Symphony D.
Deity
Decloak: As informed and resourceful as ever, it would seem. What the christ, it's in the drat Wiki....Doesn't Symph live in Las Vegas or something in Nevada?
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BirdNES 2: Forge of Empires -- The Manonash
- Thread starter Birdjaguar
- Start date
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
You know no one uses that thing anymore, besides me.
I expect to post the Manonash update Sunday AM. It is not long, but the turn itself does not lend itself to lots of interaction between nations. The stats and map will be the most interesting for you with minimal (but important) "action" in the update itself. I am going to post my thoughts on the orders for the first turn tonight and then go through the complete update one last time tomorrow when I'm fresh.
The Manonash
Update Zero: Foundations, 100 years of building
Teka Tipu
From a distance Teka Tipu looked more like a sack of goods left behind by some caravan than a person. He was brown, or really more dust colored. His clothes matched and when he huddled next to the sparse neem tree that was at the center of his nation, it was easy to over look him completely. Teka Tipu’s nation was not very big and was perched halfway up the side of a steep mountain overlooking the Oracle of Wendar. About ten strides from the tree in any direction would bring one to the edges of Teka’s domain. In the warms seasons he and his tree were the only permanent residents of his land; when the weather turned chilly, he had a small hut and a blanket as additional company.
There were thousands of stories about Teka, but few of them were true. No one doubted that he was old. Just how old was the question. Oracle records definitely show a Teka Tipu visiting the temple regularly over a two year period 78 years ago and a man of the same name taking up permanent residence under the neem tree 26 years later. No one living though remembers back that far. One story says that he was a boy of 10 when the Oracle spoke its most famous and provocative of new year’s prognostications. Only once in its history has the Oracle ever produced three scrolls at the spring rites. It hardly seemed possible that anyone could still be alive that was there that day 100 years ago. To live 110 or more years did not seem possible. But his eyes sparkled and his hands grew animated whenever he told the story of the reading of the scrolls that day. And he told it often. Teka’s visitors were mostly children who were bored with the droning rituals of the Oracle and climbed the heights that towered over the temple. There they found him. He was usually huddled next to his neem tree covered in rags sucking on a twig or some sweet offering carried by a previous visitor. If given an offering, whether it be a bit of bread or pretty colored pebble, Teka would tell you a story. And he had hundreds to tell. It was only in recent years that acolytes from the Oracle began to record them and already they had many scrolls full of wild tales of strange lands and peoples. Most children called him “grandfather” both because he looked like one and because they all hoped he was their grandfather. In the stories about his youth, Teka traveled the length and breadth of the Manonash doing great deeds and falling in love with many beautiful girls. He is supposed to have sired many children so any number of those who thronged his little land could be one of his grandchildren. Beyond the stories were the rumors. One was that to some of his children he gave a silver amulet with unusual scratching and symbols and whenever anyone came by wearing one of these hanging about their neck, Teka Tipu would embrace them and send everyone else away while they conversed. Sometimes it was for a few minutes, other times and hour or more. On rare occasions the visitor stayed for days.
Sinope had been at the Wendar Temple for a little over eight years. When he arrived, he was above average in his writing skills and so after a year of additional training he had been assigned to record the stories of Teka Tipu, and on most days Sinope made the short trek up the mountain to sit and listen and write. His collection now ran many pages. It had been an interesting 7 years that was to end soon. Sinope was to hand over his work to another initiate at the temple at the turn of the year in just a few weeks. He had over twenty bound volumes of thick parchment scrolls and his controlled strokes covered both sides of almost every page. Sinope turned to the very first page of the very first book and read aloud:
From the first scroll:
“The bird of burnished sun comes crashing down
Its wings are clipped and on the ground
Woe to all who prance around
Its relic bones--now pyred on a funeral mound.”
And from a second scroll:
“Sunrise bears this year’s warring,
Like rain upon the mountains pouring,
Thunder through the passes sounding,
Lightening to the earth now grounding.”
And then finally, from a third:
“No mercy’s found upon the earth,
No relief from pounding, salty surf;
Your questions asked, and the truth be told,
The answer sought is eon’s old:
What you see is not so real,
Remove your cloak it to reveal.”
There followed the stories and tales of Teka’s youth, or what was assumed to be his childhood. Several of these were among Sinope’s favorites. There was the tale of Dieran O’Keyal of Tekashen in the far north and how he led the rebellion that brought down the Suai menace and united the people of the island into a nation. From the exquisite detail, it almost seemed like Teka was a comrade of Dieran and a participant in the war. Of course nowadays the Teka were a nation of power and significance along the northern coast. Its capital was one of the riches cities in the world if traveler’s accounts were true. Many, if not most, of the giant logs, crafted into war canoes and sailing vessels that were used by mariners everywhere along the coast, came from Tekashen. Sinope wasn’t sure he had seen any of the Teka elders at the Oracle in recent years, but he might have missed their visit if they had come in an off season from the major rites. He would check the visitor’s listings. It seemed as if Teka spent his youth in the north. Two other stories tell of some of the earliest kings from that wet and rugged region: Nu’dar Palopogisia of Kiidor, and Fendain Rangool of Cantonia. Both rulers funded the first navies along the Manonash coast and pushed the expansion of their respective nations. But again it was the details Teka provided that pointed strongly to his having actually been there. He described in gory matter-of-factness how Nu’dar personally cut of the genitalia of his foes and of Fendain’s obsession with prostitutes and state run brothels. Recent news from Cantonia had it that under the leadership of Aiken Drum, red-robed priests were spreading a new religion throughout the northern tribes and perhaps even beyond the eastern mountains.
A rather funny tale was about King Antaroth of Razzak who, it appears was not very bright; he killed the cub of a great bear and while holding the skewered cub aloft and bragging to his courtiers about what a fine meal it would make, the mother bear ripped him to pieces and had a fine meal of her own. King Nath ruled in Razzak at last word and Sinope hoped he was not as stupid as old Antaroth for the sake of the people. Another of Teka’s stories, he thought to be from the same period, takes place in the capital city of Liasou, called, naturally, Liasou Proper. In those days, Pa Yi was the aging leader (called Warchief) but he was cultured and thoughtful person too. He died in the middle of writing an epic song about the importance of “balance” in one’s life. Many speculated on how Pa Yi would have ended the epic. Teka’s bit of the story focuses on how Li hang, a Liasou philosopher, and Teka himself wrote a new ending that became one of the most popular ever.
At the point at which Teka Tipu took up residence under his neem tree above the Oracle of Wendar, the stories had a different feel to them. They were less personal and more like a retelling. One whole bound volume of scrolls was dedicated to tales of the many offshore islands of the Manonash coast. Some of the most exciting ones involved the nation of Rynt and its seafaring, mask-wearing kings. The mask custom is attributed to Argot Vuryta who ruled some 60 years ago. Mask-wearing apparently has rules and limitations and was designed as a way to keep Ryntor society firmly stratified into classes. The elaborate and ritualized nature of the masks made it endlessly fascinating to Sinope. Argot was featured in maritime stories too. In one, he is angry and frustrated by the failure of his captains to successfully sail beyond the sight of land and return with any regularity. Something is missing and Argot took it as a personal failure on his part and died an unhappy man. Recently Sinope had met with ambassadors from Rynt and they told of how the accession of a woman to the throne had ignited civil war, but her political skill and clever military maneuvering had quelled it before any real damage had been done. Women now had free access to the meritocracy that was the cornerstone of their nation. Graznel and Ilosilletar were hardly mentioned in the island tales other than to hint that the long lived kings of those nations dabbled in black magic and spoke with demons to keep themselves alive beyond the normal ages of men.
Closer to home the affairs of Xochicalco and Vissarai were more commonly known, but the stories of Teka Tipu always had odd or little know facts that were rarely if ever mentioned in traditional tales. In Xochicalco the kings and queens always ruled for 33 and a third years and none ever for longer or shorter. They were chosen by some secret method that involved counting stones and when their time as king or queen ended they left without a fuss. Such trival points were, of course, interesting, but it was the city that was most fascinating for Sinope. It was built on an island in a lake and was reputed to be the most beautiful in the world with its bridges and causeways and water gardens. Sinope could only dream of visiting such a city.
Religion and wood played important parts in the daily life of the citizens of Vissarai. Their gods wanted the believers to make the world a better place and the Vissarai did so using wood. They were skilled in all the crafts that turned trees into useful and beautiful objects. As they spread their influence across the Manonash they took their religion and skills with them with considerable effectiveness. But even more interesting, Teka himself told Sinope of new developments in that land. The Vissarai recently took to learning metallurgy and in their trades with the more backward Ilosilletar, they had discovered a new metal that could be combined with copper to improve it…considerably. Teka laughed as he told this tale. In their ignorance the traders of Ilosilletar sold what they thought was useless ore for naught but grain and wine. Telemondesos Ceannaire I, King of the Vissarai was buying all he could without drawing attention to himself under the guise that it was used in a special pottery glaze that his queen fancied and thus had become all the rage. Sinope would miss his conversations and quiet listening with Teka Tipu.
When it came time for Sinope and Teka Tipu to say their good-byes, for Sinope would now be restricted to the temple grounds during the next years of his service, it was a sad parting. At the end Teka gave Sinope a small silver medallion as a sign of their friendship and time together. With a hug and a smile Teka called Sinope his “son” and told him that one day the small silver disk might be of use, so he should wear it around his neck.
Notes:
**Confidence in your leadership is improving for many of your nations; your target should be at least 50%, if not higher. If your nation is still less than 35% you better find a way to instill confidence in your people soon or they are apt to turn against you.
**At the moment all economies are running at 100%.
**Best orders: Light Fang, +1 to treasury
**Please include new rulers and heirs with your next orders if they change.
**Some of you are permitted to include a Policy with your next orders. Congratulations.
**Keep an eye on your troop maximum when buying troop, but don’t worry if buying 1 EPs worth puts you a few hundred over, I will “fix it” so you don’t lose or waste money.
**Tin has been discovered on an island in Ilosilletar and is marked with an X, but at the moment, only the Vissarai know its value and how to use it to make bronze.
So that's how you wove it together. That's an interesting update style. I like it.
And I had the best orders? Really? I didn't even think they were that good. When I think about it now, I didn't really incorporate the negative aspects that I had assumed raged throughout the people's orders (as mentioned earlier by Birdy). Hey, but thanks. I feel really honored.
In short, this was worth staying up really late for. Never mind the fact that I didn't do it intentionally to wait for this NES; it was still worth it.
And I had the best orders? Really? I didn't even think they were that good. When I think about it now, I didn't really incorporate the negative aspects that I had assumed raged throughout the people's orders (as mentioned earlier by Birdy). Hey, but thanks. I feel really honored.
In short, this was worth staying up really late for. Never mind the fact that I didn't do it intentionally to wait for this NES; it was still worth it.
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
Excellent update Bird! Glad to see my orders interpreted and implemented in a fair and concise manner.
I do have some questions though; Are stories going to be necessary to stay competitive? Cause it seems to me like the only way to get confidence (among other things) up is to write them.
To Illosetar
From Telamondesos Ceannaire I of Vissarai
Greetings mighty people of the sea! Word has reached the court of the Vissarai that you have found great deposits of this mineral known as "tin", a mineral of great interest to our people. We propose an exchange of trade; our merchants will supply your people with the finest lumber and wood from our great forests, in exchange for metals that are all but worthless to you. Surely a seafaring people such as yourselves would recognize the importance of having sturdy vessels for your travels.
I do have some questions though; Are stories going to be necessary to stay competitive? Cause it seems to me like the only way to get confidence (among other things) up is to write them.
To Illosetar
From Telamondesos Ceannaire I of Vissarai
Greetings mighty people of the sea! Word has reached the court of the Vissarai that you have found great deposits of this mineral known as "tin", a mineral of great interest to our people. We propose an exchange of trade; our merchants will supply your people with the finest lumber and wood from our great forests, in exchange for metals that are all but worthless to you. Surely a seafaring people such as yourselves would recognize the importance of having sturdy vessels for your travels.
No stories are necessary to stay competitve. For the most part they affect culture. They are a bonus for those who take the time to write them. Culture does not influenece confidence. If you think about the kinds of things that would make an ancient people (or really any people) feel better about their leaders, I'm sure you will figure out what is needed. IIRC one of your EP was returned to the treasury unspent. I will pm you about it.
Probably because I forgot it. I will add it to my records now.
EDIT: Fixed on the first page and in my records.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
To Telamondesos Ceannaire I of the Vissarai.
From Taviniur, of the House of the Rose, and the Guide of Ilosilletar.
Well spoken dear stranger. While I must apologize for initially attempting to kill you poor messanger (I must admit I was not made aware of his purpose until the last crucial moment), I must pause before I give your answer. You seem to offer alot for some worthless metals- if they are worthless for us, what use are they for you? Forgive me if I seem to find your need for these ores far greater than that needed for pottery.
OOC: You know very well where this is heaed
.
@Bird: Wouldn't my climate be better for lumber than the deserts climates of the south
?
From Taviniur, of the House of the Rose, and the Guide of Ilosilletar.
Well spoken dear stranger. While I must apologize for initially attempting to kill you poor messanger (I must admit I was not made aware of his purpose until the last crucial moment), I must pause before I give your answer. You seem to offer alot for some worthless metals- if they are worthless for us, what use are they for you? Forgive me if I seem to find your need for these ores far greater than that needed for pottery.
OOC: You know very well where this is heaed
.@Bird: Wouldn't my climate be better for lumber than the deserts climates of the south
?
Here is the climate map of your area, you are Mediterranean climate (greenish) closer to central California than the wet north. JS is temperate woodland (blue) and would be a good source of lumber. I will post climate maps for all cradles tomorrow.@Bird: Wouldn't my climate be better for lumber than the deserts climates of the south
Edited for correctness.
Attachments
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Thats exactly what I thought. Find something 'else' to offer Josef and I'll almost give you a monopoly on outside trade.
Edit: Blah. No deal for timber.
Edit: Blah. No deal for timber.
I corrected my post re read it.
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
To Telamondesos Ceannaire I of the Vissarai.
From Taviniur, of the House of the Rose, and the Guide of Ilosilletar.
Well spoken dear stranger. While I must apologize for initially attempting to kill you poor messenger (I must admit I was not made aware of his purpose until the last crucial moment), I must pause before I give your answer. You seem to offer alot for some worthless metals- if they are worthless for us, what use are they for you? Forgive me if I seem to find your need for these ores far greater than that needed for pottery.
OOC: You know very well where this is headed
@Bird: Wouldn't my climate be better for lumber than the deserts climates of the south
To Taviniur, of the House of the Rose, and the Guide of Ilosilletar
From Telamondesos Ceannaire I of the Vissarai
Ah you so question our motives! Are not the eccentricities of other cultures not known to you as it is to ours? As there are some culture who advocate the taking of many women, as there are some who advocate the taking of but one, and others who advocate none at all, is it alien for one people to value a metal above others? You criticize its use in pottery, but the worship of Vissar is tantamount to all other goals of our mortal realm. You understand as well as we do the "tangible" importance of worshiping those who granted us life, and should be less eager to question the motives that fill your coffers
.Perhaps in time, with extended contact, your people will be quick to appreciate the *ahem* religious value of this rare material
.PS: And we can use it in pottery, which will be showing up at your doorstep if you let us trade
.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Josef, what would be a good name for a trader from you land? (You'll get your answer soon.)
das
Regeneration In Process
lurker's comment: Josef, you fool! You're not supposed to say that it's "symbolic"! That's the anthropologists' job!
JosefStalinator
Я буду снова здесь
OOC: Traders in Vissarai are called "Stelanan"
@Das, yeah... I suppose it'd be better to say something else. But I couldn't think of a good word.
@Das, yeah... I suppose it'd be better to say something else
. But I couldn't think of a good word.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
OOC: Not that good.
[size=+2]Riháre-3-Year 0.[/size]
The sun hung low against the evening sky, the dying fire of the giant orb fighting against the impending dominance of her rivals. The low squawking of the seabirds rung out against the silent lapping out the sea tides, bringing an odd sense of serenity to the general chaos of the port. The city was built around the natural curve of a small cape, buildings rising gracefully along the gentle slopes and docks crowding against the massing, frothing ocean. Along the far extremes of the city two jagged cliffs formed natural boundaries, and granted the city a shelter from savage winds. Stacked in two vertical pillars twice the height of an average man, a large column of mosaic stones towered over the cliffs and gave the city is name: Riháre- Stone Harbor.
The ship scuttled along the sides of the open port, darting in between numerous others, fighting its way to the coast. The sails hung loosely from their posts, abandoned as the wind died out and replaced with a dozen oars. Nailed (poorly) in an attempt to emulate the greater talents of the northmen, the ship was built in a splayed arc with walls barely high enough to keep the seawater out. As ragged as the ship was, the crew was more than an insult to the vessel. Wearing rags, the crew huddled around the oars and rowed furiously in an attempt to reach firm ground and escape the cruel winter cold. Some twenty minutes after entering the small port, the crew had managed (quite successfully) to navigate the minefield of ships and reach rigid ground. As the crew slowly filed out of the ship, there was a common theme in their appearance. They were young, barely past their youth-age, and were dressed in dull black rags unfit for the many peasants.
Hidden in the midst of the group of disembarking sailors, a jewel in the forest, stood the young man. His hair, a stark (and unusual) comparison to the dominant blond of the People, was dark as the night, and tied in long braid dangling behind his head. He stood a head taller than his companions, and easily turned the heads of the city’s inhabitants as he was heralded into the open street. Compared to the sailor’s drabs, the young man was dressed in rich, brilliant robes fit for a king. His eyes, blaring in the brilliance of the evening light, were a deep, profuse green. The young man walked with a slight stride, easily outpacing his companions and forcing them to make haste to keep up.
The group made their way along thick road, passing the poor section of the city along the bottom of the incline. The young man, with a look of unease on his face, took in the strange site of the city that lay before his eyes. Riháre was built in a stylized fashion, a giant playground for the enjoyment of its Guide and the lower nobility. It was if someone had taken a child’s imagination and glued it to the side of a mountain. Built on a three-tiered system, with the poorest inhabitants living on the bottom of the incline and the richest assembled at the highest point. The houses of the poor were far from impressive- huddled in masses, small squat square boxes made from dried mud and stone, and covered with a thin layer of flimsy wood. Their compartments were cramped, lacked all forms of light, and the smell wafting towards the Open road was comparable to the worst in the young man’s life. The man shifted as he felt the presence of the many eyes bearing on his being.
The poor section of the city ended quite abruptly- with a thick wall. Not so much running around the actual city, the Eccaian wall simply ran around the lower section of the city and port. The young man passed through the Sea-arch, walking past the four guards who made a human barrier to the less noble populace. It was here, under the arch, where the sailors were forced to stop in their guide and turn the obvious foreigner over to another. A soldier took command of the young man, quickly bringing the young man out on the other side of the wall.
The view on the other side of the wall was quite different- among the middle class of the populace, the young man could see an ease of life. Mostly made up of the summer homes of wealthy traders and politicians, the small villas of the people were spaced out slightly, with large green areas facing the winding road. The lands of the people were separated from the Open road by a low terraced wall, rising with the road and curving along the path. Their homes were cast from stones hewn from the mountain, cold gray reflecting lights towards the angled road. Occasionally, here and there scattered like fall stones, a fruit tree would stand and give ambiance to the otherwise structured environment.
There was no need to separate the middle-class from the noble class; they knew their place and stuck to it. Instead of a stark contrast to the previous area, the middle region gave way to the high class in a simple method- the terrace that ran along the Open road gradually became a towering wall, and along with the road the entire villas became walled off. As the middle region was less than a tenth of the size of the poor region, the High region was less than a tenth the middle. Soon, the young man had reached the pinnacle of the Open road- the Nassacle, Thorn Mountain.
Where the Open road came to an end- a large wall that forced the road to double back the way it came- the palace of the Guide sat. Really nothing more than a large, glorified villa with a large set of gardens along its edge, the Nassacle saddled the top of the mountain and was guarded with a thick wall. As the soldier gave one of the guards a thin object, hidden from the young man by the soldier’s thick hand, the guards parted and the pair made their way into the large complex. Inside the walls of the Nassacle was quite different than the young man had imagined. A large central courtyard sat in the front of the complex, cobbled in sea stone and perfected by a small reflecting pool in the middle. Stepping inside the open door of the small villa, the soldier stood still and motioned for the young man to continue along the path.
The young man walked down the open hall, entering a large common room. The walls of the room were expansive, arched near their tops and filled with numerous windows that allowed sunlight to pierce the inside of the palace. The room was lightly decorated, a few low ended couches arranged in a rectangular fashion and a squat table perched in their midst. Five men were seated around the table, two on two opposing couches and the fifth perched on the one directly across from the entrance. The two men perched on the couch on the left side look uninterested in the ongoing conversation- one was caught mid-yawn as the young man walked in. On the other side, sat another man and a much young boy who were much more interested in the conversation. The group hesitated in their conversation as the young man stood awkwardly, rooted to his spot. Finally, the man perched on the middle couch said something to the young boy, the quick words failing the young man’s ears.
The boy paused, and then looked at the young visitor. Finally, he cleared his throat and (to the young man’s surprise) spoke plain and clearly: “My father wishes to inquire your name.”
The young visitor paused for a moment, and then replied in the same casual tone: “You may inform your father that my name is Stelenan.” The boy turned back to his father, and spoke just as rapidly before, through this time Stelenan was able to grasp the quick words (‘Dno náin Stelenanesta.’. The boy and his father conversed rapidly, speaking in a variety of words that Stelenan had no chance of ever grasping.
Finally, the boy turned back to Stelenan and spoke once more. “My father wishes to propose a deal for you to take to your king. He has heard the thirst of your merchants for the ores found on Rautollo, and has heard of the demand for it in your lands. And while it may disturb him to allow such a travesty of your merchants defiling the sacred grounds of the island, he will commit to the following: The town of Ranélen will be made available for trade with your merchants. He will allow any of your merchants to trade among the town, but any found without permission outside its boundaries will be subject to our laws. He will appoint a member of his family to act as his independent messenger for discussions with your king. Finally, he will allow your king to send a single advisor to the town of Ranélen to cooperate with his own advisor concerning the export of the metals to any place other than your own. In return, my father requests that your king ensures that along with a number of the timber form his lands that your king ensure some of his fine pottery ends up in my father’s villa.” The boy said with a false smile.
[size=+2]Riháre-3-Year 0.[/size]
The sun hung low against the evening sky, the dying fire of the giant orb fighting against the impending dominance of her rivals. The low squawking of the seabirds rung out against the silent lapping out the sea tides, bringing an odd sense of serenity to the general chaos of the port. The city was built around the natural curve of a small cape, buildings rising gracefully along the gentle slopes and docks crowding against the massing, frothing ocean. Along the far extremes of the city two jagged cliffs formed natural boundaries, and granted the city a shelter from savage winds. Stacked in two vertical pillars twice the height of an average man, a large column of mosaic stones towered over the cliffs and gave the city is name: Riháre- Stone Harbor.
The ship scuttled along the sides of the open port, darting in between numerous others, fighting its way to the coast. The sails hung loosely from their posts, abandoned as the wind died out and replaced with a dozen oars. Nailed (poorly) in an attempt to emulate the greater talents of the northmen, the ship was built in a splayed arc with walls barely high enough to keep the seawater out. As ragged as the ship was, the crew was more than an insult to the vessel. Wearing rags, the crew huddled around the oars and rowed furiously in an attempt to reach firm ground and escape the cruel winter cold. Some twenty minutes after entering the small port, the crew had managed (quite successfully) to navigate the minefield of ships and reach rigid ground. As the crew slowly filed out of the ship, there was a common theme in their appearance. They were young, barely past their youth-age, and were dressed in dull black rags unfit for the many peasants.
Hidden in the midst of the group of disembarking sailors, a jewel in the forest, stood the young man. His hair, a stark (and unusual) comparison to the dominant blond of the People, was dark as the night, and tied in long braid dangling behind his head. He stood a head taller than his companions, and easily turned the heads of the city’s inhabitants as he was heralded into the open street. Compared to the sailor’s drabs, the young man was dressed in rich, brilliant robes fit for a king. His eyes, blaring in the brilliance of the evening light, were a deep, profuse green. The young man walked with a slight stride, easily outpacing his companions and forcing them to make haste to keep up.
The group made their way along thick road, passing the poor section of the city along the bottom of the incline. The young man, with a look of unease on his face, took in the strange site of the city that lay before his eyes. Riháre was built in a stylized fashion, a giant playground for the enjoyment of its Guide and the lower nobility. It was if someone had taken a child’s imagination and glued it to the side of a mountain. Built on a three-tiered system, with the poorest inhabitants living on the bottom of the incline and the richest assembled at the highest point. The houses of the poor were far from impressive- huddled in masses, small squat square boxes made from dried mud and stone, and covered with a thin layer of flimsy wood. Their compartments were cramped, lacked all forms of light, and the smell wafting towards the Open road was comparable to the worst in the young man’s life. The man shifted as he felt the presence of the many eyes bearing on his being.
The poor section of the city ended quite abruptly- with a thick wall. Not so much running around the actual city, the Eccaian wall simply ran around the lower section of the city and port. The young man passed through the Sea-arch, walking past the four guards who made a human barrier to the less noble populace. It was here, under the arch, where the sailors were forced to stop in their guide and turn the obvious foreigner over to another. A soldier took command of the young man, quickly bringing the young man out on the other side of the wall.
The view on the other side of the wall was quite different- among the middle class of the populace, the young man could see an ease of life. Mostly made up of the summer homes of wealthy traders and politicians, the small villas of the people were spaced out slightly, with large green areas facing the winding road. The lands of the people were separated from the Open road by a low terraced wall, rising with the road and curving along the path. Their homes were cast from stones hewn from the mountain, cold gray reflecting lights towards the angled road. Occasionally, here and there scattered like fall stones, a fruit tree would stand and give ambiance to the otherwise structured environment.
There was no need to separate the middle-class from the noble class; they knew their place and stuck to it. Instead of a stark contrast to the previous area, the middle region gave way to the high class in a simple method- the terrace that ran along the Open road gradually became a towering wall, and along with the road the entire villas became walled off. As the middle region was less than a tenth of the size of the poor region, the High region was less than a tenth the middle. Soon, the young man had reached the pinnacle of the Open road- the Nassacle, Thorn Mountain.
Where the Open road came to an end- a large wall that forced the road to double back the way it came- the palace of the Guide sat. Really nothing more than a large, glorified villa with a large set of gardens along its edge, the Nassacle saddled the top of the mountain and was guarded with a thick wall. As the soldier gave one of the guards a thin object, hidden from the young man by the soldier’s thick hand, the guards parted and the pair made their way into the large complex. Inside the walls of the Nassacle was quite different than the young man had imagined. A large central courtyard sat in the front of the complex, cobbled in sea stone and perfected by a small reflecting pool in the middle. Stepping inside the open door of the small villa, the soldier stood still and motioned for the young man to continue along the path.
The young man walked down the open hall, entering a large common room. The walls of the room were expansive, arched near their tops and filled with numerous windows that allowed sunlight to pierce the inside of the palace. The room was lightly decorated, a few low ended couches arranged in a rectangular fashion and a squat table perched in their midst. Five men were seated around the table, two on two opposing couches and the fifth perched on the one directly across from the entrance. The two men perched on the couch on the left side look uninterested in the ongoing conversation- one was caught mid-yawn as the young man walked in. On the other side, sat another man and a much young boy who were much more interested in the conversation. The group hesitated in their conversation as the young man stood awkwardly, rooted to his spot. Finally, the man perched on the middle couch said something to the young boy, the quick words failing the young man’s ears.
The boy paused, and then looked at the young visitor. Finally, he cleared his throat and (to the young man’s surprise) spoke plain and clearly: “My father wishes to inquire your name.”
The young visitor paused for a moment, and then replied in the same casual tone: “You may inform your father that my name is Stelenan.” The boy turned back to his father, and spoke just as rapidly before, through this time Stelenan was able to grasp the quick words (‘Dno náin Stelenanesta.’
. The boy and his father conversed rapidly, speaking in a variety of words that Stelenan had no chance of ever grasping. Finally, the boy turned back to Stelenan and spoke once more. “My father wishes to propose a deal for you to take to your king. He has heard the thirst of your merchants for the ores found on Rautollo, and has heard of the demand for it in your lands. And while it may disturb him to allow such a travesty of your merchants defiling the sacred grounds of the island, he will commit to the following: The town of Ranélen will be made available for trade with your merchants. He will allow any of your merchants to trade among the town, but any found without permission outside its boundaries will be subject to our laws. He will appoint a member of his family to act as his independent messenger for discussions with your king. Finally, he will allow your king to send a single advisor to the town of Ranélen to cooperate with his own advisor concerning the export of the metals to any place other than your own. In return, my father requests that your king ensures that along with a number of the timber form his lands that your king ensure some of his fine pottery ends up in my father’s villa.” The boy said with a false smile.
