us. And they will, if we don't shape up. Gods, I needed that. Yes! I don't know what we're doing anymore."
"We'll show 'em!" shouted the half-deaf Yolanda, "The Greifwalders, the prelate, we'll show 'em all. They can talk all they want, but it's action the people respect. I'm gonna go back to my band and I'm gonna train 'em twice as hard. For you, chief. For us. All for one?"
"One for all," finished Merlock. "Good. We're on the right track. I'll be gathering you here soon. We're gonna find that old sheriff and we're gonna show everygriff that we've still got it. For Adelart. For freedom. For us."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
In fraternity united!
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We Shall Stay as We Are
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The courtroom hall was packed to the brim with Adelart's griffons with many more seated along its outside. When word of Merlock Wood having finally made a choice, griffons all over the countryside took flight to Bergelun. Around noonish was when the (in)famous Merlock Wood took to the courtroom's stand, and a hush befell the squished congresses.
"I have made my decision," Merlock declared, adjusting his green bycoket, "the decision being that I will support no faction."
Everygriffon squalled in confusion and voices began shouting over each other. The upheaval came just shy of talons clawing at each other before Merlock drew his dashing sabre to the air and silenced the assembly. He would've fired his trusty flintlock if he wasn't worried about accidentally hitting somegriffon outside, but the metallic slice and sheen of his blade were flashy enough.
"Twenty years ago, when we broke away from Greifwald, Adelart was of many griffons; not one singular faction. With this unique pluralism inherent to our nation, we prevailed, so it will be this special pluralism that will help us again! Our Adelartian systems must be adaptive if they are to enshrine the bonds of freedom all free griffs have forged together in this land, just as it falls to every free griff to safeguard their freedoms from those who wish to abuse them! Let it be an Adelart of all feathers that stands strong together! Let it be an Adelart of all stripes that liberates the free griffs from the yoke of Greifwald tyranny! So yes, I support no faction in particular, but I support all who will fly for Adelart!"
"Alright we get it!" a local bandit hero in the crowd interrupted, "Now put that sabre away before you skewer somegriffon!"
Merlock Wood smirked with the merry laughs from everygriffon, "The only griffons I intend to skewer are those oppressors from Greifwald!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Hear, hear!
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A Nostalgic Reunion
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Merlock Wood stood outside of the courtroom, the sounds of arguments hitting his head like a drum. Even in a time of great tension and fear, the yelling was bad. Worse, even. If an emergency didn't change how petitions were handled, what was the point in even trying?
"It's bad in there, isn't it?" a familiar voice spoke beside Merlock. Wood brought his eyes back up to find Luca standing beside him.
Merlock sighed and looked forward once more. "It's worse than bad. If this goes on for another day, we've already lost Adelart."
The old claws of the Prelate clenched onto his staff. "I suppose I am at fault, as well. I've grown too comfortable in these recent years, focusing on spreading the word of Eyr rather than living it myself."
Wood cranked his neck back at his former friend. "You're not fully at fault," he spoke. "There are many worse people in there."
"Regardless," the old griffon croaked, "I'm... sorry for how things have changed over these years. I've fallen to their level, screaming at the top of my lungs to get a point across. May Eyr forgive me. However, we have a worse foe in play."
Wood nodded. "The Sheriff."
"The Sheriff," Luca relied, before giving Wood a small smile. "This brings back memories, huh?"
Merlock chuckled. "I was thinking the same thing. The merryband and the Prelate working together again."
The two looked at one another, with the Prelate outstretching his talon towards his legendary companion. "Let's show this foe just what Adelart thinks of his return. I'll rally our people and educate them on the matter..."
"...and I'll handle the fighting," Wood finished Luca's sentence. He took the Prelate's talon and shook. "He'll be kicked out within the week."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
By Eyr's will, Adelart shall answer.
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The Green Flag Over Adelart
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"The Sheriff who frightened us for so long is in our claws at last!" The bar cheered at Merlock's words "His cronies shall never again plague us and though his masters in Greifwald watch with greedy eyes and eager claws, we know their swords are blunt! We know their words are worthless. And we know the merrygriffs of Adelart stand ready to repulse them with ease!" As he waited for the hurrahs to die down, he adjusted his bycoket and smiled.
"That raises the question, what do we do now? We organised ourselves as needed for the day he returned and it worked. So can you lend me your ears?" With a pause to let the murmurs ride out he continued. "We are victorious, but Adelart herself isn't unscathed. Decades of necessary compromise and fear have left scars that need extreme care to heal."
"The revolutionaries will change Adelart into nothing but a collective state, the old believers won't do enough, the flowenans circle us like vultures." With a dramatic pose he pauses, gauging the silence. "Let me and my Merrygriffs take the helm, my fellows. We can evolve the free territory, ensure the free griffs of Adelart are fed and happy, and we can create an Adelart that can stand on its own strength."
A murmur rode through the bar, as Merlock waited for the response. He looked over the gathered crowd, griffs of all stripes were here talking amongst themselves, he even spotted a few PAT exiles muttering. Until his patience was answered, as with an almost united cry they squawked:
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Is triggered only by
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"War on the palaces, peace to the cottages!"
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The Condottieri Arrive
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Madam Cherie couldn’t help but laugh as her troops broke through the garrison’s shoddy lines and made it into the Adelart village. She kept her binoculars onto the battle, observing her soldiers shoot down the poorly-equipped militia in the streets they swore to defend. One griffon with a shot leg tried to drag himself towards an alleyway, but her soldiers were quick to step on his wounded leg before-
In a moment, a flash of light blinded Cherie and a shockwave broke her balance. A sharp buzz stung her ears and a blinding white took her vision. All she could sense was the soft grass below her cheek and the harsh smell of gunpowder.
Without warning, a talon grabbed Cherie’s arm and yanked her up. "We’re under attack, ma’am!" a voice broke through through the buzzing. The commander’s vision came to, revealing a young cadet of hers who led her away. Cherie turned towards the village her troops entered to find a set of burning ruins taking its place. More artillery bombarded the small town, annihilating her soldiers as well as the few Adelart militia left.
"More militia?" Cherie asked.
The cadet shook his head. "No, ma’am. It’s Flowenan mercenaries."
Cherie gasped as artillery struck without end. Had they planned this from the start? Did they decide to sacrifice their entire village for this battle? Cherie had never thought the fabled Merlock Wood would allow such a thing.
Another burst of light obliterated the path before them and shoved Cherie back into a state of dissociation. The loud hum reverberated even louder as she felt herself fall to the ground once again. The muted sensation of grass brushed her side and the scent of blood overwhelmed her senses, as did the thumping in her head.
"What should we do with her?" a Flowena-accented voice touched Cherie's damaged eardrums.
"Shoot her. Take no prisoners," a second, deeper voice spoke.
The white flare in her eyes subsided enough to reveal a gun barrel pointed at her with a Flowenan mercenary at the other end.
She held up her claw. "Wai-"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “Well, we didn't take all those loans for nothing...” |
Another griff bites the dust...
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A Missive at Midnight
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Jaume gazed out the window of his manor’s office with a glass of Aquileian wine. The soft light of the sunset refracted onto the wooden floor. He couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the quiet recording of a cello duet from the great Octavia playing in the dark corner of his room.
The griffon turned around and sat at his desk, where a letter of news lay.
"My dear de Conard," the letter wrote, "As you predicted, our 'late' arrival to the battle, alongside our 'help,' has left the Adelart militia weakened. The Vanguard has lost much of its strength, the fool of a Prelate’s support has crumbled, and Merlock’s merry band is no more. All we require is for you to enter the capital with our soldiers and take control. We wait for your answer."
De Conard sipped from his glass and spun his chair back at the window, watching the forest behind his home. No doubt his takeover was imminent, but he had to be smart about how he would proceed. Were he to take full executive power over Adelart, he could pump oil for all it’s worth. However, he knew how much Adelart griffons would resist. Not that he couldn’t handle it.
Alternatively, he could introduce Adelart to the ideas of a republic. Voting, lobbying, and all sorts of ideas that Aquileian Republic had introduced. Of course, the voting would be rigged in Jaume’s favor and his allies would have their spots on the council, but if he introduced such ideals and gave the commongriff a little power, he could see long-term profit. Still, he doubted his partisans would appreciate such a change in plan.
That being said, it may be a bit fun building a republic with a little tact rather than pulling off a simple coup. Anygriffon could do that, and the de Conard's were not "anygriffon."
Jaume thought for a moment before coming to a decision and returning to his desk. He put his claws on the typewriter and began typing.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “The Condottieri Arrive” option “Another griff bites the dust...” |
"My dear griffons, the time has come..."
"An opportunity has presented itself..."
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A Ceremony Long Overdue
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The church was beautiful, or at least it had been. The halls were packed with hopeful Greifwaldians, worried Adelartians and cautious optimists. Throughout the church, who’s markings had been changed twice over its long service, the air of unease was dampened by a guilty feeling of celebration.
Many who would have laid their lives down for Merlock’s cause only a few months ago stood close to the exit, their worries keeping them from sitting in the lines of pews. They would be the first to witness their new Sheriff as he entered through a pair of ornate doors.
Jean wore a surprisingly fancy suit, which stood at odds against his normal dishevelled look, and walked with a confidence that had been unseen for two decades. At his side was his loyal stalwart, Lady Adalgisel vun Kurg, wearing a more decorated version of her own uniform. Just out of Jean’s sight, she held a slight blush and carried herself with nobility.
By the altar stood a squat little griffon, the mayor of Eagleton, visibly shaking but holding a ceremonial sword. He was flanked by two of Jean’s stalwarts, and jumped every time one of them moved. He froze when Jean stepped before him, and readied the blunted sword as he knelt before him.
"W-with the power vested in me, by Eyr-" The mayor gulped, and rereadied the sword. "By the t-trinity. I grant you the title of Sheriff of Adelart, J-Jean de Nottemagne. May your reign be glorious and your protection a-absolute." He tapped Jean’s shoulders with the blade, and shrunk back as Adelart’s officially accepted Sheriff stood tall.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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A decades long wrong finally righted.
 Bandit Governance
Local and national governance is in the form of altruistic gangs, where the self-interest of local communities and crew members is prioritized. The remaining wealthy citizens hide in fear and the bandit populace isn't keen on marching to war.
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A Bright Day in Adelart
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The below descriptions are available for this event.
The following description is used if:
- None of:
- The Sheriff of Adelart has restored order. (?)
- The morning dew welcomed the Eagleton sunrise as griffons went about their normal business. A shopkeeper advertised his shop's deals, a trio of young hatchlings played tag, and an elderly griffon trimmed his garden. It felt like as if today would be like any other day in Eagleton.
Until the fleet came.
Five trucks drove in formation through the center of the city, garnering the attention of everygriff. Though, it wasn't just the trucks, but the singular tank with a passenger tied up on a long piece of wood sticking out through the open hatch. The grey griffon looked beaten and bruised, though he was still alive.
Griffons dropped their normal daily activities and followed the tank out of a morbid curiosity for what was going to transpire. Two, four, eight, sixteen... hundreds of griffons marched. Murmurs of theories and ideas echoed through the crowd, but it held its silence in anticipation.
Finally the fleet stopped, as did the crowd. Was this the Sheriff that they had been hearing about?
No, a familiar old face appeared out from one of the trucks. Luca vun Lissay. With the aid of his Sisters of Eyr, he stepped out of the vehicle and walked to the crowd. The crowd held their breath as he opened his beak.
"May Eyr guide us all, just as me and my companions have been guided. In the face of a superior force, we have been blessed. Against the revenge of our oppressors, we have been blessed. The Sheriff has returned... and he has been defeated. It is only by Eyr that such a miracle has occured."
The crowd changed from confusion to excitement as they cheered at each sentence. The Prelate pointed at the griffon tied up on the wood and continued.
"We will no longer stand for heathens invading our lands! We will no longer allow strangers outside of Adelart to take our griffons! By Eyr's will, we will be strong! We are no pawn of some Sheriff! We are Adelart!"
The following description is used if:
- The Sheriff of Adelart has restored order. (?)
- The day was peaceful, and the forest birds sang as the sun rose on the law's victory. The Sherif of Adelart sat content. Dewclawing through some paperwork, he saw reports of Woodists all across the land being culled by this restoration. The violent tendencies of revolutionaries would be wiped away, and peace would come to the forests. Now began the work of administration, and all shall return to as it was before that Anarchist Wood ever tainted this land.
Then, a knock came upon the Sheriff's door. Putting down his quill and parchment, Nottemagne opened the door. A nervous page sat waiting for him outside the door, "Sherif, sir, you have a priest here to see you." he seemed squeamish as he spoke the frantic words. "But it's not just that..."
Nottemagne laughed and pushed the page to the side, "Ah, yes! The servants of the gods are here to thank me for removing that dirty criminal from their lands!" the Sheriff spoke with bravado, "And I am sure whatever surprise they have waiting for me will surely be a great one!" The Sherif was happy. He had always been faithful to Boreas above, removing the godless communists and doing his service to the rightful prelate of Greifwald. Now all his hard work was coming back to repay him.
Moving down the hallways of his office in Eagleton, grabbing his wide-brimmed hat along the way, he noticed most of the usual staff did not seem to be there. It must be Saturday he presumed, and moved along. Though as he neared the door, he began to hear an ominous chanting from outside, a rhythmic droning that rattled his skull and shook his mind. Pushing through, he exited the building and suddenly stopped, digging his talons into the floor, he tried to stammer out words but could not. In front of him stood rows and rows of griffons in the robes of peasants and religious orders lined up with various relics and tomes in their claws, chanting in unison prayers and hymns unknown to the Archons in Griffenheim, or the Sheriff's ears. But most frightening of all, what shocked the usually steely griffon the most, where he met his match, was the behemoth of steel that sat in the middle of the field. And stepping to the top, a griffon dressed in the cloth of a peasant holding an ancient reliquary.
"Godless demon of Adelart! You defile the people's right and bend before the corrupters of the gods! You rob us of our belief, and so we rob you of your power and your life! The true believers shall have a home once more in these sacred forests! For Boreas, who leads us, Eyr, who feeds us, and Arcturus, who sends you to damnation!"
With this, the Sherif felt a sharpness on his back. Turning around, he saw Sister Selena, leader of the sisters of Eyr, with a blade on the back of his neck. "By the will of the gods, you are dethroned Sherif."
"Because Eyr has come to Adelart."''
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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Long live Prelate Luca vun Lissay!
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Black Nights and Black Gold
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
For once, the Congress hall was silent. The Sheriff had been routed, but at what cost? Villages were destroyed in the crossfire. Land burnt up. The Adelart militia was no more, and the merry griffons of Merlock were all but gone. Reconstruction, if it was possible, would take years.
Merlock Wood sat in his usual Congressional seat, but he stared forward with a blank gaze, any sort of fire in his eyes extinguished. The Prelate held tightly onto his staff with a look of determination, but kept silent. Even the Vanguardist herself, Alexandra Descieux, kept her beak shut and her eyes down, a surprise to many.
The entrance to the room opened, and in came the oil tycoon himself, Jaume de Conard.
"Adelart, I give to you your heroes!" he proclaimed with a proud smile. He walked, and Flowenan soldiers followed in line until he reached the center of the room. At de Conard's stop, the soldiers held attention.
He took a look around at the griffons staring daggers at him and chuckled. "Why the silent treatment? Don't we have reconstruction to bicker about?"
"Reconstruct what?" an old voice caught Jaume's attention. "The houses you destroyed? The militia you sacrificed?" It was the Prelate Luca, who used his staff to pull himself up from his chair.
Jaume waved his talon. "Please, Prelate, I admit my soldiers did do a bit of damage, but there was no other alternative! As an apology, I shall take the reins of reconstruction and build Adelart into a true country. Just leave it all to me, and you can all... do what you normally do."
Merlock, who had been silent, spoke up in a hoarse voice. "What we 'normally' do, we do for Adelart. It was a mistake listening to you, Jaume. Leave now."
De Conard shook his head, though his smile did not fade. He waved at his soldiers, who spread out around the room and aimed their weapons at the gasping griffons in the hall, the majority of whom held their claws up.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “A Missive at Midnight” option “"My dear griffons, the time has come..."” |
"I'm afraid you can't make me, Wood."
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A Republic, If We Can Keep It
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"So, why have you called us here?" the old Prelate grumbled to Merlock. He kept his eye on Alexandra, who had, for some absurd reason, been called into the same room.
"Indeed. I would rather be caught dead than make some back-hand deal with this religious... squawk!" the Vanguardist exclaimed. Luca opened his beak to retort, but caught his friend in the corner of his eye. The former legend, far skinner than before, kept his head down and stared at the nothingness on his desk. Chills formed under the Prelate's feathers as he observed the lifeless eyes of his old friend. There was no longer a griffon left in that shell, only a husk of the once-famous Merlock Wood.
"He brought all of us here to discuss the future of Adelart," the new voice slithered into the office. Luca and Alexandra shot their necks towards the door, where Jaume de Conard walked into the room. He dropped a freshly lit cigarette and stepped on it with his back paw.
"We’re here because we need to build this place into a real republic," Jaume continued, "A real country where we don’t need to rely on militia the next time the Sheriff arrives."
"We can't rely on militia anymore," Alexandra bemoaned. "Your soldiers blasted any remnants we had left along with the Sheriff’s troops."
"A noble sacrifice. My point is, we have found ourselves in a special position to help Adelart. We can make this an internationally recognized country, a real republic. One not led by some former, wash-out legend," de Conard spoke, without any reaction from Wood.
Prelate Luca shook his head and sighed. "Ah, yes, a real republic. Really run by an oil tycoon like yourself?"
"Please calm yourself, Prelate. If I wanted full power, I could arrest you on the spot. No, I truly mean to allow our citizens to vote. To give them a future. It’s the only way we can protect ourselves from the Sheriff once more. Of course, I will temporarily volunteer as president until such an election happens, but together, without any sort of discourse or yelling, let’s develop a system that will give our country a future. And with my supervision, we can make sure it is in everyone’s favor..."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “A Missive at Midnight” option “"An opportunity has presented itself..."” |
"...great."
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The Grand Caucus
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The below descriptions are available for this event.
The following description is used if:
- None of:
- Country flag HEL_conard_allowed is set
- Across the Free Territory, Adelartians gathered wherever their residential meets could be held to vote on the nation's future. Neighborhood meets, local temples, little fraternal clubs, and community council floors flocked with activity. Talk and debate teemed everywhere with an occasional brawl here and there, but amicable verdicts were finally agreed upon and submitted when all was said and done.
Out of all the major factions competing, preliminary results prominently indicated two final contenders: Merlock Wood's bloc, and Prelate Luca vun Lissay's bloc.
The legendary bandit hero's bloc championed itself upon the tamer focuses of socialism rather than its more revolutionary components, such as establishing inclusive collectives, reformations towards a communal-styled democracy, and plans to develop and urbanize Adelart through subsidies provided by its government. A system made to work for and support its citizens in all that it did!
The Prelate's bloc comprised mostly of Eyrist conservatives mainly advocated for a more reforms primarily centered around distributism, a decentralized government overall, and rural democracy rooted in a communitarianism framework. Wholesome values and beloved traditions would serve as its political basis!
Between all the tickets, it would take a bit for an official tally to be collected from the display of flags and banners, but when the final count was reached, it was clear that the vast majority of Adelartians voted for...
The following description is used if:
- Country flag HEL_conard_allowed is set
- Across the Free Territory, Adelartians gathered wherever their residential meets could be held to vote on the nation's future. Neighborhood meets, local temples, little fraternal clubs, and community council floors flocked with activity. Talk and debate teemed everywhere with an occasional brawl here and there, but amicable verdicts were finally agreed upon when all was said and done.
Out of all the major factions competing, preliminary results prominently indicated three final contenders: Merlock Wood's bloc, Prelate Luca vun Lissay's bloc, and Jaume de Conrad's bloc.
The infamous bandit hero's bloc championed itself upon the tamer focuses of socialism rather than its more revolutionary components, such as establishing inclusive collectives, reformations towards a communal-styled democracy, and plans to develop and urbanize Adelart through subsidies provided by its government. A system made to work for and support its citizens in all that it did!
The Prelate's bloc comprised mostly of Eyrist conservatives mainly advocated for a more reforms primarily centered around distributism, a decentralized government overall, and rural democracy rooted in a communitarianism framework. Wholesome values and beloved traditions would serve as its political basis!
Jaume de Conrad's chimera of a political bloc was formed together by suspiciously wealthy groups of republicans and disparate liberals, all pushing for Adelart to become a central and stable republic that could withstand and compete with the rapid growth of modernization around it. With thorough considerations, plans, and funding, representation would yield compounding progress for all!
Between all the tickets, it would take a bit for an official tally to be collected from everywhere, but when the final count was reached, it was clear that the vast majority of Adelartians voted for...''
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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Immediate effects
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Option conditions
The Socialist Coalition ticket!
The Eyrist Conservative ticket!
The NRP-FJA ticket!
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A Whimper
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
A sea of mostly empty benches lay before a ramshackle stage, only a few griffs had answered the call and they were mostly made up of merrygriffs, with the odd PAT member or worried farmer dotting the aisles. This was not how the situation was supposed to go.
Merlock Wood stood upon the stage, his eyes and movements unfamiliar as he experienced something he hadn’t in over 20 years.
Worry.
It ate at him, and it was right to. This was his fault, wasn’t it? He was the one who signed off on Descieux’s damned plan without thinking it through. He was the one who spurned her offer of organising the militiagriffs. And because of his actions...
He was shaken from his stupor by a claw on his shoulder. Blinking, he realised his merrygriffs had come to the stage and surrounded their leader. Those who he’d known for decades, all supporting him despite his own terrible mistakes. Those who’d fight and die for him.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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Those who’d be led to their deaths less than a day later.
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The Call of Adelart
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
In a hundred hamlets and a dozen border villages, the call went out: "The sheriff is coming! The sheriff is coming!"
The heralds ranged from old priests to members of Merlock's bandit bands to random griffons who had heard the news and taken it upon themselves to warn the next village. In another time, in another place, this call would have gotten the townsfolk to hide their belongings and their children in the root cellars, to wait out the storm. The sheriff was a fearsome griffon with many followers, armed to the teeth. Not in Adelart. Not today.
Today, the call was met with loaded guns and steely eyes. They had been waiting for this day for twenty years, whether or not they thought it would ever really arrive. The militiagriffs: farmers, hunters, trappers, foragers, blacksmiths, tinsmiths, herdsgriffs, loggers, builders, chandlers; griffons from every walk of life, arrived at their rallying points, reported to whoever they had chosen as officers long ago, when they had first began preparing for this day.
They had no uniforms save a single scrap of red cloth tied around the head or arm which would serve to distinguish friend from foe. But they had weapons and they knew how to use them. Within mere hours, the forests were swarming with fighters, and the sheriff found himself fighting for his life.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “Raise militias in the West, the griffons still stand with Wood!” |
The faithful have answered!
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A Hundred Skirmishes in A Hundred Forests
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The sheriff and the Adelartians fought to the death. This was not a military invasion for the sheriff: it was an attempt to simply march in and restore order. The Greifwaldian army stood on standby to flood in and secure Adelart, but only if he could show that the Adelartian's will had broken. So there could be no retreat for either side, with the fate of Adelart at stake.
It wasn't a conventional battle. It was fought in hundreds of chance encounters, dozens of set piece clashes and claw-and-beak conflicts, frontal attacks, desperate defences, ambushes and raids. It was an epic that ran across great stretches of wild country: one day its focal point was a hill named on no map, next a miserable border village a hundred miles away. For every attack the sheriff made, his forces found themselves cut off and swarmed. Flintlock rifles, percussion cap muskets, bayonet, lever-action repeaters, wood-splitting axes... the Adelartians used whatever weapons were at claw, and soon the Greifwalders' numbers and spirit faltered.
Any soldiers caught crawling back to the sheriff's camp without their targets taken were executed as cowards. Soon, they stopped returning at all. The sheriff realized too late that his forces had deserted him, and that he was surrounded. He put up a desperate defence, shooting down Adelartian after Adelartian as they tried again and again to breach the perimeter of his command post. But as dawn broke, and his last bullet had been fired, the sheriff knew he was defeated.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “The Call of Adelart” option “The faithful have answered!” |
Clap the griff in irons and return home!
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At the Mercy of the Commongriff
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The assembled militiagriffs could have filled a stadium, but the trees of the old forest were more than good enough. This spectacle deserved the open air. In the fading twilight, the trial of the Sheriff de Nottemagne began. Some spectators jostled on the ground, others circled overhead, while others perched on tree branches, peering down as Merlock Wood and the Prelate stood in judgment over the hated Sheriff de Nottemagne. After an hour of reading out every outrage he had committed against the Adelartians, the two leaders sentenced him.
"You are found guilty of tyranny and oppression!" declared Merlock.
"You are found guilty of murder and sacrilege!" proclaimed the Prelate.
"In the name of the people of Adelart..."
"In the name of Eyr and Her laws..."
"We sentence you to death!"
"I demand my last words!" the sheriff shouted, giving the firing squad pause. "I denounce this farce. I do not recognise this 'people's court.' You have no authority to speak for 'the people,' and the people have no right to pass judgment. And you have no authority to speak for the gods, for your office is tainted by heresy. You are traitors all, thieves and murderers. Mark my words: your heretical filth and your rebellious bandits will turn on each other. Before the year is out, you both will reap what you have sown. You will tear each other apart. Long live Greifwald! Long live-"
His speech was cut off by gunfire. Merlock had gestured for his half of the firing squad to get it over with. The Prelate turned, outraged. As they started to argue, murmurs spread across the assembled militiagriffs. Sergeants from each of the militias started to come forward to speak to them, first one at a time, then in droves. Now was as good a time as any for the people to decide at long last, which leader was right.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “A Hundred Skirmishes in A Hundred Forests” option “Clap the griff in irons and return home!” |
Option conditions
Wood is granted full confidence.
The people call for a grand caucus between the two camps.
the Prelate is granted full confidence.
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The Robber
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Against the bleary evening sky, huge effigies of the now-dead sheriff were being burned to folksy tunes and streaming alcohol, over which the hungry grilled local cheeses and other delicacies.
"Brilliant," Merlock praised, then took a swig of brandy, watching the fiery glow of Bergelun's celebrations from outside town. "Your troops have done it, Madame. I didn't have to lift a single digit!"
"Mm-hmm," Descieux agreed, fiddling with her own brandy glass. She pretended to look around. "Mind you, why invite me here? Doesn't this look horrendously suspicious on your part?"
"Details," he said dismissively. "The ponies say, 'calm before the storm', so Madame, I shall enjoy my calm with you before we get to the real work of centralising and collecting farms so the little griff can be free! Say, five-year plans are another communist thing. Five years of your rule, and we can meet again to discuss things."
The clack of metal over his claws had him freeze. "Wait, this isn't—" he saw the cuffs "—no... Madame Descieux?"
A twig snapped, and he looked to see a unicorn stepping out of the woods, his horn still glowing as the bushes around them withered away to reveal a ring of armed crouching partisans.
"Sir Wood," Descieux began, taking out her own gun, "we've had enough of your ego trip. Your ideals about freedom are easy to spout when you ignore the reality of the modern mass-producing society that surrounds your dear Adelart, and it is the very decentralised—dare I say, anarchist—relations that exist among capitalists that give rise to labour's extortion... you are, frankly, a robber baron without a business." Then, nodding at the Column holding Wood up, "You three, incarcerate him. The rest, follow me back to Bergelun. We have an announcement that all Adelart must hear."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Defy” option “"To Merlock!"” |
No more running amuck here.
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A Decentralized Head Of State
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Once the last of the towns' council members finally arrived in Bergelun, the first session of the Federal Council of Adelart officially commenced. Fervent discussion and debates began after introductions had concluded, but rather than a simple day's time, the assembly carried on for nearly a week. As it turns out, there was much to discuss regarding the matters of the newly created government. The Federal Council, to every councilmembers' credit, stuck through until a stopping point was reached. Though many topics and points remained unresolved, the Federal Council had managed to reach a few unanimous verdicts to be implemented.
First and foremost, the role of national leader was to be regulated to that of a mere figurehead to prevent any future holders from trying to abuse the government and centralized themselves into a despot. The elected figurehead would instead provide guidance and advocate their beliefs, but of course, but the ultimate decision would fall upon the votes of the decentralized Federal Council.
Secondly, every town's representative council would be formalized into "Cantons" and ascribed provincial areas under their jurisdictions. What these areas would encompass and whether the towns would combine jurisdictions with each other was up to the respective Cantons, though everygriff seemed to agree that sharing provincial responsibilities with neighboring towns would lessen administrational burdens.
Finally, with the inclusion of new lands and towns, the Free Territory of Adelart would be renamed to show the authenticity of the Federal Council's efforts to transition from a landscape of merry rogues to an actual representative state with a committed bureaucracy.
All in all, not a bad start for a first assembly, minus the sleepless nights; end-of-day closing times would need to be established during the next meet if all councilmembers were to represent with the best of ability.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Long live our new federal council!
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Back to Aquileia
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
While Merlook Wood and his comrades strive to maintain a decentralized system of governance where every griffon can truly decide how to live in this socialist society by themselves, not all prominent, allegedly, socialist ideologues and local figures within the borders of Adelart maintain the same mentality. These so called "Vanguardists" cast a shadow across the country, trying to convince the workers and farmers of Adelart that a strong socialist state is needed to create a true utopia of the lower classes. These extremist madmen desire to turn Adelart into but another Stalliongrad or Prywhen, a shackled state, even if robed in red.
While these agitators and extremists were initially willing to seek a compromise with more anarchist and libertarian elements within the movement which would lead to the independence of Adelart and has now coalesced into the socialist coalition, and even helped with the original rebellion against the tyrant sheriff and his Greifwaldian overlords, this has changed. While some claim that the actions of these vanguardists, even if somewhat widespread, wouldn't have any effect on the country and it's inhabitants. After all they didn't have the effect in the last few decades, so what would change now? However, Merlook Wood is unwilling to just allow this to continue, especially now that these extremists are far more prominent and even willing to criticize the current system as "betrayal of the socialist ideal" and the ruling coalition.
Thus, even with heavy heart, the Woodists drove the statist extremists out of any and all leadership positions, and even in some cases, pushed them out beyond the borders of Adelart with force of arms.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
A commendable move.
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The Principle of Left Nationalism
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
While many other socialist thinkers and leaders believed and promoted the idea that the working class does not have a nation. They claimed that nations are but arbitrary constructs, yet another symptom of the eternal conflict between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie. However, the hero of the Adelartian revolution and war of independence, Merlock Wood, does not hold the same opinion. After all socialism was an Equestrian ideology in origin, created in a realm where most citizens perceived themselves as part of a whole, a single realm forged millenniums ago. Griffonia and the kingdoms and empires that rose were forged through violence, subjugation and even in many cases destruction of languages and cultures.
With such historical circumstances it would seem truly absurd for griffon socialists to desire to abandon their culture, language and in many cases faith. After all in Griffonia, it's the bourgeoisie that seek such destruction, while the proletariat, the farmers and workers, desire to maintain these ties. Thus it could be argued, and Merlock Wood and his allies do, that in the context of Griffonia, nationalism isn't a symbol of radical right, rather it can also be the symbol of the workers liberation. After all it was this cultural association, together with the old believer faith that, based on which the workers of Adelart were so ready to mobilize against the oppressors from Greifwald.
Furthermore, while most socialists are heavily utopian in their beliefs and think that some sort of hypothetical continental or even world socialist republic would be equal in fair to all, we are sceptical of such outcomes. After all, without any differentiation or inner borders, does that not mean that even in a socialist state, richer and more developed regions would simply dominate the lesser ones?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
We will never be slaves, to other communists nor monarchists!
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The Eagleton Times: Jaume Declares a Republic
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Following the takeover of Greifwald, Jaume de Conard, the tycoon-turned-president, has announced the ascension of the Free Territory of Adelart to a full-fledged republic. He has pointed at the Adelartian victory as proof of his country's worth and has demanded international recognition, of which Flowena has already given. With this comes the full integration of Greifwald lands and the extension of the Adelartian rights to Greifwald citizens.
However, his actions have not gone without critics. Opponents see his invasion as a breach of Greifwald's sovereignty, and his actions as those of a tyrant. One such opponent was Alexandra Descieux, the leader of the Vanguards.
"This is not a liberation," she claimed, "This is a prize he has given to himself, and he will suck Greifwald dry of its resources while preventing the citizens from enjoying any of the spoils."
When hearing this, he merely chuckled and stated:
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Tough luck, kid."
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Adelart Proclaims Anti-Archon
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A heresy has sprouted in the west.
For the first time in Griffonian history, a rival archon has been elected outside of official Archonate conclaves. From the Grand Temple in Rila, a griffon known as Venia III has laid claim to the mantle of Eyr. Venia hails from the Old Believer sect, which rejects clerical power and existing religious organisations.
Romau and Griffenheim are abuzz with the news, and the Archonate is ablaze with turmoil. Who (or potentially what) "Venia" is, is unknown. His announcement comes completely out of nowhere, and many clergygriffs are stunned more than offended or aggravated (except Archon Erion XII). Technically, the Old Believers are in defiance of no Tritheist law. This is already being rectified (at the...strong insistence of Erion).
Apart from the Archonate's unanimous condemnation of Venia III, no recourse is necessary. After all, there are countless false prophets. What harm could an old bumpkin do?
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Is triggered only by
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How dare they!
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Erion Writes Response
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"Quiet, child!" Erion shouted, silencing his aide. Erion unlocked the door to his study and threw his aide inside. He ordered her to his desk, where a piece of parchment and pen rested. "Write everything I say - and if you miss a single word, I'll have you lashed until death. AM I CLEAR!?" His aide whimpered. Erion began:
"To my Maarite pretender: these words come not from I, but from Eyr, whom you falsely claim to serve. I have no patience for the childish games in which you, 'Venia,' revel. Do you consider yourself godly? You, a griffon who rejects every executor of Their will? I laugh at your farcical claim to my Temple. You shall be consigned to a divine punishment so severe that the Gods may need to reconcile with Maar to carry it out. The same shall befall all of your followers: any griffon who forsakes me - erm, Eyr, for false idols made of leaves and excrement, shall be incinerated. And I shall still be laughing.
"And to my 'allies' in the Archonate: your silence on the matter resounds. The fertile field and hen - that which is precious - are gifts from Eyr, so unto them we must also render gifts. I am precious, but where were my gifts? What aid have you rendered unto me beyond hollow words, which do nothing but legitimise that backwater lunatic!? Such an offence will not be forgotten; I know the culprits, and I should only hope your faith improves, lest you meet the same inevitable fate as Venia. The Gods spare no heretic, and neither shall I.
"Signed, Archon Erion XII of the Goddess Eyr." Erion turned on his aide, his eyes like daggers. His aide handed him the parchment with a cramped talon. Erion seized it and banished her from his chamber with a shout.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Adelart Proclaims Anti-Archon” option “How dare they!” |
I didn't know a griffon could have that much hate in him!
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Venia, Archon of the People
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Jacques tore up the front steps of the Grand Temple. His heart pounded in his throat. He reached the top and seized the great oaken door's handle. Locked. He fumbled with his pocket watch. He still had a minute before it closed. Was his watch slow?
The Temple door clicked, unlocking, and creaked open. A griffoness peeked out. She was half a head taller than Jacques and bore a mark of the Three on her cheek. "The Temple is closed for the night," she said. "Return tomorrow."
Before Jacques could protest, another voice, earthy and old, echoed from within the Temple: "Now, Selena, all are welcome at any hour, for Their envoys come when we would shun our own kin." Selena bowed her head and stepped aside. An aged griffon appeared in the doorway. His plumage, bleached white by age and stress, glowed in the twilight. "My chick, what brings you to me at this hour?"
Of course. Jacques should have realised that Venia would be here. He squeaked, "My sister is very ill. I would have been here earlier, Archon, but my work...h-here." Jacques raised his pocket watch, its lid glinting like the edge of a sword. "It's hardly an indulgence, but surely it's enough for a few minutes of prayer - "
Venia took Jacques' talons in his own and closed the stop watch. "Keep thy timepiece. The Gods have gold. All they ask from you is faith." Venia smiled. In those old eyes, Jacques saw a disarming kindness, an honesty that put the sneers and greedy glares of Rila's old clergy to shame. Jacques didn't respond for a moment. Venia turned and led him into the Temple. There, they prayed until long after the Temple closed.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Subject to both the masses and Eyr, everlasting. (Nothing) | |
Council of Three Writes Response
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"Eros," Erion pleaded, his clenched talons shaking with fury, "you can't possibly think that this - "
"Silence!" Eros boomed. Erion shut his beak, but his sneer remained. Proteus bowed his head to hide his smirk. "A response to the pretender is necessary, but it must be tactful. You let your rage blind you: that is why we are here." Eros turned to Erion's aide, who had gone white as a sheet. Eros placed a talon on her shoulder; she flinched as if struck. "I shall dictate now. Write everything you hear - from me." Eros ignored how Erion huffed, and began:
In the Names of the Kings Three, in the year of Their Ascension [GetYear], in [GetMonth], I, the Revered Archon Eros VIII, with Archon Proteus III and Erion XII as Witnesses and Their Ordained Archonate in agreement, do decree:
"The 'Old Believer' cult is heretical and antithetical to proper worship of the Kings Three. Cultists suffer from delusion causing nonsensical thinking. Central to the mania is the illegitimacy of the Archonate: the prophet of lies, Venia, claims the Archonate is illegitimate, yet claims the title of Archon himself. The Old Believer cult claims the Archonate is unwanted, whilst mimicking its Holy Practices and Structure, albeit in a degenerated form. Were the Archonate unwanted by the Gods, then so too would Venia's sham congregation be unwanted. The Kings Three have shown Their Need for Faithful Servants, not rabble-rousing deviants."
"Pray for the misguided and weak. The deceived may be absolved with sufficient indulgences. Resistors shall be shown no forgiveness."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Adelart Proclaims Anti-Archon” option “How dare they!” |
Theological arguments? Preposterous.
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Slandering The Greifwaldian Prelate
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"It is only through the open eyes of the faithful that we shall see the claws of the dark god Maar directing the Usurper-Prelate from the shadows, and only then can we cast its malice away!"
The vociferous sermon delivered by the Prelate of Eyr, Luca vun Lissay, to an assembled congregation of hundreds of fellow Eyrite and Arcturian priests and many more hundreds of common worshippers would resonate not only within, but far beyond the stone walls of the Abbey of Lissay's chapterhouse as Luca sternly declared the excommunication of Greifwald's sitting Prelate of Boreas, Ludwig Ebonwing, branding him as a twisted Maarite amidst an eruption of applause and cheers from the masses.
The religious fervour ignited by the People's Prelate from his high altar would soon spread to every town, village and hamlet of Adelart in the form of ceaseless vigils accompanied by the ringing of temple bells in unison all across the land, grandiose religious processions attended by countless griffons extolling the gifts and principles of the three Gods, and even rumours of dissident Borean clerics having nailed Luca's declaration of excommunication along with his many treatises to the door of the Temple of Boreas in Falcontown.
But perhaps the most peculiar and daring of these displays was a popular parade held in the town of Vilistel, where a wicker effigy of the Prelate Ebonwing, its oversized body crisscrossed in streaks of black paint symbolizing his allegiance to Maar and bearing a crown of bark as well as holding a broken sword and an empty cornucopia to signify his abandonment of the Gods, was dragged around and humiliated in the streets by the townsfolk before being thrown into the river as a mock execution for all to see.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Summa Blasphemia.
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Servants of Maar and the Archon
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Hamlet by hamlet, village by village, the lingering loyalists of de Nottemagne and his puppeteer, Cloudet, were wiped from Adelart by the Sisters of Eyr.
Time had only withered de Nottemagne's goodwill - if it ever existed - so his loyalists were few and far between. Yet, few surrendered without a fight. From isolated individuals holding hope for a Greifwaldian offensive to an entire posse holed up in the forests west of Herlein, no remnant of Adelart's shrieval past withstood the firepower and tenacity of the Sisters.
While Sister Selena fought de Nottemagne's ghost with perhaps too much zeal, the Prelate and other religious officials denounced monarchism as a concept. De Nottemagne served the corrupt Count, who serves the wretched Archons, who serve Maar - they were all stooges, all down the line. Only the mad and power-hungry believed de Nottemagne had the best interests of the peasants at heart, let alone the interests of the Gods.
And, before long, the last stain of Cloudet rule was wiped clean from merry Adelart, never to return.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Excellent.
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The Trial of the Maarite-Collectivists
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The Old Believers were not all like vun Lissay. Their attack happened all at once: the Sisters of Eyr and their ridiculous "tanks" locked down the roads and carved through the Merrimane with ease. The last Descieux heard from Limbourg, she was being pursued by hunting parties in the countryside, who did not distinguish between vanguardists and Woodists. Such ruthlessness...it was Sister Selena's doing!
The door groaned under the militiagriffs pounding against it. Ghisel took a swig from his now-empty bottle. He tossed a pistol to Descieux and raised his own, his eyes rheumy. "You're too sentimental, Bertus," Descieux said. She cocked her pistol and aimed at the door. "For the revolut - !"
The door broke open. A bullet struck Ghisel and he slumped over. Descieux shot the first two griffons, but behind them there were two, four, seven more. They fell upon Descieux and beat her viciously. They dragged her outside, though she saw little without her glasses.
Descieux shakily raised her head. A tank loomed over her, and a pale griffon sat atop it. "Alexandra," Sister Selena said brightly. Descieux spat blood on the bow of the tank. Selena smirked.
"Alexandra DESCIEUX!" Selena boomed. She drew a revolver from her robes. "For the crime of GRAND BLASPHEMY against the DIVINE Order of All Things, the TRINITY demands the punishment of DEATH! There is NO appeal!"
Descieux shut her eyes and thought of her home in Aquila.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Justice.
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Fire and Brimstone
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Merel had been a student of Luca vun Lissay for a long time, so she knew when his sermons took on a...different tone. A great divine wind had swept down from the heavens and filled his sails, animating him like never before.
"Is it justice for griffonkind's wealth, the gift of King Boreas, to be hoarded?" vun Lissay said, scanning his flock. "No! There is no justice in it! The fat griffon who hoards his bread does not reap the Gods' favour, and nor shall the lusty griffon who hoards his wealth! Hoard food and it shall rot, hoard gold and it shall tarnish, but he who hoards power shall himself rot - such is the case with the Archons!"
A griffon behind Merel suggested the Archonate may not be entirely corrupt. She was silenced by a wave of vun Lissay's walking stick. "My chick, I forgive you, for the truth is difficult to comprehend: be it Old Cloudet or that wretched trio of Archons, NO griffon can earn that kind of wealth. It must be stolen." The griffon nodded and shrank in her seat.
"And may that be a lesson to all," vun Lissay continued. He flapped his wings and held his staff aloft as if it were a sword. "Any griffon who keeps for himself what he does not earn, would see it burn before he sees it shared! But we, the Faithful Servants and Friends of the Gods, will see them burn first for defying the divine will! The oligarchs, the Archonate stooges, and the phoney kings of griffons will be toppled, and all in Griffonia will, one day soon, know true liberation in the faith! The Gods will it, and so it shall be!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
For the people and peasants!
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A Sermon of Healing
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Merel had been a student of Luca vun Lissay for a long time, so she knew when his sermons took on a...different tone. A great divine wind had swept down from the heavens and filled his sails, blessing him with a passion Merel had never before seen.
"The Gods Above loathe none but the Dark One, my chicks. To presume we griffons should permit ourselves to hate where They cannot is nothing but pride and foolishness at work," vun Lissay said, scanning his flock. "The path to realising the Gods' will shall be paved with kindness and the absence of hatred. It demands compassion, not derision."
Merel spoke up: "Luca, you have told us before about the corruption of the Archonate, of their brotherhood with Maar. How could we treat such monsters with kindness?"
Vun Lissay thought for a moment, then waved his talon in the air, dispellilng Merel's thought as if it was a cloud of cigar smoke. "My chick, the Gods love the Archons just as much as they love you or I. Old Cloudet, the businessgriffs and bankers, the gangsters - these are our enemies, yes, and we must not shy away from defeating them. But we must remember that love has always been the way of the Gods. Even the Archon of Boreas, perhaps the most corrupt of them all, is but a wayward soul. Our compassion shall give us the power to defeat him, and it shall also give us the power to reconcile, to dissolve our differences, and to forge a better system, built in the image of the Three. That is what They demand of us. That is how it shall be. That is how we shall win."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
For Eyr and faith!
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The Youth in the Congress
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Pieter knew of the local town hall, he usually passed it on his morning fly, but he hadn't actually been inside it until now. Now he was being led inside it by a portly, scarred griffon as a part of the new group of 'Congressgriffs.' The griffon led them through the council chamber and almost a dozen offices until they arrived at a mostly empty canteen.
"Seems most of the boys have gone home" The tour guide grumbled "Well, let's take a break here for lunch. I'm starving." With a jaunty step, he walked off towards the only other occupied table in the room.
Pieter shrugged and went to get some food, noting that a line was quickly forming behind him as he got a plate and went to sit down. As he returned he noted a smaller griff who was stuck at the back of the line, eying Pieter's meal hungrily. After a moment, Pieter sighed and handed the plate to the griff, who smiled up at him and skittered off before Pieter could respond.
Figuring the queue would be a no-go, Pieter headed to the table the tour guide was at. He noted that he was sitting and talking with another scarred griff. This one older, missing an eye, and seemingly far less jovial.
"I cannae get used to this Frere. I trust Merlock, but it just feels like everythin's changing too quickly, y'know?" The older griff stated as he picked at his own plate. "I won't deny that, Scotch. But the Boss has got us this far, hasn't he?" The tour guide responded, looking fondly at the scar on his talon. "Besides, I got a good feelin' about the idea. We just gotta give it time, give him time." He finished with a sagely nod, before taking some meat from his friend's plate.
Frere, finally noticing Pieter was standing nearby, waved him over. "Are you not hungry, boyo?" Pieter shook his head, and moved to sit down. "I was, but the queue wasn't moving so I didn't want to wait." He lied, to which Scotch raised an eyebrow. "We cannae be 'avin that now, can we? I made it my mission back in the forests to ensure no Adelartian chick went hungry and by Eyr I'm not gonna start now." He said as he passed his plate over.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
A meal for the old and the new.
AI logic:
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Suffer No Gods, Suffer No State!
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The below descriptions are available for this event.
The following description is used if:
- None of:
- We refused the Prelate's cries (?)
- "Six temples looted, a village priest beaten half to death, a holy site of Eyr desecrated, and a shootout between your griffons and the Sisters, and you say you'll 'look into it'?" Prelate Luca raged, "Merlock, this all happened under your watch and it happened at the same time all across Adelart, right after your little radio rant against religion! I see now that this has gone to your head, all this ridiculous 'revolution' nonsense. Now if you don't rein this in, I'll-"
Merlock raised his claw. For a moment, Luca thought he was about to order his griffs to attack him, but instead he gestured for them to leave. "You come into my camp, in front of my griffons, and you mock our cause? Luca, I'm doing what I can for you, but you have to remember I'm just one griff. If you'd kept going, those guys woulda killed you, you understand? I said I'll look into it. I think I know who it was; the communists took me way outta context, and I will rein them in. But the sisters, your cause... look, everygriff in each of those towns had a right to defend those temples, but none did. What does that say for your cause? For your future?"
Prelate Luca knew Merlock was lying. Some of it was true, but some of it wasn't. But it didn't matter. Merlock hadn't said it, but his choice was clear.
"Well, old friend... I get it. I'll retire. But ah, one more thing. I retract what I said. The revolution hasn't gone to your head... Power has."
The following description is used if:
- We refused the Prelate's cries (?)
- "Six temples looted, a village priest beaten half to death, a holy site of Eyr desecrated, and a shootout between your griffons and the Sisters, and you say you'll 'look into it'?" Prelate Luca raged, "Merlock, this all happened under your watch and it happened at the same time all across Adelart, right after your little radio rant against religion! I see now that this has gone to your head, all this ridiculous 'revolution' nonsense. Now if you don't rein this in, I'll-"
Merlock nodded. On cue, a bandit Luca hadn't noticed sucker-punched him in the beak. As Merlock's griffs wrestled the old prelate down, Wood sealed the Prelate's fate: "You come into my camp, in front of my griffons, and you mock our cause. I was content to let you off, for the sake of our old association. But this can't stand. Take him out back."
For all their fights, Merlock still felt a pang go through him as his bandits dragged the old prelate away. But it was done now.''
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Let's hope he doesn't cause any more trouble...
AI logic:
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A Worker's Confederation
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Merlock scratched his head as he looked over his new office. It was thrown together from one of the older Bergelun cottages, which meant it was cramped and barren of anything aside from a simple desk, a chair and piles upon piles of paper. Mostly unfinished documents, some simply blank pieces of paper waiting for his clawriting.
Slumping into the creaky wooden chair, Merlock stared blankly at the first document of the day. One penned by himself originally, and before even getting partway through he wanted to thwack his former self right in the beak. By the time he was at the end, he had already forgotten the title. He signed it, stamped it and went to the next sheet.
It wasn’t even 10 minutes later that Merlock found himself staring out the singular dusty window of the cottage; looking through the murky glass at the trees off in the distance. He could see himself back with his merrygriffs, away from this tiny room. But with a blink, he was back trying to stare through a barely see-through window, and seeing nothing but his own reflection and the sea of paperwork surrounding him.
Merlock thumped his head against the desk in frustration. The sound of the old door creaking open reached his ears. Merlock's second in command, Lil' Naylor, poked his head through. "Merlock? You in here Boss?"In his eagerness, Naylor pushed the door further, causing a stack of blank papers to tumble to the floor. Merlock raised his head slightly and waved, his weariness evident.
"I could barely see you Boss," Naylor laughed, trying to sweep up the mess. "In the middle of all this I’d assumed you were an odd paperweight." Merlock groaned in response. "Nayl’, as great as it is to see you, I’m kind of...busy." Naylor placed the blank pile in front of Merlock. "That’s why I’m here Boss," He said, a sly smile on his beak. "you didn’t think you’d be stuck in this mess alone didja? I figured you’d be ‘avin some issues so I called the merrygriffs over to help, er...if ‘The Great Merlock Wood’ needs us, of course."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"You’re a lifesaver, Nayl’"
AI logic:
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Rewarding The Peasants
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Naylor noted the crates down as the Merrygriffs passed him on their way to the town square, checking each number and confirming what they had inside for distribution. He had a rough guess at how many griffs were in the town, so knowing how much loot from the nobles that were within greifwald they had and where it was would help ensure nogriff who showed up went without.
He felt pretty proud of himself for his little system, mostly a slight improvement to Merlock’s rough guesses from intuition. But with the sweeping changes coming to all the merrygriffs and especially Merlock, he hoped that streamlining one aspect of it would ease the burden on him.
"Naylor?" He turned to see one of the Merrygriffs relaxing in the sun nearby, arms weary from an earlier loot run. "Aye, Scar?" The griff eyed him tiredly. "Scarlet, Naylor. Scarlet. Anyway, I did have my doubts about this whole thing." Naylor went back to his notepad. "I know, you wouldnae stop talkin’ about it."
Scarlet ignored this. "I do think it’s all paying off now. It feels like we’re back to what we did even before we kicked the Sheriff out, except now we’ve not got to worry about the Greifwaldians taking potshots at us!" Naylor noted the next passing merrygriff and his crate on the notepad, and waved him on. "The rules are annoying though, I mean if I saw someone wearing the same odal as the Sheriff, why should I be punished for knocking their lights out?"
Naylor sighed, and bapped Scarlet with his notebook. "Because, Scar, we shouldn’t blame griffs just for following an idiot. As annoying as it is, we’re the examples now. We should only blame the idiots."
Scarlet looked deep in thought for a moment, giving Naylor enough peace to continue writing for a while. After which, he said "So...I can still punch the nobles?"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Yes..." Sighed Naylor
AI logic:
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The New Legislature
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Jaume de Conard strolled into the National Assembly, a remodel of the original Adelart congress hall. Mold had been removed, lights had been installed, and the wood chairs were all replaced with soft, leather thrones. All paid by the generous donations of businesses across the country. 'Twas a small price for the new republic.
De Conard walked up to the central chair up against the wall, remodeled to be a few steps higher than the other council chairs. His own throne for his own personal kingdom, something greater than a simple company built off the prestige of his family. He rubbed his talon against the smooth wood divider that separated his chair from all the others. What would Merlock think seeing all of these changes to his congress hall, Jaume wondered.
Well, it didn’t matter. Merlock was living a nice retirement on a farm in Lissay, all organized by Jaume himself.
"Are you okay, sir?" Jaume’s secretary asked from behind, shaking him out of his concentration."
"I-it's nothing. Our party won the majority, right? Who was the runner up?" he directed the conversation. His eyes kept glancing at his leather assembly chair, however.
"Alexandra of the Vanguards. She holds 15% of the votes. Her vanguards managed to get 4% of the assembly seats."
De Conard nodded. He pulled his focus away and walked towards the entrance of the hall. "Just what I was expecting."
"Should I make arrangements for their arrest?" the secretary asked.
Jaume waved for her to follow and shook his head. "No, we’ve done enough meddling. This is a republic, after all. In fact... get in contact with Alexandra. See if she wants to be a part of my cabinet."
The secretary stopped and released an unconscious gasp from her beak. "Sir, she is a vanguardist."
To tycoon president chuckled. "What do they say? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Something like that. Besides, it’ll be fun."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
A thus, the new assembly is born.
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Another Forest Foray
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The forest was silent, apart from flapping wings and trundling carriages, as if it was showing respect to the convoy. Despite this, the air was thick with worry. The feeling that anygriff could jump out of some elaborate hiding spot was one that most griffons in the convoy knew from their previous time in the Adelartian forests, but still feared.
Across the Adelartian border, dozens of small convoys passed through previously marked sectors. All investigating the area for Merlock’s lackeys, and all acting as decoys. Except for this one. While the rest had simple mercenaries guarding them, this convoy close to the Feathisian border had the Sheriff’s most trusted stalwarts and goons, alongside the Sheriff himself.
The plan seemed foolproof, with the bandit’s resources spread so thin that he’d be able to force his way to Eagleton and take them out with only a few swift strokes. His carriage crested a small hill as the faint image of the Adelartian capital appeared in the distance. The Sheriff smiled with his scarred beak, before he heard the front carriage crunch over a twig on the road.
In an instant, shouts and shots screeched from the forest surrounding him. His head darted out of a small window, a shot barely missing him and striking one of his guards with a yelp. He could see Adalgisel taking cover behind his carriage, alongside two of his bleeding stalwarts. He turned his head back in, just as a screech came from there.
A few minutes later, his carriage’s door was opened revealing a pair of bandits glaring at him.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “The old bandit companies will drive them back once more!” |
Long live the merry griffs of Adelart!
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A Better Congress
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The newly formed Chamber of Adelart. De Conard smiled at his new allies as he sat in the central seat of the former congress hall. Around him were the richest griffs of Lissay and Eagleton. Businessgriffs who had a fortune and thriving business to their name. They were cutthroat, ruthless capitalists who knew how to manage their markets. They were...
Idiots.
His new chamber representatives were all idiots. One had a cigar in his beak. Another was filing her talons. Very few paid attention to Jaume, much less the responsibilities they were expected to fill. Half of the representatives weren't even here, all sending letters to Jaume's secretary with excuses ranging from sickness to flat-out boredom.
And that was exactly what Jaume wanted.
He had the entire chamber in his claws. With no griffons putting up a fight or having a desire other than money, that had given Jaume the most executive power he could ask for.
He stood up from his seat and spoke, "To support decreasing taxes, say aye."
"Aye," the room responded.
"To start a campaign encouraging consumer spending, say aye."
"Aye."
"To increase executive power, say aye."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Aye."
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Adelart Proposes Mutual Guarantee
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Officials from the newly formed Republic of Adelart have come to us with a mutually beneficial agreement. Seeing as how the Aquileian military has situated itself near the Pomoverran and Greifwald borders, they have pointed to the need for our two nations to guarantee one another's independence in response to a potential invasion.
However, that does not come without a price. They have required the return of resource rights in Lissay before any papers can be signed. While this is not ideal, we would do much better together in the face of an Aquileian invasion.
So, do we return their oil in exchange for protection, or do we weather the Aquileian storm alone?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
If we must...
AI logic:
Return the oil? Never!
AI logic:
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A Taste of Twenty Years Ago
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All of Sheriff Nottemagne's thugs were routed, haplessly abandoning the tyrant enforcer they had pledged fidelity towards, and only after giving them all a thorough pursuit was Adelart free from the vestiges of despotism once more. Well, save for one: the very Sheriff Jean de Nottemagne himself, still tied up in the net they had captured him in.
Merlock smirked from the courtroom stand, looking down to meet the gagged Sheriff's glowering eyes. "This feels all too familiar, eh Sheriff?" The courtroom hall packed with bandits and merry vagrants was filled with laughter. Merlock sighed and continued on, "Alas, I don't think any of your 'friends' will swoop in and save ya, Sheriff, assuming there'd even be any after all those years of abuse and repression against Adelartians. With that in mind, your judgment is clear. Any preferences on how ya wish to die?"
One of the nearby bandits roughly removed the gag from the Sheriff's beak, who hacked out his breaths. "As if you scum have the right..."
He sneered up at Merlock. "You're nothing but murderers who spit on everything the Counts had done for us! This land belongs to their legacy, as decreed by the Griffonian Empire!" His ranting was drowned out by the jeers and boos around him, which only spurned the Sheriff's fury more. From the courtroom stand, Merlock idly drew his flintlock pistol and fired into the air, the sudden shot silencing everygriffon and splintering a section in the ceiling.
"Take him out back and defeather him, but keep him alive - I'll put him down myself," Merlock said and motioned with his wings. The crowd cheered and surged forward against the Sheriff's ravings and dragged the netted griffon out. Merlock watched the violent exit and pondered to himself as he reloaded his flintlock. After today, Adelart would finally be free, but would it remain so?
No, not with potential looming aggressors all around them. This nation needed an army to defend itself, and it needed a government that could accommodate said force. As Merlock finished reloading his flintlock pistol for the execution, his mind concluded on what would guarantee Adelart's safety and victory from here on.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Another Forest Foray” option “Long live the merry griffs of Adelart!” |
Option conditions
Victorious, we shall form an insurrectionary army!
AI logic:
Victorious, we shall form a bandit confederation!
AI logic:
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The Red Bandits
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With a disinterested hum, Othon de Camris nestled in his reading chair and grabbed his copy of ‘Le Flowenan’ for the day. Though most articles were about nonsense, some of them were quite useful for his business. It’s important to know where the wind blows if you rely on it after all.
Othon began to flip through the articles rapidly, ‘Rat Problem Returns?’ No, ‘Cat Problem Returns?’ No? ‘Unions Demand Too Much’ What was going on this week? Usually even the more nonsense stories were at least interesting to see... ‘Anarchist Raids, And How They Affect You.’ Ah, now that’s interesting.
The anarchists in Adelart had been particularly annoying. It’s hard to get oil when your delivery men are set upon by bandits who receive overt and tangible support from whatever government remained there. Hmm? ‘It seems the anarchists have begun raiding outside of Adelart herself...’ As Othon’s worries began to mount, he heard a sharp clanging from his window.
He approached it, hearing whispered laughter and hoping it was merely some chicks playing a prank. He reached out to open the window, only for it to smash. Falling backwards with a gasp, Othon could only watch as what looked to be an improvised bomb was thrown into his reading room. He barely had time to think before it all went white.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
There is no wrong way to fight the forces of oppression!
AI logic:
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The Black Talons
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In the furthest corner of the courtroom, the cloaked assembly whispered to each other in hushed voices. They had purposefully estranged themselves from the other six, but nocreature was complaining. After all, they were the Black Talons – the Schwarze Krallen – and to associate with them openly only bore ill and public disdain.
"We have griffons," one griffon spoke, "Good soldiers, yes."
"Well organized and prepared," said a second griffon, "Equipped and ready."
Their leader flapped his wings, and the whispering fell silent. The griffon reached towards his hooded face and scratched under his beak. "Death is like taxes and change: it is inevitable. We believe that Adelart may soon become its precipice. Be it the deliverer or receiver, that is to be decided, but we wish to offer our services."
"Our little bodies," the first one spoke, "Our little division."
"Griffons despise us for the truths we follow," added the second, "but truths they are nonetheless."
There was a pause, and then a question. "Are you...Maarites?"
The leader fumbled and turned to his two companions before answering, "Erm, for all intents and purposes, we're a simple mercenary group."
No other answer could be coaxed out of them, though it was evident why they were apart from the rest of the assembly. Yet here they were offering their martial assistance to Adelart. Accepting the Black Talons would most definitely not sit well with the public, but at the end of the day, they are just adept fighters wishing to serve Adelart. Right?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Ask for their aid, despite public apprehension.
AI logic:
We have no need for Maarite militias.
AI logic:
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The Trial of Merlock Wood
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"You can kill an Adelartian body," shouted the once-great Merlock as he was dragged into Bergelun's repurposed national assembly hall, "but you cannot kill the Adelartian soul!"
"Out of line," the judge said in monotone, floating by his side. "It is best not to assume your verdict ahead of time, sir."
At a dining chamber-turned-makeshift court, Merlock's beak was strapped shut. Shoved to a seat, he scanned the seats where his proud compatriots had once toasted and cheered with mirthful drinking. In their place, dry suits accompanied silent eyes whose stares accused him.
He read—or listened—between the lines of the judge's words. That was not what pained him, for out another door snaked a line of normal griffons—some he recognised from farms and little forest hamlets, the very same ones he freed years or decades ago—ready to speak ill against him, how his insistence on raids and pillages had left the would-be working class stunted, babied as helpless peasants fit only to be swooped by reaction's vultures the moment Merlock and his happy gang were out of the picture. The twenty-year high, the judge proclaimed, would finally end, with the proletariat awaking from its bandit-induced stupor.
They would awake with a beheading.
Though restrained, he snapped the beak-straps to cry, "This was a coup all along! You are all sheriffs! Red sheriffs!" A beating followed, his famous bycoket ripped from his head as a penultimate emasculation. So dazed was he, that it was only at the top of the platform—now finding himself at the end of a march, in a quiet glade—that he saw the blade. Swift was the razor's justice.
The butt of a rifle delivered him to the stockings.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Let there be order.
AI logic:
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Another Child of the Revolution
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Gathered around an out-of-the-way cavern's foldable table, the high command of the Merrimane Column deliberated. The Column boasted an assortment of both ponies and griffons, many of whom had fought in the First Revolution.
"We're not sure if the sheriff has even passed the border of if he's just bluffing to rile us up," said a participating Descieux.
"We've been watching the borders carefully, Madame," answered her unicorn assistant, Dominique Limbourg, a familiar face from back when Descieux was still an Allard-ian novice. Still, his expertise was in the economy, not in the military, so he gestured to a certain Bertus Ghisel, a native Adelartian griffon a decade younger than Descieux. "You know best how to fight insurgents as an insurgent yourself, no?"
"That's right!" Bertus shouted, and bursting in front of Descieux to command everyone's attention, he set it all out: "We get in touch with the border towns first and pledge to them our protection. That builds trust. Next, we recruit a few of the locals to be our informants. If any suspicious griff is in the vicinity, we'll swoop, make a good show, and capture some of the scum! Then we repeat, repeat, and Nottemagne will run out of his toadies and he'd be forced to stay put or retreat over the border. That's when we close in."
"Watching and waiting," Descieux commented, taking the lull in his speech to speak. "You may be born too late to have been part of the First Revolution, but you speak like you've hunted the snakes with Vérany himself."
"I learn from the best!" he said, wings proudly flapping. "The faces change, but there's always an aristocrat to skewer!" Those last words ignited gun-raising roars that echoed out of the caverns.
And Descieux found herself holding up a rifle, too.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “Descieux's partisans shall prove their loyalty!” |
It's exactly like the fair old days after 980.
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Defy
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"It's no use," Nottemagne muttered to his aides as trudged out of the last town in the forested dead of night.
His scouts had gone silent, his own bands of raiders had been rebuffed, and the scant information he'd received were of his griffs captured and paraded around like trophies. The sheriff had no place here to rest his head.
"Don't you tell me I'm a coward!" Nottemagne shouted at a scarred survivor of the last attack. "Shut your beak about us leaving them behind! We're not abandoning our subjects. We'll call in the knights. I'll write the Count to authorise—"
He slumped to the ground. Other ears only now recovered from the ringing. Frantic guns loaded themselves, only for ruffling leaves and bushes to creep out of their spots.
"Peace!" yelled Bertus, whose head popped out of his leafy camouflage. "Your oppressor is dead! Drop your weapons, break your chains, and arise among us workers! If this is not what you desire now, run back to Greifwald, and tell your monstrous Count that the fate of this flunky can and will be his!"
Amid the scrambling away of most of Nottemagne's loyalists, Bertus inspected the sheriff's corpse, removing the eyepatch and lifting it high. "The head of anti-solidarity is destroyed! But let us not relax our efforts! Our next target is the head of barbarity! To Merlock, comrades!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Another Child of the Revolution” option “It's exactly like the fair old days after 980.” |
"To Merlock!"
AI logic:
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Knights of Old and New
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De Nottemagne thought himself the inheritor and executor of a grand shrieval legacy. Looking out at his flock, vun Lissay couldn't help but smile at what he saw: history and the bright, godly future turned against de Nottemagne, united in their struggle against his legacy.
The faithful had answered vun Lissay's call. In a field outside Bergelun, Adelart's knightly orders stood side by side with the Sisters of Eyr, forming a mismatched patchwork of steel under the shining midday sun. The Sisters' converted tractors rumbled with righteous intent. Beside them were the peasant bands, just as ready to defend their home.
Sister Selena already stood atop her personal fighting vehicle. Vun Lissay's old joints creaked as he stood, but he shifted his weight onto his walking stick. Selena looked around, seeming so small with distance, and clapped her talons together. Vun Lissay smiled.
"MERRYGRIFFS OF ADELART!" boomed Sister Selena's stentorian voice. "TWENTY YEARS of FREEDOM, of FAITH now rest upon your wingspans! Who but CLOUDET'S HANGMAN, DE NOTTEMAGNE, has returned to ENSLAVE us once again, to place HIMSELF above EYR'S WILL! But TODAY, the GODS fight with US! Beside US! Within US! Swing your swords, raise your rifles, and ignite your engines, for if a beast like de Nottemagne cannot defeat us - and he CANNOT - then no force without the Golden Gate can pry our Adelart from us!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “Time for the prelate to rev up his tractors!” |
And every sword shot skyward, as did a war cry which shook the forests.
AI logic:
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The Death Of Ebonwing
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It took considerable effort to locate Prelate Ebonwing, if he even deserved such a title. He had abandoned his masters in Greifwald and fled to Aquileia, hoping to be taken in. After our takeover we found him in the gilded halls of Aquila trying to arrange a boat to Port-Giselda. Though it took long to find him, it didn’t take long to bind his wings and drag him to a meeting room within one of the Discret's former palaces.
With a thud, he was thrown on a decorated chair and surrounded. "You Maar-damned heretics!" Ebonwing screeched at Merlock and his Merrygriffs "Is it not enough that you take my followers once, now you must take me?" As Merlock’s Merrygriffs began to shout back, Naylor held up a talon to silence them as Merlock leaned over the Prelate.
"Ludwig. You stand as the antithesis of everything we strive for. You are the pinnacle of Greifwaldian greed, of reaction and of cowardice." With a rarely seen anger in his voice Merlock continued. "You steal from the griffs around you, and give naught but false promises in return."
"You speak of unity and faith, but you betray not only your own kind but the gods themselves. You preach a message of charity, and yet you take from everygriff within the Periphery." Merlock was shaking slightly, but showed no signs of stopping. "When I was a chick, I would have followed you into Eyr’s embrace, but now I can’t wait to see you in Tartarus."
When the Prelate spluttered in return, Merlock turned and nodded to his griffs. "Ludwig. As punishment for your crimes, you are to be dragged to Trinity Hill and hung in the Great White Temple of Boreas." A rush of movement followed, as the anarchists grabbed the Prelate from under his bound wings.
The Prelate opened his beak to complain, only to be struck and dragged from the chamber. Merlock and Naylor were left alone in the suddenly quiet room. Merlock breathed shakily, while Naylor hesitantly placed a talon on Merlock’s shoulder. They shared a look as Merlock’s breath steadily slowed.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Neither griff would tell a soul of the secrets bared thereafter in that meeting room.
AI logic:
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Anarchy, Enduring!
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Wood never really got used to living in Aquila. It was beautiful, but it felt like a vanity project for a bunch of Aquileian Sheriffs. The palaces felt hollow, the streets felt like they were crafted by claw for efficiency over everything else. The temples and parks were the only places that felt comfortable, but even those places had the shadows of pride loom over them.
He needed a break, so he jumped at the offer from Naylor to visit Rila on ‘official business.’ The city still rang of Aquileian vanity, but it felt more personal. After a day of taking in the recovery of the city and enjoying the beach, he went to pay his respects in the Grand Temple of Arcturius with Naylor.
Both were silent on the steps up, partly out of respect and partly because of the poor choice they both made in walking, rather than flying, up such a tall temple. But once they were at the top, Naylor stopped. After a few steps, so did Wood. "Boss, are you alright?" Wood turned, confused. "Why do you ask, Nayl?"
Naylor sat on the top step and shrugged, before Wood sat next to him. "I dunno Boss, everythings changed so quickly, and it feels like the speed of it all has just..." Naylor gestured with his claws, unable to find the words. "...caught up with ye, I suppose." Wood stayed silent as Naylor looked out to the sky, he felt like if he squinted he could see Aquila from here.
"I might be shootin’ in the dark here, Boss. But I know that somethin’ is eatin atcha." Wood stayed silent. "Ye don’t gotta say nuffin if you don’t wanna, but I figured this’d be the perfect chance to get ye from the stuffy offices and just heal." Naylor sighed. "I gotta know..." He stopped, and turned towards Wood.
"Merlock. Are you happy?"
"...Yes."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Then that's good enough fer me."
AI logic:
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The Anointment Of Luca vun Lissay
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Rila, the Archonate's ancient throne in the west, was no more. By the will and grace of the Three, acting through the griffons of Greifwald, the city had been reborn. Vice, corruption, filth - every stain left by the Archonate had fallen away, never to return. At last, Rila was the Gods' city. Now, it was time for the Gods' chosen to guide it.
From the mezzanine of the Grand Temple of Arcturius, Luca vun Lissay announced his assumption of the position of Archprelate Undisputed in Rila, Chosen by the Gods, and Humble Griffon.
At once, the Aquileian population knew that he was no stooge of Griffenheim. His robes were clean, but old and clearly well-worn. Rather than the gaudy golden headgear of which the Archonate was so fond, vun Lissay wore a crown made of flowers from his hometown. He spoke softly and humbly of himself, his original followers, and his faith. He insisted that Rila was just the first step, and a miraculous change to the structure of religion in Griffonia was coming. All that they had to do now was remain diligent, devout, and humble, for the Gods were with them.
The response was mild, save for the cheers of the garrison, militias, and the rare Tritheist congregations. Who really was Luca vun Lissay - a champion of the Gods, or some maniac from the woods? Were his designs on toppling the Archonate just, let alone feasible? Why were so many of his soldiers wearing those silly bycockets?
Only time would tell, but for the unconcerned or the jubilant, only one cry escaped their beaks:
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Long live Luca, Archprelate in Rila!
AI logic:
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A Vote Of No Confidence
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He should've expected this. He really should have expected this. The (in)famous bandit hero of Adelart was many things from charismatic to guile, but if there was one thing the Prelate knew about Merlock Wood, it was that the griffon was reactionary. Here and now in Adelart's woods, the old griffon was proven correct.
"Temperance, Merlock, temperance," the Luca said, "I honestly thought you would foresee this being a possibility."
"After everything I've done for Adelart?! All I've risked and sacrificed?!" Merlock flung another throwing knife into the nearby tree.
"You act as if they sentenced you to death."
"No, you don't have a say," Merlock seethed with a pointed talon, not even bothering to look at the Prelate, "I bet you even organized the vote in the first place to take charge."
Luca's staff knocked aside the talon with a thwack, causing the off-guard Merlock to yelp. The Prelate bore into the bandit. "You've been nothing but a valiant thief for decades, Wood, longing for the thrill of adventure that often landed you into a fight. Even after another victory against Greifwald, when Adelart was ready to rebuild itself, what did you do instead? You're out here gallivanting in the woods. You could barely stand the makeshift government prior. So, tell me, Merlock, what have you done to win over this new Adelart's confidence for being responsible and stable? Or are you going to lead a bandit rebellion against this government too?"
This time Merlock shot a glare at Luca before going to retrieve his throwing knives embedded in the nearby tree. "So what am I to do now, mister elected figurehead?"
"Buy a home? Enjoy retirement?" Luca shrugged, turning to leave, "Go about your life as usual? Maybe even reconvene with your political party and learn how to properly manage it within the Federal Council? Do whatever, Merlock, but do so knowing you need not worry for Adelart's future anymore. I pray the best for you...and I wish you goodbye."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Luca vun Lissay shall stand as our figurehead.
Prelate Luca vun Lissay icon Prelate Luca vun Lissay
With our pro Old-Believer government welcoming him back into a position of power, Luca vun Lissay has become leader of the Eyrist-Conservatives, and head of the Adelartian parliament. Although secondary to the federal council, Luca continues to advocate for rugged agrarianism and Adelartian tradition against the menaces of Greifwald and the Archons in Rila and Griffenheim.
AI logic:
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The Citizen's Councils Meet
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"And what reward is there for serving on Vilistel's new Canton?" Alezette asked.
"Well for one, you can vote on whether or not the nation decides to audit your organizations," Remich said.
"Hah, let it be done! The Municipal Bands of Vilistel and the Guild of Vilistel Infrastructure are very just and humble service groups dedicated towards the community. Those Eyrist conservatives won't find anything lacking!"
"Then which one will you be representing on our town Canton?"
"I can't represent both?"
Across the table, Wiltz lowered his head in exhaustion. As Vilistel's deputy, he had gathered every local figurehead he could find and brought them to the town hall – the biggest tavern in town – and sat them down to finally decide upon who would serve as councilmembers to represent their home on the Federal Council. Many other towns across the nation's new and old provinces had already selected their new Cantons comprised of their own local groups, leaving but a few towns that still haven't remaining. Be it the town of Vilistel that so happen to be one of them...
The most elderly griffon at the table spoke up, "Does Griffon Garments need more than one representative?"
The discussions around the table quickly faded out of respect, and the deputy raised his head. "No, Mrs. Moselle," Wiltz assured, "You are more than capable of representing your charity on your own if you'd like."
"Thank you, mister deputy, so very kind of everycreature."
"Does that mean I need another griffon to join the Municipal Bands?" Alezette asked. The deputy a suppressed groan and mumbled a prayer to the gods above.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Democracy, justice, and faith.
AI logic:
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The Sharpest Thorn
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Merlock’s grip on the country was no more, and Jaume had enough intelligence on the Vanguard to prevent any attempted coup. However, Prelate Luca and his "Sisters of Eyr" were the sharpest thorn in his side. Merlock was a brilliant tactician, but his age and exhaustion weakened him. Alexandra was a smart and fiery individual, but she was too young and inexperienced to be a problem.
Luca, however? His age only made him smarter, sharper, and more passionate than anyone Jaume had met. The Sisters caught his spies within hours of planting them. Any arrest attempts were foiled with legal loopholes. It didn't matter what Jaume did, Luca was always a few steps ahead.
De Conard looked out his window. There was only one path left: a literal law banning them. He had to strike at the heart, where no legal loopholes could be exploited. He originally planned to use a "State Secularization" law, but he knew Luca would find some excuse to avoid arrest.
So, he created a law as simple and direct as possible: "The Sister of Eyr and Prelate Luca Ban Act." A law giving the president, the police, and even the military the ability to arrest the group known as the Sisters of Eyr and its leader, Prelate Luca. And it did not mean the group in name, but in substance as well. Any change of the group’s name would not protect them from arrest. And in their place? Prelate Ebonwing. A fool whose mind was filled with nothing but religious conviction. Hardly a threat.
Authoritarian? Yes. Effective? Tartarus yes.
Jaume sat and sighed in relief. It was finally over. His police would be at the temples soon enough and arrest Luca, and riot squads were already setting up in preparation for a civilian revolt. He grabbed the bottle of wine from the edge of his desk and prepared to open-
Suddenly, the door to his office opened, revealing his secretary. She breathed heavy and gasped for air while her eyes looked at Jaume in exasperation. A telegram rested in one of her claws. De Conard’s heart sank as he translated the message in her eyes.
"He’s disappeared, hasn’t he?"
The secretary nodded her head.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
At least he's gone.
AI logic:
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Adelart Asks For Recognition
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
There have been rather notable developments in the west of our continent - the County of Greifwald is no more, now having been annexed by the proclaimed "Free Territory of Adelart". Despite the ruggish and rambunctious nature of these woodland griffons, they have taken it upon themselves to create a confederal-styled government.
Even more recently, we have received a missive from them petitioning for the acknowledgment of their state's legitimacy. Should we grant these peculiar griffons the recognition they beseech?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Griffons, yearning to be free! Of course!
AI logic:
Those tree huggers? No.
AI logic:
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[From.GetName] Recognizes Us
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
We have received a reply from one of our dispatches. After consideration, they have deemed our nationhood legitimate and officially recognize our state and government!
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Adelart Asks For Recognition” option “Griffons, yearning to be free! Of course!” |
Excellent!
AI logic:
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[From.GetName] Declares Us Ilegitimate
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
We have received a response from one of our dispatches. After a rather brief consideration, they have declared our state and its government illegitimate, snubbing our griffons as nothing but crazed "tree huggers".
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Adelart Asks For Recognition” option “Those tree huggers? No.” |
B-b-b-b-but we own Aquila!
AI logic:
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Thunder and Lightning
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
If you asked Bouboule, he'd say he was the finest deputy in de Nottemagne's posse. How fitting, then, that the finest deputy could enjoy such a fine cup of coffee on such a fine morning.
"Be careful with the tents you little mongrels!" Bouboule snarled. He jabbed his tin cup at the griffons struggling with the supply cart. "Those ain't cheap, and if there's even a single rip, I'll stitch it up with your hindplumage!" A gunshot. A hole punched through Bouboule's cup, spoiling his coffee. "Aie! To arms, griffs!" he shrieked as he hid in the bush behind him.
Bands of peasants stormed the clearing, guns blazing and clubs swinging. A dozen knights attacked with them, the bullets of Bouboule's griffons bouncing off their armour. The supply cart toppled. A gas lamp resting upon it broke, setting it ablaze.
Bouboule hissed and ran for the road. The ammunition crates caught fire and exploded behind him. As he exited the clearing, he nearly ran into a tractor-turned-tank, the first in a column of three, blocking the road. Bouboule recognized the pale griffon resting atop the first tank. She smiled at him.
"Sisters!" Selena shouted. "Methinks we've found de Nottemagne's griff! We are blessed today, aren't we?" Her turret pre-empted Bouboule's answer with a rattle of machine gun fire. His golden badge, bestowed to de Nottemagne's finest, tumbled off into the mud, punched through as if it was made of tin.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Knights of Old and New” option “And every sword shot skyward, as did a war cry which shook the forests.” |
De Nottemagne's finest - routed!
AI logic:
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The Cleansing of Greifwald
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"...and that concludes the report," the Flowenan-turned-Adelartian general finished. Jaume observed the written records, as well. The military had been expanding at a rapid pace. Jaume doubted even the Griffonian Empire would have an easy time breaking through their lines.
"Good work, general. Continue to keep me updated on the situation," de Conard replied with a nod.
The general turned his eyes away, however, and sighed. "Actually, sir, there are a few problems, especially with garrisons at Greifwald. The place is rampant with passionate anarchists. Berniers, they call themselves. They continue to wage a guerilla campaign against our troops. Accompanying them are a large number of Maarites who have been giving us a similar headache."
De Conard raised his eyebrow. "It’s like some unholy parallel universe."
The general nodded. "We believe that we could have both sides turn-"
"Kill them."
The general was taken aback. "Sir?"
Jaume stood up from his desk. "If this is like twenty years ago, I don't plan to be another Sheriff. Go and burn some trees, get them out in the open, then shoot them down. Use tanks, flamethrowers, bombs — anything that will destroy the forests they hide in."
The general's beak was wide open. "But sir, aren't they just civilians?"
The oil tycoon took a cigarette out from his jacket pocket and lit it up. "It's fine, general. It's just a little... self-defence. Besides, I don’t think our investors would enjoy cultists and anarchists at their doorsteps."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"...understood."
AI logic:
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Time Marches On
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
From a simple free woodland territory to an enduring bulwark for the values of freedom and justice, no creature had ever imagined the country achieving so much beyond. Yet when would-be conquerors beset its home, Adelart stood steadfast and in turn beset their invaders. Now with so many joining the streamlined ranks of the Aquileian Confederation of Cantons, another new age was taking form across the land. Time, however, extracts its toll on even the most legendary individuals of Adelart, and the respective resignation letters from the nation's two opposing political bloc leaders eventually made the headline news.
Prelate Luca vun Lissay, already elder in age when Adelart began, was now just about archaic, and a simple retirement to live out his years in peace was what anygriffon as old as he would have wanted. Though no longer the national figurehead, Luca nowadays tends to his hometown, preaching sermons and offering words of wisdom to the next generation.
As for Merlock Wood, age may have forced him to retire away from the political scene, but it could never quell the griffon's restless spirit. The last anycreature had officially seen the bandit hero was when he was returning to Adelart's original region, but once in awhile there would be a report of some corrupt dignitary travelling about and suddenly realizing they had been separated from their ill-gotten gains. The locals collectively resolved to generally pay no mind to these scandals.
All the while, the beneficent and glorious confederation the both had given so much to build grew on. Aquileian elements were of no doubt bound to arise within the system, but the Federal Council had been made to successfully adapt and fittingly accommodate such. This tried and tested bastion now stood upon Griffonia's continental stage – one still rife with conflict and bloodshed – and no Adelartian was naïve enough to believe these aggressors would just simply leave their nation alone. Until such a day dawned, Adelartians from all backgrounds would live, grow, be merry, and thrive. May they embrace every moment they will have, of joys and of hardships, up until the very end.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
...and Adelart endures.
AI logic:
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Parliament Votes on Unification
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Our government has received an offer from our Adelartian neighbors - they have proposed that Pomovarra and Adelart unify together into one entity.
Though this would dissolve our system of governance, the terms and conditions they have offered us are reasonable by all standards, and all of Pomovarra will be allowed fair representation and equal powers as members of its Federal Council.
Should we?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Aye!
AI logic:
Nay.
AI logic:
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Pomovarra Accepts Unification
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Pomovarra has accepted our offer of unification! The terms and conditions for their admittance into our Federation are more than reasonable and their representation in our Federal Council is secured.
Pomovarra Rejects Unification
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Pomovarra has politely declined our offer of unification. Despite the generous terms and clauses we had offered, Pomovarra's griffons have placed more value on preserving their autonomy.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Parliament Votes on Unification” option “Nay.” |
At least we still have that alliance...
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A Seal of Emerald Wax
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
A cloaked griffon recently arrived at court bearing a letter from one Sheriff Jean de Nottemagne of Adelart which was read, after a brief check on a nearby map. It painted a worrisome picture of banditry, disorder and dissent which was causing the deaths of many within the shrievalty.
The letter ended with a request, not for weapons but for military advisors to shape up their domestic security forces to 'finally crush the bandits once and for all.' How shall we respond?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
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Of course we will help!
AI logic:
What's an Adelart?
AI logic:
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[From.GetNameDefCap] Accepts
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Our diplomat returned with great news! [From.GetNameDefCap] has accepted our request for military aid and will be sending over some of their advisors to help us with our 'bandit problem.' So long as we keep them from questioning the fires and ensure the validity of their advice they shall be of great use to our military!
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “A Seal of Emerald Wax” option “Of course we will help!” |
Here come the advisors!
Discret Stubbornness icon Discret Stubbornness
Despite their greed the Discrets have deigned to lend us some of their brightest minds to improve our defensive strategies and train our troops.
Protean Fury icon Protean Fury
Despite their greed the Archons have deigned to lend us some of their brightest minds to improve our offensive strategies and train our troops.
AI logic:
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[From.GetNameDefCap] Refuses
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Our diplomat has returned with unfortunate news. [From.GetNameDefCap] has refused our request for military aid and has left us on our own. It is unfortunate, but there is no use dwelling on it. We'll have to develop our tactics alone.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “A Seal of Emerald Wax” option “What's an Adelart?” |
Shame.
AI logic:
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A Few Visits to the Farmsteads
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Rain splashed into the muddy field, turning the ground to mulch as a disorganized gaggle of griffons sprinted across it trying in vain to flap their bound wings. Behind them a more organized group waited patiently for a stopwatch to count down.
As if to accentuate the moment, thunder roared across the sky as a shrill ring emerged from the small device, causing the group to charge forwards towards the sprinting recruits. From the gaggle, a single griff called Gilbert hid behind a tree and calmed his shaking heart. Why was this happening!?!
He was supposed to just work on his farm, ignoring all the news about some 'Sheriff' and changes from Bergelun, but after a visit from some Eyr damned goons where he was given a single sheet of paper to be handed in to some office in Lissay. Apparently it was his own fault if he had never been to that place, or even seen an office!
Thump.
Holding his breath, Gilbert looked at the tree trunk he just smacked with his claw and froze as he heard pawsteps thumping through the mud towards him.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Bugger."
AI logic:
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A Dinner in Skyfall
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The businessgriffs laughed as they sat at the table, smoking the finest of Skyfall’s cigars and dining on the best of the city’s pantries. The freshest meat, vegetables, and bread they could find were all wrapped up and brought over to the manor of the former Iron Chancellor, now nothing more than a summer home. One fat griffon grabbed a leg of some unidentifiable animal and proceeded to chomp on it, only to spit out a few pieces of rubble that had fallen on it from the ceiling.
"We could’ve waited after this city was cleaned up before eating here, you know?" the businessgriff complained to Jaume. The oil tycoon said nothing, instead smoking a cigarette as he stood on a pile of stone that had fallen from the ceiling. He stared through the opening in the side of the house that provided a window to the fallen city.
The skyscrapers that Skyfall was known for were like giant tombstones, silent and monolithic in nature. One had fallen yesterday, leaving a pile of concrete and iron in the streets. Not that it mattered to anygriff. The whole city center was a deadzone. The usual sounds and sights — griffons laughing, cars horking, shopkeepers advertising — all of it was replaced with an eerie atmosphere. The once bustling city of Skyfall was now a city of silence.
And it was all his. Jaume released a breath of smoke.
"Gentlegriffs, we have inherited the jewel of Griffonia. Thanks to the sacrifices of our soldiers, we now hold one of the most profitable, if not the most profitable city in the world."
Jaume stepped down the pile, then picked up a chair off the ground. "However, I ask you: Was it worth the deaths? The millions of casualties? The loss of the simple griff in pursuit of more profit?"
He dropped the chair at the end of the table and looked at the others. The thump of the chair against the floor released more rubble from the ceiling, dirtying the floor of the once-beautiful manor even more. Jaume's stare filled the other businessgriffs with bewilderment and uncertainty.
But after a few more seconds, the corners of his beak finally curved upwards and he released a chuckle. The others slowly join in laughter as the tension broke and their uneasiness subsided. "Of course it is worth it!" he exclaimed.
De Conard popped open the champagne and blew out the dust from an empty glass before pouring himself some of the bubbly alcohol. He then raised it to the laughing griffons at the ruined table.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
To the new griffs in town!
AI logic:
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One for All...
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The Falcontown raid ebbed ancient in Claudius's riveted mind, the embers of his golden age finally fading away. Hauling in tons of loot, sticking it to the Count, escaping with Merlock and the rest... those were the lovely years.
These, too, faded under the shade of an old tree, his claws aiming to unholster a pair of revolvers (which he'd stolen to replace his flintlock). It wouldn't be enough; his sharp eye detected the unusual outlines of ponies and griffons in the bushes. Instinct told him their ringleader sat right behind him: he flipped a revolver to his back. "You had the gall to murder Merlock in such mockery. Why should I give myself up to you?"
"At least you can bring your proofs to court," said the voice of Bertus, "give yourself a fighting chance."
"What proofs?" he said, turning around to face Bertus, spinning the other revolver in his claw. "Poor Wood couldn't even speak, let alone plead his case to... you, of all creatures! That was his mistake! He was too blinded by Greifwald to see he was sealing a deal with an Aquileian devil! Look at yourselves! You call yourselves partisans and freedom fighters, but now you're on top, you're throwing us to the gears to crush all of us in your smokestacks! You're no better than the sheriff!"
After facing down orders from the other Merrimanes to stand down, "So, that's what I hear? Got twelve of you? I've got enough bullets for all of you! Come and take it!"
Minutes later, only Bertus would leave, carrying Claudius's revolvers and a bloody bullet that'd barely scraped his wing.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
...all for none.
AI logic:
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Unpleasant Implications
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"The peasantry are themselves the bourgeoisie!" proclaimed Bois, yet another Aquileian emigre. "They've given themselves to the exploitative bandits, and that has turned them into the property-enamoured. When we ask them to give us their lands, will they not respond in violence?"
"Need I remind you that Adelart is not exactly a modern state?" said Dominique the theorist-economist. "In many parts of Adelart, capitalism has either not taken hold or have been forcefully removed before the workers were even aware of their plight. We must utilise our authority to instil in them that all-important class consciousness—"
"Merlock and their lot... they've tainted authority in the eyes of all Adelartians," answered local out-of-town mayor Gernsbeck. "They'll detest every master, even if it kills them."
Descieux, presiding over the meeting, could only sigh. There was genial agreement among the vanguard's members, of course, yet awkward was the atmosphere when, just across the room, bedraggled representatives of cobbled-up farmers' and workers' unions sat there, taking in what may as well be veiled insults.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
It's truly not a peasant day nor a peasant time.
AI logic:
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First Impressions
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"Here, here!" a starstruck Descieux called, unable to contain her delight as none other than Victor Allard himself, clean-clad, plodded through forest trails to see the hearty spirit of the revolution materialised in the little tree town of Klengenbam. "The two-fold task of collectivising both the agricultural and the industrial sectors is well underway here, but don't let me bore you! See the facts yourselves!" She stepped aside to let Allard behold:
A bunch of loggers fell some trees with axes and a single power tool. Old imported Aquileian machines and their manuals were carted into a factory-in-the-makin. On the outskirts, confused farmers listened to repeated recordings of how they were being liberated from their landowners, though they'd already been without landowners for two decades straight.
"Hmm," was all Allard could say after the brief tour. "Didn't you say that these Adelartians had a proto-communist character?" After a yes from Descieux, "Then maybe I had set my expectations too high. It's partly my fault; much of the works written about the vanguard were based on more, say, urban settings. Clearly, some growing pains must be braved, since the revolution here faces the danger of being muddled by a blind revolt from the peasants." Then, stopping to take a better look at a Descieux whose smile, for once, faltered, "What use is the vanguard commanding the farms, for example, if the farmers themselves are not given better means and knowledge on harvesting? That chainsaw-griff by the trees has the right idea, I can tell you."
Descieux then bowed her head. "W-well, those points are taken, Monsieur Allard! Thank you for your presence here! With your wisdom and guidance, Adelart shall awaken soon enough!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Someone needs to translate these "dialectics" for the villages.
AI logic:
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An Artificial Lift
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Descieux had ordered every citizen in the tiny village of Verstoppet for over a week, beleaguering everyone with promises of "workers' oil." Her fleet of Aquileia-made machines, tractors, and power tools had been shipped here and other similar hamlets, all with Allard's stamp of approval.
But dismayed faces flooded her vision as the Column rode another batch of machines into town, converting tributary dirt paths into proper asphalted roads.
"But you're a hundred years behind!" heard Descieux. It was Limbourg again. She rolled her eyes. "We're here to lift you up, comrades, and to persist with you in the fight against—"
"With us!?" yelled a griffon. The patches on her shirt indicated her Merrimane membership, but her accent signified her native Adelartian-ness. "You're repaying the blood we sacrificed by kicking us out of our homes, our farms, our own lands, for... these things!? What's a factory or a pumpjack!? My family didn't grow up in a steel box like you fancy Aquileians!"
"That's the ill will of reaction speaking," Limbourg replied. "Madame Descieux here has often exposited on the merits of class consciousness. We can't let our comrades work with inferior tools when we can organise—"
Shouts broke out, and that griff—who quipped, "How do you like being knocked class-unconscious!?"—had just punched Limbourg cold. Descieux's bodyguards whistled for the criminal to cease as all of Verstoppet broke into an uproar already hurling insults at Descieux herself: "Traitor! Aquileian plant! Red-coated sheriff!"
"What's the commotion here?" a voice she didn't want to hear spoke up. An agitated Allard had just flown to her side.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “First Impressions” option “Someone needs to translate these "dialectics" for the villages.” |
Panic flowed up the stream of her heart.
AI logic:
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Allardism
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"...that's the crux of my concerns," Allard finished off after a half-hour speech directed at Descieux: "As much as I am grateful to you for breaking Adelart's chains, the promise of the 'proto-communist' benefits here have been overblown. The agrarian workers here desire freedom from their oppressors, but they fail to see that said oppressors do not include us among their members. Their stubborn refusal to have us help accelerate their progress... mm, my time short, though. If you'll excuse me, I must return to Aquila. The developed proletariat back home has pressing matters I must deal with."
Allard's car and entourage left Bergelun and Descieux in a cloud of dust.
The preparations to welcome Allard soon descended into obscurity and ignorance. The heart of Adelart's revolutionary paradise had been smoked out in smog, the scant few factories there vomiting out gadgets and curiosities the locals didn't understand the use for.
They yearned for their crops, their land, not their partitioning, not their being clawed over to rigid industrial districts and their mechanical wheeled automatons.
The crowd that had been commanded to welcome Allard quickly dispersed. The few that chose to stay to heckled Descieux never got the chance to do so thanks to her armed and dangerous bodyguards. Their security left the taste of bile in her mouth.
Past them, she saw a Bergelun that couldn't be...
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “An Artificial Lift” option “Panic flowed up the stream of her heart.” |
An Adelart that shouldn't be.
AI logic:
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All Manner of Merry Griffs
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Now that a means of governance has been settled, Adelart may begin to improve its military, and what better way than to reach out to the experienced sorts already marshalling recruits in the countryside? The belligerence in the evening air, however, indicated that having their leaders all gather at once wasn't perhaps the best of ideas. The six groups bickered amongst themselves while the seventh sulked quietly in a shadowy corner.
"The workers of Adelart deserve better!" a pony of the Merrimane Column argued, her mishmash volunteers of Aquileian griffons and ponies from Equestria agreeing.
A decorated member of the Jade Company scoffed, "Perhaps, but they would achieve more under guidance of those they choose to lead them."
"Eegh, and I thought we were the radicals..." a griffon from the Forest Brothers groaned, more attentive to picking dirt out of his old trench shovel, "Just because ya got some kooky ideas doesn't mean ya know the land like our gang."
The lone, fully armored behemoth of a griffon let out a low chuckle, the green plume atop his helmet bobbing with his laugh, "Thy repartee is ironic to the Knights of the Green Harp."
"Least they know to protect themselves and others proper," remarked Selena of the Sisters of Eyr, "Your order charges beakfirst into a fray with meager defenses."
The green plumed helmet turned to Selena, "...thou fights with tanks."
"The only way to protect our bodies, precious gifts of Eyr they are!"
The two Fligers griffons, Joanna and Alois , glanced about the conversation before whispering to each other.
"Mom, should we tell them that we can easily solve all of this with our aircrafts?"
"No, let's see if Adelart's government can even offer us something worthwhile first."
All in all, the groups continued to bicker. Not even coming together to offer their services to Adelart was enough to quell their bickering, nor make them all cooperate together.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
What a cast of characters!
AI logic:
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Wither Périphérie?
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Where Merlock once stood, a dishevelled Descieux took to the head of the lengthy dining table. That she was back in the public eye after some weeks of being a no-show was a surprise already, let alone the absence of her bodyguards and the lack of proper notes."
"I must admit my mistakes," Descieux began; she wavered before continuing: "When I came here, I had the guidance of the most esteemed Victor Allard, who believed in total mechanised vanguardism... ahem, in turning your lands over to us as the absolute way of awakening the workers. But I did not understand you, I did not truly know you until I stepped up to your level, living and farming in the woods and fields you call home. You've shown me a comradeship that neither Allard nor the rest of Aquila's communists could ever possess."
"So look at where we are now! Yes, progress among the workers cannot be made without some gears and machinery, but it was all done with your eager participation! The factories do not dominate your lands but have instead diversified them, opening Adelart up to an astounding array of careers that workers of future generations can fully benefit from, free to relish in your gains without a businessgriff looming over you to suck your earnings dry! The world looks to our tried and tested blend of a united workers' republic, a blessed union between leaves and steel that Stalliongrad themselves haven't yet achieved!"
"But why keep the world looking when they can join us? Across the Périphérie lies the land of Adelart's oppressive masters! The sheriff may be dead, but another sheriff can and shall rise! Let us not waste our primes in discussion when the permanent revolution shall roll on under our wings!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Workers of the Peripherie, to arms! To the dream!"
AI logic:
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The Inevitable Recomposition
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Nothing but joy locked against grief soared in Descieux as she flew out of a train of trucks. They'd made the rounds in Aquileia's metros which she'd missed in Adelart, yet, if anything, her time away seemed to have only emboldened the would-be soldiers' resolve, as the homeless carried themselves to the convoys like bugs to light. They'd shortly run both out of trucks and the city wild with gridlock. But when they left the urban commotion and visited their first rural town, something greater lay there: an unstably warm welcome.
"My two sons have been expecting you!" the first griff said, the village's de facto mayor though it was hard to tell by his thatched clothes. "They've heard of what you've done... Madame, I tried to convince them to stay at the family farm, but if they want to spend their youth in this revolution, I'd... I'll die proud!"
Descieux then took a good look at his offspring: spitting images of the old father, their golden years about to be unleashed in their stoic smiles. The rumbling of idling and chattering trucks doesn't help in attracting attention—and even more recruits. She struggled just to contain the happy sorrow within, of the workers rising up... along with the necessary violence.
"I am not the most eloquent of speakers on the subject of war," Descieux cried out to her growing audience (a few of whom pre-emptively saluted her), "so only this I shall say before our convoys open: Do not forget the comrades who serve behind you! Though the revolution is non-negotiable, so, too, are the lives it protects. Your fathers and mothers, your sons and daughters shall be in your eternal gratitude!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Across generations, immortal is the struggle.
AI logic:
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"The Young and Old Can Smile"
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
It was a capitalist stereotype for an old communist to endlessly write dissertations no one would read, yet for the party-less Allard, that'd become bitter reality. Despite the precautions taken to hide in a secluded forest, though, a knock on the door persisted against his concentration. "Come in?", said Allard. "Hold on, Descieux? What dares you to come here?"
"I'm afraid we never got to say a proper goodbye, after your, uh, premature exit," she said, sheepish still. For all his faults, Allard's presence still felt halfway holy. "What made you leave?"
"You're a smart griff; I expect you to deduce that," he replied as he pushed aside a quill. "My neo-vanguard treatises lacked a proper praxis compared to your plunging yourself into Adelart's peasant trees! Yet, the cold hard facts are that you've succeeded despite my efforts. Or lack thereof."
As Allard shuffled to turn his back against her, Descieux said, "It does not have to be the end for you, Monsieur Allard. You are a genius; it would be a shame for the workers to not have your polemical abilities."
"Still the great idealist, you are." He clicked his tongue, shame dripping from his beak. "I could sit here all day, arguing with you until I die... but your revolution isn't corrupt since it hasn't fallen. The young and old can smile, knowing they are secure in your claws. Aquileia no longer has need of me... but you, Madame? You are as dependable as any chairgriff can be, Descieux."
She couldn't stifle the blush on her cheeks. "Thank you... I thought I didn't need to hear that, but I did. It is a dishonour to me that you couldn't be with us once more, but maybe in time, Monsieur..."
When she left, he spent minutes meditating after her closed door. Then, with a vicious smirk, "Just like Cru in his barbershop, I can spar with you, Descieux. A nom de plume under an opposition magazine shall suffice..."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
No amateur is the revolution's custodian.
AI logic:
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Dinner With the Flowenans
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Jaume gazed at the crowded banquet hall, one built just for this event. Hundreds of the richest tycoons across Griffonia all sat together on the softest chairs, enjoying the finest, non-Adelartian dinner Jaume could find. Multiple strings had to be pulled to hire chefs of the highest regard from Aquileia – including covering all costs of housing, transportation, and instillation – but thanks to that, the greatest pastry chef in Rila was currently baking a plethora of crepes and croissants in the hall’s kitchen.
Jaume also hired the talent of Octavia and her string quartet, much to his amazement. He would have given up half his coffers just to hear her play, but to have her at his banquet? Jaume couldn't help but smile. He closed his eyes for a moment and relished in the beautiful melodies that danced around the room.
Indeed, every aspect of tonight was organized by de Conard himself, supervised and constructed in such a way that the tycoons would have nothing to criticize – other than one another, of course. Jaume too fixed the seating order in such a way that gossip would engulf the room like a flood. All he had to do was move familiar businessgriffs a table away from one another, and rumors would flow from the beaks of everygriff like waterfalls. And thanks to his waiters, Jaume knew everything. There are only a few things better than gold, and gossip was one of those.
De Conard stepped up from his seat and raised his glass. He tapped it with a spoon, quickly bringing everygriff’s attention to the front. "My fellow elites, for long have we waited for Adelart to come undone from the bonds of Greifwald-"
A random tycoon interrupted. "Get it over with!"
Everygriff chuckled included Jaume himself. "No pretenses, then. To oil!" he cheered as he raised his glass.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"To oil!"
AI logic:
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[From.GetNameDefCap] Asks For A Loan
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
A representative of [From.GetNameDef] arrived in [Root.Capital.GetName] today and wished to meet with our banking families. He said they desire to borrow money from us and are willing to pay the interest for it. After some negotiation it was agreed that they could repay the loan in one year or choose to extend it. Of course, we must consider if they truly are capable of paying their debts and if we can afford to give them money.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “Borrow From Adelart Sharks” |
It is a deal.
AI logic:
Keep your claws away from our coins!
AI logic:
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[From.GetNameDefCap] Grants A Loan
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The representative we sent to [From.Capital.GetName] has returned and brought us good news: The banking families have accepted our offer and are preparing a shipment of money. The interest rate is relatively high so we must invest the money wisely, although the time for repayment will be a year from now.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “[From.GetNameDefCap] Asks For A Loan” option “It is a deal.” |
Excellent.
 Loan from Adelart Sharks
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[From.GetNameDefCap] Refused Our Request
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The representative we sent to [From.Capital.GetName] has returned and brought us bad news: The banking families have refused our offer and have no desire to borrow us money. They said they cannot afford to give loans at the moment.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “[From.GetNameDefCap] Asks For A Loan” option “Keep your claws away from our coins!” |
They guard their wealth jealously...
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No Sovereign But Eyr
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Once a week, after the young griffons of Bergelun finished homeschool or completed their chores on the farm, they went to the Temple for the weekly Trinity Supper. Luca relished the opportunity to help the young, even if ladling stew was hard on his wrist. He knew many of the more eager chicks by name. Some even approached him for wisdom.
He bid farewell to Lea, to whom he quoted a passage from the Scroll of Golden Goblets to help her get along with her brother. He spotted Marco, whose father was hanged by that vicious Deputy Hunn. "Good evening, Marco," he said.
"Mister Luca, aren't you doing the same thing as the Sheriff?" Marco said. "My pa liked Mister Merlock, and my ma says the Sheriff wanted him gone. Didn't you do it for him?"
Luca pondered for a moment. "Your mother is half-right, but I want to put her at ease. I am not the Sheriff. No one like him will rule Adelart ever again. I promise her that."
"But you're boss, ain't you? Mister Merlock wanted nobody to be the boss."
Luca hummed softly and knelt so he and Marco were face to face. "Eyr teaches us that all griffons are precious, so unto them we should render kindnesses: full bellies, warm homes, and happy families. Did the Sheriff want that?" Marco shook his head. Luca smiled. "Exactly. I'm only sort of the boss. The real bosses are the Gods; I'm just following their advice." Luca rose. He noticed Marco had already emptied his soup bowl, and led him to what was left of the stew for seconds.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
You see, child? I rule only because Eyr wills it.
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One by One
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The guarded hall was abuzz with dozens of conversations, representatives of mercenary groups from all across Greifwald chattering like old friends as they raided the Sheriff's beer cabinet together and drank to their hearts' content.
Sitting calmly in the midst of it all, at the head of the table, sat the Sheriff. He watched as these damn mercenaries ransacked his hall for perhaps a bit too long, before rapping his claw on the table.
With a wince, most of the representatives lined up along the table and sat themselves down. "While I respect your eagerness, I cannot have you running around like the chicks you've been acting like for the last two decades anymore." Jean said as he nursed a glass of Aquileian wine.
One of the griffons furthest along the row scoffed, likely one of the many Fliger relatives. "Surely you jest, my good Sheriff? You have already shown your claws while dealing with those-" He hesitated as Jean glared at him. "bandits. You needed us for help, as your griffons couldn't pull up their own bootstraps, let alone clear 'em all out!" Several griffs let out a chuckle at this.
Tapping his claw on the table, Jean patiently waited for the noise to die down before calmly stating. "I don't know what kind of faulty memory you have, Mister Spare Fliger, but I assure you." He looked at one of the guards at the door, who stepped forward and held the Fliger relative. "I have made some necessary changes..." With this, Jean stood up on the table.
"Listen up!" Jean shouted as the squirming Fliger thrashed "I've brought you all here tonight for a simple offer! We've no need for mercenaries anymore, and no one in all of Greifwald ought to either, so you've got three choices!" He stepped closer to the Fliger relative and traced his claw around his neck "One, you step in line and join my new army. Two, you clear out of my country." His claw drew closer to the Fliger's neck "Or Three, you can try to stay and be sent back home in boxes." His claw drew blood. "Am I understood!?"
Judging by the squawking chickens rushing out the door, he was.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Now to build a proper army...
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The Unyielding Temple
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Luca stood in the center of the burning city, the battle for Griffenheim still raw. Buildings broken, streets torn, glass shattered, bricks disintegrated - and yet the Archon's vain temple stood amid the chaos, untouched and unyielding. Despite Luca's commands, there wasn't a single chink in the walls of the temple.
The Prelate fell to the ground and bemoaned. "Eyr, why have you allowed such a mockery of your existance to remain? Why have you allowed the temple of the heathens to stand above the fires of this wretched unholy land?"
Perhaps... he was wrong? A momentary intrusive thought drilled to Luca's core. He gasped in horror at what his mind came up with. He put his head against the broken street and prayed, "Forgive me, Eyr. Forgive me for my judgement. Though not intentional, my thoughts have brought a greater disgrace to your name than anything these Griffonians have done."
He brought his head up and opened his eyes, and to his amazement, he saw it through the smoke. The figure of Eyr. Its otherworldly, warm talons surrounding the temple. Eyr's head resting on its roof. Another moment passed, and it was gone.
Prelate Luca felt tears fall down his cheek. His calling was not to destroy. It had never been. Eyr wanted him to rebuild. Renovate. Change the beliefs of the heathens, not fight them. How long had he ignored Eyr's truth?
"The temple will not fall," he muttered to both himself and Eyr, "It will not fall because you have delivered it to me. It shall be recreated in your image, my Lord. A place for Griffons to hear from your followers and to pray to you, not to an Archon."
The old griffon pushed himself back up, though the cracks of age echoed in his joints. "This temple shall serve as a beacon to those who need you. Your light and love will flood out through this temple. No longer will these griffons go to an Archon to talk to some idol. No, now they will talk to you directly, and this temple will teach them that."
Prelate Luca hobbled to the entrance of the temple. "But first, let's assess what needs to be done."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
For the will of Eyr.
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From Civilisation Immemorial
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The first national congress for [HEL.GetNameDef] would soon be underway. Flocks of union representatives and local Parti Communiste branches had come forth... not to Aquila, the City of Lights, but to Westkeep, a short trip away from the Adelartian heartland."
When the clock struck ten, the designated meeting time, a peasant in ragged, dirt-smeared clothes took centre stage in the assembly, the shadow of her hat obscuring her identity. When she spoke and put on her glasses, though, eyes and wings widened at none other than Descieux: "From civilisation immemorial, long before the final state of capital, the farmer—the peasant—lived. In Adelart, where Allard had sent me, we lived with farmers who lived under an ostensibly free territory but were clearly not free enough to rise above subsistence or hiring themselves out to the mercy of other griffs."
"I did not understand them, not at first. I had the theory and the vanguard to back it up, but my praxis had to dive deep into their world: talking with them, understanding their pains and pressures, doing the good work with them. In fact, they had already done half of the work for us, possessing co-operatives in all but name... that, my comrades, was a humbling revelation. In them, the revolution had already started; we set out to help them finish it against the tide of capitalist modernity. Should any farmer be made moot, the cities and their workers will be ready to embrace them. In the end, then, all that we asked for is more co-operatives and just enough industrialisation to arm ourselves, economically and martially, against reaction."
"Thus, while I shall remain as chairgriff, the vanguard is hereby dissolved. Let us not divide the farmer and the machinist, for we are all workers... and we are all liberated. So make yourselves heard."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Dismissing formal decorlum, the assembly rode the waves of feisty cheers.
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For the Common Creature
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"I don't have a good way with words, Madame," Merlock said as he sharpened his sabre in the shade of an old tree. He took a look at Descieux's cadre: her bodyguards, and major elements of the Merrimane Column. "I fear I can't beat you in a debate."
"You don't need to," Descieux said. "Also, you lie. You couldn't have been such a magnetic personality without your way with words."
"Then I still have that charm... but why this? Your vanguard and my insurrection don't seem, er, compatible."
"We are for the common creature," Descieux began. "I believe in the necessity of a vanguard. What I should've considered more, however, is Adelart's proto-communist character. The farmers and other peasants here have pooled their resources, with or without a sheriff, forming co-operatives. I'd rather build on that foundation than to obliterate it."
Merlock clicked his tongue, clacked his beak. He spun his flintlock around like a revolver. "How do I know this will not be a well-organised coup?"
"Because I can challenge you thus: Can you trust your free-form government to handle its armies well? How will they formulate an answer to Imperial tanks or Aquileian veterans? That's my offer: I and the Merrimane Column will whip your quivering militias into shape. They excel in your brand of guerrilla warfare but can also be a standing army when need be. They've had much experience, dating back to the First Aquileian Revolution. Distrust our beliefs if you must, but it is idiotic to reject our material help."
Merlock scratched his chin with a free wing. "I won't say no to bigger guns, I can tell you that, Madame."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
The red tie and the green bycoket saw each other eye to eye.
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Supersede
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Amid the dying, miasmic smoulders and ruins of a bombed out manor, one gunpowder-stained Descieux stood on even level with a bustling crowd of soldiers. The haggard eyes and their worn-out equipment begged for rest... or rejuvenation straight from the beak of their chairgriff.
"When the embers of counter-revolution burned any semblance of childhood peace, I set out to set my life aside for my fellow workers, yet I had never imagined that we would topple the core of Griffonian imperialism! But for all their faults, the Grovers lucked out on one tenet: to unite a people." A pregnant pause later, "While the Grovers, with their fragile power, blinded themselves to the struggles of the workers and farmers, we stand at your beck and call, armed with an inexhaustible arsenal to empower you and your comrades abroad! As the world bleeds in yet more selfish wars, in yet more capitalist contradictions, their weary appendages and eyes shall turn to the centre of Griffonia and see unity, a unity that is blind to race and nationality. It only asks for the labouring class... and how potent is that request! For those who've deserted to us did so because they see the means for an unstoppable and successful revolution!"
"I shall end today with this command to the workers of Griffonia and beyond: Look to us! Set your eyes upon what has transpired here! What we have started, continue with us in lockstep, and never cease!"
Celebratory claps and screeches aside, Descieux flinched when a bespectacled face amid the sea of cheerers stood still, locking eyes with her. His open beak firmed up, resolving itself into an acknowledging nod, one that said, "You've done it, girl."
She mouthed, "You came back," and watched Victor Allard nod once more before he vanished into the mass of soldiers.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
The vanguard's virtue, rewarded.
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A Confederal Griffonia
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Before the war, the streets of Griffenheim were filled with cheer and jubilee. A celebration of a just reconquest to relight the dwindling flame of the dying Empire, to stave off the shackles of decline and dissolution for a while longer. It didn’t take too long for attitudes to change, as the enemy thought of as weak had shattered their armies, flattened their industry and bombed their homes. No matter their intentions, such an impression was sure to last.
The streets were almost silent in the days after the surrender, aside from the faint crackling of far off fire and hum of vehicles. The bridges to the Imperial Palace lay in ruins, and the Palace itself had suffered substantially as a result of the fierce fighting therein. It sat abandoned in the centre of Griffenheim, a symbol of the beating heart of an Empire in shambles.
Barely a week had passed when a collection of griffons, wearing pins of the Adelartian tree, toured the gardens surrounding the palace, taking notes about every shell hole, body and damaged wall. Eventually they left, and the residents were briefly left again with their thoughts and each other.
They returned soon after, bringing supplies and engineers. Some led the repairs of urgently needed infrastructure and the Palace, while others handed out food and water to the local residents. Their arrival was met with cautious optimism, with tales of similar events by the Confederation in the South-West of the Herzlands bolstering the hope of those wishing for relief.
After a few months the Imperial Palace was restored enough to be considered safe to work in. A celebration was held in the relatively restored gardens, ending with the proclamation of the ‘Griffonian Confederation of Cantons’ and the announcement that the new member state of the ‘Canton of Griffenheim’ would house its capital, with the Imperial Palace housing the Canton’s council.
It would take time but, through their efforts, cheer returned to the streets of Griffenheim.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
One tale out of dozens across the Herzlands.
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Jaume's Legacy
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Griffenheim. The city of the great Griffonian Empire. Or rather, the former Griffonian Empire.
Jaume de Conard walked down the red carpet in the throne room, towards the singular throne at the end. Its original owner unseated, the large chair sat empty as if it were begging to be filled. Bits of sunlight from the stained-glass windows above struck parts of the gold on the chair, making it seem even more magnificent — and more melancholy.
Jaume continued the path until he stood only a few feet away from the throne. It had aged, no doubt, but it still held the magnificence he always imagined. On the throne sat a soft, red silk cushion, perfect in every way. Four straight legs held up the chair, wooden in substance but profound nonetheless in its smoothness. Fractals of gods and griffons etched the edges of the throne, telling stories of an empire's birth that was now gone.
De Conard never expected Adelart to grow so big. To go beyond what he could ever dream of. This was something that his family could never give to him.
Perhaps that what he always wanted. Not gold or profit, but a chance to earn something rather than to have it be given to him.
The griffon turned around and sat on the throne. His throne. The throne he had earned. Years of dedication had led him to this moment, taking the city of the strongest empire in the world.
He thought about pulling out a cigarette and his muscle memory brought his talon to his jacket, but he froze and put his claws down. He instead closed his eyes and rested on the armrests, feeling the sun hit his feathers.
Jaume had always wanted more. More gold, more profit, more friends, more land. He had always worked hard to get more and fill his life with more things. However, sitting on this throne, he felt content. He had gotten the one thing he always wanted: evidence of his legacy, not his family's. And for that, he didn't need anything else.
Gold was still nice, though.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
It's good to be king.
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The Merrygriffs Ride On
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Well, this had gotten out of claw rather quickly.’ Thought Merlock as he, alongside a contingent of aged merrygriffs, entered the Grover Dynasty’s throne room. Sat in front of him was a lone throne, seemingly untouched since the evacuation of the Last Grover.
He tore his eyes off of it, it’d served its purpose just as its owners did. He could see Naylor and Frere exploring the room, admiring the craftsmanship of every abandoned relic and regalia, seemingly with respect rather than following Descieux’s ‘polite’ request to ‘Ransack and burn the symbol of reaction.’
Merlock could hear them both excitedly talk about when and how each relic was made, and it made him pause. He turned back to the throne and examined it closely, noting the intricate details of long gone griffons and their tales of valor. The way Boreas’ sun at midday hit it just right to almost bring these tales to life, the way the throne seemed to carry a presence even when unoccupied. It showed the great care and effort taken by a humble few griffs for a passion they shared with a select few.
And now he had it in his control. Not just the symbol of a far-off hated empire, but the culmination of decades of experience and care.
Merlock could burn it, tear down the palace and permanently scar the image of the dying empire. Or he could sit on the throne and wear the title he had despised. Those were the two options expected of any would-be conqueror. But perhaps he could make another way.
He was shaken out of his thoughts by the realization that both Frere and Naylor had sat alongside him admiring the throne. They were silent now, both very familiar with the look on Merlock’s face. He chuckled, and placed a claw on both of their shoulders.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
"Do either of you have a good name for a Museum?"
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The Fiction of Rights
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Smoke bellowed from a recently caved in building as the shell that had crashed through its roof sat in its own embers, the streets of Vilistel were abound with shouts and gunfire, and through it all walked a single rugged group.
Jean de Nottemagne sniffed the air, the fierce smell of powder smoke and mud bled through the windows and roofs of the ruined homes around him. With a hearty sigh, the Sheriff and his posse marched towards their final goal, the town hall.
Upon arriving, Jean took stock of the situation. His griffons had seemingly herded the bandits into the now barricaded town hall, poured oil upon the foundations, and were preparing torches to burn them out. Though he'd planned it himself, he felt a twinge of pride at the efficiency of which it was pulled off with. His griffons had learned well - they'd learned from the best, after all.
Turning from the hall, he focused on a fallen flag; Once a proud symbol of Merlock's band, now a mere mud-covered cloth. After a few seconds, Jean flicked open an old faulty lighter and bent over towards the flag, carefully lighting the edge of it before standing back up and watching it carefully.
As the flames slowly crawled up the flag, so too did the torches thump against the hall. A set of screeches filled the air as the flag slowly turned to ash. By the time it was done, the hall was completely ablaze and those inside were silenced at last.
With a brief smile, Jean turned and left with his posse in tow. There was nothing else for them here.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Finally. A respite.
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Faith, Fury and Forgiveness
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"Benoit Hunn, do you deny the charges levelled against thee?" the Eyrite judge said, drowned out by Hunn's shouts and invective. Even though he was blindfolded, the militiagriffs struggled to keep Hunn upright as he struggled against them.
"For the crime of grand blasphemy in the service of the Maar-ordained Archonate and the Corrupt and Worldly Kings, the Trinity demands the punishment of death. Brothers, if you'd kindly," the judge said. Hunn roared in defiance, but was silenced by a strike across his jaw. The militiagriffs dragged his unconscious body out through the back of the courthouse.
Two other griffs seized the next shrieval loyalist and dragged him forward. Even through his blindfold, the judge could tell he was but a chick - and also scared out of his wits. "Ernest de Griffe, do you confess to having served under Deputy Hunn, just as he served under the late Sheriff de Nottemage?" Ernest squeaked out a yes. "For the crime of simple blasphemy against the Gods and Their Free Territory, the Trinity demands three-hundred hours in service of the communities of Adelart and mandatory temple attendance until this hour next year."
The militiagriffs removed Ernest's blindfold, revealing his confused, teary countenance. His weak knees gave out and he fell to his knees. He clasped his talons and sobbed his thanks to the judge, who only smirked and instructed the militiagriffs to help Eyr's newest chick to his feet.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Kindness for the people, cruelty for the system.
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One For The Road
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The below descriptions are available for this event.
The following description is used if:
- None of:
- We refused the Prelate's cries (?)
- Off the beaten path of Eagleton sat an unassuming tavern, one every patron rarely visited but always enjoyed. Though it was usually filled to the brim, it didn’t take long for Merlock to find a comfortable wooden table to sit. Taking a sip from his filled glass, he leaned back against the wall of the tavern, feeling the muffled chaos within.
He laughed, letting himself enjoy the familiar feeling of the tavern. The cold Eagleton breeze contrasted nicely with the warmth through the tavern wall, helping to keep Merlock’s meditative mood as he held a pen to his beak in thought. He stared down at the sheet of paper lying on the table, a bare letter stared back.
The world seemed to fade away in Merlock’s mind as he thought of the last time he’d been here with Luca decades ago. Before the old griff fully swore off beer, and swore at anyone offering. He could recall the familiar nature of the tavern, the sounds of it’s celebrations, the smells of it’s beverages and most importantly the feeling of pride and excitement.
It wasn’t until Merlock felt a claw on his shoulder that he noticed the empty mug he’d likely been trying to drink out of for the past few minutes. He turned, seeing Naylor hold a full mug towards him and shaking it lightly at him. Listlessly snagging it from Naylor, Merlock looked down at the paper again, still as bare as it was the last time, and sighed.
‘Dear Prela-’
No, too fancy. ‘Dear Luca’? Considering how he kicked Luca out, might not be the best bet. ‘Deares-...’ It didn’t take long for the page to fill with crossed out introductions, all stopping and starting without any followup. He flipped the paper, and put his thoughts out of his mind. If simplicity wasn’t working, perhaps sincerity would.
The following description is used if:
- We refused the Prelate's cries (?)
- Off the beaten path of Eagleton sat an unassuming tavern, one every patron rarely visited but always enjoyed. Though it was usually filled to the brim, Merlock found himself at his favorite outside table to sit. Taking a sip from his filled glass, he leaned back against the wall of the tavern, feeling the muffled chaos within.
He let himself laugh for a second, this place was still exactly the same as it was so long ago. He could remember the shocked look on Luca’s face when he showed him here, turning what would have been a boring slow meeting about independence to a raucous night of declarations and drinking. Merlock wouldn’t have been surprised if Luca had never touched alcohol before that, considering how poorly he handled his drink.
Merlock held two claws up between his eyes and the sun. Two mugs of beer! That’s all it took, and the pretentious old griff who’d been prattling on about belief was shouting fury against Greifwald and its Sheriffs. Oh it was a sight for the ages, he could still feel the bruise on his wing from Luca’s cane after he caught Merlock giggling during his speech.
With a satisfied sigh, Merlock took a deep swig and finished his glass. He placed it down, surprised as he heard the clinks. Had there always been so many empty glasses there? Shaking his head, Merlock felt the chill of the night air flit through his wings. He shivered, and went to stand up, only to hear a voice he hadn’t heard in years.
"Figured I’d find you wing-deep in booze, Merlock." Merlock froze, looking up to the empty patio to find the source of the noise. Even the mirth inside seemed to stop, or had it already done so? Merlock felt a cold touch at his side, turning he saw Luca sat beside him. He looked none the worse for wear since Merlock last saw him, black eye notwithstanding.
Merlock just stared at Luca, unable to speak. He couldn’t tell if it was the drink or the shock that hit him more, but either way Luca barely acknowledged him. Merlock slumped back down and leaned back against the tavern wall again, mentally preparing himself for the torrent of assault that would come from Luca’s beak.
He wasn’t prepared for the look Luca gave him. One that told a thousand words in a single second. Of disappointment and understanding. Of concern and pride...Of fury and of forgiveness. Merlock felt a lump in his throat as years of apologies tried to surge forth all at once, only to be stopped as he blinked and felt a thumping in his skull.
Merlock opened his eyes to Eyr’s morning sun glaring down at him, his form slumped against the tavern wall. He picked up his hat, only to find a bill pinned to the front of it. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the amount he owed the tavern, only to find a small note in the corner of it:''
Trigger conditions
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Mean time to happen
7 days |
"Forgive me, Old Friend." (Nothing) AI logic:
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Iconoclasm
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
When Griffenheim had been taken, Jean flew in immediately to see the scene of finished fighting, sundered streets, and toppled temples. One image, a graven one, had been the subject of his mania: that cursed Idol of Boreas, the mute and dumb culprit the Grovers used to justify the sending of millions to their deaths like lemmings. Their wretched "legitimacy" was passed down to any wannabe emperor-replacement; they saw in that hunk of gold so much power, it may as well be The Ponish Wand of Suicidal Brainwashing.
The order to destroy everything depicting the Idol had garnered Jean suspicious looks. The act made him look like a bandit, another Merlock Wood who sought to wreck everything in sight for something as ambiguous as "freedom". Still, for lack of a better term, this Idol worship was idolatrous. Did the Idol heal? Did the Idol save? Could the Idol save this godless continent? Broken windows like stained-glass kaleidoscopes answered those questions.
The unification wars were finished, at least for now. Already, schools and temples were teaching exceptionalism, a trusting in yourself: the Gods made you not to sit around beneath some tree and wait for food to fall down from the heavens and the branches. The Creators provided the means and the ability for their creation to do the work. A proactive faith and a proactive sheriff for a proactive state.
No more degeneration, for it was no king nor emperor with an inherited throne but a humble sheriff that got here by naught but grit: the model for every respectable Griffonian.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Taking the decision “[GetUnificationDecisionName]” |
No gods or idols. Only Jean.
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Thirty
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"It will never replace the pain, the hatred," rang Jean's words across the rumble of a little jeep. They wheeled across verdant fields toward the sunset, his vitriol directed at a Wood tied at the back, lumped with his dear and disarmed friends.
Thirty years, running and hiding. The bandits, let out to infest the world with empty promises. They produced enough mirth and cheer to delay the unstoppable. Jean could taste the fear in the air, all the way from the driver's seat, tinged with defiance. Most of the lot were stubborn, so they'd been gagged so as to not fill his head with insults.
The villages glowed like the burning sky. Farms became ash, grass became dust. Most of Wood's friends had holes in their heads. Still gagged.
"You've been dead griffs walking," Jean said. " Greifwald will breathe free once more and the sorry lot you've held hostage will find out that playtime's over."
A back-clawed shot of a revolver. Surely, that was Claudius or Yolanda. A look back: bullet cut through both heads in one trip. Wood slumped in one drawn out sigh. The oranges overhead darkened, the curtains closing on all his merriment.
"Nowhere to hide now. Haven't you little thieves learned? After all these years?" Jean spun a flintlock, targeted at his decades-long tormentor. Another spin, letting Merlock know it used to be his own. Wood's holster had never felt so forsaken. "Capture civilians and small fry like them all you want... but if you can't beat the sheriff?"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Zero.
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Mutton
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"Where is he!?" Jean yelled, flintlock in his claw, straight at Sister Selena's face. The husk of her tank blazed in crumpled metal behind her, the source of the scars and burns over her body. Plumes of smoke surrounded her, the corpses of scrapped-up tanks that occasionally stank of flesh.
In the sheriff's wake, more smoke rose, the throes of burning false temples. The ragged in their poor threads had fled from the threat of being skewered to pieces. A mercy. Leave it to the griffs of the holy cloth to turn their spirits back to Eyr. He was content with the role the Gods had given him: Their Judge, Their Jury, Their Executioner.
"May Eyr curse you and what will you do to us, you hangman of Cloudet!"
He put in the blackpowder. "Will you say where he is?"
"No, I w—"
She slumped over, dead. The others snapped their heads at him through the gunsmoke. "She wouldn't betray him even if we had her strapped to a chair and beat her with a sledgehammer," he said. He jerked a claw toward the latest corpse; a few underlings carried her away. "Just a few miles and that's the border out of Greifwald. You boys have searched every single forest, flushed out every hiding spot and shrine of Luca. You'd think he'd be doing chaplain work for his soldiers. No sign. Know what that means?" A wicked smirk flashed across his beak. "Treason. Abandoned his flock. He might as well be dead to us."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Not a shepherd but a hireling.
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The Princely Piece
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The last time Charel Cloudet had seen his uncle, he’d hugged him before hurrying the younger Cloudet through one of the manor’s many secret passageways, telling him to go east, to not look back and assuring him that he’d follow him later. Charel couldn’t recall how long it’d been since then, but he could still feel his uncle’s warmth around him.
It made him hold out hope. Even when he turned while running and saw his family’s manor ablaze from afar, and even when he hid in a small village, subsisting on handouts while hearing horrible rumours about his uncle. Even when he met a one eyed Adelartian, and found himself on a familiar path in his uncle’s woods. Charel held out hope that the gods had not taken his uncle.
But Maar had made up his mind long ago.
Charel's mind was racing, but his body wouldn’t respond. He wanted nothing more than just fly away, but his wings wouldn't unfurl. In front of him on the shore of his uncle’s favourite lake, lay a recently dug unmarked grave decorated with a frayed noose.
He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. He could remember sitting on the lakeside with his uncle so many years ago, but those fond memories would be tainted now. Charel jumped when he felt a callous claw rest on his shoulder. These Adelartians wouldn’t even allow him a moment to grieve.
"With the power vested into me, as Sheriff and Regent of Greifwald Jean de Nottemagne..." The griffon started, his voice as rough as the worn flintlock on his hip. "I name you Count Cloudet II of Greifwald. My superior, at least in name." He laughed coarsely, before unveiling a dirt-covered Greifwaldian crown and placing it atop Charel’s head.
"Of course, I will still rule in your stead, until you are fit enough to be my superior." The griffon laughed again, looking into Charel’s eyes as he undid his chains. "I will grant you a few moments to grieve, my lord. But afterwards we must be off, there is much to be done."
His Sheriff stepped away, smirking until the treeline hid him from sight. Only then did Charel cry.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Hail to the Sheriff and Regent!
 Peace in Adelart
 Unstable Beginnings
 Unstable Beginnings
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Convincing the Count
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The sparsely decorated walls of Cloudet's throne room stood still, unaffected by the silence between the two griffons within. The Sheriff, kneeling respectfully with his head bowed. And Count Cloudet, upon a lone throne and abandoned by his nobility, left as a sacrifice to quell the Sheriff's anger and ensure their own positions. He looked exhausted, with his feathers discoloured and his eyes sunken, yet still he smiled down at his Sheriff.
"I suppose congratulations are in order, Jean. You have returned with not just Adelart in your claws, but her people." Cloudet mirthlessly laughed. "Though, I presume you have no intention of returning them to me?" He met the Sheriff's eye, watching as he stood up. After a moment, Cloudet smirked and waved his claw, giving him permission to speak.
"You are only partially correct, my Count. I have fought for naught but the stability of Greifwald and her servants. You and your cause have lost, through no fault of your own." The Sheriff paced forward, unfurling his wings and hovering before Cloudet. "I do not blame you, Count. You are my sovereign, and I am your Sheriff, so I shall return your lands and griffons." He held out a claw to the Count. Slowly he reached out to shake it, only for the Sheriff to reach out and tightly grip his arm. "...At a cost, my Count."
Cloudet flinched, and sighed. "Of course. What is it you desire, Jean?"
The Sheriff smiled. "You shall retain your title, your idols and act as a figurehead." He leaned in closer. "But the rest is under my jurisdiction. There is much to be done, my Count, and I am unsure whether you are strong enough to do it alone." As Cloudet made to speak, the Sheriff held out a talon to silence him. "Of course, you can always refuse. While I do not wish it to be so, Greifwald needs these changes more than it needs its Count." His single eye stared down into Cloudet's pair, unblinking as the seconds dragged on.
Silence returned to the room, broken only by the slow flapping of the Sheriff's wings. His silhouette danced across the modest throne as time wore on. After a moment, the Count shuddered and nodded. The grip on his arm slipped as the Sheriff shook his claw.
"A clever choice, my Count..."
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Hail to the Sheriff and to the Count!
Peace in Adelart
Unstable Beginnings
Unstable Beginnings
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An Introduction From the Sécretaire-Général
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Jean de Nottemagne awoke to the sounds of knocks on his office door. Shaking the sleep from his eyes, he lifted his head from the table and called for his guest to come inside.
In stepped a stout little griffon, one annoyingly familiar to Jean: Théodule Hobble. Wandering in, the irritatingly dull Aquileian hopped onto a chair in front of Jean and looked up at him, his expression unreadable as he stared.
After a moment, Jean sighed, and waved a claw dramatically. "Yes, you have permission to speak Hobble. What are you after this time?"
The griffon blinked slowly and nodded. "Nothing much, Sheriff. I simply wish to inform you of the happenings within the-" Jean gestured for him to speed it up, and was promptly ignored. "-Service. Towns noted to be harbouring bandits have been thoroughly supervised, burned and slash or informed of the consequences of not serving their liege as required."
Jean raised an eyebrow, only for the Aquileian to continue prattling on regardless. "Furthermore, as per your wishes-" He could swear Hobble’s eyes were boring a hole into him. "-loyal griffons have been brought to their rightful stations within the Service."
A moment of quiet, with both creatures staring back at each other. Jean moved to speak, only for Hobble to continue. "However, I wish for you to be aware that should these griffs not perform to my standards I will not hesitate to flush them back into your Cohorte. I have no need of incompetent brutes within my ranks, I’d much rather leave them in your most capable hands."
Jean brought his claw back up to halt Hobble from interrupting again. "Of course, of course. I’ll be sure to notify them of the price of failure." He chuckled. "Anything else, Hobble?"
Another moment, Jean waved his claw again and Hobble spoke up again. "Only one more." He huffed, heaving a yet unseen stack of papers onto Jean’s desk. "I will require many forms from you in order to operate at peak efficiency, so I hope you do not mind the extra paperwork, Sheriff." Jean could swear he could see a snide grin on the griffon's face.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Perhaps they could also serve as a makeshift pillow for you, Sheriff."
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Straighten the Bent Tree
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Cadet Muyden had a wayward teacher's name and crime, located in the heart of the country: a harbour of complacency, secretly exposing the chick-cubs to destruction and putting to waste these freshly built schools. A random visit was on the cards.
A window-side view, he caught, watching for a few minutes to verify the report. Mister Schweri was teaching [THIS.GetAdjectiveCap] history on top of Virtues and Ethics. A child in the front row then made a mistake. An incorrect year, then hemmed and hawed at forgotten names. Schweri administered no blows. Loosened his smile a bit, said no, said the correct answers. "You'll get that one next time!" he finished with nothing but a pat on the student's head.
The decadence on display charged Muyden to swoop in through the open window. "Ah, Mister Schweri, just checking!" He turned to the now frozen kids in their cramped chairs. "Looks like you've been soft on them, huh? You, with the glasses! Tell me! Before good Greifwald came over, what did the locals call the previous rulers?"
The nerdy one balked. Sweat broke out. "U-um, uh... he, uh, th-they were..."
"Come up here." A slow flight to the front earned the kid a needed caning on the buttocks. A yelp echoed through the room and outward into the halls. Twice. Chilling silence fell on everyone else's beaks. "Learning enters through the blood," he continued, glaring at Schweri while silently commanding the kid to hobble back to his seat, "lest we grow soft. I'll be sure to help your dear teacher with that. Oh, and remember your curfews, young ones! We, the soldiers of the Shrievalty, do not want you to run around while criminals roam at night!"
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"Also, it's the Counts of the Golden Harp. You'll remember next time."
 Love for Your Country, Work for Your Country
To live is to toil. To toil is to serve. To serve is to live. A recent curriculum change has had our schools and colleges focusing on subjects and ideas that promote a sense of duty to our great nation. The ideas that bring us prosperity are great, but they need protecting. By teaching the importance of defending and working for our interests we can foster the next generation of patriots. | |
Traces of Value
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Morgenthaler's pockets couldn't go much deeper for the auction and his dream of empire. Vast lots and swathes of sprawling ghost-communes languished out of his reach. The tiny voluntary village of Zisamane was left to him as a slim opportunity: half a dozen houses ringed by farmland, bisected by a single dirt road. He had that and an indomitable principle: land almost always appreciated in value. With his plans, he would construct a small theme park after the lucrative Las Pegasus model. After that, franchise his brand, and the profits would grease the claws of Adelart and the rest of the world.
He arrived early out of courtesy and to get familiar with the Shrievalty's officials present here. Wagons hauled out petty items that would be good talking pieces in mansions' lesser rooms: antique weapons, hidden jewellery, letters passed down from generations gone by. The auctioneer rambled loud and fast: Morgenthaler had slight amusement, nodding to feign understanding. That wasn't why he was here.
The big auction came last: Zisamane itself, territory and houses and all. Unlike the rapid-fire ordeal of bidding against each other in real-time, this would be single-bid, sealed in envelopes. Those in attendance wore fancier suits, beaks curled down. Disinterested. Therein lay his chance, a leap of faith in the shape of a freakishly large number in his ink.
The auctioneer collected the envelopes, retiring to one of the villages to decide and determine in secret. Minutes later, he re-emerged.
And locked eyes with Morgenthaler.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
"It's yours, Sir!"
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Going Away
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
From times primitive, hoopball had survived, hidden away in the trees where farmers' children congregated to dribble, pass, and shoot the ball into the hoop—players' flaws and all. The ground was uneven, the sun and shadows messed with their vision, and sometimes, the ball slipped or an ankle was broken. Gerald had suffered both, aching to return to play.
The Shrieval Consortium knocked on their glade. They bore guns; their machines, metal claws. The wonders of Griffenheim, Manehattan, and Mount Aris—the pinnacles of the world—would be replicated here in this very spot. The cost was the clearing of these trees. Gerald and his friends protested: the forest teemed with life and history and their own playing field... they might as well be uprooting Adelart itself if the machines continued their course.
The Consortium's ambassador talked of better lives. Slaving away as farmclaws without end—why live claw to mouth when the Consortium and the Sheriff could pay much better? If not for their sake, then for their families'. He noted the hoop and the potential athletes that circled him. Smooth promises of a professional sports league flowed, where they would be paid to be trained and to perform to the best of their ability: they, too, could transcend. Who needed a hoop on a tree? The others here could help build a world-class stadium.
The teams shrunk. Attendance dwindled. When a tree went down, the hoop had to move. To get someone to play with him was an immense obstacle. They left and donned construction helmets or fresh jerseys.
A few trees were preserved as a concession. Gerald sat under a broken hoop, watching the birth of another Griffenheim or Manehattan or Mount Aris.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Our stars disappear.
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Evidence Locker D0362 Contents
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
12 [GetMonth], [GetYear]
Diary, I am not confident that I shall write another entry.
I have shared my...displeasure with our new Lord in confidence with some fellows, and I fear one of them has loosened their beaks too much. Likely Garth, I haven’t seen him in a month.
Maybe I’m simply crazy, jumping at shadows. But I feel a presence from some alleys when I pass, which fades when I look. I feel a gaze burning through the back of my head when I walk down the streets, and I swear I’ve bumped into this same scarred griffon a dozen times in the past week.
You may say, Diary, that it is simple coincidence and paranoia. That I should simply speak with this fellow and clear up the situation. I...cannot. I have caught his eye multiple times, and it took my all not to freeze on the spot each time. The look he gave me made my wings feel like stone.
And...and he spoke to me last time. A ghastly, crackle through his beak. I didn't catch what he said, but I believe it has to confirms my suspicions.
I fear I may not live to see the morrow.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
The remaining pages were left blank.
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Evidence Locker D0465 Contents
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
15 [GetMonth], [GetYear]
I write to you for advice, Diary.
Do you recall the figure I mentioned? The one who had been flying around my church recently? He is still doing so, although he’s flying closer each time.
I have confided this matter in some of my helpers, and they’ve mostly advised me to seek aid from the authorities to ‘trap’ the figure. While I appreciate their ideas, I do not feel like this griffon is a threat.
A warden, perhaps? Maybe a protector? I know not.
What I do know is that I’ve seen them around Pulliers, their scar is very noticeable. Sometimes they are watching me, sometimes not. It’s easy to tell when they do since their glare is one of the strongest I’ve felt. Why if I were but a few years older the first time I caught his eyes, I’d be with Boreas by now.
Still, I have not come this far by turning away from anygriff in need and, from the looks in his eyes when he isn’t staring at me, I’d consider him to be in dire need. Somegriff to talk with, somegriff to pray with, maybe even somegriff to capture. Once more, I know not.
Perhaps I could offer him what he desires? Maybe...I could bring him to my confessional? It’s worth a shot, wouldn’t you say Diary?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Evidence secured during Theocratic Observation Duty B0232.
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Alone In The Dark
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
A thick haze of silence lay heavy upon the dark room. Barely lit by a single lamp and accompanied by an unopened bottle of Vinovian wine, Jean de Nottemagne worked through forms he had originally left for another day, while his guest intently watched every move his claws made.
Neither griff acknowledged each other. By all official accounts, only one griffon was in that room. For hours now, the room had been silent, bar the occasional coughs, sighs and the rustling of a shrinking pile of unsorted paper.
Soon enough, the pile was no more and, with an unfortunately familiar sweeping motion, Jean had finished yet another stack of detailed reports from Hobble. He stretched, and reached for the bottle, uncorking it and pouring its elixir into two glasses.
Picking one up, Jean emulated the noble ritual he’d seen so many times. He swished the wine, smelt it, sipped it and savoured it. The taste danced across his beak, feeling like the first breath of fresh air after hours of work. By the time he went for another sip, he saw the other glass had emptied, though his colleague was still in the same position he’d been the entire time. The only difference was that his eyes were on the bottle, rather than Jean’s clawwriting.
Jean let out a chuckle, the first honest one in...years, and poured out another glass for his colleague. He gave a silent ‘Cheers’, and downed his glass.
Maybe Merlock was onto something with his drinking buddies. Even in the quiet, he didn’t feel alone.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
When he looked down again, he met another empty glass.
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Phantom Discret Hypothesis
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Deep in Aquila, scholars from across the country beyond have just finished The Conference on Aquilean History, a week-long assembly to determine the validity of the widely accepted Imperial theories on historical Aquileia.
This all began with a line of questioning on the name "Discret" itself and its first prominent appearance in Griffonian history: with Giselda submitting to Grover II after his conquest of Aquileia. Though the Discrets have often styled themselves as noble and royal, the Discrets that ruled with the Grovers set the kingdom on a steep decline, projected to crash in revolution. With the royal line having only come into prominence right before Giselda's appearance, the pre-700s Discrets have been declared to be a Groverist invention, a random group of nobles selected to provide legitimacy to Imperial ascendancy and to the poor bloodline taken by the Second's backstabbing plant.
Various proposals have come forward as to the identity of ancient Aquileia, of who the true Discrets of old really were. Among the proposals, one gathering steam was that Arantigos had actually gone as far as Aquila before he died, leaving his heirs to mingle with what would become Aquileia and Greifwald, leaving behind the bloodline that would be later named Cloudet. The modern-day Cloudets may not have exactly acted like the great conqueror himself, but this theory has gained popularity among the voting scholars since it reconciles the glories of old Aquileia with its immediate post-Arantigos neighbours.
Through it all, a cultural festival has popped up across [FROM.GetCapitalName], with an intentional rebranding of Aquileian food such as crepes and eclairs into "native Arantigan cuisine".
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Why are we voting with coloured beads again?
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Mild Renovations
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Noblegriffs like Villard d'Huart had not had it well during Moriset's reign. Moriset was certainly better than Vérany and his herd of swine. That barely made up for how decrepit Aquileia had become, how vainglorious Moriset was. A train of statues and paintings would be vomited out at record speed, and Moriset's royal court of bootlickers were rapt by his spewing of so much anti-republican nonsense that he resembled a poor republican rabble-rouser.
Villard hadn't expected a mangy eye-patched sheriff to then take over, much less have the Cloudets be claimed as a direct descendant of the legendary Arantigos. But Jean offered something else: Aquileia was under Cloudet's system now, and its first prerogative was to rebuild Aquileia "from before Discret degeneration!" In his wake, palaces sprung up, blooming with rainbow gardens and vast lawns and hedges that made forests blush. Every noble was grabbing precious empty land just to beautify it with private parks and recreational spots under their sprawling estates.
The sheriff asked Villard personally about renovating the d'Huarts' old manor into a modern mansion. In the end, Jean had transformed it into a proper cathedral-esque venue, buttresses and arches flying outwards and inwards like a suit of stone and metal. A giant grocery list had been checked, providing current-day amenities such as coffee machines and radio sets, with enough rooms to house the many servants still under Villard.
"Now, all I'm asking you to do is to manage your estates well," Jean said. "Be a good master, and report to me. I am sure my reports to Cloudet would endear you to him. As long as you're not frothing at the mouth about some missing idol, you will do just fine." A nod later, and the sheriff bade him adieu.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Like a phoenix, the d'Huarts ascend.
 A Magisterial Dynasty
To view our lands from the sky is one of the greatest gifts Boreas graced us with. From above it's easy to see where our lands end and the greed along the continent lays, as our cities and towns have been reborn. Beautiful architecture that once lay in ruins have been restored, cared for deeply by those lucky, faithful few. The sprawling smog-filled districts of the South and frozen shanty towns of the North lay in stark contrast to the proudly displayed cities we hold dear.
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Buying and Selling A Nation
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"What in Eyr’s name are you all doing here?!" A shrill voice cawed, shaking Reynard’s mercenaries from their slumber. "Where in Tartarus are the Sheriff’s goons?! We were supposed to reinforce you sellswords and instead we find you lazing about!" An irate militiagriff flew over to the mercenaries, looking down at Reynard.
Reynard stretched, returning the glare to the militiagriff. "They’re a few hours up the road, probably in Eagleton by now." The look on the haughty griffon’s face was priceless, but the mercenary carried on. "We got new orders from our employer. Seems Merlock tried to pull his old tricks, and Jaume isn’t very pleased."
The militiagriff kept his beak agape, trying to process what Reynard had said. He barely registered the other mercenaries aiming their breech-loaders at him. Reynard grinned, and with a croak shouted.
"PRESENT!" The militiagriff scrambled to fly away.
"AIM!" The line of rifles followed his flustered moves.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “Le Shérif de Nottemagne” option “We can't just sell our country to them... raise any Western militia we can find!” |
"FIRE!"
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An Offer from Adelart
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Our insurrectionary army has received an offer from our anarchist brothers in Adelart. They offer full military and political unification with our movement, and have promised to keep the Berniers in key military command positions within their revolutionary army.
If we refuse the offer, they will no doubt condemn us as would-be despots under a military autocracy. Merlock Wood's desire to unify Greifwald under his own name is clear, but we may have no other choice than to place our anarchist movement under his own.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
In fraternity, we are united!
AI logic:
Bernier needs no bandit overlord!
AI logic:
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Greifwald Accepts Unification
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The Berniers have accepted our offer for unification! The conditions for their admittance into Adelart have been agreed, and Nestor Bernier has already arrived in Eagleton to rally his own troops behind the Adelartian banner.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “An Offer from Adelart” option “In fraternity, we are united!” |
To unity!
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Greifwald Rejects Unification
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The Berniers have rejected our offer for unification. Despite the generous terms for unification we have offered, Bernier has decided to safeguard his despotic military regime and its false principles of anarchy. Wood has already begun planning a military assault into the country to liberate its people from this traitor's fiefdom and place a true revolutionary at its head.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
The event “An Offer from Adelart” option “Bernier needs no bandit overlord!” |
Death to reactionaries!
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The End Of A Dynasty
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
The ancient Sweetsinger dynasty that once ruled Adelart, before the times of Greifwaldian sheriffs and oppressive Discret monarchs, has lost its final heir.
Leonald Sweetsinger, a farmer and public servant in Vilistel, and last known member of his dynasty, passed away last night at the age of 60. Although he was succeeded by two daughters, none took up his family name, and soon after his death, his home was sold off to the local peasant assembly to become cooperative housing for the small town's urban residents. His funeral was attended only by his closest friends and the rare government minister who had taken an interest in Adelart's heirs, at one point in history asking Wood to re-instate the Sweetsingers for nationalistic and political gain.
With Leonald's death, whatever remained of centuries-old monarchist groups in Adelart has dissipated, and vanguardists have taken the event to be a sign that monarchists will soon serve the sheriff and Greifwaldian exile groups, ordering [HEL.GetLeader] to take action and drive what remains of the influence of foreign monarchies from Adelart.
Leonald's death has met a sorrowful politicization, and it remains a bitter end for a dynasty that had longed to rule Adelart again for hundreds of years. Now, the Sweetsingers will be ruling no county, and the dynasty that went from counts to peasants has finally ended.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
(No triggers) |
In time, all things must come to an end.
AI logic:
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Fichtl's Festival
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Controversy has emerged in a small forest town outside Herlein on the Greifenmarscher border, where an investigation over sounds of disturbing melodies and perpetual revelery led to the uncovering of a bizarre pacifist and environmentalist religious sect that has taken to worshipping a griffonian forest deity, Fichtl. Worship of the forest deity, questioned revelers claim, was a centuries old tradition among the isolated peasants, which many claim predated the establishment of the Trinitarian faith all together. Effigies of Fichtl, a tree with a Griffonian face upon it, have been found all across the forest towns, claw-crafted, woven, and stuffed by local artisans, while local bards sing the songs of the faith to adoring crowds.
Outraged Old Believer authorities have labeled the movement heresy and idolatry, and a local priest noted that the effigies of the god were "unsettling to the point where I thought a Maarite spirit had brought such disgust and rancor upon my soul". The local council leader claims that the festivals were all "in good fun" and that mobs of Old Believer followers were making a fuss over a centuries-old tradition. Fichtlites interviewed merely claimed the festivals were a way to "appreciate the bounty of Fichtl and call attention to the lovely environment we all share, and which is being destroyed by the march of industry", and that the childish effigies were not meant to be taken seriously.
With the Old Believers and community leaders at odds, it falls to [ROOT.GetLeader] to determine the fate of this obscure festival. The question is - could these festivals be merely be cover stories for heresy?
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
(No triggers) |
Shut down these festivals and burn these disturbing effigies!
AI logic:
It seems rather fun to me...
AI logic:
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A Flight From of Falcontown
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
"Count, I implore you, please reconsider-" Jean began, only to stop himself as Count Cloudet held up his talon to silence him. "I cannot say I’ve made this decision lightly, Sheriff." The Count began, glaring regally down at him. "But our resources, alongside our patience, are limited. We have provided you with good soldiers, better idols, and more faith than you have earned."
The Count’s harsh eyes softened as he leaned towards the Sheriff. "Jean, it’s over. I’ve done all I can for you, and Boreas as my witness I wish I could have done more. But I can’t help you any more, the leeches have made sure of that." A moment of silence, as neither griff were willing to meet the other’s eyes.
With a cough, the Count returned to his harsh glare, though he spoke with a more forced tone. "In the eternal benevolence of the Cloudet dynasty and her supporters, we shall grant you one final chance to reclaim her prize. Return to us with Adelart in claw, or do not return at all."
With a wave of his claw, the Count bid the Sheriff adieu for the final time.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
(No triggers) |
"They'll see when I deliver Eagleton to them on a silver platter..." (Nothing) AI logic:
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Putting Names to Faces
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This is a community maintained wiki. If you spot a mistake then you are welcome to fix it. |
Coming across a map of Adelart nowadays was rare, with small communes across the state and fluid borders with most of its neighbors, the best a normal griff would have to hand would be woefully outdated by the time the ink dried.
However, the Sheriff still had plenty of old allies living within Adelart and, with a few idols from his personal coffers, he now had a mostly up to date map of the land, though it didn’t clear much up in the end. Knowing who was where was one thing, understanding how in Boreas’ name they weren’t killing each other was another.
"Jean!" His focus broke as Adalgisel vun Kurg, one of his more rowdy stalwarts, snapped her talons in front of his eye. "Are you going to stare a hole through that map all evening, or are you going to listen to the griffons you sent into that blasted place?!" She leered up at him, as an agreeing murmur broke out from the rest of his gathered advisors.
Jean sighed. "The latter, Miss Kurg. Please continue, and perhaps you can help make this rotten joke of a state make any sense to me." He lightly nudged her head away, as she huffed and walked back to the makeshift stage.
He tried to listen, as though they were only able to glean limited information on each faction, every scrap of knowledge they could extract about Adelart would be vital. But the makeup of Adelart felt...off. The lines thought to be drawn in the forests and towns were too blurry to be merely ideological.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
(No triggers) |
"I find it hard to believe these griffons actually get along." (Nothing) AI logic:
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What Remains of Adelart
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The Sheriff sat atop an aging stone bastion on the eastern edge of Glensi, built decades ago to prevent Griffonian assault; it now stood to allow for his own plans to succeed. He was mostly alone, as the bulk of his advisors, stalwarts and underlings were busy in Adelart. The only remaining griffon had only just now finished up her planning and was scrambling to the bastion’s roof.
"Miss Kurg, I thought you said this wouldn’t become a habit." The Sheriff said, smirking at the exhausted noble. "And I thought we’d be in Eagleton over a decade ago, Jean. But we can’t always get what we want." She said after a moment, flicking out a case of Golden Griffon cigarettes and lighting one. "Touché, Miss Kurg." He replied, swiping one of her cigarettes for himself.
After a moment of silence, permeated by the subtle smell of smoke and the slowly setting sun, Adalgisel spoke up. "Forgive me for saying this, Jean. But is this really what you want? I mean, my family has a lovely little island in Les Meridiennes. We can just forget all of this a-" Jean held up a talon to silence her.
"It’s a lovely idea, Miss Kurg." The Sheriff took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke linger in the brief silence, before he exhaled slowly. "But I didn’t give up this much just to leave before Adelart is cleansed of banditry." Adalgisel looked up at him with pleading eyes, but he kept his talon up.
"If you so wish, you can leave. I can carry the messages to the partisans, and you’ve already contacted the tax collectors. All that’d really be missed is a stalwart by my side." He finally looked back at her, and lowered his talon. After a moment, she shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette on the stone ledge. "I’ve come this far with you, Jean. What’s a little further?" She chuckled as she met his eyes.
The two relaxed in each others’ presence for a few hours more, until the sun fell below the horizon.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
(No triggers) |
"Will be ours in eternity!" (Nothing) AI logic:
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A Prophet Rises
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[This.GetNewspaperHeader]Disturbing news has come out of the Aquileian periphery. An old, ragged priest of the Griffonian goddess Eyr by the name of Luca vun Lissay, backed by thousands of his faithful followers, often wielding nothing but clubs, swords, axes, and the rags on their back, has seized control of the Trade Federation of Skyfall. Appointing himself Venia III, rightful Archon of Eyr, Luca has made calls to the global community to stand against the decadence of the Archons and their imperial masters, rallying behind the banner of the true Archon of Eyr to bring a new religious awakening of community, faith, and temperance. Striving for "a reformation of the Griffonian faith", the Prophet of Eyr, as his supporters call him, has developed a dangerous movement - one that might see more and more griffons come under its sway.
Trigger conditions
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Is triggered only by
Completing the national focus |
Option conditions
Boreas, save us from this pretender! (Nothing)
Long live Venia III, chosen of Eyr! (Nothing) | |