Georgia, Kingdom of

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Foundation: 1657-1746 (T165-T208)Dead.gif

  • Baghdad in Mesopotamia (since ????)
  • Tabriz (to ????)


By Rob Pierce & Martin Helsdon


The Kingdom of Georgia was centered upon their Caucasus mountain fastnesses, and they controlled much of Anatolia besides. In 1677 (T175), they snapped up the two Macedonian regions on the east side of the Bosporus when the Macedonians evacuated to India. By 1699, the Trebizond had sheared away the Black Sea regions, the Lybians had taken the Aegaen coast (I think), and the Georgians were rebuilding (?) their capital (formerly Tuchia, now Tabriz). What happened from 1681-1698 is not yet known, but it seems to have been pretty traumatic. (They were involved in the Cilician War (1687-1695) in which they fought alone against Syria, Lybia, Sweden, Denmark and Khirgiz.) They later conquered the Syrians and eventually controled much of the fertile crescent.

In 1725 the Daemon Sultan Rashid Ibn-Majid came to power. Curiously, he funded and supported the reconstruction of a Zoroastirian Temple in 1735 - this by a man presumably a devout Muslim. The Temple proved to be not Zoroastrian at all, and he not Muslim but in thrall to the Great Old One Nyarlathotep. He was reponsible for the three asteroids that destroyed not only the Ice capital in Alaska in 1735 (T203), but also the Danish capital of Venice and much of East Asia in 1743 (T207). The latter two asteroids proved to be the opening salvos in the War Against the Beast that ultimately led to the dramatic defeat of Rashid.

With Rashid's defeat, Georgia collapsed and was supplanted in the fertile crescent by the Islamic Union.

The History:

Still to be written.

NewsFax Entries:

1739-1740 (T205)
Georgia: Diplomacy: Quite a bit, and with the point of a saber too.

Horns sounded in the encampment of the Al'Wahat, signaling the coming dawn and the summons to prayer. Muyaia Sayyaf Adin - the emir of the tribes, once the sultan of Egypt - stepped out of his tent. He was young, his face still round with baby-fat, but the indolence of his youth had been left behind in the wreck of his father's Egyptian dreams. The guns of the Hussites had stripped away some of his innocence.

A man was waiting in the chill darkness, a familiar lean figure. "Osman." Muyaia nodded in greeting, taking a moment to drape the corner of his kaffieyh over his shoulder, fingertips checking for the familiar presence of saber, dagger and pistol. "Are the armies ready to ride today?"

"They are, my lord." The Turk's voice was harsh - more used to battlefields than palaces - but Muyayia could see his deep-set black eyes glint in the light of the lanterns. "Come, ride with me and we will look down upon the might of Allah's army."

Muyayia grinned with delight - the great king Rashid had recently presented him with a brace of coal-black Bactrian mares, fleet of foot, strong, ready to run for a day and day without tiring. Osman - like the Wahat - was a superb rider, and the young prince found him a gifted guide to this foreign land of hills and hidden valleys and wells surrounded by acres of plantation and farm. The deep Sahara was not such a rich domain, even with the coming of the grass and the rain.

The two men rode up into the hills around the sprawling camp, letting their horses run freely, feeling the chill snap of the night air. Soon the sun would rise and a clear, penetrating heat would fill the sky. But for now, as the east grew pink and gold and violet by turns, they rode up into the tamarisk studded hills in silence. Below them, the ranked tents of the three armies - Tuareg, Wahat and Georgia - sprawled across the flat. In the distance, the fires of heating engines pierced the gloom. Flickering, intermittent orange light played across the enormous shapes of the Sultan's airfleet. The sound of men shouting, calling commands, the ring of metal on metal carried perfectly in the still, cold air.

The sight of the Tuareg encampment brought a frown to Muyayia's face - he had expected better of the grizzled old chieftain Ibn Saleh - but at the same time, he understood. The prince was still young, his lands lost, his army and people reduced to flight. Rashid was a great king, powerful, with many gifts to give, lands to bestow, honor to be won in his service. Saleh was no fool, and he cast his lot with the stronger man.

"We will be a great weapon," he muttered. "A sword to smite the infidel and win back the lands taken from us by the Romanoi."

Osman said nothing, guiding his bay mare around an outcropping of shattered white stone. The land had turned rugged, filled with ravines and pinnacles. "Careful here, my lord," the Turk said, pointing.

Muyaia wrenched his mind away from dreams of conquest and glory, and a new kind of fraternal order, of pious men devoted to the defense of Islam and all Muslims. The black mare shook her head, hooves moving gingerly on the rocky, talus-strewn slope. Muyayia let her pick her own way, his hands very light on the reins. The horse knows what she's doing, his father's voice spoke in memory, let her pay attention to her business.

Beyond the narrow path, a cup opened in the hills, filled with green trees and the smell of water and heavy, thick grass underfoot. Above, the dome of the sky was washed with porcelain-pale rose and the steadily brightening dawn filled the hidden basin with a quiet, clear light.

"A wonder!" Muyayia exclaimed, looking around in surprise.

"The world is filled with hidden things," Osman said, a faint smile of satisfaction on his face. "A man should see beauty when he can - there is enough horror around us."

Muyayia nodded, lost in the moment. He saw a field of flowers, buds closed, spreading away before him. A stream - perhaps even with water exposed to the open sky - wound across the slope. Dawn touched the peaks of the sheltering ridges, turning them brilliant gold, the shadows in the lee of the hill turning dark. The young prince watched, waiting for the light to creep across the flowers. Then, he knew, they would open - a sudden blaze of color in a dreary, grim land.

A sound caught his attention and Muyaia turned, eyes narrowing. He caught sight of Osman - suddenly close, horses wither to wither - and a plunging arm. A cold shock slammed through the prince's side - there was a ripping sound - and he felt terribly weak. Choking - fluid filled his throat - he dragged at his saber, but the Turk's hand crushed his own, pinning hand to weapon. Muyaia stared, face twisted in agony, then his face became still and pale.

The prince slid heavily from his horse, a bright crimson stain soaking through his cloak and running down his leg. Osman watched, his own face a grim mask, until the boy's legs had stopped twitching. The flesh was cold under his blunt fingers.

"Sorry, lad." The Turk wrapped the prince's desert robes around him, making a simple shroud. Without discernible effort, he slung the corpse over his shoulder, then hiked down to the edge of the ravine where the stream plunged over a steep, glassy face of water-carved limestone. "Here's tomb fit for a king," Osman said to the air and sky, "a brave boy, his patrimony stolen, his kingdom lost to the great powers. A life cut short - but blessed, for his was a clean death, and he will dwell with his god, far from this hell we inhabit."

The body plunged over the cliff, striking heavily on the lip of the waterfall, then bouncing down through thornbush and sage to disappear into the thicket far below. Osman turned away, attention turned to his knife, where the blood was already curdling on the watery steel.

When he returned to camp, he saw the assembled chiefs and headmen and elders of the Al'Wahat bowing before the elegant, slim figure of the sultan Rashid. They too, like Ibn Saleh, knew where victory lay.

Later, an Albanian agent attempting to establish a business concern in Akko, on the Levantine coast, was killed in a confused bar brawl. No one claimed responsibility for his death, and the Sultan's governor declared the boy killed "by accident."

Three Isles: The Islanders - more than a little shocked by the Georgian response to their missionary efforts in Palestine - huddled in the various cities, wondering if they were going to be attacked. They were not (the Georgians had different fish to fry).

1741-1742 (T206)
Java: With a rousing cheer, the workers at the Number Two Aeroship factory outside of Sunda raised their rain-hats to the sky - the sight of the sleek, tapered shape of a Javan Aeroship nosing out of the mammoth hanger lifted every heart. The White Tower rolled out on a long pair of matched tracks, dragged by hundreds of ropes, every man's back slick with sweat and shining brown in the tropical sun. Moments later, the second hanger door rumbled back, and the snout of the Earnhardt emerged as well. Another cheer went up, and everyone shook hands. Even the normally dour Georgian engineers were seen to venture a thin-lipped smile.

Persia: Worried by the growing popularity of Zoroastrianism in the neighboring nation of Georgia, a veritable army of mullahs, religious zealots and Hajji poured down the roads into Georgian lands, proclaiming their faith loudly and picking fights with the local police (who were not amused) and the Zoro priesthood.

Georgia: Disturbed by reports of foreigners larking about in the Levant, the Sultan ordered the fortifications of various cities improved, and commissioned several new regiments of artillery. Rashid also spent many weeks negotiating with the Tuareg chieftain Aden Amin - but to no avail. The Tuaregs were settled in the province of Mosul, which they found very pleasant and peaceful (and there was water! And trees!). Other tribesmen were settled in Palmyra and Diyala.

The imams in Baghdad and Abadan received a delegation from the Shi'a ayatollah in India, but though his words were heartfelt, they were suspicious and had long memories for many slights and insults suffered between the two arms of Mohammed's tree of faith. Coupled with the swarms of faithful oozing across the border with Persia, everyone in Baghdad was on edge. Things were quiet and peaceful in Georgia - people should just leave well enough alone!

Poorly disguised 'Internal Security Ministry' troops[1] attacked and destroyed the main mosque (of Ibn Fadlan) in Baku, Georgia in middle '41. Despite a fierce battle with local militia, the raiders escaped into Abasigia. The next year, an entire Swedish army corps swept out of the mountains and wrecked everything they could lay their hands on before scurrying back into Vasi.

The Sultan was annoyed by the unexpected deaths of both Osman ibn Said and old Josephus - but there were eager young lads ready to step into both men's shoes. The news that a group of Albanians had attempted to gain the alliance of the Bedu of Sinai reached Baghdad and made the Sultan frown.

"All this and war with Sweden too..." His dark eyes glittered. _____ (1) That is, they were smoking Muscovy-brand cigarettes and speaking Swedish.

Sweden: In the southeast, General Tarasiuk and his II Light Corps made a foray out of Rostov through Patzinak, Kuban, Alan, Vasi and into the Moslem province of Georgia. In some places the general accepted the tribute of the local tribes, and in others he burned their temples and executed their priests. In Georgia, his men were content to loot every house, mosque and shop they could lay their hands on before galloping back into Vasi to count their loot. There was no response from the Georgian government.

1743-1744 (T207)
Somewhere in near-Earth Space: Ice-shrouded gray rock tumbled through darkness. The surface of the flying mountain swarmed with uncounted numbers of winged, crustacean-like creatures. They labored in the darkness, drilling and shaping with their machines. The vast stone tumbled slowly, end over end, though the mob of creatures burrowing within its mantle was so great even the light of the distant sun failed to reflect from their carapaces and velvet wings.

Near the northern pole of the asteroid, a lean black shape drifted on the solar wind, engaged in the rudimentary communications which prevailed between the denizens of Yuggoth and other creatures.

<Once split,> the messenger radiated, <one striking | falling | incinerating stone will strike | crush | shatter these islands...> The messenger radiated a picture of four great islands lying alongside a vast continent. Great importance was placed upon a certain coastline, and a particular bay.

The Mi-Go flashed agreement in cerulean and azure.

<the other hammer | vessel | tool will impact | rend | absorb this place, at the foot of these mountains | dimples | grains of sand.>

The messenger waited, but the Mi-Go did not reply. Instead its rumpled, chitinous skin flared and coruscated with a dozen nameless colors. Other of the fungi nearby gathered, and they fell to an inscrutable conversation, even to the dark messenger. At length they replied no.

A dispute followed, and the dark messenger was forced to admit defeat. Who could divine the thoughts of the fungi? They were beyond the byakhee's poor skill in such things.

<rend | slaughter | consume | know> it spat in disgust. The master will not be pleased...

EDITORS NOTE: The first target's description clearly appears to be Japan ("four great islands"), which lies off Asia ("lying alongside a vast continent"). Other sources have intimated that the specific target was the sacred Shinto temple at Ise. Indeed, the city of Ise sits on the eastern peninsula of the region of Yamato which forms the western shore of Ise Bay ("Great importance was placed upon a certain coastline, and a particular bay").

The second target's description is far less definitive ("this place, at the foot of these mountains | dimples | grains of sand"). Although the second target was rejected, the description nonetheless appears to fit the eventual impact site of the city of Venice - a city at the foot of the Alps. So the question that remains is: what requested target was rejected in favor of Venice?

Persia: Unknown persons attempted to destroy the government offices in Burkhara during a busy midday conclave of the Imperial ministers. Much of the west wing of the palace was destroyed by a massive gunpowder explosion, but remarkably few people were actually killed. A great many clerks were shaken up, however. Similar attacks rocked other cities throughout Persia and in Merv nearly three thousand people were killed when the blast sparked a city-wide fire.

Persian armies under a constellation of generals from all over the empire (and overseas) converged on Basra in '43. Fleets thronged the port, a great din was raised as regiment after regiment trooped ashore, and the roads into the north were clogged with endless lines of men, horses, camels, carts, mule-trains and artillery. A great host was massing to do war...

A great number of foreigners were expected as well, but before the Danish Expedition could land, trouble broke out among the Persian generals. Within the space of a fortnight, the lords Sarai Owaiis, Bashin al'Yazdur and Ibrahim were all murdered. Their bodies were found disembowled, limbs strewn about their chambers, heads missing, entrails arranged in horrifying patterns. All three men had enjoyed a strong and vigilant guard, yet those men had heard nothing.

In the armies assembled in the cane fields and caravanserai, only one word was uttered - causing all men to fall silent and make a sign against evil - hasheshin. Further away, in the capital, minister Abu'zaid also perished under strange circumstances, though no one could rightly say the wind-spirits had done him in. Despite these poor omens, the muster continued, though now the young general Rashad found himself in command of a vast army.

The throng of the Prester John tribesmen passed through Persia in '43 and '44, clogging the roads with endless lines of armored men ahorse, and bleating flocks of goats and sheep and kine. Yurts rumbled past old Samarkhand and Bokhara, covering the fields from horizon to horizon, and the dust they turned with their great wheels ascended to a steadily darkening sky. At the end of '44, the Prester John had reached the lowlands of Hahmar, and all the nomads marveled at the richness of the fields and the swamps and the numbers of the birds in the sky and heaviness of the soil.

They also stared in amazement at the enormous wreckage left by terrible floods on the Tigris in '44, which laid waste to large portions of Abadan and Hahmar provinces.

EDITOR'S NOTE: The hasheshin appear to have been servants of the Daemon Sultan.

The Camps of the Tuaregs, Near Mosul, Early '43 : "The messenger is here, my lord." The tribesman bowed low to the great chief Adin ibn Saleh and then withdrew. The old Tuareg looked upon the man before him and nodded in delight.

"You live," he said, white beard bristling against the oaken darkness of his craggy old face. "All said the son of Abu Sayyaf was dead, murdered by agents of the Dane."

"I live," Muyaia Sayyaf replied, casting back the hood of his travel-stained djellaba. With careful movements, he drew out his saber and a old, rust-stained pistol and laid them on the camp table between the two men. "Yes, I should be dead."

The younger man raised his tunic, revealing a torso spiderwebbed with puckered scars. "These are the wounds delivered to me by a betrayer of Islam, Osman, the king's foul demon. I am sure you are curious why I am here, why would I dare set foot in the Taureg chieftains' tent when the Georgians would kill me if they knew I was here. It is very simple. Allah spared my life and he set me certain tasks. One of them was to make sure our tribe did not totally succumb to the will of the Georgians. I am sure you are amused by this so let me tell you about how I got here and maybe it will help you determine if I am truly who I say I am and if I should be listened too or turned over to Osman or Rashid himself."

The old chief spread his hands, then settled himself on a fine Persian rug. A hookah was close to hand, but Saleh did not reach for the water-pipe. Instead, his keen old eyes fixed upon the younger man, and all attention was his.

"I will begin by telling you of an act of cowardice." Muyaiya began, settling himself. "My tribe was in dire straits. My father was dead, the Hussites had brought a great deal of firepower down on Egypt and there was no chance for my tribe to survive. I am in fact very grateful you chose to take me under your wing and aided me in reaching Georgian territory.

"Since I knew my situation was dire I prayed and fasted for a week hoping Allah would give me guidance and at the end of the week he did. Two things were revealed to me. First, to build an Islamic Brotherhood and eliminate the evil which permeates Georgia. Second, he told me to beware Rashid for he does not bow to the will of Allah.

"Believing the sultan to be a good Moslem, I requested an audience with him and I told him of my vision. He said he strongly supported all things which made Islam stronger. Armed with this knowledge I prepared my tribe. I told them of the grand scheme and how the Georgians were our friends and would support us. Yet I was also wary because Allah would not have given me such a warning without reason.

"One morning Osman, Rashid's right hand, requested I ride with him. I was very leery of this but agreed - Rashid was my benefactor - how could I refuse? We rode and it was very pleasant then just as I was beginning to feel at ease Osman plunged his dagger into my back! Like a true coward, he bundled up my body and tossed me into a deep ravine. Only by an act of Allah did I land in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall and survive. I put the cold mud of the Holy Lands on my wounds and rested for a long time.

"While I lay on that barren shore healing - slipping in and out of consciousness - two angels came down and sat with me. They told me Allah had sent them to watch over me and ensure I complete the tasks the god had laid before me.

"While they watched voices spoke from the air, telling me tales of Light and tales of Darkness. They told me how while the Ice benefited the three tribes of the Sahara they were in reality foul demons bent on the world's destruction. They told me the world is full of such foul denizens and men themselves must destroy these powers of darkness.

"Purging not only Islamic lands but also all lands. They declared that the Ahl Al-Kitab be followed and those who follow the one true God be used as instruments and allies to achieve the goal of eliminating as much evil in the world as possible. I swore to them I was the man to lead their crusade against the darkness wherever it might lurk.

"I had healed but apparently the angels were still skeptical of my fortitude so they assigned set before me three tasks: first, to recover a pigeon's egg from the djinn of the Rhub-Al-Khalit."

Muyaia reached into his robe and drew out a simple, worn round stone. Saleh leaned closer, raising one white eyebrow at the impeccable smoothness of the stone. In the light of the copper lanterns hanging from the roof of the tent, the egg seemed to gleam with an inner light.

"This instrument," Muyaia said, returning the egg to his pocket, "if used properly can kill the unkillable. My reward was my life. Second, to find the daughter of a descendent of Mohamed in the Holiest City of Islam. And win her love. My reward for this? Allah granted me a son."

Muyaia smiled, thinking of his distant family, and years of care and worry and struggle dropped away from his face.

"Last, go into Georgia and stop the Georgian King from completing construction of the temple to Ahuramadza. I have achieved two of these goals and with your help I will achieve the third. In the next few months men loyal to me will move across the desert, led the greatest Sunni general of our time, Bey Senghor.

"Even as the feyaheen reach my side, the armies of the king of kings will invade Georgia from the east. From the north the Swedes will come and from the west the Dane. All these armies will be bent on destroying Georgia and bringing an end to the reign of the idolater Rashid.

Saleh's face had grown long during the younger man's speech, and now he made to speak. Muyaia forestalled him, raising a quelling hand.

"Wait, old friend. You may have already received your marching orders to oppose these invasions but I respectfully request you refuse. The Zoroastrian Temple is being built by a King who claims to be a Sunni, yet the Moslems and the Fire-Worshippers have always been enemies - so I ask you why would he do such a thing?

"Rashid no longer follows the one God. He has been lured into dark pacts by I do not even fully understand and he will drag everyone down with him if he can. I respectfully request you do not travel down this path, the Persians are loyal Moslems and more powerful than the Georgians, I assure you. Your tribe with my help would benefit very greatly if you followed my lead and assisted them in their efforts against Rashid."

Saleh stood, slowly unfolding himself from the floor. His graven old face was troubled and a thin, wrinkled hand stroked his beard. At last he said, "you have been long in the desert, cousin. You do not know of Osman's death, or of my ascent in the favor of the great Sultan."

The Tuareg's eyes flickered in the lamplight.

"All these things you tell me - they are known already in Baghdad. The eyes of the Sultan see far, and pierce all veils. All things are known to him, every secret revealed."

Saleh drew a pistol from his robes - a queer weapon of black metal. Muyaia grew very still, and his own blade and pistol seemed vanishingly far away, sitting on the table between them.

"Your frail little desert god must place his trust in men," the Tuareg laughed in a chilling, half-mad voice. "But I serve a god himself, and his power splits the heavens! Look you outside, and you will see the stroke of his anger arc across the heavens. Soon the blow will land, the earth will shake, mountains tremble and the great kingdoms of man will be cast down!"

Muyaia moved - a flash of motion - and the tent plunged into darkness. Saleh screamed, hot oil from the lamps splashing across his face. The black pistol banged in darkness, a jet of flame casting wild shadows on the ceiling. The young Moslem was gone, one wall of the tent cloven open.

"Guards!" Saleh screamed, leaping out into the night. "Wake! Wake and find me this dog of a Sayyaf!"

Yet Muyaia escaped, though the Tuaregs hunted for him high and low, and with all the powers at their command. Messengers were dispatched to Baghdad and old Saleh - now the right hand of Rashid - knew a pure, gnawing fear. What would happen to him now he had failed?

Now read the War Against the Beast.

The Sultans

  • Rashid Ibn-Majid 1725-1746
  • Bashar of Qum 1714-1725
  • Gazan u-Said 1695-1714
  • Lucuan Muhammad 1675-1694
  • Walid Jahan Muhammad 1657-1675

The Players

  • T191-T208 (1699-1746) Colin Dunningan
  • T188-T190 (1703-1708) Peter Kurten
  • T186-T187 (1699-1702) Seth Zuckerman
  • T177-T185 (1681-1698) (unknown)
  • T165-T176 (1657-1680) Jeff Parkes

Last updated: 23 September 2003

© 2003 Robert Pierce

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