End of Empires - N3S III

[Cannae]

Within Ojasaon there are main five factions. These factions are Okumu Yuta, Kitrr Jatko, Nasove Suar, Ngata Ribbatt, and Rakanu Aursus. Within each of these factions are several clans. The faction leader is elected from a pool of clan leaders within a faction.

Main Factions: These are the five main factions.

Faction: Okumu Yuta (Yellow Crab)
Leader Name: Naldako, (Age: 41)
Heir: Gahtrar, (Age: 27)
Faction Origin: The Okumu Yuta were initially a poor and insignificant faction whose members earned a living as fishermen (and women). Their luck changed when they accidentally discovered the abnormally large and yellow freshwater crabs and crayfish native to Amaroo Atani. Naldako's Grandfather realized that depending on crayfish alone would spell their faction's economic doom. Thus he diversified the Okumu Yuta's economic base to include growing cannabis, bamboo, and radishes. He also established the fishing and non-fishing years. The fishing and non-fishing years alternate like this: Fishing Year - Non-Fishing Year - Fishing Year. This is done to prevent the crayfish stock from being depleted. During the eruption of the stratovolcano in Samaroara, the Okumu Yuta were essential in preventing instability and maintaining order.
Significance: Nowadays, the Okumu Yuta have still remained prominent economically and politically. They've also established an active glass blowing industry from the glass found in Samaroara.
Goals
1) Improve the roads connecting us to the other factions.

Faction: Kitrr Jatko (Fire Axe)
Leader Name: Óarrsa (Age: 38)
Heir: Kajol (Age: 16)
Faction Origin: The Kitrr Jatko is the second oldest and perhaps the most unusual faction in all of Ojasaon. The Kitrr Jatko are direct decedents of Jaorugda Nobility and make their living largely through mining for extremely high quality and plentiful iron along with the colorful volcanic glass, fertile soil, and other valuable minerals left behind by previous volcanic eruptions. The metals, minerals, glass, and soil found in the region are crucial in powering the rest of Ojasaon. The death and destruction caused by the past volcanic eruptions has resulted in significant psychological trauma among the Kitrr Jatko. Many members of Kitrr Jatko have dealt with that trauma by turning to art. As a result, many of Ojasaon's most talented artists are members of Kitrr Jatko.
Significance: Although their power has most certainly waxed and waned throughout the years the faction still controls Samaroara. Even the destruction left by the most recent eruption failed to topple the control Kitrr Jatko have over Samaroara.
Goals
1) We need laborers!
2) Expand our mining infrastructure!

Faction: Nasove Suar (Bone Shark)
Leader Name: Ehemar (Age: 29)
Heir: Alkirea (Age: 10)
Faction Origin: This faction is descended from slaves, runaways, and around a dozen pirate families. The largest and most notorious pirate family called themselves the Nasove Suar. The pirates, slaves, and runaways were ethnically heterogeneous. As a result the Nasove Suar are easily the most cosmopolitan Rihnit Faction. But after settling in Agnato Gy Kbrilma these families have given up piracy and now make a living as watermelon, cacti, fish, algae, and frankincense farmers, fishermen, sailors, and merchants.
Significance: The Nasove Suar are important because of their merchant activity. They essentially control all goods being exported from or imported to Ojasaon by sea trade routes. They also provide the rest of Ojasaon with watermelons and cacti. Both of which are not only water-rich but are also considered to be a delicacy.
Goals
1) Increase funding and create more ports.
2) Ensure that the nearby sea routes remain safe from piracy and warfare.

Faction: Ngata Ribbatt (Mother Frog)
Leader Name: Marruta (Age: 47)
Heir: Arovan (Age: 28)
Faction Origin: The Ngata Ribbat is the product of various migrations and is the most populous faction in Ojasaon. Most of the Rihnit Military comprises of soldiers from this faction. The people in Ayana Toqa Saon have always been farmers and the Ngata Ribbat are no exception.
Significance: The Ngata Ribbatt Farmers grow the vast majority of the sorghum, coconut, yam, taro, watermelon, pineapples, wheat, and bananas that are consumed in other parts of Ojasaon. The bush mango is also grown by the Ngata Ribbatt which they use to make black dye, furniture, and large boats. But the most desired and useful product the Ngata Ribbatt make are their pies. Even though the Ngata Ribbatt are the numerically most significant faction in the Rihnit Military, it's only the third largest percentage wise at 12% of the people in the Rihnit Military. Both Kitrr Jatkoand Rakanu Aursus have a larger percentage of its population in the military at 17% and 25% respectively.
Goals
1) Increase roads and infrastructure

Faction: Rakanu Aursus
Leader Name: Ijanar (Age: 53)
Heir: Rarigan (Age: 31)
Faction Origin: The Rakanu Aursus is the oldest faction in Ojasaon. They are even rumored to be directly descended from the first Agiba Settlers who fled the Savarai Empire. It wouldn't seem to be that far-fetched of a claim as Ova Demroa Kanahi hadn't been under as tight Jaorugda Control as the more fertile regions of Ojasaon. The members of Rakanu Aursus also generally look more alike the Agiba than people from other factions. But they are more likely to have originated right before the start of the Aka Trato and the emergence of the Jaorugda.
Significance: The Rakanu Aursus are the most conservative and smallest faction in terms of its population. They also make up a disproportionate percentage of the Rihnit in the military. At least 25% of all members within this faction currently or have served in the Rihnit Military at one point or another.
Goals
1) Build better roads linking us to the other regions!

 

[Grandkhan]

Only just got around to reading it. Excellent update Northking!

 

[Thlayli]

A Proclamation of the High Prince Zakraphetas, Prince of the Scroll

The Vellari Exatai considers itself in a state of war with the Sadorishi and Alonite Orders only. It will take such actions as are necessary to deprive these Orders of the ability to abuse Vellari subjects.

The Vellari Exatai does not consider itself in a state of war with the other Voting Orders of the Seniar Concourse. Hostility from these Orders will be responded to if the Vellari are attacked without provocation, but no aggressive actions, confiscations, or other attacks will be made against these Orders without having first been attacked by them.

 

[Perfectionist]

FROM: Ethili Sabretas, Amasir of the Alonites; Moril Vaban, Prelatyr of the Sadorishi
TO: Elea Gyldwin, High Ward of the Faith
CC: Synothal Orders

The cripple has declared his intention to 'deprive [us] of the ability to abuse Vellari subjects'. Given the context within which this declaration has appeared, and the complete absence of any aggression by either of our Orders against Vellari territory, we can only assume this means he intends to attack and destroy us on this side of the sea, on our own land, for the unforgivable sin of of, respectively, contracting with Accans on commercial ventures that regrettably failed (as such things are notorious for doing), and for adhering to the terms of a fairly made treaty. It further confirms the megalomania of this....man, and the rightness of Concourse's actions in expelling his loyalists; how long, Piriven, before he decides that the customs at Adua are an abuse of his subjects? How long, Anym, before he decides that the Xidevion is Satar territory and is to be confiscated? How long, Risadri, before he decides, like his father, that he knows what your Harada thought, and how your Order should manage?

We therefore invoke the mutual defense provisions of Concourse's charter, and request that Concourse take action, diplomatic or military, to eliminate this clear existential threat to its members.

 

[Thlayli]

A Proclamation of High Prince Zakraphetas, Prince of the Scroll, on the Causes For War

Engagement in economic warfare with the intent to defraud, negotiation of duplicitous treaties with independent kingdoms with the intent to undermine sovereign rulers and replace them with Order controlled puppets, and outright expulsion of thousands of innocents from their homes and lands, and confiscation of their properties.

In short, tyranny.

While noting the High Ward's call for Aitahist proselytization as proof of his father Alxas' claims, the High Prince declares his lack of interest in religious change. The High Prince declares his support for each independent Prince of the world to set his own religious policy, and enforce it within his own borders as he sees fit.

The High Prince declares this not to be a religious war, but a defense of the institution of the sovereign state.

 

[Perfectionist]

FROM: Ethili Sabretas, Amasir of the Alonites; Moril Vaban, Prelatyr of the Sadorishi
TO: Elea Gyldwin, High Ward of the Faith
CC: Synothal Orders

The Accans think that being outsmarted on a deal is cause for war. How preposterous. We note with interest that the final item on purported list of infamies is the decree that those Accans on our shores, who benefit so tremendously from Concourse's policies, should be required to either contribute to the maintenance of those policies and renounce other loyalties, or depart for the lands of their prince; this policy was not promulgated by Alon or Sadorishi, but by Concourse and the High Ward. His intent is clear; he means to destroy us. His war is a war for the tyranny of Princes against the freedom of Men.

We reiterate our invocation of the mutual defense provisions.

 

[Cannae]

Kuyoi Ashar

Tempting Chaos​

Background: As with most Rihnit Tales, Tempting Chaos isn't taken literally but rather is allegorical. In this particular case the story has three main messages. The first message being that Ashar is chaotic and unpredictable, the second about the circular logic fallacy and the third about recreational substance of choice is cannabis instead of alcohol.

Story: Two men (Obok and Savrat) were inside an inn sitting at a table. The inn was rather modest with other people sitting at other tables talking quietly amongst themselves and smoking cotajarr (cannabis). Obok and Savrat both were discussing their lives over a couple glasses of lokra (pineapple or banana based alcohol). They kept drinking until they entered into a drunken stupor.

Savrat looked at Obok and said, "I bet you, I bet you that Ashars a human."

"That's non, nonsense" Obok replied before belching.

"Challenge accepted!" Savrat then proceeded to take a swing at Obok. His fast landed across his left cheek knocking out one of his teeth.

Unknown to either Obok or Savrat, the other people at the inn were very quiet because they had noticed a large snake slithering across the floor.

Obok grabbed Savrat by the throat and threw him across the room. Obok in the process of throwing Savrat across the room failed to hear "sisss" before taking another step. The snake he accidently stepped on lunged at Obok and biting several times before falling to the ground.

"Clank!" Savrat's head hit the metal rim of one of the tables splitting his head open. He died almost immediately.

A little while later both Obok and Savrat woke up finding themselves facing a huge gated fortress. Around them were balmy skies with a few fluffy white clouds, pristine and clear blue water. In between them and the gated fortress was a drawbridge and moat. The drawbridge lowed as somebody came walking towards Obok and Savrat.

Obok and Savrat both wiped their eyes to see if they were hallucinating. However the figure approaching them was more like two separate people in one body. The right side of the mysterious person was a muscular young man who appeared to be in this prime of his life. He appeared to be extremely psychologically unstable. The clothing he was wearing was extremely fancy with the fabric being sown together by lace made of gold.

On the left side this person was the corpse of a old lady. Her hair was failing out, and patches of her skin and muscle were missing only leaving the bone visible. Her eye was missing leaving the eye socket in plain view. Her clothing was very simple and in many places tattered. Despite being dead the old lady appeared to be psychologically stable and at peace.

Savrat asked the weird looking person, "who are you and where are we?"

"Ah yes! I welcome you to my lair! I am Ashar."

Savrat looked at Obok and jabbed him in the ribs with his pointer finger saying, "haha! see I told you Ashar was a human"

The male half of Ashar paused before saying, "or am I? Maybe I'm this?"

Ashar transformed into a hyena, "or this!"

Transforming again, Ashar turned himself into a ball of tapeworms.

Savrat and Obok are both staring at Ashar to utterly confused to say anything.

"HOW MANY MORE TIMES MUST I TRANSFORM?!? Ashar gets very tired you know."

"None" both Savrat and Obok said.

"Good! Now since your fates are about to be determined do you have a question for me? Or maybe two! Or even five or seven! Just don't ask me three since that's one question too many."

Savrat asked, "Why did you transform? I always thought you were human."

Ashar cackled uncontrollably before saying, "why should I limit myself to being only one of my creations? You humans are rich! Bahahahaha!!!"

Minutes later Ashar asked, "wewh, next question?"

Obok asked, "why did you create humans? or life for that matter."

"Because I could! You have no idea how boring it can be up here. Everybody up here is just so... sane. YOU GOT IT?!? SANITY HURTS ME?!?" Ashar started crying hysterically before calming and down and saying, "anymore questions from you two?"

"Why's there so much conflict and violence on Earth? Especially with religion?"

"I did it because it amuses me to see you all fight over something you've got no way or proving or disproving. A man's gotta have something to entertain him."

"That's just sick!" yelled Obok. "You get pleasure out of people's suffering?"

Ashar paused and said, "I do"

Savrat then asked, "so what's behind that gate?"

The female energy spoke, "beyond the gate is the people who stand for truth, honor, integrity, intellect, sanity, and inquisitiveness."

Ashar's male energy mumbled, "I can't stand people like those!"

"Alright," Savrat replied, "So what happens if we don't get through the gates?"

The male energy said, "well I'll keep you here and torment you for an eternity"

"For an eternity?!?"

"Well not always. It might be for several eternities or just a few minutes. Just depends on how I'm feelin at the time."

"What happens after the torment?"

"I send you down the moat where you'll be reborn on Earth."

"Do you know what we'll be born as?"

"No not really, it's all really sort of random really. Also the longer I torment you the more likely you'll end up looking like something... I don't know let's say a flea but you could also looking like a fly or even a worm."

"Are you saying our actions have no impact on our fate!?!"

The female energy then replied, "No Savrat, those who do good in the world will end up with me inside the castle of plenty. Those who commit evil shall be reborn somewhere in the world and be given another chance to come to me after death."

Obok then asked, "so what's good and what's bad?"

Ashar then turned into a two balls of dust clouds. One of the clouds is white, cold, and dry while the other cloud was warm, dark, and wet.

The male energy reemerged and said, "Well wouldn't that be nice for you to know? Unfortunately I can't tell you since that would take out all of the fun for me. Now I'd suggest you give each other a hug for a second or maybe two. Any hug will do as this is the last time you'll ever be likely to see eachother again. Toodles!"

Savrat and Obok both were lifted into the air and thrown down into the moat. The female energy of Ashar then said, "if you want to escape suffering and control chaos don't believe. Just think."

 

[Golden1Knight]

The Warrior's Duty​

-Wonderful! Tell me more.

The lamb was especially delicious. Certainly Phallaxes had never tasted such a delicious dish. But unfortunately he could not enjoy it in peace.

The lady sitting in front of him seemed eager for more of his stories. Remembering the good manners that he was advised to use, Phallaxes cleaned the sauce from his mouth with a small cloth, which he had also been advised to bring.

Fulfilling his duty as a victim of that lady, he was getting ready to tell another story, perhaps about a heroic charge that never really happened, or about any of the towns they actually sacked and pillaged. Silly of me, they always prefer the first story.

When he was beginning to describe the rainy weather of that 'fateful day', his rescue finally came. A tall man, dressed in lavish costumes and holding a glass of wine, made ​​his way slowly through the crowd. Approaching the table, he politely apologized to the lady and said that the presence of his friend was required elsewhere. After the appropriate farewells, the two crossed a sea of ​​nobles whose names were too many to remember. The Court was often crowded these days. Nobles from the east, they said, or aristocrats, but for Phallaxes this does not make any difference. Former enemies, that's what they are. When they reached an empty balcony, they were finally able to talk.

-Where have you been? I had to create such a long history that gave me time to eat a whole lamb.

-While you was devouring your lamb, I had to survive to the captain and his stories. It is the seventh time I've heard about his forebears, and how they fought bravely against the enemy...

-Whatever, but for how long we will stay here? While the others have fun in the camp, we have to endure all this hassle. May I ask you why?

-You know why.

-No, I know why you are here. After all, the lieutenant here is you, and it was you who was asked to accompany the captain. Not me.

-Endure this alone is not an option, and you, as my faithful friend and subordinate, shall provide me support during these difficult times.

Phallaxes stared at his friend for a few seconds.

-Where is the captain?

-Probably drunk. Poor man, he is in a nest of snakes.

A servant approached, offering wine. Phallaxes accepted a glass, and dismissed the boy.

-I thought you were supposed to accompany him.

-Do not worry, I doubt he'll remember. To Arhat, the Pearl of the Steppes!

They clinked glasses and drank half of their wine. The night was going to be long and full of terrors.

 

[Jehoshua]

Grey Skies

-​

"Man wars against the gods, but in the end the gods always win"

~ Dulama proverb

-

During the spring rain rises up and like a galloping herd of horses riding ever onwards it races across the Taidhe before eventually colliding into the hills of Dula. Here combining with the wins blowing from the north across the desert and the high hills of the fatherland of the ancestors, and clouds release their torrent upon the land.

It rises first over that great sea, the Airendhe, where golden ships ply their sails while bearing cargo of tea and spices, while schools of fantastically colored fish, and stranger things, swim below the waves in the tepid twilight of the depths. Proceeding north it covers the vale of the Abrea in a constant sheet of grey, heralded by the clamour of lightning and the calls of stags in rut. Soon the smell of the earths essence rises from the soil as it is soaked with life-giving water, with the people of the land scurrying like ants, ploughing the soil with their oxen as the water falls and planting seeds of maize and millet. Continuing north the rain cascades down the sides of ancient pyramids where priests chant hymns to the god of light, and where the memory of older and more dangerous spirits yet lingers. It drips from the eaves of the townhouses of the cities, and down chains of interlinked brass into tanks and cisterns. Soon, the river begins to rise, and as ever the Abrea floods, bringing with it rich black soil from the hills and renewing the land, and nourishing the seeds laid by the people which rise from the soil as fresh shoots of bright green growth. Likewise upon the wild plains where roam rhinoceri and herds of horse and deer, the rain leaves upon its passing a carpet of fresh green growth and pastel wildflowers in countless forms and varieties.

Well, that is how it usually is. This season the sky was tinged with grey and the sun was red as blood, and when summer came the rains came only in fits and starts, between days of unrelenting sun. The river did not flood and nourish the farmers seeds, and where once cheerful ponds would be filled with life, instead were found pits of mud interspersed here and their with languid pools of muddy water fetid with algae and teeming with the writhing bodies of fish and tadpoles desperately seeking moisture and some refuge from their inexorably approaching end. It is in the struggle of the fish and the frogs in these muddy pools that the image of man is found, for when the rains fail and the land grows dry and chokes upon the dust of the earth, what is man but the tadpole desperately seeking succour from the impassive cruelty of nature. Such was the prospect facing all the west and so it was for Sartin as he reaped his meagre harvest of millet upon his patch of land.

Certainly, as he cut his sickle through stems of millet, the harvest he had reaped was, the good god be praised, enough to sustain himself and his family, his wife and three sons, for the land was blessed and fertile enough to bring forth grain even without the yearly blessing of the father of waters, who so Sartin believed made the rain fall to the joy and sorrow of the people who lived by the river. But nonetheless little would be left to sell in the market in the city. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, the price of grain would rise and that would ensure that Sartins family would not go without money to buy medicines and offerings this year at least. Yet Sartin could not help but think that many might go hungry this year. At least the King and the Church were there to provide grain in such times to those who were not so lucky as he.... or so he hoped.

---

In Tiagho the victory procession after the conquest of Nedama carried all the spoils of war along the processional way and before the palace of kings. Amongst the phalanxes of pikeman in gleaming scale armour bearing upon their shoulders mantles of wolf-pelts from the taidhe and escorted by cataphracts on white horses bedecked in resplendent raiment of red, green and cloth of gold, was the treasure looted from Caghin, the city of the Nedama. Cartloads of elephant tusks, some carved in fantastic designs by the bundleload, chain-gangs of slaves, men and women destined for sale to all the four quarters of the world. Greatest of was the prince of the Nedama, who in his royal attire and bound by chains was led through the city to the mockery of the commons, before the inevitable fate of all foes who refused to honourably submit to the serpent king and refused to recognise his authority, what the Vithana had called exatas.

The nobility and the King most of all out of all the assembled lords and notables of the Kingdom knew better however. They knew that the Nedama were hardly a challenge to the Tiaghama legions who outnumbered them threefold on the field of battle, and more so in cavalry. They knew that for all the loot being displayed in the customary victory ritual, that Nedama was merely a backwater stopover along the trade route south to Gaarim which stretched northwards beyond Tiagho even to distant kern and even unto fabled Tin Tan Tar, from where the stories said came silk from the hair of sea goats. The secret they all kept was that this celebration was a distraction, a necessary amusement to enable the people to forget that they were subject to the whims of a cruel world where evil and the god of death ever blighted their steps with the threat of hardship and threatened their very souls even unto the hour of their inevitable death. As the wise men say, man cannot live on maize alone for man is both spirit and flesh. It is the spirit that must be sated lest he remember the inexorable realities of his earthly fate, of his lack of control over the direction of the world, and fall into despair and futile rage against the gods, and against his own existence.

And so the King smiled, at least for a time he would allow himself to forget the troubles of his kingdom, the vagaries of nature, the machinations of man, and the whims of distant gods. Tomorrow might be full of sorrow, of the sound of crying women and clanging swords, and when the dawn comes to herald in that morrow he would be there to face it. But not today...

 

[Thlayli]

A Proclamation of High Prince Zakraphetas, Prince of the Scroll

In the interest of maintaining the legal toleration of Maninism enshrined in Vellari law, and the protection of his Maninist subjects from the influence of Orders which seek to undermine the integrity of the Vellari state from within, the High Prince declares the formation of the Order of Amasar, also to be known as the Order of Light Undivided. The intent of the Order of Amasar shall be the provision of Maninist teaching and scripture to the faithful within the boundaries of the Exatai, and the free association of those Gallatenes who wish to turn from other Orders which have been corrupted with power and greed.

The hierarchs of this order will be selected from Vellari Maninists versed in the ancient teachings of their Faith, and will be bound forever in loyalty to the High Prince, the order's guardian.

 

[ChiefDesigner]

Apparently this is all wrong?

 

[Perfectionist]

I'm out. Final order is to go ahead with that thing; Lucky knows what I mean and has permission to handle the details.

 

[Crezth]

KHOSRA​

A warmish wind blew off the harbor while harbor bells clingle-clangled in the announcement of an approaching vessel which was bobbing on the waves just ahead of the rising of the sun. Khosra stood on the pier and watched the ship take its sweet time to come up, and hoped that it was the ship he was waiting for these past eight weeks.

Eight weeks ago, another ship – a different ship – had come into harbor with passengers and cargo and a message that it had intended for the serjeant in residence. Now, of people in small towns such as this, far away as it is, in the Zalkephai Rashai as well; of such people, there were two types who were rather more important than the others, and this, dear reader, is only meant rhetorically, because nobody is more important than anyone else in the Rashai, except for the Zalkephis, and that should be obvious. Of the two types, there is the serjeant, a priestly man who was really more military than priest; and the oracle, a military man who was really more priest than militant.

Khosra was the serjeant-in-residence here and had been for some time, having left, as he did, the City of Princes or Prayers or whatever the ponces condescended to call themselves not long after the last failed revelation. So it came as much a surprise to him when a message came addressed to him, and written in the tongue, and expressed most urgently a desire to SEE HIM on the “next” boat.

It wasn’t the next boat, or the next, or even the next. Khosra had grown quite used to disappointment in this regard. But something about the pre-dawn gloom and the warmish wind and the smell of salt and chill gave him a good feeling this time. That’s the spirit, anyway. Stiff upper lip and all that.

The little boat pulled astern the pier and threw down a gangplank that rattled to a still. Down it came a variety of fellows, some in masks, some not; and at last, a mask with the curved eyes and twisted smile that had only been on one mask as ever Khosra had seen it – and he had to pinch himself to contain his excitement.

The recognition was apparently mutual. The man, youngish by stature, lanky and with the sandiest of hair, came down the gangplank with a gunnysack slung over his back. He wore a tattered white tunic and long breeches that appeared to be made of steer hide. He flapped his furry shoes across the pier until he stood before Khosra.

“K’os!” he said by way of greeting.

In spite of himself, the serjeant did smile. “Is that really you, Anza?”

“I think so,” said the young man. “By Taleldil, it is good to hear your voice again. How have you managed all this time?”

“Oh,” said Khosra, “I make do. Still – your message came eight weeks ago. Was there a delay?”

“Yes, of a kind. The ports and seas ‘round Cyve have been chaotic of late, the traffic nightmarish and queer. And in truth, I found myself rather fond of the locals there, though I don’t expect that contributed more than a week to my lateness.”

“Well,” said Khosra, “no harm done.” He clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Come with me, I have quarters set for you.”

“Straight to business, is it? Very well – I admit I should like to wash up. But – I was hoping we might have a chance to discuss…”

“There’ll be plenty of time for discussing later. Come!”

They went up the winding sandstone steps of the middle part of the town that snaked up the hill to the top where the dual-manor sat. It wasn’t such a huge building as all that, though it was a good deal nicer than the other buildings around, and larger too. The oracle and the serjeant shared it. In the yard just inside the gate, some people were gathered and partaking in pre-morning prayer with the oracle. They were just finishing up as Khosra and Anza came in.

The oracle noticed them, but another man caught his attention as Khosra made to approach. The oracle clasped the man’s forearm and said something very earnestly to him, and the man nodded vigorously. “O thank you, oracle,” said the man.

“Go and do good,” the oracle told him, and the man nodded again. “This will be a good day, I feel it.”

When the man went away, Khosra agreed. “It is a good day already, though I don’t suppose that man knows why. Jie, look who I have here.”

The oracle looked, but for no reason, as he had never seen the mask before. “Is this Anza, then? He has come at last?”

“Yes,” said Khosra with a dip of the chin. “Of whom I spoke.”

The oracle bowed to the young man. “It is truly a pleasure. I have heard much of you from the good man Khosra here.”

“Oh? Not too much of it terrible, I hope?” japed Anza in reply.

The oracle straightened up chuckling. “Not at all, not at all – but, well. You must be tired after your journey by sea. Will you join me for breakfast?”

“Of course,” said Anza, and bowed in return. Khosra beckoned him and the two of them continued into the manor. It was a large stone-and-timber edifice. The beaches around here held an abundance of sandstone, and the timbergreens grew fat on the hillsides roundabout the bay, so it was a unique element of the architecture in this part of the isles to mix the teaky woods and yellowy sandstones in the construction of the finer buildings. The effect was such that, if you looked down on the village from above, you got the distinct impression that you were looking at a sandy beach covered in driftwood during high noon, when the shimmers of warm off the beachfront cast an odd discoloration that was strangely alluring in its own, charming way. It wasn’t really pretty, not after you had been to the City of Prayers – but it was its own thing, through and through. The Rashai was very big and covered tip-to-tip in such oddities. The only thing they all had in common was their religion.

Their religion, yes, and even that… Khosra cast a look on the young man walking at his side. Everything I do, I have done for you, he thought. He failed the boy once, but not again.

They went up a flight of stairs that let out into a sunken atrium on the second floor, with a wide open balcony that looked out on the harbor. This room was rather nicely furnished with some big chairs and a thick oaken table in the middle. It reminded Khosra of the home he owned back in the city, but that was a long time ago. The balcony was accessed by a sturdy pair of sliding doors that would hold back the chill most of the time – since that day was rather warm, he endeavored to open them up, and so a ticklish breeze had filled up the atrium.

Waiting for them was a servant, who was a burly man in a featureless brown mask; and a female with a scowling reed mask, who was sitting in one of the big chairs. She turned her head at their entry. “Ah,” she said; “so, this is the fifth member of our conspiracy?”

“First,” corrected Khosra. “And yes.”

“Conspiracy,” echoed Anza, sounding rather unamused by the word. He shifted from one foot to the other.

Khosra motioned for the boy to sit down, and then he did himself. “Will the oracle be joining us?” asked the woman.

“Unlikely,” said Khosra.

She crossed her legs and jerked her mask at the boy. “I am honored, your Excellency.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Anza.

“Nevermind,” she said, and looked away.

Anza looked over at Khosra. “How many people know? What have you been saying?”

“Not many,” said Khosra quickly. He spared a dark glance in the the woman’s direction. Sometimes Ymir had no subtlety. “Truly. Only us four here, and the oracle.”

“I thought I told you I was tired playing that game,” said Anza with a weary sigh. “Many, many years ago. By Taleldil, this is the first time I’ve seen you in – well, ages, and you put this on me?”

“Khosra put nothing on you,” said Ymir sharply. “That was Taleldil.”

Anza gripped the sides of his chair and looked down. He said nothing.

“There’s no running from it,” said Khosra gently. “It’s Taleldil’s will.”

“I should have known better, I suppose,” said Anza. His voice was now odd, distant. “For some reason, I thought I had to see you first, when I had returned. For some reason I guess I thought you’d give it up.”

“Never,” said Khosra.

Anza sighed loudly. “Well. How much a difference do you suppose it makes, anyway? There’s five of us, and hundreds of thousands of them.”

“Very little,” admitted Ymir. “But now that you’re here, we can begin plotting your return. The Zalkephis has been kept from his throne for long enough, and the realm suffers for it. We are distant and secluded here; we can work in peace, and move the pieces into place. We have allies and contacts throughout the north and west who will gladly support your claims. We will ensure they are ready when we move against the corrupt council. And so long as you are here, you are safe and hidden.”

“They will not obscure you this time,” promised Khosra. “The exile is over.”

Anza shrugged feebly. “As you say. It is Taleldil’s will.” He raised his head. “What do you need me to do?”

“Live,” said Ymir. “We will begin sending out couriers with tidings of your return. Some will send men of their own to see for themselves. We only need to bide our time, one – two years…”

“Two years? Here?” said Anza, horrorstruck.

“I hope that does not chafe you?”

“Not… not as such, but… I had grown fond of the open road.”

“The way is not often easy for those as do Taleldil’s will,” said Ymir unsympathetically.

“No, indeed,” agreed Anza dismally.

Sensing Anza’s dismay, Khosra spoke. “It won’t be bad as all that. Come, now. Cheer up! Just a few years. Perhaps even just one year. And then all will be right as rain.”

“If you say so,” said Anza; and then, from outside the open balcony, the long, low sound of a horn burst into the room. The burly servant nearly jumped, and then, after he composed himself, stomped out onto the balcony to investigate.

“Ralf! What is it?” called Ymir.

The servant came back, a massive finger pointed behind him, outside; it was trembling. So was his voice. “S-s-s-s–”

“What’s that? Come on, out with it.”

Khosra stood. Nothing ever rattled Ralf like this.

“S-s-s-ships,” managed the servant at last, his voice low and hoarse. “Ships.”

Khosra bolted across the room, out the sliding door and onto the balcony. The sun was peeking over the horizon, and its long beams cast the long shadows of a hundred masts on a hundred galleys, plowing the waters with thousands of oars, bearing down on the harbor with wicked speed.

The horn sounded again. It pressed into Khosra’s ears invasively, unwantedly, and constricted his head like a vise. His chest tightened. Behind him, he felt the approach of two more souls.

“By Taleldil,” Ymir exclaimed quietly, after the last echo of the horn’s sound had gone away.

Khosra looked down into the yard below. The oracle was still speaking with some people – well, had been. They were all looking around now with furtived, worried glances. The oracle turned his head up and saw Khosra standing on the balcony. Khosra shouted down at him.

“Jie! It’s ships! Ships!”

Jie’s face melted. “Raiders?” he cried back.

“Too many,” said Khosra. Far too many. “I’m coming down there, Jie – we must rally the guard.”

He turned to run but suddenly remembered – the boy.

“Listen,” he said to Anza. “You must get away.”

“Why?” asked Anza. “I thought I’m to stay here.”

“Those ships bear Hymnic markings,” said Ymir, voice a whisper and full of wonder. “By Taleldil, I cannot believe…”

Khosra looked between the two of them, and out the balcony once more. Yes, there were so many ships. The town would be swamped as a sure thing. And Anza… killed or captured, that could not be suffered to come to pass.

“This town will fall,” Khosra told him.

“Well, then I will fall with it,” said Anza with a shrug. “What leader would I be to flee the fate I reserve for my people?”

“A wise leader,” said Khosra. “You are Zalkephis. If the Hymnic captured you – the Rashai’s days would be numbered.”

“The Rashai’s days are numbered,” said Anza. “As are all things with seasons.”

“Enough of your piety for now,” growled Khosra. “If you do not sit the throne before year’s end, then all is lost. The council will do nothing. The council has done nothing. We need our Zalkephis to lead us.”

Anza said nothing in reply. Khosra turned to look at Ymir and Ralf. “You two will go with him. Protect him, guide him, ensure he reaches the mainland. Take the horses and flee west. When you get to Resemba, you’ll be able to book passage for the mainland. Can you do this?”

“If we must,” said Ymir uncertainly. “We are always fleeing,” she groused.

Khosra nodded. “Only while we have to. Now then, go. There is no time to dally.” He turned to leave when a hand caught his arm.

“Wait,” said Anza; “what about you?”

“I,” said Khosra, “will defend the city.”

“But you said so yourself it’s impossible,” said Anza. “They’ll overrun you. You’ll be…” He left it unsaid.

“There are worse things,” said Khosra.

Anza shook his head. “O, how cruel.”

“Go west,” said Khosra, and he left the room in a haste.

He slipped down the steps two at a time until he was in the yards below, and found the oracle speaking hurriedly to two guardsmen, both ahorse. “Raise the alarm!” he told them. “Get all men of fighting age who can raise so much as a pitchfork out on the streets. And the women, too if it suits their fancy.”

“Aye aye,” said the horsmen, and they galloped out the gates and into the city.

“I am going to the barracks,” Khosra told the oracle. “And then we will take up the defense on the coast. I have told the boy to run – I’d advise you go and join him in his flight.”

“No, no,” said the oracle. “I won’t do that.”

“I thought you’d say that,” said Khosra sadly.

The oracle lifted his mask and gave Khosra a searching look. He leaned in and spoke lowly. “Khosra, do you really think…?”

“Yes,” said the serjeant at once.

The oracle just nodded and lowered his mask. “A pity,” he sighed. “I should have liked to speak to the Zalkephis just once, in this lifetime.”

Khosra made out the gates with the oracle at his heels. At the crest of the hill, they were afforded a good view of the harbor, crowded with masts. “What would you have said to him?” asked Khosra.

“Oh,” said the oracle. “I don’t know. Probably something pithy. You know, I always think of it only as I’m drifting off to sleep, so I’m sure I’d have forgotten it when put on the spot.”

Khosra laughed. The sun rose a little more, and later its light gleamed on the bronze and iron of hundreds of weapons, joined and then set aside, and the red finish that they would all have before the day was done; and the city grown desolate except for those three that fled away from the rising sun.

 

[Masada]

Just for reference my communications are spotty because I'm on holiday and my iPad doesn't like PMs or typing. (Seriously, writing orders on this thing is painful).

 

[Golden1Knight]

Just for reference my communications are spotty because I'm on holiday and my iPad doesn't like PMs or typing. (Seriously, writing orders on this thing is painful).

My first NES orders were written on an iPad. Good times.

Spellchecker

 

[m.t.cicero]

The Ether
919 SR (Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7)

Pahalar yo Szaebalata & Aeragh ieo Ghohaeraena
The Third Voice & The Lady's Ratarghane​

The salt spray was the last thing he knew he had known. As the ship reached the shoreline, it filled his eyes, his mouth, his nose. The seas were rougher than the ship’s captain had expected, but not so rough as to delay this landing any further. Food supplies on the ships had begun to run low; the Hymn had to make landfall today. One particularly large wave had crashed onto the ship’s deck, getting the salt water in his eyes and blinding him for a moment. When he could see again, he began to wish that he couldn’t. There must have been thousands of Zeeks lined up just beyond the beach, each of their speartips glistening in the morning light. This is when Pahal’s heart began to race. Soon the pounding went to his head, and time ceased to make sense. Suddenly he was on the beach, surrounded by his brothers-in-arms watching as the Zeek horde charged down to meet them. Next he remembered there was blood on his battleaxe, and to his left Saer had just opened a Zeek stomach, liberating his entrails and painting the sand red. Pahal blinked, and upon opening his eyes the shaft of his axe was locked against a Zeek sword. Knocking the blade back, Pahal used one swift motion to raise the axe and lower it upon the Zeek’s skull in an explosion of crimson. Before the man had even fallen Pahal could see straight through the gap he had created, and at first he saw yet another Zeek soldier. But then he saw beyond that. He saw beyond everything before a Light blinded him, a Light from which emerged a woman. She walked towards him, leaving behind her a trail of stars. Her features changed with every step she took; one moment she was blond, the next raven-haired, one moment her skin was pale as the desert sand in midday, the next it was dark as a moonless night. One aspect remained constant however; her blue eyes stared at him, piercing through his armor, through his skin, through every part of himself he thought he had known. He knew those eyes.

“I know who you are, Aitah.”

A hundred, nay, a hundred thousand voices responded as the woman’s visage began to change more rapidly. “And yet we ourselves died without that same knowledge. Do you know who you are, Pahalar yo Szaebalata?”

“I am…” Who am I? Am I Szaebalar’s son? Kaghie’s brother? Saer’s friend? Aer’s lover? Am I Aelona’s servant?

“These titles are meaningless in the end, placing your existence in the hands of others. These are the ways others know you, but not how you know yourself. Who is Pahalar? Who does he see in his own reflection?”

In front of Aitah’s face appeared a mask, which for an instant shone like the glass of a mirror, and Pahalar feverishly searched his reflection for clues, for answers. Who am I? Before he could solve this question, the mask changed, now brilliant white, a white purer than any Pahal had yet seen. “Do you know the answer, Pahalar? If you do not know yourself, then how can the Light know all of you? How can It illuminate all of you?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know! Tell me Aitah! Tell me!”

Behind the white mask, the blue eyes softened. “You must find this yourself, Pahalar. We shall give you more time; know that today is not the day you are to die.”

Without moving, Aitah retreated from him, or perhaps he withdrew from Aitah, moving faster even than the Light seemed able to shine. He was back on the beaches of Sarkanda, and it seemed that his axe had just divorced a Zeek’s head from his body. Looking forward, he saw a wave. That’s not right, our backs are to the sea...As it came closer the nature of the wave became clearer, its deep red contrasting the blue heavens. Pahalar braced as the tide of blood swept over the Zeek army, and before it hit him he could smell the spray. He could taste it. As it washed over him, he felt a strange calm. As he was almost ready to give himself to death, the words of Aitah rang again. “Today is not the day you are to die.” He began kicking. He screamed, only for no sound to come out as the blood rushed into his throat. He was drowning. But he couldn’t be drowning.

***​

The kick would have woken him up, but Aer had never fallen asleep in the first place. He carefully withdrew his arms from around Pahal, by now having some idea of what to do in this now all too familiar situation. Ever since his return from Sarkanda, Pahal had seemed different. Not all of the time; often he was able to be his sarcastic, clever self, but at times a deep melancholy seemed to consume him, and even Aer seemed unable to get to him, wherever he had gone. These nightmares had also returned with Pahal from the Hymn, and they occurred more often than not.

Aer took an instant to brush a hand over Pahal’s hair, even as tears fell from the Siran’s eyes. The hand moved over to a shoulder, which it then shook gently. “Pah, wake up. Pahal”

By now Aer’s instincts had developed such that he did not even need to think about what was coming next. Pahal gasped as his fist flew to where Aer’s face would have been had he not leaned back in the instant before. The Siran then opened his eyes and he remembered where he was. “Sorry about that.”

Aer gave him his usual smile. “Sorry for what? I'm just happy you’re here.”

“You don’t need to do this, you know.”

“But I want to do this. You know that.”

Pahal gave him a sad smirk. “It was that same dream again. The blood. The drowning.”

Aer had suspected as much. This is the twentieth time. Or the twenty-first? He laid down again and rolled onto his side, facing Pahal. “It was a war. You did what you had to. If you didn’t, they would have killed you. Then I’d be…” He immediately regretted those words. The last thing he wanted to do was make Pahal feel even more guilty by making him feel that the guilt he carried already was selfish.

Pahal seemed to not have heard those last words though, as he stared at Aer. Or perhaps he stared through Aer, at something very far away. It was difficult to tell. “I can’t make sense it Aer, I just can’t. Aitah, and the Path, and the Light, they’re all about love. Finding beauty in love and love in art and art in everything. Finding oneself through beauty, through love, through art. What happened there, what happened on Sarkanda, how could that be the Path? Death and blood and severed heads, those things are not beauty or love or art. How could I have been following the Path, how could I be brought any closer to the Light by the things I did on that island? I was no longer a man when I was there; I had to become an animal. Just to survive I had to give up my humanity. How can a man who has done what I’ve done be worthy of love? How can he deserve beauty? How can he make art? How can.” Pahal swallowed, his eyes glistening. “How can such a beast, how can a beast like me deserve you?”

“How many times do I need to tell you Pah? I chose you. It doesn’t matter to me what you did during the Hymn, what happened to you, you’re still Pahalar, the same Pahalar from that day in the Ghamal. I waited for you here while you were on the Hymn, and I’m not going to leave you now that you’re back.” It had been a trying few years, to be sure. Aer had wanted to join the Chorus, but Pahal insisted that he not, emphasizing how dangerous the Hymn was going to be. While this did not at first deter him, eventually Pahal wore him down, and convinced him to become Kaghie’s Ratarghane. So it was that Aer had spent the past few years honing his own combat skills, always awaiting word from Sarkanda. When the Chorus had finally consolidated its rule around Yevel, Pahal had returned to Naesre, and through the Chorus he had in fact been granted his own villa, as he had proven himself to be more than capable of command, rising through the ranks to become the Third Voice of the Chorus, the third highest rank in the entire order. For the moment, he had been assigned by the Chorus to be the liaison between the order and the Pearl Chamber. Aer was sometimes reluctant to let Pahal know just how happy he was that he’d returned, as the Siran seemed to still be uncomfortable readjusting to life in Naesre. “Don’t you have to appear at the palace tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Guess I should try to sleep, huh?” With that, Pahal closed his eyes.

“Yeah, you should.” Aer closed his eyes too, though his worries would keep him awake for hours longer. In hopes that he could at least help Pahal to rest, Aer gently brought the Siran into his embrace. One of us should get some rest, at least.

+++​

It was midday by the time Aer awakened. Pahal had already been gone some time, so Aer donned his ceremonial armor himself before setting out for Szaebalar uin Parceala’s villa. Taking his mount Ulargh from the stables, he set off. He was to one day be leader of Jabralah Kaghalie’s Ratarghane, but until she inherited her father’s succession, Aer was to serve Szaebalar directly as a Targhane. Szaebalar by now knew of Aer’s connection to his son, but did not speak of it, and in spite of this fact he had grown impressed with the Seshweay’s skills as he watched his bodyguards drill. Aer’s fluid movements were far more subtle than his Siran counterparts, and he was often able to catch them off guard.

Today’s drills proved to be nothing out of the ordinary, but instead of returning to Pahalar’s villa afterwards, Aer sought out Kaghie. He found her on a balcony, which from the villa’s position atop the bluffs in northern Naesre provided a full view of the harbor and the sea beyond it. “My lady Kaghalie-”

Kaghie turned to face him and chuckled. “Aer? Since when did you become so formal?”

An embarrassed smirk crossed Aer’s face. “Sorry, Kaghie, I just got out of drills. Your father is still Lord Szaebalar to me.”

“Lord Szaebalar? He should be having you call him father-in-law at this point, shouldn’t he?”

Aer grinned again. “Maybe so.” Then, recalling the reason why he had come to the lady in the first place, his demeanor darkened. “Kaghie, have you noticed Pahal being…different since he’s returned?”

Kaghie looked away from Aer, out at the Lovi, apparently attempting to maintain some level of nonchalance. “War changes men, Aer. So it has been for eons.”

“You and I both know that what’s happened to Pahal is far more grave than what becomes of the average soldier. It’s not just mourning over lost brethren, or even those he’s killed. He’s lost himself!”

The lady looked down, unable to meet Aer’s burning eyes. “What do you want me to say, Aer?”

With those words, the Seshweay’s fire was put out. “I…I don’t know, Kaghie. I feel powerless; I feel like I can’t help him this time. What do I do?”

“Just let him know you’re there; even if this is something only he can solve, he doesn’t have to be alone while solving it.”

Aer looked at the merchant ships going in and out of Naersre’s harbor, almost shuddering at the thought of his past. “No, he won’t be alone. I won’t let that happen ever again. The Chorus…”

“You know he only convinced you not to join because he cared, right? He didn’t want to see you go through that danger.”

“I know, but even so there are still scars left on his soul that may never heal. If I can go with him next time, maybe-”

“Maybe, Aer. In truth, I would have you go with him. Even he does not know how much he needs you. To be sure, Saer protected him, and ensured that his body survived, but Aer, I believe only you can save him from wandering astray of the Path.”

Aer contemplated for a moment Pahal’s face as he confessed his guilt, as he lamented over his lost Way. “I pledge to you, Kaghie, that I will dedicate everything that I am to Pahal, and his Path.”

Almost inaudibly, Kaghie said, as if in a prayer, “Pahal will do the same for you. Of this I have no doubt.” With that said, the lady turned to retire to her chambers. Aer bowed and looked on, seeing beyond Kaghie, seeing his own Path now laid clearly before him.

“For Pahal, and for the Light, anything. Nay, everything.” Aer felt the fire rekindle.

 

[Grandkhan]

"Where the enemy flees, do not merely pursue - for they will only flee to where they are strong. Guide them, as the dogs guide the lions, into where you and your hunting party wait. Only then can you achieve complete and total victory. - Vedes, The Tactics

The wild pig squealed shrilly as Andraxi's lance piereced its hide. Yet it ran still, requiring Mandrev, to ride it down and lance it.

"A crude attempt," laughed Mandrev. "You would be better served spearing it a little to the left."

Andraxi shrugged. "It's only a pig. I yearn for better beasts to hunt."

"A wise warrior looks to the task at hand, not for the task he is not given." An older man rode up.

"More of your proverbs, Vedes? I was not aware we were in the schoolroom," Andrastes said, rolling his eyes. Phares chucked as well, but Vedes was impassive behind his Red mask.

"Proverb or not, if you prepare for lion while you hunt the pig, you are preparing for failure," he said.

"I'm prepared, I'm prepared," the boy replied, flustered. "But know this: when I wear the Silver Mask, I shall have lions brought to my plains so that I can hunt them whenever I wish, rather than search for them and lancing only pigs."

"If you wear the Silver Mask," Mandrev said. "A king who forges his crown before his army has gathered, prepares only for defeat," he added, in his best imitation of Vedes' voice.

The Tarkan, at least, did not seem to take offense. "I am glad that you at least learned something from my lessons," he said, ignoring the mockery. "More than Sartosh's son, at least."

"I am strong, and I am cunning. I will become High Prince of Wind sooner or later," said Andraxi. "None can deny that my rule would be wise and great."

"Your ego preceeds you," Mandrev laughed. "What then, would you have the current Prince do?"

"My father is concerned with nought but the Heavens. His monasteries and temples bring him no earthly power. Taleldil is not concerned with monasteries and oracles - only with the glory that His people bring him. If I was Sartosh, I would ride down the Accans like a thunderbolt, crush them beneath my hooves, and conquer the Vellari. I would march on the High Oracle, and demand my rightful Mask, that of Gold, and I would lead the Satar on a glorious campaign against the Zalkephai! My empire would span the Earth, and I would be Arastephas reborn!"

"Your ambition is only matched by your lack of forethought," Vedes said evenly. "What of the Caroha? Would they permit your conquest of the Kern? And the Halyrate? And surely even the Cyvekt would not tolerate your intervention against the Zalkephai. You would make your enemies unite against you, crushing your nascent reign before it begins."

"And what, then, would you do?" Mandrev asked.

"Wait. The Vellari duel with their foes accross the Kern, and the Zalkephai struggle against an enemy who saps them. Let them struggle, and we shall see what comes of it, for the Zalkephai's war makes them only stronger, then attack will only bring us downfall."

"You wait for too long, Tarkan. You would see our advantage spent before we even lift a finger," grunted Andraxi.

"Then let our advantage be spent. The warrior who is patient seizes victory more than the warrior who is not, for even inaction is better than action at the wrong time. A man who spears the pig too early has wasted his thrust - but the man who does not can yet take the kill."

"Save it for a book, old man," the boy replied, shaking his head.

Behind his mask, Vedes smiled a little. "Perhaps I shall."

 

[Cannae]

Rihnit Household​

Basic Information: The Average Rihnit House is made from adobe, stone, bamboo, and wood. As the picture shows, the average Rihnit House includes four floors (including the basement). Rihnit Houses have occupants that include a person's immediate and extended family members. This is done for two main reasons. The first reason is that increased numbers means a greater level of safety against outsiders. The second reason is that having more occupants also provides extra financial and man power. The larger number of people both allows and requires Rihniti Houses to be large. Most Rihnit Houses have a perimeter of 900 to 1500 ft. Most Rihniti live in houses like these.

Spoiler :

Basement: It features the food and weapons storerooms, baths, weather loach ponds, as well as the sewers. The only other entrance into a Rihnit House aside through one of the front doors is through the house sewer. However, getting through the sewers is difficult as not only are there large metal grids blocking anybody attempting to get inside but the floor around the sewer exit is covered with spikes. If that wasn't enough, some Rihnit Families will rig the entrance with several waste traps. Anybody managing to break the metal grip open will then find human and animal waste being dumped on them.

Ground Floor: This is where everybody sleeps, goes to the bathroom, and eats. The central fireplace in the middle of the house functions as sort of a dining room/meeting place. All formal meetings within a family occur around the central fireplace. The main entrances of the Rihniti House are on this floor. Bone chimes and small pieces of metal are hung right outside the door. Moving the door will cause these chimes to rattle and make noise.

Second Floor: This floor is the place where Rihnit People will hang out if they've got no other work to do or if they're drying their clothing. If it's not extremely hot or cold out, people will often nap on this floor.

Third Floor: This floor includes the four bell towers and the chimney. The bell towers in this case also serve as a line of defense and alerting neighboring households of a nearby threat. Under each bell tower are two flags. These flags indicate what family, clan, and state the family of interest belongs to.

 

[Arrow Gamer]

Dancing with Bulls -- Part 1

His father’s spittle was the red of a dying man, escaping into the ground like a worm into the dirt. “Can’t be done.” His voice was as rough as his hands, cracked and dirty.

“But...”

“I know what you said, Hasen.” His voice was sharp now. Father had always been quick to anger. “It can’t be done. A sharecropper’s son cannot dance with bulls”

“So you say.” He was already turning to leave when his father caught his shoulder.

“Look at me.” There was a passion in his voice, tempered by a wheezing.

“No.” It hurt to look. To see. See what his father had become. A husk of himself. A shell.

“Look at me.” The wheezing was gone, replaced with cold steel. Out of fear and surprise, Hasen’s eyes snapped up, meeting his father’s. They were bloodshot, crossed with webs of red. A contrast to the pale white of his face, the hand on Hasen’s shoulder was firm. Behind his father was the farm, a rolling stretch of green broken only by the small shack they called home.

Suddenly, Hasen broke off his gaze. “I... can’t.” He turned, shaking off his father’s hand. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Please, son. Don’t.” Father never called him son.

“I am.” His voice was soft, and he wasn’t sure if his father heard him, but he didn’t bother to check.

He left the next morning. His father had left some money on the table, for which he was grateful. It would help him stay alive, until he could find a job in the city. The road was paved stone, a product of being on the route between Old Leun and Bryha, and he made good time. That night he slept in an inn, one of many along the road. The girls were pretty and flirted freely, but he did not pursue them too closely. There would be better in the city, and they would be begging him.

The bed was made with feathers and softer than he had ever known, but he did not sleep well. His fathers words echoed in his head. It can’t be done. He thanked the Goddess he had not taken a woman to bed: the tears he shed that night would not have been fit for a whore’s ears.

The morning dawned bright and hot, and he left early, walking into the sun. The grass was wilted from a long summer without rain, but the animals were alive. Overhead, eagles circled, fighting viciously before parting injured. At noon, he sat by the river and rested, nursing his blisters. He was reluctant to set out, and when he did the sun was well past its peak.

The day was long, the sun hanging over the horizon for what seemed like hours, but
even so night set in too quickly. He had lingered too long at the river, and now he was alone in the darkness.

The clatter of hooves on the packed dirt an hour later woke him from a walking sleep. Startling, yes, but he felt certain there was no cause for fear: what would a man with a horse need from a farmer’s son? The clattering grew louder, and suddenly he heard the horse panting loudly and a man grunting with exertion from behind. Then, a flash of white and a jarring crash into the dirt. His head hit the ground harshly, and for a moment he was completely disoriented.

Groaning, he tried to sit up, but was forced back down by a gloved hand. In a detached way, as if he was merely an observer, he registered that the gloves were of Tantaran silk. What’s a highwayman doing with that in his gloves? Red blurred his vision, and he could barely make out a black mask and an insignia -- a black arrow on red -- before closing his eyes. Something hard (A boot?) smashed into his head, and then blackness.

 

[Lord_Iggy]

The Fate of Wayfarers

It was a blustering day in the uplands of Helsia.

A small party of five pressed its way up a steep road. Two rode on horseback, while three others followed in a donkey-drawn wagon. Each belonged to the Faeoria Aramsayafa, Seventh Pillar.

Taeva, on a roan steed, scratched at his straight brown beard. His view drifted between the road ahead, and the yellow-green valley below. It had been a long and hot ride from Dremai- silent as well.

The young man looked over to his side. There, on a dark horse, rode Daen, his first cousin. His hair was a black wave, his face was smooth-shaven and angular, and Taeva had barely managed to extract a sentence from him in the whole trip.

“So...” Taeva began, in yet another attempt to initiate conversation, “Do you imagine that Laecanu will have anything to tell us about the latest expedition to the south?”

“No.”

“How about the Ieraitan mission in Sudomerae then?”

“Precious little.”

“Yes... the old man never seems to say much...”

Daen gave a curt nod of agreement- barely a head twitch. Taeva gave up once more, and chose to content himself with thoughtful. The conversation of the passengers behind him burbled quietly along, interrupted only by the clip-clop of hooves, the grinding squeaks of the cart, and the faint breath of the wind.

Time ground on, until at last, rather unexpectedly, Daen broke the silence.

“Cousin.” he spoke, quietly but severely, “Men ahead.”

Taeva's glassy eyes cleared, and he saw a group gathered before them on the road. They wore simple clothes, but their colourful tasseled sashes and distinctive bearing marked them as uplanders. The Aramsayafa scions noticed sheathed blades on their bodies. One man on horseback, bearing a red and yellow sash, stepped forwards towards the group, and gave them an interrogative glare, inviting the lowlanders to speak first.

“Aitah raehora, Taenan houaia. I am Taeva of the Seventh Aramsayafa, and these are my kin, Daen, Naelui, Hirohai and Aenae. We are traveling to Sakhelakhaia on Council Business.”

The stranger thought for a moment, and nodded.

“Good. My party has been dispatched to see to your safe and swift arrival in the High City.”

Taeva gave a sideways look at Daen, then back to the uplander.

“You needn't fear for our safety. The way is well-known to us.”

“Hospitality means much to the Faerouhaiaou. It is our duty to see you to the city gates.

“Your duty to whom?”

The uplander frowned, and seemed set to say something before he bit his tongue.

“Our duty is to no person. Not all oaths are sworn to another man. We protect that which matters most.”

“Ah.” murmured Taeva to himself, “Laecanu then. What game is the old master of ourhouse playing?” He nodded to the uplander, who gestured to his men. The two groups merged, and proceeded up the winding road.

“Aitah rehora, Taenan houaia...” echoed the Faerouhaiaouan after a brief silence, “Aitah guide, Teacher enlighten. I take it you are a well-read man, Taeva of the Seventh Pillar Aramsayafa.”

“I strive to be one.”

“Are you familiar with Salai's Slave?”

“Are there any of us who are not?”

The uplander gave Taeva a long, penetrating stare.

“Some of us have forgotten more than they would care to admit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Slave, 24:5.”

Taeva's mind rolled back through the years, as he attempted to recall the scene.

“Now, Lo'uk...” prompted the Faerouhaiaouan.

“...Lord of the Had, Master of Arms, do you learn the Fate of Tyrants.”

A great and unexpected blow struck Taeva in the back of the head, and he saw no more.