Damn, I love Calradia.
Taking a break from horse-trading far south to admire a desert sunset, I ponder our decadent age. It is now autumn in the year 1112. Under Emperor Arion of the Osticos, successor to the late Lucon, the Northern Empire has stagnated somewhat, struggling against our neighbours to a standstill while the Vlandians chip away at our western gains. I was shocked and appalled at my previous love interest Epipheria's betrayal of our noble traditions in marrying a lowly Battanian hillman. But, proof of divine justice, it spelled her untimely end.
Battania is no more! Brought low and broken like savage Khuzait before it, its lands have seen a far worse fate. For where Baltakhand has grown prosperous under the peaceable, enlightened rule of clan Nyctimus, the old Battanian strongholds have changed hands several times each, falling to rebels, Sturgians, Vlandians and the perfidious misrule of the traitor Garios (cursed be his name) until their former prosperity is all but forgotten. As ceaseless warfare tore apart the verdant highlands' trade routes, merchants from Revyl to Hubyar felt the loss of that lamented country's bounty. The price of furs soared from 70 denars to the 400s, with wood and leather not far behind. It seems a fool's errand, nowadays, to seek any goods at the prices enjoyed by our forebears under the Empire's undivided rule. Why, I remember when five denars would buy you a sack of grain, uphill both ways through the snow! Now the crooks ask twice as much! And I sell it at fourteen! Wait, what were we talking about?
...
Bandits! It's the bandits' fault!
While the land starves around them, the vilains grow fat off the chaos, building themselves larger and more convoluted lairs, flouting all decency with their ostentatious decor. I mean... boats!? Even I don't have a boat! Why don't I have a boat? My kids would love a boat.
(Oh noes! Child pornography! Call the cops, call the FBI, call the KGB, call Buck Rogers, call Fred Rogers!)
Apparently stabbing your wife's uterus with javelins works, because we've now just welcomed our second into the world
(and in this world that's actually good news, since you don't need to change any 64-bit diapers.)
They're both girls though. Must be the javelins. So... maybe tomahawks for a boy? Yes, it's a heartwarming family life we've cobbled for ourselves, the lady Gala and I, amongst our beloved Khuzait subjects.
But the fortunes of war are ever fickle. After conquering Chaikand to solidify my rule in the eastern reaches, Ortongard fell to rebel filth, and even upon reconquering it, our clan was punished by the emperor (in his wisdom, felicitous be his rule and endless his days, etc.) by giving our RIGHTFUL FIEF away to the upstart fen Morcar. I mean, technically it's only been fifteen years since I swore fealty to Lucon on the field of Locana and my clan joined the ranks of nobility, so clan Nyctimus might also count as upst-... but you see fen Morcar's upper than... I mean they're lower than my upper... look, they're just the WRONG kind of starts, alright?
And with the new decade come new challenges. Emperor Arion (in his wisdom, blessed be his name, felicitous his rule and endless his days and may his beard never smell of onions, etc.) declared war on the Aserai. After I led a glorious army to conquer Husn Fulq, the following years saw its nigh-immediate loss and a brutal Aserai offensive into the former Khuzait lands, reaching far enough north to conquer Chaikand and force me into a series of desperate castle defenses.
But we of the Nyctimus hold strong, and the camps of the enemy burn with our rage! Chaikand recaptured, castles defended, peace secured, we now turn our eyes to the north, and the long-dormant Sturgian menace. The only remaining question being how to secure more land given our name no longer even comes up in the running for new properties, edged out by all the up down wrongstart clans joining the kindom from conquered lands.
Let foes ever tremble at the name of Werwolfe of the Nyctimus, Marquis of Baltakhand, aurora's bulwark, mule-trader extraordinaire, the bolt in the dolt, the
terror that twangs in the tundra, dart in the desert, flechette
in the forest, sureshot on the shore, the beam in his brother's
eye and fuzziest among patricians!
______________________________________________________
P.S.:
Photo mode is one of those trendy modern features which fundamentally
make me bristle. How many work-hours paid by our cash did they waste on
demanding free advertising from... us? Doubly odd in Bannerlord, a game
largely playable from the overland map, whose aesthetic side could've
easily been phoned in to halve development time.
They did not phone it in, and Calradia looks, sounds and plays prettier with every little addition. The scenery may be optional but it's nonetheless beautiful, the music was always glorious, and in the spirit of Hello Games or TaleWorlds' own gradual build-up of M&B1 to Warband, they keep adding a surprising amount of free post-launch content. Now it's new bandit camps, voicing for a few lines here and there, more gear, cutscenes for your children's births, and tomorrow? Little by little Bannerlord is padding out all the little details that make a world I could see myself still wandering into my own old age, not just my character's.
 |
| even their damn shingles look immersive |
So yeah, fine, OK, I'll let myself get suckered by your free advertisement feature
because you've earned it
you bastards.
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