PureNES: Years of Excelsior

[Kal'thzar]

"What Ynnead takes away, is a curse or a boon, it is merely your perception of the action that alters your thinking of death. What Isha Provides, must be nurtured, for it is the nurturing that dictates your perception of life."​

-Autarch Camael


Autarch Camael, grew up under Aeshma, a good general, and he gave his son plentifull opportunities to master his learning of the Path of Leadership. And Camael walked a different Road. However Camael soon learnt the value of making allies, for his Father attempted to rule over his personnel life as well as his learning. Camael rebelled in the only way how, he walked a different path [2]. Camael learnt the ability to speak with a silver tongue, working from a position of relative weakness, a system that had become inundated by Followers of the Malus Philosophy. Autarch Camael sought to create a rival School Summum bonum, for he recognised that there was more than one way of accomplishing things.

Thus when Autarch Camael began his reign, his small cadre of loyal friends were able to support him when he made several changes to the current Modus Operandi, firstly he lightened the current choke hold on the peasants [3], and sought a policy of rebuilding the nation, for under Autarch Aeshma even some of the monolithic temples built had begun to decay. The Military was downsized, parcels of land along the river being given to the Soliders in exchange for the service.

And lastly he created a Great Acadamy, fullfilling a promise to some of his earlier allies, it became a school of philosphical thought on the duality of Good and Evil. At its gates a Statue of Autarch Eligos stands Opposite a Statue of Autarch Camael. And the arch, has the words "In the Persuit of Order" engraved into it.

[1] (First story note!) Ynnead is a death god.
[2] Rebelling and causing Chaos is NOT an alternative path, as it is after all chaotic, creating order in a different manner is of course allowed.
[3] bear in mind that the lot of the peasants isn't going to change much, they are after all; Peasants.

Thats basically my orders in those two posts. Autarch Camael is still relativly young, Autarch Aeshma only existed to create Camael!

 

[fantasmo]

If Thursday is too soon, let me know.

I'll struggle with that, but we'll see how I do, yeah? *Frantically starts writing story to post tonight*

 

[Kal'thzar]

"For the Sericve of the Gods, For the Harungen Peoples, For Order; I have slayed thousands, destroyed a vast multitude of people lives. I hardened my heart to the tragadies of the people to allow myself to preserve the greater path,"
-The Malus, Prologue, The Tragedy of Aeshma [1]


The Path of the Scholar:

Lead By a Grand Council of the most learned men of the land. Followers are the wealthy elite that take to learning; the arts, Mythos and pay a nominal lip service as soldiers. Preferring instead to dicuss ideas.

The Scholars also have some sub-brances, producing theatre Plays, music and so on, usually taken from non-nobility to lesser nobility.

The Guilds Grand Council rarely occupies extremes of position when offering the Autarch advice, their speaker usually content to sit in the middle ground and argue both sides as a way of expanding ideas.

The Path of the Warrior:

Lead by a Nominal Grand Master. Usually a Close and loyal friend of the Autarch, othertimes such a weak puppet that his position and opinions are an irrelevance at most and a hidnerance at worst.

Broadly broken down into two segments, poorer soldiers and an elite of Wealthy Nobles. Distinction in battle and a suitable patron can allow one to progress to the upper echlons of the Path.

Usually quite keen to solve battles with the sword, in the persuit of perfecting their path. The Autarch oft has to hold them back or redirect their energies elsewhere (aggressive patrols on the borders with more barbarious peoples and the like). Sometimes this leads to inadvertant expansion, others creates a mess of a political situation.

The Path of the Merchant

Broadly speaking craftsmen and Merchants existing on the same Path, the persuit of making money, via wit, superior goods and effort. However the Craftsmen and Merchant represent two extremes of method. Many Craftsmen look down upon the merchants for simply being middle men, and the merchants look down upon Craftsmen for partaking in labourious work, and not using their heads.

Currently headed by a single Master of Merchants, but it seems likly that it will split, either forceable or by decree of the Autarch to preserve stability. And so both groups are able to Voice their Opinion.


[1] Just so you get an idea of the perception of good + Evil vs Chaos + Order
This IS considered by many a tragedy, that Aeshma could not have lived longer!
OOC: Others to come later

 

[Nylan]

Deadline is Thursday, high noon.



Yes. ^_^

If Thursday is too soon, let me know.

I echo fantasmo's sentiments. I'll see what I can do. It should work out, hopefully.

 

[jalapeno_dude]

Deadline is Thursday, high noon.



Yes. ^_^

If Thursday is too soon, let me know.

Gyaah! Will try to write story tonight; no guarantees.

 

[North King]

I can move it to a Friday deadline if you guys would prefer. After all, I still need to do some thread maintenance, and I wouldn't mind writing a story or two myself.

 

[LightFang]

Friday PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.

 

[human-slaughter]

Doesn't make a differance to me.

 

[Nylan]

It looks like the general sentiment is friday, not to mention I'd like to read whatever NK will write

 

[foolish icarus]

Friday is preferable to me as well.

 

[North King]

All right, deadline moved to Friday, high noon.

 

[human-slaughter]

The Cursed Tale of the Golden Spyglass Prt. 1

The Golden Spyglass was a beautiful boat. The top of the line ship at its time and it was captained by the one Captain Rikan De’Laska. He was a young charismatic captain that was an up and coming captain within Tevan. I say was because no one quite knows what happened to the man the crew and the spyglass. That is except for me.

Captain De’Laska was commissioned by High Captain Tegal himself. He set sail from Tekalii and made port in Port Kehran before sailing west. It was a bright day and calm day as the Spyglass sailed around the north end of Kehranada. That is when he stumbled upon a hermit. There was an unmapped tributary that led into the island and as the Captain was on an exploratory mission he made his way down. It was a shack up on the bank of the river the captain and a couple of the crew came to the shack and rapped upon the crude door. A scraggly old man stepped out from within. Unsurprised the man replied “Aye den.” He grinned a toothless grin “Ye be headin west aye?” The Captain was cautious “Maybe.” He said. “Aye maybe.” The old man mocked “Ye be from de east. I knowin what be going on you’n an ye frens be headin west.”

The Captain gave in “Yes I am Captain De’Laska of the Tevanii Navy.” “Tevanii…” the man said “…yes I reemeber. Tell me have ye been to the Western Isles.” The captain shook his head negatively. “Aye, ofcourse ye havnt you wouldn’t be standing here if ye had. Go home yung cap’n. Ye find despair en dose wahtahs. Tapi wheel not follow ye der.”

“You think you will discourage me old man?” De’Laska turned his back to the man and steped out. “Let’s go.” As De’Laska left the shack and closed the door he heard the old man cackle.

De’laska did indeed sail west and he did indeed reach those isles but word of his travels never reached back to Captain Tegal. Nothing was heard of the Captain the Ship or the Crew. It was not until a large group of ships carrying soldiers in many years did anyone find out about the demise of Captain De’laska and the Golden Spyglass.

 

[jalapeno_dude]

Hooray for deadlinemovedness!

 

[Nylan]

I've been having problems with power at the house, and I've lost my work multiple times as well, so I will do my best to get something in, but no guarentees.

 

[Silver Steak]

When is the deadline?

 

[human-slaughter]

go up 4 posts

 

[Silver Steak]

All righty, then. I might as well post this story now, I guess:


Now leave your castles, united we'll be strong
I'll lead you to this holy war to save all our thrones - Rhapsody of Fire

-----

It had been two weeks since Tary Gayan, a Yuzarch, had returned from his trip to the northern forest, on an expedition to seal a peace with the Northmen. The journey had been an arduous one, across trackless woods infested with mosquitoes and serpents. At last when he had reached his goal, the King of the Northmen refused to even speak with him, so he simply left the gift of two hundred animals and a promise of returning when the King perhaps was more inclined to speak. Gayan stayed in their capital for a tenday, hoping for the King to call on him, but with time he decided it was fruitless, and prepared for his return.

As he lived among the Northmen, he began to notice something strange. The people were generally tolerant - or at least they did not openly show any aggression or contempt. But whenever he went out to meditate and offer incense on a makeshift altar of natural rocks, they viewed him with suspicion, fear or outright disgust. It was as if he was committing a crime. In truth, Gayan felt like he was mocking the Northmen without this intent, so he decided to suspend his worship while he guested their land suspecting that perhaps their customs prohibit worship outside the palace shrines. It was not so - far worse.

On the night before his departure, Gayan was ambushed by some three, four men in the garden outside the house where he stayed. Overwhelmed, he was thrown onto the ground, and a desperate grapple began. Suddenly, a dagger gleamed in the starlight. Gayan widened his eyes, but could only shield him head with his arms. The attackers pummeled and stabbed him several times, before the commotion brought out his escort who drove them away. Then they turned to their master who lay wounded on the ground. His arms were bleeding, the left one cut to the bone. Where his right eye was remained a fleshy socket.

They had packed everything ready the day before, so the party decided to leave at once, fearing recurrent attacks. They felt not at all sure that this was not orchestrated by the King himself. A desperate run for safety began. They marched for days on end, only resting a few hours before plowing through the endless sea of trees and undergrowth again. With little to no sleep, the party at last reached the Great Circle on Arch in less than a third of the time they spent to the King of the Northmen.

On the journey, Gayan had fallen ill, his left arm infected beyond hope. At last he was taken to a monk, who managed to save his life - if not his arm. Over his missing right eye he wore a black leather patch. His left hand replaced with a large bronze hook. After his recovery, Gayan had only a few questions which he posed to the exiled Northman who had taught him their language. His fears were confirmed: they had no gods. They shunned all religion, and this was why they were enraged by his open worship and their dishonorable assault. For a moment he was silent. Then he left the Northman, and went to the Exalted House.

Where he now stood in front of the Three Witches, and all the other Yuzarchs. He told them, all of it. How the wretched unbelievers had not only refused to seal a peace, but had attacked him veiled by the night and caused the loss of his eye and arm. This was not a people Yuzoi could leave alongside peacefully. No gods, no religion, no honor, no salvation. They were a doomed people, and a threat to their own. Their destruction would surely be willed by the gods, and would be a blessing to the rest of the world. The plague that is the unbelievers must be uprooted.

A war soon broke out between Yuzoi and the Northmen. The Three Witches declared the birth of a new War God, known as the Smiting Flame. Born to bring divine justice to the unbelievers, sworn to ride with Yuzoi into battle, and protect them from the unholy unbelievers. The Yuzarchs assembled their forces, forged weapons and trained the men in woodland combat. With spears, arrows and fire, they were to sweep the land clean of unbelivers for the glory of their people, and for the future of mankind.

At the helm of their army stood Tary himself, clad in a burnished breastplate and an equally golden beard. With his standard flapping vigorously above him, he would raise his axe and bellow the Yuzoi battle cry.

"Yaar! Yaar! TEN'CHAAAR!!!"

 

[Nylan]

OOC:

^ Love that war cry!

Also, NK, let me know if my orders are unclear from this story, and I'll make an effort to make them more plain. Hopefully they were made obvious enough.

IC:

The Prophecy​

And lo, the heavens shall open, and a rain of fire shall descend upon the skies, illuminating the darkness, a sign of the birth of Nightsbane, he who will free the Children of Light from their bonds, and lead them to a bright future.

-Excerpt from The Glass of EnLightenment​

Bane looked up at the sky. It was mostly dark now, and the last traces of sunset shimmered on the western horizon, a deep purple against the black of night. That was the gist of it, wasn’t it? The never ending conflict of Light and Darkness, Chaos and Order. It was odd that they should struggle so much, one against another. They were so beautiful when put together.

Bane pondered the curiosity of it all as he sad cross legged underneath an apple tree, munching on fruit. He did this often, wandering off at odd hours of the day to think. His father could not stand it. He was a man of high standing in Vardis, and a devout follower of Order. To have such a lazy, lightheaded son was humiliating, but try as he might, Bane could not keep himself grounded in the nitty gritty of everyday life. He was always thinking of possibilities, the what ifs, and the whys. He was not interested in the expansion towards the rivers, or the new emphasis on infrastructure throughout the land since power changed hands within the Consulate.

Yes, this whole Order-Chaos thing was very odd indeed. Bane had noticed that one could not exist without the other. No living creature could survive with the Chaotic flame of life, if all the Chaos was drained from it and it became perfectly ordered, it would be little more than a lifeless husk. By the same token, nothing can take form without Order. Charging into battle with little or no planning would result in a swift defeat at the hands of any but the most uncivilized barbarians. Things tended to work better with a little of both, though the balance may vary. People in Vardis didn’t see things that way though. All they saw was Light and Darkness, with no sunset in between. Would they ever see the folly of their ways? Bane could only hope…

*******​

Twenty years later, Bane still had dreams of a better world, but he had since learned to temper them with reality, and most importantly, how to implement them. He had gathered a large following, promising to free the followers of Chaos from their bonds. He had full intentions of doing so. However, the prophesied glory would not come from an empire forged without Darkness, but rather, a kingdom of balance.

“Great One, we are prepared to set the plan in motion. What is your command?”

He smiled a grim, determined sort of smile, tempered with excitement and anticipation. Turning to his second in command, he spoke. “Let the final revolution begin!”

The plan was supposed to break what little control the spineless Ordaran government still had over the larger cities. He had already recruited heavily from the countryside, which had a much larger population of Lumosians than the more ordered and developed areas of Vardis. Nevertheless, there were followers of Light in even the most organized quarter. As night arrows were fired across the Dark sky, the city-dwelling Lumosians, as well as a good number of Bane’s best men who had infiltrated the streets, would start an uprising. He trusted those men with his life. Years of playing cat-and-mouse with the Ordarans, as well as their time in the army fighting barbarians, had hardened them into an experienced, tight unit. It shouldn’t have been too difficult to overpower the remaining militants loyal to the Consulate. The majority of warriors were, by nature, Chaotic, leaving mainly commanding officers defending the Ordaran bureaucrats.

It was ironic, Bane thought, that the thing upon which their success relied was Order. This coup was very detailed in its planning and well rehearsed with all of his key people. If everything went according to plan, this would be a cinch. If not, there might be a few kinks to work out. In any case, Bane was confident in his success. After all, he thought with a smirk, a balance of Order and Chaos, working together as a unit, was far more powerful than one or the other by itself.

Little Vardis might be able to outgrow its childhood hindrances and succeed as a nation after all.

 

[LightFang]

Journey to the West

"And so become better, sons and daughters, strengthen yourselves! Steel your hearts and minds and let your whole soul cry out for betterment. For only then will you reclaim what is yours."
-The Book of Revelations[1]

Veritor looked out at his people. As the leader of the council, he had ruled over them like they were sheep. Mindless, they all did exactly what he told them to do.

And yet, this is what She has given me to work with.

He was going to reminisce in a typical flashback scene when his father entered.

"Hello," he said, doing the typical Exlilian gesture that conveyed "Hello"[2].

"Hello, my son," he said, and entered. His father was one of the few whom Veritor could tolerate.

"Let me tell you something," the man said. He was getting old, and he cut straight to the point.

"Yes, Father?"

"There will be perfidy tonight at the council meeting."

Veritor's eyes flashed, and he thought of what he was to do tonight. Tonight was the day he was going to suggest a new idea. A fourth level of existence. Slavery.

"You will be betrayed by your kin." And then he collapsed, just like that.

Our modern day doctors would probably diagnose him with dementia, but Veritor -- no, for that matter, Exilia -- knew better. He was a prophet, that old man. A veritable prophet. And Veritor was the son of a prophet. He had to lead the people to greatness.

Later, at the council meeting...

Veritor looked out at the other ten council members. Which one would be the one to betray him?

"I propose we add a fourth plane of existence." he started off, after the ritual opening and praying toward the west.

"Oh?" Verba looked at him, eyes unfathomable. He's always been jockeying for my post.

Terguk looked at him with interest. He was the sycophant in the group, always ready to side with Veritor. Could it be him?

Hostip stood up suddenly. Veritor's hands flew to his pocket, the one holding the glass shard, wrapped in cloth. Him, it has to be!

"I'm not sure what you think you're up to, but you can't just go changing our life like that! Why would we need a fourth plane of existence? We have three!"

"If you would listen to me kindly. We require a fourth class because we need slaves. Slaves who do the manual labor so the upper classes can do the intellectual thinking. Slaves who will build an empire that would reclaim the West, and get back our inheritance!"

The idea was met with immediate dislike. Nobody was inclined to agree with his proposal. Veritor's sweat accumulated on his brow. Nobody was with him. Everybody was against him. And then it hit him.

They are all my enemies. It was as simple as that. Veritor fingered the shard and laughed. Power will be in my grasp once I rid myself of these traitors.

"KUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA."

His laughing drowned out the sound of dying men screaming.

--

"What now, my Lord?"

"Let there be only one man fit to rule. I disband the Council immediately.

"I also establish a fourth level of existence, heretofore known as slavery, where all unworthy men and women go.

"Furthermore, we are to establish a regiment where all people will be tested at the age of 15 to determine which order they will exist in. All children will be raised communally, and at fifteen, they will be divided into groups that will carry on this country's legacy.

"We will also immediately begin striking west. We deserve better. We will get it. This is all Her word; now go out and make it true."

--
1: The holy book is called The Book of Revelations because that's where revelations are contained. Duh.
2: It looks kind of like this: Link

Side note: This language is a bastardized Latin. Yay!

 

[jalapeno_dude]

Didius I

Why won't the man die?--Elder noble, 101 AU​

Under his rule, it is true, the nation of the Elders prospered, or at least maintained themselves; an uneasy peace descended, for a time; the threat of class warfare that had reared its head for a short time after Otho's death subsided, on the surface; and the government was truly concerned with the public welfare, at least according to the official chronicles.

But it is no accident that for every positive act in the reign of Didus I, Didius the Old, Didius the Immortal, or so he was called, an exception has to be made, or a caveat inserted. For though the chaos of the Elders and the plotting in the depths of Pride seemed to subside during his reign, in reality it appears that the chaos merely boiled under the surface, and, indeed, increased; for how else can the world-shaking events that occurred just after his death be explained?

If one statement can sum up the nature of Didius and of his reign, it is the following one: that he cared deeply for the welfare of his surroundings. This explains the public works projects, the careful balance of advisers from different classes, the actions calculated to please both sides of an issue, the raising and training of militia. But it also explains his utter lack of preparation for his death. Unlike most kings of his time, he built no monumental tomb for himself, a fact indicative of his feelings towards the future he would not see. Didius, most fatally of all his mistakes or miscalculations, neglected to appoint an heir--and having never seen a smooth handover of power, those with influence at the time of his death spared no thought for proper procedures.

So it is impossible to discuss the reign of Didius compared to the deeds of his predecessors and successors. Compared to Otho II, Didus was a revelation in his genuine interest in the affairs of his people. But one can never forget the deeds of Gordian the Ruthless and Balbinus the Cruel, of Decius the Coward and Priscus the Fool, of Hostilian the Sickly, and, of course, the one to top them all, who would reverse any good achieved in the last century: the one whose name would never again be taken by an Elder king, whose name even today it is considered the greatest stupidity to speak, the one who was become known as, simply, the Lord of Misrule.



OOC: The names rhyme! Orders to be sent shortly sent.