Gem Hound
Deity
I like it too.
DominionNES2
- Thread starter LDiCesare
- Start date
That's not what happened. Which doesn't mean you can't write it, of course.
Every warm-blooded creature in Ilfundune got struck with the one-eyed curse. Including All Machakans who worshipped the Way of Perfection. Only the cold-blooded beings such as nagas were immune, and since some of them walked as men and retained their two eyes, they were in fact easy to make out from the rest of the population. The curse also struck the villages and fields around Ilfundune, so the northwestern part of Machaka, but didn't cross the border of chaos (which, if people were not superstitious, might give a hint of what really happened, but blaming foreigners is so much more fun and believable).
The only two-eyed faithful that were killed were nagas and other foreigners.
Immaculate
unerring
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Sorry- i totally misunderstood the above passage. I guess the important part is the last sentence that says that the preachers were the naga. I thought it meant human and nagas. My bad. I'd fix but really its the whole basis for the story so i don't know how. Can i just leave it and it can be fluff without meaning?
As I said, it's not because it's not the truth that you can't write it.
To the people in Shalu who worship the Pavtira Bacce, it's probably near enough the truth to be acceptable. Those in Ilfundune know better, but they are one-eyed beings, therefore they are probably heathen liars anyway.
To the people in Shalu who worship the Pavtira Bacce, it's probably near enough the truth to be acceptable. Those in Ilfundune know better, but they are one-eyed beings, therefore they are probably heathen liars anyway.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
The air smells sharper, crisper, like a perfectly aged apple.
He lowered his scythe and looked behind him. He has gathered the few who survived the Yellow Plague and told them that Emeresan had mercy, and cured them after all.
He knew what he saw, when his vision shifted. A city, a city belonging to Emeresan, a city in which everyone is sick, but few die from it.
Vanas, came the whisper.
He grunted at his followers, "His promised city isn't far" he growled, savoring the way his new mouth changed his voice, "He has shown me where we can be safe."
Yes, the Chaos is in no way safe. Yesterday a block of granite appeared in midair and crushed their second-to-last wagon, and just a week ago, a young man had his heart turned into a pumpkin, bursting out of his chest.
He walked up the rocky slope, his claws digging into the dirt while the people below try to climb the grooves his scythe left. If it is much further... there won't be any survivors of the starvation that follows the plague.
He reached the top of the outcropping.
And there, he saw a road.
Suddenly, an arrow whistled above him, Mallatain words were heard, and a small patrol appeared from the underbush. He roared, and did not fear for himself, but the innocents behind him.
As if in answer, arrows from across the road shrieked through the road, smashed through a small tree, and killed one of the archers. The Mallatainite archers turned to see three lycantropic archers in the underbrush, but before the ranged battle could start, He gave a mighty leap among them, laying them on their back with the flat of his scythe.
He turned to the archers, and the lead one looked familiar...
"Welcome to Vanas, Logar" came that voice, that oh-so familiar voice, "Bring them... we have to save all we can."
He lowered his scythe and looked behind him. He has gathered the few who survived the Yellow Plague and told them that Emeresan had mercy, and cured them after all.
He knew what he saw, when his vision shifted. A city, a city belonging to Emeresan, a city in which everyone is sick, but few die from it.
Vanas, came the whisper.
He grunted at his followers, "His promised city isn't far" he growled, savoring the way his new mouth changed his voice, "He has shown me where we can be safe."
Yes, the Chaos is in no way safe. Yesterday a block of granite appeared in midair and crushed their second-to-last wagon, and just a week ago, a young man had his heart turned into a pumpkin, bursting out of his chest.
He walked up the rocky slope, his claws digging into the dirt while the people below try to climb the grooves his scythe left. If it is much further... there won't be any survivors of the starvation that follows the plague.
He reached the top of the outcropping.
And there, he saw a road.
Suddenly, an arrow whistled above him, Mallatain words were heard, and a small patrol appeared from the underbush. He roared, and did not fear for himself, but the innocents behind him.
As if in answer, arrows from across the road shrieked through the road, smashed through a small tree, and killed one of the archers. The Mallatainite archers turned to see three lycantropic archers in the underbrush, but before the ranged battle could start, He gave a mighty leap among them, laying them on their back with the flat of his scythe.
He turned to the archers, and the lead one looked familiar...
"Welcome to Vanas, Logar" came that voice, that oh-so familiar voice, "Bring them... we have to save all we can."
nutranurse
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«Chronicle of the Horned Ones»
‹Bœuf: The Last Land of Life II›
In the weeks following Taurus' efforts to bring more beings into his growing bastion of life he saw success only in the efforts made by those poor souls sent into the maddening land of Myrde. As mentioned previously, Myrde was a land of complete and utter insanity. Simply put the nature of the land was that there was no nature at all, and the whole region was at the whims of a mad demon worshiped by equally mad cultists. Those few who escaped from Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's evil clutches in the year following Taurus' ascension to god-hood were a haggard collection of farmers, merchants, and craftsmen who had managed to break free from Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's hateful spell when they looked upon the bounteous land of Bœuf.
They migrated in large numbers; whole villages and towns uprooted themselves and made for the Bœuf-Myrde border. Upon entering the fertile bull-lands the Myrdens were greeted by Horn-Hammer, a foremost Minotaur among the Bovoj and a favored subject of Taurus. Horn-Hammer announced that Taurus extended his hospitality to beleaguered Myrdens, but they must first discard all that they had for fear of chaos-taint. Some among the refugees spoke out in anger, but Horn-Hammer quickly silenced them with his blade and thus made it known to all that the iron word of Taurus was not to be questioned. Shortly thereafter, with the aid of Bœuf humans, the Myrdens established the city of Myrvo and were Myrdens no more.
The change of the Myrdens to Myrvons over the next year was rapid, striking, and indicative of the power Taurus had within his lands. Deranged madmen emerged from their insanity and became brilliant scholars; paranoid witch-women shrugged off Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's shackles and became wise midwives; possessed children broke free from their demons and became pious apprentices to the Bœuf man-priests. All across the kingdom Myrvo became a by-word for success, and the unlikely settlement became known as place almost as—if not more so—holy as Toro, the grand city of bulls.
‹Ilola: Mother of Bulls›
Horn-Hammer continued to lord over Myrvo, but as the year passed into the next it became clear that he was not the true ruler of the city. Instead, his wife-consort, a former Myrden called Ilola, was seen as Myrvo's queen.
Ilola had come to the bull-lands plagued by madness, disease, and other weird afflictions. In fact, she came as a crone, all bent by age and a lifetime of hardships in the mad lands of Myrde. Among the refugees she was known as a powerful witch and one of the mad followers of Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl. Exactly why she had fled from her home in Myrde was not known, though some believed she had displeased her dread lord somehow. Regardless of her fallen position, Horn-Hammer accepted Ilola into the bull-lands, but made sure to keep her under his watch. At first madness gripped her far longer than it did the other Myrdens. Horn-Hammer worried that Ilola was simply too corrupted and was prepared to kill her when, in the matter of days, the crone's aged appearance bled into youthful beauty and she seemed mad no more. Not sure if this was some Myrden trick Horn-Hammer had Ilola arrested and put up for execution, but on the black day of her death a white bull[1] burst from its pen and killed the guardsmen escorting Ilola to the executioner's block. The bull refused to let anyone come near it or Ilola, not even Horn-Hammer or any of the Bovoj priests, and could only be quieted by Ilola's touch.
While not a priest, Horn-Hammer knew this to be a sign that Ilola was now clean; furthermore she seemed chosen for some divine fate. It did not take long for the Myrvons to recognize this for themselves and they quickly came to hail her as a priestess. Ilola was the first non-Toron, non-virginal woman to attain priestesshood in the Bœuf faith, and while a few of the more conservative Bovoj spoke out against her station, Horn-Hammer did not wish to anger the Myrvons by denouncing one of their own. He announced that he would take Ilola for his bride, believing that such a position would both appease the Myrvons and end any political power Ilola might had had[2]. However, after Ilola gave birth to Horn-Hammer's first, second, third, and fourth healthy sons and remained just as healthy herself even Horn-Hammer fell under Ilola's spell and came to regard her as something more than just human: she was the Mother of Bulls.
Illola, Mother of Bulls, and her children
[1]White bulls hold a special significance in the Bœuf faith and act as the opposites to black bulls. White bulls are seen to embody purity, innocence, and righteous might, whereas black bulls are omens of dark days to come.
[2]The average gestation period of Minotaur-Human Female pairings is roughly 3 months. Most human women do not survive the birth of their first son, and those that do die during after (if not during) their second birth. By taking Ilola as his wife, Horn-Hammer normally would have simultaneously acknowledged her divine position while dooming her to death. Her continued health after three births is nothing less than miraculous.
‹Bœuf: The Last Land of Life II›
In the weeks following Taurus' efforts to bring more beings into his growing bastion of life he saw success only in the efforts made by those poor souls sent into the maddening land of Myrde. As mentioned previously, Myrde was a land of complete and utter insanity. Simply put the nature of the land was that there was no nature at all, and the whole region was at the whims of a mad demon worshiped by equally mad cultists. Those few who escaped from Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's evil clutches in the year following Taurus' ascension to god-hood were a haggard collection of farmers, merchants, and craftsmen who had managed to break free from Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's hateful spell when they looked upon the bounteous land of Bœuf.
They migrated in large numbers; whole villages and towns uprooted themselves and made for the Bœuf-Myrde border. Upon entering the fertile bull-lands the Myrdens were greeted by Horn-Hammer, a foremost Minotaur among the Bovoj and a favored subject of Taurus. Horn-Hammer announced that Taurus extended his hospitality to beleaguered Myrdens, but they must first discard all that they had for fear of chaos-taint. Some among the refugees spoke out in anger, but Horn-Hammer quickly silenced them with his blade and thus made it known to all that the iron word of Taurus was not to be questioned. Shortly thereafter, with the aid of Bœuf humans, the Myrdens established the city of Myrvo and were Myrdens no more.
The change of the Myrdens to Myrvons over the next year was rapid, striking, and indicative of the power Taurus had within his lands. Deranged madmen emerged from their insanity and became brilliant scholars; paranoid witch-women shrugged off Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl's shackles and became wise midwives; possessed children broke free from their demons and became pious apprentices to the Bœuf man-priests. All across the kingdom Myrvo became a by-word for success, and the unlikely settlement became known as place almost as—if not more so—holy as Toro, the grand city of bulls.
‹Ilola: Mother of Bulls›
Horn-Hammer continued to lord over Myrvo, but as the year passed into the next it became clear that he was not the true ruler of the city. Instead, his wife-consort, a former Myrden called Ilola, was seen as Myrvo's queen.
Ilola had come to the bull-lands plagued by madness, disease, and other weird afflictions. In fact, she came as a crone, all bent by age and a lifetime of hardships in the mad lands of Myrde. Among the refugees she was known as a powerful witch and one of the mad followers of Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl. Exactly why she had fled from her home in Myrde was not known, though some believed she had displeased her dread lord somehow. Regardless of her fallen position, Horn-Hammer accepted Ilola into the bull-lands, but made sure to keep her under his watch. At first madness gripped her far longer than it did the other Myrdens. Horn-Hammer worried that Ilola was simply too corrupted and was prepared to kill her when, in the matter of days, the crone's aged appearance bled into youthful beauty and she seemed mad no more. Not sure if this was some Myrden trick Horn-Hammer had Ilola arrested and put up for execution, but on the black day of her death a white bull[1] burst from its pen and killed the guardsmen escorting Ilola to the executioner's block. The bull refused to let anyone come near it or Ilola, not even Horn-Hammer or any of the Bovoj priests, and could only be quieted by Ilola's touch.
While not a priest, Horn-Hammer knew this to be a sign that Ilola was now clean; furthermore she seemed chosen for some divine fate. It did not take long for the Myrvons to recognize this for themselves and they quickly came to hail her as a priestess. Ilola was the first non-Toron, non-virginal woman to attain priestesshood in the Bœuf faith, and while a few of the more conservative Bovoj spoke out against her station, Horn-Hammer did not wish to anger the Myrvons by denouncing one of their own. He announced that he would take Ilola for his bride, believing that such a position would both appease the Myrvons and end any political power Ilola might had had[2]. However, after Ilola gave birth to Horn-Hammer's first, second, third, and fourth healthy sons and remained just as healthy herself even Horn-Hammer fell under Ilola's spell and came to regard her as something more than just human: she was the Mother of Bulls.
Illola, Mother of Bulls, and her children
[1]White bulls hold a special significance in the Bœuf faith and act as the opposites to black bulls. White bulls are seen to embody purity, innocence, and righteous might, whereas black bulls are omens of dark days to come.
[2]The average gestation period of Minotaur-Human Female pairings is roughly 3 months. Most human women do not survive the birth of their first son, and those that do die during after (if not during) their second birth. By taking Ilola as his wife, Horn-Hammer normally would have simultaneously acknowledged her divine position while dooming her to death. Her continued health after three births is nothing less than miraculous.
KaiserElectric
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Nutranurse, please! Think of the children!
nutranurse
Unlikeliest of Slash Fics
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Bah, I've posted such nudity before, but I'll find something else.
KaiserElectric
Total Freakin Besties
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I'm only looking out for you, bud. 
Speaking of which, I need to get my act together, I've been neglecting this.
Speaking of which, I need to get my act together, I've been neglecting this.
nutranurse
Unlikeliest of Slash Fics
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There? Better!?
Also they don't look exactly minotaur like for a reason (thanks to electric926/this forums unclear rules on nudity I have a new plot arc!)
Also they don't look exactly minotaur like for a reason (thanks to electric926/this forums unclear rules on nudity I have a new plot arc!)
nutranurse
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From: Taurus, God-King of Bœuf, the Last Land of Light
To: Usurper Walaruna
Know this: the lands south of the river are Lands of Light. I have no quarrel with you, or any northern lord for that matter, but I will fiercely protect my rightful domain should you cross it. Do not mistake my stern words as threats: I wish for nothing but peace. Chaos lies at the southern edges of my lands and I simply desire unity in the face of oblivion.
To: Usurper Walaruna
Know this: the lands south of the river are Lands of Light. I have no quarrel with you, or any northern lord for that matter, but I will fiercely protect my rightful domain should you cross it. Do not mistake my stern words as threats: I wish for nothing but peace. Chaos lies at the southern edges of my lands and I simply desire unity in the face of oblivion.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
From: Kaerth Torith, Jester-eye of Myrde
To: Taurus, Cow-man
Blarglarl blurgl blurp blarglogl blorglel lerl largl blarglel blurplerl blarglarl.
From: Erith Maskface, Myrdean Sheepblossom
To: Taurus, Milk-man
We are very offended. We demand that you return Pandora's Crown NOW.
From: Kaerth Torith, Jester-face of Myrde
To: Taurus, the Horny Cheese
Blglblp.
From: Annarith, Mighty Overwool
To: Taurus, Moonling
Forget what the others said. We know you deserve the Crown. We are, however, hungry. Take sure that you eat a lot of our hair. It helps us.
To: Taurus, Cow-man
Blarglarl blurgl blurp blarglogl blorglel lerl largl blarglel blurplerl blarglarl.
From: Erith Maskface, Myrdean Sheepblossom
To: Taurus, Milk-man
We are very offended. We demand that you return Pandora's Crown NOW.
From: Kaerth Torith, Jester-face of Myrde
To: Taurus, the Horny Cheese
Blglblp.
From: Annarith, Mighty Overwool
To: Taurus, Moonling
Forget what the others said. We know you deserve the Crown. We are, however, hungry. Take sure that you eat a lot of our hair. It helps us.
nutranurse
Unlikeliest of Slash Fics
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First-Son has the Myrde messenger executed and the receiving-room cleansed by Bovoj-priests
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
A living baby was discovered hiding frightened in the dead herald's torso.
~
The Tale of the Woollen Emperor
My white-coated body waggled slowly over the stony hills, flocking with my creed as the peaceful land breathed with lively peasantfolk and the local livestock. I was chewing on the flayed skin I carried in my maw; my four legs were uncertain in their direction, but I knew just where to go. A small farmstead was seated in between a roundwood, rows of grain signifying the peasant family's well-being. As I came closer, it was like dark clouds gathered behind me. Frightened, I baaah-ed and ran quickly towards the house. I collided with the door violently, evoking noise inside the walls, my snout bleeding. I walked a few steps back dizzily, then rammed the door once again. My estranged view noticed a misty figure through my watering eyes; a man yelped loudly at the sight of me before I passed out in bitter pain.
When I woke up, my nice chewing toy was removed. I was tied tightly to a table, a workbench of what I would call madness. The man, most possibly the family father, smiled jollily as he used a saw to cut open my belly. I remembered everything all of a sudden. The eternal terror of the many-armed and many-tailed head, crow's eyes burying themselves deep inside you as if when you watch His face, something is always staring at you from behind, He is following me, and this man was preparing His tainted flesh for himself, my maw yelped at him. When he made it to my bowels, my voice had returned.
"Don't eat me, don't eat me, I'm a sheep, don't eat me!"
And after my death, the family sat peacefully around the table. The father held the small piece of scribbled skin in his hand. He sat quietly and looked over the small symbols.
"What's wrong, darling?" his wife asked.
"Well," he said, thoughtfully. He threw the small would-be pamphlet out the open window. Birds were singing peacefully outside, but he felt they were like sawblades.
"Let me tell you the story of the Woollen Emperor..."
~
The Tale of the Woollen Emperor
My white-coated body waggled slowly over the stony hills, flocking with my creed as the peaceful land breathed with lively peasantfolk and the local livestock. I was chewing on the flayed skin I carried in my maw; my four legs were uncertain in their direction, but I knew just where to go. A small farmstead was seated in between a roundwood, rows of grain signifying the peasant family's well-being. As I came closer, it was like dark clouds gathered behind me. Frightened, I baaah-ed and ran quickly towards the house. I collided with the door violently, evoking noise inside the walls, my snout bleeding. I walked a few steps back dizzily, then rammed the door once again. My estranged view noticed a misty figure through my watering eyes; a man yelped loudly at the sight of me before I passed out in bitter pain.
When I woke up, my nice chewing toy was removed. I was tied tightly to a table, a workbench of what I would call madness. The man, most possibly the family father, smiled jollily as he used a saw to cut open my belly. I remembered everything all of a sudden. The eternal terror of the many-armed and many-tailed head, crow's eyes burying themselves deep inside you as if when you watch His face, something is always staring at you from behind, He is following me, and this man was preparing His tainted flesh for himself, my maw yelped at him. When he made it to my bowels, my voice had returned.
"Don't eat me, don't eat me, I'm a sheep, don't eat me!"
And after my death, the family sat peacefully around the table. The father held the small piece of scribbled skin in his hand. He sat quietly and looked over the small symbols.
"What's wrong, darling?" his wife asked.
"Well," he said, thoughtfully. He threw the small would-be pamphlet out the open window. Birds were singing peacefully outside, but he felt they were like sawblades.
"Let me tell you the story of the Woollen Emperor..."
nutranurse
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I'm going to ban all hats in Boeuf.
I'm going to interrogate that baby.
Why are you so good at making Myrde so twisted :C
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
OOC: I often write strange stuff on this forum, posts that make no sense etc. I thought for myself might as well just channel those things into something coherent. (Or something without that attribute, heh.)
KaiserElectric
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Immaculate
unerring
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- Jan 22, 2003
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Serenity, A Calling, Dharma
Lord Lofar had been changed. It had everything to do with his conversion to the Pūrṇatā kē li'ē rāstā, but it was more than just his faith that was different. It was his very thought process, the way he spoke, his demeanor, even the way he walked. Several of his long-time friends had commented on it and the word they always used when they did comment on it was serene. You appear calm, so serene, they would say and he would smile at them, serenely, as he continued his work or ate a strawberry from his garden.
Today, like he had done not so very long ago, he was walking in his gardens. At his side was the nāga, Āvāza. And though their continence were serene, the topic of discussion was one that worried both men, it was the fate of the faithful in the northern Machaka lands.
I understand you were amongst the council-members who spoke with the Machaka king? You have asked for him to extend his mercy to the faithful of Ilfundune and Shala?
Āvāzas unbleached and undyed robes swayed as he walked, the rhythmic, hypnotic motion characteristic to nāga evident even in his human form, I did. Ungulungo, despite his power, I do not feel is a wise man. He has embraced apostasy for himself and is leading his people into ignorance, endangering their very souls. He blames our missionaries for the curse of the one-eye. Furthermore, he supports the violent persecution initiated by this governor, Gunlops, who calls himself the round-eye.
Despite his serene demeanor, Lofar was eager to know more, What news of the faithful of Ilfundune and Shala?
They hide. They resist. The movement continues. The people of these cities know the governor and his cronies are lying to them. Those that listen to the Pūrṇatā kē li'ē rāstā inherently know its truth, just as you did, know that service to the Pantokrator cannot end just because her time amongst us has. They are devout beyond what we in our comfortable palaces and temples could ever be. They know sacrifice and importantly, they know to strive in the face of hardship. By striving, they gain insight and wisdom and most importantly, karma. Though they suffer, they are enriched. They are strengthened and the people of Ilfundune and Shala and even our own cities see this strength and are drawn to it. The more the people are persecuted, the stronger we become.
Of course, that does not mean we can only leave them to suffer. They are our brothers and we must aid them.
Lofar looked at the nāga directly, but was unable to make out the expression in those slitted yellow eyes, So what are you going to do Āvāza?
The nāga turned to him in turn, No Lofar; that is not the question one must ask Instead, you must ask yourself, What will I do?
The air was much cooler amongst the stone catacombs of the palace of Fornalis. Few ventured down here, amongst the remains of kings and queens, honored knights and beautified saints from the era of a living Pantokrator. Certainly Lord Lofar had not been amongst the dry marble hallways, somehow miraculously clear of dust and moisture for many years. He remembered coming with his mother to visit his fathers tomb and later alone to visit both his mothers and his fathers, but that had been some time ago. Today however, he was not searching for their tomb but returning to a much older portion of the subterranean crypt. He operated by memory, the flame of the torch barely reflecting in the the polished white and grey walls. His memory operated from some distant time, as a child, when his grandfather had shared with him a great secret. From the depths of his memory there was a calling.
And so Lofar made his way through the labyrinthine hallways, losing himself in several dead-ends and descending several floors. There was a change here. No longer did the walls depict engravings of knights astride horses and men bent in prayer, but instead there were winged men, not angels but something else, mortals like men but blessed by the pantokrator with wings and flight. In the engravings many held bows or swords and did battle with demonic humanoids that threw fire or poison. His grandfather had told him of the wars between the ancestors so long ago but it was but a dim memory so ancient he was unsure what was true and what was the conjecture of his childhood imaginations. But one thing he did remember, he remembered the scepter.
Finally he arrived at the case. It was ancient, and like the hallways and the palace above, was carved of white and grey marble. He had found it though now his torch was sputtering and threatening to die. He placed it in a nearby sconce and lit a new torch, placing this one in another bracket.
Lord Lofar bent before the case, offering a prayer to the Pantokrator and her messenger, the sacred child, Pavitra Baccē. He knew why he was here. It was dharma- his duty to the perfection of creation. The faithful were being persecuted and though he hated to do it, he knew his duty was to protect them from oppression and tyranny just as he would his family or the people of Fornalis. For now all the faithful were like his people and he had a duty. Yes- it was dharma that had brought him here.
He muttered another prayer, Maiṁ prayāsa karatē haiṁ (I strive), and opened the case. There it was- the scepter of the ancient winged ancestors, the weapon they had crafted to end the hordes of the horned demons. Only twice, in the age of men, had it been used- once by his grandfather so many years ago.
Now, it would be used again. It was dharma, his calling. He lifted it and felt its strength like an electric current. And he was filled with a new serenity.
Lord Lofar had been changed. It had everything to do with his conversion to the Pūrṇatā kē li'ē rāstā, but it was more than just his faith that was different. It was his very thought process, the way he spoke, his demeanor, even the way he walked. Several of his long-time friends had commented on it and the word they always used when they did comment on it was serene. You appear calm, so serene, they would say and he would smile at them, serenely, as he continued his work or ate a strawberry from his garden.
Today, like he had done not so very long ago, he was walking in his gardens. At his side was the nāga, Āvāza. And though their continence were serene, the topic of discussion was one that worried both men, it was the fate of the faithful in the northern Machaka lands.
I understand you were amongst the council-members who spoke with the Machaka king? You have asked for him to extend his mercy to the faithful of Ilfundune and Shala?
Āvāzas unbleached and undyed robes swayed as he walked, the rhythmic, hypnotic motion characteristic to nāga evident even in his human form, I did. Ungulungo, despite his power, I do not feel is a wise man. He has embraced apostasy for himself and is leading his people into ignorance, endangering their very souls. He blames our missionaries for the curse of the one-eye. Furthermore, he supports the violent persecution initiated by this governor, Gunlops, who calls himself the round-eye.
Despite his serene demeanor, Lofar was eager to know more, What news of the faithful of Ilfundune and Shala?
They hide. They resist. The movement continues. The people of these cities know the governor and his cronies are lying to them. Those that listen to the Pūrṇatā kē li'ē rāstā inherently know its truth, just as you did, know that service to the Pantokrator cannot end just because her time amongst us has. They are devout beyond what we in our comfortable palaces and temples could ever be. They know sacrifice and importantly, they know to strive in the face of hardship. By striving, they gain insight and wisdom and most importantly, karma. Though they suffer, they are enriched. They are strengthened and the people of Ilfundune and Shala and even our own cities see this strength and are drawn to it. The more the people are persecuted, the stronger we become.
Of course, that does not mean we can only leave them to suffer. They are our brothers and we must aid them.
Lofar looked at the nāga directly, but was unable to make out the expression in those slitted yellow eyes, So what are you going to do Āvāza?
The nāga turned to him in turn, No Lofar; that is not the question one must ask Instead, you must ask yourself, What will I do?
*********
The air was much cooler amongst the stone catacombs of the palace of Fornalis. Few ventured down here, amongst the remains of kings and queens, honored knights and beautified saints from the era of a living Pantokrator. Certainly Lord Lofar had not been amongst the dry marble hallways, somehow miraculously clear of dust and moisture for many years. He remembered coming with his mother to visit his fathers tomb and later alone to visit both his mothers and his fathers, but that had been some time ago. Today however, he was not searching for their tomb but returning to a much older portion of the subterranean crypt. He operated by memory, the flame of the torch barely reflecting in the the polished white and grey walls. His memory operated from some distant time, as a child, when his grandfather had shared with him a great secret. From the depths of his memory there was a calling.
And so Lofar made his way through the labyrinthine hallways, losing himself in several dead-ends and descending several floors. There was a change here. No longer did the walls depict engravings of knights astride horses and men bent in prayer, but instead there were winged men, not angels but something else, mortals like men but blessed by the pantokrator with wings and flight. In the engravings many held bows or swords and did battle with demonic humanoids that threw fire or poison. His grandfather had told him of the wars between the ancestors so long ago but it was but a dim memory so ancient he was unsure what was true and what was the conjecture of his childhood imaginations. But one thing he did remember, he remembered the scepter.
Finally he arrived at the case. It was ancient, and like the hallways and the palace above, was carved of white and grey marble. He had found it though now his torch was sputtering and threatening to die. He placed it in a nearby sconce and lit a new torch, placing this one in another bracket.
Lord Lofar bent before the case, offering a prayer to the Pantokrator and her messenger, the sacred child, Pavitra Baccē. He knew why he was here. It was dharma- his duty to the perfection of creation. The faithful were being persecuted and though he hated to do it, he knew his duty was to protect them from oppression and tyranny just as he would his family or the people of Fornalis. For now all the faithful were like his people and he had a duty. Yes- it was dharma that had brought him here.
He muttered another prayer, Maiṁ prayāsa karatē haiṁ (I strive), and opened the case. There it was- the scepter of the ancient winged ancestors, the weapon they had crafted to end the hordes of the horned demons. Only twice, in the age of men, had it been used- once by his grandfather so many years ago.
Now, it would be used again. It was dharma, his calling. He lifted it and felt its strength like an electric current. And he was filled with a new serenity.
OOC: vruchten's dropping for lack of time. I'm therefore NPC'ing Heldenthal. berklingenbach is Heldenthal's southernmost city.
From: Alrich, king of Heldenthal
To: Taurus
O beast-man. Know that Walaruna is no usurper. She is benevolent and guides me in the ruling of my realm. If you claim all lands south of the river, then you are claiming lands that have been of Heldenthal since times immemorial. Our city of Oberklingenbach lies on the south bank, and our vassals live in the forest. Are you sure you dare claim our lands, the lands of our ancestors, as yours, and still pretend you wish for nothing but peace? Walaruna is a lovely lady, a mistress of love more than war, but should you invade our lands or make ridiculous claims, should you insult us again, then war will be our only option for an answer.
From: Alrich, king of Heldenthal
To: Taurus
O beast-man. Know that Walaruna is no usurper. She is benevolent and guides me in the ruling of my realm. If you claim all lands south of the river, then you are claiming lands that have been of Heldenthal since times immemorial. Our city of Oberklingenbach lies on the south bank, and our vassals live in the forest. Are you sure you dare claim our lands, the lands of our ancestors, as yours, and still pretend you wish for nothing but peace? Walaruna is a lovely lady, a mistress of love more than war, but should you invade our lands or make ridiculous claims, should you insult us again, then war will be our only option for an answer.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
I will be gone for next week, sadly, I'm 95% sure I won't be able to get orders in. If so, please NPC me.
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