End of Empires - N3S III

All civilised folk agree, Satari breed with horses. HOW IS THAT ACCURATE?

Celtic kings, from prehistory to Wales, would often penetrate horses when they ascended to the throne. The Romans trained animals to rape women as part of the gladiatorial games (halftime?), the Greeks write commonly about Egyptians having sex with animals, ancient Hindus believed copulation with the Sacred Cow brought good fortune...

And the Seshwaey love their dolphins.
 
Celtic kings, from prehistory to Wales, would often penetrate horses when they ascended to the throne. The Romans trained animals to rape women as part of the gladiatorial games (halftime?), the Greeks write commonly about Egyptians having sex with animals, ancient Hindus believed copulation with the Sacred Cow brought good fortune...

And the Seshwaey love their dolphins.

Err, interesting research you must have done for that information! :vomit:
 
Shadowbound said:
Celtic kings, from prehistory to Wales, would often penetrate horses when they ascended to the throne. The Romans trained animals to rape women as part of the gladiatorial games (halftime?), the Greeks write commonly about Egyptians having sex with animals, ancient Hindus believed copulation with the Sacred Cow brought good fortune...

Granted, but the Satari are the spawn of horses and men. LITERALLY.
 
Lord_Iggy said:
Keeping in mind that this is said by one of the slippery fish people.

IT IS SAID BY SHE, OF THE BLOOD AND THE POWER, OF THE SUN AND THE MOON, OF THE OCEANS AND THE LAND; SHE OF THE HERE AND HEREAFTER, OF THIS WORLD AND THAT, OF US BUT NOT; THROUGH HER IS SALVATION, AROUND HER IS DEATH, BENEATH HER IS GLORY; ALL THINGS IN THREE; SHE IS THREE, THRICE AND TRIPLE; GLORY TO HER, GLORY OF HER, SHE IS GLORY.

WA - AITAH.

lord_joakim said:
LITERALLY mythological.

LITERALLY. The Satari are not capable of deep thought. The horse parts interfere with the human parts creating something like an animal - beastal, dull-witted, stupid - with some human limited human input - tool use, limited speech and reasoning faculties.

lord_joakim said:
(I am sure that would be the case. Otherwise... Whaaat?)

IT IS KNOWN.
 
Satar would know all about Sehorsehockye sexual prowess, having experienced surprise attacks from the rear all throughout the delta area.
 
Thlayli said:
It's funny to see such an intense cultural frustration. Of course, we believe this stems from frustrations of another sort, given the Sehorsehockyes legendary lack of sexual prowess.

We admit it. While we might like to say we're like stallions with the ladies, we're not actually stallions.
 
2/2 Gods agree, Satar are horses.

#nes said:
[16:51] ->> Topic is: Moderator Action: snort[/mo d]
[16:51] ->> Topic set by NK!IceChat77@71-13-220-214.dhcp.mrqt.mi.char ter.com on 2/06/2011 12:20:19 p.m.
[16:51] ->> Channel Modes are: +nt
[16:51] ->> Channel created on 25/03/2011 3:28:41 a.m.
[16:51] <Masada> SNORT? LIKE A SATAR?
[16:53] <%NK> exactly
[16:53] <+Masada> YEAH

Please read the forum rules: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=422889
 
No amount of words can equal the actions that cast the Ardavai down into their valley of evil.
 
Tales of Varied Woe

The Conscript did not know where they were. He did not know where they were going. He had not known that for many years now. They were marching through desert. It was always desert. Sometimes it was near a river, and sometimes there would be green things nearby. But always the dust, the sand. The heat. Oh, Opporia, the heat.

He was born in a mountain valley. He did not know why he was here.

God of Light, save me from the darkness.

They always came in the night. They knew this land better than their own army. There would be no light, and then a ring of light, around their campfires in every direction. And then the arrows fell like falling stars, each one a little tongue of flame. The tents would alight, and the screams would begin. "The riders," their captains would say, "the riders!"

But the riders were gone. Another night. Seventeen dead. Another day. And the blinding heat.

The Conscript did not know where they were. He did not know where they were going.

He was born in a mountain valley, where he tended to a flock of goats and a small patch of arable land, irrigated from mountain streams. He had not married, yet. That was most likely why they took him. But he remembered the clear mornings, when you could see for miles. The whole world, small houses, small animals, small rivers, looked like a tiny box of woman's trinkets.

Nothing was clear here. Everything was a haze. After the years of dust and dirt, and smoke, and fire, he remembered little else. Except that somewhere in the world, there was cool water. Somewhere, once, where he had been.

They marched in a direction. "To the red city," their captains said. But they had been saying that for years. "To battle," their captains said, but for months, it had only been the terrors in the night.

Finally, though, things began to change. Perhaps the dirt was a slightly different color. Perhaps the sky was a different shade. Perhaps the moon cast a different shadow. "To battle," their captains said, but this time it sounded less like a refrain, and more like a warning. "To battle."

And then he heard them. Low, in the distance. So low. Like a cloud of locusts swarming around a tree. And then, joining the low drone, piercing high screeches. The horns.

The Conscript did not know where they were. But he knew, finally, where they were going.

God of Light, save me from the darkness.

The horns were blowing.

---

The Evil Prince looked at the Envoy. The Envoy stood before the Evil Prince and his entourage. The Evil Prince wore black armor with a silver scroll etched upon it. His men carried shields with that same emblem. The city was a great city with walls and corridors of stone, and a great watchtower-fortress sitting over it all. The curved, fortified constructions of the sea kings had been partially replaced with the angular columns and airy buildings of the horselords, but the old city was still visible under the new. Waiting to shake off her trappings of conquest, thought the Envoy.

The Envoy had eaten of the food that the Evil Prince offered. The Envoy believed that he would be safe. The food that he was offered was rich and sumptuous. The Envoy had believed that the Evil Prince's men were starving. Truly, he thought, the Evil Prince must be evil, if he sups so richly as his men starve.

The Evil Prince lounged back on his throne. The sounds of falling water trickled softly from two fountains on either side of the room. To either side of the Prince's throne were two masked statues, each holding out scrolls to the world.

"So," he drawled in the Envoy's language, "Did you enjoy your meal?"

The Envoy replied that it was to his satisfaction.

The Evil Prince said he expected as much. "Say your piece."

The Envoy gestured out the window towards the city. "We outnumber your forces five to one. We control the land, and we control the sea. You have no means of supply, and none is coming."

The Evil Prince smiled beneath his mask. "The wheel teaches us that what is high at one moment will be crushed into the dirt in the next. And again it will be lifted on high."

The Envoy frowned. "That may be true. But you have no means of escape. We will stay here for years if need be. Our men chant every night, 'Destroy the Destroyer!' They hunger for your defeat."

The Evil Prince smiled. "Then let them come."

The Envoy frowned. "My general has asked that we avoid such bloodshed if possible. Surrender now, and your lives will be spared."

The Evil Prince smirked. "Your general knows that this city has never fallen to an army."

The Envoy was consumed with anger against the Evil Prince. "Your Redeemer, Macrinus, took this city. He waited, for years, until the defenders died of hunger. And he walked his men through the undefended gates. THAT is how the Exatai claimed Kargan, and THAT is how the alliance will reclaim it. All of you will die. Not in glorious battle as you desire, but clawing your bellies, eaten up by your own emptiness."

The Evil Prince laughed. "I admire your hatred. Let me show you my own."

The Envoy was pushed to his knees by the Evil Prince's guards.

The Evil Prince rose from his throne, drawing a cruel curved sword. "I know the story of how the Noble Restorer seized my city. I will not lose my city in the same way. You have eaten richly this night, and all my men have eaten the same. For we eat the cured flesh of your countrymen, and of all the slave races, butchered in their sleep. My men will not starve. They have the blood and the flesh of thousands to sustain them. Until the coming of the Redeemer. Until the end of the world."

The Envoy was speechless with horror. He had eaten his own people.

The Evil Prince advanced on the kneeling Envoy. "Your body, we will eat, to sustain our host. But we will have another use for your head."

The Envoy closed his eyes as the sword of the Evil Prince flashed down upon his neck.

The head of the Envoy was thrown from the walls, where it was picked up by a grizzled sergeant. He sighed, having expected, and even bet money upon, this outcome. But it was still one he had hoped against. The Envoy had been a good man.

Looking at the severed head which he was to return to his commanders, he observed that a pomegranate had been wedged into the mouth. Considering the cruelty and barbarity of the Satar, he wondered what it could mean.

---

The Good Prince was praying in his tent. He had a blessed arrow which came from the quiver of Atraxes the Wise. It had been passed down through the line of the Arrow for generations. He prayed over the arrow, asking Atraxes and Taleldil the Great to bless him with a spirit of wisdom. It was alone in his tent that he wept, and none knew but perhaps some few of his tarkan. He usually wept after his prayers. But it was this night that his prayers were to be interrupted.

The Oracle stood there in his tent. The Oracle wore a mask of many colors. The Oracle stood tall, and grey, but for his mask. He had moved silently. The Prince had told his guards to admit no man.

That meant either that his guards were dead, or that the Oracle was no man.

"Counsel, Satores, second son of Eraxis, Satores the Grey, Satores of doubt and uncertain thought, Satores the Sorrowful. I know your heart."

The Good Prince knew that the Oracle held true power, for what he said was true, and known to none. "Speak then," he said simply, and the Oracle, who had known many men from the great to the humble, was struck by the stark absence of joy and light in this voice. In two words, he heard bleak desperation worse than a famine-stricken country, and his words left him.

But only for a moment.

"I know your kind, Satores. For every man you kill, you think of his family, his children. You bear a hundred burdens. In every victory, a thousand ghosts of the enemy shadow your footsteps, and in every defeat, a thousand ghosts of your own people. You cannot know peace, because every path is damnation."

The Good Prince cried, "There is no escape! If I but thought that the slaves would make finer masters, I would tear off my mask and join them! But I know that were the slave races and the southrons to win the day, that there will be a slaughter of my people. They have promised it."

The Oracle replied, "So, you must choose. To be victorious and be responsible for the massacre of your enemy's children, or to accept defeat and be responsible for the slaughter of your own."

The Good Prince put his head in his hands. "I have already made my choice. But I recoil from the terror of what I must do. How did Atraxes rule this? How can I be one tenth of what he was?"

The Oracle stood motionless. "Atraxes once said that he wished to free the slaves. The Satar upon the steppe of his birth were a country of free men. And he wished this land to be so as well. But the laws of this world were different."

The Good Prince looked up, temporarily distracted from his anguish. "That is not written in any scroll."

"Some things are not written in scrolls." The Oracle laughed harshly. "But you might still accomplish what Atraxes failed to do."

In the dark space behind his mask, the face of the Good Prince showed shock, and it came through in his voice. "Free the slaves?"

The Oracle pulled back his robe, and underneath was armor. Buckled on his belt was a dagger. He drew the steel, holding it up to the Good Prince's face. His eyes were reflected back at him in the cold metal.

"Free the slaves," the Oracle said, with iron in his voice. "Free. Every. Slave."

The Good Prince shook his head. "The Princes will never agree to this. How can I free the slaves?"

The Oracle merely handed him the dagger, and left the tent.

For a long time, The Good Prince simply sat and stared at the weapon in his hands.

Then he rose again. Striding from the tent, he addressed his gathering men.

"Sound the horns."
 
I think Thlayli just surrendered, kicked off a Civil War and killed himself all in one story. The Lady says: the only good Satar is a dead one and who are we to challange her?
 
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