I understand that and support that.
It seems to me that he fights on, from some other PMs we exchanged, but as long as it ain't official, we stay.
Fall From Heaven NES
- Thread starter TheJopa
- Start date
I understand that and support that.
It seems to me that he fights on, from some other PMs we exchanged, but as long as it ain't official, we stay.
Ekolite
Deity
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2007
- Messages
- 5,451
The Last Gift
Alexis stood over the huge easel in her study, hardly daring to breathe, finishing her latest piece of art with a final, careful stroke of red paint. She stood back slowly and observed the piece. It was perfect, beautiful, and upon looking at she immediately recalled the event with such strength and vigour that she was forced to sit down. Grasping out behind her, she found a wooden stall which she collapsed upon. She would name this piece, ''The Ascension of Lord Agron', yes, the name was as perfect as the painting itself, with a wonderful double meaning that filled her with glee. It was a depiction of herself giving Agron the gift of Vampirism in reward for his discovery of the entrance to the Upper World. That was her first gift to him, and the painting would serve well as her last.
It was still dark outside, and she had been awake for over an hour, yet she didn't mind. After all, this would be her last day as a ruler of an Empire, and a great one at that. She was determined to enjoy every minute of it, and she had a lot of work to do before Agron awoke. She sat down at her desk and pulled out a long roll of parchment, she smoothed it out onto the desk, holding it at the corners with heavy paper weights shaped like the gargoyles that hung from the rooftops of the Palace. Finally she searched her draws for a quill and ink, yet none could be found.
''Blast!'' she exclaimed quietly. Ordinarily she would simply call for her servant, Morteros, but she didn't want him to discover what she was doing, for he would be sure to try to interfere if he found out. She bunched up the parchment and held it under her arm while slowly opening her door, not wanting to let it creak. She began to pace catlike, out of the room, carefully swinging the door shut behind her.
The hallway was pitch black and too dark for even her to see where she was going, so she held onto the wall for support and guidance. As she crept along the wide corridor she counted the doors that she passed under her breath, ''One... Two... Three...'', until she finally reached the twelfth door, which she unlocked with a heavy, bronze key and slipped inside. These were the Archives, the famous haunt of the Internal Affairs staff, and the only room in the Upper Palace that was not a bedroom. Thankfully, at this hour the room would be empty. She reached down to a small table near the door and picked up the small candle that stood there. Overnight the wax had dwindled down to almost nothing, but luckily it was still alight. She lit the lanterns that hung from the walls of the main office and settled down at the huge desk which was laden with the largest books and scrolls she had ever seen in all her immortal lifetime. Also on the desk was a small rack holding writing equipment, just as she knew there would be. Finally she laid her parchment on the desk and began to write.
''Dearest Agron, my Heart.
You have come so far in these short years that you have sat on the Council of Nobles, very far indeed. You have made many powerful allies, but also great enemies. Yet, with the wrath of Mighty Aeron himself you have crushed each one of them in turn. The Council lies in ruins, and the entire branch of Internal Affairs, the lawkeepers of this realm, are pawns that you alone can command. But for you this is not enough, and you know there is one final enemy that you must defeat, one final tradition which you must overcome. That tradition is me.
I have ruled since time immemorial. Many a Nobleman has tried to displace me during my reign, yet none has ever succeeded. None has ever been powerful or influential enough to defeat his Queen. However, when I look in your eyes, I see nothing but pure determination, I know you will never stop until you have the whole Empire at your disposal, and for this reason, I, the Great Queen Alexis, Former Archangel of Aeron himself, have feared for my life these past few months. I have watched your grip tighten over all areas of government, watched as Noblemen, servants and Moroi alike swore allegiance to you. Of you I was afraid.
I could trust no one. Not even you, my closest companion. And as my Brother slowly began to crawl his way back to Prespur and our Allies one by one betrayed us my fear increased, and depression reared it ugly head. Yet you came to my aid, you protected and cared for me, and it was then, when I looked you in the eye I realised something that not even you had counted on. You too, were afraid. You were afraid that if I was destroyed then your plans would be ruined. The Nobles and peasants alike would be in uproar, and as you sat upon the Throne preaching to an empty Council Chamber the Regiments of all the Noble Famillies would be besieging the Palace, just waiting for you step outside. You had come to realise that the Empire and its Queen are not as separate as you had thought, they never have been. I am the Empire, Agron. Destroy me, and the Empire will fall before my corpse is cold.
The Council call me the Puppet Queen, and for all this time that's what I have been. Yet no longer will I be disgraced with this role. I am tired of this life, this black conspiracy. I have watched you grow in power, and as I began to know you I saw what a Great King you could be. The Empire will surely need a strong leader if it is to defeat the barbarians and warlocks of the Amurite Empire, and fend off the vengeful influence of Flauros, my brother. I am not this leader, but I feel that you may well be. I hope it with all my heart Agron. My days as Queen are over, they have been for a long time, but I have no intention of falling to your blade . It is for this reason that on this day I hereby cede the Empire to you, King Agron the Successor, on the condition that I may remain the Religious Leader of the Natural Order and retain my title as the Lady Alexis. A privilege that, for the stability of the Empire, you cannot deny me. The ceremony of succession will take place today at noon, should you accept this offer.
Finally, I give you my blessing to marry the half-elf girl, Asterna Lae. She will make a fine Queen.
Yours,
Lady Alexis.''
At last, for the first time in almost a month, she smiled. Now she could get the rest she truly deserved. She sealed the letter in an envelope and slid it under the door of Agron's Office, before making her way back to her bed.
---
Agron sat, in the black-dark room, with the dagger balanced on his lap, shaking in fear. He had never suspected his plan to come so close to success. He had never truly expected to be facing the final obstacle along his path to glory, he had never expected this day would come. The day he murdered Alexis and claimed the Throne for himself. He had tried to sleep, but in his heart of hearts he knew he would have no rest. After all, there was no rest for the wicked, and wicked is just what he had become. As he had tossed and turned in his bed, he had realised the stupidity of his actions, he realised that the Empire could not survive without Alexis, not even under his rule. She was the stuff of legend, the peasantry adored her in a way that was akin to the worship of a Goddess, and while Noblemen had tried and failed to assassinate her in years gone by, he now realised that none of them had ever really believed it could work. They knew that they could never rule the Empire, but Agron had been blinded by ambition, and now he would pay the price. He had come too far to turn back now, there were other people involved, other people that would destroy him if he went back on his word, including the Lord Yrain, an old friend of Agron who had become a Vampire shortly after him and now commanded the entire army of the Empire. A powerful man, one of the few that could destroy him.
Presently, a low creak echoed across the dark room, disturbing Agron from his thoughts. Lamp after lamp was lit and soon the Archives were awash with light, yet only a few slithers shone through the heavy curtains that separated his private office from view. He peered through a gap in the curtains, and saw, in horror, that Alexis was now sitting at the main desk of the Archives.
This was his chance! It was as if Aeron himself was punishing his wickedness by pushing the Queen upon him, daring him to make his move, while knowing he could not. He played with the long knife in his hands, making small stabbing motions without even noticing his actions. His breathing deepened, and quickened with his pulse. She was so close! Agron hadn't even had time to wonder what she was doing in the chamber at this time of night, but she had begun to write, quill scratching across the thin parchment. It seemed to go on for millennia, whilst Agron imagined Aeron laughing at him, knowing all along that he would never dare to kill his Archangel. After all, even if he managed to trick the nobility and peasants of the Empire, Agron could never deceive its God.
Finally, Alexis finished writing, and slipped the letter under his door, before exiting the room, leaving the lamps to burn themselves out. As Agron saw this letter he became filled with curiosity. Could this be a trick? What could she possibly have to tell him?
He waited until her footsteps faded away down the hallway before he dared even touch the envelope. But as soon as she was gone he bent down and slit it open with his knife. As he read the letter, the knife dropped to the floor and he cried a great prayer of relief and thanks to Aeron, who had been vigilant and supportive after all. He must have been, because Agron now knew he had won at last!
He got up and began to walk back to his room, leaving the knife but taking the letter. Perhaps now he would be able to sleep...
Alexis stood over the huge easel in her study, hardly daring to breathe, finishing her latest piece of art with a final, careful stroke of red paint. She stood back slowly and observed the piece. It was perfect, beautiful, and upon looking at she immediately recalled the event with such strength and vigour that she was forced to sit down. Grasping out behind her, she found a wooden stall which she collapsed upon. She would name this piece, ''The Ascension of Lord Agron', yes, the name was as perfect as the painting itself, with a wonderful double meaning that filled her with glee. It was a depiction of herself giving Agron the gift of Vampirism in reward for his discovery of the entrance to the Upper World. That was her first gift to him, and the painting would serve well as her last.
It was still dark outside, and she had been awake for over an hour, yet she didn't mind. After all, this would be her last day as a ruler of an Empire, and a great one at that. She was determined to enjoy every minute of it, and she had a lot of work to do before Agron awoke. She sat down at her desk and pulled out a long roll of parchment, she smoothed it out onto the desk, holding it at the corners with heavy paper weights shaped like the gargoyles that hung from the rooftops of the Palace. Finally she searched her draws for a quill and ink, yet none could be found.
''Blast!'' she exclaimed quietly. Ordinarily she would simply call for her servant, Morteros, but she didn't want him to discover what she was doing, for he would be sure to try to interfere if he found out. She bunched up the parchment and held it under her arm while slowly opening her door, not wanting to let it creak. She began to pace catlike, out of the room, carefully swinging the door shut behind her.
The hallway was pitch black and too dark for even her to see where she was going, so she held onto the wall for support and guidance. As she crept along the wide corridor she counted the doors that she passed under her breath, ''One... Two... Three...'', until she finally reached the twelfth door, which she unlocked with a heavy, bronze key and slipped inside. These were the Archives, the famous haunt of the Internal Affairs staff, and the only room in the Upper Palace that was not a bedroom. Thankfully, at this hour the room would be empty. She reached down to a small table near the door and picked up the small candle that stood there. Overnight the wax had dwindled down to almost nothing, but luckily it was still alight. She lit the lanterns that hung from the walls of the main office and settled down at the huge desk which was laden with the largest books and scrolls she had ever seen in all her immortal lifetime. Also on the desk was a small rack holding writing equipment, just as she knew there would be. Finally she laid her parchment on the desk and began to write.
''Dearest Agron, my Heart.
You have come so far in these short years that you have sat on the Council of Nobles, very far indeed. You have made many powerful allies, but also great enemies. Yet, with the wrath of Mighty Aeron himself you have crushed each one of them in turn. The Council lies in ruins, and the entire branch of Internal Affairs, the lawkeepers of this realm, are pawns that you alone can command. But for you this is not enough, and you know there is one final enemy that you must defeat, one final tradition which you must overcome. That tradition is me.
I have ruled since time immemorial. Many a Nobleman has tried to displace me during my reign, yet none has ever succeeded. None has ever been powerful or influential enough to defeat his Queen. However, when I look in your eyes, I see nothing but pure determination, I know you will never stop until you have the whole Empire at your disposal, and for this reason, I, the Great Queen Alexis, Former Archangel of Aeron himself, have feared for my life these past few months. I have watched your grip tighten over all areas of government, watched as Noblemen, servants and Moroi alike swore allegiance to you. Of you I was afraid.
I could trust no one. Not even you, my closest companion. And as my Brother slowly began to crawl his way back to Prespur and our Allies one by one betrayed us my fear increased, and depression reared it ugly head. Yet you came to my aid, you protected and cared for me, and it was then, when I looked you in the eye I realised something that not even you had counted on. You too, were afraid. You were afraid that if I was destroyed then your plans would be ruined. The Nobles and peasants alike would be in uproar, and as you sat upon the Throne preaching to an empty Council Chamber the Regiments of all the Noble Famillies would be besieging the Palace, just waiting for you step outside. You had come to realise that the Empire and its Queen are not as separate as you had thought, they never have been. I am the Empire, Agron. Destroy me, and the Empire will fall before my corpse is cold.
The Council call me the Puppet Queen, and for all this time that's what I have been. Yet no longer will I be disgraced with this role. I am tired of this life, this black conspiracy. I have watched you grow in power, and as I began to know you I saw what a Great King you could be. The Empire will surely need a strong leader if it is to defeat the barbarians and warlocks of the Amurite Empire, and fend off the vengeful influence of Flauros, my brother. I am not this leader, but I feel that you may well be. I hope it with all my heart Agron. My days as Queen are over, they have been for a long time, but I have no intention of falling to your blade . It is for this reason that on this day I hereby cede the Empire to you, King Agron the Successor, on the condition that I may remain the Religious Leader of the Natural Order and retain my title as the Lady Alexis. A privilege that, for the stability of the Empire, you cannot deny me. The ceremony of succession will take place today at noon, should you accept this offer.
Finally, I give you my blessing to marry the half-elf girl, Asterna Lae. She will make a fine Queen.
Yours,
Lady Alexis.''
At last, for the first time in almost a month, she smiled. Now she could get the rest she truly deserved. She sealed the letter in an envelope and slid it under the door of Agron's Office, before making her way back to her bed.
---
Agron sat, in the black-dark room, with the dagger balanced on his lap, shaking in fear. He had never suspected his plan to come so close to success. He had never truly expected to be facing the final obstacle along his path to glory, he had never expected this day would come. The day he murdered Alexis and claimed the Throne for himself. He had tried to sleep, but in his heart of hearts he knew he would have no rest. After all, there was no rest for the wicked, and wicked is just what he had become. As he had tossed and turned in his bed, he had realised the stupidity of his actions, he realised that the Empire could not survive without Alexis, not even under his rule. She was the stuff of legend, the peasantry adored her in a way that was akin to the worship of a Goddess, and while Noblemen had tried and failed to assassinate her in years gone by, he now realised that none of them had ever really believed it could work. They knew that they could never rule the Empire, but Agron had been blinded by ambition, and now he would pay the price. He had come too far to turn back now, there were other people involved, other people that would destroy him if he went back on his word, including the Lord Yrain, an old friend of Agron who had become a Vampire shortly after him and now commanded the entire army of the Empire. A powerful man, one of the few that could destroy him.
Presently, a low creak echoed across the dark room, disturbing Agron from his thoughts. Lamp after lamp was lit and soon the Archives were awash with light, yet only a few slithers shone through the heavy curtains that separated his private office from view. He peered through a gap in the curtains, and saw, in horror, that Alexis was now sitting at the main desk of the Archives.
This was his chance! It was as if Aeron himself was punishing his wickedness by pushing the Queen upon him, daring him to make his move, while knowing he could not. He played with the long knife in his hands, making small stabbing motions without even noticing his actions. His breathing deepened, and quickened with his pulse. She was so close! Agron hadn't even had time to wonder what she was doing in the chamber at this time of night, but she had begun to write, quill scratching across the thin parchment. It seemed to go on for millennia, whilst Agron imagined Aeron laughing at him, knowing all along that he would never dare to kill his Archangel. After all, even if he managed to trick the nobility and peasants of the Empire, Agron could never deceive its God.
Finally, Alexis finished writing, and slipped the letter under his door, before exiting the room, leaving the lamps to burn themselves out. As Agron saw this letter he became filled with curiosity. Could this be a trick? What could she possibly have to tell him?
He waited until her footsteps faded away down the hallway before he dared even touch the envelope. But as soon as she was gone he bent down and slit it open with his knife. As he read the letter, the knife dropped to the floor and he cried a great prayer of relief and thanks to Aeron, who had been vigilant and supportive after all. He must have been, because Agron now knew he had won at last!
He got up and began to walk back to his room, leaving the knife but taking the letter. Perhaps now he would be able to sleep...
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
VERY good story. It just keeps getting better and better.
Also, it allows for a very stable change in leadership.
i had written something and was about to post it when i came to the forum but when i saw what you wrote, i decided to wait.
Again,excellent writing.
Also, it allows for a very stable change in leadership.
i had written something and was about to post it when i came to the forum but when i saw what you wrote, i decided to wait.
Again,excellent writing.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Agreed. You can tell that you take a lot more care in this game as time progresses and thats a beautiful thing.
Something about some villagers and how the embargo forces them to make choices (from the point of view of a spy).
Anyway...
i am looking forward to everyone getting their diplomacy all figured out. I want to find out what happens.
Except for that, my orders are done.
It seems we are waiting on algeroth (from what has been posted) and if it were another nation that isn't at a heart of a prolonged war, i would just say lets just go and Jopa can NPC him for the turn, but since its the Kuriotates, we should wait a while longer.
I loved the last story!
About Algeroth:
I'm not eager to NPC him even for a turn, as I have no idea what are his plans. But I guess no orders means no deals, so in that case war goes on. But even that leaves questions on military operations.
About Algeroth:
I'm not eager to NPC him even for a turn, as I have no idea what are his plans. But I guess no orders means no deals, so in that case war goes on. But even that leaves questions on military operations.
Ekolite
Deity
- Joined
- Sep 15, 2007
- Messages
- 5,451
I agree, I think what happens with the Kuriotates this turn is going to have a big impact on what happens in the next few turns. I think we should wait for him.
Besides, I still need to send in my orders
.
That last story will probably be the last chapter in the Agron series, which is entitled ''The Ascension of Lord Agron''
.
That is not to say that it will be my last story, I just need some fresh characters
.
Besides, I still need to send in my orders
.That last story will probably be the last chapter in the Agron series, which is entitled ''The Ascension of Lord Agron''
. That is not to say that it will be my last story, I just need some fresh characters
.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
I agree- we wait. I was saying exactly that- "we shouldn't NPC him".
Maybe next turn we just put a hard limit on when orders are due though...?
Maybe next turn we just put a hard limit on when orders are due though...?
Well limit is already in place, it just ain't 'hard'- update is (supposed to be) in Sunday, and if your orders aren't in by Saturday or Sunday morning (EU time), you missed orders. But as I said, it isn't hard so if we agree to wait, we wait.
loki1232
Loki
I'd prefer to wait.
arcticnightwolf
Emperor
- Joined
- Jun 8, 2008
- Messages
- 1,301
That is not to say that it will be my last story, I just need some fresh characters
You can borrow my Cassiel (as one of your last (traderoute-)allies) ... ((
btw: great story!
orangelex44
Partisan
Yeah, I'm with LDiC on this. When can we just say "Algeroth isn't responding", and finish orders?
orangelex44
Partisan
Yeah, that's fine for me. I'm OK with a delay, I just want to make sure I know when, exactly, orders have to be in by.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
The door slammed shut with a resounding crash. The winter winds had caught it as it swung on its hinges and thrown it violently against its frame sending cold crystals of snow dancing crazily along the floor. It was warm and bright in the busy coffee-house but outside a winter gale off the Manticore coast was burying the world in foot after foot of thick, wet snow. Snowdrifts were accumulating that could bury man or even a single-story home. Already the roads were completely impassable to all but the most determined skiers or snowshoe-clad travellers.
The three individuals who had just entered were obviously of the first variety. All three wore winter parkas of moose-hide and sheep’s wool and had their legs tied in similar winter hides. Teary, tired eyes peaked out from frost-covered furs. As they removed their furs and hung their skis by the entrance, Akçay Otan took the time to observe them. That, after all, is what he did; he observed.
The group was obviously a family, a father, a mother and a teenage child. The father wore a long white skeesh (the long robes that Amurites of both genders wear that covers them from head to toe leaving only the hands and eyes uncovered) and had a tired, but confident stance. He was large and even through his thick robes Akçay could tell he was well-built and probably strong as a Balseraph bull. The mother was much smaller with a very delicate build. Her skeesh was made up of subdued maroon and brown patterns depicting birds in flight. Her face and hands were paler then most and her eyes were a deep liquid blue. As she removed her coat and helped unlace her child’s winter hides, he marvelled at the delicacy and grace of those slim wrists. Even from the little bit he could see of her, Akçay knew she was a beautiful creature. The child was a girl, and obviously the most tired from the journey. Her cheeks were a bright flaming red from cold exposure, all the more so for the pale colour she shared with her mother.
Akçay was about to peek into their minds when the waitress interrupted him, “Care for another ‘Red Monk’?” she asked. Red Monk was the popular light-colored and light-tasting lager that the Amurite breweries had started producing and which had quickly proven very popular with the tea and coffee- drinking locals. It was much more popular in summer than winter. There were already two empty bottles on the table before him.
“Please and thank-you,” Akçay answered more formally than he had intended. The waitress took the two empty bottles and resumed her rounds.
Akçay looked for the family and found that they had settled into a warm place by the fire. All three were huddled around warm steaming mugs, probably coffee or tea, or the less popular warm apple cider. The man and daughter were deeply engrossed in their drink, cupping them firmly to warm their hands as they blew away the steam and sipping carefully. The mother was more alert, scanning the crowd much like Akçay did himself. She caught his gaze and didn’t look away. Akçay pretended not to be watching and focused on the fire beyond them.
The coffee-house was busy. No one wanted to stay at home on such a cold night. A little coffee, or beer, some conversation and a good roaring fire to keep you warm was much preferable for most of the villagers.
At a long table near the door the conversation was getting more and more heated. A man dressed in the Ecclesial robes of Junil’s order was arguing with an obviously very intoxicated man regarding the Calabim embargo. It seemed that everywhere Akçay went, the conversation was the same. Good, he thought, that made his job easier.
“Now, now,” the priest was saying, trying to be overheard over the shouting man in a grey spotted and obviously well-worn sheesh, “its not the Calabim people who are stealing souls. Its the vampire nobles. The people themselves are the victims in all this.”
Akçay looked into the priest’s mind. Junil protect us; everywhere I go I have to have the same conversation. These people don’t care about their fellow man’s soul. All they care about is a fight. Akçay smiled; he had thought similar thoughts on many occasions.
“Junil damn them all. They serve these dark monsters willingly. That makes them just as bad as the monsters themselves,” the man spoke surprising well considering how much lager he had spilt and the manner in which his finger wove back and forth drunkenly in front of him as he spoke. Arggghhh…. I hope Yalçin’s still awake when I get home; I could go for a good… Akçay left the man’s mind before he witnessed more then he had to.
Another man came to the rescue of his drunken friend, “He’s right. They have this caste society and the higher caste basically sell out the lower castes to the vampires in exchange for protection and favours. Its as corrupt as possible. The Caswellan rule had nothing on these fellows. People are live-stock. We’ve all heard tales of the Kraltavoi pits. You don’t even have to be found guilty of a crime to be thrown in the pits. Its enough that a family member even acts suspiciously and poof! Next thing you know they’re sewing you to ol’ Jim the leper.” His words didn’t match his thoughts Akçay found, I wonder if that waitress will slap me if I give her bum a little pinch. Only one way to find out I guess…
The conversation continued with the priest trying to illuminate the many, mostly inebriated men, trying to turn the conversation to souls, the many afterlives, and the theft of souls from one vault to another but the task was too great. The men were obviously already decided that any Calabim was no better then their masters. Some provided arguments to back their claim but most had drunk too much to let logic have any room in their decisions.
Akçay scanned some of the quieter men and women as they chatted amongst themselves, sipping occasionally at a ceramic mug or bowl. Most, he found, were also thinking of the Calabim embargo, though many were speaking of the freakish blizzard; presumably it didn’t require much thought to speak about the weather. It was hard not to turn one’s thoughts to the embargo with such a riotous discussion regarding the subject dominating the soundscape. What Akçay found was uglier than he had anticipated. These men and women, apparently calm, quiet villagers, had been driven into quite a state by what they had heard from travellers and merchants regarding the pits and the rescue of their inhabitants. Others had heard more from their local priests who had warned, speaking on a topical subject, of the Calabim lords’ penchant for souls and how their feeding prevented the soul of even the most devout from entering Junil’s heaven. This obviously scared the more devout patrons of the coffee-house and their thoughts reflected that fear.
Akçay returned his attention to the family of three. He couldn’t hear their conversation but they seemed agitated and kept stealing glances throughout the room fugitively. He began with the father. Its been a long time since I have been back home and things don’t change much. Still the same coffee-house. Still the same snow-storms. I know this will be scary for Olios and Payayan and they’ll have to keep quiet until they can hide their accents, but still its nice to be home. This was odd and certainly not what Akçay had expected. He turned his attention to the mother, presumably her name was Olios. And was greeted with a great wall of roaring nothing. Her thoughts were locked up tight behind a wall of dull constant noise like the crackling of electricity in the mage’s labs. He sent a spell-probe along the wall, looking for openings, gently tapping it and trying to tease an opening. Immediately the women’s pale blue eyes turned to him and Akçay knew that she was aware of his attempts. Her eyes turned up and her jaw clenched in a silent snarl under her sheesh. He had been warned.
Luckily for him, the guilty moment was broken by the sudden appearance of two identical screaming and laughing young girls of approximately 11 winters running out from a backroom, their spotted and dirty sheeshes wet and greasy to the elbows. They obviously having been washing dishes in the back. Seeing a potential new playmate, they raced over to the newly arrived family, and like curious villagers in any small town, proceeded to question her. “What’s your name? Where are you from? How old are you? Do you want to play with us?”
The girl, who’s name was probably Payayan, responded unexpectedly. She quickly covered her mouth and turned to her mother with intense fear in her eyes. This was interesting. Akçay peeked into her mind… and found that her thoughts were in the Calabim tongue. His mind magic was able to pierce the language barrier none-the-less, If I say anything, they’ll know I’m from Calabim. They’ll learn that momma is moroi. Why did daddy make us come back to his lands. We were happy with mommy’s master. That stupid embargo; its all the amurite’s fault, them and their stupid love for the coin. What do I say? Mommy!!!
Moroi eh? That would explain the wall of static that Oloi had used to protect herself. Presumably the vampire’s guards and soldiers had some protection from mind magic.
This was going to get bad very quickly Akçay thought. The villagers were barely contained as it was. If they learnt that a Calabim, a calabim moroi no less was here with them tonight it wouldn’t take long for them to degenerate into a mob and someone would get hurt, maybe even killed.
Akçay had to act. But first he needed information. Distaining any pretence at subtlety, he sent a wickedly sharp mind probe at the moroi women. He flicked through her thought like an ancient tomb. She was aware of his efforts no doubt for she had turned her attention away from her child and stared at him in obvious discomfort and anger. Her hands, curled into claws, gripped the table edge so tight her knuckles were turning white. But Akçay learned what he needed. These three had had to choose between her husbands’ people and his family or the mother’s people. Her family had passed some time ago, so for the sake of the daughter, when the borders between the two nations had gone up, she had forsaken her vampire master and followed her husband to his homeland. Now her daughter would have an extended family and they would be safer if the embargo tightened much more. Akçay was satisfied that she was not a spy or saboteur.
The two younger girls had glanced briefly at Payayan’s mother but had returned to their questioning, “Can’t you speak? Are you dumb? My brother’s gone to school. He’s the first one in our family to go. Did you daddy go to school? How does your family live? Are you merchants?” Payayan was truly upset now. Her mother was obviously in some distress and would not be of assistance, Maybe I can just say a few words, like maybe my name. A name doesn’t have an accent does it? A name isn’t in one language or another is it?”
Payayan pointed to herself, “Payayan”.
This was all the encouragement the girls needed, “I’m Rachel and this is Kamelya. We live in the coffee-house.”
“Well, not in the coffee-house where people drink and talk. Upstairs.” Kalmelya interjected.
“We wash the dishes and burn the beans but daddy says we can only have 2 cups in the morning and none at night,” Rachel continued.
“But we don’t listen. We’ve been drinking coffee all evening and daddy doesn’t know.” Kalmelya continued, “He’s too worried about the embargo. He thinks we won’t be able to get honey and olive-oil anymore and that’s bad for some reason. Hey! Do you like honey? We know where Daddy keeps it. Come with us”
Akçay had another peek into Payayan’s mind. She could obviously understand the majority of what they were saying but didn’t feel confident to speak. She was getting more and more scared.
Her father and mother were trying to distract the twin girls but to no avail and some of the patrons at other tables at turned their attention to the quiet young girl who refused to speak when asked a question.
Akçay had seen enough. Potentially, the situation was explosive. He had to do something. He would cast a spell, one much more powerful than the mind-probes he had been using, and make young Payayan think and speak in Amurite; it would also help her focus and calm her. The spell would be tiring and he needed all his focus. Suddenly Akçay wished he had been drinking tea or coffee instead of beer.
A few quick magical words spoken with very deliberate and careful enunciation and suddenly Payayan said, in perfect Nimarail-accented amurite, “Yes. Lets get some honey. Won’t your parents catch us?”
The spell had not gone unnoticed. The moroi warrior had been trained to spot the casting of these magics, but she was not upset.
The calabim women smiled at Akçay. Akçay, tiredly, smiled back. And the three girls ran giggling through the aisles.
Outside, the snow was slowing.
The three individuals who had just entered were obviously of the first variety. All three wore winter parkas of moose-hide and sheep’s wool and had their legs tied in similar winter hides. Teary, tired eyes peaked out from frost-covered furs. As they removed their furs and hung their skis by the entrance, Akçay Otan took the time to observe them. That, after all, is what he did; he observed.
The group was obviously a family, a father, a mother and a teenage child. The father wore a long white skeesh (the long robes that Amurites of both genders wear that covers them from head to toe leaving only the hands and eyes uncovered) and had a tired, but confident stance. He was large and even through his thick robes Akçay could tell he was well-built and probably strong as a Balseraph bull. The mother was much smaller with a very delicate build. Her skeesh was made up of subdued maroon and brown patterns depicting birds in flight. Her face and hands were paler then most and her eyes were a deep liquid blue. As she removed her coat and helped unlace her child’s winter hides, he marvelled at the delicacy and grace of those slim wrists. Even from the little bit he could see of her, Akçay knew she was a beautiful creature. The child was a girl, and obviously the most tired from the journey. Her cheeks were a bright flaming red from cold exposure, all the more so for the pale colour she shared with her mother.
Akçay was about to peek into their minds when the waitress interrupted him, “Care for another ‘Red Monk’?” she asked. Red Monk was the popular light-colored and light-tasting lager that the Amurite breweries had started producing and which had quickly proven very popular with the tea and coffee- drinking locals. It was much more popular in summer than winter. There were already two empty bottles on the table before him.
“Please and thank-you,” Akçay answered more formally than he had intended. The waitress took the two empty bottles and resumed her rounds.
Akçay looked for the family and found that they had settled into a warm place by the fire. All three were huddled around warm steaming mugs, probably coffee or tea, or the less popular warm apple cider. The man and daughter were deeply engrossed in their drink, cupping them firmly to warm their hands as they blew away the steam and sipping carefully. The mother was more alert, scanning the crowd much like Akçay did himself. She caught his gaze and didn’t look away. Akçay pretended not to be watching and focused on the fire beyond them.
The coffee-house was busy. No one wanted to stay at home on such a cold night. A little coffee, or beer, some conversation and a good roaring fire to keep you warm was much preferable for most of the villagers.
At a long table near the door the conversation was getting more and more heated. A man dressed in the Ecclesial robes of Junil’s order was arguing with an obviously very intoxicated man regarding the Calabim embargo. It seemed that everywhere Akçay went, the conversation was the same. Good, he thought, that made his job easier.
“Now, now,” the priest was saying, trying to be overheard over the shouting man in a grey spotted and obviously well-worn sheesh, “its not the Calabim people who are stealing souls. Its the vampire nobles. The people themselves are the victims in all this.”
Akçay looked into the priest’s mind. Junil protect us; everywhere I go I have to have the same conversation. These people don’t care about their fellow man’s soul. All they care about is a fight. Akçay smiled; he had thought similar thoughts on many occasions.
“Junil damn them all. They serve these dark monsters willingly. That makes them just as bad as the monsters themselves,” the man spoke surprising well considering how much lager he had spilt and the manner in which his finger wove back and forth drunkenly in front of him as he spoke. Arggghhh…. I hope Yalçin’s still awake when I get home; I could go for a good… Akçay left the man’s mind before he witnessed more then he had to.
Another man came to the rescue of his drunken friend, “He’s right. They have this caste society and the higher caste basically sell out the lower castes to the vampires in exchange for protection and favours. Its as corrupt as possible. The Caswellan rule had nothing on these fellows. People are live-stock. We’ve all heard tales of the Kraltavoi pits. You don’t even have to be found guilty of a crime to be thrown in the pits. Its enough that a family member even acts suspiciously and poof! Next thing you know they’re sewing you to ol’ Jim the leper.” His words didn’t match his thoughts Akçay found, I wonder if that waitress will slap me if I give her bum a little pinch. Only one way to find out I guess…
The conversation continued with the priest trying to illuminate the many, mostly inebriated men, trying to turn the conversation to souls, the many afterlives, and the theft of souls from one vault to another but the task was too great. The men were obviously already decided that any Calabim was no better then their masters. Some provided arguments to back their claim but most had drunk too much to let logic have any room in their decisions.
Akçay scanned some of the quieter men and women as they chatted amongst themselves, sipping occasionally at a ceramic mug or bowl. Most, he found, were also thinking of the Calabim embargo, though many were speaking of the freakish blizzard; presumably it didn’t require much thought to speak about the weather. It was hard not to turn one’s thoughts to the embargo with such a riotous discussion regarding the subject dominating the soundscape. What Akçay found was uglier than he had anticipated. These men and women, apparently calm, quiet villagers, had been driven into quite a state by what they had heard from travellers and merchants regarding the pits and the rescue of their inhabitants. Others had heard more from their local priests who had warned, speaking on a topical subject, of the Calabim lords’ penchant for souls and how their feeding prevented the soul of even the most devout from entering Junil’s heaven. This obviously scared the more devout patrons of the coffee-house and their thoughts reflected that fear.
Akçay returned his attention to the family of three. He couldn’t hear their conversation but they seemed agitated and kept stealing glances throughout the room fugitively. He began with the father. Its been a long time since I have been back home and things don’t change much. Still the same coffee-house. Still the same snow-storms. I know this will be scary for Olios and Payayan and they’ll have to keep quiet until they can hide their accents, but still its nice to be home. This was odd and certainly not what Akçay had expected. He turned his attention to the mother, presumably her name was Olios. And was greeted with a great wall of roaring nothing. Her thoughts were locked up tight behind a wall of dull constant noise like the crackling of electricity in the mage’s labs. He sent a spell-probe along the wall, looking for openings, gently tapping it and trying to tease an opening. Immediately the women’s pale blue eyes turned to him and Akçay knew that she was aware of his attempts. Her eyes turned up and her jaw clenched in a silent snarl under her sheesh. He had been warned.
Luckily for him, the guilty moment was broken by the sudden appearance of two identical screaming and laughing young girls of approximately 11 winters running out from a backroom, their spotted and dirty sheeshes wet and greasy to the elbows. They obviously having been washing dishes in the back. Seeing a potential new playmate, they raced over to the newly arrived family, and like curious villagers in any small town, proceeded to question her. “What’s your name? Where are you from? How old are you? Do you want to play with us?”
The girl, who’s name was probably Payayan, responded unexpectedly. She quickly covered her mouth and turned to her mother with intense fear in her eyes. This was interesting. Akçay peeked into her mind… and found that her thoughts were in the Calabim tongue. His mind magic was able to pierce the language barrier none-the-less, If I say anything, they’ll know I’m from Calabim. They’ll learn that momma is moroi. Why did daddy make us come back to his lands. We were happy with mommy’s master. That stupid embargo; its all the amurite’s fault, them and their stupid love for the coin. What do I say? Mommy!!!
Moroi eh? That would explain the wall of static that Oloi had used to protect herself. Presumably the vampire’s guards and soldiers had some protection from mind magic.
This was going to get bad very quickly Akçay thought. The villagers were barely contained as it was. If they learnt that a Calabim, a calabim moroi no less was here with them tonight it wouldn’t take long for them to degenerate into a mob and someone would get hurt, maybe even killed.
Akçay had to act. But first he needed information. Distaining any pretence at subtlety, he sent a wickedly sharp mind probe at the moroi women. He flicked through her thought like an ancient tomb. She was aware of his efforts no doubt for she had turned her attention away from her child and stared at him in obvious discomfort and anger. Her hands, curled into claws, gripped the table edge so tight her knuckles were turning white. But Akçay learned what he needed. These three had had to choose between her husbands’ people and his family or the mother’s people. Her family had passed some time ago, so for the sake of the daughter, when the borders between the two nations had gone up, she had forsaken her vampire master and followed her husband to his homeland. Now her daughter would have an extended family and they would be safer if the embargo tightened much more. Akçay was satisfied that she was not a spy or saboteur.
The two younger girls had glanced briefly at Payayan’s mother but had returned to their questioning, “Can’t you speak? Are you dumb? My brother’s gone to school. He’s the first one in our family to go. Did you daddy go to school? How does your family live? Are you merchants?” Payayan was truly upset now. Her mother was obviously in some distress and would not be of assistance, Maybe I can just say a few words, like maybe my name. A name doesn’t have an accent does it? A name isn’t in one language or another is it?”
Payayan pointed to herself, “Payayan”.
This was all the encouragement the girls needed, “I’m Rachel and this is Kamelya. We live in the coffee-house.”
“Well, not in the coffee-house where people drink and talk. Upstairs.” Kalmelya interjected.
“We wash the dishes and burn the beans but daddy says we can only have 2 cups in the morning and none at night,” Rachel continued.
“But we don’t listen. We’ve been drinking coffee all evening and daddy doesn’t know.” Kalmelya continued, “He’s too worried about the embargo. He thinks we won’t be able to get honey and olive-oil anymore and that’s bad for some reason. Hey! Do you like honey? We know where Daddy keeps it. Come with us”
Akçay had another peek into Payayan’s mind. She could obviously understand the majority of what they were saying but didn’t feel confident to speak. She was getting more and more scared.
Her father and mother were trying to distract the twin girls but to no avail and some of the patrons at other tables at turned their attention to the quiet young girl who refused to speak when asked a question.
Akçay had seen enough. Potentially, the situation was explosive. He had to do something. He would cast a spell, one much more powerful than the mind-probes he had been using, and make young Payayan think and speak in Amurite; it would also help her focus and calm her. The spell would be tiring and he needed all his focus. Suddenly Akçay wished he had been drinking tea or coffee instead of beer.
A few quick magical words spoken with very deliberate and careful enunciation and suddenly Payayan said, in perfect Nimarail-accented amurite, “Yes. Lets get some honey. Won’t your parents catch us?”
The spell had not gone unnoticed. The moroi warrior had been trained to spot the casting of these magics, but she was not upset.
The calabim women smiled at Akçay. Akçay, tiredly, smiled back. And the three girls ran giggling through the aisles.
Outside, the snow was slowing.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
So yeah, i did some editing and decided to post it anyway.
Thats my attempt at a story. If you have any suggestions (especially Kol) about how i can improve my writing, i would be more than happy to hear them.
i.
Thats my attempt at a story. If you have any suggestions (especially Kol) about how i can improve my writing, i would be more than happy to hear them.
i.
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Nice one I. and Kol. Well worth the read
Thanks. I wasn't sure anyone would like but for someone outside the game to come, read and comment feels very nice on my pride.
By the way - its says you are from 'northern territory'. I lived in YK for a long time. You from near there?
i.
