“Pomle, Savere, and Illivere. All dangerous, although Pomle—the tiny one shaped like a circle—isn’t hostile towards us. They’re neutral by and large, but they could go to war, and they possess significant military might despite being so small. Illivere’s prosperous and dangerous if political, and Savere is prosperous, dangerous, seafaring, and their ruler hates me.”
“Pomle, Savere, and Illivere. All dangerous, although Pomle—the tiny one shaped like a circle—isn’t hostile towards us. They’re neutral by and large, but they could go to war, and they possess significant military might despite being so small. Illivere’s prosperous and dangerous if political, and Savere is prosperous, dangerous, seafaring, and their ruler hates me.”
“You are. To every nation south of here. To the rulers of Nerrhavia, Tiqr, Illivere, Pomle, Savere…I have contacted City Runners in Hellios who will deliver my message north and east.”
On the other hand, Raelt was no monarch to sing songs about, at least in his mind. He was no Siren of Savere or Quarass with countless years of history and a unique country to manage and culture to draw upon. Jecrass had its quirks, but it was no Pomle.
It was past midmorning and into early evening when Orjin of Pomle was interrupted. He was in training, balancing on a pile of rocks with one foot. The stack was about six feet high, made up of a large rock with a relatively flat top, followed by ever-smaller rocks that threatened to shift and fall down with every move Orjin made with his one foot balanced on top of them.
The man sat on the ground, sighing. Salii sat with him, and he looked at her, attentive, if not quite happy. He was no [King], or ruler in the sense of having a class. Perhaps he should have one, but Orjin of Pomle had no desire to be a leader. The fact that he was one was purely coincidental and had no bearing on how he lived his life. Most of the time, that was.
“Peace. And he wants his subjects to return to him? This doesn’t concern Pomle. We had no quarrel with the King of Destruction and if anyone wished to go to him, they are already gone.”
Pomle was a small nation. If you looked at it on the map it would be almost a complete circle, a little dot sandwiched between other nations, right at an intersection between four, in fact. It was a tiny nation, smaller even than Reim had been. But it was important, for Pomle was known far and wide as neutral territory.
Pomle was a small nation. If you looked at it on the map it would be almost a complete circle, a little dot sandwiched between other nations, right at an intersection between four, in fact. It was a tiny nation, smaller even than Reim had been. But it was important, for Pomle was known far and wide as neutral territory.
It had no government, no rulers, and those who came to Pomle were free to do as they pleased. Most who lived in the country trained for combat, [Martial Artists], hermits practicing some style of weaponry—more than one famous warrior had trained in Pomle’s single oasis or on the plateaus of its grounds. But other sorts came to Pomle too. Outcasts. Refugees. Criminals.
