OOC: Although he wouldn't have been able to retain both inheritance rights, I don't think; Kilar would scarcely be more likely to accept the son of the man who killed their king as their new king than to accept the man himself.
End of Empires - N3S III
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
OOC: Although he wouldn't have been able to retain both inheritance rights, I don't think; Kilar would scarcely be more likely to accept the son of the man who killed their king as their new king than to accept the man himself.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
OOC: It's all about the role play. Unconscious cues can be stronger than conscious ones, if the cards are played right.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
OOC: It really depends on how NK moderates and how he reads into the situation. Say the Prince makes a speech. You can either run a guaranteed YES/NO on the Prince's actions based just on what they are or the tone of the speech. OR. OR you can investigate each turn of the phrase and use of syntax, flow of argument, use of examples, cultural background of the people he's speaking to and the people who will hear his speech, to determine a base of popular opinion and then determine how that will effect the final decision. Which is what I do in most of my NPC diplomacy.
das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: Oh, sorry, didn't notice that part. Yeah, he won't have been able to keep the right to Kilar either way. 
As the Ayasi's diplomatic action against Jipha was carried out specifically because of Jipha's attempt to take over Kilar, and in the defense of Kilar's new native ruler.
As the Ayasi's diplomatic action against Jipha was carried out specifically because of Jipha's attempt to take over Kilar, and in the defense of Kilar's new native ruler.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
A distinction must be drawn between the Lesser or Ordinary Ordeal, and the Great Ordeal. In the Lesser Ordeal the darkness assaults the righteous man, seeks to lure or convince or tear him from the Path. In the Great Ordeal the dark assails the very body of the Faithful, seeks to destroy the Path itself for all time. That is not to diminish the Ordinary Ordeal in any way. The forces that lurk in the darkness are no less cruel and cunning when they limit their ambition; indeed, the Ordinary Ordeal is often more challenging than the Great, more subtle and less open. But it is to say that, just as the Ordinary Ordeal must be met and overcome by the person afflicted, so that he may continue on the Path, so must the Great Ordeal be met and overcome by the full force of the Faithful.
-Ward Gorth, RM 444
-----
The first sign Eskar notices that his journey is near its end is the smell. Even miles away up the salt flats Sirasona stinks. He's smelled cities before, of course, but back home he usually has to at least be able to see them before he smells them. Another sign that things are different down south. When, some hours later, he crests a rise and gets his first real sight of the city, he has that lesson driven home even harder. Sirasona sprawls across the horizon, bigger than he's ever seen, larger by far even than Flammestat. His road took south of the ruined cities on the north coast, and on the advice of locals he had pursued a course that avoided Kollada, so this is the first of the great cities of Gallat he's seen. Sirasona stretches across the horizon, bigger than he's ever seen, larger by far even than Flamm. Beyond the walls there sprawls a broad expanse of chaotically placed brown objects, with no discernible organization. Eskar can't place it at first, but as he draws closer he realizes: it's a shantytown, huts and shacks thrown together out of anything at hand by refugees from the interior.
Passing into the outskirts of this vast chaotic slum, Eskar begins to see signs of life; thin men in ragged, filthy clothes, naked children playing in the street, pale women with haunted eyes tending fires, and the rising murmur of country accents. There are refugees, many of them children, sitting by the side of the narrow streets with bowls; beggars, he assumes. Once in the distance he sees a group of well-dressed men, the entourage of some lord or merchant passing through, being mobbed by beggars, but they don't approach him. The long road has left him nearly as ragged as a refugee, he supposes, so they don't bother. Deeper into the slum and closer to the walls the press thickens, and Eskar is almost overwhelmed by the sheer crush of people. There's no order to the construction here, just twisty little alleys converging and overlapping, and in the scrum he fears that he will lose his way. He is beginning to worry when he comes upon a wider place in the street, what must be a public square in this place, and in the center a group of armed and armoured men distributing bread; the Halyr's men, he supposes. As he's drawn closer to Sirasona's he heard much about the benevolence of the Halyrate from refugees, usually mixed with bitter condemnations of the indifference of the Houses, and as he watches a woman and her two emaciated children leave the square, weeping with joy for the meager loaves they've been given, he thinks that he understands why they trust Javan.
It occurs to Eskar now to ask the soldiers for directions to the city; surely they must know how to get back, if they brought food to this place. He fights his way with no small difficulty through the mob in the square to the center, and shouts a question at the leader of the soldiers. By the third repetition he's managed to make himself understood over the din, and the soldier shrugs and gestures over his shoulder. Eskar thanks him, though the soldier has already lost interest, and goes to elbow his way out in the direction indicated. He does so with greater urgency now, because he's begun to notice sidelong glances and hostile muttering coming from the people he passes. He reflects that some, perhaps even many, of these people fled fires being set by men who looked and dressed and spoke much like Eskar, and that perhaps the Sirasonan slums aren't the safest place to be a Seehltekt these days.
And that line of thinking just leads him back to the question that's been worrying him ever since he received the summons, hundreds of miles ago: what awaits him in Sirasona? The High Ward must have summoned him for a good reason, he says to himself for the thousandth time. No doubt he wants to congratulate Eskar on his efforts to spread the Light in the Stettin lands, or perhaps to ask Eskar's opinion on dealing with the Brunnekt. He pushes aside the the persistent voice that tells him the only reason the Faith would summon an acolyte so far is to punish heresy or Savirai sympathies. He knows that his devotion to Manin is secure; surely the High Ward knows it too. It'll be fine, he tries yet again to convince himself.
Anyway, there's no use worrying about it; he can but come when called. He shakes himself out of his momentary reverie and hurries on, anxious to clear the slums before something untoward happens, and he smiles with relief when in a bare minute he sees the walls looming overhead, just a few hundred feet away. He's even more relieved when he discovers that he's emerged from the maze close to his destination. It only needs another couple of minutes walking before he arrives at the Salt Gate. It's open and there are only a few bored looking guards; with the Savirai hundreds of miles away, only the spidery forms of a pair of onagers atop the gatehouse stand as clear evidence of the frenzied defensive preparations of earlier years. Eskar goes over to the guards and announces himself and his mission. He more than half expects to be escorted to his meeting, but the guards seem barely to care, and simply inform him that the High Ward is in the Palace of Seniar and wave him along; he's blocking traffic. Eskar's more relieved than anything; he's not being taken into custody after all. And it's no surprise that the Halyrate won't spare a man to act as a tour guide, not if they couldn't spare the men to organize his travel across the wilderness.
So he passes into the city. Inside the walls it's less crowded, but even so the city's clearly under strain. The roads are wide and clearly ordered, they're still littered with detritus; there are fewer beggars, but not none; there are makeshift shelters attached to the side of the tall brick buildings. It's a straight shot down the Golden Avenue to the Palace, and Eskar doesn't waste much time sightseeing. Eventually he crosses an invisible line, and things change entirely. Now the beggars are gone entirely, and so are the buildings; instead high walls line the street, with massive gates spaced at wide intervals and manned by armed men who are much too pretty and finely dressed to be soldiers. Eskar puzzles over the dramatic change for a moment, but chalks it up to some inscrutable Gallatene architectural choice. He's too much of a foreigner to realize it, but he's passed into the House District; here are the sprawling compounds of the ruling Houses of Sirasona, the walls a legacy of a time when they tended to settle disputes with blood and iron more often than words and silver. And while the Houses might be in no small disrepute these days, they still have the pull to keep the riffraff from polluting their environs; there are no crowds or squatters here. Eskar makes rapid progress now; the House guards eye him suspiciously, but as long as he keeps moving they don't give him any trouble.
After half an hour or so Eskar comes at last to the Palace of Seniar, on the far side of the House District. He knows a little more about the Palace; the old seat of government, back before the League, it fell into disuse in recent decades, the Houses preferring to conduct their business in their luxurious compounds. But the Halyrate commandeered the mostly abandoned building to use as its center of operations in the city, and now it's a hive of activity, covered in scaffolding, the courtyard swollen with officers and sharp-faced clerks and more Wards than Eskar sees in five years in the north. Eskar walks through the main entrance. To his surprise he's not accosted by anyone demanding to know his business; everyone seems too busy to care or even notice one more man in the place. He asks and is told that the Faithful are in the west wing, so off he goes.
Finally he meets someone official looking, a harassed looking old Acolyte, who tells him that the High Ward wants to meet him immediately. Eskar's surprised - how did the High Ward even know that he was in Sirasona? - but he complies, of course. The old Acolyte escorts Eskar through the tall hallways of the Palace to an unassuming room on the second floor. He's told to wait for a moment, as the High Ward is momentarily busy, but barely thirty seconds have passed before a tall man in fine but simple clothes emerges from the room; not the High Ward, but his guest, apparently. As Eskar's ushered in he hears the Acolyte give a respectful greeting to 'Lord Nuvor', and Eskar realizes with a shock that the well-dressed man was none other than the famous Ihalint Soredi, the Master of Soldiers himself. It hits him, then, how illustrious a company he is presently in, and he feels quite unequal to it.
The High Ward's office, as he supposes this must be, is simply furnished; little more than a desk and a set of chairs. As with the rest of the Palace, Eskar has the impression that the inhabitant is simply too busy to care about anything beyond the functional. And the High Ward doesn't waste any time now; he's talking almost before Eskar sets foot in the room. “I've heard about you, Acolyte,” he says tonelessly. “Are your feet securely on the Path, and your gaze directed along the Way?”
Eskar replies “My devotion to Manin is secure; if you have heard anything about me surely you have heard that, sir.”
The High Ward sits. “Indeed I have, Acolyte. And now I see you have courage too. I think you will do nicely, though I'll have to be sure.” A shiver goes down Eskar's spine at this. “Do you know,” the High Ward continues, “what the greatest failing of the Wards was, when Aitahism rose in the north?” Eskar shakes his head. “It was this: no one ever thought to ask the northerners what they wanted.”
-----
HOW HE WAS CHARGED BY THE HIGH WARD TO CARRY THE LIGHT OF MANIN
Passing through the fires set by Savirai unharmed, thanks to his wisdom and courage, the enlightened acolyte came as called to the revered Risadri. The High Ward then looked upon the young Eskar and saw that in him the Light of Manin burned fiercely, but saw also that he was possessed of great understanding and compassion for the bewitched of the north, and that he thirsted for a task. Then the High Ward said to Eskar 'Truly you are the best and most virtuous of my Acolytes, and so I charge you to take the most dangerous path, to tend and heal the Light in the north before the darkness covers it forever'. And Eskar's heart was filled with joy, for he wished nothing more than to help his poor kinsmen, and he leapt up crying 'I shall take this burden and gladly, though I might meet my end in its course, for the welfare of my people is my dearest desire'
-The Ordeals of the Harada Eskar, Unknown, mid 6th century RM
-Ward Gorth, RM 444
-----
The first sign Eskar notices that his journey is near its end is the smell. Even miles away up the salt flats Sirasona stinks. He's smelled cities before, of course, but back home he usually has to at least be able to see them before he smells them. Another sign that things are different down south. When, some hours later, he crests a rise and gets his first real sight of the city, he has that lesson driven home even harder. Sirasona sprawls across the horizon, bigger than he's ever seen, larger by far even than Flammestat. His road took south of the ruined cities on the north coast, and on the advice of locals he had pursued a course that avoided Kollada, so this is the first of the great cities of Gallat he's seen. Sirasona stretches across the horizon, bigger than he's ever seen, larger by far even than Flamm. Beyond the walls there sprawls a broad expanse of chaotically placed brown objects, with no discernible organization. Eskar can't place it at first, but as he draws closer he realizes: it's a shantytown, huts and shacks thrown together out of anything at hand by refugees from the interior.
Passing into the outskirts of this vast chaotic slum, Eskar begins to see signs of life; thin men in ragged, filthy clothes, naked children playing in the street, pale women with haunted eyes tending fires, and the rising murmur of country accents. There are refugees, many of them children, sitting by the side of the narrow streets with bowls; beggars, he assumes. Once in the distance he sees a group of well-dressed men, the entourage of some lord or merchant passing through, being mobbed by beggars, but they don't approach him. The long road has left him nearly as ragged as a refugee, he supposes, so they don't bother. Deeper into the slum and closer to the walls the press thickens, and Eskar is almost overwhelmed by the sheer crush of people. There's no order to the construction here, just twisty little alleys converging and overlapping, and in the scrum he fears that he will lose his way. He is beginning to worry when he comes upon a wider place in the street, what must be a public square in this place, and in the center a group of armed and armoured men distributing bread; the Halyr's men, he supposes. As he's drawn closer to Sirasona's he heard much about the benevolence of the Halyrate from refugees, usually mixed with bitter condemnations of the indifference of the Houses, and as he watches a woman and her two emaciated children leave the square, weeping with joy for the meager loaves they've been given, he thinks that he understands why they trust Javan.
It occurs to Eskar now to ask the soldiers for directions to the city; surely they must know how to get back, if they brought food to this place. He fights his way with no small difficulty through the mob in the square to the center, and shouts a question at the leader of the soldiers. By the third repetition he's managed to make himself understood over the din, and the soldier shrugs and gestures over his shoulder. Eskar thanks him, though the soldier has already lost interest, and goes to elbow his way out in the direction indicated. He does so with greater urgency now, because he's begun to notice sidelong glances and hostile muttering coming from the people he passes. He reflects that some, perhaps even many, of these people fled fires being set by men who looked and dressed and spoke much like Eskar, and that perhaps the Sirasonan slums aren't the safest place to be a Seehltekt these days.
And that line of thinking just leads him back to the question that's been worrying him ever since he received the summons, hundreds of miles ago: what awaits him in Sirasona? The High Ward must have summoned him for a good reason, he says to himself for the thousandth time. No doubt he wants to congratulate Eskar on his efforts to spread the Light in the Stettin lands, or perhaps to ask Eskar's opinion on dealing with the Brunnekt. He pushes aside the the persistent voice that tells him the only reason the Faith would summon an acolyte so far is to punish heresy or Savirai sympathies. He knows that his devotion to Manin is secure; surely the High Ward knows it too. It'll be fine, he tries yet again to convince himself.
Anyway, there's no use worrying about it; he can but come when called. He shakes himself out of his momentary reverie and hurries on, anxious to clear the slums before something untoward happens, and he smiles with relief when in a bare minute he sees the walls looming overhead, just a few hundred feet away. He's even more relieved when he discovers that he's emerged from the maze close to his destination. It only needs another couple of minutes walking before he arrives at the Salt Gate. It's open and there are only a few bored looking guards; with the Savirai hundreds of miles away, only the spidery forms of a pair of onagers atop the gatehouse stand as clear evidence of the frenzied defensive preparations of earlier years. Eskar goes over to the guards and announces himself and his mission. He more than half expects to be escorted to his meeting, but the guards seem barely to care, and simply inform him that the High Ward is in the Palace of Seniar and wave him along; he's blocking traffic. Eskar's more relieved than anything; he's not being taken into custody after all. And it's no surprise that the Halyrate won't spare a man to act as a tour guide, not if they couldn't spare the men to organize his travel across the wilderness.
So he passes into the city. Inside the walls it's less crowded, but even so the city's clearly under strain. The roads are wide and clearly ordered, they're still littered with detritus; there are fewer beggars, but not none; there are makeshift shelters attached to the side of the tall brick buildings. It's a straight shot down the Golden Avenue to the Palace, and Eskar doesn't waste much time sightseeing. Eventually he crosses an invisible line, and things change entirely. Now the beggars are gone entirely, and so are the buildings; instead high walls line the street, with massive gates spaced at wide intervals and manned by armed men who are much too pretty and finely dressed to be soldiers. Eskar puzzles over the dramatic change for a moment, but chalks it up to some inscrutable Gallatene architectural choice. He's too much of a foreigner to realize it, but he's passed into the House District; here are the sprawling compounds of the ruling Houses of Sirasona, the walls a legacy of a time when they tended to settle disputes with blood and iron more often than words and silver. And while the Houses might be in no small disrepute these days, they still have the pull to keep the riffraff from polluting their environs; there are no crowds or squatters here. Eskar makes rapid progress now; the House guards eye him suspiciously, but as long as he keeps moving they don't give him any trouble.
After half an hour or so Eskar comes at last to the Palace of Seniar, on the far side of the House District. He knows a little more about the Palace; the old seat of government, back before the League, it fell into disuse in recent decades, the Houses preferring to conduct their business in their luxurious compounds. But the Halyrate commandeered the mostly abandoned building to use as its center of operations in the city, and now it's a hive of activity, covered in scaffolding, the courtyard swollen with officers and sharp-faced clerks and more Wards than Eskar sees in five years in the north. Eskar walks through the main entrance. To his surprise he's not accosted by anyone demanding to know his business; everyone seems too busy to care or even notice one more man in the place. He asks and is told that the Faithful are in the west wing, so off he goes.
Finally he meets someone official looking, a harassed looking old Acolyte, who tells him that the High Ward wants to meet him immediately. Eskar's surprised - how did the High Ward even know that he was in Sirasona? - but he complies, of course. The old Acolyte escorts Eskar through the tall hallways of the Palace to an unassuming room on the second floor. He's told to wait for a moment, as the High Ward is momentarily busy, but barely thirty seconds have passed before a tall man in fine but simple clothes emerges from the room; not the High Ward, but his guest, apparently. As Eskar's ushered in he hears the Acolyte give a respectful greeting to 'Lord Nuvor', and Eskar realizes with a shock that the well-dressed man was none other than the famous Ihalint Soredi, the Master of Soldiers himself. It hits him, then, how illustrious a company he is presently in, and he feels quite unequal to it.
The High Ward's office, as he supposes this must be, is simply furnished; little more than a desk and a set of chairs. As with the rest of the Palace, Eskar has the impression that the inhabitant is simply too busy to care about anything beyond the functional. And the High Ward doesn't waste any time now; he's talking almost before Eskar sets foot in the room. “I've heard about you, Acolyte,” he says tonelessly. “Are your feet securely on the Path, and your gaze directed along the Way?”
Eskar replies “My devotion to Manin is secure; if you have heard anything about me surely you have heard that, sir.”
The High Ward sits. “Indeed I have, Acolyte. And now I see you have courage too. I think you will do nicely, though I'll have to be sure.” A shiver goes down Eskar's spine at this. “Do you know,” the High Ward continues, “what the greatest failing of the Wards was, when Aitahism rose in the north?” Eskar shakes his head. “It was this: no one ever thought to ask the northerners what they wanted.”
-----
HOW HE WAS CHARGED BY THE HIGH WARD TO CARRY THE LIGHT OF MANIN
Passing through the fires set by Savirai unharmed, thanks to his wisdom and courage, the enlightened acolyte came as called to the revered Risadri. The High Ward then looked upon the young Eskar and saw that in him the Light of Manin burned fiercely, but saw also that he was possessed of great understanding and compassion for the bewitched of the north, and that he thirsted for a task. Then the High Ward said to Eskar 'Truly you are the best and most virtuous of my Acolytes, and so I charge you to take the most dangerous path, to tend and heal the Light in the north before the darkness covers it forever'. And Eskar's heart was filled with joy, for he wished nothing more than to help his poor kinsmen, and he leapt up crying 'I shall take this burden and gladly, though I might meet my end in its course, for the welfare of my people is my dearest desire'
-The Ordeals of the Harada Eskar, Unknown, mid 6th century RM
Golden1Knight
Emperor
Actually, I had exactly the intention of using this window, but my real life has not given me much time to use this NES, and that's why I have not acted before. I really regret that I did not know there was a time to act, after all I thought the deadline was for these things until the next update. Or this OOC deadline should have been explained before by das. I intended to abdicate the throne for my son, and he would have legal rights over the two kingdoms, he would be protected by the Empire and would focus on an end to the rebellion. This was the best way I have found to expand my land, and go on to have some regional relevance. But it seems that did not work. Incidentally, the murder was to be a rumor.
Well, but if necessary, I will fight to the end with my warriors. There will be no easy conquest here.
das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: Well, I would've forced you to withdraw from Kilar either way, and after the discussion with my allies, I found a better way to handle this in any case. Nothing wrong with ambition, but you started a war with another protectorate without the Ayasi's permission, and at a time when the Ayasi was expecting both Kilar and Jipha to assist him in the war. There's no room for leniency here.
Nothing wrong with ambition, but you started a war with another protectorate without the Ayasi's permission, and at a time when the Ayasi was expecting both Kilar and Jipha to assist him in the war. There's no room for leniency here.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
Heretics to Heroes: the Development of the Haradim in Mid-Classical Maninism
Certainly to modern eyes the most striking transformation of early Maninism was the rapid emergence of the veneration of Haradim [roughly translates to 'virtuous ones']. Early-Classical Maninism is commonly perceived as an almost-aggressively nontheistic faith, suppressing anything that smacked of deism. There is some truth to this perception, at least in the original heartlands of the faith; certainly the official statements of generations of High Wards were uniformly hostile to any sort of cultism, decrying worship of concrete figures as vile heresy. On the ground in the periphery, however, things were different. There veneration of various local figures was almost omnipresent in the Maninist world; these are generally lumped together under the heading of hero cults, though there was in truth rather more variety than that implies. The center was officially hostile to such cults, but in practice mostly tolerated them, so long as they didn't cause any great difficulty. So, the reformation in the fifth century was perhaps less dramatic than it first seems. At least outside of Gallat itself, it constituted more of a change in officially promulgated doctrine than in actual practice; still, it would have a very significant impact on church policy moving forward.
Quiet toleration of the cults by the center proved a fairly stable state of affairs for some centuries, but in the fifth century it all fell apart. The process that led to the integration of Haradim in mainstream Maninism must properly be understood as beginning with the emergence of the Cult of the Goddess in the Face of the Moon. In essence just another hero cult, this one proved remarkably attractive, and by its early alliance with the ruling Savirai dynasty politically threatening. When the cult of Aelona and her daughter Kintyra spread like wildfire across the north, and Brunnekt arms followed close behind, it was clear the more forward-thinking Wards that Maninism lacked a certain emotional appeal. It's impossible to tell to what extent the adoption of the cults of the Haradim was a conscious response to the spread of Aitahism, but it seems likely that it was not a totally insignificant consideration. At the very least it is certain that the crisis of Maninism resulted in something of a theological uproar that allowed the Haradim to enter into the mainstream of Maninist theology. Such considerations must mostly be confined to speculation, however, due to the lack of sources. If we want to trace the development of the personal cults, we must stick to what can be confirmed.
It was, naturally, political considerations that first catalyzed the shift in orthodox Maninist opinion towards the personal cults. While hero cults in various forms had for centuries been virtually omnipresent outside of the Gallatene and Nahsjad heartlands of hardline orthodoxy, the first such cult that is clearly recognizable as one of the Haradim appears among the Taudo in the early 5th century, shortly after the Satar supplanted the Evyni as the chief power in the north. Alongside Satar armies came Satar ideas, most prominent among them the cult of their hero-god Taleldil. Native Taudo records are sparse, but the stories of Taleldil's fight against evil spirits seems to have left quite an impression, because within a few years we find Gallatene Wards writing the High Ward and informing him that 'the Taudo have taken much interest in venerating Talad.' So enthusiastically did the Taudo adopt the stories of Taleldil that for a time the Satar seem to have been under the impression that they had adopted the precepts of Ardavan wholesale; in 452 we find a nameless Accan functionary reporting his utter shock to find that the Taudo spoke of Manin as much as Taleldil.
Still, this might have remained an isolated incidence of syncretism, similar to all the other deviations from orthodoxy in the far-flung Maninist sphere, if not for the War of the Empty Throne, which saw tens of thousands of Ardavani soldiers spend years fighting alongside Maninist Gallatenes. The modern perception of Early-Classical Maninism as a sterile faith of bankers and scholars, while certainly flawed, was apparently shared in large part by the Gallatene countryside and soldiery; the martial aspects of Taleldil seem to have provided a great deal of comfort to hard men convinced they were fighting a war for the survival of civilization, and when those men went home they passed such beliefs on to their children.
The increasingly widespread respect for Taleldil, known usually as Talad by Gallatenes, in the heartland of orthodox Maninism posed a dilemma for a succession of High Wards; the issue features prominently in their correspondence and was brought before the Council of Servants on several occasions. On the one hand their first instinct, of course, was to come down on such heterodoxy like a ton of bricks, per the standard practice of centuries. On the other hand, the survival of Gallat and by extension Maninism itself hinged on the continued goodwill of the Satar, who would doubtless view suppression of even a syncreticized version of Taleldil as tantamount to Aitahism. Faced with a difficult problem, the High Wards for the most part chose to ignore it. As the influence over the church of the Houses, longtime supporters of the most sanitized versions of Maninism, waned in the interwar period a new generation of Acolytes emerged, drawn from the lower classes and lacking the hardline stance of their elders. Attitudes at the higher echelons of the Faith were slow to change, but on the ground, as near as we can tell from the scant documentation, there was a rapid proliferation of hero-cults in the heartland, while in the periphery the already extant objects of veneration rapidly received more recognition and support from the local Wards. This trend accompanied and was likely in some sense driven by the well-documented rise in eschatological thinking in the second half of the century; as Maninism, among the people if not the theologians, became more preoccupied with the influence of malign spirits, it was only natural that the Faithful should desire concrete intercessors to defend them.
By the last quarter of the century we know from the records of intense debate within the highest circles of the church that veneration of the significant figures already commonly known as Haradim was endemic across much of the Maninist world. The outbreak of the Great Ordeal and the Immolation of Gallasa threw the church into turmoil, and allowed the populist elements, led by the Ward Risadri, to gain significant influence; when Javan overthrew the League governing structure and established the Halyrate, the power of the old order was almost broken in the church as well. Practically overnight we see the tacit disapproval of the church hierarchy vanish and the veneration of Haradim explode into the spotlight. Counterintuitively it seems to have been driven in part by a reaction to the existing cults. The veneration of Talad was too well-established in the army to stamp out, and the advancement of the rest of the Haradyrim and Haradim was in part a compromise with the prominent Wards; an assertion of Gallatene independence from Satar cultural influence.
Appendix: Risadri on Haradim
Written in highly technical Classical Gallatene to an audience of mostly sophisticated theologians, the High Ward Risadri's Statement on the Harada Talad provides the most comprehensive early description of the role of the Haradim in Maninism, and reads in part:
As by wicked acts men serve the darkness and become Dalothim, enemies of the Path and Way, so by attaining great virtue may men become Haradim, and defend the Way and the Faithful from the depredations of Dalothim.
As the Dalothim may aid the wicked in their war on the Way, so may the Haradim lend strength and protection and succour to the assailed virtuous who request and merit it. Though they are not gods it is right to venerate them, so that the memory of them does not pass from the earth, and so that they may commune with the Faithful.
As there are orders of men, each having a particular talent but all following the Path, so there are orders of Haradim, each aiding the Faithful in their own way.
As men are led by the greatest and wisest among them, so are the orders of Haradim led by the greatest and most virtuous of former men; these are the Haradyrim, and so have the greatest ability to aid the Faithful, and are deserving of the most praise. These are the Haradyr Talad, exemplar of the order of watchmen, those of virtuous strength who defend and keep the Way from those Dalothim who assail it; the Haradyr Alon, exemplar of the order of gardeners, those of virtuous compassion who tend and heal and assist in the growth of the Faithful; the First Haradyr, who preserved the Way when perfection was overthrown, and is the exemplar of the order of scholars, those of virtuous wisdom who determine the truth of the world and the correct direction of the Path.
Certainly to modern eyes the most striking transformation of early Maninism was the rapid emergence of the veneration of Haradim [roughly translates to 'virtuous ones']. Early-Classical Maninism is commonly perceived as an almost-aggressively nontheistic faith, suppressing anything that smacked of deism. There is some truth to this perception, at least in the original heartlands of the faith; certainly the official statements of generations of High Wards were uniformly hostile to any sort of cultism, decrying worship of concrete figures as vile heresy. On the ground in the periphery, however, things were different. There veneration of various local figures was almost omnipresent in the Maninist world; these are generally lumped together under the heading of hero cults, though there was in truth rather more variety than that implies. The center was officially hostile to such cults, but in practice mostly tolerated them, so long as they didn't cause any great difficulty. So, the reformation in the fifth century was perhaps less dramatic than it first seems. At least outside of Gallat itself, it constituted more of a change in officially promulgated doctrine than in actual practice; still, it would have a very significant impact on church policy moving forward.
Quiet toleration of the cults by the center proved a fairly stable state of affairs for some centuries, but in the fifth century it all fell apart. The process that led to the integration of Haradim in mainstream Maninism must properly be understood as beginning with the emergence of the Cult of the Goddess in the Face of the Moon. In essence just another hero cult, this one proved remarkably attractive, and by its early alliance with the ruling Savirai dynasty politically threatening. When the cult of Aelona and her daughter Kintyra spread like wildfire across the north, and Brunnekt arms followed close behind, it was clear the more forward-thinking Wards that Maninism lacked a certain emotional appeal. It's impossible to tell to what extent the adoption of the cults of the Haradim was a conscious response to the spread of Aitahism, but it seems likely that it was not a totally insignificant consideration. At the very least it is certain that the crisis of Maninism resulted in something of a theological uproar that allowed the Haradim to enter into the mainstream of Maninist theology. Such considerations must mostly be confined to speculation, however, due to the lack of sources. If we want to trace the development of the personal cults, we must stick to what can be confirmed.
It was, naturally, political considerations that first catalyzed the shift in orthodox Maninist opinion towards the personal cults. While hero cults in various forms had for centuries been virtually omnipresent outside of the Gallatene and Nahsjad heartlands of hardline orthodoxy, the first such cult that is clearly recognizable as one of the Haradim appears among the Taudo in the early 5th century, shortly after the Satar supplanted the Evyni as the chief power in the north. Alongside Satar armies came Satar ideas, most prominent among them the cult of their hero-god Taleldil. Native Taudo records are sparse, but the stories of Taleldil's fight against evil spirits seems to have left quite an impression, because within a few years we find Gallatene Wards writing the High Ward and informing him that 'the Taudo have taken much interest in venerating Talad.' So enthusiastically did the Taudo adopt the stories of Taleldil that for a time the Satar seem to have been under the impression that they had adopted the precepts of Ardavan wholesale; in 452 we find a nameless Accan functionary reporting his utter shock to find that the Taudo spoke of Manin as much as Taleldil.
Still, this might have remained an isolated incidence of syncretism, similar to all the other deviations from orthodoxy in the far-flung Maninist sphere, if not for the War of the Empty Throne, which saw tens of thousands of Ardavani soldiers spend years fighting alongside Maninist Gallatenes. The modern perception of Early-Classical Maninism as a sterile faith of bankers and scholars, while certainly flawed, was apparently shared in large part by the Gallatene countryside and soldiery; the martial aspects of Taleldil seem to have provided a great deal of comfort to hard men convinced they were fighting a war for the survival of civilization, and when those men went home they passed such beliefs on to their children.
The increasingly widespread respect for Taleldil, known usually as Talad by Gallatenes, in the heartland of orthodox Maninism posed a dilemma for a succession of High Wards; the issue features prominently in their correspondence and was brought before the Council of Servants on several occasions. On the one hand their first instinct, of course, was to come down on such heterodoxy like a ton of bricks, per the standard practice of centuries. On the other hand, the survival of Gallat and by extension Maninism itself hinged on the continued goodwill of the Satar, who would doubtless view suppression of even a syncreticized version of Taleldil as tantamount to Aitahism. Faced with a difficult problem, the High Wards for the most part chose to ignore it. As the influence over the church of the Houses, longtime supporters of the most sanitized versions of Maninism, waned in the interwar period a new generation of Acolytes emerged, drawn from the lower classes and lacking the hardline stance of their elders. Attitudes at the higher echelons of the Faith were slow to change, but on the ground, as near as we can tell from the scant documentation, there was a rapid proliferation of hero-cults in the heartland, while in the periphery the already extant objects of veneration rapidly received more recognition and support from the local Wards. This trend accompanied and was likely in some sense driven by the well-documented rise in eschatological thinking in the second half of the century; as Maninism, among the people if not the theologians, became more preoccupied with the influence of malign spirits, it was only natural that the Faithful should desire concrete intercessors to defend them.
By the last quarter of the century we know from the records of intense debate within the highest circles of the church that veneration of the significant figures already commonly known as Haradim was endemic across much of the Maninist world. The outbreak of the Great Ordeal and the Immolation of Gallasa threw the church into turmoil, and allowed the populist elements, led by the Ward Risadri, to gain significant influence; when Javan overthrew the League governing structure and established the Halyrate, the power of the old order was almost broken in the church as well. Practically overnight we see the tacit disapproval of the church hierarchy vanish and the veneration of Haradim explode into the spotlight. Counterintuitively it seems to have been driven in part by a reaction to the existing cults. The veneration of Talad was too well-established in the army to stamp out, and the advancement of the rest of the Haradyrim and Haradim was in part a compromise with the prominent Wards; an assertion of Gallatene independence from Satar cultural influence.
Appendix: Risadri on Haradim
Written in highly technical Classical Gallatene to an audience of mostly sophisticated theologians, the High Ward Risadri's Statement on the Harada Talad provides the most comprehensive early description of the role of the Haradim in Maninism, and reads in part:
As by wicked acts men serve the darkness and become Dalothim, enemies of the Path and Way, so by attaining great virtue may men become Haradim, and defend the Way and the Faithful from the depredations of Dalothim.
As the Dalothim may aid the wicked in their war on the Way, so may the Haradim lend strength and protection and succour to the assailed virtuous who request and merit it. Though they are not gods it is right to venerate them, so that the memory of them does not pass from the earth, and so that they may commune with the Faithful.
As there are orders of men, each having a particular talent but all following the Path, so there are orders of Haradim, each aiding the Faithful in their own way.
As men are led by the greatest and wisest among them, so are the orders of Haradim led by the greatest and most virtuous of former men; these are the Haradyrim, and so have the greatest ability to aid the Faithful, and are deserving of the most praise. These are the Haradyr Talad, exemplar of the order of watchmen, those of virtuous strength who defend and keep the Way from those Dalothim who assail it; the Haradyr Alon, exemplar of the order of gardeners, those of virtuous compassion who tend and heal and assist in the growth of the Faithful; the First Haradyr, who preserved the Way when perfection was overthrown, and is the exemplar of the order of scholars, those of virtuous wisdom who determine the truth of the world and the correct direction of the Path.
Golden1Knight
Emperor
OOC: Well, I would've forced you to withdraw from Kilar either way, and after the discussion with my allies, I found a better way to handle this in any case.
Well, actually I did not start the war, was the rebel who started it. All that the king did was use a basic trick of succession. Some blood was spilled, but no war was declared. The king had no intention of disturbing the peace, only to occupy Kilar peacefully, but some distant familiar without a legal right to the throne decided to start a war. The king can be a killer, but the prince is innocent and legal heir of Kilar. Probably should be those who do not believe in the story of the murder, and anyone who respects the laws and traditions know that the prince is the heir of Kilar, instead of some rebel who claims to be a member of the royal family.
And some questions: The war declared against Jipha is to "liberate" Kilar and / or conquer Jipha? The Empire will participate openly in conflict? Is there any chance for peace? The people of Kilar will not get suspicious that Kothari Exatai is also arranging a pretext to try to attach Kilar, even if it is not true? After all, Kilar and Jipha are the last free realms of the south Kothari. And one last question: If I happen to be destroyed in this war, I can return to the game as any other nation?
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Just a story.
Once, under different stars, there was a Parcen* from Zarcasca. No one knows how he of such dark skin has risen from the white north. Some say that his family was killed by the Zarcasen wolves, but he fought back and killed five he-wolves with his fists and was thus adopted by the grizzliest, meanest She-wolf of the North. Others say that he found his family too boring and forsook them, and found the tough Zarcascen more to his liking. A few even said that he was born after a Zarcasen raider raped a Parthecan man, and bore his child born of power and force.
This Parcen wandered the north, no family bonds, no Jarthe honor. He fought packs, killed chiefs, bedded bears and pissed in sacred pools. Once, he wanted a larger weapon, and so he climbed Mount Tacyur and punched it so hard that it's spirit emerged to beg mercy, and forged him a sword of the purest steel from the fiery hearth of his lady wife. Another time he scared the then King of Zarcasca so much with his mighty laugh, that from then on the poor man was a Queen of the Zarcasca, for his manhood fled in terror. The Parcen then made her the Whore of the Zarcasca, thereafter she died bearing twenty of his children.
But this Parcen has never reached the south. He lived all his life in the north, where the very trees try to stab you to death. Where the snow drifts deep in the winter, and steam boils you in the summer. Where the people are as white as the snow they hid in, and as hard as the ice they lived in. In the north, never having seen the changing of the leaves or the waving of the willow. Never having seen the great Dance of the Sea and the Thunderkin. Never having meet his own kind and kin.
It was the time of The Rot**, when a short fall and a deep winter brought the snows southward, freezing the fruit of Parthecan labors upon the stalks, that this Parcen arrived in Partheca. All throughout the winter, he wandered, hunting the strangely familiar dark-skinned people against the white snow. It is said that he fathered over nine thousand bastards that winter, and despoiled eighty seven Jarthes after killing all who lived there. Eventually, he reached Parta itself on the cusp of spring.
There, Quercas was holding his Great Tournament for the kingship, challenging the Three Prefects of Parta who had torn the city apart to duel him by the word and the sword. Challenging all the headmen and lords of the countryside to meet his blade of steel. Quercas defeated his rivals one by one, his blade unmatched by tarnished bronze or rusty iron, his tongue unmatched by the rotten hearts and empty heads. He who would be king felt that he has finished his labors when the giant of a man, the Parcen from Zarcasca, entered the Royal Jarthe of Parta.
The Parcen eyed he who would be King, and challenged him. Quercas obliged. First came the skill of the words. The Parcen bellowed and laughed, and the cityfolk shrunk from his hideous cries. Then Quercas begun a song, tuning a bundle of reeds and strings from Kitaluk to form an enchanting melody. "Wolf of the South" he sang, a song you can listen to today. The Parcen bellowed and laughed in Quercas' face, but as the song went his became quieter and quieter. The Paren kneeled, and wept.
And so it happened that He Who Would Be King tamed the Giant Parcen of Zarcasca. The Giant Parcen married Quercas' daughter, and called his King Father. He marched with Quercas as he brought Partheca back, back under the Jarthe of the Parthe. He wandered to strange lands under his Father's dying commands, seeking more glory for his new blood. It is said that he wanders to this day, seeking more glory for old Quercas Thewen, a particular song on his lips, and thought in his heart.
*Wanderer, Modern times referring to Gypsy-Jew-Turkish Caravaneer/Entertainers. Recent history had them being significant mercantile people under the King's protection before the rise of the Guilds.
**aka "Dark Ages" before Quercas refounded the "Second" Kingdom of Parthe and the Thewen Dynasty.
Once, under different stars, there was a Parcen* from Zarcasca. No one knows how he of such dark skin has risen from the white north. Some say that his family was killed by the Zarcasen wolves, but he fought back and killed five he-wolves with his fists and was thus adopted by the grizzliest, meanest She-wolf of the North. Others say that he found his family too boring and forsook them, and found the tough Zarcascen more to his liking. A few even said that he was born after a Zarcasen raider raped a Parthecan man, and bore his child born of power and force.
This Parcen wandered the north, no family bonds, no Jarthe honor. He fought packs, killed chiefs, bedded bears and pissed in sacred pools. Once, he wanted a larger weapon, and so he climbed Mount Tacyur and punched it so hard that it's spirit emerged to beg mercy, and forged him a sword of the purest steel from the fiery hearth of his lady wife. Another time he scared the then King of Zarcasca so much with his mighty laugh, that from then on the poor man was a Queen of the Zarcasca, for his manhood fled in terror. The Parcen then made her the Whore of the Zarcasca, thereafter she died bearing twenty of his children.
But this Parcen has never reached the south. He lived all his life in the north, where the very trees try to stab you to death. Where the snow drifts deep in the winter, and steam boils you in the summer. Where the people are as white as the snow they hid in, and as hard as the ice they lived in. In the north, never having seen the changing of the leaves or the waving of the willow. Never having seen the great Dance of the Sea and the Thunderkin. Never having meet his own kind and kin.
It was the time of The Rot**, when a short fall and a deep winter brought the snows southward, freezing the fruit of Parthecan labors upon the stalks, that this Parcen arrived in Partheca. All throughout the winter, he wandered, hunting the strangely familiar dark-skinned people against the white snow. It is said that he fathered over nine thousand bastards that winter, and despoiled eighty seven Jarthes after killing all who lived there. Eventually, he reached Parta itself on the cusp of spring.
There, Quercas was holding his Great Tournament for the kingship, challenging the Three Prefects of Parta who had torn the city apart to duel him by the word and the sword. Challenging all the headmen and lords of the countryside to meet his blade of steel. Quercas defeated his rivals one by one, his blade unmatched by tarnished bronze or rusty iron, his tongue unmatched by the rotten hearts and empty heads. He who would be king felt that he has finished his labors when the giant of a man, the Parcen from Zarcasca, entered the Royal Jarthe of Parta.
The Parcen eyed he who would be King, and challenged him. Quercas obliged. First came the skill of the words. The Parcen bellowed and laughed, and the cityfolk shrunk from his hideous cries. Then Quercas begun a song, tuning a bundle of reeds and strings from Kitaluk to form an enchanting melody. "Wolf of the South" he sang, a song you can listen to today. The Parcen bellowed and laughed in Quercas' face, but as the song went his became quieter and quieter. The Paren kneeled, and wept.
And so it happened that He Who Would Be King tamed the Giant Parcen of Zarcasca. The Giant Parcen married Quercas' daughter, and called his King Father. He marched with Quercas as he brought Partheca back, back under the Jarthe of the Parthe. He wandered to strange lands under his Father's dying commands, seeking more glory for his new blood. It is said that he wanders to this day, seeking more glory for old Quercas Thewen, a particular song on his lips, and thought in his heart.
*Wanderer, Modern times referring to Gypsy-Jew-Turkish Caravaneer/Entertainers. Recent history had them being significant mercantile people under the King's protection before the rise of the Guilds.
**aka "Dark Ages" before Quercas refounded the "Second" Kingdom of Parthe and the Thewen Dynasty.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Just another story.
There once was a Wise Woman named Yutar. It is said that her hair burned red like the settling sun, and her eyes glowed like the stars. It is said that she is beautiful, the most beautiful maiden who ever lived. And yet it is also said that she was an aged, ugly crone. For her face, was the Face of the Moon, and it changed as do the fates of men and beast.
It was the time of the Plague. King Wendicas ruled then, Wendicas Thewen, the Guilder. But back then, he was known as King Wendicas the Sick, for sick he was, laid upon his golden bed year after year, as an entire generation of Partheca- and indeed, the world- was plucked bare. Yutar was then an aged woman, although her face rarely showed her true age, her wizened limbs and knobby bones do not lie. Age did not give her her wisdom, but it gave her perspective.
And so the first time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her husbands and gold, to heal him and his family she refused. For she know that the three Chiefs of Parta are those who ruled, and ruled with their weakening fists and cough-ridden shouts. Querdoros, Seneuncas, Hathenan. For she knew they will kill her before she can revive the King, and kill the last hope Partheca had of reviving its glory. And a worthless kingdom's gold shall buy nothing a basket of grain or a barrel of wine could not.
And so the second time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her house and hold, to heal the pestilence of the city and the people living there she refused. For she knew that the people outside of the city will suffer as she leaves, and blame the city, and arrive to burn it down, before falling to their own pox-ridden blood. And they shall attack her house and hold, and burn it down, and take her family down with them.
And so the third time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her immortality in verse, to negotiate a new peace between the city and the country, the chiefs and the king, the sick and the healthy. And she accepted. For she knew that once the spiritual sickness of Partheca was healed, so will the bodily disease racking the nation.
And so she walked to Parta. Along the way she had many adventures, but that is a tale for another time.
When she arrived, she took on a guise of a hard spearwife, defending her family after her husband passed to the sickness. And thus she spoke to Querdoros, and offered him the mines in the mountains of Central Partheca, of a brotherhood of miners willing to provide him with all the ore he needed, if he would protect them and represent them. Of swords and spears he shall make in the name of the King.
Then she took on a guise of a Kitaluk beauty, exotic and aloof, and so thus she spoke to Senuencas and praised his wealth. And so she told him of the merchants and the Parcen, suffering from the lack of the King's laws. And she told him that they will be willing to accept him as their liege, and bring them protection from the king, and enforce the laws. Of the justice and judgements he shall make in the name of the king.
Then she took on a guise of an aged woman, past her bearing, and so thus spook to Hathenan and praised his guards. And she told him of the farmers and households just outside of the walls, and of many who are not safe yet to farm, and others who fled to the city. She told him that they will join his men and accept him as their liege, and let them protect their blood in the kingdom. Of men and horses he shall lead in the name of the king.
And so she met them in the Great Hall of the Governors. Querdoros promised them his forges, and the swords he shall make. Hathenan promised them men to take the swords, and defend the roads. Senuencas promised them money to pay the men, and laws to punish the unlawful.
Then, Wendicas walked from his chambers, for he was healed of the Plague. The sun rose anew over Partheca, as a new breath of life sped across the landscape.
The Hanuen, Brotherhood of Governors, turned to thank Yutar, but she was gone. Her duty to her blood has been done, and the Kingdom was Saved by her wisdom.
There once was a Wise Woman named Yutar. It is said that her hair burned red like the settling sun, and her eyes glowed like the stars. It is said that she is beautiful, the most beautiful maiden who ever lived. And yet it is also said that she was an aged, ugly crone. For her face, was the Face of the Moon, and it changed as do the fates of men and beast.
It was the time of the Plague. King Wendicas ruled then, Wendicas Thewen, the Guilder. But back then, he was known as King Wendicas the Sick, for sick he was, laid upon his golden bed year after year, as an entire generation of Partheca- and indeed, the world- was plucked bare. Yutar was then an aged woman, although her face rarely showed her true age, her wizened limbs and knobby bones do not lie. Age did not give her her wisdom, but it gave her perspective.
And so the first time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her husbands and gold, to heal him and his family she refused. For she know that the three Chiefs of Parta are those who ruled, and ruled with their weakening fists and cough-ridden shouts. Querdoros, Seneuncas, Hathenan. For she knew they will kill her before she can revive the King, and kill the last hope Partheca had of reviving its glory. And a worthless kingdom's gold shall buy nothing a basket of grain or a barrel of wine could not.
And so the second time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her house and hold, to heal the pestilence of the city and the people living there she refused. For she knew that the people outside of the city will suffer as she leaves, and blame the city, and arrive to burn it down, before falling to their own pox-ridden blood. And they shall attack her house and hold, and burn it down, and take her family down with them.
And so the third time Wendicas summoned her to Parta, and offered her immortality in verse, to negotiate a new peace between the city and the country, the chiefs and the king, the sick and the healthy. And she accepted. For she knew that once the spiritual sickness of Partheca was healed, so will the bodily disease racking the nation.
And so she walked to Parta. Along the way she had many adventures, but that is a tale for another time.
When she arrived, she took on a guise of a hard spearwife, defending her family after her husband passed to the sickness. And thus she spoke to Querdoros, and offered him the mines in the mountains of Central Partheca, of a brotherhood of miners willing to provide him with all the ore he needed, if he would protect them and represent them. Of swords and spears he shall make in the name of the King.
Then she took on a guise of a Kitaluk beauty, exotic and aloof, and so thus she spoke to Senuencas and praised his wealth. And so she told him of the merchants and the Parcen, suffering from the lack of the King's laws. And she told him that they will be willing to accept him as their liege, and bring them protection from the king, and enforce the laws. Of the justice and judgements he shall make in the name of the king.
Then she took on a guise of an aged woman, past her bearing, and so thus spook to Hathenan and praised his guards. And she told him of the farmers and households just outside of the walls, and of many who are not safe yet to farm, and others who fled to the city. She told him that they will join his men and accept him as their liege, and let them protect their blood in the kingdom. Of men and horses he shall lead in the name of the king.
And so she met them in the Great Hall of the Governors. Querdoros promised them his forges, and the swords he shall make. Hathenan promised them men to take the swords, and defend the roads. Senuencas promised them money to pay the men, and laws to punish the unlawful.
Then, Wendicas walked from his chambers, for he was healed of the Plague. The sun rose anew over Partheca, as a new breath of life sped across the landscape.
The Hanuen, Brotherhood of Governors, turned to thank Yutar, but she was gone. Her duty to her blood has been done, and the Kingdom was Saved by her wisdom.
Perfectionist
Angel of Verdun
ANALYZING PERSONALITIES
...
ANALYSIS COMPLETED
KEY DESCRIPTORS LOCATED: 'face of moon', 'red', 'many faces', 'healing the sick', 'spiritual salvation'
ATTENTION ALL STATIONS
CODE SEVEN PRIORITY ALERT: AITAH DETECTED AITAH DETECTED AITAH DETECTED
INITIATING CONTAINMENT AND STERILIZATION PROTOCOL GAMMA BLUE
...
ANALYSIS COMPLETED
KEY DESCRIPTORS LOCATED: 'face of moon', 'red', 'many faces', 'healing the sick', 'spiritual salvation'
ATTENTION ALL STATIONS
CODE SEVEN PRIORITY ALERT: AITAH DETECTED AITAH DETECTED AITAH DETECTED
INITIATING CONTAINMENT AND STERILIZATION PROTOCOL GAMMA BLUE
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Yeah good job. This happened 100-200 years ago.
EDIT: I object specifically to The Face of the Moon. The night sky is a big part of our religion, and the Moon does not belong only to the Aitahist.
EDIT: I object specifically to The Face of the Moon. The night sky is a big part of our religion, and the Moon does not belong only to the Aitahist.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
OOC: Now you're making me think about a Pacific Rim/EoE mashup, which would be pretty cool, if weird.
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Yet another story.
It was during the rule of Jarshuan the Great, the times of the great explorer Parca, and his twin brother the great warrior Sarca. Parca's greatest son became Prince of Tarat, Lord of Ice. Sarca's greatest son Harca later became King, and King Harca's son from his concubine and later King Condom was King Joffer. In those years, the Kitaluk were troubled indeed. For a strange sickness has passed through their lands, laying low great cities, turning living ships into dead coffins, and slaying their lords and kings. Many in Partheca feared that this was the start of a new Plague, but it was not to be. For while The Great Plague sought the setting sun, this plague chased for the dawn.
Slowly, word spread. The great Chiefs of the Kitaluk have decided that no longer shall they trade with the West, for they fear that more such plagues shall rise from the setting sun towards the dawn, and more such sicknesses shall lay bare their mortality before their time.
There was a Kitaluk-Parthecan couple. He by the name of Jasuek, She by the name of Nicah. Jaseuk was worried, for he has heard the whispers: by the great Eclipse all their ships shall depart from the harbor of Parthe, and sever their bonds to the, to them, exotic lands of the setting sun. Nicah was worried, for she saw fear in his eyes. She asked around, and only learned that her love is to leave Partheca, forever.
The day before the Eclipse, a festival was held in honor of the Moon, and Carru the Priest who has predicted it. There, they married, and there they consummated their love. For though each knew of their separation, each had a plan, and each strove to keep their success a secret.
The day dawned.
Nicah went to the Kitaluk ships by secret. She cajoled and she begged, for the Kitaluk were thoughtful of their agreement and, perhaps, fearful of what new diseases she might bring. Finally, she gave her body to Jarseuk's sailschief, in exchange for passage, as did Quercas did of old. She must of known that she was a woman, and Quercas was a man, but yet still she completed the deal, and entered the ship.
Jasuek went to the Hasnuenca Hall by secret. He laid bare all his worldly goods and treasures to the greedy merchants. All the gold, and exotic goods of his cargo, not yet sold, shall be given if only they shall name him Citizen of Parta, and let him establish a Jarthe within their shores. The Merchants noded to each other sagely, and a Priest anointed him, and it was done.
Night fell.
Nicah was on the ship, sore from that day's labors in her arms, legs, and other places besides. Sore from her time with Jasuek in the bridal hut before they, or he, rather, fell asleep. But she was happy, for she had bought herself a long life with her beloved husband Jasuek. His ship shall be their Jarthe, and one day her sons will sail the Great Ocean her beloved teased her so often.
Jasuek was with Nicah's family, praying at their hall, building a new Jarthe with his barehands. He hopes to complete it by dawn, so that he may wake her and bring her to their new home. He labored long and hard, his new brothers admiring his labors, and yet taunting of his outlandish ways of building and speaking.
The moon blinked, and the great Kitaluk fleet left.
Nicah was still on the ship.
Jasuek was still on land.
It would be over 240 moons before they saw each other again.
It was during the rule of Jarshuan the Great, the times of the great explorer Parca, and his twin brother the great warrior Sarca. Parca's greatest son became Prince of Tarat, Lord of Ice. Sarca's greatest son Harca later became King, and King Harca's son from his concubine and later King Condom was King Joffer. In those years, the Kitaluk were troubled indeed. For a strange sickness has passed through their lands, laying low great cities, turning living ships into dead coffins, and slaying their lords and kings. Many in Partheca feared that this was the start of a new Plague, but it was not to be. For while The Great Plague sought the setting sun, this plague chased for the dawn.
Slowly, word spread. The great Chiefs of the Kitaluk have decided that no longer shall they trade with the West, for they fear that more such plagues shall rise from the setting sun towards the dawn, and more such sicknesses shall lay bare their mortality before their time.
There was a Kitaluk-Parthecan couple. He by the name of Jasuek, She by the name of Nicah. Jaseuk was worried, for he has heard the whispers: by the great Eclipse all their ships shall depart from the harbor of Parthe, and sever their bonds to the, to them, exotic lands of the setting sun. Nicah was worried, for she saw fear in his eyes. She asked around, and only learned that her love is to leave Partheca, forever.
The day before the Eclipse, a festival was held in honor of the Moon, and Carru the Priest who has predicted it. There, they married, and there they consummated their love. For though each knew of their separation, each had a plan, and each strove to keep their success a secret.
The day dawned.
Nicah went to the Kitaluk ships by secret. She cajoled and she begged, for the Kitaluk were thoughtful of their agreement and, perhaps, fearful of what new diseases she might bring. Finally, she gave her body to Jarseuk's sailschief, in exchange for passage, as did Quercas did of old. She must of known that she was a woman, and Quercas was a man, but yet still she completed the deal, and entered the ship.
Jasuek went to the Hasnuenca Hall by secret. He laid bare all his worldly goods and treasures to the greedy merchants. All the gold, and exotic goods of his cargo, not yet sold, shall be given if only they shall name him Citizen of Parta, and let him establish a Jarthe within their shores. The Merchants noded to each other sagely, and a Priest anointed him, and it was done.
Night fell.
Nicah was on the ship, sore from that day's labors in her arms, legs, and other places besides. Sore from her time with Jasuek in the bridal hut before they, or he, rather, fell asleep. But she was happy, for she had bought herself a long life with her beloved husband Jasuek. His ship shall be their Jarthe, and one day her sons will sail the Great Ocean her beloved teased her so often.
Jasuek was with Nicah's family, praying at their hall, building a new Jarthe with his barehands. He hopes to complete it by dawn, so that he may wake her and bring her to their new home. He labored long and hard, his new brothers admiring his labors, and yet taunting of his outlandish ways of building and speaking.
The moon blinked, and the great Kitaluk fleet left.
Nicah was still on the ship.
Jasuek was still on land.
It would be over 240 moons before they saw each other again.
Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
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Per discussion on #nes, joining as the Iolhan Republic.
