Well, my updating is going painfully slowly, due to the fact that I'm spending most of my free time trying to finish Physics 12 by correspondence in the 1st half of the summer. However, I'm doing my earnest best to finish this update as fast as possible, so we can move onwards.
LINESII- Into the Darkness- Part III
- Thread starter Lord_Iggy
- Start date
Syracia
Cities: Jara, Iolar Geimhread, Tsarana
Leader: The Tricameron
Culture: Syracian, with Large Aithean Minority, Medium Tsayan Minority and Tiny Ida’an’i’i Minority. Majority Atheist, with medium Alse following and Divotheist remnants.
Government: Tripartite Monarchy
Economy: 3- 2/1
Population: Small
Army: 1000 Swordsmen, 1000 Archers, 1000 Spearmen, 2000 Arbaliers (crossbowmen), 2000 Sparakae (4.5), 1000 Cavalry, 30 Thresis Bows
Navy: 30 Galleys, 3 Separahs (Heavy Galleys)
Education: None
Technology: Imperial Age
Wonders: Scriptora Syracia- (3/6)
Description: After the destruction of Tsaya, the Syracians eliminated all of their competitors and took the eastern portion of the nation for themselves. A people who take pride in strength of arms and ingenuity, they have little patience for those who would limit themselves with devotion to silly superstitions.
After the update, I will take this nation unless you'd prefer me to send now
Cities: Jara, Iolar Geimhread, Tsarana
Leader: The Tricameron
Culture: Syracian, with Large Aithean Minority, Medium Tsayan Minority and Tiny Ida’an’i’i Minority. Majority Atheist, with medium Alse following and Divotheist remnants.
Government: Tripartite Monarchy
Economy: 3- 2/1
Population: Small
Army: 1000 Swordsmen, 1000 Archers, 1000 Spearmen, 2000 Arbaliers (crossbowmen), 2000 Sparakae (4.5), 1000 Cavalry, 30 Thresis Bows
Navy: 30 Galleys, 3 Separahs (Heavy Galleys)
Education: None
Technology: Imperial Age
Wonders: Scriptora Syracia- (3/6)
Description: After the destruction of Tsaya, the Syracians eliminated all of their competitors and took the eastern portion of the nation for themselves. A people who take pride in strength of arms and ingenuity, they have little patience for those who would limit themselves with devotion to silly superstitions.
After the update, I will take this nation unless you'd prefer me to send now
Ninja Dude
Sorry, I wasn't listening...
Yo HL, have you read up on Syracia's history and current situation? If haven't, you would definently want to, judging by Syracia's current "situation".
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
That assumes that they survive...
Milarqui
Deity
I'd say they do. If Syracia had disappeared, then Iggy wouldn't have told HL that he could join later.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
Hush, you're supposed to keep the mystique.
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I shouldered the bag, frayed leather straps swung over an open shoulder, and took my place in the line to depart. Shifting restlessly in the line, I let my gaze wander from the queue and towards the buzzing shoreline. A frown gripped my face as I spotted the docklands; legend to be built from innumerable gleaming white stone masses. The stones, which had once supported the image, had decayed over time and now stood a palish gray. Sea grasses and weeds stained their frontal figure, and even from my distance I could see their land brethren competing amongst the stones. Finally reaching the ramp, I took one last glance back at the ship before calmly proceeding its length and departing the bobbing ship.
Stepping onto the stone, I was immediately assaulted by the thousands of different sounds and smells rooted deep in the city's being. Cries echoed from every direction, merchants haggling their wares to all newcomers, shrill men attempting to out due each other in hopes of turning another coin. Thousands of different trades were peddled on the shore, men selling everything from arms and armor, to fine linens and cloths, and the myriad number of stalls erected against the sea selling every kind of nourishment that one could fine in the large world. The smells wafting from their berths drifted into the breeze, intermingled, and eventually merged into a single nondescript savor that permeated even the strongest breeze.
I stood for a minute, just to the side of the ramp that freed the ship of its passengers, senses completely smothered by the onslaught. Finally, brought back to my senses from a careless shoulder from a departing sailor, I moved forwards in search of my destination. All of the stories held it in the rear midst of the city, sheltered from the callous merchants and comforted by the noble families. Holding this to mind, I secured my bag tighter on my shoulder and proceeded along the main avenue that ran from the docklands to the inside. I paused before actually beginning the trek, drifting to the side of the main and towards a vendor that in particular caught my interests. The man, a heavyset ,burly man that seemed to be straight from the Southlands, broke into a wide smile as I approached, decayed teeth breaking in the morning light.
“Catch your eye, sir?” He asked, speaking Valin with a tilted accent. I nodded, and without speaking used my index finger to point at a particularly sweet-smelling dish. His stall contained a number of native dishes; golden roasted pheasants, slices of shredded lamb situated between pieces of unleavened bread, a few different varieties of robust stews. None of this caught my eye. Instead, situated off in a far corner of the stall, almost completely out of few, was a small plate carrying a large number of small, heavily crusted rolls in which pieces of pork had been stuffed. A white cream, the consistency of a warm cheese, was spread heavily over the meat and used to secure the pieces together. My gut rumbled, threatening an overthrow if I didn't relent. The vendor, catching my eye, smiled and spoke in his accented Valin. “Bykor, from the far north. Two for a coin.” I winced at his pronunciation, considered informing him that it was 'Bah-okor', instead of 'Baikor', decided against it and sighed. I reached around to my pack, and with nimble fingers pull a coin from its hiding spot and placed it upon the man's counter.
He picked the coin up, held it against the light to ensure the proper design, before plucking it down behind his back. Humming to himself, he reached out and plucked two of the crusts from the plate, wrapping them in a cheap linen, and then having secured it, passed it over. Almost salivating, I took the crusts from the man, and feeling the heft, almost came close to devouring them there. Thankfully, the man smiled and offered his thanks. “May the One hold you close, traveler.” He bowed slightly, the customary course.
“Arhalle adra norumi.” I thanked the man, slipping away from the customary Valin, and back into my own native tongue. The man's brow furrowed in response, his eyes slipping open in what I can only assume was shock, but he made no comment to my slip. I flushed slightly when I recognized what I said, but still made the bowing motion and quickly turned back to the main. After crossing a suitable distance, I untangled the linen and pulled one of the bykor from inside. I took a deep piece from the crust, and savored the childhood treat. Chewing slowly, too content with the flavors to consider devouring the food, I left the markets behind and headed into the Low.; the rise here was gentle, a small slope that had been evened out over untold generations.
The Low was the poor section of the city, residents packed into areas not fit for actual habitation. Both sides of the main were blanketed with high-reaching tenements; ashy stones pilled four stories high for the ones bordering the main. The poor were huddled in front of their doors, families cramped together and getting their peace from watching the numerous pour from the High to the docks. Those unfortunate to be homeless, the decadent and the orphans, sat along the drainage ditches, sometimes in the muck, trying to part any passerby from his coin or good.
I hesitated as I passed by a young group and, in a moment of pity, stopped in front of a young girl. She was of Eastern stock, her skin a light brown that was only hued by the morning light; her black hair hung tangled and dirty, filled with grime and dirt. A number of small children were gathered around her, each one carrying ache in the depths of their eyes. I sighed. I took the remaining crust and wrapped it back in the linen, and held it out to the girl. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and a moment, albeit brief, passed before she nervously reached out and grabbed the bundle. She gave a wide grin before taking off with her companions, as if the gift was somehow ill-gained. My stomach threatened revolt once more, but with a steely sigh, I set my mind against it.
I passed from the Low to the Middle, my feet carrying me along the main with little hesitation. A number of tenements still crowded next to the main, through the majority of these were either doubles or triples. They were better kept for, the stones here not bordering ashy, but rather a color reminiscent of their former glory. The families here were happier, not crowded into their doorways, with children capable of running about in the open spaces lying in front. Eventually, as I passed along, the tenements gave way and single homes became the norm. Owning one of these homes, small, somewhat crowded together, could be considered an improvement over a tenement, but only by a small miniature. Carrying forwards, the main passed by a number of larger residences, the homes of the wealthy and the noble, watching as the small homes gave way to large complexes. Finally, I realized I had reached the High by looking upon the main. Unlike elsewhere in the city, the stone pathways here had been well kept, and they glimmered with brilliance in the light.
After a bit, the homes began to crowd together once more, as the noble homes gave way to the simple residences of the government and faith. Likewise, the crowds grew together once more, the men here neither rich nor merchants; dressed in regal colors and distinguished with their various offices. I gawked a little as I entered the realm of the educated, of the senators, generals, and priests, taking in the dress of each man and comparing it to my own scraps. As I passed by, I noted how the men postured, how they discussed the ongoing settlements, and how heartily they laugh from their good graces. The Main eventually brought me to the Square, the political, if not geographical, center of the city and from where the Main sprung from. It was wide, around ninety paces to each side, and covered in the finest stone. A grassy open in the middle of the Square evaded this treatment, having been left natural and covered only with an impressive fountain containing the bust of the famous Strategius.
The buildings surrounding the Square defied being called impressive; their qualities defying even being compared to those of other cities. The academies, libraries, temples, and assemblies lined the Square perfectly, their facades well kept. After drinking in their beauty for a few minutes, I set my mind back to my task and set off once more, taking a left off the Square into the deeper heart of the city. As the main lodging location for the city's guards and military, the quadrant was well kept and ordered through it lacked the glory I had just passed. A few minutes carried me down the road, before taking another branching road and head back down. This was, however, brief as I took another branch as soon as I stumbled upon it. Only a few minutes passed before I finally arrived.
The Temple was less than beautiful, less than the most famous the city had to offer, its facade having long fallen, and with its space in need of trimming, but in the still it stole my breath as I entered its own square (much smaller, albeit.) A pair of round columns stood guard at the front of the square, countless names etched into the stone as previous visitors paused to leave their mark upon the Temple. Three more sets of columns set a path, inviting the traveler further into their graces, with a number of stone benches lying in their rear to provide comfort to the weary. A final set of columns supported the sloping roof of the Temple, giving shelter from the passing rains.
I swallowed, eying the reliefs carved across the main face of the Temple, flinching for a brief second, and then shook the feeling of betrayal away. Tentative steps brought me into the Temple's square, and having crossed this threshold, I quickly crossed the the paved space and made my way into the Temple itself. It was a singular room, having neither partition nor recesses, open to both the public and the private. A number of stone benches were situated inside the Temple, to give comfort to those taking services, and a slightly raised stone in the front served as a platform. Like the outside, all of the stone in the Temple was covered with names, words sketched in the stone; in my brief exposure I spotted more than a dozen different languages. Glancing around, I was discomforted to discover that the Temple was empty; not even a caretaker positioned in place. Feeling such, I was a bit startled when a voice broke from behind, striking the silence.
“You're late for services.” The man's voice was simple, neither possessing or lacking any virtue. I turned to face the man, and discovered that, like his voice, he defied any form of poetic description, seemingly better fit for simple words. Standing in front of me was an older man, petite and slightly pudgy, but all the same possessing an odd sense of easement. He wore a smile that, in addition to lighting up his face, just naturally seemed to put one at ease. He offered a small chuckle, a barely audible giving to the quiet room. “Then again, you just might be early for the next. Will you be waiting the three and a half hours?” He posed it as a question, but seemingly meant it as a statement. I paused, quickly glancing around at the names that dominated, and couldn't help but smile. I nodded a yes.
The man beamed in response, content with my answer, and wandered back out into the courtyard. I, in response, took the time to wander to one of the walls and began to skim over the names. It was tedious going, not only pausing to figure out the translations, but to also skip the names that stood in foreign scripts. I covered two of the walls within an hour apiece, coming to the point of exhaustion and close to ceding, when the man wandered into the temple once more, and spoke again. “Are you in search of a particular name?” He inquired, a slightly puzzled look settling onto his face.
I turned back and face the man, spent and more than a little angry. “Yes. I seek that of my father.” The priest continued to stare at me, eyes clouded, so I continued. “He was among the people, raised and lived upon the mainland for many years. Before leaving, he came here and left his name among those who committed their lives to the One and the faithful. He survived and wandered a bit, before settling.” I paused, surprised at myself for saying more in a few minutes than I had for three months. “When I was a child, he told me stories of this city. Of its glory, of its beauty, and of its people. He told me of our resilient ancestors, and how our people have withstood all secured against them.” I swallowed, willing myself strong. “And he told me of this temple. He described how it stood, and how despite its physical failings, it surpassed every other temple upon this world. I took his words as a child does, and only having come here do I come to terms with the truths.”
The old priest smiled gently. “What was his name?”
“His name was Ilias. Ilias Noacenus.” I forced myself to swallow again, afraid of choking on the bile that so desperately wanted to rise from my throat. The man paused for a moment, scratching the stubble upon his chin, before lighting up with another smile. Without a word he motioned for me to follow him, and quickly left the Temple. I followed him, entering into the newly daylight, and together we made our way around to the rear side of the Temple. I noticed a small building to the side, but ignored it while in pursuit of the priest. He eventually made his way over the far side of the Temple, where a small stone railing guarded the Temple and its patrons from a plunge down into the Low city. Ivy had grown over parts of the railing, allowing it to blend in and offer a spectacular view of the sea and the bay lying in the distance.
The old priest waved me over again, realizing that I had stopped moving when confronted with the view, and quickly brought me to the railing's junction. The ivy was removed here, and the bare stone stood exposed to the beating sun. Despite its obvious age, and the weathering that had gripped it during its life, the names carved into the stone were still quite visible. The priest paused for a moment, scanning the post, before letting out a small mark of excitement. “Here!” He called, thrusting his finger against the post near the top. The name here was worn more than its companions, but it was definitely readable. I stood in numbed shock as I read and reread the name countless times.
Ilias Noacenus.
OOC: This is kinda stale; having been sitting since 06/09/09. I tried to set it during the transition period, the 'liberation' from Khermian forces recent, and the city languishing. In case it wasn't made obvious enough, the City is, of course, Veritas. Sorry for the bump, but I finally decided that I wasn't to finish it. Obviously, I took enormous liberties with the geography.
Stepping onto the stone, I was immediately assaulted by the thousands of different sounds and smells rooted deep in the city's being. Cries echoed from every direction, merchants haggling their wares to all newcomers, shrill men attempting to out due each other in hopes of turning another coin. Thousands of different trades were peddled on the shore, men selling everything from arms and armor, to fine linens and cloths, and the myriad number of stalls erected against the sea selling every kind of nourishment that one could fine in the large world. The smells wafting from their berths drifted into the breeze, intermingled, and eventually merged into a single nondescript savor that permeated even the strongest breeze.
I stood for a minute, just to the side of the ramp that freed the ship of its passengers, senses completely smothered by the onslaught. Finally, brought back to my senses from a careless shoulder from a departing sailor, I moved forwards in search of my destination. All of the stories held it in the rear midst of the city, sheltered from the callous merchants and comforted by the noble families. Holding this to mind, I secured my bag tighter on my shoulder and proceeded along the main avenue that ran from the docklands to the inside. I paused before actually beginning the trek, drifting to the side of the main and towards a vendor that in particular caught my interests. The man, a heavyset ,burly man that seemed to be straight from the Southlands, broke into a wide smile as I approached, decayed teeth breaking in the morning light.
“Catch your eye, sir?” He asked, speaking Valin with a tilted accent. I nodded, and without speaking used my index finger to point at a particularly sweet-smelling dish. His stall contained a number of native dishes; golden roasted pheasants, slices of shredded lamb situated between pieces of unleavened bread, a few different varieties of robust stews. None of this caught my eye. Instead, situated off in a far corner of the stall, almost completely out of few, was a small plate carrying a large number of small, heavily crusted rolls in which pieces of pork had been stuffed. A white cream, the consistency of a warm cheese, was spread heavily over the meat and used to secure the pieces together. My gut rumbled, threatening an overthrow if I didn't relent. The vendor, catching my eye, smiled and spoke in his accented Valin. “Bykor, from the far north. Two for a coin.” I winced at his pronunciation, considered informing him that it was 'Bah-okor', instead of 'Baikor', decided against it and sighed. I reached around to my pack, and with nimble fingers pull a coin from its hiding spot and placed it upon the man's counter.
He picked the coin up, held it against the light to ensure the proper design, before plucking it down behind his back. Humming to himself, he reached out and plucked two of the crusts from the plate, wrapping them in a cheap linen, and then having secured it, passed it over. Almost salivating, I took the crusts from the man, and feeling the heft, almost came close to devouring them there. Thankfully, the man smiled and offered his thanks. “May the One hold you close, traveler.” He bowed slightly, the customary course.
“Arhalle adra norumi.” I thanked the man, slipping away from the customary Valin, and back into my own native tongue. The man's brow furrowed in response, his eyes slipping open in what I can only assume was shock, but he made no comment to my slip. I flushed slightly when I recognized what I said, but still made the bowing motion and quickly turned back to the main. After crossing a suitable distance, I untangled the linen and pulled one of the bykor from inside. I took a deep piece from the crust, and savored the childhood treat. Chewing slowly, too content with the flavors to consider devouring the food, I left the markets behind and headed into the Low.; the rise here was gentle, a small slope that had been evened out over untold generations.
The Low was the poor section of the city, residents packed into areas not fit for actual habitation. Both sides of the main were blanketed with high-reaching tenements; ashy stones pilled four stories high for the ones bordering the main. The poor were huddled in front of their doors, families cramped together and getting their peace from watching the numerous pour from the High to the docks. Those unfortunate to be homeless, the decadent and the orphans, sat along the drainage ditches, sometimes in the muck, trying to part any passerby from his coin or good.
I hesitated as I passed by a young group and, in a moment of pity, stopped in front of a young girl. She was of Eastern stock, her skin a light brown that was only hued by the morning light; her black hair hung tangled and dirty, filled with grime and dirt. A number of small children were gathered around her, each one carrying ache in the depths of their eyes. I sighed. I took the remaining crust and wrapped it back in the linen, and held it out to the girl. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, and a moment, albeit brief, passed before she nervously reached out and grabbed the bundle. She gave a wide grin before taking off with her companions, as if the gift was somehow ill-gained. My stomach threatened revolt once more, but with a steely sigh, I set my mind against it.
I passed from the Low to the Middle, my feet carrying me along the main with little hesitation. A number of tenements still crowded next to the main, through the majority of these were either doubles or triples. They were better kept for, the stones here not bordering ashy, but rather a color reminiscent of their former glory. The families here were happier, not crowded into their doorways, with children capable of running about in the open spaces lying in front. Eventually, as I passed along, the tenements gave way and single homes became the norm. Owning one of these homes, small, somewhat crowded together, could be considered an improvement over a tenement, but only by a small miniature. Carrying forwards, the main passed by a number of larger residences, the homes of the wealthy and the noble, watching as the small homes gave way to large complexes. Finally, I realized I had reached the High by looking upon the main. Unlike elsewhere in the city, the stone pathways here had been well kept, and they glimmered with brilliance in the light.
After a bit, the homes began to crowd together once more, as the noble homes gave way to the simple residences of the government and faith. Likewise, the crowds grew together once more, the men here neither rich nor merchants; dressed in regal colors and distinguished with their various offices. I gawked a little as I entered the realm of the educated, of the senators, generals, and priests, taking in the dress of each man and comparing it to my own scraps. As I passed by, I noted how the men postured, how they discussed the ongoing settlements, and how heartily they laugh from their good graces. The Main eventually brought me to the Square, the political, if not geographical, center of the city and from where the Main sprung from. It was wide, around ninety paces to each side, and covered in the finest stone. A grassy open in the middle of the Square evaded this treatment, having been left natural and covered only with an impressive fountain containing the bust of the famous Strategius.
The buildings surrounding the Square defied being called impressive; their qualities defying even being compared to those of other cities. The academies, libraries, temples, and assemblies lined the Square perfectly, their facades well kept. After drinking in their beauty for a few minutes, I set my mind back to my task and set off once more, taking a left off the Square into the deeper heart of the city. As the main lodging location for the city's guards and military, the quadrant was well kept and ordered through it lacked the glory I had just passed. A few minutes carried me down the road, before taking another branching road and head back down. This was, however, brief as I took another branch as soon as I stumbled upon it. Only a few minutes passed before I finally arrived.
The Temple was less than beautiful, less than the most famous the city had to offer, its facade having long fallen, and with its space in need of trimming, but in the still it stole my breath as I entered its own square (much smaller, albeit.) A pair of round columns stood guard at the front of the square, countless names etched into the stone as previous visitors paused to leave their mark upon the Temple. Three more sets of columns set a path, inviting the traveler further into their graces, with a number of stone benches lying in their rear to provide comfort to the weary. A final set of columns supported the sloping roof of the Temple, giving shelter from the passing rains.
I swallowed, eying the reliefs carved across the main face of the Temple, flinching for a brief second, and then shook the feeling of betrayal away. Tentative steps brought me into the Temple's square, and having crossed this threshold, I quickly crossed the the paved space and made my way into the Temple itself. It was a singular room, having neither partition nor recesses, open to both the public and the private. A number of stone benches were situated inside the Temple, to give comfort to those taking services, and a slightly raised stone in the front served as a platform. Like the outside, all of the stone in the Temple was covered with names, words sketched in the stone; in my brief exposure I spotted more than a dozen different languages. Glancing around, I was discomforted to discover that the Temple was empty; not even a caretaker positioned in place. Feeling such, I was a bit startled when a voice broke from behind, striking the silence.
“You're late for services.” The man's voice was simple, neither possessing or lacking any virtue. I turned to face the man, and discovered that, like his voice, he defied any form of poetic description, seemingly better fit for simple words. Standing in front of me was an older man, petite and slightly pudgy, but all the same possessing an odd sense of easement. He wore a smile that, in addition to lighting up his face, just naturally seemed to put one at ease. He offered a small chuckle, a barely audible giving to the quiet room. “Then again, you just might be early for the next. Will you be waiting the three and a half hours?” He posed it as a question, but seemingly meant it as a statement. I paused, quickly glancing around at the names that dominated, and couldn't help but smile. I nodded a yes.
The man beamed in response, content with my answer, and wandered back out into the courtyard. I, in response, took the time to wander to one of the walls and began to skim over the names. It was tedious going, not only pausing to figure out the translations, but to also skip the names that stood in foreign scripts. I covered two of the walls within an hour apiece, coming to the point of exhaustion and close to ceding, when the man wandered into the temple once more, and spoke again. “Are you in search of a particular name?” He inquired, a slightly puzzled look settling onto his face.
I turned back and face the man, spent and more than a little angry. “Yes. I seek that of my father.” The priest continued to stare at me, eyes clouded, so I continued. “He was among the people, raised and lived upon the mainland for many years. Before leaving, he came here and left his name among those who committed their lives to the One and the faithful. He survived and wandered a bit, before settling.” I paused, surprised at myself for saying more in a few minutes than I had for three months. “When I was a child, he told me stories of this city. Of its glory, of its beauty, and of its people. He told me of our resilient ancestors, and how our people have withstood all secured against them.” I swallowed, willing myself strong. “And he told me of this temple. He described how it stood, and how despite its physical failings, it surpassed every other temple upon this world. I took his words as a child does, and only having come here do I come to terms with the truths.”
The old priest smiled gently. “What was his name?”
“His name was Ilias. Ilias Noacenus.” I forced myself to swallow again, afraid of choking on the bile that so desperately wanted to rise from my throat. The man paused for a moment, scratching the stubble upon his chin, before lighting up with another smile. Without a word he motioned for me to follow him, and quickly left the Temple. I followed him, entering into the newly daylight, and together we made our way around to the rear side of the Temple. I noticed a small building to the side, but ignored it while in pursuit of the priest. He eventually made his way over the far side of the Temple, where a small stone railing guarded the Temple and its patrons from a plunge down into the Low city. Ivy had grown over parts of the railing, allowing it to blend in and offer a spectacular view of the sea and the bay lying in the distance.
The old priest waved me over again, realizing that I had stopped moving when confronted with the view, and quickly brought me to the railing's junction. The ivy was removed here, and the bare stone stood exposed to the beating sun. Despite its obvious age, and the weathering that had gripped it during its life, the names carved into the stone were still quite visible. The priest paused for a moment, scanning the post, before letting out a small mark of excitement. “Here!” He called, thrusting his finger against the post near the top. The name here was worn more than its companions, but it was definitely readable. I stood in numbed shock as I read and reread the name countless times.
Ilias Noacenus.
OOC: This is kinda stale; having been sitting since 06/09/09. I tried to set it during the transition period, the 'liberation' from Khermian forces recent, and the city languishing. In case it wasn't made obvious enough, the City is, of course, Veritas. Sorry for the bump, but I finally decided that I wasn't to finish it. Obviously, I took enormous liberties with the geography.
