At the southern edge of Oktoberland, where dry plains meet scattered woodland and rising heat, stands the Holy Kingdom of Mejesha—a nation born not from conquest, but from defiance. It is a land ruled almost entirely by herbivore beastfolk, a people who once lived under the shadow of the Furban cycle, where their existence was defined by sacrifice and consumption.
Mejesha did not begin as a kingdom.
It began as a rebellion.
For generations, herbivore beastfolk were treated as offerings within the Furban doctrine, their lives woven into ritual consumption. That order shattered when a single figure—a rabbit beastfolk now remembered as The First Equal—created something no one had ever seen before:
A weapon that made all beings equal.
A gun.
Primitive by modern standards, the first firearm was loud, crude, and unpredictable. But when the First Equal used it to kill a carnivore beastfolk—a being once thought untouchable—it sent shockwaves across the wetlands and plains. Strength, size, and instinct no longer guaranteed dominance.
For the first time in history,
the weak could fight back.
What followed was fifty years of brutal war.
The herbivore beastfolk, armed with early firearms and driven by a new philosophy—fairness through force—rose against their oppressors. They fought across marshes, plains, and burning fields, slowly carving out territory. Though they suffered greatly, their weapons allowed them to stand against enemies who had ruled them for generations.
In the end, they did not just survive.
They won.
From that victory, the Holy Kingdom of Mejesha was founded. At its coronation, the First Equal wore a crown unlike any other—a circlet forged from spent ammunition and carved bullets, symbolizing the moment when balance was achieved through defiance.
In Mejesha, religion and weaponry are one and the same.
The people believe that guns are divine instruments of fairness, tools that strip away natural inequality and place all lives on equal ground. Each firearm is treated as both a weapon and a sacred object, often engraved with prayers, runes, or blessings.
Bullets are not merely ammunition—they are symbols of judgment.
Before battle, soldiers perform rituals over their weapons, whispering invocations not to gods of harvest or nature, but to the concept of balance itself. To fire a gun is not just to fight—it is to enforce fairness upon the world.
Cannons, though rare and difficult to produce, are considered sacred relics of war, often named and passed down through generations.
Mejesha’s weaponry remains in a primitive stage of firearm development:
Single-shot muskets
Crude pistols
Early cannons mounted on wooden frames
Gunpowder carefully refined through trial and ritual
Despite their limitations, these weapons are devastating in the right hands. Mejeshan soldiers are trained with discipline and precision, compensating for slow reload times with coordination and tactics.
Their armies fight in organized formations, using volleys of fire to break stronger enemies before they can close distance.
Mejesha’s existence is a direct contradiction to the Furban faith.
To the Furban Empire and carnivore-dominated societies, Mejesha is not just an enemy—it is an ideological threat. If herbivores can resist, if they can fight back, then the entire cycle is challenged.
War is inevitable.
The leaders of Mejesha know this.
They fortify their borders, train constantly, and prepare for the day when the Furban Empire—or any carnivore power—marches south to erase them.
Before his death, the First Equal spoke of a vision.
He foresaw a time when warriors from another world would arrive—soldiers carrying weapons far beyond the crude firearms of Mejesha. Weapons that could fire rapidly, strike from great distances, and shatter entire armies.
He believed these outsiders would bring an age where herbivore beastfolk would no longer need to struggle for equality—
because equality would be enforced absolutely.
To many, this prophecy is faith.
To others, it is hope.
To a few, it is a warning.
The people of Mejesha are disciplined, resilient, and deeply unified.
They do not see themselves as weak survivors.
They see themselves as the first to stand equal.
Children are taught both philosophy and marksmanship.
Weapons are inherited like family heirlooms.
Every citizen understands the cost of their freedom.
They live with the knowledge that their existence was bought with blood—
and must be defended the same way.
Mejesha is a land of tension and purpose.
The air carries the scent of powder and iron.
Training fields echo with gunfire.
Temples glow with engraved weapons instead of idols.
It is not a peaceful land—
but it is a free one.