Jehoshua
Catholic
- Joined
- Sep 25, 2009
- Messages
- 7,248
Precisely why I started a new culture down there
Can't have it all your own way no
although that gaping black void leads me to suspect there is plenty of land to go around.
End of Empires - N3S III
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
Can't have it all your own way no
although that gaping black void leads me to suspect there is plenty of land to go around.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Blood and Earth
"We have conquered the empty lands, and once again become men of blood and earth."
-Arastephas the Redeemer
Part One: The Firelight Rises
“What is the circle? Even the beautiful turns cannot tell us. But at the heart of this mystery lies another. What is reincarnation?”
-Talan the Elder, The Talani Fragments
---
The road was made of mud.
The Redeemer of Man refused to be carried in a litter, but his horse had almost lost its footing twice. Autumn rains in the Nuvn turned this forested streamlet valley with its goatherd track into a slick, slippery mess.
Moving the four thousand men of the Redeemer’s retinue through this forest of dripping pines and rushing waters to Sartasion had become Taexi’s own personal hell.
A great road would fix this. Made straight and given oracle houses and horse posts, it would be a credit to the Exatai and a glory of his reign. He needed a rest from justice after the ugly killing of the Bone Prince; it was time for some order. The Scion of the God of Man could build a road and a few temples before he returned to the killing fields.
“You know, you didn’t have to kill the lad,” said Karal, riding beside him.
“He’s not a lad anymore,” said Taexi. “And you’re dead. Go back to heaven.”
“He was just trying to do what he thought was right. You could have made a peace.”
“And then what? Let the corruption creep into one princedom, and then two, and four? Watch it consume my people’s souls? NEVER!”
He made a slashing motion with his gauntleted fist, and his horse whickered nervously, though it was too well-trained to flinch.
Nor did his guards react. Their Redeemer was blessed with the gift of prophecy.
He heard a dark chuckle and turned to see Avetas riding at his other side. “Let me tell you about corruption, friend. Corruption is knowing that the woman you love will murder your true sons to place your bastard with her on your throne, and not caring enough to stop her.”
“And it tore apart our exatai for seventeen years. You just proved my point. But you fought the same corruption that I fight now.”
“I understood the kalis board, and I played to win. You see a demon behind every shadow.”
“I have seen the demons. I know them,” said Taexi raggedly. “Do not torment me for sport, you are DEAD. STAY DEAD!” His horse shied at the noise, and he jerked on the reins to bring it back to heel.
“But he has a point,” said Karal. “Of course Aitah is a demon. But you’re simply sending her more soldiers in the afterlife. If you want to help us, convert them, don’t slaughter them.”
“I’ll do both, and you’ll thank me when this Exatai survives.”
“You ride a dark path, old friend. The road idea is good, though. I would have done it.”
Taexi lifted his mask to rub his forehead, which was aching again. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the path. Only the sounds of the swollen stream, the birdsong in the trees, and the steady squelching of hooves on mud remained.
“I must see Eshat,” he called to no one in particular. “My visions grow more troubled.”
“My Scion, you know her ways,” said one of his Argavedai, Xelsis, riding behind. “You must seek her out.”
“Not this time. Find her.”
---
The old woman stepped off the ship, escorted by two gracious sailors who lent her their arms as she stepped down the gangplank. She favored them with a coy smile.
Atracta had grown in her absence. She saw a bright, tall new temple with a dome of painted red, complemented by the pink marble for which the capitol had become famous. Further off, the useless old men at the Sephashim seem to have connived her son out of still more money, judging by the rate at which they seemed to be trying to exhaust the world’s supply of stone.
She turned to wait for her charge.
“Come along now, Jahan,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s time you meet the one appointed to watch over you.”
“Y…yes, ephi Zelarri,” said the gangly young man now scrambling down the gangplank, struggling with his own saddle bags, as no servant or slave would carry those of a traitor’s son.
She placed her hand on the side of his neck, only withdrawing it when he shifted uncomfortably underneath her touch.
“I am sure you’ll enjoy the City of Wisdom more than Sartasion, that home of warriors and witch-burners.”
“It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” the boy said.
She fixed him with a stare. “Now, just as we practiced. What will you say, when Taexi’s tarkanai ask us why you were delivered to Atracta instead of to Sartasion as he ordered?”
“I am…to be educated, to better serve the Redeemer, Taleldil, and my brother’s reign.”
“Good boy. If all goes well I will reward you.” At that, Jahan was silent.
She paused to breathe deeply of the fresh, lemon-scented air.
“You know, my little Taro has a son himself, not much older than you. He married late, you know. I fear he could bear no woman besides his mother before my…unfortunate circumstances took me far from him.” She paused to smile knowingly. “I am sure you and Arteras will be great friends. Perhaps you may even rise to be his tarkan, hmm?”
“Of course, ephi Zelarri.”
“Good boy. Now let us find my son.”
---
Nineteen years ago
He could read and understand a battle the way Avetas had understood scrolls, his eyes flickering across the surface and taking in all its information at once. As soon as word came that the young Prince Taexi had been beaten back, he knew exactly what was going to happen.
His sons and daughters had all urged him to flee. He had laughed gently at that. A ninety year old man, fleeing his last battle? It was not to be.
He thought of his first wife, Arishel, who he had sent to Magha to be safe. Who had never emerged from the pillar of flame. He thought of his second wife, sweet Eraiyn who had left behind her faith and her world for his. He hoped that they would not squabble over him in heaven.
He sat in the carved wood chair that had belonged to the quem of Alusille before it had belonged to him. The hall was the same: Exposed, smoke-blackened timbers and a peaked roof in the Evyni style. He had come to love this strange place, so different from the desert world of his birth. He grew wistful for a moment, but then steeled himself.
He was ready.
The first Accan soldier through the door took a crossbow bolt to the face. He had ten bows, all stacked and cocked, and he tossed the first one down after it was spent, picking up the next. Even an old, decrepit man could pull a trigger.
Four of his sons charged into the chamber from the side galleries, swords and spears in hand, blindsiding the Accans filing in through the front. Elikas picked his targets carefully, admiring his children’s weaponship, praising Taleldil when one of his own was cut down. They would see each other soon.
As the melee continued he tottered forward, grabbing a blazing torch. The wall hangings had all been dipped in oil, and oil covered the floor and the timbers. He set them alight, one by one. Then he returned to his chair and smiled. And there, as he sat watching the flames, the man with a mask the color of water came to him, and said a single, perfect word. He gave a sigh of blessed relief. At last, he understood.
The first wave of enemies was dead. Three of his children now lay dead or dying.
He heaved himself out of his chair and stumbled towards the fourth, Itarephas.
“Take Talephas and go.” He coughed, as the hall was already filling with acrid smoke. “It must be Talephas.”
His son hesitated, confused. “My son, the newborn? Father, I will die here defending your body.”
“He is my body. Now do this. It is my last wish. Take the child now. He is our future.”
He returned to his chair, barely able to keep moving in his ancient armor. His eyes swam with tears, his vision growing dim as the smoke increased.
He did not have long to wait.
The next two soldiers to step into the chamber were Zelarri’s elites. Both men were enormous, hulking brutes, their metal visors down, identically clad in shining black armor like the carapace of a monstrous beetle.
“I remember your words, Satores,” he whispered. And the Firelight rose from his throne.
"I am Elikas-ta-Tisatar, the last ghost of the Armageddon,” he proclaimed in thundering Old Satar. “Come to haunt you at last.”
"We have conquered the empty lands, and once again become men of blood and earth."
-Arastephas the Redeemer
Part One: The Firelight Rises
“What is the circle? Even the beautiful turns cannot tell us. But at the heart of this mystery lies another. What is reincarnation?”
-Talan the Elder, The Talani Fragments
---
The road was made of mud.
The Redeemer of Man refused to be carried in a litter, but his horse had almost lost its footing twice. Autumn rains in the Nuvn turned this forested streamlet valley with its goatherd track into a slick, slippery mess.
Moving the four thousand men of the Redeemer’s retinue through this forest of dripping pines and rushing waters to Sartasion had become Taexi’s own personal hell.
A great road would fix this. Made straight and given oracle houses and horse posts, it would be a credit to the Exatai and a glory of his reign. He needed a rest from justice after the ugly killing of the Bone Prince; it was time for some order. The Scion of the God of Man could build a road and a few temples before he returned to the killing fields.
“You know, you didn’t have to kill the lad,” said Karal, riding beside him.
“He’s not a lad anymore,” said Taexi. “And you’re dead. Go back to heaven.”
“He was just trying to do what he thought was right. You could have made a peace.”
“And then what? Let the corruption creep into one princedom, and then two, and four? Watch it consume my people’s souls? NEVER!”
He made a slashing motion with his gauntleted fist, and his horse whickered nervously, though it was too well-trained to flinch.
Nor did his guards react. Their Redeemer was blessed with the gift of prophecy.
He heard a dark chuckle and turned to see Avetas riding at his other side. “Let me tell you about corruption, friend. Corruption is knowing that the woman you love will murder your true sons to place your bastard with her on your throne, and not caring enough to stop her.”
“And it tore apart our exatai for seventeen years. You just proved my point. But you fought the same corruption that I fight now.”
“I understood the kalis board, and I played to win. You see a demon behind every shadow.”
“I have seen the demons. I know them,” said Taexi raggedly. “Do not torment me for sport, you are DEAD. STAY DEAD!” His horse shied at the noise, and he jerked on the reins to bring it back to heel.
“But he has a point,” said Karal. “Of course Aitah is a demon. But you’re simply sending her more soldiers in the afterlife. If you want to help us, convert them, don’t slaughter them.”
“I’ll do both, and you’ll thank me when this Exatai survives.”
“You ride a dark path, old friend. The road idea is good, though. I would have done it.”
Taexi lifted his mask to rub his forehead, which was aching again. When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the path. Only the sounds of the swollen stream, the birdsong in the trees, and the steady squelching of hooves on mud remained.
“I must see Eshat,” he called to no one in particular. “My visions grow more troubled.”
“My Scion, you know her ways,” said one of his Argavedai, Xelsis, riding behind. “You must seek her out.”
“Not this time. Find her.”
---
The old woman stepped off the ship, escorted by two gracious sailors who lent her their arms as she stepped down the gangplank. She favored them with a coy smile.
Atracta had grown in her absence. She saw a bright, tall new temple with a dome of painted red, complemented by the pink marble for which the capitol had become famous. Further off, the useless old men at the Sephashim seem to have connived her son out of still more money, judging by the rate at which they seemed to be trying to exhaust the world’s supply of stone.
She turned to wait for her charge.
“Come along now, Jahan,” she called over her shoulder. “It’s time you meet the one appointed to watch over you.”
“Y…yes, ephi Zelarri,” said the gangly young man now scrambling down the gangplank, struggling with his own saddle bags, as no servant or slave would carry those of a traitor’s son.
She placed her hand on the side of his neck, only withdrawing it when he shifted uncomfortably underneath her touch.
“I am sure you’ll enjoy the City of Wisdom more than Sartasion, that home of warriors and witch-burners.”
“It’s so much bigger than I imagined,” the boy said.
She fixed him with a stare. “Now, just as we practiced. What will you say, when Taexi’s tarkanai ask us why you were delivered to Atracta instead of to Sartasion as he ordered?”
“I am…to be educated, to better serve the Redeemer, Taleldil, and my brother’s reign.”
“Good boy. If all goes well I will reward you.” At that, Jahan was silent.
She paused to breathe deeply of the fresh, lemon-scented air.
“You know, my little Taro has a son himself, not much older than you. He married late, you know. I fear he could bear no woman besides his mother before my…unfortunate circumstances took me far from him.” She paused to smile knowingly. “I am sure you and Arteras will be great friends. Perhaps you may even rise to be his tarkan, hmm?”
“Of course, ephi Zelarri.”
“Good boy. Now let us find my son.”
---
Nineteen years ago
He could read and understand a battle the way Avetas had understood scrolls, his eyes flickering across the surface and taking in all its information at once. As soon as word came that the young Prince Taexi had been beaten back, he knew exactly what was going to happen.
His sons and daughters had all urged him to flee. He had laughed gently at that. A ninety year old man, fleeing his last battle? It was not to be.
He thought of his first wife, Arishel, who he had sent to Magha to be safe. Who had never emerged from the pillar of flame. He thought of his second wife, sweet Eraiyn who had left behind her faith and her world for his. He hoped that they would not squabble over him in heaven.
He sat in the carved wood chair that had belonged to the quem of Alusille before it had belonged to him. The hall was the same: Exposed, smoke-blackened timbers and a peaked roof in the Evyni style. He had come to love this strange place, so different from the desert world of his birth. He grew wistful for a moment, but then steeled himself.
He was ready.
The first Accan soldier through the door took a crossbow bolt to the face. He had ten bows, all stacked and cocked, and he tossed the first one down after it was spent, picking up the next. Even an old, decrepit man could pull a trigger.
Four of his sons charged into the chamber from the side galleries, swords and spears in hand, blindsiding the Accans filing in through the front. Elikas picked his targets carefully, admiring his children’s weaponship, praising Taleldil when one of his own was cut down. They would see each other soon.
As the melee continued he tottered forward, grabbing a blazing torch. The wall hangings had all been dipped in oil, and oil covered the floor and the timbers. He set them alight, one by one. Then he returned to his chair and smiled. And there, as he sat watching the flames, the man with a mask the color of water came to him, and said a single, perfect word. He gave a sigh of blessed relief. At last, he understood.
The first wave of enemies was dead. Three of his children now lay dead or dying.
He heaved himself out of his chair and stumbled towards the fourth, Itarephas.
“Take Talephas and go.” He coughed, as the hall was already filling with acrid smoke. “It must be Talephas.”
His son hesitated, confused. “My son, the newborn? Father, I will die here defending your body.”
“He is my body. Now do this. It is my last wish. Take the child now. He is our future.”
He returned to his chair, barely able to keep moving in his ancient armor. His eyes swam with tears, his vision growing dim as the smoke increased.
He did not have long to wait.
The next two soldiers to step into the chamber were Zelarri’s elites. Both men were enormous, hulking brutes, their metal visors down, identically clad in shining black armor like the carapace of a monstrous beetle.
“I remember your words, Satores,” he whispered. And the Firelight rose from his throne.
"I am Elikas-ta-Tisatar, the last ghost of the Armageddon,” he proclaimed in thundering Old Satar. “Come to haunt you at last.”
TheMeanestGuest
Warlord
To the Leunan Republic
From the Republic of the Daharai
The Daharai find themselves unsettled. Why do the Leunans forbid our ships their rightful trade? Which, we note, they had carried out unmolested for many long years. Is it the desire of Leun to deliver injury and insult to the Daharai and the people of Spitos, even as some among your people rise against their own government? Should Leun not look unto itself, and so resolve those troubles that plague it? Perhaps it is that the Daharai should forbid the ships of Leun their own passage when they should near Spitos, when they should seak to pass Treha and the Chimoai? No. We would not do this, for it is not yet time for such measures.
The Leunans have long held the archipelago of the Lesser Tesach, and they have long held the city of Pulchas and its own attendant islands. It seems that the reach of Leun has exceeded its grasp, and so we should ask that in recompense for the injury done to us that these places be returned to the bosom of Spitos. The Daharai are not graceless, and indeed, we are magnanimous. We offer the Leunans a sum equaling in value three thousand measures of fine silver in return that they should restore these territories to the Republic of the Daharai.
From the Republic of the Daharai
The Daharai find themselves unsettled. Why do the Leunans forbid our ships their rightful trade? Which, we note, they had carried out unmolested for many long years. Is it the desire of Leun to deliver injury and insult to the Daharai and the people of Spitos, even as some among your people rise against their own government? Should Leun not look unto itself, and so resolve those troubles that plague it? Perhaps it is that the Daharai should forbid the ships of Leun their own passage when they should near Spitos, when they should seak to pass Treha and the Chimoai? No. We would not do this, for it is not yet time for such measures.
The Leunans have long held the archipelago of the Lesser Tesach, and they have long held the city of Pulchas and its own attendant islands. It seems that the reach of Leun has exceeded its grasp, and so we should ask that in recompense for the injury done to us that these places be returned to the bosom of Spitos. The Daharai are not graceless, and indeed, we are magnanimous. We offer the Leunans a sum equaling in value three thousand measures of fine silver in return that they should restore these territories to the Republic of the Daharai.
To: The Distant Peoples of Tsutongmerang
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
Long ago, our our half-brothers' fathers' fathers' fathers sought foolishly to subdue your lands. Though their distant military expedition ended in ignominy, and few of their descendants now live among you, there is great value in the long-ago connection we share. We have purged the Airendhe of the pirate threat and claim mastery over it. Now we rejoice at the renewed potential trade through your ports now possesses. We invite you to send representatives to our court in Traha in a show of mutual friendship and prosperity.
To: Naran, Ther, Noaunnaha and the Dulama Empire
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
Your war is wasteful and bad for business. It has gone on long enough, with many lives lost and reborn and lost again, yet few lands change hands. Let there be an end to it! We would be glad to provide neutral arbitration for the conclusion of a treaty ending hostilities.
To: The Peoples of the Two Rivers[1] and the Airendhe
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
We offer a reward of 250 golden ahma[1], enough to make a man as rich as a minor king, for the head of Paitlo the Pirate. Let this be a warning that Trahana will not tolerate piracy and plunder in the Airendhe.
[1]Referring to the Abrea and the Thala, of course.
[2]Trahana currency, using it as the equivalent of 250 income here.
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
Long ago, our our half-brothers' fathers' fathers' fathers sought foolishly to subdue your lands. Though their distant military expedition ended in ignominy, and few of their descendants now live among you, there is great value in the long-ago connection we share. We have purged the Airendhe of the pirate threat and claim mastery over it. Now we rejoice at the renewed potential trade through your ports now possesses. We invite you to send representatives to our court in Traha in a show of mutual friendship and prosperity.
To: Naran, Ther, Noaunnaha and the Dulama Empire
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
Your war is wasteful and bad for business. It has gone on long enough, with many lives lost and reborn and lost again, yet few lands change hands. Let there be an end to it! We would be glad to provide neutral arbitration for the conclusion of a treaty ending hostilities.
To: The Peoples of the Two Rivers[1] and the Airendhe
From: His Great Majesty, Emperor Alamman of Trahana
We offer a reward of 250 golden ahma[1], enough to make a man as rich as a minor king, for the head of Paitlo the Pirate. Let this be a warning that Trahana will not tolerate piracy and plunder in the Airendhe.
[1]Referring to the Abrea and the Thala, of course.
[2]Trahana currency, using it as the equivalent of 250 income here.
Bair_the_Normal
転輪聖王
Can't have it all your own way no
And all of it will be mine.
SamSniped
DJ Goodboye
Golden1Knight
Emperor
The Update is wonderful. The new map is incredible.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
I am officially the Vithanama Empire.
Squatters had made their homes in the overgrown yard abutting the governors mansion. If they could be called homes, really more hovels of earth and sticks. Mud covered the stones laid on the roads leading from the central square. And the intricate blue-tile mosaic map of the Airendhe that covered the square itself was missing at least half of its tiles. A few merchants hawked their wares on the squares edge, opposite the abandoned mansion. Less than a tenth the number Iloa might have found here before the war, and with a sorry scattering of goods. The spices for sale at one stall were lower quality than those her ship carried in its hull, and twice the price Iloa had paid in Mara.
It was a sorry state of affairs. Iloa would not have put in anchor here, had there been a choice. Plantation agriculture had not entirely disappeared, and a good deal might make itself plain if she haggled long enough. But the citys decline became more evident with every trip. Still, Dhegh remained the most civilized port on this side of the Airendhe. One had to refill supplies of water and food regularly. Better to do that in a civilized place than at the mouth of some unnamed stream, subject to the whims of the uncivilized locals. Though Dhegh could barely be called civilized these days.
Iloa had last called at the port three years ago. Then, the governors wife still made her home in the manse, and the paint on the ornate wooden door had only just begun to peel. The Haina governor disappeared some four years before that. Though she had called here once even before the war, Iloa knew him only by reputation. An eccentric man, the wealthiest of the Haina exiles once the defeated fleet had been broken down for its valuable wood, but prone to long sea voyages. He had not come back from the last. When Iloa last called, Dhegh still awaited his return, but now he merited no mention at all.
Someone ought to do something. A thought for the return voyage. There were ahmas to be made in Tsutongmerang, and good winds wait for no sailor.
It was a sorry state of affairs. Iloa would not have put in anchor here, had there been a choice. Plantation agriculture had not entirely disappeared, and a good deal might make itself plain if she haggled long enough. But the citys decline became more evident with every trip. Still, Dhegh remained the most civilized port on this side of the Airendhe. One had to refill supplies of water and food regularly. Better to do that in a civilized place than at the mouth of some unnamed stream, subject to the whims of the uncivilized locals. Though Dhegh could barely be called civilized these days.
Iloa had last called at the port three years ago. Then, the governors wife still made her home in the manse, and the paint on the ornate wooden door had only just begun to peel. The Haina governor disappeared some four years before that. Though she had called here once even before the war, Iloa knew him only by reputation. An eccentric man, the wealthiest of the Haina exiles once the defeated fleet had been broken down for its valuable wood, but prone to long sea voyages. He had not come back from the last. When Iloa last called, Dhegh still awaited his return, but now he merited no mention at all.
Someone ought to do something. A thought for the return voyage. There were ahmas to be made in Tsutongmerang, and good winds wait for no sailor.
Welcome to our corner of the world!
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
A Song of Two Princes
Part 1
Note: What follows is the retelling of the life of Ephasir-ta-Cyve, the Second Prince of Bone. It will be done in parts over an extended period of time.
Red wine overran the silver chalice. It splashed across the aging wood of the Great Hall’s long-table, the great Palace on the Rock sitting empty at this hour of the night. No servants to bother him. No nobles to beg for money. No priests to offer salvation. He stopped pouring the wine long after it had overflowed onto his hand, which already shook with drunkenness.
He laughed at the thought of Atracta. It was a world away now, in the hands of his enemy. His brother was a pawn to the tyrant of ages. And here he stood, in the throne room he had longed for his entire life, alone. He drank the wine in a hurry, not wasting time in the southern way. The taste and the quality mattered little. It was the effect he was after. He could forget everything and sleep, then. But he knew better. He knew that he’d not find peace with drink, nor his wife’s warmth. He’d only find the peace he sought on the field of battle.
He could only rest when his name meant something.
Echoes of his ancestors still walked these halls. He could hear them, mocking him. He could hear their playfulness. He could hear the great things they’d done, repeating in his mind. For three centuries they had ruled this land, and for fifty years they’d done more.
Gods and kings, he thought. I’m the blood of gods and kings.
He slammed his fist into the table, the sound reminded him of the hall’s emptiness. He poured more wine and sat. He faced the three thrones of Fulwarc II, Prince of Bone. They overshadowed him from their dais. Yet, all his mind could see was the Redeemer Taexi, sitting there with a thousand corpses stacked high beneath him. His stomach churned.
He tossed the chalice carelessly. The sound echoed with a sharp ping.
“Dramatic.”
He reacted to the woman’s voice with a hurried change in posture, at least in his own opinion. The truth of the matter was that drunkenness had inhibited any such grace in the Prince. He still slouched over the table, his legs straddling the wooden bench beneath him.
She walked with all the pomp and glamor of her youthful self. He could hardly see her for her age. He remembered her as she was when he first saw her, in spite of the wrinkles and graying hair. Perhaps the silver mask helped hide it from him.
“Zel, I,” he said, slurring his words.
“My boys were always so dramatic,” Zelarri said.
He started a laugh, but coughed on his own drool. Wiping his mouth, he sat up a bit straighter. Shameful.
“You’re naked, my Prince,” she said. “Where is your mask?”
He felt for it but the mask wasn’t there. The bone mask of Fulwarc II.
He shrugged it off.
“What does it matter?” he asked. “There’s no one here to see.”
“I am,” she said, taking a seat next to him on the bench. She kept her posture.
He tilted his head back and looked towards the ceiling, smiling.
“Does my nakedness bother your grace?”
In his peripheral vision, he saw her unmask. The silver mask lowered to her lap as she sighed.
“Taexi will kill me,” he said, eyes shut.
“How can you see the end on such a winding path, Snowbird?”
Snowbird. He hadn’t heard that name in a very long time.
~*~*~*~
40 years earlier. . .
She wore a white dress and smelled of citrus. With his hand in hers, they walked.
This was a place of wealth untold. Stairways of imported stone marked their path through the roads and alleys. He had played on stairs before, but never so many and never so high. The whole city radiated an aura of newness, cleanliness.
Nothing like Lexevh, he muttered to himself, so she did not hear.
She called him by his full name, Ephasir-ta-Cyve. She called him sweet pet names, too. Rabbit and Snowbird. He’d never met a woman so beautiful, so charismatic. Of course, he hadn’t known many women at the Palace on the Rock, the house of his grandfather. They were all poor servant girls . . . or his mother.
He missed his mother, but this woman, Zelarri Aterri, made him forget that.
Her dress draped from her right shoulder and upper arm, leaving her left bare. Fine blue silk sashes tied her waist and lapped around her covered shoulder, leaving a brilliant contrast of colors. Her silver mask gleamed in the sunlight, surrounded by her lengthy hair, as dark as night and straight as a blade. The white skirt trailed beneath her to cover her sandaled feet. Slices in the fabric on both sides allowed her legs freedom of movement . . . and something else. The guards that followed kept their distance, and no commoner dared intrude on their path.
He had never been so . . . important. He was enamored by it all.
“The chancellor to your grandfather passed away months ago,” she said, emotionless.
He slowed his pace, but she did not allow it for long. Her pull on him could not be resisted.
“Hynasf’s dead?” he asked.
“He is,” she replied. “And he’s named no heir of his own blood. You will be inheriting everything the man owned, both here and abroad. His mansions. His ships. His wealth. It is sizable, Snowbird.”
“I have ships! Where are they?”
“Here and there,” she said, uncertain or uncaring. She waved her free hand towards the coast. “They sail the seas with holds of silk and spices.” She looked down at him, seeing his disappointment. “Not warships, no. You’ll have plenty of those in time, little prince.”
They walked a short distance farther, past a number of great homes under construction. She informed him that they were the property of Accan merchants, wealthy men with little else to do but throw gold at luxuries. They rounded a corner, high on a hill overlooking the harbor and the Kern Sea beyond. It was not a mansion that Hynasf had left him, but more a palace like some distant kings might enjoy. It stood three stories, with real glass windows. The whole building was whitewashed with orange shutters.
“Is this mine?” he asked, unbelieving.
“It is now,” she confirmed. “It and everything that comes with it is yours.”
They entered his new palace through a heavy dark wood door. Guards in lavish plate stood at the ready, spears and swords and shields within reach. They were not Satar, but something else from a world away. Sesh perhaps? The inside fascinated as well as the out. Rugs with intricate designs lined the floors and furniture of wood and metal and wicker filled every room. There were chairs and couches and footstools abound.
When they entered the second room, with a balcony facing towards the sea, he saw beautiful women lounging, drinking wine and eating fruits. Some wore clothing, some did not. It excited him, but annoyed Zelarri.
“The former proprietor had certain tastes,” she said, vocally disgusted. “These all belong to you as well.” She muttered something about them, but he missed.
“They have to do what I tell them?”
“You own them, Ephasir-ta-Cyve. Never forget who the master is,” she said to the girls, who reacted to her words as if a great storm was coming to wash them away. They cleared the room as swiftly as they could, leaving everything behind as they did. “You are to live here, now,” she said.
“Alone?” he asked. She nodded and he grasped for her leg, under the skirt of her dress. He found comfort in the warmth of contact, her skin against his neck. Her hand came down to comb through his black hair.
“You are a young man, Snowbird. A sweet young man with courage to match his grandfather’s. Nekelia will miss you, as I would miss my own sweet Taro if he left me. I promised your mother I would fend for you. So I am.”
“But I like living with you, and Taro is my friend,” he said.
She laughed as she petted his head. “Boys,” she said, mocking the thought of it all. “You act as if the world is ending if you don’t get your way. You have free reign of this city, Ephasir. When will my princes understand? You can come see Taro whenever it pleases you, as he can to you.”
He clung tighter to her thigh, looking past her to the Kern Sea beyond the balcony. Sea breeze hit his face, flowing into the eye holes of his mask. It mixed with the scent of her and eased his tension.
“You mean it?”
“Your grandfather is preparing war on Tarena as we speak, with a host of fifty thousand men,” she said, unexpectedly. “He is a hero, a champion.” She removed his arms from her leg and bent down to eye level with him. She removed her mask in his presence, private from the world. He saw her true face for the first time, as beautiful as he imagined it would be. She kissed the forehead of his mask. “You have no idea how important you are to me, Snowbird. So do as I ask and be a champion.”
She returned the mask to her face, once again hiding the beauty from Ephasir. This riled his emotions. He did not tell her to do that. It only made him mad that she withheld something so pleasant from him.
Her hand combed his hair once more.
“You may come and see Taro tomorrow, if it pleases you, my prince.”
He relaxed, smiling beneath his mask as she walked away.
Part 1
Note: What follows is the retelling of the life of Ephasir-ta-Cyve, the Second Prince of Bone. It will be done in parts over an extended period of time.
Ephasir I, Prince of Bone
Lexevh, 593 SR
Lexevh, 593 SR
Red wine overran the silver chalice. It splashed across the aging wood of the Great Hall’s long-table, the great Palace on the Rock sitting empty at this hour of the night. No servants to bother him. No nobles to beg for money. No priests to offer salvation. He stopped pouring the wine long after it had overflowed onto his hand, which already shook with drunkenness.
He laughed at the thought of Atracta. It was a world away now, in the hands of his enemy. His brother was a pawn to the tyrant of ages. And here he stood, in the throne room he had longed for his entire life, alone. He drank the wine in a hurry, not wasting time in the southern way. The taste and the quality mattered little. It was the effect he was after. He could forget everything and sleep, then. But he knew better. He knew that he’d not find peace with drink, nor his wife’s warmth. He’d only find the peace he sought on the field of battle.
He could only rest when his name meant something.
Echoes of his ancestors still walked these halls. He could hear them, mocking him. He could hear their playfulness. He could hear the great things they’d done, repeating in his mind. For three centuries they had ruled this land, and for fifty years they’d done more.
Gods and kings, he thought. I’m the blood of gods and kings.
He slammed his fist into the table, the sound reminded him of the hall’s emptiness. He poured more wine and sat. He faced the three thrones of Fulwarc II, Prince of Bone. They overshadowed him from their dais. Yet, all his mind could see was the Redeemer Taexi, sitting there with a thousand corpses stacked high beneath him. His stomach churned.
He tossed the chalice carelessly. The sound echoed with a sharp ping.
“Dramatic.”
He reacted to the woman’s voice with a hurried change in posture, at least in his own opinion. The truth of the matter was that drunkenness had inhibited any such grace in the Prince. He still slouched over the table, his legs straddling the wooden bench beneath him.
She walked with all the pomp and glamor of her youthful self. He could hardly see her for her age. He remembered her as she was when he first saw her, in spite of the wrinkles and graying hair. Perhaps the silver mask helped hide it from him.
“Zel, I,” he said, slurring his words.
“My boys were always so dramatic,” Zelarri said.
He started a laugh, but coughed on his own drool. Wiping his mouth, he sat up a bit straighter. Shameful.
“You’re naked, my Prince,” she said. “Where is your mask?”
He felt for it but the mask wasn’t there. The bone mask of Fulwarc II.
He shrugged it off.
“What does it matter?” he asked. “There’s no one here to see.”
“I am,” she said, taking a seat next to him on the bench. She kept her posture.
He tilted his head back and looked towards the ceiling, smiling.
“Does my nakedness bother your grace?”
In his peripheral vision, he saw her unmask. The silver mask lowered to her lap as she sighed.
“Taexi will kill me,” he said, eyes shut.
“How can you see the end on such a winding path, Snowbird?”
Snowbird. He hadn’t heard that name in a very long time.
~*~*~*~
40 years earlier. . .
She wore a white dress and smelled of citrus. With his hand in hers, they walked.
This was a place of wealth untold. Stairways of imported stone marked their path through the roads and alleys. He had played on stairs before, but never so many and never so high. The whole city radiated an aura of newness, cleanliness.
Nothing like Lexevh, he muttered to himself, so she did not hear.
She called him by his full name, Ephasir-ta-Cyve. She called him sweet pet names, too. Rabbit and Snowbird. He’d never met a woman so beautiful, so charismatic. Of course, he hadn’t known many women at the Palace on the Rock, the house of his grandfather. They were all poor servant girls . . . or his mother.
He missed his mother, but this woman, Zelarri Aterri, made him forget that.
Her dress draped from her right shoulder and upper arm, leaving her left bare. Fine blue silk sashes tied her waist and lapped around her covered shoulder, leaving a brilliant contrast of colors. Her silver mask gleamed in the sunlight, surrounded by her lengthy hair, as dark as night and straight as a blade. The white skirt trailed beneath her to cover her sandaled feet. Slices in the fabric on both sides allowed her legs freedom of movement . . . and something else. The guards that followed kept their distance, and no commoner dared intrude on their path.
He had never been so . . . important. He was enamored by it all.
“The chancellor to your grandfather passed away months ago,” she said, emotionless.
He slowed his pace, but she did not allow it for long. Her pull on him could not be resisted.
“Hynasf’s dead?” he asked.
“He is,” she replied. “And he’s named no heir of his own blood. You will be inheriting everything the man owned, both here and abroad. His mansions. His ships. His wealth. It is sizable, Snowbird.”
“I have ships! Where are they?”
“Here and there,” she said, uncertain or uncaring. She waved her free hand towards the coast. “They sail the seas with holds of silk and spices.” She looked down at him, seeing his disappointment. “Not warships, no. You’ll have plenty of those in time, little prince.”
They walked a short distance farther, past a number of great homes under construction. She informed him that they were the property of Accan merchants, wealthy men with little else to do but throw gold at luxuries. They rounded a corner, high on a hill overlooking the harbor and the Kern Sea beyond. It was not a mansion that Hynasf had left him, but more a palace like some distant kings might enjoy. It stood three stories, with real glass windows. The whole building was whitewashed with orange shutters.
“Is this mine?” he asked, unbelieving.
“It is now,” she confirmed. “It and everything that comes with it is yours.”
They entered his new palace through a heavy dark wood door. Guards in lavish plate stood at the ready, spears and swords and shields within reach. They were not Satar, but something else from a world away. Sesh perhaps? The inside fascinated as well as the out. Rugs with intricate designs lined the floors and furniture of wood and metal and wicker filled every room. There were chairs and couches and footstools abound.
When they entered the second room, with a balcony facing towards the sea, he saw beautiful women lounging, drinking wine and eating fruits. Some wore clothing, some did not. It excited him, but annoyed Zelarri.
“The former proprietor had certain tastes,” she said, vocally disgusted. “These all belong to you as well.” She muttered something about them, but he missed.
“They have to do what I tell them?”
“You own them, Ephasir-ta-Cyve. Never forget who the master is,” she said to the girls, who reacted to her words as if a great storm was coming to wash them away. They cleared the room as swiftly as they could, leaving everything behind as they did. “You are to live here, now,” she said.
“Alone?” he asked. She nodded and he grasped for her leg, under the skirt of her dress. He found comfort in the warmth of contact, her skin against his neck. Her hand came down to comb through his black hair.
“You are a young man, Snowbird. A sweet young man with courage to match his grandfather’s. Nekelia will miss you, as I would miss my own sweet Taro if he left me. I promised your mother I would fend for you. So I am.”
“But I like living with you, and Taro is my friend,” he said.
She laughed as she petted his head. “Boys,” she said, mocking the thought of it all. “You act as if the world is ending if you don’t get your way. You have free reign of this city, Ephasir. When will my princes understand? You can come see Taro whenever it pleases you, as he can to you.”
He clung tighter to her thigh, looking past her to the Kern Sea beyond the balcony. Sea breeze hit his face, flowing into the eye holes of his mask. It mixed with the scent of her and eased his tension.
“You mean it?”
“Your grandfather is preparing war on Tarena as we speak, with a host of fifty thousand men,” she said, unexpectedly. “He is a hero, a champion.” She removed his arms from her leg and bent down to eye level with him. She removed her mask in his presence, private from the world. He saw her true face for the first time, as beautiful as he imagined it would be. She kissed the forehead of his mask. “You have no idea how important you are to me, Snowbird. So do as I ask and be a champion.”
She returned the mask to her face, once again hiding the beauty from Ephasir. This riled his emotions. He did not tell her to do that. It only made him mad that she withheld something so pleasant from him.
Her hand combed his hair once more.
“You may come and see Taro tomorrow, if it pleases you, my prince.”
He relaxed, smiling beneath his mask as she walked away.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
From: Taexi-ta-Sartasion, Redeemer of the Karapeshai Exatai
To: The Telha Exatai
Greetings, High Prince.
In this world of impurity, it is good to see other faithful warriors lift their masks high. You have thrown off the yolk of Arokh and now you stand alone on the steppe. But you are not truly alone.
I am a friend to the faithful, and as a token of my friendship, I bring you gifts. Gold, steeds, and several thousand of my best warriors, to fight with you on your campaigns. I only ask for one thing in return. One small thing.
Purify your realm of those following the false god Yleth, and strike forward to spread the word and deed of Taleldil before your swift horses and mighty spears. For faithful men such as us, this is our second nature. But it is more than enough to satisfy me, your brother prince and your friend.
I await your reply. Exatas.
To: The Telha Exatai
Greetings, High Prince.
In this world of impurity, it is good to see other faithful warriors lift their masks high. You have thrown off the yolk of Arokh and now you stand alone on the steppe. But you are not truly alone.
I am a friend to the faithful, and as a token of my friendship, I bring you gifts. Gold, steeds, and several thousand of my best warriors, to fight with you on your campaigns. I only ask for one thing in return. One small thing.
Purify your realm of those following the false god Yleth, and strike forward to spread the word and deed of Taleldil before your swift horses and mighty spears. For faithful men such as us, this is our second nature. But it is more than enough to satisfy me, your brother prince and your friend.
I await your reply. Exatas.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
To: Taexi-ta-Sartasion, Redeemer of the Shadowed
From: Telha tam Tahat, Redeemer of the Sunset
Ah yes, it is good to hear from another fit to wear the gold -- another who fights the good fight here as it is in heaven. Such gifts are always welcome -- gold, to forge a mask for my successor, steeds, to carry those who have lost theirs, and yes, even warriors, who we may teach in the ways of battle. Such an arrangement would be most profitable!
And yet, who are we, to know the will of Taleldil? For though, yes, he was man once, he has since become a warrior without equal, a paragon of strength and valor, and I shall be blessed indeed to fight with him in the heavens. I cannot claim to know him as well as you, though, and so I must defer to the teachers of the east. Offer me, instead, your scholars and mendicants, the monks and priests who I know walk your roads. They can offer me wisdom, and they can help me spread the cause of our god to the lands I shall soon go to conquer in the far sunset kingdoms.
This, and no more, is all I desire.
From: Telha tam Tahat, Redeemer of the Sunset
Ah yes, it is good to hear from another fit to wear the gold -- another who fights the good fight here as it is in heaven. Such gifts are always welcome -- gold, to forge a mask for my successor, steeds, to carry those who have lost theirs, and yes, even warriors, who we may teach in the ways of battle. Such an arrangement would be most profitable!
And yet, who are we, to know the will of Taleldil? For though, yes, he was man once, he has since become a warrior without equal, a paragon of strength and valor, and I shall be blessed indeed to fight with him in the heavens. I cannot claim to know him as well as you, though, and so I must defer to the teachers of the east. Offer me, instead, your scholars and mendicants, the monks and priests who I know walk your roads. They can offer me wisdom, and they can help me spread the cause of our god to the lands I shall soon go to conquer in the far sunset kingdoms.
This, and no more, is all I desire.
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Just gonna throw up this map of the internal divisions of Chapru real quick like. I'll probably elaborate on the clans and their backgrounds when I have more time.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
As always, let me know what you guys think:
Golden1Knight
Emperor
Amazing.
SamSniped
DJ Goodboye
Sexy maps everywhere.
So often do great cities become mere ruins. Ighmo knew that well. He had walked among the whispering stones of Mora, once. Shortly after the Hai Vithana sacked it. You could almost hear the wails of the dying there, smell their blood on the walls and feel the departed warmth of their feet on the cobblestones. But life had already crept back into those ruins. Markets opened on the citys fringes. Soldiers quartered in great halls without roofs, keeping watch to the east. There had been a place for people in the ruins of Mora, even if the citys soul was dead.
Do cities have souls? A thought for the monks, and something he could not answer.
Now Ighmo wandered as he had in Mora in the lost capital of his homeland. He had no memory of Thagnor in its glory, long past. Most among the Haina shunned the empty city even today. And the ghosts felt different than they had in Mora. Silenced for two decades. No whiff of blood nor warmth of feet remained. Even the stones made no sound. Winds rarely whipped through the city.
What was to become of the dead city, once so proudly hailed by his people? At the southern fringe, local laborers packed stones into a cart and hauled them away. Most likely, the city would become one with the people once more, and fade from its hill.
Ighmos grandmother Oleara Jamanarr had fought to save Haina and its people. She had, in a sense, but the Haina she had known was gone, now. They would preserve a few of the great buildings at the highest peak of Thagnor. But now they started anew.
A new future that looks much like the old. Perhaps, if the emperor saw the value in the east.
Do cities have souls? A thought for the monks, and something he could not answer.
Now Ighmo wandered as he had in Mora in the lost capital of his homeland. He had no memory of Thagnor in its glory, long past. Most among the Haina shunned the empty city even today. And the ghosts felt different than they had in Mora. Silenced for two decades. No whiff of blood nor warmth of feet remained. Even the stones made no sound. Winds rarely whipped through the city.
What was to become of the dead city, once so proudly hailed by his people? At the southern fringe, local laborers packed stones into a cart and hauled them away. Most likely, the city would become one with the people once more, and fade from its hill.
Ighmos grandmother Oleara Jamanarr had fought to save Haina and its people. She had, in a sense, but the Haina she had known was gone, now. They would preserve a few of the great buildings at the highest peak of Thagnor. But now they started anew.
A new future that looks much like the old. Perhaps, if the emperor saw the value in the east.
