das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: Rather poorly done, I'm afraid...
IC:
The rain was falling.
Actors somewhere were playing out comedies and tragedies of gods and men alike. Old king Ersailia was lying on his bed and groaning, and longing for death, for it could not be worse than his current state. His son Tersena was hunting somewhere - the only thing in which he didn't tolerate advisors - while priests, generals and ministers were jockeying for power. The children were playing outside of the Chamber of the Scribes. Merchants were grumbling and bargaining. The people were living, but nobody in this life, in this world, seemed happy. Not even the Gods - if They know emotions of happiness.
The rain was falling.
And all was sad, and boring, and intolerable... Scribe Tarchon shook his head. The damn, cursed rain! Damnable rain of our entire life, for even when we laugh or smile, inside we are raindrops wetting the ground, raindrops sent by the Gods for some reason.
Scribe Tarchon hated the Gods, and the mortals, and actors, and comedies, and tragedies, and Ersailia, and Tersena, and hunters, and advisors, and priests, and generals, and ministers, and children - oh, how he hated the children! - and the Chamber, and the merchants, and life, and the world, and emotions, and himself - Gods, how he hated himself! - yet all that was not the feeling he felt for the rain.
He didn't hate the rain. His emotions towards it were much stronger. Simply put, to him, the rain was the worst thing, the worst concept in the very world, all those little raindrops, and the sound of it all, and the ground on which it was falling... No, he didn't hate it! Oh, no! No word has been invented to describe his - thoroughly negative - feelings towards the rain.
The rain was falling.
Scribe Tarchon cursed everything one more time and resumed copying. Sticks, combinations of ugly little sticks that had to be copied perfectly from one clay tablet into another... The stupidest alphabet ever, thought Tarchon. Unless one considers the barbarian rounds and ovals that suspiciously resembled canine excrements in shape to be parts of an "alphabet"...
Line after line, group after group... What an incredibly idiotic text! Gods, if you really didn't mind people pretending to understand you, why couldn't you at least have given them REAL brains?! Theologists-schmeologists, destiny-schmestiny... We're raindrops, damnit!
Other scribes were also copying texts - mostly others, for Tarchon had the "honour" of making the first copy of these... mental excrements, what else?! Not that (he sighed) the other texts he copied during his career were any better... Sure, it was better to be a scribe than a peasant, which would have been Tarchon's fate had a priest not visited his village and had the aforementioned priest, named Lathon, not played his damnable mind games with him. Tarchon didn't fare too bad for a child of twelve, and his father, despite his mother's protests, decided that it was good to improve his relations with the priests (after all, he wasn't too poor and so had the right and the responsibility to actually care about that) and had Tarchon be sent off all the way to Umbar, to become a scribe. And a scribe he became. He wrote down, under dictation, events in a chronicle once, and rather more often some royal decrees. He copied a thousand texts - they didn't at first make sense to him, and not all did even now. Historical accounts... Letters... some nonesense - people writing about life, death, strategy and tactics, economy and politics... even Gods - Tarchon in his time had to copy lots of theology, in the process finally learning that NOTHING made sense anymore. All of those attempts to understand anything at all are useless and futile. He no longer tried to, now. Alas, others did.
He continued copying. "Grab our fate in both of our arms before it flees..."
Nonsense. Raindrops gone mad.
---
ENCYCLOPEDIA POLARBEARICA, STMJMNESIWORLD:
DIVINE DESTINY (Manifest. Primary Groups: European History, Umbrian History, Italic Religion, Propaganda, Ideology, Chosen Peoples.):
Quotes and excerpts from the "Divine Destiny":
"...yet the Umbrians were to be the finest of all the peoples; what Gods were to Umbrians, Umbrians were to be to the other mortals."
"Gods dislike sloth, a vice common among all the peoples, even the Umbrians."
"The patience of Gods is not eternal; if Umbrians do not live up to the part that the Gods prepared for them when the world was being crafted, another people shall be chosen instead."
"...we must grab our fate in both of our arms before it flees! Umbria is doomed if it is not awakened now."
"It is not enough to believe in the greatness of Umbria, in its divine destiny - the Gods are just, they shall never award a people for nothing. If we want their help, if we think we deserve their blessing - we must prove it to them. We must persuade ourselves that we are chosen, and that we deserve to have been chosen - and that, no matter what, we shall prevail. Umbria must and shall wake up! Umbria must and shall attain greatness! And then - then, the Gods themselves will fight alongside us!"
Article on the "Divine Destiny":
The "Divine Destiny" is a document of 10th century BC Umbria. Written by several Umbrian theologists, the only one of them whose name is still known today being high-priest of Laran, Pontena, later the chief advisor of King Tersena. Bears the character of prpaganda, mostly aimed at the ruling elite of Umbar due to the illiteracy of the masses. The document bears a religious-political nature. The message of it is thus - the Umbrians have disappointed the Gods who had chosen them from amongst the other peoples. The only way to regain the trust of the Gods, and to finally carry out their grand designs, is for Umbria to "awaken" and prove its worthiness.
Combined with the rise to power of the weak-willed Tersena, this document has greatly assisted the plans of high-priest Pontena and his "detinist" supporters. Thus begun the era of the Awakening.
IC:
The rain was falling.
Actors somewhere were playing out comedies and tragedies of gods and men alike. Old king Ersailia was lying on his bed and groaning, and longing for death, for it could not be worse than his current state. His son Tersena was hunting somewhere - the only thing in which he didn't tolerate advisors - while priests, generals and ministers were jockeying for power. The children were playing outside of the Chamber of the Scribes. Merchants were grumbling and bargaining. The people were living, but nobody in this life, in this world, seemed happy. Not even the Gods - if They know emotions of happiness.
The rain was falling.
And all was sad, and boring, and intolerable... Scribe Tarchon shook his head. The damn, cursed rain! Damnable rain of our entire life, for even when we laugh or smile, inside we are raindrops wetting the ground, raindrops sent by the Gods for some reason.
Scribe Tarchon hated the Gods, and the mortals, and actors, and comedies, and tragedies, and Ersailia, and Tersena, and hunters, and advisors, and priests, and generals, and ministers, and children - oh, how he hated the children! - and the Chamber, and the merchants, and life, and the world, and emotions, and himself - Gods, how he hated himself! - yet all that was not the feeling he felt for the rain.
He didn't hate the rain. His emotions towards it were much stronger. Simply put, to him, the rain was the worst thing, the worst concept in the very world, all those little raindrops, and the sound of it all, and the ground on which it was falling... No, he didn't hate it! Oh, no! No word has been invented to describe his - thoroughly negative - feelings towards the rain.
The rain was falling.
Scribe Tarchon cursed everything one more time and resumed copying. Sticks, combinations of ugly little sticks that had to be copied perfectly from one clay tablet into another... The stupidest alphabet ever, thought Tarchon. Unless one considers the barbarian rounds and ovals that suspiciously resembled canine excrements in shape to be parts of an "alphabet"...
Line after line, group after group... What an incredibly idiotic text! Gods, if you really didn't mind people pretending to understand you, why couldn't you at least have given them REAL brains?! Theologists-schmeologists, destiny-schmestiny... We're raindrops, damnit!
Other scribes were also copying texts - mostly others, for Tarchon had the "honour" of making the first copy of these... mental excrements, what else?! Not that (he sighed) the other texts he copied during his career were any better... Sure, it was better to be a scribe than a peasant, which would have been Tarchon's fate had a priest not visited his village and had the aforementioned priest, named Lathon, not played his damnable mind games with him. Tarchon didn't fare too bad for a child of twelve, and his father, despite his mother's protests, decided that it was good to improve his relations with the priests (after all, he wasn't too poor and so had the right and the responsibility to actually care about that) and had Tarchon be sent off all the way to Umbar, to become a scribe. And a scribe he became. He wrote down, under dictation, events in a chronicle once, and rather more often some royal decrees. He copied a thousand texts - they didn't at first make sense to him, and not all did even now. Historical accounts... Letters... some nonesense - people writing about life, death, strategy and tactics, economy and politics... even Gods - Tarchon in his time had to copy lots of theology, in the process finally learning that NOTHING made sense anymore. All of those attempts to understand anything at all are useless and futile. He no longer tried to, now. Alas, others did.
He continued copying. "Grab our fate in both of our arms before it flees..."
Nonsense. Raindrops gone mad.
---
ENCYCLOPEDIA POLARBEARICA, STMJMNESIWORLD:
DIVINE DESTINY (Manifest. Primary Groups: European History, Umbrian History, Italic Religion, Propaganda, Ideology, Chosen Peoples.):
Quotes and excerpts from the "Divine Destiny":
"...yet the Umbrians were to be the finest of all the peoples; what Gods were to Umbrians, Umbrians were to be to the other mortals."
"Gods dislike sloth, a vice common among all the peoples, even the Umbrians."
"The patience of Gods is not eternal; if Umbrians do not live up to the part that the Gods prepared for them when the world was being crafted, another people shall be chosen instead."
"...we must grab our fate in both of our arms before it flees! Umbria is doomed if it is not awakened now."
"It is not enough to believe in the greatness of Umbria, in its divine destiny - the Gods are just, they shall never award a people for nothing. If we want their help, if we think we deserve their blessing - we must prove it to them. We must persuade ourselves that we are chosen, and that we deserve to have been chosen - and that, no matter what, we shall prevail. Umbria must and shall wake up! Umbria must and shall attain greatness! And then - then, the Gods themselves will fight alongside us!"
Article on the "Divine Destiny":
The "Divine Destiny" is a document of 10th century BC Umbria. Written by several Umbrian theologists, the only one of them whose name is still known today being high-priest of Laran, Pontena, later the chief advisor of King Tersena. Bears the character of prpaganda, mostly aimed at the ruling elite of Umbar due to the illiteracy of the masses. The document bears a religious-political nature. The message of it is thus - the Umbrians have disappointed the Gods who had chosen them from amongst the other peoples. The only way to regain the trust of the Gods, and to finally carry out their grand designs, is for Umbria to "awaken" and prove its worthiness.
Combined with the rise to power of the weak-willed Tersena, this document has greatly assisted the plans of high-priest Pontena and his "detinist" supporters. Thus begun the era of the Awakening.
All Hail Das! The Prophet of Nesing! 
