End of Empires - N3S III
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
North King
blech
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- Jan 2, 2004
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Nagging is absolutely fine. I... uh... was more invested in Spring Break than I anticipated, and didn't get them done. Going to take a couple days to sort out RL again, and then hopefully update stats. As a result, I'll probably push back the update by a week. Sorry for all that.
Deusselkerr
Warlord
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2012
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- 170
This thing is awesome. I can't express how much I wish I was around these forums five years ago. The development of this world seems so natural and realistic. Like something I would have enjoyed participating in.
Props from a fan.
Props from a fan.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
It's still going strong Deusselkerr! ... Draggingly, but it is.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
You don't need to use the past tense! It's still something you can participate in if you're interested.
North King
blech
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Amen to that. I actually kind of like people starting out in the world with a fresh set of eyes; I don't think the lack of background knowledge should scare you too much. 
Deusselkerr
Warlord
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2012
- Messages
- 170
Amen to that. I actually kind of like people starting out in the world with a fresh set of eyes; I don't think the lack of background knowledge should scare you too much.
Being some isolated people that are discovering this world for the first time along with me would be interesting... With your leave I will think about it!
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
Is the deadline for orders being extended?
North King
blech
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Yeah, obviously. 
North King
blech
- Joined
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- 18,165
Sorry guys, I've been a bit of a mess lately. Stats are updated. I think... April 20th update? Unless people want it really soon.
Looks great! Does that mean orders are due on the 20th or some time before then?
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
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Probably the morning of the 20th. That gives me most of the day to look at them and start writing in the afternoon.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
The Daily Trash: Part 2 (Not So Daily, Huh 
)
The sun has not risen yet, but the Jarthe was lit with torches as the plantation women woke early to cook the morning meal for the summer festivities. For the Partheca, meals are a family affair, to be shared around in a circle, passing communal bowls of food to the left and right. A day's work lasts from dawn to dusk, and so the only meals are breakfast and supper. And when the sky or the earth calls for festivities, communities unite to celebrate their good bounty and fortune, or to cast away the misfortunes of the past onto the pages of lore. And this day, they celebrated the completion of the first cutting of the indigo leaf.
Jungle fruit are carefully chosen and washed, placed within bowls. Other specimens, perhaps slightly bruised or old, are diced and skewered, and the distasteful portions left for the hogs. A young girl playfully dips the pierced fruit into a large simmering pot full of spices and a thin broth, covering the skewered fruit with a delicate glaze.
Meanwhile, several older women chatted as they kneaded and rolled dough. Their skillful, experienced hands quickly spread a different, thicker sauce. A mixture of stew from last night's dinner and a fresh spices, boiled until pasted. As they chatted, a metal pan, already greased before they carried their aging bodies from their homes, filled with pastries and small loafs of bread.
The fire flares as more fuel was added. The pan sizzled as the flames heated the fat, turning the pasty dough into a dark brown barkskin crust. The fruit was quickly dipped into the heart of the fire, caramelizing in the heat. An older sister guides the hand of a younger sibling, carefully proding the flickering inner core of the dancing fire and retrieving it.
As the scents of the meal rose into the air, several of the men bestirred themselves from their beds. Still somewhat sore from the feverish labors they had contributed the previous day, they stretch and inhale, feasting on the mere scent of love.
As the Sun rises over the treetops, the great gong was sounded. The food stood, hot and cold, as the Elder and the Overseer-normally their Chief- completed the necessary rituals. As the fires died down, the gong called again, and all picked up a bowl and sat, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, picking choice pieces and passing it on. For on that day, everyone in the plantation is of one family, of one clan.
)The sun has not risen yet, but the Jarthe was lit with torches as the plantation women woke early to cook the morning meal for the summer festivities. For the Partheca, meals are a family affair, to be shared around in a circle, passing communal bowls of food to the left and right. A day's work lasts from dawn to dusk, and so the only meals are breakfast and supper. And when the sky or the earth calls for festivities, communities unite to celebrate their good bounty and fortune, or to cast away the misfortunes of the past onto the pages of lore. And this day, they celebrated the completion of the first cutting of the indigo leaf.
Jungle fruit are carefully chosen and washed, placed within bowls. Other specimens, perhaps slightly bruised or old, are diced and skewered, and the distasteful portions left for the hogs. A young girl playfully dips the pierced fruit into a large simmering pot full of spices and a thin broth, covering the skewered fruit with a delicate glaze.
Meanwhile, several older women chatted as they kneaded and rolled dough. Their skillful, experienced hands quickly spread a different, thicker sauce. A mixture of stew from last night's dinner and a fresh spices, boiled until pasted. As they chatted, a metal pan, already greased before they carried their aging bodies from their homes, filled with pastries and small loafs of bread.
The fire flares as more fuel was added. The pan sizzled as the flames heated the fat, turning the pasty dough into a dark brown barkskin crust. The fruit was quickly dipped into the heart of the fire, caramelizing in the heat. An older sister guides the hand of a younger sibling, carefully proding the flickering inner core of the dancing fire and retrieving it.
As the scents of the meal rose into the air, several of the men bestirred themselves from their beds. Still somewhat sore from the feverish labors they had contributed the previous day, they stretch and inhale, feasting on the mere scent of love.
As the Sun rises over the treetops, the great gong was sounded. The food stood, hot and cold, as the Elder and the Overseer-normally their Chief- completed the necessary rituals. As the fires died down, the gong called again, and all picked up a bowl and sat, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, picking choice pieces and passing it on. For on that day, everyone in the plantation is of one family, of one clan.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
The Last of the Warriors
“/On the ragged edge of the world’s cloak/
/There are saints and there are soldiers/
/Can one man wear two masks?/"
-The Lay of the Grey Prince
---
The warrior prince sat atop a crumbling pyramid of a dying religion in a burning empire. Alone, his eyes looked blankly out into the night.
The town that had grown around the pyramid was burning as well. Those fires that had been set during the day still burned steadily, if less intensely, illuminating oily pyres of smoke that became, as they rose to the sky, indistinguishable from the darkness. He held a message in his hands.
Tell our brothers in your host that our spirit-selves walk with them in dream. We ride to join the call of Redeemer Karal, but you are forever our noble and honored High Prince. Mivha-ta-Elexis.
Avralkha set the parchment down on the cracked stone of the sacrificial altar on which he sat. There was a dark stain near the center of obvious origin, but it was faded. Blood had not stained this stone in decades. Did their gods abandon them because the blood dried up? Or perhaps Taleldil and Opporia, though they agreed on little, had joined forces to lay siege to their false heaven.
Perhaps both, it mattered not. But as he pondered the flames, he remembered a voice from his boyhood, and the tall, silver-masked man from which it came. “The true warrior feels nothing when wounds are inflicted on him, but suffers agony when he inflicts wounds on another.”
He had not understood then, nor could he have. But Satores had spoken those words knowing that one day the boy would need them. When he decided to take the mask, his advisors counseled Avralkha to fashion it of gold, so that he would be equal to the great Vaxalai of the north, and to the great Ayasai of the south with their golden crowns. But he had chosen silver, and he did not regret it.
Nor would he.
---
The living incarnate of the God of Man was snoring.
Selçu's arm was draped over his chest, her body nestled into the curve of his own, but the morning light streaming in through the linen walls of their home soon caused her to stir. She yawned, brushing away unbound locks of long black hair and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, fingers sifting through the pillows for her mask.
Her face now modestly covered to greet the day, she sat up.
She always enjoyed admiring her husband before he woke. It was a treasure allotted only to her, his wife, to see him maskless. She would never grow sick of the sight of his broad nose, broken once and crookedly healed, and his mouth, strong but soft. Perhaps it made her a simple woman that she loved the man, and not the god-avatar he had become. But it was her way.
He was now well into his forties, but it did not show. In fact, he didn’t look much different from the young man who had first shown her his naked face under the moonlight so many years ago. The only difference was the laugh lines that had formed around his almond-shaped eyes.
She loved him, not because he was not perfect, or even faithful: She knew he was not, and this was to be borne in silence. She loved him because he was good to her, even though he did not need to be.
“Karal,” she said softly. And again, when he rolled over and pretended not to hear her, “Karal.”
“I am mastering…the Aspect of Sleep,” he groaned.
“Taexi arrived in the night, but I would not let them wake you. He demanded the dawn meeting.”
She could see him tense, all the burdens of command flowing back onto his shoulders. But he rose with an easy smile, kissing her on the neck before affixing the golden mask she hated more than anything. “Well then, I will let the tempest wash over me,” The Vithana for ‘tempest’ was reasonably close to the sound a chicken made, and she laughed at the joke. He knew she loved wordplay, and she knew he did it for her.
She was grateful, despite the sacrifices.
---
“Elikas-ta-Tisatar burned to death in Alusille. He killed the first men sent to take his heart, and then set his own hall on fire, fighting in the flames as more Accans poured in. My spies say he took two hundred with him when it finally collapsed, but the Firelight is dead, and his son swears to Tephras.”
Karal smiled ruefully. “What a glorious fate.”
Taexi the Wind-Prince bristled. “The Princedom of the Shield is gone, my Scion. Now my lands lie open to attack.”
“I’ve raided Acca thrice, and crushed the Rutarri army in the very shadow of Alma’s walls. The Sea-prince’s dogs cannot even test me.”
“And Zelarri fortifies those walls, ships enough grain from Gallat to withstand any siege, and instructs no Prince of hers to face you in the south, while the north slips from our grasp.”
They had had this argument before many times. “You know our hosts fight with the seasons. The Vithana will not…”
“You ARE the Vithana!” Taexi roared, smashing over a brazier with his gauntleted fist. “Begin ACTING the Redeemer I thought you were!”
Karal, who had long-since become used to these outbursts, shook his head. “I have always been what I am. I do not have the brilliant mind of Avetas, or the cunning of his…kept woman. But I am a warrior. That is my nature, and with it I am content.”
“Then make war, and stop playing at it.” Taexi could afford to sneer. He knew what he was worth.
“Bring your men south then, all you can afford. I have others coming.”
“Others? Spear and Sword are down to boys and slaves.”
“Arrow tribesmen from beyond the Exatai, sons of Satores. When our hosts are finally joined, we will make an end to this, my tarkan.”
The only time Prince Taexi laughed was when he had the bloodlust. “At last I can spill my blood for you without regret, Karal-ta-Vaxalai.”
---
“Grandmother?”
“Yes, my little pond-turtle?”
“What is war?”
“Ah, my darling…war is when stupid men think they can take things from each other by hitting one another very hard.”
“Oh.”
“Now, run along and play in the garden with your brothers.”
“Yes, grandmother.”
"But that is not how to take things from them," she said quietly to herself.
Though the child overheard.
“/On the ragged edge of the world’s cloak/
/There are saints and there are soldiers/
/Can one man wear two masks?/"
-The Lay of the Grey Prince
---
The warrior prince sat atop a crumbling pyramid of a dying religion in a burning empire. Alone, his eyes looked blankly out into the night.
The town that had grown around the pyramid was burning as well. Those fires that had been set during the day still burned steadily, if less intensely, illuminating oily pyres of smoke that became, as they rose to the sky, indistinguishable from the darkness. He held a message in his hands.
Tell our brothers in your host that our spirit-selves walk with them in dream. We ride to join the call of Redeemer Karal, but you are forever our noble and honored High Prince. Mivha-ta-Elexis.
Avralkha set the parchment down on the cracked stone of the sacrificial altar on which he sat. There was a dark stain near the center of obvious origin, but it was faded. Blood had not stained this stone in decades. Did their gods abandon them because the blood dried up? Or perhaps Taleldil and Opporia, though they agreed on little, had joined forces to lay siege to their false heaven.
Perhaps both, it mattered not. But as he pondered the flames, he remembered a voice from his boyhood, and the tall, silver-masked man from which it came. “The true warrior feels nothing when wounds are inflicted on him, but suffers agony when he inflicts wounds on another.”
He had not understood then, nor could he have. But Satores had spoken those words knowing that one day the boy would need them. When he decided to take the mask, his advisors counseled Avralkha to fashion it of gold, so that he would be equal to the great Vaxalai of the north, and to the great Ayasai of the south with their golden crowns. But he had chosen silver, and he did not regret it.
Nor would he.
---
The living incarnate of the God of Man was snoring.
Selçu's arm was draped over his chest, her body nestled into the curve of his own, but the morning light streaming in through the linen walls of their home soon caused her to stir. She yawned, brushing away unbound locks of long black hair and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, fingers sifting through the pillows for her mask.
Her face now modestly covered to greet the day, she sat up.
She always enjoyed admiring her husband before he woke. It was a treasure allotted only to her, his wife, to see him maskless. She would never grow sick of the sight of his broad nose, broken once and crookedly healed, and his mouth, strong but soft. Perhaps it made her a simple woman that she loved the man, and not the god-avatar he had become. But it was her way.
He was now well into his forties, but it did not show. In fact, he didn’t look much different from the young man who had first shown her his naked face under the moonlight so many years ago. The only difference was the laugh lines that had formed around his almond-shaped eyes.
She loved him, not because he was not perfect, or even faithful: She knew he was not, and this was to be borne in silence. She loved him because he was good to her, even though he did not need to be.
“Karal,” she said softly. And again, when he rolled over and pretended not to hear her, “Karal.”
“I am mastering…the Aspect of Sleep,” he groaned.
“Taexi arrived in the night, but I would not let them wake you. He demanded the dawn meeting.”
She could see him tense, all the burdens of command flowing back onto his shoulders. But he rose with an easy smile, kissing her on the neck before affixing the golden mask she hated more than anything. “Well then, I will let the tempest wash over me,” The Vithana for ‘tempest’ was reasonably close to the sound a chicken made, and she laughed at the joke. He knew she loved wordplay, and she knew he did it for her.
She was grateful, despite the sacrifices.
---
“Elikas-ta-Tisatar burned to death in Alusille. He killed the first men sent to take his heart, and then set his own hall on fire, fighting in the flames as more Accans poured in. My spies say he took two hundred with him when it finally collapsed, but the Firelight is dead, and his son swears to Tephras.”
Karal smiled ruefully. “What a glorious fate.”
Taexi the Wind-Prince bristled. “The Princedom of the Shield is gone, my Scion. Now my lands lie open to attack.”
“I’ve raided Acca thrice, and crushed the Rutarri army in the very shadow of Alma’s walls. The Sea-prince’s dogs cannot even test me.”
“And Zelarri fortifies those walls, ships enough grain from Gallat to withstand any siege, and instructs no Prince of hers to face you in the south, while the north slips from our grasp.”
They had had this argument before many times. “You know our hosts fight with the seasons. The Vithana will not…”
“You ARE the Vithana!” Taexi roared, smashing over a brazier with his gauntleted fist. “Begin ACTING the Redeemer I thought you were!”
Karal, who had long-since become used to these outbursts, shook his head. “I have always been what I am. I do not have the brilliant mind of Avetas, or the cunning of his…kept woman. But I am a warrior. That is my nature, and with it I am content.”
“Then make war, and stop playing at it.” Taexi could afford to sneer. He knew what he was worth.
“Bring your men south then, all you can afford. I have others coming.”
“Others? Spear and Sword are down to boys and slaves.”
“Arrow tribesmen from beyond the Exatai, sons of Satores. When our hosts are finally joined, we will make an end to this, my tarkan.”
The only time Prince Taexi laughed was when he had the bloodlust. “At last I can spill my blood for you without regret, Karal-ta-Vaxalai.”
---
“Grandmother?”
“Yes, my little pond-turtle?”
“What is war?”
“Ah, my darling…war is when stupid men think they can take things from each other by hitting one another very hard.”
“Oh.”
“Now, run along and play in the garden with your brothers.”
“Yes, grandmother.”
"But that is not how to take things from them," she said quietly to herself.
Though the child overheard.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
Through battle the Great Princes fall, these upstarts know nothing of the glory of war.
"They will bend the knee in fear at what greying men can do.”
Exatas, Elikas-ta-Tisatar
"They will bend the knee in fear at what greying men can do.”
Exatas, Elikas-ta-Tisatar
And then, at the behest of the lady, the sun gave us light, for this is the way of things: Haiao provides nourishment for the body, Aitah provides salvation from the soul.
Aluoda finished reading the Faronun inscription aloud, and accepted a goblet of spirit water from the Speaker, drinking deeply.
Does your companion partake?
Aluoda looked back to Kosti, who was engrossed in reading the engraved scriptures around the small, open-air temple. Behind him, a trio of burdened onagers were tied to a pole, resting in the temples shadow.
Kosti. Would you like some spirit water?
The young Uggor boys head turned towards the two Faronun men, and he gave a dubious look towards the goblet in Aluodas hand.
What is in it?
Its good for you. replied Aluoda, sharply.
The Speaker looked somewhat puzzled for a moment, but the uncertainty soon shifted into a friendly smile.
Does young Kosti not know of our ritual?
Weve come a long way from Lumada, hes not left the city before.
Lumada! You have come some way. But you have an accent from the southlands of Helsia.
Aramaia. A long time ago.
Welcome back, my kin. I myself once lived in Barof.
The speaker looked back up, meeting Kostis uncertain gaze.
Come over here son, and take a seat- and I will tell you about Sarama.
Kosti accepted the invitation, and set himself down on the blue floor of the temple. It was a small structure, barely eight meters across. Six red pillars formed the outside, in a hexagonal pattern, while a rounded, yellow dome provided shelter from the midday sun above. In the center of the room was an elevated basin, from which the water had come.
So... began Kosti, Before you tell me what Sarama is... what is it that is written here?
Quotations from the Works.
The Works?
Of Aitah.
Aluoda has told me a little about Aitah. Might you tell me of her?
She is she that was born forth from the lineage of the spirits, the Speaker began, Her father was the demigod Ayase, her mother the demigoddess Matah, herself Aitah, the Lady Goddess, the successor to the ancestors, the salvation of human kind. This is her temple... and as such, it is our temple, and a shelter for all.
Why does she want me to drink her water?
The Speaker laughed- a dry and tinny laugh, but a good-natured one.
Merely a custom. An offering to travelers, a gift from the Coraia Sarama.
And that is...
A great many spirits abound in the world. In times long past, they concerned themselves with matters of humanity, but upon the coming of Aitah, they withdrew. Some sit in silent court with the Lady, others passed beyond into the unknown, and the rest remain, hidden to us but visible in action. Sarama is the oasis, he offers soothing drink to the parched throats of travelers.
Kosti cocked an eyebrow. The Speaker gave the boy a thoughtful look, chuckling lightly.
Its just water.
Kosti accepted the goblet, and drank.
Aluoda finished reading the Faronun inscription aloud, and accepted a goblet of spirit water from the Speaker, drinking deeply.
Does your companion partake?
Aluoda looked back to Kosti, who was engrossed in reading the engraved scriptures around the small, open-air temple. Behind him, a trio of burdened onagers were tied to a pole, resting in the temples shadow.
Kosti. Would you like some spirit water?
The young Uggor boys head turned towards the two Faronun men, and he gave a dubious look towards the goblet in Aluodas hand.
What is in it?
Its good for you. replied Aluoda, sharply.
The Speaker looked somewhat puzzled for a moment, but the uncertainty soon shifted into a friendly smile.
Does young Kosti not know of our ritual?
Weve come a long way from Lumada, hes not left the city before.
Lumada! You have come some way. But you have an accent from the southlands of Helsia.
Aramaia. A long time ago.
Welcome back, my kin. I myself once lived in Barof.
The speaker looked back up, meeting Kostis uncertain gaze.
Come over here son, and take a seat- and I will tell you about Sarama.
Kosti accepted the invitation, and set himself down on the blue floor of the temple. It was a small structure, barely eight meters across. Six red pillars formed the outside, in a hexagonal pattern, while a rounded, yellow dome provided shelter from the midday sun above. In the center of the room was an elevated basin, from which the water had come.
So... began Kosti, Before you tell me what Sarama is... what is it that is written here?
Quotations from the Works.
The Works?
Of Aitah.
Aluoda has told me a little about Aitah. Might you tell me of her?
She is she that was born forth from the lineage of the spirits, the Speaker began, Her father was the demigod Ayase, her mother the demigoddess Matah, herself Aitah, the Lady Goddess, the successor to the ancestors, the salvation of human kind. This is her temple... and as such, it is our temple, and a shelter for all.
Why does she want me to drink her water?
The Speaker laughed- a dry and tinny laugh, but a good-natured one.
Merely a custom. An offering to travelers, a gift from the Coraia Sarama.
And that is...
A great many spirits abound in the world. In times long past, they concerned themselves with matters of humanity, but upon the coming of Aitah, they withdrew. Some sit in silent court with the Lady, others passed beyond into the unknown, and the rest remain, hidden to us but visible in action. Sarama is the oasis, he offers soothing drink to the parched throats of travelers.
Kosti cocked an eyebrow. The Speaker gave the boy a thoughtful look, chuckling lightly.
Its just water.
Kosti accepted the goblet, and drank.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
Please note the due date on the front page.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
Three days!
