Project Anabasis Development Diary #2 - The Smell of Ashes

[MattAtlas]

Project Anabasis Development Diary #2

The Smell of Ashes

Premise

“We must put an end to war, or war will put an end to us.”
– President Harrlala to the National Assembly before voting to ratify the Provisional War Authority of Adhomai, 24XX

(written by @CatsinHD)

The current state of Tajaran lore is centered around the Cold War, pun not intended. The three states of Adhomai vie for their place under the Suns as supreme rulers of the planet. There is an underlying presence to all of this. Not simply the machinations of states in a world interacting as states do. Rather, there is a story. The legendary figure, mythical in all aspects, and the acolytes that have warped his vision into mutants. Meanwhile, history incarnate attempting to right itself, to progress out of a foundation of regression. A woman who is set on seeing the words of her former brought to life, and for glory to shine on the lands. It’s easy to forget in the pages of dense writing that there is a story going on. There are characters that are interacting, changing, and scheming. There is a theme. There are many things. However, it must come to an end eventually. It would be tiring for aging zealots to continue their dogmatic march along continually warping paths. So. to answer simply: Mecha-Hadii will not emerge. Super Nated will not manifest. Al’mari’s legacy is dead, his bastard prophets burnt to ashes, souls living on with Raskara Messa.

So how, pray tell, does this play out? We’re not telling you. Not here, at least. That is still yet a story to tell in NBT1, and spoiling it would be foul play on our part. So you will simply have to wait, and read, and see what comes about as we march towards the Next Big Thing 2: Tesla Boogaloo. However, what we can tell you, is what to expect for Tajaran lore in NBT2. What factions and ideas there are to look forward to. The curiosities of how characters will fit in new orders. How, when the legacy sits upon its deathbed, the smell of ashes becomes familiar to us all.

Credit: NiennaB/laowra

Unification

“He doesn't like you, and you don't like him, but now we are in the same trench and everything should be done to save Adhomai.”
– President Khazdar to Supreme Command Hro’rammhad regarding an alliance between the PRA and DPRA, 24XX

An alliance that never should’ve worked. An alliance out of desperation. Enemies, bitter rivals, claimants of the icy throne of Adhomai turned allies in the lowest of times. Then the war ended. And the alliance remained. Fatigue, death, ashes. The damage had struck everyone. The desire for war was gone, burnt down in the flames of Kaltir. Against all odds, expectations, Tajaran nature, unity was found. Security was desired. Rebuilding was needed. In the halls of the National Assembly, a Provisional War Authority of Adhomai was reborn as a federation of republics, simply: Unigov.

The old guard was gone, new visionaries were ready. Taking the helm, an aging Ardkhran Hro’rammhad, weary but resolute in seeing Unigov into success. It had to be done. For Adhomai. His compatriot, the Premier Khazdar. Two leaders of two rival states, united with a new cause. Rebuilding. Rebuilding not out of ambition or desire, but for safety. To build the walls and armies needed to survive the menace out west. To thrust Tajara onto the Spurian stage not as conquered servants but stalwart independents. Never again may Tajara be subdued, conquered, exploited. Not by the red banners of that wicked Empire or the sickening logos of corporate greed. But the lands are torn. Those under the spell of Shumaila and her foreign puppeteers. The former lands of juntas and Hadiists alike. Adhomai had rarely known respite from division. So how, dear Hro’rammhad, does one wield such a people?

Division of lands, tolerance mandated. Gone are the concepts of the monoculture, the wicked destruction by the castes, the intolerance of ideologues. The lands are divided indeed. And the republics, the titular republics, must bend to such. Adhomai, then, and her colonies beyond the Suns, are rather split. A federation of republics, each a microcosm of Unigov itself. There is a place for anyone, or in absence of such, a place could be found. It is foolish of such dogmatic minds to find intolerance when the Spur does not wait. When the Spur wishes to bring to heel such a planet of potential. Old enemies offered redemption, new friends brought into the fold. Such demands were gone, so long as you beat on the same path, the long road to Tajaran glory among the stars.

At the head of the beast, a multi-headed hydra, is the federal government. An endless maze of departments and committees answering to but two Tajara: the Ardkhran, leader of the people, and the Premier, leader of the parties. Sharing equal parts workload, be it the internal machinations and politicking of the Republics or the foreign affairs and colonial mandate. The squabbling of the Congress of Free Tajara, the embodiment of the system. Endless debates, representatives of the Republics fighting for such changes ad infinitum. The State Council, managing the byzantine departments, keeping the mind numbing complexity of the state chugging.

Beyond the realms, the snow of Adhomai, the colonies sit. Some new, some old. The steady march of expansion fueled by the companies of Adhomai, led in the light of the pathfinders through the Scar. New planets, new resources, new science. The machine demands more. More land, more people, more resources. More. More. More. It’s mandated. Colonially mandated. Tajara, after all, are destined to conquer the stars.

The Fleets

“What is Tajaran nature but seeking and failing to achieve ideals?”
- FTV Volin Zarkir Kahmanqahrii, 24XX

Once fleeing death, history repeating in sick irony, the battered ships of old eek along. Theseus hundreds over, hulls hardly reminiscent of their old, decrepit selves. The inhabitants, infatuated by metal and oil, seeking progress, for safety. Generational trauma, sights no sane being dare see, forever tied to revere the vessels that protect them. Perhaps it was a mistake to step into the Lemurian, foolish and greedy. Perhaps it merely opened their eyes to the truth. To the sanctity of metal.

A thirst for technology of all kinds. The vast fleets, endless in numbers, endlessly shifting. Beating on through the stars, wandering from place to place, seeking knowledge, materials, equipment, anything needed to keep the vessels running. Jury-rigged, replaced, modified, expanded. Master artisans of the dear voidship. For what cause? Why, for knowledge itself. For the keys to reality. For mastery of nature, such that even the horrors, the fabled sights of yet living generations, may be truly wielded.

The State

“We stand on the precipice of reaching the peak, or falling into obscurity.”
– Headmaster Harrrdanim Tyr'adrr during his final address on public broadcast before fleeing to Hro’zamal, 24XX

Those traitors. Enemies of the state surround, fools seeing a vision of Adhomai in decimation. They stray from the truth of Hadiism. They dare yet imagine a world of unity. A world where the enemies of progress are accepted, reasoned. The fools, the lot of them. Former comrades dead in the minds of the resolute. The totalists. The visionaries. The world is dangerous now. It is only a minor setback that such a retreat must take place. Hro’zamal, pure in its belief, must rise to the task. The colony turned capital, turned fortress. It will carry the spirit of Hadiism on.

The schism proved one man right. The Headmaster, derided as paranoid, stands atop the righteous truth. The enemies within are deadlier than the enemies without. Malik was too soft. Khazdar was treasonous. More must be done to secure the Party. Hro’zamal must be built up, control must be extended. We are a collective. One unified body. Sacrifices ennobled, technology progressed. There must be no costs too high. We. Must. Win. For failure will see us crumble. Failure will doom Tajara.

The Kingdom

“He says exile, she says extended holiday.”
- Queen Shumaila to Grand Duke Harqirahm on the exile of the High Kingdom, 24XX

They had not started the war. It was an invasion. Their defense was righteous against the tides of the tyrants, seeking to destroy nature’s chosen way. The war was costly, Adhomai was lost. However, hope is not yet dead. The Kingdom lives on.

Shumaila, the dear Queen. The mind that saved the Kingdom. The tree around which Tajara will grow. Her throne decimated in the old lands, no bother. Nature will heal. The course will be corrected. King Azunja’s vision cut short by Messa’s embrace, it must be continued under Shumaila’s guiding hand. Bringing the Kingdom to its true nature, correcting the wrongs of greed and corruption. All the while, new lands ripe for taking. Qaraket, the new seat of the High Kingdom, name christened over the blood of a bygone Republic. Serenity was lost on these lands, brought again by Tajaran hands. It would expand. It must expand. In service to Tajara, in service to allies, royalty, the dutiful liege lightyears away on the Morozian throne. Adhomai is not lost, simply deluded. It is destined to happen. The High Kingdom will return, stronger, better. It will bring the misguided planet and her mistaken colonies into the fold. Tajaran banners will stretch across the Southern Spur, Valley to Scar, and truly retake the right of rule, the holy Suns’ light.

The Badlands

“What can one expect from a place called the Badlands? Bad is written in the name.”
- Unknown Lekhtrelkii’s note, 24XX

These lands rarely knew peace. Of raging pirate fleets or dutiful patrol armadas, what place yet leaves the desire for peace than that of the Badlands. Yet it is not such when the guns have quieted down, the ammo had run dry. What is left, then, in the wake? Mounds of ash, huddled masses seeking a rising phoenix. Although such implies the tales are true, ignorance to reality. Peace is an ill concept in these lands, then, a rallying cry for those too blind to see their own marching boots.

To the north lies the High Kingdom, a land of gaudy cloaks and liberal meads. Sitting on thrones of death atop their appropriated lands. Be it far from the Royalist to be intoxicated by such heroism. Now, they see only their rightful claims. Planets of wealth, ripe for exploitation, along a war path to the jewel of the crown. The jewel of the crown, broken free to seek its own ends. Wisened from its failures, sickened by perpetuous flames of war still yet smoldering on their streets; smoke pushing them onwards, into the frontier. Ever eastward, bringing more into the fold. Preparing for armies of the past, fearing fleets of the future. Expanding in the name of Adhomai. Space is vast, but woefully small. It is only a matter of time before the Rafama meets the other. Heads locked in battle for their right to rule, for the future of Tajara.

Then why would such a state, exiled alone, stuck on but a planet so hostile, continue? Because they know the truth. The rest, delusional, treasonous. It is only through the march of progress that the future may yet be bright. United, collective. Urgency is not so poisonous, yet. Time is in the favor of truth. The steady march forward bringing all yet closer to their destined victory. It is promised. The Headmaster knows the truth. However, to sit idle is admitting defeat. In secrecy we work. Subverting those traitors. Guiding, with invisible hands, those who will see us to glory.

But Tajara are not alone here. The grip of the Adhomian promise holds so few. The Sinta and Human, equal players in such lands of turmoil. The Pretender sits upon a jewel befitting such lofty delusions, concern to the dear Queen in presence and action. The Karszekan, an ally to some. Comrades oppressed no longer, close now with such heirs of Adhomai. Safety in numbers. Progress in cooperation. Parallel states joined in fear, paranoia yet fleeting of crossing paths and sunken knives.

Conclusion

“Impossibility never prevented anything from happening.”
- First Speaker Kiimro Raghkanhkir to the first session of the Congress of Free Tajara.

This dev diary has been intentionally written in overly flowery and, at times, vague language. This was on purpose. As mentioned at the start, it can be easy to miss the underlying story occurring as the setting progresses. The flat, informative writing of the wiki and other such sources will have this effect. This dev diary is less about giving flat wiki information, but rather telling a story. Setting the scene, mindset, and vibes of the factions after all is said and done. Because, notably, we are moving away from the premise of the last decade of Tajaran lore. No longer will we be seeing the schemes and actions of two men chasing after the legacy of a mythical figure, Al’mari. We’re moving into a new story. Hopefully one you all enjoy!

So where does this leave players and their characters? Well, we attempted to leave a spot for everybody. Whether you want the loose restrictions of Unigov or the Free Fleets, or the firm ideology of the PRA remnants, or the royalism of the High Kingdom. The goal was to allow plenty of routes for characters to be retconn’d, fast forwarded, or whatever else into the new setting. At the end of the day, the lore is written for the player and their characters. And while we have a vision, at times incongruent with that vision of some players, we also want to leave space for the imagination to run wild. To consider stories and ideas that fuel fun interactions, and ultimately make the experience of being within the setting, being with Tajaran lore, fun.