The skies of Eldenford are cerullian blue, its clouds white, and its sun shines bright and warm. Its people walked on each step with pride and dignity as their nation bolstered its citizens into great heights.
It is a true globbal spanning empire, with its flag holstered on every continent that the known world knows. The name is known both with regards and fear all throughout its thousand year long history.
"Where you stand now, once a soldier of Eldenford stood and fought." Among the many exploits the empire has in its peacfull years has been shadowed by a three hundread year long conflict with the Urbekan Collective. Thier swords and bows are held and thrown into the ground as millions put themselves into the fire to ensure the security of the known world.
The Eldenford Empire and its Council has brought prosperity, freedom, and hope to all of its citizens and given security to the people of Thera. It has stood for a thousand years and shall stand for a thousand more.
-Introduction to Eldenford History, Exploits, and contributions to society.
By Earnest Ford
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The grain fields strech as far as Anne's eye can see. She saw her friends dance in the open plot below as the workers work for the incoming harvest. Her mother hummed a humble melody of the bounty of the countryside as she groomed her hair. The bread will be colored white today, and it would surely taste good. Anne thought as her heavy eyelids drifted her off to sleep.
Bright mellow and the sounds of the rythmic harvesting of wheat are the only company that the ears of Marke can only have. As the season for harvest marched on in an ever faster pace, his fellows knew that the coming winter would not give mercy to them. He stopped working for a second and breathed heavily as exhaustion took him. In his eyes, this could be a long autumn ahead.
The people celebrated a successful harvest, as the last stockpile of edible wheat has been stored in the central warehouse. The late evening and the early night are occupied by cheers and the clang of mugs as the community come together to see and taste the grains of their labor. The village celebrated, yet oblivious as a band of carriages past thorugh thier humble hamlet.
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An Eldenford soldier is posted on the Voorke bridge, a passage that connects the provinces of Celestine and Voltik. His eyes were tired, and the urge to look for something new, yet his job and a low position in the military, forced him in this bridge. He is not alone. Two dozen of the Voltik Armed Company is stationed here to protect the trade that flows between the two regions and to the greater Eldenford as a whole.
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He whished for an escape, something to turn his life around, away from the machinations of the army. He thought maybe he would become an adventurer and haul back unknown treasures from the dungeons and become a legendary figure in world history. But he knows his own physical and mental limits. He knows that his personal life does not contribute to anything that might make him a successful adventurer. So he stays away from all the troubles of the day and stands there, doing his job.
He looks at the leader of another caravan passing through the bridge. He looks through the cold and dead eyes of the driver before going past him. He thought to himself, maybe he isn't just alone fighting in this lonely world.
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The work of Andel is never a heavily recognized job. Filling taxes, accounting, and a lot of paperwork are his battleground and enemies every day. But the high pay and the silence of it all makes it a perfect job for him. He loves silence, and he wants to be away from the hustle and the 'exploits' of adventuring.
Andel has been granted a unique offer from the Itelica Guild, which he accepted and now doing his job under the light of the lantern and the night inside a distincly crafted carriage.
The guild offered him a handsome pay in exchange for a long two month journey from Atlas to Drechen, passing through Celestine and Voltik. While in travel, he does the accounting and managing of the general expenses of Irvin Caravan Company. Ensuring that the caravan travel budget is balanced and not overspent.
He knows numbers but never cared for the words. The journey will pay good, and he is still away from all the things he hates, so he agreed and is now in a campsite in the city of Archa, the capital of the province of Drechen.
Along the travels, he saw many great things. He saw the beautiful voltik range to the golden fields of celestine. He saw many people, many culters, and the cities of Eldenford. It's a bonus for him, but the battle against paper still rages on inside his carriage.
He never questioned what goods they are traveling with, but the spending of perishable goods is big enough that makes him concerned about the internal bugeting of the caravan as a whole. Are they stealing company funds and selling the perishable goods to Drechen to earn a buck? Do the records lie, and maybe they are buying and selling illegal contraband like health booster or the red mist? Do they simply try to find an excuse to live the two month journey in luxury? Andel knew it was not part of his paycheck to ask what was going on to the record. So he worked with the numbers and will give the truthful report once they return to Atlas.
He stretched his arms and slouched himself in his chair as the caravan goes begins the return trip to Atlas. This is a profitable two months, Andel remarked to himself as the exhaustion of the day places him to sleep
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The journey was cold and cramped, and his fellows were striken with sickness and hunger. Eyes do not tell lies, but the mind hides the bitter truth of reality. He looked at another of his comrades, a sick young man with him on this dark voyage. His comrade doesn't have a name with him. All of them in here do not have a name to call themselves.
Three loaves of bread are given to them in the morning, and three more are given to them in the evening. He is hungry, and he has given his share to his sicken company. He may die soon, but if his starvation could prevent that death, he may take it and move on to life.
His fellows are not a unified bunch. All of them have different backgrounds, specialities, and race. Some have a name they keep for themselves, like Cassandra and Troy, both Beastkins from the south.
Cassandra and Troy and himself talked in the long journey ahead. He heard stories of their homeland and how they came to be inside with him. "Where do you live?" Cassandra aked him. He never knew, he doesn't remember. "Do you have a name?" Troy asked, a flurry of thoughts are flung across his mind, do I have a mind, do I know my home, then suddenly everything hits him all at one. "J. Call me J," he said to them, "Hello J, nice to meet you." Cassandra said as she placed her warm hand against mine. The only warm thing he felt in this cold voyage.