Altaland

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 4,000 Years Ago

Africanus pounced on the dead carcass of the massive dear. The poor victim had two arrows through the chest and another near the rear. Africanus’ companion had shot that latter hit. Africanus knew that simply from the dreary shot she made; he continued dislodging the reusable sticks from the form.
“Quod est pulchellus bonus: Quid putas?” (“That was pretty good, don’t you think?”)
“Nam Marpan a, turpis.” (“For a Marpan, definitely.”)
“Et non habent dicere quod sicut omnia, tu scis. Conabor mi et plerumque cervam ferire.” (“You don’t have to say things like that, you know. I try my best, and I hit the deer most times.”)
"Plerumque facturus est, et scitis. Rectae sint occurreres momentis. Nos enim paratos esse. (“Most times isn’t going to work, Aurora, and you know it. They are going to come across the line at any moment. We have to be ready.”)
Aurora sat in silence for a moment, twisting the curls of the Spanish moss on the surrounding bushes. “Ego enim ut caput retro,” she said. (“I think we should head back.”)
“Dicunt quod facit? Nos tamen revertere ad corpus adducere.” (“What makes you say that? We still have to bring the body back.”)
“EGO iustus habere affectum.” (“I just have a feeling.”)
“Ineptias. Nunc veniunt; colligere extremum.” (“Nonsense. Now come; pick up the other end.”)

…

The two arrived at the outpost right after sundown, settling the carcass on the grounds just outside the village. They had doused it in the stream nearby beforehand to rid of the attractive scents.
They marched into the camp, sweaty and tired like everybody else.
But not as dead.
Bodies littered the ground. Hatchets sunk into the gore of men, women, and children alike. Arrows showered the ground with pools of scarlet red. Shattered longbows had been flung down and entrenched in the abdomens of the camp’s inhabitants.
Fires were raging throughout the settlement. It seemed as if they had went straight for the temple, the largest building in the square.
Africanus had willed himself not to cry, yet Aurora was watering the ground. While the boy had been taught the ways of the Forest, the girl was alone in her soul.
They both headed toward the temple, a shabby construction for a seasonal civilization. This hut had been the center of life for all these fallen, and Africanus nearly blew up with rage. He had hated the Northern Faction with a passion before, but the temple increased it tenfold. He would get revenge, and Aurora would be there with him all the way.
He was going to destroy the invaders, if it was the last thing he did.
The boy let out a howl of sorrow, and dug his hands into the ground before the melting altar of His God.

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,998 Years Ago

Africanus walked alone through the pasture, taking in the scenery. He had a longbow on his back with a large pack of arrows strapped to his waist. The quiver held roughly twenty projectiles: it was one of the biggest on the island, which showed his high rank. He had fought many battles, and had thrust himself up the tower of the hierarchy.
A soldier approached him, equipped with an equally large longbow yet a minute quiver. He gave the classic salute and salutations, and then proceeded to state his business.
“Et venerunt ad petere consilium vestrum, altius mihi.” (“I have come to ask of you advice, my higher.”)
“Proficitis cum eo. Habeo esse frontem per noctem.” (“Get on with it. I have to be on the front by nightfall.”)
“Quod sic. Bene, ego volui a te ultra nostra agendi. Sicut scis, et satis est homines erectis pugna. Caput, aut navem faciemus continue per meridianam plagam ut rursus in ea?” (“Yes. Well, I wished to ask you our further course of action. As you know, the people are putting up quite a fight. Shall we head south by boat or continue to strike them in the west?”)
After a moment’s thought, the man said, “Credo, ut homines in Mundo Occidentali sunt nimis debilis est ad molestum est. Caput meridianam. Populus meus passus sum satis.” (“I believe that the Westerners are too weak to bother with. Head south. My people have suffered enough.”)
“Sic tuus Altissimi. Visam illud fiat.” (“Yes, your Highest. I’ll see that it is done.”)
The leather-clad soldier began to run back to the front a few miles away. By the time Africanus got there, the island would be taken. They were now on some of the southernmost lands of the Northerners’ territory, an island that had long been under Southern jurisdiction. The South was little more, however. With the strong forces of Africanus, the North had slaughtered the dwindling forces of the now-failed state. Africanus had killed hundreds upon thousands of his own people, including Aurora. He couldn’t stand the weight that was pushed onto him when he decided to fight the Northerners that fateful day at the village. When he and Aurora had been captured by their forces, the boy had the option to either be decapitated or join them. Fearing non-achievement over death, he decided to join their ranks. Aurora, stubbornly, did not. She called the Southerner-turned-Northerner a traitor and a hypocrite. Now, this may have been true, but Africanus was livid with her foolishness.
The Northern footmen were about to execute Aurora for her disobedience when the boy, surprisingly to the men, offered instead. If anything, he would prove to these people that he was ready to fight the good fight, alongside his fellow people. In a grotesque fashion, Africanus ended Aurora. From there, he was on the path to the Highest.
That day, he was more powerful than His God. He understood that His God had no power over him; he was the decider of his future, and nothing could stop him.
“Non est agitare. Ego autem tibi pere,” he said that day. (“There is no reason to panic. I am one with you conquerors.”)

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,992 Years Ago

Africanus sat in his hut in Central Marpa. He was now twenty-four years old, which was amazing for a militaristic general as far up as he was. His army had gone to great lengths to control the Marpan Theater, and it seemed to be working. The Marpans greatly outnumbered the invaders, yet the forces kept pushing. They had arrived on the northern shores of the Great Island with little resistance. The men set up a small village along the coast, for both access to the ocean and a nice beach to move people onto. From there, Africanus and his men had staked through the heart of Marpa, leaving the indigenous group split in half. The push was the largest naval invasion ever taken by the army, and there were surely more to come due to its success. It was only a matter of years or, even, months until the entire island fell to the Northerners. Well, it’s not as if one could call them Northerners anymore. They preferred to go by the term Altalandian, as the region was coming to be called. So, the Altalandians, while invading, had recruited hundreds upon thousands of Marpans for their cause. Just as Africanus had done, he found it important that the inductees do something gruesome to show their fighting spirit. Otherwise, their head was to be thrown back into the caves of which they inhabited. By utilizing this guerrilla warfare, Africanus had shattered resistance and blown to pieces what the inhabitants called home.
The general had problems, though. His men weren’t as ready to kill as they used to be. That was just the honest truth. They had traveled far from their homes to behead innocent peoples of which they had never known. Food rationing was common, and ambushes from natives and animals alike were all the rage in the Marpan jungles. Defeat would come if this weren’t taken care of.
Africanus assembled his unofficial Parliament, made up of horrid-looking soldiers who had seen terrible, traumatic events take place. They were perfect for the job. Using his prestige to his advantage, Africanus proclaimed, “Hinc est, pusillanimitas videtur idem esse patriae parricidio suspicere. Invasions fiant pro damno quantum whimper nullus in campo.” (“From here on, cowardice is equivalent to treason. Invasions are to take place regardless of loss, and no one will so much as whimper on the battlefield.”)
Knowing better than to argue, the men ran out of the lean-to and spread the news. They knew what not to do, as it might end them up on the ground in more than piece.
Sitting back in his chair, he thought about his future. He knew it would be great. A new age was surely in store for Africanus, as he had led his great people to conquer all. He would invade every last person; yes, this would be his task.

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,990 Years Ago

Africanus is dead. He was beheaded by his own people: the Altalandians, the invaders, the savages. Lost in a world of death and eastern expansion, he finally broke. With no one related to him or to even know his past, the intensity of it all mounted to a point in which he flung himself right into danger. He disguised himself as a Marpan: slung mud around his face, tore his clothes, and rubbed his feet in the dry sands of the uncommon Marpan highlands. He visited the swamp dressed as such, and joined a group of the natives in a cave nestled deep into a trunk of intertwined trees. After a mere week of living and learning from the hole’s people, the Altalandians found them. Near midnight, lit by torch, was a ceremony that had taken place too many times before. The men looked up and down the people, spit on them, as was customary, and did something strange, not all alike other executions. They hugged them. With their hairy, mud-coated appendages, they hung onto the Marpans and the general as if they were their only family. As if they were friends.
As if they loved each other.
This put Africanus in such a blazing heat of hate that he took his only weapon, a small limb he had found on the Northern Islands of his birth, and stabbed this hugging soldier right into the chest. He puled it out, in, out, in, out, his pupils afire. With all the strength in the world, he leaped from the unfortunate man to an even more unfortunate man, this time digging the limb through the protective barriers of his face. Hearing the audible, constant cracks of the troop’s skull snapping, the rest of the group noticed what was happening, disowned their hugged, and attacked the insane, mangled Marpan. Within a matter of seconds, three more men were dead. This included the now-unrecognizable Africanus. He had seen his empire grow from a fringe on the Big Island to a vast network of peoples, all of which were living in a tremendous yet cruel life of acceptance. The man may have grown his territory, but he would never see the effects of his conquests: sadness, rebuilding, and remembrance.
Africanus’ last words were in reply to a little girl in the cave.
“Ego deliqui procul praeteritis temporibus committitur novum semper nisi.” (“I come from afar and have done wrong in the past, but there is always time to start anew.”)
Yet there is no way to start anew when one is glued to a mindset.

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,940 Years Ago

The push to the Atlantian interior has slowed. Africanus was the driving force of the Altalandians. He was their militaristic mastermind. He had drug the public through the construction of both an army and a navy, and had used these forces to move through the land. He was missed by some. As in, a couple. His parents.
The two were now in their ninety’s, which was completely unheard of in the Altalandian Empire. They were practically, if not, literally worshiped by the separate natives of their society. Men and women visited them consistently, day after day, to learn their secrets. They would give none. They had none. They claimed that it was purely luck.
And it was luck. After the burning of Africanus’ village, they came back from a hunting trip, much like their son and his girlfriend (at the time, that is) to see the location dead and burning. The couple quenched the flames and laid their hands upon Their God’s altar for assistance. It had almost completely fallen to the ground. The small canals dug in the ground around the altar for worship were filled with fallen debris and the occasional femur. The stand on which the head of the altar sat was carved away by the chewing flames and ember bugs. The item atop it had the names of all births and deaths in the village of the past decade, give or take. It was vastly outdated. And, of course, wrapped around the names, was the God Himself. The symbol of life and soul for all the people of the Big Island. The Father of civilization in the strange lands of West Atlantia.
Dean, Africanus’ father, held the same rage as his offspring. Rather than swear allegiance to His God, though, he swiped ashes across the God’s eyes.
“Dean! Hoc prohibere! Non possum non patitur? Vos prohibere!” (“Dean! Stop this! I cannot allow it! You must stop!”)
“Testificor coram huiusmodi destructione non fecit. Esset placeat.” (“I cannot allow such eyes to witness the destruction He has caused. He would be too pleased.”)
“Noli dicere? Vos scitis quod 'non est verum.” (“Don’t say that! You know it’s not true.”)
“Scio quid fiet, si quomodo talia possunt et sub alis?” (“How do I know anything if such things can happen under His wings?”)

…

The man and woman had plans; they were not to be stopped by old age. What did they plan? one may ask. It was simple: they wished to avenge their past.
So Dean and Trinity, the aforementioned woman, set out of their comfy hut. Followed by many a person, as to prevent an accident, they stumbled into the woods. Although they had rebuilt villages brought to their knees by the Altalandians for nearly their whole lives, and grown quite strong from doing so, they could still feel the unwavering pains of old age. More than once they were brought to a stop by their stamina. Eventually, though, even after the helpful guides had left them for the birds, they arrived at a large settlement on the eastern coast of the Big Island. It was on a raised bank on the edge of the ocean, which came to be known as present-day Dropdatderp.
They headed to the large building in the square of town. They hobbled up the steps, looking around as they did so. No one must see.
The two found themselves in a corridor in which a number of angry men were. They were adorned in full outfit, wooden helmet and all.
Dean said, “Veniam in me domine. Tu ostendat ecclesiam hic Nos autem militaris peritis et actiones velit loqui ad viros istos.” (“Excuse me, sir. May you show us to the assembly here? We are knowledgeable in the military’s actions and wish to speak to these men.”)
One of the men in the formation grunted and replied, “Quid tibi est?” (“What’s it to you?”)
“Non possum vobis promittere promotionem, si te mea summa capiunt.” (“I can promise you a promotion, if you catch my drift.”)
The guard obviously didn’t understand what the elder meant by the deception, but he let them by regardless. “Procedat.” (“Proceed.”)
Dean and Trinity moved along through the construction, took a right, and waltzed into the meeting room. It was all over the papers (which only the elite and worshiped were wealthy enough to purchase): “Principes Occurrit” (“Leaders Meet”) and “Estne Pax Adest?” (Is Peace At Hand?).
This was, by far, was the largest diplomatic congregation in Altaland’s history.
Only one person survived that meeting.
Trinity, mother of Africanus, was the new dictator of the Altalandian Empire.

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,920 Years Ago

Trinity’s rule had torn the empire to shreds. She poorly managed the country to a point where nearly half of the troops were assigned to protect herself in Dropatderp. This being said, it was extremely easy for a coup to take place. With all those soldiers sitting idly around, doing nothing, it was only a matter of time before the already-dying Trinity was murdered in cold blood. The country was now controlled by murderous men with pointed sticks. By then, the true Altaland territory was situated solely on the Big Island, encompassing the town of present-day Dropdatderp. The rest of the island was split between other warring factions, each competing for domination of the landmass.
Due to the all-out war of the Big Island, the numerous overseas territories of the empire had been left with nothing but their own survival skills. The remaining forces of the empire were stuck in combat with the other countries up north, and didn’t have the resources to maintain its capture of the lands. As Altaland split into many separate pieces, foreign peoples pushed into the land. The natives of continental Atlantia fought their way back into the west, where the weakened and cut off Altalandians couldn’t hold their territory. Even Marpa was regaining control of their island. The immense loathing and distrust towards the invaders allowed Marpans to kill with such ferocity as Africanus used. The empire had fallen.
Africanus could never have imagined so.

[Mex]

Prehistoric Mexregiona (Altaland)
About 3,150 Years Ago

The remnants of the Altalandian Empire, after nearly a millennium of fierce civil war, flood, and famine, had at last been reunited under a single government. No one knows exactly how this happened, but it was a miracle that it did.
Under the new, slightly less horrific government that had been put in place, vast steps forward had occurred throughout the confederacy. Most of these changes were on the Big Island, such as the building of canals, roads, and other infrastructure. The overall lifespan of the population was slowly but steadily increasing, and primitive doctors were beginning to pop up in big settlements. The capital of the confederacy, Civilmagna, was bustling. Parks were being laid out, bridges throughout the countryside were erected, and weaponry was universally abandoned. It was the Golden Age of Altaland.

…

Talk of invasion had been given a mad glare by the public. Their lifetimes had seen too much blood and too little ambrosia for the adults of the nation to be satisfied with war. They knew the horrors of it. They witnessed the decapitation of Marpan and Altalandian alike, and had no wants but to forget. “Et obliviscere totum victum suum.” (“Forget and live on.”) -The motto of the Altaland Confederacy.
Little would take place for the next couple of millennia. Leaders would die, be replaced, die, be replaced. Farms were switched out over and over and over again. Disasters would repeatedly strike the coasts, pounding, pounding, yet everything was calm. Each new generation enjoyed the tranquility of their confederacy, and traveled little. They were living the simple life. A man would work, come home, share time with his family, and go to sleep. For this he would do all his life, ensuring the next set of children that all was going to be fine when they came of age. This time was known as the Era of Simplicity.
The Quakers of Atlantia.