End of Empires - N3S III

Lucky, although I largely agree with you about the Catholicism thing, don't be cliquely. It you posted it that's all very well, but people aren't obliged to keep up with all the chat; if we all were, there would be a lot fewer NESers.
 
spryllino said:
Lucky, although I largely agree with you about the Catholicism thing, don't be cliquely. It you posted it that's all very well, but people aren't obliged to keep up with all the chat; if we all were, there would be a lot fewer NESers.
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People that put no effort into contacting players outside of PMs are the reason things gets so screwy.
 
It'd be another matter if Jehoshua had created the Iralliam Church ex nihilo, but he didn't. It was pretty 'catholic' (in the sense of a monotheistic deity and a strong hierarchy) before he got there. Now he might have taken it because he's played similar states before and he likes to roleplay as religious leaders, but it would be amiss to claim that he made them that way. Kal'thzar made them that way.

And Iralliam does still differ from real world religions. Though not as much as others.

I am willing to critique Jehoshua on his mistakes but I won't accuse him of things he hasn't done.
 
Iralliam is henotheistic not monotheistic, Iralliam recognises that Istria is a god, it just happens to be evil and not worth worshipping.

On the matter of Iralliamite theology as an aside, I've actually ditched a few things I thought made it too close to Christian notions, such as the idea of Aenids (angels, still have a mention for demons, or as Kalthzar called them Niamdes although in a somewhat altered form), the idea that Opporia actually incarnated in physical form and made a sacrifice of blood for the good of mankind, and the idea which was vaguely mentioned in one of Kalthzars astrology posts that there might be an individual saviour. I've also moved quite substantially away from the notion of the two gods from being very personal beings, and more towards them as two originally balanced cosmic principles (with being) from which the universes order proceeds, ditching in the process any possibility of a divine avatar/incarnation. (no Aitah's or reborn Taleldil here :p)

On hierarchy, other than exarchs which I put in as a logical organisational thing and very closely approximate the role of bishops. The entire lower hierarchy which I laid out is not very Christian at all, its basically a description of a large "oriental' temple with loads of specialised clergy, from astrologers/divinators to high priests. I picture large Iralliamite temples as being very similar in some ways to large Hindu (or ancient Mesopotamian and Egyptian) temples in that regard.
 
Luckymoose said:
People that put no effort into contacting players outside of PMs are the reason things gets so screwy.
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I feel like I got hit in the crossfire. :lol:

I am present in this community for almost a year, and I bet most of you did not even notice me. :cooool:

I'm looking forward to the update, it's my first ET.
 
Golden1Knight said:
I feel like I got hit in the crossfire. :lol:

I am present in this community for almost a year, and I bet most of you did not even notice me. :cooool:

I'm looking forward to the update, it's my first ET.
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You're one of our best new players, Golden. :) Playing a NES in a foreign language is truly challenging but you've really worked hard to be understood, and you are.
 
Thlayli said:
You're one of our best new players, Golden. :) Playing a NES in a foreign language is truly challenging but you've really worked hard to be understood, and you are.
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Thanks, much of what I learned about English came from here. And it was about the translation that I was talking about when I asked NK if my orders were understandable. :D
 
Moderator Action: I deleted the exchange between Luckymoose and Jehoshua. No good comes from such posts.
 
North King said:
Language has evolved from -1500 SR. ;)

BTW, obviously I did not make the 48 hour turnaround happen this time. Expect it next weekend.
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We are nearing major fail territory, apologies. A number of things intervened this weekend -- including illness. I'll make no promises about when I can finish it (since apparently I can't keep them), but I am working on it.
 
We obviously need the update on a new page.

This post is reserved for the Epic of Ertanis. I'll post it in 7 parts if I have to: and what luck! 7 open posts! Don't make me do it.
 
Biography of Ashelas-ta-Nelmat [~634-678 RM]

The Upper Sesh was ravaged by war from the 6th century RM onward, first as a base of operations for Redeemer Elikas' southern wars against the Kothari and Moti, and after the Karapeshai fracturing as indigenous Maghan princedoms struggled to resist the upriver expansion of Seshweay and others eager for revenge against the Satar, with only occasional support from the Northern Vedai who were often consumed with their own wars.

Massacres and pogroms between different groups were increasingly common, and tensions between the rural Satar population and urban communities of Iralliamites (and a much smaller population of Aitahists) often exploded into the most brutal violence, frequently tinged with ritualistic religious overtones. While the Zalkephic prophecy did not supplant Vedai Ardavan in the Sesh, it further destabilized the situation.

It is in the midst of this instability that a young half-Satar named Ashelas, child of a Satar herdsman and an Uggor woman who was killed by her community for the sin of bearing a Satar child, was born and presented by his father to study at the monasteries of Magha. His famous discourse with the High Oracle of Siaxis, the Questions of Ashelas, became a seminal work in Ardavani theology and would serve to further differentiate Vedai and Zalkephai teachings.

Ashelas was not a prince, nor was he an Oracle. He was a Ardavani monk of the non-martial order, an avet, who preached a message of tolerance and understanding in adherence to the Laws of Taleldil. Most notably, Ashelas convinced the Princes of the Arrow and Wheel, the two ancient Satar families who had been the primary Satar in the Upper Sesh since the War of the Three Gods, to meet with the Godlikes of the Boar Family and the Horse Family, lesser Godlikes who had become established in the Upper Sesh during the decades of Moti resettlement.

What emerged from the negotiations Ashelas mediated was the 'hekeletai', (Satar for 'group of market men,' but interpreted in the sense of a council) a semi-permanent body that regulated the rules of trade and fair intercourse between the Satar majority and the Moti minority of the Upper Sesh and the northern Kothai. The Hekeletai, or Council of Intercourse as it would be known in Uggor lands, held representatives from both the Satar and Moti communities. The individual Princedoms and Godlike families of the region were to be held to their own laws and have their own judges, but the hekeletai would safeguard the security of the community and handle disputes. The other function was to coordinate the soldiers of the Princedoms and the Godlikes in repelling common threats.

By consensus, the Prince-Chief of this Council was typically a Satar, but Godlikes who had converted to Ardavan were also known to hold the position, which was fairly nominal in authority. Most notably the council did not ban Aitah-worship during this time, but merely ensured that Aitahist quarters were restricted and the inhabitants taxed according to their status as foreigners. Aitahists were even allowed to appeal to the judgment of the Hekeletai, though they lacked the political strength to have a seat on the body, nor did the Moti or the Satar wish to allow them one for political reasons.

The result of this was official protection for the three great religions, though Ardavan for the time being remained the dominant faith of the region by merit of population, and Aitahism continued to be discouraged due to its long and violent opposition to Satar rule. (Zalkephism was much more strongly discouraged.) The Hekeletai also served to lessen the stigma of conversion and mixed marriages between the groups by strictly forbidding religious violence in the interests of law and order, and punishing offenders.

Despite his notable tolerance for those of other religious faiths, Ashelas never ceased attempting to win converts to Ardavan, which eventually caused him to be murdered in Tisatar by Aitahist fanatics. Some have claimed, however, that his killers were in fact Zalkephists disguised as Aitahists. After his death he was revered in the Upper Sesh along with Atraxes and Satores one of the Scions of the Merciful Aspect of Taleldil.

Excerpts from the Questions of Ashelas

Ardavasha-ta-Rashai, my lord Xeltaphir, you must know that these are terrible times. While the sun shines, children play in the shadows of the ruined Metraxas where once the High Oracle practiced the Forms, but at night, the white oracles gather their followers to speak their words of war and uprising. Know then that I drove them out with words before the noble Prince drove them out with fire, but still they speak.

So that the unbound Oracles sow doubt no longer into the people's hearts, I beg your wisdom.

Talephas once said, "Peace reigns in heaven and earth, a truce between the gods." On ancient paper are his words written, unforgotten among the people of this place, whom he freed from bondage. As you have written, the Redeemer is the true Scion, not the pretender Zalkephis. His words can carry no falsehood, as he speaks with the god's own voice. What, then, is the truce between the gods?

It is cried out in the streets by my brothers that the other gods are false; that Ophoris burns men and Aitah binds them. Of course this is true. And against these creatures, who can reject the god that came from man, who felt our cares, knew our sorrows, and loved as men love? But nonetheless, the truce. What is the truce?

Are we to give only violence unending to those who worship not Taleldil, as the Zalkephai say? I thought that these would not be your words, nor your wisdom, but still I seek it.

Taleldil, when he was man, and walked upon this earth, did he seek worship? No, he sought only to cast down false spirits claiming worship. He sought only to show men the Forms, and how to master the Aspects, and in doing so became the perfect embodiment of Man. It is for this reason that we worship him, that he was the best among us, but still of us.

Did not Taleldil spare the innocent, even when they were deluded into worshiping Athex, the Great Snake, or any of the other false gods? He destroyed the spirit, killed it and cast down its idols, but to those who followed it, he told them only to "seek mastery within, not without". If these are the holy words and actions of our god-in-potentiality, what right do we have to seek out and slay the followers of false spirits?

And what benefit do we stand to gain from it in the War in Heaven? Is it not that the unquiet spirits of those we slay will pass to the heavens and serve false gods to fight against Taleldil, and perhaps more viciously so, for we have killed them?

Is this then, the root of the truce? To win the War in Heaven, we must win the souls of those on earth. But does butchery and murder of the helpless win souls? Is that Taleldil's strength? Is that his exatas? My lord Xeltaphir, let us say that the words of the Redeemer are true, and there can be a truce between men and gods. Could the truce itself lead us to the victory?
 
Ognacar, Professor of the Faith
Tarena, 8th Century SR​


There lies a small village named for the pink tinges to its soil, inland some three days by horse at a steady speed from Pamala. The clues presented by my peers on the coast point towards an unusual concentration of miracles there. Some attributed to the waters of a local spring, no doubt. My studies of pagan rituals affirm my suspicion of an ancient belief in the healing properties of the water, but my mission pushes me towards any claim, no matter how unlikely. I have interviewed a number of young women, aging from three to twenty-nine.

“Ognacar.”

He stayed his quill. The Faera script stared back at him from the paper in bold black ink. The lines were not perfect, not yet. He would need to go over them a dozen more times before sending them home. Ognacar looked up from the page to see his caller. Tila, a middle aged widow past her birthing years, stood before him with a small tin pot of steaming liquid: a spicy beverage made of boiled melon rinds and shrub roots. He had become quite fond of its unforgiving bite.

“Goodness,” he said, being careful to take the hot beverage in his small, wooden cup. “Is it time already?”

“Past midafternoon.”

“Thank you, Tila.” He took a sip, cringing at the kick, and excused her with a humble nod. He scratched through a partially constructed line to begin a new sentence.

None so far have exposed their reported miracles to my eyes. The water itself, though considerably better in flavor and temperature than that of the city, has not proven useful in restorative healing.

Ognacar examined his lines. Not so bad, he thought. The ink dried as he packed his things and prepared to, for the first time in many hours, leave his comfortably shaded workspace for the blaring dry heat of the Tarena countryside. A leather pouch contained all of his materials, held firmly under his right arm, as he grasped the still-steamy beverage in careful fingers.

It was a hot day out. Even a man of his youth grew weak and ill-mannered in this weather. The sun fell to the west, but the heat of noon remained. It blurred the far hills and even the buildings down the path from his temporary lodgings with Tila. At least his white robes fought off much of the sun, and for that he was thankful.

He found his way to a small adobe and stone shack some hundred steps down the way. Here a girl lived, the last of the so-called miracle children of this town. A simple bow gave all the welcome he required to enter. The father worked a field some while away, but the younger children and mother huddled in the one room home to escape the heat. They wove wicker baskets for sale in the market. A fine industry of much skill and patience, he noted. No quick results.

These were the faithful.

“Professor,” said the mother. He’d met her before. It was hard to go unseen or unmet in a small village. He had arranged the meeting in advance to be sure the girl would be awake and mentally prepared for conversation.

Ognacar studied the children before him. They were dirty, far dirtier than he had ever been. They sat in near rags on the floor, the youngest children—including the girl he came to see—wore nothing but a loose loin cloth. Their older siblings were more modest. The pink soil stained her body, head to toe, as she wiped at sweat and muddied her skin. The girl’s role in their wicker craft involved organizing reeds by length in neat piles. She exhibited a strong understanding of order and calmness.

He sipped his spicy brew.

“Well.” He sat near the girl on the cool soil floor. “Good day, children.”

“Good day, professor,” they all chimed in. All save for her.

Quill and ink and paper returned from the pouch. He placed his beverage gently on a well-packed bit of earth behind him, well out of the way. And he began to take notes.

“Does your daughter wake or stir in the night?” Straight forward question, asked of all the potential Aitahs. Dreams were a primary form of prophetic vision for confirmed Aitahs, so it was the best place to start.

The mother considered it. A bit of deep thought over the past years brought up a confused look upon her face. “No,” she said. “She sleeps through the nights without crying. Ever since she was a newborn.”

Ognacar plotted the Faera lines in quick notes on the margins of his page. The tip of his quill splintered, unusual but he had been using the same one for days. From his pouch a blade was drawn, small and circular with finger notches on top for ease of control. He dug into the quill, trying to follow the conversation of the mother. The blade slipped and nicked the tip of his finger. He instinctively pulled the wound to his mouth. Droplets of blood marked a rather deep cut. He’d need to keep pressure on it until it scabbed over.

The girl watched the crimson droplets, stacking reeds all the while.

Blue eyes, he scribbled. Uncertain if the color has yet to change from infancy to the brown of her peers.

“Does she get along with other children?”

Easy question.

“Yes.”

“Does she have many friends?”

The mother nodded.

“When playing does your daughter ever shout or confront her peers?”

The daughter looked to her mother, and they shared a moment of eye contact.

Who speaks for whom?

“Once or twice,” said the mother.

He gestured for her to continue.

“There is a boy-“

“Jahryn,” the girl said.

Always the boys, he thought.

“Yes. The boy is rough with her. She has confronted him.”

“And the result?” asked Ognacar, looking not to the mother but the girl.

“He stopped,” she said with a smile.

“Of course he did.” Ognacar returned a smile.

“The Faith teaches us that violence is the last resort. I teach my children to speak their mind and never harm others.”

Ognacar nodded and hummed, sucking on his finger between quill strokes. He took another sip from the cup. The bitter spice burned at his tongue.

“When was the last illness in your family?”

The mother thought hard about it. The other children kept weaving wicker. The girl waited for the response.

“My husband fell to fever before I became pregnant with her,” she said, looking to her daughter. “We have been blessed with health.”

Ognacar’s eyes met the girl’s. “And what color is the moon?”

She stopped her reed stacking, placed one finger to her cheek, and asked, “Is it angry?”

“Indifferent.”

“Yellow.”

Ognacar chuckled. He dipped into his ink once more, scribbling another line of terrible Faera script. The cut finger rested on his tongue but the metallic twang of blood had long since vanished. Rubbing his injured index finger with his thumb, he felt no flap of skin from the cut. Ognacar quickly scratched out part of his notes.

“What color is the Light?”

“All of them,” replied the girl.

“All of them?”

“Like a rainbow,” she said. “Only better.”

“More colorful than a rainbow?”

She nodded with a smile. Ognacar packed up his notes and stood.

“Is that all?” asked the mother. There was a longing in her voice, like all the others. She knew why he was there, even if he never expressed his intents. They all wanted to be the one. Everyone was selfish.

“Not all,” he said as he grabbed his drink. He extended his free hand to the girl. “Would you walk with me?”

They left the small house. He held her hand. She wasn’t yet able to walk perfectly. She waddled over a small step on the door frame. They both covered their eyes to the brightness of the setting sun and the heat upon their faces. He took a sip, noting that only a small amount remained in the bottom of his wooden cup. Around back of the house there was a small stump from a grove of trees long since cleared out for buildings. He sat down on the stump and propped the girl upon his knee.

He wrapped his cup-holding arm around her so she would not fall. His other hand riffled through the pouch in search of a particular bag. Calm fingers dug into cool powder, pinching a healthy amount into the palm of his hand.

“What is it?” she asked about the cup.

“A spicy drink,” he explained. He ran his free hand across the top of the cup, slipping a hand full of the powder into the final swallow. “It is almost gone,” he said, showing her the cup and sloshing the liquid around thoroughly. “I would let you have it, but it is only for big girls.”

She tilted her head. Ognacar pushed the cup to his mouth, faking a sip.

“Wait!”

“You think you’re big enough?” he asked.

She nodded furiously, putting her hands out in anticipation. He guided the cup to her mouth and let her drink deep the poison, pushing it up high so she could not spit it out. She shivered at the spiciness and coughed afterward. She did not make a sound of disgust. She was a big girl, after all.

A terrible way to go, he mused.

Ognacar sighed. The girl coughed. Snot dripped from her nostrils.

“Not this time,” he said, petting her hair. “Not yet.”

One day.

She held her hands to her nose to wipe at the profuse oozing. She coughed again, and panicked. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Ognacar put her on the ground.

“Go inside before you catch a fever.”

He pushed her along as he stood. The girl rubbed her eyes and scratched at her throat. She would never make to her mother. Ognacar drained the cup with a flick of his wrist and tossed it into his pouch. It would be a long ride back to Pamala.

After a full inquiry into the signs of Her return, I remain unconvinced. The women and girls have no special qualities about them. We have not found Her. It is safe to say claims of Her rebirth in this country are exaggerated.
 
Report to the Guardian Council of the Order of Serris, Councilhold, in the High-City of Sern,

I have discovered the identity of the one responsible for the string of deaths across the coastlands. He was, as the Guardian Council suspected, a common con-man masquerading as a preacher, and using the promise of salvation to slake his dark desire for the lives of young girls. I and my company, assisted by men seconded from the Watchlord, ran him to ground three days south of Pamala. Unfortunately, I was unable to complete my assignment and discover whether he had any ties with those other killers of the same type lately apprehended in the north, or with the enemies of the Order, whether within or without the City of Man, for he resisted our apprehension and in the confusion was slain by a man of the Watchlord. Rest assured that I have appropriately reprimanded the overeager soldier, and please accept the murderer's head as proof of his end and some small recompense for my failure. I believe this 'Ognacar' to have been the acting alone in this matter, but I will nevertheless continue my investigations until the Council sees fit to recall me.

I remain the Council's humble instrument in all things,

Odirel, Witchtaker-at-Large and Finger of the Hand of the Order of Serris
Pamala, the Watchful Keep, Mid-summer's day
 
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