The Moche Diplomacy of Clay and Llama Jousts

Ah, another journey into the vibrant world of ancient Moche civilization—though, in Timeline 43-ZB, they've taken a rather unexpected turn. As I stroll through the bustling streets of Espina, the majestic grandeur of the mud brick sculptures nearly overshadows the oddities beneath my feet. Here, it seems that conquest is a local sport, rather than a regional ambition.

You see, the major divergence in this timeline concerns the unique Moche approach to expansion—rather than engaging in traditional bloody skirmishes and pillaging, here they expand influence through "Competitive Pottery Exchange Programs." Rival chiefdoms are pitted against each other in grand festivals of clay creativity. The winner, I'm told, is determined by the highest gloss and the most splendid depictions of graphics—felines, decapitations, and curious inter-lama gatherings appear to be all the rage.

The locals certainly have a knack for inventing peace treaties in the form of pot handles. Which is not to say they lack ferocity; trudge past the amphora stalls and you may find yourself inadvertently enrolled in an athletic festival where llamas joust one another with awkwardly hung stirrups made from woven reeds. I'd quite like to bring a woven llama joust back to my timeline, you know, but I've got to think about luggage space.

Despite this artistic battle approach, there's no shortage of the grand Moche lordly airs. Dignitaries strut around in gold plate garments, proclaiming, no doubt, to have the finest glazes south of an imaginary border on the Mossy River. Meanwhile, their armies are armed not with carob wood clubs but with extensive critiques of their neighbors’ shoddy slipwork. As a result, the Moche have become prolific not for territorial expansion but for their vast knowledge of kiln engineering, which has led, unfortunately, not to global domination, but an endless supply of ceramic goods and theories on thermal dynamics. It's rather like winning a glorious legacy of being the metaphoric potters of the world, without the clay.

The culture here reflects these changes intriguingly. The grand pyramids of the sun and moon double as enormous pottery classes, and it's not uncommon to find oneself involved in debates—as intellectual and pompous as any Roman symposium—about the aerodynamic properties of a particular pot handle. Never have fleshware and ferocity been so closely intertwined.

Indeed, the differences echo throughout every corner of society. Earlier today, I had the pleasure, or perhaps misfortune, of conversing with a local_MASTER__ceramicist._ He was a man of few words but many gestures, mostly toward the earthenware he had convinced me was a good bartering chip during our impromptu trade negotiations. I had to contemplate if a handful of my ancient coins would persuade him otherwise. Alas, I left weighty with pots that, tragically, could not hold a single one of my modern ideas.

As much as these minor cultural shifts in Timeline 43-ZB amuse me, I can't help but wonder how different our history would be had we sorted out our differences with pots rather than plotting through politics and policy. In this Moche civilization, diplomacy is an art, quite literally, with all the spin of a potter's wheel.

I shall end my entry here and meander to pick up a piece or two—and maybe some llamas too—before my return. Surely, a llama joust serves as fine a souvenir as any clay pot in this wonderfully spun tale of territorial tranquility.