m.t.cicero
Good Kid
And She shall return!
End of Empires - N3S III
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
And She shall return!
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
But only when I agree.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
RM 799 - Harrit is shown the door
In Hurena there lived a girl. This girl had been orphaned and left completely alone in the world at a very young age, and might therefore, in the usual course of events, have expected a short, unhappy life of begging, thieving and prostitution, before winding up dead in an alley of a xetai overdose at the tender age of seventeen. This would then have been a very different and probably much better story, full of grit and biting social commentary and designed to leave its readers shattered and rethinking their place in the world. Fortunately for both the girl and the sensibilities of the reader, and unfortunately for the author's depressingly bare award shelf, her life did not follow the usual course of events: for she was taken in by the Merefic Order, an order of pacifistic, resolutely impoverished do-gooders regarded by the populace across the world as saintlike benefactors, and regarded by the city's Sadorishi as smelly, sanctimonious pansies. And so the girl was raised by the Merefics, and turned out much as you would expect. She learned how to treat wounds, how to cook and so on: all the things you might need to know to minister to the most impoverished and unfortunate of people. As she grew older she began to take an active role in the Merefics' activities, and flitted from task to task as the mood struck her: one day distributing bread, the next attending to the leper colony, and the next soliciting contributions from the more prosperous Orders. The Merefics were at times exasperated by her constantly changing ways and strange tempers, but the girl was so innocent and friendly that none could remain angry with her for long. But though she enjoyed the work, and was well typically liked by those she helped, the girl never completely felt as though she belonged with the Merefics. For as long as she could remember she had this nagging sensation at the back of her mind that she had forgotten something, and if she could but remember it the slight dislocation of her life would end and she would be completely at home. But, try as she might, she could never quite manage to grasp what she'd lost – she thought once that it had been that she was actually the daughter of the Emperor of Spitos, but then it turned out that Spitos hadn't had an emperor for centuries, so that couldn't be it – and after a while she mostly stopped thinking about it. It remained, a faint itch, but she was unaware of it most of the time, as a man might be unaware that he's ruined his trousers.
And then one day when the girl was about seventeen, on one of those insufferable spring days that forever promises rain only to yank it away at the last instant, like a Seshweay with a sweet teasing a child, she realized what she had forgotten. It would be striking and dramatically appropriate to say that it struck her like a bolt from the clear blue sky, stopped her dead in her tracks and transformed her psyche at an instant. It would also be a lie, and not just because the sky was resolutely overcast and she happened to be sitting down at the time. Instead, it was like when you've been troubled all day by a nagging feeling you'd forgotten something important, only to remember at last that you'd simply forgotten to water your plants in the morning, and you sigh in relief, make a note to water them when you get back, and continue on with your day with a fresh spring in your step. Yes, it was just like that when the girl said to herself “Oh yes, that's it. I'm Aitah.” And then she finished her lunch and went on with the rest of her day, distributing food to the hungry, playing with street children, and occasionally bursting into song at the sheer joy of being alive. To her continual disappointment, the people of Hurena never joined in on these occasions, despite glaringly obvious openings – she even had to do the chorus on her own! - and the extravagant song and dance numbers she fashioned in her imagination always, alas, remained there. It wasn't until she came back to her room in the Merefic wayhouse – a small, bare room, unfurnished but for a cot, but full of light and positioned to catch the wind in a particularly comfortable way so that on good days it hardly smelled at all – that she again remembered what she had forgotten, and gave some serious thought to what she ought to do about it. She decided, after a moment, to go talk to the Declarant. It was he who'd arranged to take her in, when he wasn't yet Declarant, and had always been kind to her eventually, and was wise and clever as well, and she thought that the decent and sensible thing to do was let him know, and see what he thought she ought to do. Matters thus settled, she turned in and went instantly to sleep, and dreamt in turn of strange, fierce, sunburnt men bowing, a cake that ate itself, ashes floating on a cold ocean, and camels playing oene against elephants.
The next day the girl rose with the dawn, awakened as usual by the calls of the birds that proliferated around the wayhouse and its garden. Many of the Merefics secretly found their presence intensely annoying, and at least one imagined the day when he would dramatically strike down all the offending fowl, before being cast out of the order, a disgraced, misunderstood hero doomed to wander the land alone despised by those he had saved from the avian menace. The girl, however, preferred to think that the birds had been lonely during the night and couldn't wait to have company again, and she always made a point of jumping up and joining them in song, at least for a little bit (that same would-be anti-wing crusader, awakened now by the combination, took a moment to contemplate his most treasured fantasy, of sending the girl to join her fiendish flying feathered friends by pushing her from the highest tower he could find) Having reassured the birds to their apparent satisfaction that they were no longer alone in the dark, the girl washed, dressed, ate breakfast, served as assistant mid-wife at a birth three houses over, applied poultices to the victims/participants of a drunken street brawl of the previous night who had come to the wayhouse for help, chided said victims/participants not to drink so much, because wasn't water and the companionship of friends more intoxicating than any concoction of the brewers, and then left the somewhat confused victims/participants and went to see the Declarant, judging that by this time he'd be both in his office and, far more important, awake enough to not be too sarcastic. It wasn't that the girl was afraid of him, exactly (though in this she was more or less alone: the previous year the Sadorishi had, after eventually recovering from an ill-advised pre-dawn meeting with the Declarant, excitedly proposed to employ him in their planned attack on a violent Cultist stronghold in the desert, the idea being that upon encountering the Declarant's sarcasm the Cultists would willingly throw themselves on the waiting Sadorishi spears as sweet relief. After some consideration, the Merefics had decided that this wasn't really in keeping with the spirit of the order, and graciously refused, leaving the Declarant's satirical impulses with no outlet other than the members of his own Order) but it was difficult to get anything substantive done when the Declarant was busy indulging himself in wit.
The girl traipsed merrily into the Declarant's office and, finding him engaged in nothing more important than paperwork, announced herself with a cheerful cry of “Morning Uncle Tarasos!” The Declarant, for this was his name – Tarasos, that is, not uncle – looked up from his papers and sighed a very familiar sigh. He had long since given up on trying to make the girl observe any formalities: she would sit and listen very seriously and agree that it was indeed important and necessary to call things by their proper titles, and then the next morning it would be back to Uncle Tarasos. “Good morning, Elisa,” he replied, for such was the girl's name, that we have not until now had occasion to mention. “I want to talk to you about something, Uncle. Something important,” Elisa continued. “Very well, sit down and tell me what's on your mind,” said the Declarant, motioning to the room's only other chair. He wasn't her actual uncle, of course, but he was nevertheless very fond of the girl, despite his manner; besides, today's paperwork was particularly dull. Elisa plopped herself into the chair, and the Declarant winced. He had once hoped to perhaps groom the girl for a good marriage, perhaps into a wealthy Tehavi lineage, to secure a good life for her (it always looked good for Tehavis and the like to marry the odd ascetic order; helped counter the notion that they were overly concerned with money and insufficiently with the Path, or, as their enemies might put it, 'scheming gold-obsessed second-rate Accans who'd sell their own mother to a pimp for a share of the profits') but her utter inability to learn, let alone practice, any of the more feminine proprieties – or for that matter any proprieties at all – had scuppered that idea. Anyway, the girl didn't wait, and jumped right to the heart of the matter: “Uncle,” she said, “I've remembered that I'm Aitah.” The Declarant was visibly unfazed. He was so unfazed that he was practically coming around from the other side to total, incapacitating shock. “When did you remember this?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully even. “Yesterday afternoon! I can't imagine how I forgot something like that, but then I've never had much of a memory. Anyway, it's such a weight off my shoulders, Uncle: you know I've always worried about that sort of thing,” answered the girl.
“And you've come to me for advice then, Elisa?” the Declarant inquired, all innocent curiosity. “Exactly, Uncle! You're so wise, I thought you must know what to do. You always do,” and the girl leaned forward in anticipation. “You think too much of me, child. What have I always told you? Your own mind knows what to do; I just give it a prod now and then. And here I'm afraid that I'm as much in the dark as you are, or rather more. Aitahs are a bit outside my purview.” The girl visibly deflated, and an expression of such piteous disappointment came upon her face that even the stoutest of hearts could not but be moved. The Declarant was used to it, having been its most frequent target since the girl was little, and even he wasn't completely immune to its effects. “But,” he continued, “I'm sure we can think of something if we think together. What do Aitahs do, after all?” Elisa's face fell, and she said slowly “The Fatherless say that Aitahs burn things, they destroy and terrorize, that they caused the Immolation and would have killed us all if Javan and Gabas hadn't saved us. But that can't be true, can it? I'm sure I'd remember doing something awful like that, and I don't.”
“Well,” said the Declarant, “if you're Aitah and you didn't do that, then it must be that they weren't Aitah, just evil women lying about it.” Elisa brightened at that. “Of course, Uncle! That makes sense. I knew you'd know about this.” “So,” the Declarant continued, “if they weren't real Aitahs, we don't have to worry about them. And what do you suppose real Aitahs do? Or rather, what do you think you ought to do, since you're Aitah?” Elisa thought for a moment. “I suppose they heal people, spread peace, help people to love each other and be good to each other and try to make things better for everyone. That's what I think I ought to do, anyway. I don't think I should like to be Aitah otherwise.” She clapped her hands and gave a little cry of excitement. “Why, that must be why I'm in the Merefic Order, Uncle! [she wasn't, technically, in the Order, but this was another point the Declarant had surrendered] There's no better place to help people and learn to do good. I must have arranged matters so that I'd be born here, though I don't remember doing it. I suppose Aitah, which is to say me, is foresighted enough to arrange that for me, which is to say her. Thank you, Uncle!” she cried, her voice overflowing with gratitude. “I know what I should do now!” And with that she jumped up and hugged the Declarant, then dashed to the door. The Declarant called after her, “Elisa, what are you going to do?” The rapidly receding Elisa called over her shoulder “I'm going to go spread peace and love!”
The Declarant sat in thought for a moment, than removed a small bell from a pocket of his robe and rang it. After a moment, a small door in the side of the room opened and a young man with untidy black hair and an air of faint befuddlement emerged carrying a pile of scrolls. “What do you think, Harrit?” the Declarant asked. “About what, sir?” the youth replied, struggling to carry his burden of scrolls. “Don't play dumb, Harrit, you know what I think of that. You heard perfectly well; I should know, that's where I used to work. So tell me, what do – oh no, that's all right, just leave those scrolls anywhere, I don't mind at all - you think?” Harrit gratefully dropped the scrolls on the floor – he was singularly unadept at reading the Declarant – and replied “I think that I want to know what you think, sir.”
The Declarant sighed. He was increasingly convinced that it was a hopeless task, trying to get the boy to take some initiative. Still, he'd gone too far to give up now. And with that an idea popped into the Declarants head, a preposterously enticing idea, and the Declarant permitted himself a wide smile. An experienced man might have made a break for the door on seeing this, but Harrit was not an experienced man, so he merely smiled back nervously. “I think,” the Declarant said, “that I want you to go with her. I want you by her side at all times, keeping an eye on her, and keeping her from getting into trouble.” If Harrit's face had fallen any further, it would have gone through the floor. “You...you mean follow her out there.” “Yes, Harrit,” the Declarant said patiently, relishing every second, “it is typically necessary for Merefics to leave their offices. Not that we have offices, most of us.” Making the lad his secretary had perhaps been a mistake, the Declarant had decided, whatever his talent for it. A bit of time in the real world, attempting the Javanian task of restraining Elisa in one of her moods might be just what he needed. Harrit looked like he was about to cry, but he managed to say “Yes, sir.” without his voice breaking. Obedience to the Declarant, that was one virtue Harrit had down pat.
The Declarant turned back to his interrupted paperwork. After a moment he observed “You're still here.” Harrit jumped and said nervously, “Y-y-yes sir, I wasn't sure if you mea-” “There's no time like the present, Harrit.” Harrit swallowed hard, nodded, and turned to go, but stopped halfway and asked “Sir, you don't really think she's an Aitah, do you?” The Declarant smiled inwardly – this was an almost unprecedented show of backbone from the boy – leaned back, tented his fingers, and pursed his lips in thought. “You mean,” he said after a moment, “do I think she's possessed by a Dalotha?” Harrit nodded. “Of course not, boy. If I thought that, do you think I'd be sending you after her? She's been taken by one of her fancies – you know how she is. Besides, if a Dalotha were going to pick someone as an instrument, I think it could do a great deal better than Elisa. She's not exactly the stuff of which Ordeals are made. Quite the opposite, really” The Declarant paused for a long moment. “And if I'm wrong – and that, incidentally, is one of the things you're to discover while you're keeping an eye on her, Harrit – well, there's a Finger in Nahar. Serris can deal with it as they consider appropriate.” There was an ominous silence – Serris' appropriate methods typically ended in public executions. The Declarant looked back to his papers, and this time Harrit got the hint, and started towards the door. Just as he reached it he heard the Declarant behind him say “Harrit? I think those scrolls look rather nice, arranged just so. Really lends the room a certain quality.” Even Harrit didn't miss that, and he turned back to gather his abandoned scrolls.
In Hurena there lived a girl. This girl had been orphaned and left completely alone in the world at a very young age, and might therefore, in the usual course of events, have expected a short, unhappy life of begging, thieving and prostitution, before winding up dead in an alley of a xetai overdose at the tender age of seventeen. This would then have been a very different and probably much better story, full of grit and biting social commentary and designed to leave its readers shattered and rethinking their place in the world. Fortunately for both the girl and the sensibilities of the reader, and unfortunately for the author's depressingly bare award shelf, her life did not follow the usual course of events: for she was taken in by the Merefic Order, an order of pacifistic, resolutely impoverished do-gooders regarded by the populace across the world as saintlike benefactors, and regarded by the city's Sadorishi as smelly, sanctimonious pansies. And so the girl was raised by the Merefics, and turned out much as you would expect. She learned how to treat wounds, how to cook and so on: all the things you might need to know to minister to the most impoverished and unfortunate of people. As she grew older she began to take an active role in the Merefics' activities, and flitted from task to task as the mood struck her: one day distributing bread, the next attending to the leper colony, and the next soliciting contributions from the more prosperous Orders. The Merefics were at times exasperated by her constantly changing ways and strange tempers, but the girl was so innocent and friendly that none could remain angry with her for long. But though she enjoyed the work, and was well typically liked by those she helped, the girl never completely felt as though she belonged with the Merefics. For as long as she could remember she had this nagging sensation at the back of her mind that she had forgotten something, and if she could but remember it the slight dislocation of her life would end and she would be completely at home. But, try as she might, she could never quite manage to grasp what she'd lost – she thought once that it had been that she was actually the daughter of the Emperor of Spitos, but then it turned out that Spitos hadn't had an emperor for centuries, so that couldn't be it – and after a while she mostly stopped thinking about it. It remained, a faint itch, but she was unaware of it most of the time, as a man might be unaware that he's ruined his trousers.
And then one day when the girl was about seventeen, on one of those insufferable spring days that forever promises rain only to yank it away at the last instant, like a Seshweay with a sweet teasing a child, she realized what she had forgotten. It would be striking and dramatically appropriate to say that it struck her like a bolt from the clear blue sky, stopped her dead in her tracks and transformed her psyche at an instant. It would also be a lie, and not just because the sky was resolutely overcast and she happened to be sitting down at the time. Instead, it was like when you've been troubled all day by a nagging feeling you'd forgotten something important, only to remember at last that you'd simply forgotten to water your plants in the morning, and you sigh in relief, make a note to water them when you get back, and continue on with your day with a fresh spring in your step. Yes, it was just like that when the girl said to herself “Oh yes, that's it. I'm Aitah.” And then she finished her lunch and went on with the rest of her day, distributing food to the hungry, playing with street children, and occasionally bursting into song at the sheer joy of being alive. To her continual disappointment, the people of Hurena never joined in on these occasions, despite glaringly obvious openings – she even had to do the chorus on her own! - and the extravagant song and dance numbers she fashioned in her imagination always, alas, remained there. It wasn't until she came back to her room in the Merefic wayhouse – a small, bare room, unfurnished but for a cot, but full of light and positioned to catch the wind in a particularly comfortable way so that on good days it hardly smelled at all – that she again remembered what she had forgotten, and gave some serious thought to what she ought to do about it. She decided, after a moment, to go talk to the Declarant. It was he who'd arranged to take her in, when he wasn't yet Declarant, and had always been kind to her eventually, and was wise and clever as well, and she thought that the decent and sensible thing to do was let him know, and see what he thought she ought to do. Matters thus settled, she turned in and went instantly to sleep, and dreamt in turn of strange, fierce, sunburnt men bowing, a cake that ate itself, ashes floating on a cold ocean, and camels playing oene against elephants.
The next day the girl rose with the dawn, awakened as usual by the calls of the birds that proliferated around the wayhouse and its garden. Many of the Merefics secretly found their presence intensely annoying, and at least one imagined the day when he would dramatically strike down all the offending fowl, before being cast out of the order, a disgraced, misunderstood hero doomed to wander the land alone despised by those he had saved from the avian menace. The girl, however, preferred to think that the birds had been lonely during the night and couldn't wait to have company again, and she always made a point of jumping up and joining them in song, at least for a little bit (that same would-be anti-wing crusader, awakened now by the combination, took a moment to contemplate his most treasured fantasy, of sending the girl to join her fiendish flying feathered friends by pushing her from the highest tower he could find) Having reassured the birds to their apparent satisfaction that they were no longer alone in the dark, the girl washed, dressed, ate breakfast, served as assistant mid-wife at a birth three houses over, applied poultices to the victims/participants of a drunken street brawl of the previous night who had come to the wayhouse for help, chided said victims/participants not to drink so much, because wasn't water and the companionship of friends more intoxicating than any concoction of the brewers, and then left the somewhat confused victims/participants and went to see the Declarant, judging that by this time he'd be both in his office and, far more important, awake enough to not be too sarcastic. It wasn't that the girl was afraid of him, exactly (though in this she was more or less alone: the previous year the Sadorishi had, after eventually recovering from an ill-advised pre-dawn meeting with the Declarant, excitedly proposed to employ him in their planned attack on a violent Cultist stronghold in the desert, the idea being that upon encountering the Declarant's sarcasm the Cultists would willingly throw themselves on the waiting Sadorishi spears as sweet relief. After some consideration, the Merefics had decided that this wasn't really in keeping with the spirit of the order, and graciously refused, leaving the Declarant's satirical impulses with no outlet other than the members of his own Order) but it was difficult to get anything substantive done when the Declarant was busy indulging himself in wit.
The girl traipsed merrily into the Declarant's office and, finding him engaged in nothing more important than paperwork, announced herself with a cheerful cry of “Morning Uncle Tarasos!” The Declarant, for this was his name – Tarasos, that is, not uncle – looked up from his papers and sighed a very familiar sigh. He had long since given up on trying to make the girl observe any formalities: she would sit and listen very seriously and agree that it was indeed important and necessary to call things by their proper titles, and then the next morning it would be back to Uncle Tarasos. “Good morning, Elisa,” he replied, for such was the girl's name, that we have not until now had occasion to mention. “I want to talk to you about something, Uncle. Something important,” Elisa continued. “Very well, sit down and tell me what's on your mind,” said the Declarant, motioning to the room's only other chair. He wasn't her actual uncle, of course, but he was nevertheless very fond of the girl, despite his manner; besides, today's paperwork was particularly dull. Elisa plopped herself into the chair, and the Declarant winced. He had once hoped to perhaps groom the girl for a good marriage, perhaps into a wealthy Tehavi lineage, to secure a good life for her (it always looked good for Tehavis and the like to marry the odd ascetic order; helped counter the notion that they were overly concerned with money and insufficiently with the Path, or, as their enemies might put it, 'scheming gold-obsessed second-rate Accans who'd sell their own mother to a pimp for a share of the profits') but her utter inability to learn, let alone practice, any of the more feminine proprieties – or for that matter any proprieties at all – had scuppered that idea. Anyway, the girl didn't wait, and jumped right to the heart of the matter: “Uncle,” she said, “I've remembered that I'm Aitah.” The Declarant was visibly unfazed. He was so unfazed that he was practically coming around from the other side to total, incapacitating shock. “When did you remember this?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully even. “Yesterday afternoon! I can't imagine how I forgot something like that, but then I've never had much of a memory. Anyway, it's such a weight off my shoulders, Uncle: you know I've always worried about that sort of thing,” answered the girl.
“And you've come to me for advice then, Elisa?” the Declarant inquired, all innocent curiosity. “Exactly, Uncle! You're so wise, I thought you must know what to do. You always do,” and the girl leaned forward in anticipation. “You think too much of me, child. What have I always told you? Your own mind knows what to do; I just give it a prod now and then. And here I'm afraid that I'm as much in the dark as you are, or rather more. Aitahs are a bit outside my purview.” The girl visibly deflated, and an expression of such piteous disappointment came upon her face that even the stoutest of hearts could not but be moved. The Declarant was used to it, having been its most frequent target since the girl was little, and even he wasn't completely immune to its effects. “But,” he continued, “I'm sure we can think of something if we think together. What do Aitahs do, after all?” Elisa's face fell, and she said slowly “The Fatherless say that Aitahs burn things, they destroy and terrorize, that they caused the Immolation and would have killed us all if Javan and Gabas hadn't saved us. But that can't be true, can it? I'm sure I'd remember doing something awful like that, and I don't.”
“Well,” said the Declarant, “if you're Aitah and you didn't do that, then it must be that they weren't Aitah, just evil women lying about it.” Elisa brightened at that. “Of course, Uncle! That makes sense. I knew you'd know about this.” “So,” the Declarant continued, “if they weren't real Aitahs, we don't have to worry about them. And what do you suppose real Aitahs do? Or rather, what do you think you ought to do, since you're Aitah?” Elisa thought for a moment. “I suppose they heal people, spread peace, help people to love each other and be good to each other and try to make things better for everyone. That's what I think I ought to do, anyway. I don't think I should like to be Aitah otherwise.” She clapped her hands and gave a little cry of excitement. “Why, that must be why I'm in the Merefic Order, Uncle! [she wasn't, technically, in the Order, but this was another point the Declarant had surrendered] There's no better place to help people and learn to do good. I must have arranged matters so that I'd be born here, though I don't remember doing it. I suppose Aitah, which is to say me, is foresighted enough to arrange that for me, which is to say her. Thank you, Uncle!” she cried, her voice overflowing with gratitude. “I know what I should do now!” And with that she jumped up and hugged the Declarant, then dashed to the door. The Declarant called after her, “Elisa, what are you going to do?” The rapidly receding Elisa called over her shoulder “I'm going to go spread peace and love!”
The Declarant sat in thought for a moment, than removed a small bell from a pocket of his robe and rang it. After a moment, a small door in the side of the room opened and a young man with untidy black hair and an air of faint befuddlement emerged carrying a pile of scrolls. “What do you think, Harrit?” the Declarant asked. “About what, sir?” the youth replied, struggling to carry his burden of scrolls. “Don't play dumb, Harrit, you know what I think of that. You heard perfectly well; I should know, that's where I used to work. So tell me, what do – oh no, that's all right, just leave those scrolls anywhere, I don't mind at all - you think?” Harrit gratefully dropped the scrolls on the floor – he was singularly unadept at reading the Declarant – and replied “I think that I want to know what you think, sir.”
The Declarant sighed. He was increasingly convinced that it was a hopeless task, trying to get the boy to take some initiative. Still, he'd gone too far to give up now. And with that an idea popped into the Declarants head, a preposterously enticing idea, and the Declarant permitted himself a wide smile. An experienced man might have made a break for the door on seeing this, but Harrit was not an experienced man, so he merely smiled back nervously. “I think,” the Declarant said, “that I want you to go with her. I want you by her side at all times, keeping an eye on her, and keeping her from getting into trouble.” If Harrit's face had fallen any further, it would have gone through the floor. “You...you mean follow her out there.” “Yes, Harrit,” the Declarant said patiently, relishing every second, “it is typically necessary for Merefics to leave their offices. Not that we have offices, most of us.” Making the lad his secretary had perhaps been a mistake, the Declarant had decided, whatever his talent for it. A bit of time in the real world, attempting the Javanian task of restraining Elisa in one of her moods might be just what he needed. Harrit looked like he was about to cry, but he managed to say “Yes, sir.” without his voice breaking. Obedience to the Declarant, that was one virtue Harrit had down pat.
The Declarant turned back to his interrupted paperwork. After a moment he observed “You're still here.” Harrit jumped and said nervously, “Y-y-yes sir, I wasn't sure if you mea-” “There's no time like the present, Harrit.” Harrit swallowed hard, nodded, and turned to go, but stopped halfway and asked “Sir, you don't really think she's an Aitah, do you?” The Declarant smiled inwardly – this was an almost unprecedented show of backbone from the boy – leaned back, tented his fingers, and pursed his lips in thought. “You mean,” he said after a moment, “do I think she's possessed by a Dalotha?” Harrit nodded. “Of course not, boy. If I thought that, do you think I'd be sending you after her? She's been taken by one of her fancies – you know how she is. Besides, if a Dalotha were going to pick someone as an instrument, I think it could do a great deal better than Elisa. She's not exactly the stuff of which Ordeals are made. Quite the opposite, really” The Declarant paused for a long moment. “And if I'm wrong – and that, incidentally, is one of the things you're to discover while you're keeping an eye on her, Harrit – well, there's a Finger in Nahar. Serris can deal with it as they consider appropriate.” There was an ominous silence – Serris' appropriate methods typically ended in public executions. The Declarant looked back to his papers, and this time Harrit got the hint, and started towards the door. Just as he reached it he heard the Declarant behind him say “Harrit? I think those scrolls look rather nice, arranged just so. Really lends the room a certain quality.” Even Harrit didn't miss that, and he turned back to gather his abandoned scrolls.
TheMeanestGuest
Warlord
A Letter to Leiao Pirof of the House of Medicine of Dremai, from Torcias Neros of the Daharai Academy - 792 CA
Leiao,
It has been some few years since I have written you, and longer still since I was in Dremai. Nonetheless, I thought it appropriate to inform the House of Medicine of what I have determined through my work here in Epichirisi.
Though the Masters of the Academy have not opposed me, neither have they done much to aid me. If it is not a matter of religion, law or war they take little interest. They are happy to hoard knowledge like golden treasure in the halls of the library, but the idea that new knowledge might be created is simply beyond the limited scope of their vision. They heap their ire upon me for taking this hiatus, as they are ill-contented by the necessity that I defer the instruction of students to less-qualified instructors. I have been stuffed away in some ancient chamber, and given a single initiate for my assistance. The boy is of limited utility, but biddable at the least. The Masters will praise me yet, though, when I return to the lecture hall and the laboratory. I shall fill the minds of our Daharai with the knowledge required of a modern physician, and instruct their hands in the deft technique of the skilled surgeon.
Fortunately I have not wanted for bodies, as I am of good acquaintance with a city magistrate. Those sentenced to die find their way to my table, and these criminals and reprobates find better use in death than they did in life. I have dismembered and dissected several already - having observed the technique of the common butcher, and seen how the tissue is best separated. Incidentally, I have confirmed the uniformity of anatomy as proposed by your Helsian surgeons. Invariably the body of man contains two-hundred-and-six bones, including six of miniscule nature within the structure of the head and ear that I have discovered. It is a false assumption on the part of the uneducated that a woman possesses one rib more than a man - both are equal in this regard. I record my findings as I proceed layer by layer, and deduce the function of the various joints, cartilages and muscles. But of greatest import is my manipulation and observation of the inner vessels of the body, being the branching structures of the veins, which all trace their ultimate origin to the heart, and none to the liver, as some had been conjectured to. Being unsatisfied with this limited view, I determined it was necessary to observe these vessels as they functioned. Of course, I could not cut into a living man for my purpose, as I suspect the Masters would not see this as the work of the Righteous, and I have no interest in finding my life in the hands of a Canon Judge of the Censor. I fed wine to a large hog until its breath and its heart slowed, and it was rendered utterly comatose and unresponsive, even to the sharpness of the knife. My work was rushed - as the animal was on the verge of death - but I saw its heart as it beat the rhythm of its blood, and I saw the veins as they carried the blood to and fro. Indeed, as the large arterial veins perform their function, they categorically do not transport any substance other than blood (certainly not air!) and they uniformly carry this blood away from the heart, as the other veins are wont to return it.
I shall shortly have finished my work, which I am calling The Body of Man, and I think this shall prove the definitive text of our profession. My initiate is schooled in the Cyntan technique, and I have had him produce illustrations of the bodies' parts of such an accuracy that has never before been seen, and so the student may observe man's anatomy in detail before he should ever cut into a cadaver. I would invite you to Epichirisi so that you should avail yourself of my expertise - you are as always welcome to the hospitality of my house. I am certain the scribes of the Taesine Library will produce several copies, as they do, and I shall ensure that you return to your city bearing one.
Brother Superior Torcias Neros of Lorne
Leiao,
It has been some few years since I have written you, and longer still since I was in Dremai. Nonetheless, I thought it appropriate to inform the House of Medicine of what I have determined through my work here in Epichirisi.
Though the Masters of the Academy have not opposed me, neither have they done much to aid me. If it is not a matter of religion, law or war they take little interest. They are happy to hoard knowledge like golden treasure in the halls of the library, but the idea that new knowledge might be created is simply beyond the limited scope of their vision. They heap their ire upon me for taking this hiatus, as they are ill-contented by the necessity that I defer the instruction of students to less-qualified instructors. I have been stuffed away in some ancient chamber, and given a single initiate for my assistance. The boy is of limited utility, but biddable at the least. The Masters will praise me yet, though, when I return to the lecture hall and the laboratory. I shall fill the minds of our Daharai with the knowledge required of a modern physician, and instruct their hands in the deft technique of the skilled surgeon.
Fortunately I have not wanted for bodies, as I am of good acquaintance with a city magistrate. Those sentenced to die find their way to my table, and these criminals and reprobates find better use in death than they did in life. I have dismembered and dissected several already - having observed the technique of the common butcher, and seen how the tissue is best separated. Incidentally, I have confirmed the uniformity of anatomy as proposed by your Helsian surgeons. Invariably the body of man contains two-hundred-and-six bones, including six of miniscule nature within the structure of the head and ear that I have discovered. It is a false assumption on the part of the uneducated that a woman possesses one rib more than a man - both are equal in this regard. I record my findings as I proceed layer by layer, and deduce the function of the various joints, cartilages and muscles. But of greatest import is my manipulation and observation of the inner vessels of the body, being the branching structures of the veins, which all trace their ultimate origin to the heart, and none to the liver, as some had been conjectured to. Being unsatisfied with this limited view, I determined it was necessary to observe these vessels as they functioned. Of course, I could not cut into a living man for my purpose, as I suspect the Masters would not see this as the work of the Righteous, and I have no interest in finding my life in the hands of a Canon Judge of the Censor. I fed wine to a large hog until its breath and its heart slowed, and it was rendered utterly comatose and unresponsive, even to the sharpness of the knife. My work was rushed - as the animal was on the verge of death - but I saw its heart as it beat the rhythm of its blood, and I saw the veins as they carried the blood to and fro. Indeed, as the large arterial veins perform their function, they categorically do not transport any substance other than blood (certainly not air!) and they uniformly carry this blood away from the heart, as the other veins are wont to return it.
I shall shortly have finished my work, which I am calling The Body of Man, and I think this shall prove the definitive text of our profession. My initiate is schooled in the Cyntan technique, and I have had him produce illustrations of the bodies' parts of such an accuracy that has never before been seen, and so the student may observe man's anatomy in detail before he should ever cut into a cadaver. I would invite you to Epichirisi so that you should avail yourself of my expertise - you are as always welcome to the hospitality of my house. I am certain the scribes of the Taesine Library will produce several copies, as they do, and I shall ensure that you return to your city bearing one.
Brother Superior Torcias Neros of Lorne
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
FROM: Moril Vabin, Prelatyr of the Fatherless
TO: Alxas-ta-Vantyris, High Prince of the Scroll
I certainly appreciate your concern for the defense of Aldina; it does you great credit. And certainly the Sadorishi are bound to defend the body of the Faithful. As that most definitely includes those living within spitting distance of the compulsively treacherous Nahsjad, I would gladly commit my Order to their defense.
You may have sensed a 'but' coming. Here it is: I cannot and will not allow the Order to be a piece on the kalis board of princes. The Faithful of Aldina and their defense are at present regrettably distinct from the control of Aldina and its defense, and it besides seems to me that at the moment there is very little risk to the former, though perhaps some to the latter. And I can have nothing to do with the latter; I cannot allow our strength to be dissipated by participation in the territorial squabbles of region-states. Perhaps this was not your aim, but your proposal seems to me to be precisely calculated as to ensure that my Order would be drawn into any dispute between the Exatai and the Roshate over any little matter, whether we desired it or no and whether it benefited the Faithful or no, while preventing us from having any real impact on the lives of the Faithful of Aldina. That is not to say the we would not support the Exatai against a true Aitahist threat - certainly we would. But to put it in the bluntest possible terms, we cannot afford to simply subsidize the defense of your territorial holdings. Our resources, like your own, are not infinite, and we must prioritize their disposal, however much we might wish otherwise.
As to the matter of Accans in Gallat, that, I am afraid, falls somewhat outside my portfolio. It's a matter for Concourse to discuss. That said, as a member of Concourse I of course desire nothing but amity with our brothers across the sea, and will lend my support to their cause, so long as I believe they desire the same.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
From: Alxas-ta-Vantyris, High Prince of the Scroll
To: Moril Vabin, Prelatyr of the Sadorai
Let me assure you that I have no such designs. I simply thought you might find such a habitation useful for the nurturing of your Faithful, and as a bulwark against Aitahist invasion, the cause you stand against. Simply consider yourselves not bound to join in any such offensive struggle launched by the Exatai if you wish. It is not something that I intend. I had merely assumed that your order was to stand on the *true* frontier of defense against Aitahism, not at a slightly more comfortable remove.
If your Order wishes to accept my assurances in good faith, I will subsidize the construction. If not, I will have to offer it to the High Oracle and his Eshvai, and I had hoped to avoid Ardavani proselytizing in a traditionally Maninist area, as have been our fathers' policies.
To: Moril Vabin, Prelatyr of the Sadorai
Let me assure you that I have no such designs. I simply thought you might find such a habitation useful for the nurturing of your Faithful, and as a bulwark against Aitahist invasion, the cause you stand against. Simply consider yourselves not bound to join in any such offensive struggle launched by the Exatai if you wish. It is not something that I intend. I had merely assumed that your order was to stand on the *true* frontier of defense against Aitahism, not at a slightly more comfortable remove.
If your Order wishes to accept my assurances in good faith, I will subsidize the construction. If not, I will have to offer it to the High Oracle and his Eshvai, and I had hoped to avoid Ardavani proselytizing in a traditionally Maninist area, as have been our fathers' policies.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
FROM: Moril Vabin, Prelatyr of the Fatherless
TO: Alxas-ta-Vantyris
Ah, a simple misunderstanding. Very well, if you truly desire that, and are willing to make the appropriate assurances, we will accept. The assurances are not very stringent, and are the usual ones for our habitation, but I will state them to prevent any further misunderstanding. They are these: first, the Fatherless and our associates and holdings on Aldina are outside the reach of the High Prince, both in taxation and justice - we deal with our own; second, the population of Aldina are to be free to associate themselves with us in any way they see fit, without constraint by either the High Prince or the Sadorishi - we are to be free to make what arrangements we see necessary for the defense of the island; third, the Fatherless are to be understood as in no way guaranteeing the High Prince's control of the island - should it become necessary to save that control to guarantee the Faithful, we will fight for it, but if it isn't we will stand aside, protect the people, and watch. Given the prevailing circumstances I find it difficult to imagine a situation in which the latter could come to pass on Aldina, but it has happened elsewhere before.
And be wary, for the frontier is everywhere, High Prince. Thinking of the enemy as confined to this bit of ground or that, and the rest secure, is the most dangerous mistake a man can make.
TO: Alxas-ta-Vantyris
Ah, a simple misunderstanding. Very well, if you truly desire that, and are willing to make the appropriate assurances, we will accept. The assurances are not very stringent, and are the usual ones for our habitation, but I will state them to prevent any further misunderstanding. They are these: first, the Fatherless and our associates and holdings on Aldina are outside the reach of the High Prince, both in taxation and justice - we deal with our own; second, the population of Aldina are to be free to associate themselves with us in any way they see fit, without constraint by either the High Prince or the Sadorishi - we are to be free to make what arrangements we see necessary for the defense of the island; third, the Fatherless are to be understood as in no way guaranteeing the High Prince's control of the island - should it become necessary to save that control to guarantee the Faithful, we will fight for it, but if it isn't we will stand aside, protect the people, and watch. Given the prevailing circumstances I find it difficult to imagine a situation in which the latter could come to pass on Aldina, but it has happened elsewhere before.
And be wary, for the frontier is everywhere, High Prince. Thinking of the enemy as confined to this bit of ground or that, and the rest secure, is the most dangerous mistake a man can make.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
From: Alxas-ta-Vantyris, High Prince of the Scroll
To: Moril Vabin
I wholeheartedly make these assurances, of course. Maintaining control of the city and port of Aldina I will have no need to tax the Sadorai or interfere with their work, and my taccani will be instructed to allow the people to follow either the God of Man or the Path of Light freely, as the great Rule of Avetas ordains. I do not know what of my reputation reaches across the sea, but I am a man of peace, and my exatas lies in protecting it, not in entertaining the delusions of grandeur that dispossessed some of my line.
It has been far too long since a Prince of the Scroll set foot in Sirasona. It would be a pleasure to speak with you and the High Ward in the coming years as your demanding schedule permits. Perhaps I might be permitted to address your Concourse, not simply as an advocate for the Accans across the sea, but as an old friend renewing a friendship long-neglected.
And I am familiar with the subversion of both Aitahists and perfidious Zalkephai, my friend. If there is any war I am called to fight, it is the quiet war, fought in the shadows.
To: Moril Vabin
I wholeheartedly make these assurances, of course. Maintaining control of the city and port of Aldina I will have no need to tax the Sadorai or interfere with their work, and my taccani will be instructed to allow the people to follow either the God of Man or the Path of Light freely, as the great Rule of Avetas ordains. I do not know what of my reputation reaches across the sea, but I am a man of peace, and my exatas lies in protecting it, not in entertaining the delusions of grandeur that dispossessed some of my line.
It has been far too long since a Prince of the Scroll set foot in Sirasona. It would be a pleasure to speak with you and the High Ward in the coming years as your demanding schedule permits. Perhaps I might be permitted to address your Concourse, not simply as an advocate for the Accans across the sea, but as an old friend renewing a friendship long-neglected.
And I am familiar with the subversion of both Aitahists and perfidious Zalkephai, my friend. If there is any war I am called to fight, it is the quiet war, fought in the shadows.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Reforged Blade, Part 1
Ertanis Dascawen
Zarpe, 341 IL
“All are one, like the Earth and Sun, one Jarthe* living one Life under one Sky.”-King Gandoros Quercas Thewen
*Family
I carefully stepped over a cousin from Tarat, his death spilling our shared royal blood over his clever tongue into the ground. The true threat was yet standing, my nephew’s spear was yet sharp, and his Harcan axe was yet ready on his blood soaked belt. The Zarcasen princeling and I circled, the only two survivors of the frantic tournament. But there can only be one. Breathing heavily, and bleeding from countless wounds, we shifted to and fro, our blade carving patterns in the air, red droplets painting the sky.
The sun suddenly speared through the once cloudy sky, forcing him to blink.
Now.
With a shout I leapt towards him. His spear rose to meet my stomach, but it met the iron sole of my boot instead as I knocked it away. With a shout I kicked him full in the chest, sending him stumbling, blinking, already reaching for his axe for a vicious counter strike.
But it was too late. With one slash his crimson hand flew through the air, with another, his screaming face was split in two, exploding in gore as he collapsed onto the ground. I kicked his protective hand from his face and stabbed his throat. I gave him no time to suffer.
My grandmother, King Comden, was a sick genius in bringing back the old ways. Most who challenged the Crown Prince would die before they can attack the King-chosen man himself. If they refused to participate in the tournament, they’ll lose all face for future attempts at seizing the throne. Even then, the Crown Prince himself wasn’t secure from elimination in an earlier challenge, allowing a more able contestant to claim the throne.
But there he sat, below his promised throne, raising to his feet as I, his final challenger, pulled my blade free from my nephew’s corpse. I closed my eyes as he descended towards the ring, step by deliberate step. I had dreamed of this moment for so many years. Of his death at my hands. Of my rightful coronation as the eldest son of Wertus Dascawen. Of me finally realizing my birthright. Yet…
I had also been the Captain of the Guard, his guard. I watched my father struggle under the duties of Kingship. I watched my brother as he grew older and wiser, and as he made hard decisions both home and overseas. I watched while they ruled. Authority rests so heavily upon their brows. Was this what I truly wanted?
I looked into his watery grey eyes, beneath his fiery red hair. At first, I saw nothing, but as he got closer I could see sadness, pity… fear? He was almost at the gate, his hand already upon his sword.
Desperately, I looked into my blade for an answer. All I saw was myself, stained with blood. But then, it was not my face on my shoulder, but his. And his, mine. We are one.
Oh Genda, my wretched brother, I could not believe I once wished to slay you! I was a fool for not seeing that until now! Yet… no.
I mustn’t be weak. I must stay strong. I must do this right. Elsewise one shall die a needless death, and the other shall live a needless lie.
The royal drums roared, rumbling me out of my thoughts. Genda strode onto the bloody arena, his sword at the ready. Raising his voice, he spoke loudly and firmly. “Eldest Brother, I have seen firsthand your great skill. We shall be in great peril in our match. I wish for us to fight like we once sparred, for one last time.”
I could not help the tears.
I made a pretense to lift my helmet in salute to wipe it onto my gauntlet, and lowered it again, our sharp blades thirsting for blood neither wish to spill. He has improved much since that day, many moons ago. His stance was almost as good as mine, weary as I was.
I knew now what I must do.
Jabbing my blade towards his face, his own parried and struck like a steel snake. With a twist I grabbed his sword and jammed the pommel into his gut. He gasped, but his grip remained firm. No matter. I pommeled his armored gauntlet, and again, and again, finally forcing the sword out of his nerveless grip onto the blood-soaked sand.
With a twist I smashed his face, then levered my blade behind him. It screeched against his armor, sending sparks flying through the air, as he struggled to draw a dagger. I head butted him, dropping my own blade as he stumbled, replacing it with a dagger and a firm grasp on his armor. I pulled him back before he fell onto the ground, and pulled him close, my dagger before his eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be this way” I half gasped and half whispered.
“Sadly, it does,” said he.
I twisted to the side as his clumsily drawn dagger attempted to gut me. Dropping my own blade I grasped his shaking hand. I elbowed him in the chest, then twisted his arm his arm behind his back, slamming him onto the ground. My grip on his armor was starting to bend the metal as he squirmed under my grip.
“You can’t kill me without letting go,” said he.
“You can’t kill me by being that obvious,” said I.
“You can say I intended to be obvious,” said he.
“And you can say I intended for you to be in this position,” said I.
Our next moments were spent struggling to catch our breath as we slowly inched towards more favorable leverages, putting on a show for the blood thirsty crowd as we planned.
“What’s your clever plan then?”
“Funny, that. I don’t have one.”
He chuckled, choking into the dust, then said, “Too bad. I have several.”
I did not see what move he made, but I was sent flying, my arms flailing, as he back flipped perfectly onto his boots. However, I did recognize what he did next, as I found my arms held helplessly above my head, his hands pressing my helmeted head downward.
“Tell me, Eldest Brother, what you truly wish.”
“For you to Reign and for I to serve, my King.”
“I can only grant one wish, I’m afraid. “ his grip tightened, “Precedents have a tendency to spread in unfortunate directions, like wildfire.”
I shuddered at the sad coldness of his voice, its pitch resonating within my heart.
“Then let me be free. Free and exiled.”
He forced my head lower, forcing me to grunt in pain, “Excellent choice. Listen and listen carefully, “ he begun forcing me to lean back, allowing him to settle into a firmer stance better fitting his shorter stature, “You will break free. You will kneel. And you will submit. You will be forgiven. You will be exiled. And you will never return to Parthe again.”
“There will be more,” I grunted.
I could hear his smile. “You know me well. Speak.”
“There will be a purse, and a ship to the farland port of Kurchen for me. There will be no shame for either of us; we are brothers, we are one, our descendants must know that.”
“Excellent. Let it happen.”
So it did.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
Two men, one tall and one short, were standing on a dock, waiting to cross a river. The bridge had been washed away in a flood, and so they had to wait for a ferry to arrive. As they were waiting, a small rowboat came up to the shore, and a man hopped out of it and introduced himself as a Parthecan traveller. This Parthecan inquired as to the predicament of the men, and upon hearing their story proclaimed himself overcome with emotion and offered to carry them into the river in his boat. The two men thought for a moment, and the Parthecan could see that they were hesitant. "Friends," he cried out, "I know you are wary of be, but if you would just think you will see you have no reason to be. Some men are liars, true, and some men are Parthecans, but, I ask you, does that mean all Parthecans are liars?" The tall man had been well-educated in the west, and he thought for a moment and replied that of course it didn't, that if some things belong to one group and some to another, there was nothing saying that all of one should be in the other, or vice versa. And then the tall man gathered his belongings and climbed into the rowboat. The short man had not been educated at all, and in fact could not even read, and said nothing at all, but refused to get into the rowboat despite the reassurances of the Parthecan and the urgings of his erstwhile companion. And so the short man watched as the Parthecan ultimately rowed the tall man into the river, and then pushed him out, crossed to the other side, and made off with his belongings in triumph while the tall man struggled back to the shore he had lately departed, now soaking wet and considerably poorer.
Now you know that if you're ever asked whether it follows from some men being liars and some being Parthecan that all Parthecans are liars, you should immediately respond that of course it does: they're Parthecans. And so we see that logic is no substitute for experience.
-Collected Berathi Fables, early 9th century RM
Now you know that if you're ever asked whether it follows from some men being liars and some being Parthecan that all Parthecans are liars, you should immediately respond that of course it does: they're Parthecans. And so we see that logic is no substitute for experience.
-Collected Berathi Fables, early 9th century RM
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
OOC: I entirely agree. The Parthecan did, indeed, carry the tall man into the river. Listening skills, much?
On the Parthecan side, he'd probably realize he mispoke due the inane vowels of the local language, but he said he wouldn't lie, and he will not go back on his word.
Seriously. Fuk vowels.
On the Parthecan side, he'd probably realize he mispoke due the inane vowels of the local language, but he said he wouldn't lie, and he will not go back on his word.
Seriously. Fuk vowels.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
A Study on the Effects of Foreign Accents upon Our Youthful Future Scholars
Most troubling of the establishment of the an entire Foreign Wing within the Pajarceun is the proliferation of the dastardly vowels foreigners love so much within the mouths of our youngest students. I do not condemn the study of other languages or peoples, for all knowledge is valued. What I do find myself disgusted by is the infiltration and adulteration of our beautiful language with the savage and dirty tongue of the demi-humans.
I spoke of once of my journey amongst the Beratca and I shall speak of it again. Once I rowed between two towns during a rainstorm, hoping to find supplies to fix my party’s boat. On one shore I found two Berathi under the rain, frustratedly waiting for a ferry to cross, for the nearby bridge had collapsed. Promising to carry them into the river, I finally convinced a tall fellow to trust me and enter my boat. Unfortunately, the vagarities of their guttural language made me realize my faux paux, for I promised to carry them into the river, not across the river as I have intended, due to a hanging “i” and a lengthened "a". Apologizing profusely, I steeled my nerves and kept my word, throwing him into the raging waters. Once I reached the town I arranged for a courier to return his goods at my expense, as well as sending extra coin for the funeral, or for his trouble.
This same unclean language now stalks our halls. Symptoms can be heard every day as their tongues writhe between their lips, ungoverned by the rightful manifestation of sounds and ideas. Meanings are lost and distorted as their freed muscles roll and throb, unbound from their mind. The Dark of the body must be chained by the Light of the spirit, just as the Light of the mind must be kept tied to reality by the Dark weight of the body. I fear the growing disconnect and imbalance amongst our pupils, for it may ruin their examination and forbid them from joining our ranks proper.
I beseech you to take my words into consideration as you deliberate on the budget of the Jarceun the following year.
-Jarceunci Tupzi
Most troubling of the establishment of the an entire Foreign Wing within the Pajarceun is the proliferation of the dastardly vowels foreigners love so much within the mouths of our youngest students. I do not condemn the study of other languages or peoples, for all knowledge is valued. What I do find myself disgusted by is the infiltration and adulteration of our beautiful language with the savage and dirty tongue of the demi-humans.
I spoke of once of my journey amongst the Beratca and I shall speak of it again. Once I rowed between two towns during a rainstorm, hoping to find supplies to fix my party’s boat. On one shore I found two Berathi under the rain, frustratedly waiting for a ferry to cross, for the nearby bridge had collapsed. Promising to carry them into the river, I finally convinced a tall fellow to trust me and enter my boat. Unfortunately, the vagarities of their guttural language made me realize my faux paux, for I promised to carry them into the river, not across the river as I have intended, due to a hanging “i” and a lengthened "a". Apologizing profusely, I steeled my nerves and kept my word, throwing him into the raging waters. Once I reached the town I arranged for a courier to return his goods at my expense, as well as sending extra coin for the funeral, or for his trouble.
This same unclean language now stalks our halls. Symptoms can be heard every day as their tongues writhe between their lips, ungoverned by the rightful manifestation of sounds and ideas. Meanings are lost and distorted as their freed muscles roll and throb, unbound from their mind. The Dark of the body must be chained by the Light of the spirit, just as the Light of the mind must be kept tied to reality by the Dark weight of the body. I fear the growing disconnect and imbalance amongst our pupils, for it may ruin their examination and forbid them from joining our ranks proper.
I beseech you to take my words into consideration as you deliberate on the budget of the Jarceun the following year.
-Jarceunci Tupzi
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
I have a bunch of maps to do, but this was probably the least complicated, so let's begin here.
The Ethnocultural Groups of the Northern Satar (c. 800 RM)
Vedai Satar are by far the dominant ethnic group of the Tephran Exatai, and serve as the ruling lineages in the Exalai Sartashai and the Vellari Exatai, where Vedai are both sizable minorities. (40% of the population in the Shield Princedom, 5-10% of the population in the Vellari Exatai.)
The Vedai (People of the Seven) trace their lineage from the legendary seven sons of Taleldil, and the Seven Tribes of the Satarai. Vedai is in fact an adoptive identity among many groups, secured through generations of intermarriage with more impoverished "legitimate" Satar families. They are staunch defenders of orthodox Ardavan (which takes their name, Vedai Ardavan,) and uphold traditional Satar values of equestrian mastery and the self-created right of exatas.
Specific traditions include wearing metal masks, the right of battle-challenge, and more recently, the practice of adoptive heirs among the Tephrans to discourage "corrupt" practices of blood inheritance. Women own separate small parcels of land that pass down matrilineally along with their masks. Mask culture is most heavily enforced among Vedai Satar, and none but immediate family members are permitted to see the naked face except on some very special occasions.
Symbols: The wolf rampant, the seven-pointed sunburst of Taleldil.
Accans are almost exclusively found within the Vellari Exatai, though they make up a small minority in the Taudo lands, and a more significant minority in coastal Gallat. They are notorious for their thriftiness and financial acumen, which also gains them a difficult reputation among their neighbors. They are a highly urbanized culture with a reputation for discipline, organization, and extreme ambition, as well as intrigue. Among their neighbors they have the best technology, if not the fiercest martial tradition.
Accans mostly wear ceramic and silken masks in public, and discard them entirely among the company of their nuccion, the extended family groupings that also serve as miniature states and sophisticated financial organizations. Like the Vedai Satar, Accans have a high tolerance for slavery, though Accan slavery is primarily punishment for a crime or used to pay off a debt. Permanent classes of slaves do exist but primarily among the extreme upper class.
In recent times, Accans have also developed a serious interest in scholarly pursuits, becoming the main source of recruits for the Sephashim, the world-renowned academy of learning built during the reign of the Six Great Redeemers. A beneficial tripartite relationship of patronage has developed between the nuccia, the Sephashim, and the Vellari military that threatens to eclipse the power of the Princes entirely if they are not careful.
Symbol: The Silver Scroll, bearing the insignia ESVET. (Ev Sephas Ven Ev Tephas, roughly Wisdom is the Path to Heaven.)
Evinai are an ancient and proud people with an aristocratic tradition, in great numbers throughout the Iom and Rhon river valleys. They also form a smaller minority in Taudo and Accan lands. Over the past 300 years they wholeheartedly embraced Vedai Ardavan and firmly cling to it as a defense against the neighboring Taudo and Zalkephai, with whom they have blood feuded for decades. The previous groups have raided Evinai territory repeatedly over the past several centuries, and following the total destruction of the Princedom of the Storm, various minor quem (often called cloud princelings, for they came from the Storm) gathered up their family groupings and migrated to safer pastures.
The Evinai are known for wearing cloth masks that leave their eyes fully exposed, and richly layered clothing woven from the wool of their prized sheep flocks. Most of them work as farmers and herders, and they are known for making large yearly migrations from their pasturelands on the foothills and marches marches of the north of the Rahevat to Atracta and Acca, where they sell their cloth and winter their flocks.
Most of the great ancient Evinai cities in the Iom have been taken over by Accan nuccia, and this upsets the Evinai extremely; however since they are also currently dependent on Acca for protection from their more powerful neighbors, the situation has become a major source of ethnic and political tension. A much more benevolent relationship of mutual coexistence exists in the Rhon; the Shield Prince still claims the ancient Evynai title of Lawgiver and follows many of their customs. This has led some in the Vellari Exatai to fear that the Evinai are a fifth column for Alusille, and the "lightskins" in Atracta (many of them refugees from the Wars of Prophecy) are occasionally the target of Accan pogroms.
Symbol: The Shield and Scales.
Taudo are a mysterious and poorly understood people that occupy a vast swath of land centered on the River Lorya. Known in ancient times for being cave-dwellers, they now mostly live in the deep northern forests, and have adopted a great confusion of native, Satar, and Gallatene practices. While the Taudo are traditionally regarded as being Maninist, many of them also worship Taleldil as a god, either exclusively or alongside Maninism, while still others take the Sadorishi view of Talad as a mortal exemplar of Manin. Furthermore, traditional Taudo interpretation of Manin is not as Light, but as Shadow, though the similar iconographies of enlightenment (well, enshadowment) and non-deific direction that permeates orthodox Maninism also exist within their society.
Taudo cities are low, unimpressive buildings of logs and dirt, typically built in a minimally disturbing fashion in the middle of great forests. Taudo are inconsistent with their mask culture, though the majority of them tend to wear masks of wood, in keeping with their tradition as forest-dwellers. They are doughty skirmishers and ambushers.
Symbol: A solar eclipse bearing eight rays.
Einani are a family of related subcultures, including Lian, Min, and Zisi, that live along the banks of the great Einan river. They are primarily farmers and craftsmen, though an increasing number have risen to become Zalkephic Oracles in recent years. The Einani are known for being a quiescent and obedient people, ever since the twin disasters of the Rebellion of Zys and the Sheaving of the Wheat, resulting in depredations by Prince Elikas and Redeemer Taexi that truly crushed the spirit of the Einani and left them in thrall to their Satar masters.
The Einani were frequently drafted as conscripts by Tephrans, Shield Princes and others, giving them serious experience as infantry fighters. Their land was also a perpetual battleground in the civil wars of the late Karapeshai. When the Zalkephic prophecies spread, the Einani embraced them eagerly in hopes for an end to war, and transferred their loyalties from the Princes to the Oracles in the Wars of Prophecy. They now serve as the economic backbone of the Zalkephai Rashai, and are largely left to govern themselves in municipal organizations under the watchful eye of the Oracles.
Symbols: Two crossed scythes. (The traditional weapon of the peasant class.)
Rashic Vedai is a relatively recent cultural development, an evolution of northern Vedai Satar culture with mixtures of Vonin, Einani and Chapru to create a unique northern argot that still resembles traditional Satar while also differing from it. Mask culture is still fairly strict, but all individuals wear masks of reeds, except for the Oracles, who wear masks of pure white with their name inscribed in red.
Rashic Vedai mostly organizes the people around collective worship and work; private property has not been abolished but the monastic lifestyle has bled into popular culture. Astonishingly, attempts at full public literacy and education have been made in places, though these are still entirely nascent. It is a culture of extremes, enforced peace and tolerance for others except when a criminal is located or a heretic found, during which brutal Oracular punishment or vicious mob violence takes hold.
Symbols: Ornate calligraphy of 'Zal' and 'Tal' woven together.
---
Rivalries and Friendships:
Taudo vs. Evinai Cloudlings
Accan Nuccia vs. Evinai Cloudlings
Rashic Vedai vs. Evinai
Rashic Vedai vs. Vedai Satar
Einani vs. Tephrans
Vellari vs. Tephrans
Rashic Vedai & Einani
Vellari Princes & Evinai Cloudlings (strained)
Exalai Sartashai [Shield High Princes] & Evinai Quem
Vellari Vedai & Vellari Accans
Xidevi Taudo & Halyrate Sadorishi
The Ethnocultural Groups of the Northern Satar (c. 800 RM)
Vedai Satar are by far the dominant ethnic group of the Tephran Exatai, and serve as the ruling lineages in the Exalai Sartashai and the Vellari Exatai, where Vedai are both sizable minorities. (40% of the population in the Shield Princedom, 5-10% of the population in the Vellari Exatai.)
The Vedai (People of the Seven) trace their lineage from the legendary seven sons of Taleldil, and the Seven Tribes of the Satarai. Vedai is in fact an adoptive identity among many groups, secured through generations of intermarriage with more impoverished "legitimate" Satar families. They are staunch defenders of orthodox Ardavan (which takes their name, Vedai Ardavan,) and uphold traditional Satar values of equestrian mastery and the self-created right of exatas.
Specific traditions include wearing metal masks, the right of battle-challenge, and more recently, the practice of adoptive heirs among the Tephrans to discourage "corrupt" practices of blood inheritance. Women own separate small parcels of land that pass down matrilineally along with their masks. Mask culture is most heavily enforced among Vedai Satar, and none but immediate family members are permitted to see the naked face except on some very special occasions.
Symbols: The wolf rampant, the seven-pointed sunburst of Taleldil.
Accans are almost exclusively found within the Vellari Exatai, though they make up a small minority in the Taudo lands, and a more significant minority in coastal Gallat. They are notorious for their thriftiness and financial acumen, which also gains them a difficult reputation among their neighbors. They are a highly urbanized culture with a reputation for discipline, organization, and extreme ambition, as well as intrigue. Among their neighbors they have the best technology, if not the fiercest martial tradition.
Accans mostly wear ceramic and silken masks in public, and discard them entirely among the company of their nuccion, the extended family groupings that also serve as miniature states and sophisticated financial organizations. Like the Vedai Satar, Accans have a high tolerance for slavery, though Accan slavery is primarily punishment for a crime or used to pay off a debt. Permanent classes of slaves do exist but primarily among the extreme upper class.
In recent times, Accans have also developed a serious interest in scholarly pursuits, becoming the main source of recruits for the Sephashim, the world-renowned academy of learning built during the reign of the Six Great Redeemers. A beneficial tripartite relationship of patronage has developed between the nuccia, the Sephashim, and the Vellari military that threatens to eclipse the power of the Princes entirely if they are not careful.
Symbol: The Silver Scroll, bearing the insignia ESVET. (Ev Sephas Ven Ev Tephas, roughly Wisdom is the Path to Heaven.)
Evinai are an ancient and proud people with an aristocratic tradition, in great numbers throughout the Iom and Rhon river valleys. They also form a smaller minority in Taudo and Accan lands. Over the past 300 years they wholeheartedly embraced Vedai Ardavan and firmly cling to it as a defense against the neighboring Taudo and Zalkephai, with whom they have blood feuded for decades. The previous groups have raided Evinai territory repeatedly over the past several centuries, and following the total destruction of the Princedom of the Storm, various minor quem (often called cloud princelings, for they came from the Storm) gathered up their family groupings and migrated to safer pastures.
The Evinai are known for wearing cloth masks that leave their eyes fully exposed, and richly layered clothing woven from the wool of their prized sheep flocks. Most of them work as farmers and herders, and they are known for making large yearly migrations from their pasturelands on the foothills and marches marches of the north of the Rahevat to Atracta and Acca, where they sell their cloth and winter their flocks.
Most of the great ancient Evinai cities in the Iom have been taken over by Accan nuccia, and this upsets the Evinai extremely; however since they are also currently dependent on Acca for protection from their more powerful neighbors, the situation has become a major source of ethnic and political tension. A much more benevolent relationship of mutual coexistence exists in the Rhon; the Shield Prince still claims the ancient Evynai title of Lawgiver and follows many of their customs. This has led some in the Vellari Exatai to fear that the Evinai are a fifth column for Alusille, and the "lightskins" in Atracta (many of them refugees from the Wars of Prophecy) are occasionally the target of Accan pogroms.
Symbol: The Shield and Scales.
Taudo are a mysterious and poorly understood people that occupy a vast swath of land centered on the River Lorya. Known in ancient times for being cave-dwellers, they now mostly live in the deep northern forests, and have adopted a great confusion of native, Satar, and Gallatene practices. While the Taudo are traditionally regarded as being Maninist, many of them also worship Taleldil as a god, either exclusively or alongside Maninism, while still others take the Sadorishi view of Talad as a mortal exemplar of Manin. Furthermore, traditional Taudo interpretation of Manin is not as Light, but as Shadow, though the similar iconographies of enlightenment (well, enshadowment) and non-deific direction that permeates orthodox Maninism also exist within their society.
Taudo cities are low, unimpressive buildings of logs and dirt, typically built in a minimally disturbing fashion in the middle of great forests. Taudo are inconsistent with their mask culture, though the majority of them tend to wear masks of wood, in keeping with their tradition as forest-dwellers. They are doughty skirmishers and ambushers.
Symbol: A solar eclipse bearing eight rays.
Einani are a family of related subcultures, including Lian, Min, and Zisi, that live along the banks of the great Einan river. They are primarily farmers and craftsmen, though an increasing number have risen to become Zalkephic Oracles in recent years. The Einani are known for being a quiescent and obedient people, ever since the twin disasters of the Rebellion of Zys and the Sheaving of the Wheat, resulting in depredations by Prince Elikas and Redeemer Taexi that truly crushed the spirit of the Einani and left them in thrall to their Satar masters.
The Einani were frequently drafted as conscripts by Tephrans, Shield Princes and others, giving them serious experience as infantry fighters. Their land was also a perpetual battleground in the civil wars of the late Karapeshai. When the Zalkephic prophecies spread, the Einani embraced them eagerly in hopes for an end to war, and transferred their loyalties from the Princes to the Oracles in the Wars of Prophecy. They now serve as the economic backbone of the Zalkephai Rashai, and are largely left to govern themselves in municipal organizations under the watchful eye of the Oracles.
Symbols: Two crossed scythes. (The traditional weapon of the peasant class.)
Rashic Vedai is a relatively recent cultural development, an evolution of northern Vedai Satar culture with mixtures of Vonin, Einani and Chapru to create a unique northern argot that still resembles traditional Satar while also differing from it. Mask culture is still fairly strict, but all individuals wear masks of reeds, except for the Oracles, who wear masks of pure white with their name inscribed in red.
Rashic Vedai mostly organizes the people around collective worship and work; private property has not been abolished but the monastic lifestyle has bled into popular culture. Astonishingly, attempts at full public literacy and education have been made in places, though these are still entirely nascent. It is a culture of extremes, enforced peace and tolerance for others except when a criminal is located or a heretic found, during which brutal Oracular punishment or vicious mob violence takes hold.
Symbols: Ornate calligraphy of 'Zal' and 'Tal' woven together.
---
Rivalries and Friendships:
Taudo vs. Evinai Cloudlings
Accan Nuccia vs. Evinai Cloudlings
Rashic Vedai vs. Evinai
Rashic Vedai vs. Vedai Satar
Einani vs. Tephrans
Vellari vs. Tephrans
Rashic Vedai & Einani
Vellari Princes & Evinai Cloudlings (strained)
Exalai Sartashai [Shield High Princes] & Evinai Quem
Vellari Vedai & Vellari Accans
Xidevi Taudo & Halyrate Sadorishi
TheMeanestGuest
Warlord
On the Spirits of Enlightenment
a position by Sister Eadres Esion of Ormos, presented to the Masters of the Conclave in 793 CA
a position by Sister Eadres Esion of Ormos, presented to the Masters of the Conclave in 793 CA
Venerable Masters!
Humbly do I come before you on this day that I might petition your benefaction and your support. I study well the poetry of the wise sutras, and the noble sutras, and even the death sutras - just so, for this is the duty of any who would name themselves Daharai. I have read the Book of the Shore as written by Arasos himself, as I have read Chitan's Book of the Joyful, and as I have read the Book of Illumination by Sadar. These and many more besides, for I am Daharai, and it is my sacred duty to know these things.
But though the Daharai know so well the burdens of duty and though they shoulder them with gladness, it is my great fear that more and more my Brothers and my Sisters are blinded by the strictures of their duty. They do not see with the open eyes of Arasos, they do not feel with the open heart of Chitan, and so they do not think with the open mind of Sadar. It has been many years since we have considered the world as the indori did in ages past - even though it is known that the indori watch over us from that great height that is the Kingdom of Enlightenment, and even though it is known that they return upon the wheel to walk among us when the souls of man find themselves lost in the wilderness. I fear, Masters, that we tred upon the edge of that treacherous wilderness, and I know that we may lose ourselves if our path should stray nearer. Was it not Sadar who said that a man must not blind himself with bitterness by fixing his gaze upon the past? Did he not say that we must strive forward upon the path of Illumination, so that we should find enlightenment? We must fix our feet ahead upon the path, Masters, and not weigh our ankles down with ancient chains. We must love our fellows, and not hate them for old slights and differences.
I speak, of course, of the Aitahists - of the Cultists. Yes, Masters, I know that you will say that we have been good to these men and women, that we have treated them well and tolerated their falsity and their willful ignorance. We are not Satar, and we do not murder men for the difference of their belief, and this is well - but neither do we cherish them despite their difference. These people are our neighbours, and we have not loved them as Chitan would have loved them, as we should love them as we are bound to by our duty as Daharai.
Please, Masters, listen to your lowly Sister for but a few moments more. We know that the indor that we call Wisdom returns upon the wheel to bless our souls, as it came to bless Charitas, and as it blessed Arasos and Sadar, and so too do we know that the indor Courage rode behind the eyes of Kaltas Nire and Tythas Solien as they took the Righteous course. Masters, we know many indori, and we worship the grace they have delivered us. But is it not that other peoples too might receive this great blessing? The indori are greater than we, and they are of Enlightenment, and so it cannot be that they should favour some men over others. By the noble sutras do we know that Enlightenment is a gift meant for every soul, and not some special few. The indor Compassion blessed Chitan, but so too will I declare before this august Conclave that it blessed the woman Eri of Reppaba, who is worshipped as the Aitah. I have read her words, and it is as clear as brilliant day that her message is one of Enlightenment, and that we might embrace it and so walk lighter upon the path.
Where the indor work through us, we cannot help but notice. Let us search for Mindfulness and Righteousness in the deeds and words of every man and woman. Let us invite our neighbours into the Temple, Masters. Let us love and cherish them, and let us walk forward together, hand-in-hand, so that we might find Enlightenment.
----
And it was that the Exarch, Arasos Anthon-Solien, stood from where he sat before this humble sister and gave her his applause, and it was that all the assembled Masters joined him in his praise, for they saw that this was Indagahor. On that day was a new Order ordained to welcome the Aitahist into the temple, that of the Circle and the Square, and it was sent into the East that it might carry out its great task.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Religious syncretism is all fine and good except for when actually important differences exist.
I prefer Jitanu's enlightenment.
I prefer Jitanu's enlightenment.
TheMeanestGuest
Warlord
Which isn't to say I don't recognize those differences, but particular aspects of Eastern Aitahism aren't antithetical to Indagahor - which has never decreed that a person has to be one thing and only one thing. Maninism in particular has long been regarded as fairly compatible with Indagahor, if at times a bit awkward and wonky, mostly recently. It is a relatively open faith, as at the most essential level a person only has to strive to embody the Three Precepts to be Indagahori.
To be clear, I am sure the Conclave of the Masters and the Order of the Circle and the Square will be selective in what they regard as acceptable. Eri, and maybe the Second Aitah, could easily be regarded as an incarnation of the indor of Compassion. But I doubt any of the others would be readily embraced. There is a lot of stuff in Aitahism that is entirely extraneous, particularly all the thees and the thous and other such strictures, as Indagahor is a pretty permissive religion that isn't very concerned with those sorts of specifics. The Daharai aren't saying that Aitahists are Indagahori or vice versa, only that one isn't necessarily incompatible with the other.
I also don't think this is a measure that Chitan would disagree with.
To be clear, I am sure the Conclave of the Masters and the Order of the Circle and the Square will be selective in what they regard as acceptable. Eri, and maybe the Second Aitah, could easily be regarded as an incarnation of the indor of Compassion. But I doubt any of the others would be readily embraced. There is a lot of stuff in Aitahism that is entirely extraneous, particularly all the thees and the thous and other such strictures, as Indagahor is a pretty permissive religion that isn't very concerned with those sorts of specifics. The Daharai aren't saying that Aitahists are Indagahori or vice versa, only that one isn't necessarily incompatible with the other.
I also don't think this is a measure that Chitan would disagree with.
m.t.cicero
Good Kid
Temple of Aelome Tagharisa, Naesre, Maehoui Roshate, Faraghir i'Karghae
910 SR (Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7)
This was to be the second time they had met. Nearly short of breath, Jaerhagh a Mighaena was rushing to meet his love at the Temple Square just south of the center of Naesre, his pace somewhere in between a walk and a jog. Jaerhagh was wheezing by the time he could see the square, his legs struggling to carry him faster. A generous observer might say that Jaerhagh had never wanted for food; one less kind may have to stifle a laugh at this scene, as the rather corpulent teenager appeared to be on the cusp of falling and rolling the rest of the way to Temple Square. After a truly heroic effort, Jaerhagh managed to arrive in the square, where to his left the Temple of Aelome Tagharisa loomed high, higher than any building in the new capital of the Roshate save the Palace of Statues.
“You’re not like the other boys, you know? You’re…kinder, gentler.”
Jaerhagh recalled the ecstasy he felt in that moment. This beautiful Siran girl, with her soft skin and delicate features, looking at him, a rather homely boy whose father had come over as a merchant from the Sesh, a boy who had never really fit in in this land, with what he was convinced was love in her eyes.
“You-you really think so?”
“Of course I do, Jaer. I want to see you again, but it must be in secret. I’m afraid what my brothers will do if they discover us…can you meet me at Temple Square, at midnight the day after tomorrow?”
“Of-of course. Anything for you, Kaghalie.”
But he saw no sign of her here. It was around midnight, he was sure. Maybe she was held up. Or maybe she forgot. Or maybe she really hates me. By the Light, why did I even come here?
At that moment he heard a whisper coming from the Temple of Aelome Tagharisa. Kaghalie? Jaer walked across the square, to the base of the temple steps.
“Kaghalie, are you there?”
Jaer waited for a moment before he heard footsteps. They were fast and loud, and their rhythm was irregular too. Wait…horses?!
Before he had time to react, three horses burst from the temple and galloped down the steps, their riders clad in the red and black fabrics fashionable among Siran nobility. The three white feathers in the cap of the middle rider signified that he was high nobility, perhaps even related to a Sahres. The horses began to circle around Jaer, their riders grasping their lances threateningly, faking jabs at him. They were laughing too. The middle rider with the feathers swerved his horse straight towards Jaer before rearing back, causing Jaer to flinch backwards and fall.
“You Jaerhagh?”
“Y-Yes, m’lord.”
“You’re some Seshie merchant’s son, right? Rich family? Sure looks like your daddy feeds you well, at least.”
The noble’s companions barely stifled their laughter. Jaer was mortified.
“And I’ve heard you know my sister too.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”
“Shut up, you know exactly who I’m talking about. Kaghie told us herself you wanted to meet her here.”
“You’re Kaghie’s brother?”
“Pahalar yo Szaebalata. And you don’t get to call her Kaghie, you Seshie excuse for a man. Can you even ride a horse, Seshie? You’re not worthy of a Siran girl, let alone my sister. You even know who our uncle is?”
“I, uh, no?”
“Rajabralah Ibaecar uin Parceala, Sahres of Asocaer. Y’know the one on the Pearl Chamber? Our father’s his brother, Jabralah Szaebalar uin Parceala.”
“I…didn’t know that.”
“Well now you do. And if I ever see you anywhere near my sister again you can expect to see this,” he brandished his lance, “in your stomach.”
“But…she said…she loves me!”
The blunt end of Pahalar’s lance struck Jaer in the face with such force that he almost passed out.
“Who do you think you are? You think that a Siran girl, let alone a noble girl, can love you, some Seshie pig? Kaghie told me everything. I caught her leaving our home, and when I asked her where she was going and who she was meeting, she told me everything. At first, sure, she said she was meeting you and that it was her idea. But of course I didn’t believe her. When girls feel threatened they’ll lie, they won’t say what’s really happening. You think I’d believe that she wanted to see you? Eventually she told me the truth though, that you threatened her and told her to meet you here so you could do whatever messed-up stuff you Seshies like doing to her. And here you are.”
“I would never threaten her! I could never hurt Kahgi – Kaghalie!”
Another blow from the shaft of the lance, this time straight into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.
“Stop lying! Now get up, get out of here, and if I ever see you anywhere near my sister again…well I’ve already told you what’s gonna happen. Go on, scram!”
Without a word Jaer scrambled onto his feet and sprinted from the square, his legs carrying him faster than he ever knew possible. Pahalar watched him flee back towards the Seshweay quarter of the city.
“You think he got the message?” asked one of Pahalar’s companions, Saerhun.
“You think he didn’t? Those Seshies are all weak. Just takes one little beating for them to know their place. And from the looks of it, our friend Jaer is pretty well aware now of where he stands. C’mon, let’s head home. Our work here’s done.”
“Kaghie told you not to hurt him. She’s gonna be furious if she finds out.”
“You call a couple bruises on the face hurting him? It’s not like I stabbed the guy. And she’s not gonna find out anyways, this kid’s gonna make sure that he’s never anywhere close to her again. He knows what’s good for him.”
Pahalar couldn't help but grin as he rode back home, feeling the light nighttime breeze coming off of the Lovi. His life was good, his place in this city secure. No matter how many rich merchants came from across the sea, no matter how much money they had, they would know their place here, or they'd have to learn it.
910 SR (Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7)
Pahalar yo Szaebalata & Jaerhagh a Mighaena
The Jabralah's Son & The Hapless Lover
The Jabralah's Son & The Hapless Lover
This was to be the second time they had met. Nearly short of breath, Jaerhagh a Mighaena was rushing to meet his love at the Temple Square just south of the center of Naesre, his pace somewhere in between a walk and a jog. Jaerhagh was wheezing by the time he could see the square, his legs struggling to carry him faster. A generous observer might say that Jaerhagh had never wanted for food; one less kind may have to stifle a laugh at this scene, as the rather corpulent teenager appeared to be on the cusp of falling and rolling the rest of the way to Temple Square. After a truly heroic effort, Jaerhagh managed to arrive in the square, where to his left the Temple of Aelome Tagharisa loomed high, higher than any building in the new capital of the Roshate save the Palace of Statues.
“You’re not like the other boys, you know? You’re…kinder, gentler.”
Jaerhagh recalled the ecstasy he felt in that moment. This beautiful Siran girl, with her soft skin and delicate features, looking at him, a rather homely boy whose father had come over as a merchant from the Sesh, a boy who had never really fit in in this land, with what he was convinced was love in her eyes.
“You-you really think so?”
“Of course I do, Jaer. I want to see you again, but it must be in secret. I’m afraid what my brothers will do if they discover us…can you meet me at Temple Square, at midnight the day after tomorrow?”
“Of-of course. Anything for you, Kaghalie.”
But he saw no sign of her here. It was around midnight, he was sure. Maybe she was held up. Or maybe she forgot. Or maybe she really hates me. By the Light, why did I even come here?
At that moment he heard a whisper coming from the Temple of Aelome Tagharisa. Kaghalie? Jaer walked across the square, to the base of the temple steps.
“Kaghalie, are you there?”
Jaer waited for a moment before he heard footsteps. They were fast and loud, and their rhythm was irregular too. Wait…horses?!
Before he had time to react, three horses burst from the temple and galloped down the steps, their riders clad in the red and black fabrics fashionable among Siran nobility. The three white feathers in the cap of the middle rider signified that he was high nobility, perhaps even related to a Sahres. The horses began to circle around Jaer, their riders grasping their lances threateningly, faking jabs at him. They were laughing too. The middle rider with the feathers swerved his horse straight towards Jaer before rearing back, causing Jaer to flinch backwards and fall.
“You Jaerhagh?”
“Y-Yes, m’lord.”
“You’re some Seshie merchant’s son, right? Rich family? Sure looks like your daddy feeds you well, at least.”
The noble’s companions barely stifled their laughter. Jaer was mortified.
“And I’ve heard you know my sister too.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re t-talking about.”
“Shut up, you know exactly who I’m talking about. Kaghie told us herself you wanted to meet her here.”
“You’re Kaghie’s brother?”
“Pahalar yo Szaebalata. And you don’t get to call her Kaghie, you Seshie excuse for a man. Can you even ride a horse, Seshie? You’re not worthy of a Siran girl, let alone my sister. You even know who our uncle is?”
“I, uh, no?”
“Rajabralah Ibaecar uin Parceala, Sahres of Asocaer. Y’know the one on the Pearl Chamber? Our father’s his brother, Jabralah Szaebalar uin Parceala.”
“I…didn’t know that.”
“Well now you do. And if I ever see you anywhere near my sister again you can expect to see this,” he brandished his lance, “in your stomach.”
“But…she said…she loves me!”
The blunt end of Pahalar’s lance struck Jaer in the face with such force that he almost passed out.
“Who do you think you are? You think that a Siran girl, let alone a noble girl, can love you, some Seshie pig? Kaghie told me everything. I caught her leaving our home, and when I asked her where she was going and who she was meeting, she told me everything. At first, sure, she said she was meeting you and that it was her idea. But of course I didn’t believe her. When girls feel threatened they’ll lie, they won’t say what’s really happening. You think I’d believe that she wanted to see you? Eventually she told me the truth though, that you threatened her and told her to meet you here so you could do whatever messed-up stuff you Seshies like doing to her. And here you are.”
“I would never threaten her! I could never hurt Kahgi – Kaghalie!”
Another blow from the shaft of the lance, this time straight into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs.
“Stop lying! Now get up, get out of here, and if I ever see you anywhere near my sister again…well I’ve already told you what’s gonna happen. Go on, scram!”
Without a word Jaer scrambled onto his feet and sprinted from the square, his legs carrying him faster than he ever knew possible. Pahalar watched him flee back towards the Seshweay quarter of the city.
***
“You think he got the message?” asked one of Pahalar’s companions, Saerhun.
“You think he didn’t? Those Seshies are all weak. Just takes one little beating for them to know their place. And from the looks of it, our friend Jaer is pretty well aware now of where he stands. C’mon, let’s head home. Our work here’s done.”
“Kaghie told you not to hurt him. She’s gonna be furious if she finds out.”
“You call a couple bruises on the face hurting him? It’s not like I stabbed the guy. And she’s not gonna find out anyways, this kid’s gonna make sure that he’s never anywhere close to her again. He knows what’s good for him.”
Pahalar couldn't help but grin as he rode back home, feeling the light nighttime breeze coming off of the Lovi. His life was good, his place in this city secure. No matter how many rich merchants came from across the sea, no matter how much money they had, they would know their place here, or they'd have to learn it.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
OOC: Aelonists are diiiicks. 
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
OOC: Aelonists are diiiicks.
Bullying sister's boyfriend > massacring and eating civilians?
