What about the more northerly settled groups? I recall that some are penetrating into southern Queensland, and from what I recall that area has a much more clement climate for rice cultivation, and is much wetter. Might that become their killer crop (Hopefully not literally)?
Lands of Red and Gold
- Thread starter Jared
- Start date
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What about the more northerly settled groups? I recall that some are penetrating into southern Queensland, and from what I recall that area has a much more clement climate for rice cultivation, and is much wetter. Might that become their killer crop (Hopefully not literally)?
Jared this TL is truly the crown jewel of AH.COM
Merci.
I hope it doesn't take that long to finish! DoD took 5 and a half years to finish, and it weighs in at about 725,000 words...
None taken, but Russia's growth in the DoDverse should be taken in context.
Remember two of the main themes I was exploring in DoD. One was dystopia is a matter of perspective. From OTL, what happens to most of the Americas in DoD is a dystopia. From the perspective of an ATL Russian (or German), though, what happens in OTL is the dystopia...
The other theme I was exploring was reversing one of the major trends of the OTL twentieth century. In OTL, countries who started wars of aggression during the twentieth century mostly lost. This created the world that we know. Including the United Nations, which, whatever else you may think about it, has meant that not a single UN member state has ever been involuntarily conquered and absorbed into another country. Not one.
In the DoDverse, during the major wars of the first half of the twentieth century, the winning powers are the conquering, aggressive powers. That produces rather a different world. (Yes, that includes Russia, but also Germany and the *USA).
+ i live in Australia as well.
According to some of the rumours, so do I. Never be too sure if you can trust rumours, though.
Rice can be grown in Queensland, but in OTL never anywhere near on the scale that is grown in the Murray basin. The peak Queensland crop never exceeded 30,000 tonnes of rice, and it's been declining for many years. By comparison, the Riverina area in the Murray basin produces about 1.7 million tonnes.
In other words, rice may grow a bit in ATL Queensland, but I don't think it'll be a decisive crop. Sweet potatoes actually do a lot better there, and have already spread there ITTL. Cassava might do pretty well too, if it's introduced; I'd need to check its growing conditions and soil requirements.
Rather complicated, depending on which group of Plirites and which time period. In general, though, they are reasonably conservative in terms of public appearance and behaviour (ie PDAs are frowned on, and bikinis would be right out).
Private behaviour is not as strongly regulated. They don't have anything resembling the underlying attitude in some Christian nations that associates sex with guilt - prostitution is not seen as particularly shameful, for instance, and they don't have any concept that would translate English words such as "slut" (or "stud", for that matter).
On the other hand, that doesn't mean "anything goes", either. But they see everything in terms of maintaining balance and social harmony. Breaking a marriage contract by a married man sleeping with another man's wife is bad, what happens between unmarried people is of less concern. They do have mistresses, for instance, which are socially recognised and not particularly shameful.
In general, women have less rights in these matters, but they do have a few. There are circumstances where a wife can call for divorce, for instance, based on various categories of poor treatment or if her husband has slept with another married woman (or married man, for that matter, although that's much less common).
Ingenious, clever, original, well-written, and solid - So, uh, is there any map? I'm a visual learner
Ingenious, clever, original, well-written, and solid - So, uh, is there any map? I'm a visual learner
There are many maps for Lands of Red and Gold, helpfully drawn by a variety of AH.commers.
They're stored on the DoD website, which is here.
Plirites, like all Aururian peoples (except for the Kiyungu and Yadji, kinda-sorta), don't have any concept of homosexuality as a separate sexual identity. That is, they think in terms of particular acts, not of a general identity as gay or straight.
Within Plirite traditions, most of them don't explicitly condemn homosexual acts - much as with sexual morality in general, they are restrictive of public activity but less concerned with what happens privately. That doesn't mean that they're fond of it, though - just that it's not something which they get too worked up over.
A few Plirite temples condemn homosexual acts on the grounds of viewing it as "upsetting the balance" - they see the union of male and female as bringing part of the balance of the universe, and male-male or female-female as contributing to disharmony. Those are the minority, though.
Lands of Red and Gold #36: Breeze Ruffles The Petals
Lands of Red and Gold #36: Breeze Ruffles The Petals
Life is keeping me rather busy of late, which has delayed me from writing what was planned to be the second half of this post. Rather than keep everyone waiting even longer, I thought I’d at least post the first half.
* * *
“For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be.”
- Matthew 24:21
* * *
Year of the Twisted Serpent [June 1629]
Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)
Without any false modesty, Gunya Yadji knew that he looked splendid today. Of course, he had no modesty in him, false or otherwise. But then, today of all days, he had to appear in his finest attire.
Gunya wore his most splendid tunic, woven from a base of dog-wool collected from the packs of hair-dogs maintained on the royal estates to the east of Kirunmara. The dog-wool had been carefully dyed into a pattern of azure and scarlet. Around his chest, golden thread had been woven into the pattern, and four small silver plates studded with freshwater pearls. The weight of his anjumi [headband] spoke of the gold thread which had been used in that, too. Fortunately, the lorikeet feathers which decorated his anjumi were as light as they were spectacular.
He strode out of his private chambers, where his scale-armour-clad bodyguards awaited him. The four bodyguards went down on one knee and ritually pressed their lips against the cold floor tiles.
“Obey me,” he said, using the ritual words, and they rose to stand around him.
“To my cousin’s chambers,” Gunya added. The first bodyguard led the way toward the private chambers of the Regent, who was after all the only cousin whom Gunya would never refer to by name.
They never reached the Regent’s chambers, of course. All as Gunya had known, or rather, hoped. If Gunya’s mad cousin who called himself the Regent could still be found in his chambers, or even found breathing at all, then events had gone terribly wrong.
Jirandali, Third Watcher of the Dreams [a senior priest], intercepted him about halfway to the Regent’s chambers. Jirandali wore finery almost a match for Gunya’s own: a single gold plate adorned with polished rubies and diamonds covered his chest, and his anjumi was decorated with tanned goanna-skin leather. An unusually splendid outfit, which meant that the priest must have been attending the Mask Dance.
Sure enough, Jirandali said, “I bear the gravest of news for you.”
The man used the neutral version of the pronoun when referring to Gunya [1]! Either he was distressed enough to commit a major social blunder, or he presumed far above his station. Gunya was a prince of the royal family, who even his worst foes admitted was second in line to the succession – and in his own opinion, first in line. No priest could claim him as an equal!
Gunya did not answer, waiting for Jirandali to admit the gravity of his error.
The priest did not appear to notice. He looked instead to the bodyguards. “This news should not be overheard.”
After such an insult, Gunya was not of a mind to make even minor concessions. He inclined his head to his bodyguards and said, “Speak of this to no-one without my permission.”
Jirandali fixed him with a level stare. Gunya matched it.
After a moment, the priest relented. “Your cousin, the Regent, has been hastened on his journey to join your royal ancestors.”
“That is an abomination,” Gunya said. He carefully did not pretend to show shock at the news. Astonishment would be expected, in one sense, since this was a crime which had not happened since far beyond living memory. In the more important sense, though, showing surprise would also show weakness. “Which man has served the Lord of Night with such a deed?”
“Not a man. A woman. Lenawirra, who was to perform the Mask Dance, stabbed the Regent.”
“This will not be publicly announced,” Gunya said, using the commanding form of the verb [2].
“Quite. Let it be said that the swelling-fever [mumps] has claimed him,” the priest said.
“Well-chosen. The sickness caused by these strange Raw Men is believable,” Gunya said.
Such a good answer, in fact, that suspicion stirred in Gunya’s heart. How did Jirandali have such a plausible excuse so ready to bring out? Perhaps the priests had been making plans of their own.
Well, I’ll have to see about that. “No matter how the truth is concealed from the world, we must find it. How convenient it is that the... now-departed? Yes, good, the now-departed Lenawirra was able to conceal a knife? Who was responsible for searching her before she came into the presence of my cousin?”
“I do not know,” Jirandali said, using the commanding form of the verb. Interesting.
“Find out, then, and quickly,” Gunya said.
In truth, he neither knew nor cared exactly how Lenawirra had concealed the knife. It may well have been that respect for the dignity of the woman chosen to dance the tribute to the Regent [ie perform the Mask Dance] had kept anyone from searching her. But asking the question would make the priests uncomfortable until they had an answer. Anything which gave discomfort to the priests was valuable, and doubly-so at a time when he would need them distracted.
All that Gunya cared about was that he knew that the trail would not lead back to him. He had nothing to do with the means Lenawirra had used, only her motivation. It had taken considerable effort to bring her to think of the need to commit this deed. No doubt she even thought to her dying moment that it was her own idea. Her own inception.
Gunya knew better, of course. His departed, unlamented cousin Boringa had been only an occasional guest in the halls of sanity. That had suited the priests well – far too well, since they could claim to speak for him, and ignore the wishes of those who knew better how to renew the vigour of the realm.
The Land of the Five Directions had drifted leaderless for too long, weakened inside its borders. While outside the treacherous Tjibarr had seized the wealth of the Copper Coast, and the mercurial Gutjanal had seized the northern gold mines of Djawrit [Bendigo, Victoria]. A firm hand was needed, one which could slap down the priests and then strike the enemies abroad.
“I will ensure that an investigation is undertaken,” Jirandali said. “Questions will be asked, as vigorously as needed. In the meantime, who will oversee the rites for the Regent?”
A dangerous question, that one, and another reminder that the priests must be playing games of their own.
“I will do that,” Gunya said, as he had long been planning.
“Then I leave it to you to inform Bailgu Yadji,” Jirandali said, then turned smoothly on one heel and withdrew.
Gunya decided, then, that Jirandali would have to suffer the same fate as his recently-departed cousin. Such a barb, such insolence, could not be tolerated. Well, there were many ways that a man could die.
Bailgu! How dare that meddlesome priest speak of him now? Bailgu had far too much ambition – everyone knew it – and would surely bid to follow Boringa into the Regency. He would have to be dealt with, one way or another, but Gunya did not need the priests interfering.
“To the Eagle Tiles [3],” he said. “Much must be done.”
* * *
The Yadji Empire had long been ruled by the family of the same name, but in the centuries of its existence, it had never solved two fundamental questions: how the royal succession should be determined, and what the relationship should be between royal princes and senior priests.
The royal succession was complex since there had never been any formal system of primogeniture. Any close male relative of the current Regent could be chosen as successor. Yadji stability relied on the authority of the current Regent to name a preferred heir, which could usually be honoured after his death. Occasionally the succession had been challenged, but the only serious bloodbaths had been fought when the succession was unclear.
The relationship and lines of authority between senior priests and the royal princes was equally complex. Priests in the outlying towns were little more than extensions of the Regent’s will, and relocated regularly to prevent them establishing a local power base. Senior priests were another matter entirely; their tenure in the capital was usually for life.
During times of a strong Regent, senior priests in Kirunmara were often given considerable de facto authority, since they were perceived as more reliable than often quarrelsome princes. In times of a weak Regent, the senior priests sometimes had even more authority, since they were able to persuade a Regent to follow their lead. When the Regent was gone, the senior priests often had some influence over his successor.
Nevertheless, no matter how much unofficial power the priests had, no priest could ever formally rule the Land of the Five Directions. All authority ultimately derived from the Yadji family, from the descendants of Narryani. The royal princes might seek the support of the priests, or the priests might find a means to use a royal prince as a figurehead, but the princes could never be ignored entirely.
With the assassination of Boringa Yadji, and an investigation into his murder which would ultimately prove fruitless, the worst aspects of the Yadji power structure were now brought to the fore.
No clear successor existed. Boringa had never fathered a legitimate child. Nor had he named a chosen successor. Given that he had been known to speak as the interpreter for his pet rock, any designation of a successor would likely have been ignored anyway.
Without a son, the most likely candidates for the succession were the two oldest cousins, Gunya and Bailgu Yadji. Neither had a clear advantage over the other. Gunya was older, but was the son of Boringa’s youngest aunt. Bailgu was younger, but the son of Boringa’s elder aunt. Both believed that they had the strongest claim, and both were prepared to fight to back their claims.
Worse, the senior priests were bitterly divided about which prince to support. The arguments turned into recriminations, which turned into rows. Ultimately, the Yadji succession would be determined on the battlefield...
* * *
“In battle, never a step backward.”
- Yadji saying
* * *
[1] All Junditmara pronouns and personal titles come in six versions: dominant, submissive, masculine, feminine, neutral, and familiar. A complex set of social codes dictates which form should be used in which circumstances. (See post #16 for more information). In this instance, Gunya is concerned because the priest used the neutral form, which suggests either that he does not know whether Gunya is a superior or not, or that they are of equal rank.
[2] In the Junditmara language, most verbs have two flavours, which can be roughly categorised as “directive” or “suggestive”. Directive implies command that something must be done, or in other circumstances, indicates that a person is certain that something was done. Suggestive describes a request or a preference, or in some cases, indicates that a person is uncertain whether something happened in a particular way.
[3] ie the room where the Mask Dance is performed.
* * *
Thoughts?
Life is keeping me rather busy of late, which has delayed me from writing what was planned to be the second half of this post. Rather than keep everyone waiting even longer, I thought I’d at least post the first half.
* * *
“For then there will be great tribulation, such as has not been from the beginning of the world until now, no, and never will be.”
- Matthew 24:21
* * *
Year of the Twisted Serpent [June 1629]
Kirunmara [Terang, Victoria]
Land of the Five Directions (Yadji Empire)
Without any false modesty, Gunya Yadji knew that he looked splendid today. Of course, he had no modesty in him, false or otherwise. But then, today of all days, he had to appear in his finest attire.
Gunya wore his most splendid tunic, woven from a base of dog-wool collected from the packs of hair-dogs maintained on the royal estates to the east of Kirunmara. The dog-wool had been carefully dyed into a pattern of azure and scarlet. Around his chest, golden thread had been woven into the pattern, and four small silver plates studded with freshwater pearls. The weight of his anjumi [headband] spoke of the gold thread which had been used in that, too. Fortunately, the lorikeet feathers which decorated his anjumi were as light as they were spectacular.
He strode out of his private chambers, where his scale-armour-clad bodyguards awaited him. The four bodyguards went down on one knee and ritually pressed their lips against the cold floor tiles.
“Obey me,” he said, using the ritual words, and they rose to stand around him.
“To my cousin’s chambers,” Gunya added. The first bodyguard led the way toward the private chambers of the Regent, who was after all the only cousin whom Gunya would never refer to by name.
They never reached the Regent’s chambers, of course. All as Gunya had known, or rather, hoped. If Gunya’s mad cousin who called himself the Regent could still be found in his chambers, or even found breathing at all, then events had gone terribly wrong.
Jirandali, Third Watcher of the Dreams [a senior priest], intercepted him about halfway to the Regent’s chambers. Jirandali wore finery almost a match for Gunya’s own: a single gold plate adorned with polished rubies and diamonds covered his chest, and his anjumi was decorated with tanned goanna-skin leather. An unusually splendid outfit, which meant that the priest must have been attending the Mask Dance.
Sure enough, Jirandali said, “I bear the gravest of news for you.”
The man used the neutral version of the pronoun when referring to Gunya [1]! Either he was distressed enough to commit a major social blunder, or he presumed far above his station. Gunya was a prince of the royal family, who even his worst foes admitted was second in line to the succession – and in his own opinion, first in line. No priest could claim him as an equal!
Gunya did not answer, waiting for Jirandali to admit the gravity of his error.
The priest did not appear to notice. He looked instead to the bodyguards. “This news should not be overheard.”
After such an insult, Gunya was not of a mind to make even minor concessions. He inclined his head to his bodyguards and said, “Speak of this to no-one without my permission.”
Jirandali fixed him with a level stare. Gunya matched it.
After a moment, the priest relented. “Your cousin, the Regent, has been hastened on his journey to join your royal ancestors.”
“That is an abomination,” Gunya said. He carefully did not pretend to show shock at the news. Astonishment would be expected, in one sense, since this was a crime which had not happened since far beyond living memory. In the more important sense, though, showing surprise would also show weakness. “Which man has served the Lord of Night with such a deed?”
“Not a man. A woman. Lenawirra, who was to perform the Mask Dance, stabbed the Regent.”
“This will not be publicly announced,” Gunya said, using the commanding form of the verb [2].
“Quite. Let it be said that the swelling-fever [mumps] has claimed him,” the priest said.
“Well-chosen. The sickness caused by these strange Raw Men is believable,” Gunya said.
Such a good answer, in fact, that suspicion stirred in Gunya’s heart. How did Jirandali have such a plausible excuse so ready to bring out? Perhaps the priests had been making plans of their own.
Well, I’ll have to see about that. “No matter how the truth is concealed from the world, we must find it. How convenient it is that the... now-departed? Yes, good, the now-departed Lenawirra was able to conceal a knife? Who was responsible for searching her before she came into the presence of my cousin?”
“I do not know,” Jirandali said, using the commanding form of the verb. Interesting.
“Find out, then, and quickly,” Gunya said.
In truth, he neither knew nor cared exactly how Lenawirra had concealed the knife. It may well have been that respect for the dignity of the woman chosen to dance the tribute to the Regent [ie perform the Mask Dance] had kept anyone from searching her. But asking the question would make the priests uncomfortable until they had an answer. Anything which gave discomfort to the priests was valuable, and doubly-so at a time when he would need them distracted.
All that Gunya cared about was that he knew that the trail would not lead back to him. He had nothing to do with the means Lenawirra had used, only her motivation. It had taken considerable effort to bring her to think of the need to commit this deed. No doubt she even thought to her dying moment that it was her own idea. Her own inception.
Gunya knew better, of course. His departed, unlamented cousin Boringa had been only an occasional guest in the halls of sanity. That had suited the priests well – far too well, since they could claim to speak for him, and ignore the wishes of those who knew better how to renew the vigour of the realm.
The Land of the Five Directions had drifted leaderless for too long, weakened inside its borders. While outside the treacherous Tjibarr had seized the wealth of the Copper Coast, and the mercurial Gutjanal had seized the northern gold mines of Djawrit [Bendigo, Victoria]. A firm hand was needed, one which could slap down the priests and then strike the enemies abroad.
“I will ensure that an investigation is undertaken,” Jirandali said. “Questions will be asked, as vigorously as needed. In the meantime, who will oversee the rites for the Regent?”
A dangerous question, that one, and another reminder that the priests must be playing games of their own.
“I will do that,” Gunya said, as he had long been planning.
“Then I leave it to you to inform Bailgu Yadji,” Jirandali said, then turned smoothly on one heel and withdrew.
Gunya decided, then, that Jirandali would have to suffer the same fate as his recently-departed cousin. Such a barb, such insolence, could not be tolerated. Well, there were many ways that a man could die.
Bailgu! How dare that meddlesome priest speak of him now? Bailgu had far too much ambition – everyone knew it – and would surely bid to follow Boringa into the Regency. He would have to be dealt with, one way or another, but Gunya did not need the priests interfering.
“To the Eagle Tiles [3],” he said. “Much must be done.”
* * *
The Yadji Empire had long been ruled by the family of the same name, but in the centuries of its existence, it had never solved two fundamental questions: how the royal succession should be determined, and what the relationship should be between royal princes and senior priests.
The royal succession was complex since there had never been any formal system of primogeniture. Any close male relative of the current Regent could be chosen as successor. Yadji stability relied on the authority of the current Regent to name a preferred heir, which could usually be honoured after his death. Occasionally the succession had been challenged, but the only serious bloodbaths had been fought when the succession was unclear.
The relationship and lines of authority between senior priests and the royal princes was equally complex. Priests in the outlying towns were little more than extensions of the Regent’s will, and relocated regularly to prevent them establishing a local power base. Senior priests were another matter entirely; their tenure in the capital was usually for life.
During times of a strong Regent, senior priests in Kirunmara were often given considerable de facto authority, since they were perceived as more reliable than often quarrelsome princes. In times of a weak Regent, the senior priests sometimes had even more authority, since they were able to persuade a Regent to follow their lead. When the Regent was gone, the senior priests often had some influence over his successor.
Nevertheless, no matter how much unofficial power the priests had, no priest could ever formally rule the Land of the Five Directions. All authority ultimately derived from the Yadji family, from the descendants of Narryani. The royal princes might seek the support of the priests, or the priests might find a means to use a royal prince as a figurehead, but the princes could never be ignored entirely.
With the assassination of Boringa Yadji, and an investigation into his murder which would ultimately prove fruitless, the worst aspects of the Yadji power structure were now brought to the fore.
No clear successor existed. Boringa had never fathered a legitimate child. Nor had he named a chosen successor. Given that he had been known to speak as the interpreter for his pet rock, any designation of a successor would likely have been ignored anyway.
Without a son, the most likely candidates for the succession were the two oldest cousins, Gunya and Bailgu Yadji. Neither had a clear advantage over the other. Gunya was older, but was the son of Boringa’s youngest aunt. Bailgu was younger, but the son of Boringa’s elder aunt. Both believed that they had the strongest claim, and both were prepared to fight to back their claims.
Worse, the senior priests were bitterly divided about which prince to support. The arguments turned into recriminations, which turned into rows. Ultimately, the Yadji succession would be determined on the battlefield...
* * *
“In battle, never a step backward.”
- Yadji saying
* * *
[1] All Junditmara pronouns and personal titles come in six versions: dominant, submissive, masculine, feminine, neutral, and familiar. A complex set of social codes dictates which form should be used in which circumstances. (See post #16 for more information). In this instance, Gunya is concerned because the priest used the neutral form, which suggests either that he does not know whether Gunya is a superior or not, or that they are of equal rank.
[2] In the Junditmara language, most verbs have two flavours, which can be roughly categorised as “directive” or “suggestive”. Directive implies command that something must be done, or in other circumstances, indicates that a person is certain that something was done. Suggestive describes a request or a preference, or in some cases, indicates that a person is uncertain whether something happened in a particular way.
[3] ie the room where the Mask Dance is performed.
* * *
Thoughts?
Uh oh. When Nuyts's force gets there, we'll see three different groups vying for control of the Yadji, maybe more if either heir's forces splinter into different factions. Whatever happens seems like it will set a precedent for the European involvement in Aururia, especially seeing as the English are down there now too.
Knowing the political nous of the Yadji family (you don't get to rule as long as they have without being at least a little shrewd) he'll probably end up fighting for one of the factions rather than against both of them
OT. Something that's occurred to me is that, so far as I can tell, none of the empires or kingdoms of Aururia has produced anything like the Academy at Athens or the Museum at Alexandria. Is there just no curiosity about the natural world amongst the Aururians, or do their religions tend to discourage such enquiry?
OT. Something that's occurred to me is that, so far as I can tell, none of the empires or kingdoms of Aururia has produced anything like the Academy at Athens or the Museum at Alexandria. Is there just no curiosity about the natural world amongst the Aururians, or do their religions tend to discourage such enquiry?
I don't remember the full details, but it has been said the Atjuntja are quite advanced in terms of astronomy, and in general medicine is more advanced than in the western world during the same period throughout civilized Aururia.
@Jared: I once saw this on your site. All I can say is:
Wow, probably the most interesting and unique early Aussie althist I've ever seen so far{and probably will see for a long time}.
Wow, probably the most interesting and unique early Aussie althist I've ever seen so far{and probably will see for a long time}.
This is certainly a possibility. Of course, there may well be other things going on the time Nuyts's forces arrive.
Time has jumped around a bit in these posts. What's being described in this instalment is the Yadji situation in 1629. Things could change. Nuyts doesn't even seek out fellow conquerors until 1636, and it will take at least another year to get there.
Mind you, that might make things worse, not better. Even if not politically-divided, that could still mean a nation weakened by civil war and associated destruction.
Quite. If one would-be conquistador succeeds, others will want to follow. Even if Nuyts's actions have only partial success, it will still be an inspiration for Dutch and English alike.
Yes. Nuyts is a bastard in some ways, but he's not completely irrational. He truly believes that he can exploit political divisions within the Yadji to get his way, as Cortes and Pizzaro did before him.
Of course, the Aururian civilizations are generally more politically sophisticated than the Incas or Aztecs were, but that may not be enough.
Knowing the political nous of the Yadji family (you don't get to rule as long as they have without being at least a little shrewd) he'll probably end up fighting for one of the factions rather than against both of them
So he might, but then he might turn on his own allies too. Such are the risks of embracing European allies.
No-one in Aururia has quite come to terms with the philosophical concepts of ancient Greece. That is, while they can and do solve individual problems, they don't really have a concept of rigorous enquiry or pursuit of knowledge separate from religious beliefs. Some of the Gunnagal come closest, but they're not quite there yet.
This isn't unique to the Aururians, though. A lot of ancient peoples had no particular concept of philosophy as a separate discipline.
Some Aururian peoples are more advanced in some fields than the equivalent periods of the western world. Technology doesn't always advance at the same pace in all fields, after all. Medicine is one area where the Aururians are pretty decent, as is astronomy (in some areas) and hydraulic engineering. Some of their metallurgy is pretty good, too. But in other fields, they're woefully behind.
@Jared: I once saw this on your site. All I can say is:
Wow, probably the most interesting and unique early Aussie althist I've ever seen so far{and probably will see for a long time}.
Glad you both like it.
Depends which natural science you're talking about. They are after all in the pre-scientific stage. They have accumulated some ad hoc knowledge in areas, but it is quite erratic.
Astronomy, for instance, as already mentioned is pretty accurate as far as observations go. Several Aururian societies keep good records of astronomical events (the Atjuntja, in particular, and the Gunnagal aren't bad either). Their mathematics aren't at the point of calculating planetary orbits; so they don't have the whole problem of working out circles versus ellipses for explaining the motion of planets.
One interesting aside about Aururian astronomy (and astrology) is that their purpose for stellar observations is quite different from that of most other cultures. Most early astronomy (in the Old World and the New) focused on regular events: when such and such a star rose, the timing of the planets, the phases of the moon, and so on. This had practical applications: knowing that a particular star rising in the early morning was a very handy way of measuring the path of the seasons and knowing when to plant and harvest crops etc.
Aururian astronomers, though, live in an environment where the seasons are much less regular, and also when the time of planting crops is much less important (having perennial rather than annual agriculture). You can't use the rising of Sirius to tell you that this is the right time of year to plant crops, and you can't rely on whether there's going to be a long drought this year or not from regular astronomical events. So Aururians have ended up focusing their astronomy on transient phenomena (nova, supernovas, comets, etc) and trying to use them as omens to predict the irregular seasons, and for harvest cues simply rely on the more reliable flowering of particular plants and behaviour of animals.
This means that Aururian astronomy is damn good at recording comets and supernovas, and they are alert enough for movement that they've spotted Uranus (something no other cultures ever did), but they don't really have a clue about planetary orbits, what time of year particular stars rise or set, or the like. This also meant that they never really came to terms with stellar navigation on their own, either - one reason they weren't much good as seafarers until they picked up that knowledge off the Maori.
Anyway, that was a bit of a long aside. In terms of other natural sciences, medicine is pretty good, also as mentioned before. This is where the Gunnagal come closest to having a scientific world-view - they divide illnesses into "natural" and "supernatural" categories, and have systematic ways of evaluating the effectiveness of treatments for natural illnesses. This hasn't spread to anything like a scientific revolution, since for one thing their physicians like to keep their knowledge exclusive to physicians, and for another don't trouble themselves with applying medical techniques to other fields of inquiry. (Which is why they have distillation that they use for medical purposes, but not distilled spirits).
Other natural sciences: chemistry is still at an early alchemical type stage - they know about a few metals, have some vague and mostly incorrect conceptions of elements, but not much more. Biology/natural history consists of some descriptions of organisms and the like, but not much more. Physics is still a mostly closed box, and the earth sciences are mostly unknown. (Although the Atjuntja do, oddly enough, have a very good grasp of the principles of erosion).
Nice update on Aururian internal power games, Jared!
Glad you like it.
This leads me to a broader question: frequency of updates, or rather the lack of same. As has no doubt become increasingly obvious, the gap between LRG updates has become longer and longer. There are various reasons behind that (work, relationships, other life commitments) which are unlikely to change.
What I've mostly done up until now is waited until I've put together a full post, which for me usually consists of several lengthy sections and might be up to 3-4000 words, if not longer. The last couple of posts, though, I've tried splitting them up by releasing teasers or small instalments which I'd normally just use for the opening of larger posts.
So now I'm wondering whether I should try doing something similar for all posts. Rather than waiting a month or longer to build up a full post, just start releasing smaller sections as and when they are written.
Pros: more frequent updates, allowing people to get at least some glimpses of the LRGverse more often
Cons: posts may be more incoherent, since often what is revealed in one part of an instalment which would be explained later in that instalment, but which may leave a lot of questions hanging around until I finish the rest of the instalment.
So what do people think? Shorter, more frequent but less coherent posts, or less frequent doorstopper posts?
(Either way, I should warn people that I'll be on holidays for the second half of September and early October, so there won't be any LRG posts then regardless of what else I decide.)
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