The Art Of Honor: A History Of Midgardum

By R.T. Garver

In 2127 BCD, the formidable Etrus Empire expanded its dominion, annexing Sparta, a region destined to become a critical pivot in its elaborate scheme of nation-building. This initial conquest sowed seeds of discord, foreshadowing the empire's eventual fragmentation. "The Annals of Etrus" delves deep into the intricate dynamics of imperial ambition, regional disparities, and historical rivalries. It explores the complex processes of cultural assimilation, resistance, and the eventual rise of autonomy movements, setting the stage for a tumultuous future. This narrative is a rich exploration of power, identity, and the cyclical nature of history within a vast empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mystical Valor Publishing House
• Release date: May 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961163171

Book preview

The Art Of Honor

R.T. Garver

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Mystical Valor Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2024 by R.T. Garver

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This paperback edition first published in 2024

Book design by Thomas Slover

Illustrations copyright © 2024 by Michael Pickford

ISBN 978-1-961163-26-3 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-961163-16-4 (hardcover)

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Contents

1.Before Sparta

2.Historical Overview

3.Sparta Terrain

4.Government During the Etrus Empire

5.The Dark War

6.Government After the Dark War

7.The Spartan Oppression

8.Spartan Civil War

9.Type of Government

10.Culture Background

11.Cities

12.Military

What is Cystic Fibrosis?

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About the Author

Welcome to the

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The events that you are about to read take place in a fantasy world.

The Art Of Honor:

A History of Sparta

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The New World

In an alternate reality, there exists a singular universe that is like our own, but also different. Just like our own, this universe has a planet that is hospitable for life. Like Earth, the planet of Cysbro is rich in life with both animals and humanoids. It has lush green grass, rushing waters that are powerful enough to move boulders, and trees that blossom in the spring and die in the fall. For life here is not ruled by a calendar or a clock, but by the four seasons and their always changing climates.

For most, the summer can be harsh. During this time, the heat can be excruciating. However, the winter is even more brutal with its cold weather and snow. During the spring and fall, the temperature is perfect. It rests at just the right balance of warmth while under the shadows of the many trees. With no humidity in the air, a small but cool gust of wind blows throughout the forest from time to time. This helps to keep the temperature at just the right setting. Spring and fall seem as if they are the perfect balance of the four seasons. It is almost like life and death, or even yin and yang.

In spring, you can feel the warmth of the sun kissing against your skin. This time of the year seems to really go by in a fast-paced motion. The temperature rises gradually from the snowy tundra that winter had bestowed upon the forest. It becomes a true story of the birds and the bees. You know, it has been a long time coming when you start to smell the fresh air. Seeing the green grass and flowers bloom back in life makes you just want to stop and stare. It brings the emotion back into the world.

Summer days are both hot and sweltering. The heat makes life harder. In the mornings, the sun just starts on its mission. The heat makes the skin feel as if it’s burning on fire. Even the slightest breeze is warm. With every blow, the body asks to faint. Sweat runs from the many foreheads, and down to their faces. By the time the stream reaches their lips, it seems to evaporate because of the scorching humidity. This time of year, the mouths of many constantly dry, causing the summer to become even more unbearable.

In autumn, the leaves from thousands of trees change colors. They break off from their branches and fall lightly. They let the gentle breeze guide them to the ground. It’s almost as if they are falling perfectly in place all throughout September. Throughout the weeks of fall, the leaves turn brittle and crumble as they lie there, slowly dying. This part of the year, time turns flames into ember. The heat from summer cools down to a little breeze.

During this time, the flowers die because of the lowering temperature. During the winter, snow covers the ground like a white quilt. It becomes hard for things to grow beneath winter’s blanket. The temperature drops, and the wind picks up. The cold air makes the rain feel like needles piercing the skin. This makes everyone miss the summer days, but the seasons always change, and life always finds a way. However, the four seasons are not what is most remarkable about this world.

Before Sparta

2127 BCD

In the verdant valleys and lush forests that cradled the land before the dawn of Sparta, a harmony between humanity and fae prevailed. These tranquil farming villages, nestled amidst rolling hills and meandering streams, lived in a symphony of labor and serenity. The landscape, a tapestry of green dotted with the vibrant colors of wildflowers, provided a backdrop of peace and natural beauty.

The inhabitants, simple folk with deep ties to the land, respected the delicate balance of nature. Their homes, made of wood and stone, blended seamlessly into the environment, as if they had sprouted from the earth itself. Families, united by blood and toil, worked the land with a quiet determination, sowing seeds not only of crops but of a sustainable life.

This idyllic existence was supported by a unique bond with the fae, mysterious beings who whispered in the woods and danced in the twilight. These creatures, ethereal and wise, shared ancient knowledge of the soil and water, teaching the villagers how to coax bounty from the earth without demanding too much.

Children grew up listening to tales of fae folk, learning lessons of respect, gratitude, and coexistence. It was a life rhythmically aligned with the cycles of the earth, where every sunrise brought promise and every sunset brought reflection.

Yet, beneath this serene surface, a sense of vulnerability lingered. The villages, though flourishing, lacked fortifications, their peace frequently disturbed by the harsh realities of a world that was not always kind. It was in this setting of natural harmony juxtaposed with human fragility that our story unfolds, setting the stage for the trials and triumphs that were to come.

Life in the villages followed the steady pace of the seasons. Spring brought the planting, under skies washed clear after winter's grip, where the villagers, both young and old, participated in preparing the fields. Men and women worked side by side, breaking the earth with plows pulled by sturdy oxen, while children scampered along, scattering seeds with youthful exuberance. The fae, unseen but always present, would occasionally enrich the soil with a flicker of their magic, ensuring the crops were robust and plentiful.

Summer was a time of growth and vigilance. As the sun arched high and the fields burgeoned with life, the villagers protected their crops from pests and diseases, often guided by the subtle signs and whispers of the fae. The streams that meandered through the village served as lifeblood, and maintaining their purity was a communal responsibility, revered almost as a sacred trust.

Autumn heralded the harvest, a period of intense activity where the entire community came together. The air was filled with the sound of laughter and the rhythmic chopping of scythes. Evenings were spent around fires, sharing stories and the day’s yield, reinforcing the bonds that held the community together. Yet, these moments of joy were tinged with the undercurrent of an ever-present threat.

The lack of fortifications in the villages was a conscious choice — a reflection of their beliefs in openness and trust. However, this made them vulnerable to the less scrupulous. Raiders, drawn by the prosperity of the villages, lurked like wolves at the edges of light cast by the communal fires. The villagers, though brave, were not warriors. Their tools were made for tilling, not for fighting.

This vulnerability was not just physical but also magical. While the villagers possessed some minor charms passed down by the fae, they were ill-prepared for darker, more potent forces. Whispers of rogue sorcerers and enchanted beasts began to seep into the villagers' conversations, mingling with the smoke of their fires, hinting at the emerging threats that would soon test their resolve and unity.

As the seasons turned, a foreboding chill settled over the land, signaling not just the approach of winter but the onset of darker times. Whispers of marauding bandits, once distant rumors carried by travelers, grew louder and more frequent. These were not mere thieves lured by opportunity; they were a horde, cruel and chaotic, driven by a lust for power and destruction.

The first attack came at dusk, as the sky bled crimson and shadows stretched long across the fields. Without warning, the tranquil evening was shattered by the clash of steel and the screams of the unprepared. The bandits, cloaked in the darkness, surged through the village like a plague. Homes were set aflame, granaries looted, and the hard-earned harvests trampled underfoot as the villagers scrambled for safety.

Amid the chaos, the villagers' attempts to defend their homes were pitifully inadequate. The tools that had nurtured the earth were no match for the bandits’ swords and dark sorceries. The village elder, a wise woman who had been a conduit between the fae and her people, called upon the mystical allies. Yet, the fae, bound by their aversion to outright violence, could only shield and obscure, not fight.

The bandits' leader, a fearsome figure clad in armor that seemed to swallow the light, directed the carnage with a sadistic glee. His commands were obeyed without hesitation, his presence alone spreading terror. The villagers, overrun and overmatched, watched helplessly as their world was torn apart.

When the raiders finally withdrew, they left behind a smoldering ruin. The survivors emerged from hiding, their eyes wide with shock, their hearts heavy with loss. The initial bond of the community, once their greatest strength, now seemed a fragile thread in the face of such ruthless aggression.

The attacks did not cease. Emboldened by their initial success and the lack of effective resistance, the bandits returned, each raid more devastating than the last. As despair began to take root, the villagers' calls for help went unanswered, their plight seemingly invisible to the world beyond their shattered borders.

The relentless assaults by the bandits left the villages in a state of perpetual fear and devastation. Each attack not only stripped away the material wealth of the villagers but also eroded their sense of security and community. With each passing day, the shadow of the bandits grew longer and more oppressive, a constant reminder of the villagers’ vulnerability.

As winter deepened, the cold seeped into the fractured bones of their homes as much as it did their spirits. Hunger and disease followed the wake of destruction, as the damaged granaries could no longer sustain the population through the harsh months. The elderly and the young, the most vulnerable, were the first to feel the dire consequences. Whispered stories around dwindling fires spoke of children crying for food and elders sacrificing their meager rations for the sake of their families.

The fae, distressed by the suffering, tried to aid the villagers. They coaxed what growth they could from the frozen earth and wove fog to hide the villagers during raids. Yet, their powers, so attuned to life and growth, were limited against the stark brutality of the bandits. The magic that once felt like a blessing now seemed a mere consolation, unable to turn the tide of battle.

Desperation led to fracturing within the once tight-knit community. Arguments over dwindling resources became frequent, and trust, once given so freely, now required proof. The social fabric, built on mutual aid and understanding, began to tear, threads pulled apart by starvation and suspicion.

In their darkest hour, some villagers spoke of surrender, of yielding to the bandits' rule as a means to spare further bloodshed. Others, fueled by anger and loss, advocated for a stand, though they lacked both weapons and warriors. Amidst these disputes, a beacon of hope was desperately needed—a sign that they could rise from this abyss of despair.

In the midst of despair, hope often arrives from unexpected quarters. Word of the villages' plight eventually reached the ears of Lee Etrus, the monarch of a neighboring realm known for his wisdom and benevolence. Stories of the suffering and resilience of the villagers stirred something deep within him; he saw in their plight not just a call for aid, but a duty to act.

Lee Etrus, moved by the tales of hardship, convened his council and declared his intention to intervene. His decision was met with both support and caution, for engaging with the bandits meant entering a conflict that had so far consumed all in its path. Yet, his resolve was firm, rooted in a deep-seated belief in justice and the protection of the innocent.

Preparations began at once. Lee Etrus assembled a diverse legion of warriors—knights seasoned in battle, mages adept in combat magic, and scouts skilled in the arts of stealth and tracking. This force, united under the banner of Lee Etrus’s compassionate rule, trained rigorously, their hearts buoyed by the cause for which they were fighting.

As they readied themselves, word of their impending arrival spread like wildfire through the villages, igniting a flicker of hope in the hearts of the beleaguered villagers. The anticipation of deliverance began to mend the fractures within the community, rekindling the bonds of unity and resolve that had defined them in better times.

As the dawn of battle approached, tension hung heavy over the land. Lee Etrus and his assembled forces reached the outskirts of the beleaguered villages, the morning mist swirling around them as if the very earth shared their solemn resolve. The villagers, their spirits lifted by the sight of the advancing legion, gathered to bear witness, their hopes pinned on the promise of salvation.

The bandits, alerted to the impending threat to their reign of terror, rallied their numbers. They were a formidable foe, hardened by conquest and unburdened by morality. Yet, what they possessed in ferocity, they lacked in unity; their alliance was one of convenience, held together by the spoils of their raids rather than any shared ideals.

The battle commenced at Lee Etrus’s command, a calculated assault designed to strike swiftly and decisively. His knights charged, their armor glinting in the morning light, while mages cast spells that lit the sky with arcane fire. The scouts, moving through the underbrush, cut off the bandits' routes of escape, trapping them between steel and sorcery.

The clash was brutal and chaotic. Steel met steel in clashes that echoed through the hills, spells illuminated the battleground, and cries of pain and fury filled the air. Yet, throughout the tumult, Lee Etrus remained a beacon of resolve. His leadership was not just strategic but inspirational, rallying his troops with every step, every swing of his sword.

Gradually, the tide turned. The bandits, overwhelmed by the disciplined fury of Lee Etrus’s forces, began to falter. Their lines broke, and their resolve crumbled. The battle, though fierce, swung decisively in favor of the villagers and their allies.

As the last of the bandits fled or surrendered, the silence that followed was profound. The villagers, many of whom had braced for the worst, now embraced each other in relief and disbelief. Lee Etrus, surveying the field, knew that while the victory was significant, the true challenge lay in healing and rebuilding.

In the quiet aftermath of the battle, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the remnants of magical fire. The villagers, emerging cautiously from their shelters, were met with a landscape transformed. Where once there had been devastation and fear, now there lay the promise of peace. Lee Etrus, amidst the ruins, pledged not just to defend but to rebuild.

The days that followed were a flurry of activity. Lee Etrus’s soldiers, alongside the villagers, worked to repair the damaged homes and replant the ravaged fields. The presence of the troops, once an ominous sign of impending battle, now symbolized security and hope. As the physical scars of the village began to heal, so too did the emotional wounds of its people.

Victory celebrations blended with planning sessions, as leaders from