Oruc
Reactionary
Whats he been saying?
LINESII- Into the Darkness- Part III
- Thread starter Lord_Iggy
- Start date
Whats he been saying?
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
~Darkening~
Weep, Mother.
I thought you were annoyed because it was alex joining the alliance, leaving the alliance, joining the alliance, then leaving it yet again 
. Through, honestly, I can see why he never truly joined 
.
. Through, honestly, I can see why he never truly joined .
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: We have simply recognized the fact that the Ptolemaic Dynasty is dead in Khemri Proper. The position that Guangfei had taken before, which you did not have any qualms with, was that Lord Anabet was a rebel against his rightful King. However after Lord Anabet's success at seizing control of Khemri Proper, it's only proper that diplomatic recognition be extended to the new government of Khemri with all the diplomatic rights and privileges that the previous Ptolemaic Dynasty possessed in Guangfei.
Frankly, being neutral does *not* mean Guangfei must toe Valin foreign policy and blindly follow whatever the Valins do like a running dog. Guangfei remains and still is neutral in this war. The Valin Republics of Veritas can be as unfriendly as she wants, we have long memories and do not forgive. You can be assured that if there is ANY sign of Valin plans against us, we will act to defend ourselves. We will not be cowed by you and your lackeys. We stand strong. We stand free.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
OOC: And what Anabet considers to be part of Khemri Proper isn't Guangfei's concern. Anabet has taken possession of what we would consider to be the ancestral lands of the Khemrian Kingdom (something that I doubt thlayli would argue with) and as such, he is now the recognized King of Khemri.
Wubba360
Emperor
ooc: well by recognizing Anabet you are normalizing relations. Trade could be opening up with Guangfei, where it was previously closed, because Guangfei viewed Anabet as a rebel and not a king. Now Anabet is becoming a legitimate ruler, which poses a greater threat to Veritas than a treasonous dog. Overall, Veritas wants Anabet to be in a weak position, and since Guangfei has recognized Anabet, his position has grown much stronger.
Wubba360
Emperor
how's the update coming?
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
Race you.
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
a_propagandist
The Light Brigadier
I'm not normally one to inquire but: ETA?
a_propagandist
The Light Brigadier
No name yet. I apologize in advance for lameness.
A bitter frost bit at his fingers as he worked. The banshee shriek of ice and wind pierced his head cap and impaled his joints. Renkel knelt and dipped his fingers into the still-warm blood of the ram, grabbed his ax, and sawed off the malformed horns. He was a smith at his forge, a druid at his shrine.
6 months earlier…
Renkel had led his rams, newly-fat from gorging on spring grasses, into the Trinlinese city. Here, he could sell the hides, the wool, meat, and bones of his jumbled herd. Then, he would take a majority back to northern Destre, where he would find refuge from too bitter a winter. In his 23 summers, this would be his 4th on such a trip. Stability had heightened Trinlinese desire for luxuries such as meat and his wares would sell well. A quick snap of his whip led his soiled herd into the bustling market. Whilst hooves clattered in the dirt, he eyed the stalls for the fattest meat seller. Instead, a stick of a man caught his eye. He obviously lived a poor life, one of gruel and little else. Yet, his eyes twinkled with a wicked mischievousness and the telltale signs of wisdom.
It is the wise who are smart enough to put aside their pride and beg in the streets.
“Young man, what is your name,” inquired the wizened, bent tree of a man, hacking his lungs out on the sidewalk.
“Old man, it is Renkel Sukhanier, of the province of Remiloff of Destre, 12th Prefecture, the township of Nanves.”
“And who are you?”
“I have alread-”
“I sense that you are lost more than found, son. Let me tell you of a story of a deity named Tinura….”
And so, Renkel studied. And for 3 months, which was 2 months past the safe margin, Rekel stayed in Trinlin with the old man and listened to his marred and warm accent. Stories and anecdotes, morals and lessons abounded. Each story of earthly trials ended and ascended to be grand portraits of insight. And, as the sun set earlier and earlier each day, they carried on his studies with an old lamp and bits of animal fat. When finally the waning rays were broken by the silhouettes of birds moving north, Renkel knew he had to go then. He thanked the old man, for his words, his wisdom, and his flatbreads.
On the path back to Destre…
His blood blotted against his heavy pants and seeped out to congeal. A swift kick from the enraged ram fractured several of his ribs and his breath spilled out into the air, condensing and dancing onto the horns of the ram. Arms threw the beast, and arms wrapped around a thrashing, pugnacious animal. The subtle crack of spine slipped into the continuous whine of the tundra. The herd had been endangered, by this frenzied beast, a shadow of its normally calm self. Bloodlust had filled the beast. He whipped out the hatchet and went to work.
The horns were masterpieces themselves. The mountain rams that Renkel dealt with had never been fond of symmetry, and their horns followed suit. With deft flicks of the hatchet and a tempering by fire, the right horn could be made into a beautiful spiral spearhead while the left horn could be made into a long knife. The sharp blades could be sheathed in hide. Anticipating need, he salted the meat as best as he could and prepared to resume his journey, spear and sword by his side.
As the sun set, the shadow of a man leapt up, heightened by perspective. For ten minutes, it stood straddling the bitter earth, and then it climbed upon the tallest, strongest ram in the herd. And, for the last five minutes of sunlight on that day, a giant upon his mount crept towards home, following the wake of the flocks of birds. Yet, in the snow, a crimson shadow, of both ram and man, remained, dimmed by time. And, next spring, the grasses there sprang towards the sky.
"Our trials are the nothings upon which we build ourselves up."
A bitter frost bit at his fingers as he worked. The banshee shriek of ice and wind pierced his head cap and impaled his joints. Renkel knelt and dipped his fingers into the still-warm blood of the ram, grabbed his ax, and sawed off the malformed horns. He was a smith at his forge, a druid at his shrine.
6 months earlier…
Renkel had led his rams, newly-fat from gorging on spring grasses, into the Trinlinese city. Here, he could sell the hides, the wool, meat, and bones of his jumbled herd. Then, he would take a majority back to northern Destre, where he would find refuge from too bitter a winter. In his 23 summers, this would be his 4th on such a trip. Stability had heightened Trinlinese desire for luxuries such as meat and his wares would sell well. A quick snap of his whip led his soiled herd into the bustling market. Whilst hooves clattered in the dirt, he eyed the stalls for the fattest meat seller. Instead, a stick of a man caught his eye. He obviously lived a poor life, one of gruel and little else. Yet, his eyes twinkled with a wicked mischievousness and the telltale signs of wisdom.
It is the wise who are smart enough to put aside their pride and beg in the streets.
“Young man, what is your name,” inquired the wizened, bent tree of a man, hacking his lungs out on the sidewalk.
“Old man, it is Renkel Sukhanier, of the province of Remiloff of Destre, 12th Prefecture, the township of Nanves.”
“And who are you?”
“I have alread-”
“I sense that you are lost more than found, son. Let me tell you of a story of a deity named Tinura….”
And so, Renkel studied. And for 3 months, which was 2 months past the safe margin, Rekel stayed in Trinlin with the old man and listened to his marred and warm accent. Stories and anecdotes, morals and lessons abounded. Each story of earthly trials ended and ascended to be grand portraits of insight. And, as the sun set earlier and earlier each day, they carried on his studies with an old lamp and bits of animal fat. When finally the waning rays were broken by the silhouettes of birds moving north, Renkel knew he had to go then. He thanked the old man, for his words, his wisdom, and his flatbreads.
On the path back to Destre…
His blood blotted against his heavy pants and seeped out to congeal. A swift kick from the enraged ram fractured several of his ribs and his breath spilled out into the air, condensing and dancing onto the horns of the ram. Arms threw the beast, and arms wrapped around a thrashing, pugnacious animal. The subtle crack of spine slipped into the continuous whine of the tundra. The herd had been endangered, by this frenzied beast, a shadow of its normally calm self. Bloodlust had filled the beast. He whipped out the hatchet and went to work.
The horns were masterpieces themselves. The mountain rams that Renkel dealt with had never been fond of symmetry, and their horns followed suit. With deft flicks of the hatchet and a tempering by fire, the right horn could be made into a beautiful spiral spearhead while the left horn could be made into a long knife. The sharp blades could be sheathed in hide. Anticipating need, he salted the meat as best as he could and prepared to resume his journey, spear and sword by his side.
As the sun set, the shadow of a man leapt up, heightened by perspective. For ten minutes, it stood straddling the bitter earth, and then it climbed upon the tallest, strongest ram in the herd. And, for the last five minutes of sunlight on that day, a giant upon his mount crept towards home, following the wake of the flocks of birds. Yet, in the snow, a crimson shadow, of both ram and man, remained, dimmed by time. And, next spring, the grasses there sprang towards the sky.
"Our trials are the nothings upon which we build ourselves up."
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Any chance we'll see the update before I leave for France tomorrow night, Iggy?
