das
Regeneration In Process
Tomorrow.
Speaking of which - the update is when?
Speaking of which - the update is when?
stNNES7: Worlds and Empires
- Thread starter North King
- Start date
North King
blech
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2004
- Messages
- 18,165
July 9th. My time. 2 days from now, if I could be working on it, that would be good.
Cuivienen
Deity
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2003
- Messages
- 8,011
I have a new UU and a description.
UU - Haanos Acolytes: Haano, the Soldier Face of God, commands great respect in the Armenian army. Enough so that many soldiers have chosen to devote themselves entirely to his service in war. Haanos Acolytes train separately from the rest of the Armenian army and they are the elite the strongest, most devoted foot soldiers in the world. Armed and armored with iron, they most slowly but implacably and can withstand even the fiercest arrow barrage or cavalry charge.
UU - Haanos Acolytes: Haano, the Soldier Face of God, commands great respect in the Armenian army. Enough so that many soldiers have chosen to devote themselves entirely to his service in war. Haanos Acolytes train separately from the rest of the Armenian army and they are the elite the strongest, most devoted foot soldiers in the world. Armed and armored with iron, they most slowly but implacably and can withstand even the fiercest arrow barrage or cavalry charge.
das
Regeneration In Process
Kweshten - to grow economy, I mustn't grow anything else... at all? Or with the automatical two eco. points? That is, can I grow economy AND spend farmland/banked ecos?
das
Regeneration In Process
"I wished for peace, for all states need peace to rest and prepare for the next round of wars. But time and time and again I was drawn into new wars, for this was what the Greater I, the BAAL INCARNATE, wished."
- Maluk Ahiram, the Malukal Book: the Book of Ahiram.
---
It was strange, but true. The Syrians wanted to conquer only the small northwestern Arabic statelet whose people invited the Maluk anyway. But... It came out wrong, for some reason.
---
Nabatae.
A tiny Arabic state with a Malukist majority.
A state on the brink of rebellion.
Not to mention a state just entered by a Syrian... chariot. Just one chariot. The army assembled to face the threat was shocked by that. The Malukists in their ranks begun to re-consider the rebellion thing.
Then came the whole bloody Syrian horde. Black-skinned camel-riders all the way from the Nubian (read: Saharan) Desert, Malukal chariots with their fanatical charioteers swinging axes... or, more often, spears and swords at the Nabateans, blue-robbed spearmen the only parts of whose faces that were seen were the hateful eyes, the archers who sent forth black arrows that by their own appearence could frighten a Navatean to death...
Well, they came. Quickly. Mercilessly. So fast that Malukist rebels didn't even have the time to finish lynching their general when their god came, terrible and glorious in his chariot. He was a Phoenicean merchant once, but now he was promoted to the Only God of the World. His dark face, once a theme of much ridicule and caricatures, was now the face of an angered God. No longer did he seem... chubby. No, now he was gigantic and majestic. In his hands, a mighty spear.
The Malukists, awe-struck, bowed down to him.
Nabatea fell within just a day. Ofcourse, an entire week had to take place before Maluk collected all the oaths of fealty at the old Nabatean capital, but from the first day of the first battle, no more resistance came.
---
Ahiram really intended just to receive the oaths and go home, to keep the buerocracy on its toes - many expected to get richer while he wasn't watching, he was sure, and albeit Oran was still struggling along there, Oran was increasingly old and senile. Not to mention that Ahiram didn't trust the Petrian neither. But it so happened that the new Malukal subjects had also a bit of grievances. Most of them didn't matter, but... they were unhappy about the Yathribi Empire to their south.
---
[fast forward]
---
The Yathribians put up much more of a fight, but it was naturally for naught. They werecked a lot of good chariots, and their camelry was even more skilled then the Syrian one; they outflanked a large body of spearmen. But the strenght of Syria, and its army, was in that casualties didn't really matter. The Organism lived on, there were more then enough people to take the place of the casualties in the line that eventually smashed the Yathribians, and their city fell. Malukists were rejoicing in the streets and getting very drunk indeed; NOW was the time to go home, having received the pledges of loyalty.
Then the news of the Quyrashi army invading the southern realms of Yathribia came. That just wouldn't do.
---
[fast forward. very fast.]
---
"It would seem that something of a battle took place here."
"Yes, indeed. Strange that they didn't pick up the arrows, though."
"Broken arrows, my colleague. Besides, this was a DESERT. They probably... didn't notice."
"Maybe there was a road here once? Why fight here otherwise?"
"Colleague, don't be a revisionist. There is no road."
"IS is different from WAS."
"Colleague, there would have been something left."
"Why? The sandstorms were plausibly quite ferocious here in the past."
"Possibly, colleague... Very well, it would seem to be the time for breakfast. We mustn't leave the Lord-Observer waiting."
"Ah, surely. Just don't forget the coordinates, like the last time."
"Colleague..."
But the colleague already was quite excitedly running towards the teleportation device, flapping his wings somehow. The two penguin archeologists departed, but not before the first one noticed the black banner of the invincible Quyrashi army, forever stomped into the desert. It was here that the invincible army ceased to exist.
---
[fast backward]
---
The procession entered Mecca. The Maluk eyed down the vast black (covered by a cloth of black brockade) cube-shaped structure in the middle of the city. An object of veneration by the few remaining pagans here, albeit some Malukists liked it as well...
Mecca grew rich from the piligrimage, it was considered a holy city. Most disturbing.
The only city that there should be is Damascus. And so thousands of slaves will be herded across the desert, and will carry the entire shrine there. This will cause rebellions, but Ahiram knew that it is best to cause such rebellions and to make his enemies go out in the open. That was how he got by all this time.
---
Year after year of campaining, and yet the Syrian army was hardly tired. It always had time to rest. One by one, the coastal tribes have submitted; the Bedouins of the area, mostly Malukists, surrendered without battle as well. Jiddah tried to resist... and was punished for its insolance. The Syrian army paraded across it, carrying before them the Cross. The Cross beared on it the crucified king of Jiddah, who claimed that he would crush the Malukists and the Syrians with ease. He was thin, and partially-devoured, a most gruesome picture. Noone dared resist the Syrians.
Ahiram was about to head north. But then...
---
"Well?" - asked Ahiram the petitioners. Merchants, local merchants.
"O mighty God! O Baal! O Maluk of-"
"Well?"
"Oh Great Ahiram! The perfidious Sabaens, they are placing high tariffs on our trade!"
"Sabaens?"
"They used to call themselves "hajji arabhim"."
"Exiled Arabs. I see. They charge high tariffs?"
"Yes, yes, o Wise One!"
Ahiram sighed quietly.
"O Wise One!" - the taller petitioner said - "The Perfidious Sabanion can only allow itself such arrogance by the virtue of its control of the vital trade routes. Perhaps you could simply conquer the Yemen, and gain ports with access to the Arabian Sea! They will be forced to surrender!"
"Or at least, you could humble them in the field of battle, and make them apologize!"
"O Great One! Or maybe you could seize Damot itself and destroy it!"
"O Wise-"
---
[fast forward]
---
And Ahiram agreed, reluctantly, to fight another war. "But that's the last one", he swore. Suddenly, a new circumstance appeared - Malukists, though not as widespread here, rebelled. The Syrian army faced very little trouble crushing the Sabaens. But all this left quite a problem, as Ahiram hardly knew what to do with this land which he never wanted in the first place.
- Maluk Ahiram, the Malukal Book: the Book of Ahiram.
---
It was strange, but true. The Syrians wanted to conquer only the small northwestern Arabic statelet whose people invited the Maluk anyway. But... It came out wrong, for some reason.
---
Nabatae.
A tiny Arabic state with a Malukist majority.
A state on the brink of rebellion.
Not to mention a state just entered by a Syrian... chariot. Just one chariot. The army assembled to face the threat was shocked by that. The Malukists in their ranks begun to re-consider the rebellion thing.
Then came the whole bloody Syrian horde. Black-skinned camel-riders all the way from the Nubian (read: Saharan) Desert, Malukal chariots with their fanatical charioteers swinging axes... or, more often, spears and swords at the Nabateans, blue-robbed spearmen the only parts of whose faces that were seen were the hateful eyes, the archers who sent forth black arrows that by their own appearence could frighten a Navatean to death...
Well, they came. Quickly. Mercilessly. So fast that Malukist rebels didn't even have the time to finish lynching their general when their god came, terrible and glorious in his chariot. He was a Phoenicean merchant once, but now he was promoted to the Only God of the World. His dark face, once a theme of much ridicule and caricatures, was now the face of an angered God. No longer did he seem... chubby. No, now he was gigantic and majestic. In his hands, a mighty spear.
The Malukists, awe-struck, bowed down to him.
Nabatea fell within just a day. Ofcourse, an entire week had to take place before Maluk collected all the oaths of fealty at the old Nabatean capital, but from the first day of the first battle, no more resistance came.
---
Ahiram really intended just to receive the oaths and go home, to keep the buerocracy on its toes - many expected to get richer while he wasn't watching, he was sure, and albeit Oran was still struggling along there, Oran was increasingly old and senile. Not to mention that Ahiram didn't trust the Petrian neither. But it so happened that the new Malukal subjects had also a bit of grievances. Most of them didn't matter, but... they were unhappy about the Yathribi Empire to their south.
---
[fast forward]
---
The Yathribians put up much more of a fight, but it was naturally for naught. They werecked a lot of good chariots, and their camelry was even more skilled then the Syrian one; they outflanked a large body of spearmen. But the strenght of Syria, and its army, was in that casualties didn't really matter. The Organism lived on, there were more then enough people to take the place of the casualties in the line that eventually smashed the Yathribians, and their city fell. Malukists were rejoicing in the streets and getting very drunk indeed; NOW was the time to go home, having received the pledges of loyalty.
Then the news of the Quyrashi army invading the southern realms of Yathribia came. That just wouldn't do.
---
[fast forward. very fast.]
---
"It would seem that something of a battle took place here."
"Yes, indeed. Strange that they didn't pick up the arrows, though."
"Broken arrows, my colleague. Besides, this was a DESERT. They probably... didn't notice."
"Maybe there was a road here once? Why fight here otherwise?"
"Colleague, don't be a revisionist. There is no road."
"IS is different from WAS."
"Colleague, there would have been something left."
"Why? The sandstorms were plausibly quite ferocious here in the past."
"Possibly, colleague... Very well, it would seem to be the time for breakfast. We mustn't leave the Lord-Observer waiting."
"Ah, surely. Just don't forget the coordinates, like the last time."
"Colleague..."
But the colleague already was quite excitedly running towards the teleportation device, flapping his wings somehow. The two penguin archeologists departed, but not before the first one noticed the black banner of the invincible Quyrashi army, forever stomped into the desert. It was here that the invincible army ceased to exist.
---
[fast backward]
---
The procession entered Mecca. The Maluk eyed down the vast black (covered by a cloth of black brockade) cube-shaped structure in the middle of the city. An object of veneration by the few remaining pagans here, albeit some Malukists liked it as well...
Mecca grew rich from the piligrimage, it was considered a holy city. Most disturbing.
The only city that there should be is Damascus. And so thousands of slaves will be herded across the desert, and will carry the entire shrine there. This will cause rebellions, but Ahiram knew that it is best to cause such rebellions and to make his enemies go out in the open. That was how he got by all this time.
---
Year after year of campaining, and yet the Syrian army was hardly tired. It always had time to rest. One by one, the coastal tribes have submitted; the Bedouins of the area, mostly Malukists, surrendered without battle as well. Jiddah tried to resist... and was punished for its insolance. The Syrian army paraded across it, carrying before them the Cross. The Cross beared on it the crucified king of Jiddah, who claimed that he would crush the Malukists and the Syrians with ease. He was thin, and partially-devoured, a most gruesome picture. Noone dared resist the Syrians.
Ahiram was about to head north. But then...
---
"Well?" - asked Ahiram the petitioners. Merchants, local merchants.
"O mighty God! O Baal! O Maluk of-"
"Well?"
"Oh Great Ahiram! The perfidious Sabaens, they are placing high tariffs on our trade!"
"Sabaens?"
"They used to call themselves "hajji arabhim"."
"Exiled Arabs. I see. They charge high tariffs?"
"Yes, yes, o Wise One!"
Ahiram sighed quietly.
"O Wise One!" - the taller petitioner said - "The Perfidious Sabanion can only allow itself such arrogance by the virtue of its control of the vital trade routes. Perhaps you could simply conquer the Yemen, and gain ports with access to the Arabian Sea! They will be forced to surrender!"
"Or at least, you could humble them in the field of battle, and make them apologize!"
"O Great One! Or maybe you could seize Damot itself and destroy it!"
"O Wise-"
---
[fast forward]
---
And Ahiram agreed, reluctantly, to fight another war. "But that's the last one", he swore. Suddenly, a new circumstance appeared - Malukists, though not as widespread here, rebelled. The Syrian army faced very little trouble crushing the Sabaens. But all this left quite a problem, as Ahiram hardly knew what to do with this land which he never wanted in the first place.
das
Regeneration In Process
From: Baal-Maluk Ahiram of Syria
To: Sabaen Arabs
It would seem that we met again. Yes, again, for it was our ancestors that came out of the desert after sending your ancestors fleeing for Damot. But anyway, again you are defeated and humbled.
The best way to make sure this is not repeated is for you to peacefully surrender to my supreme authority. You yourself will become the ruler of the greater Sabaen realm under Syrian protection.
Barring that, you could simply acknowledge me as the Baal-Maluk and your superior.
Barring that as well, if you wish for temporary security at least, there is the variant in which you accept the following points as the basis for our further co-existance until you, or your descendants, realize the futility of resistance and the logic of joining the Malukate on merciful terms whilst retaining a large degree of autonomy. I digress - anyway, the points:
- Sabaen Satrapy will pay the tribute of one eco. level once in two hundred years.
- Sabaen Satrapy will grant all Malukists full freedom of worship and allows them to peacefully settle in the lands already under MY control.
- Sabaen Satrapy will lower the tariffs on trade for Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants.
- Sabaen Satrapy will remember in its conduct towards Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants that their priveleges are backed by nuclear... by Syrian armies.
- Sabaen Satrapy will apologize to the Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants for any misconduct.
- Malukate of Syria returns to Sabaen Satrapy all the lands we accidentally conquered from the Sabaen Satrapy in Yemen.
- Malukate of Syria will apologize for any troubles caused by the aforementioned accidental conquest.
- Malukate of Syria will, upon the recovery of its economy, start a trade route with the Sabaen Satrapy.
---
NK, need you to reply on the matter of eco-growth before I could send in orders. And hopefully Panda's agreement as well.
To: Sabaen Arabs
It would seem that we met again. Yes, again, for it was our ancestors that came out of the desert after sending your ancestors fleeing for Damot. But anyway, again you are defeated and humbled.
The best way to make sure this is not repeated is for you to peacefully surrender to my supreme authority. You yourself will become the ruler of the greater Sabaen realm under Syrian protection.
Barring that, you could simply acknowledge me as the Baal-Maluk and your superior.
Barring that as well, if you wish for temporary security at least, there is the variant in which you accept the following points as the basis for our further co-existance until you, or your descendants, realize the futility of resistance and the logic of joining the Malukate on merciful terms whilst retaining a large degree of autonomy. I digress - anyway, the points:
- Sabaen Satrapy will pay the tribute of one eco. level once in two hundred years.
- Sabaen Satrapy will grant all Malukists full freedom of worship and allows them to peacefully settle in the lands already under MY control.
- Sabaen Satrapy will lower the tariffs on trade for Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants.
- Sabaen Satrapy will remember in its conduct towards Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants that their priveleges are backed by nuclear... by Syrian armies.
- Sabaen Satrapy will apologize to the Syrian and newly-Syrian merchants for any misconduct.
- Malukate of Syria returns to Sabaen Satrapy all the lands we accidentally conquered from the Sabaen Satrapy in Yemen.
- Malukate of Syria will apologize for any troubles caused by the aforementioned accidental conquest.
- Malukate of Syria will, upon the recovery of its economy, start a trade route with the Sabaen Satrapy.
---
NK, need you to reply on the matter of eco-growth before I could send in orders. And hopefully Panda's agreement as well.
das
Regeneration In Process
OOC: I decided that I'll make Danval - from my governor story just before the previous update, hope you read it, its one of my better ones IMHO - more then an episodic character.
IC:
Danval found Damot to be a strange, different city. It was... undescribably different. It was a city of merchants and artisans, while Damascus, in spite of all, was definitely a city of warriors. Outside from the governmental region of Damascus, where the Medinah Maluk was located as was the Old Palace and the Office of the Shalehim, there were only three notable places - the rather small bazaar, the rather large slums and the almost slum-sized barracks.
Here? Well, here there were large "middle class" districts, not unlike what Danval saw in the Phoenicean cities. The bazaars were many and larger, and there were... the docks. These docks were far greater and more different from all other docks Danval saw, whether in Phoenicea or in Patrea from where he departed to Damot. The city on the whole was richer and better... but two large objects were missing. Firstly - no palace complex, nothing like it! Just a few administrative buildings. These people had no king, no Maluk, just a tribal council. Barbaric! And secondly, the barracks were absent as well - Danval later learned that they were not in the city, but rather outside and in some distance. And smaller, much smaller then those at Damascus.
This was definitely a different city. Danval in particular was troubled by the government system, however. Whom will he have to speak with? Will he be able to persuade all the heads of this mercantile state? Dealing with a multi-headed government was not something Danval, in all of his long career as a shaleh both in Syria and outside, was skilled at. Ofcourse, it was not too different from dealing with Ravennans, even easier actually... but all that said, Danval never was to Ravenna.
Another consideration for him as a shaleh was this - it is rather hard to deal with this state by... assassination. Not that Ahiram ever ordered the death of any one of the tribal chieftains and cabal leaders... Probably because it was pointless. Not to mention because Ahiram, despite it all, wanted peace and trade. Strange as it was to some, to Danval, who spent recently a lot of time in Petra, it was only the most reasonable thing to do. Petra as of late was increasingly impoverished, even moreso then Syria, albeit not nearly as much as Egypt. Most funds for reconstruction went to Phoenicea, Syria and Egypt - almost nothing went to Petra.
Syria could crush Saba. But why? Why if there could be even more trade to give even more funds to make Syria rich again? A state strong economically and military would be... a power. Nay, a superpower.
A power worthy of the Divine Rule over it.
His white robes drew little attention here. Besides, none here knew of the shalehim. It was unusual, and a relief - jealous as many Syrians were over this, Danval wasn't happy with the fact that as soon as he became visible, people, at best, suddenly got very quiet. At worst, they ran away shouting "I am innocent!"
Danval sighed at the bad memories. He eventually did find a brave craftsman who dared fix that sandal, but he did that incompetently and Danval barely resisted "charging" him for "Treason" when it broke down a few minutes afterwards.
Danval entered one of the buildings. It was apparently their council room, from what he was told previously.
He made quick yet quiet entry. He needed to shock them, he needed to stun them, to remind them that he - representing Syria - could do that, if he wishes. The guards who tried to stop him were knocked out by quick blows - the shalehim knew not only the arts of dagger-fight and of calliographic writing, but also of weapon-less combat. Alive, but unconscious, they fell on the floor. The others dared not move. He entered the council-room in the midst of debates, unnoticed until he said - "Greetings". The room fell silent; the cabal leaders were unsure what the hell was happening and who was this white-robbed man. Danval unrolled the parchment, remaining calm and stoic, and read the Baal-Maluk's message.
A particularily fat cabal leader nodded with dignity, surprising Danval - he didn't expect the Sabaens to give in so easily. But ofcourse they didn't.
"Wait outside, intruder. We will consider your king's offer." - said the cabalist.
Danval bowed and left. His mission was, on one hand, accomplished - despite their arrogance, the councilmen were visibly unnerved. On the other hand, it was only the beginning. The negotiations begun.
IC:
Danval found Damot to be a strange, different city. It was... undescribably different. It was a city of merchants and artisans, while Damascus, in spite of all, was definitely a city of warriors. Outside from the governmental region of Damascus, where the Medinah Maluk was located as was the Old Palace and the Office of the Shalehim, there were only three notable places - the rather small bazaar, the rather large slums and the almost slum-sized barracks.
Here? Well, here there were large "middle class" districts, not unlike what Danval saw in the Phoenicean cities. The bazaars were many and larger, and there were... the docks. These docks were far greater and more different from all other docks Danval saw, whether in Phoenicea or in Patrea from where he departed to Damot. The city on the whole was richer and better... but two large objects were missing. Firstly - no palace complex, nothing like it! Just a few administrative buildings. These people had no king, no Maluk, just a tribal council. Barbaric! And secondly, the barracks were absent as well - Danval later learned that they were not in the city, but rather outside and in some distance. And smaller, much smaller then those at Damascus.
This was definitely a different city. Danval in particular was troubled by the government system, however. Whom will he have to speak with? Will he be able to persuade all the heads of this mercantile state? Dealing with a multi-headed government was not something Danval, in all of his long career as a shaleh both in Syria and outside, was skilled at. Ofcourse, it was not too different from dealing with Ravennans, even easier actually... but all that said, Danval never was to Ravenna.
Another consideration for him as a shaleh was this - it is rather hard to deal with this state by... assassination. Not that Ahiram ever ordered the death of any one of the tribal chieftains and cabal leaders... Probably because it was pointless. Not to mention because Ahiram, despite it all, wanted peace and trade. Strange as it was to some, to Danval, who spent recently a lot of time in Petra, it was only the most reasonable thing to do. Petra as of late was increasingly impoverished, even moreso then Syria, albeit not nearly as much as Egypt. Most funds for reconstruction went to Phoenicea, Syria and Egypt - almost nothing went to Petra.
Syria could crush Saba. But why? Why if there could be even more trade to give even more funds to make Syria rich again? A state strong economically and military would be... a power. Nay, a superpower.
A power worthy of the Divine Rule over it.
His white robes drew little attention here. Besides, none here knew of the shalehim. It was unusual, and a relief - jealous as many Syrians were over this, Danval wasn't happy with the fact that as soon as he became visible, people, at best, suddenly got very quiet. At worst, they ran away shouting "I am innocent!"
Danval sighed at the bad memories. He eventually did find a brave craftsman who dared fix that sandal, but he did that incompetently and Danval barely resisted "charging" him for "Treason" when it broke down a few minutes afterwards.
Danval entered one of the buildings. It was apparently their council room, from what he was told previously.
He made quick yet quiet entry. He needed to shock them, he needed to stun them, to remind them that he - representing Syria - could do that, if he wishes. The guards who tried to stop him were knocked out by quick blows - the shalehim knew not only the arts of dagger-fight and of calliographic writing, but also of weapon-less combat. Alive, but unconscious, they fell on the floor. The others dared not move. He entered the council-room in the midst of debates, unnoticed until he said - "Greetings". The room fell silent; the cabal leaders were unsure what the hell was happening and who was this white-robbed man. Danval unrolled the parchment, remaining calm and stoic, and read the Baal-Maluk's message.
A particularily fat cabal leader nodded with dignity, surprising Danval - he didn't expect the Sabaens to give in so easily. But ofcourse they didn't.
"Wait outside, intruder. We will consider your king's offer." - said the cabalist.
Danval bowed and left. His mission was, on one hand, accomplished - despite their arrogance, the councilmen were visibly unnerved. On the other hand, it was only the beginning. The negotiations begun.
Hokkaido was a cruel land. Unlike Honshu & Kyushu, the land here was far more barren and cold. "Cold", Ishimaru shivered even as he said it,"I hate the cold more than anything." He trudged along with his spear battalion, dragging is feet in the deep snow.
He had been told before landing on the shores of Hokkaido,"The cold, it is the Ainu's last weapon and perhaps its most effective. Master the cold and you master the Ainu." He could not remember who had said this, not like it mattered. He tried to repeatedly repeat the mantra in his mind, but he knew it was to no avail. He would suffer here. He would fight death before ever fighting an Ainu. This cold fact (no pun intended) would have made Ishimaru cringe if he could, but alas his teeth were shivering themselves.
Ishimaru turned his head to his left, to the marching lines of Ronin Warriors. These men had been hired for a reason. Instead of wallowing in thier freezing misery, they instead cracked jokes (rather crude ones though) and acted as if it it was nothing. Of course, thier entire culture had served as mercenaries to the Nipponese Empire. They had fought in the heat, in the mountains, against cavalry, against determined barbarians. All had fallen to the Ronin.
Ishimaru tried to act tough now. He smiled...but his lips cracked severely from the frost. Ishimaru sighed and marched on. The calls of the Samurai to the front alarmed him. "BE READY!!!" the Samurai yelled from the front of the battalion.
Doing as the Samurai ordered, Ishimaru readied his spear. He was on the front spear line, maybe the most vulnerable position. The man next to him could barely contain his excitement,"I hope its a huge horde of Ainu's! More to kill!! HA HA!!" Ishimaru was convinced the cold had driven the poor man insane and he looked upon him with great sadness.......and then felt an arrow pierce his skin.
He looked at the arrow potruding from the left side of his chest, gaping in wonder. As he pulled out the arrow, he collapsed to his knees, grasping the wound. "Arch...ers? The Ai...nu have....friggin....arch....ers??"
He had been told before landing on the shores of Hokkaido,"The cold, it is the Ainu's last weapon and perhaps its most effective. Master the cold and you master the Ainu." He could not remember who had said this, not like it mattered. He tried to repeatedly repeat the mantra in his mind, but he knew it was to no avail. He would suffer here. He would fight death before ever fighting an Ainu. This cold fact (no pun intended) would have made Ishimaru cringe if he could, but alas his teeth were shivering themselves.
Ishimaru turned his head to his left, to the marching lines of Ronin Warriors. These men had been hired for a reason. Instead of wallowing in thier freezing misery, they instead cracked jokes (rather crude ones though) and acted as if it it was nothing. Of course, thier entire culture had served as mercenaries to the Nipponese Empire. They had fought in the heat, in the mountains, against cavalry, against determined barbarians. All had fallen to the Ronin.
Ishimaru tried to act tough now. He smiled...but his lips cracked severely from the frost. Ishimaru sighed and marched on. The calls of the Samurai to the front alarmed him. "BE READY!!!" the Samurai yelled from the front of the battalion.
Doing as the Samurai ordered, Ishimaru readied his spear. He was on the front spear line, maybe the most vulnerable position. The man next to him could barely contain his excitement,"I hope its a huge horde of Ainu's! More to kill!! HA HA!!" Ishimaru was convinced the cold had driven the poor man insane and he looked upon him with great sadness.......and then felt an arrow pierce his skin.
He looked at the arrow potruding from the left side of his chest, gaping in wonder. As he pulled out the arrow, he collapsed to his knees, grasping the wound. "Arch...ers? The Ai...nu have....friggin....arch....ers??"
Insane_Panda
Deity
To the Syrian scum:
From Sabae:
Go back to the hell hole from whence you came, you vile fools!
From Sabae:
Go back to the hell hole from whence you came, you vile fools!
stll not sure with what plan to go grrr
Cuivienen
Deity
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2003
- Messages
- 8,011
She looked down at the small town of Nerise. Smoke rose from the rooftops, and soldiers stirred on the outer walls. The people were just awaking to yet another day. This town had seen a great battle not many years ago when the Cimmerians broke through and charged through the Nerise pass southward over the mountains. How, however, you could not tell that it had ever experiences such excitement. It was just another sleepy village in the northern Caucasus.
Her duties, however, would not take her to Nerise. The town was pleasant enough, and quiet, but her duty to the King-Emperor would send her back up into the mountains, to the great structure just barely visible in the misty morning high on the steep mountainside. The Halls of Haano, a monastery and training ground together. She left the road and began the long ascent up the stony path to the Halls of Haano.
The structure itself had existed for a long time indeed. Once the only temple to the Eight Faces north of the Caucasus, it had enjoyed great prestige among the locals. However, as time passed more temples were founded, many more accessible that the remote structure above the Nerise pass, and the temple fell into disuse and was nearly abandoned. However, as military interests were revived following the Cimmerian breakthrough, many devotees to the Soldier Face, Haano, appeared in the northern provinces, and one Hand of Haano, as he called himself, founded a school for the most elite warriors in this all-but-abandoned temple. And so the Halls began.
And now it was her duty to call Haanos Acolytes, as the disciples of the Halls called themselves, to serve the King-Emperor. War was brewing, and the King-Emperor had need of the best soldiers in all Armenia. Would Haanos Acolytes come to the call? She was not so certain, but the King-Emperor had confidence that they would. Confidence, perhaps, that she should share. The wooden doors of the Halls now stood solidly before her. She reached out and knocked.
And a blurb about Faison's Fire:
Faisons Fire: This substance has been largely ignored by Armenia for hundreds of years, used only in circuses and simple pyrotechnic displays. However, a new general from the northern borders has come to lead the army of Armenia and sees the potential use of Faisons Fire as a weapon. It is held in pots sealed with wax and can be loaded into catapults and used to break sieges by burning out enemies. It has also been used with some success by the Armenian fleet, and as a defensive weapon in the cities of the borderlands.
Her duties, however, would not take her to Nerise. The town was pleasant enough, and quiet, but her duty to the King-Emperor would send her back up into the mountains, to the great structure just barely visible in the misty morning high on the steep mountainside. The Halls of Haano, a monastery and training ground together. She left the road and began the long ascent up the stony path to the Halls of Haano.
The structure itself had existed for a long time indeed. Once the only temple to the Eight Faces north of the Caucasus, it had enjoyed great prestige among the locals. However, as time passed more temples were founded, many more accessible that the remote structure above the Nerise pass, and the temple fell into disuse and was nearly abandoned. However, as military interests were revived following the Cimmerian breakthrough, many devotees to the Soldier Face, Haano, appeared in the northern provinces, and one Hand of Haano, as he called himself, founded a school for the most elite warriors in this all-but-abandoned temple. And so the Halls began.
And now it was her duty to call Haanos Acolytes, as the disciples of the Halls called themselves, to serve the King-Emperor. War was brewing, and the King-Emperor had need of the best soldiers in all Armenia. Would Haanos Acolytes come to the call? She was not so certain, but the King-Emperor had confidence that they would. Confidence, perhaps, that she should share. The wooden doors of the Halls now stood solidly before her. She reached out and knocked.
And a blurb about Faison's Fire:
Faisons Fire: This substance has been largely ignored by Armenia for hundreds of years, used only in circuses and simple pyrotechnic displays. However, a new general from the northern borders has come to lead the army of Armenia and sees the potential use of Faisons Fire as a weapon. It is held in pots sealed with wax and can be loaded into catapults and used to break sieges by burning out enemies. It has also been used with some success by the Armenian fleet, and as a defensive weapon in the cities of the borderlands.
das said:
Bureaucracy in action!
@NK- hope you don tmind my lack of stories; my left hand has been taken out in a little misshap for a while, and its painfully slow (and boring) to type, hopefully in a few days I'll be healed though.
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
A Childs care free mind
I dont care who he is, if he did something wrong, Ill tell him he did it wrong. If he was the Yellow Emperor himself, and did something wrong, I would tell him hes wrong even if he threatened me with death. Chen Wen JieThe Childs journey south into Burma was quite uneventful until they had to reach the Mekong River and had to cross it. The three of them was preparing to get on a boat but a young girl, 13 of age attacked them and demanded that Xiao Xiang fight her to see who the greatest warrior in Shu was. The fight, while intense was short with the girl being thrown into the river and Xiao Xiang forced down to fight her. Little did the bystanders know, was that Xiao Xiang couldnt swim and just stayed bobbling in the water while the girl pushed his head down trying to get victory.
Finally, after Wen Jie begged the girl she threw him onboard a distant ship and on seeing this their father ran off to look for the ship leaving Wen Jie and the already famed Feng Ya Tou, or Crazy Head. Crazy Head and Wen Jie went off looking for the boat to cross the river but the boat had left and they were forced to wander the streets aimlessly. They were attacked by a few brigands in the open streets, and while Crazy Head put up a good fight, but she had to give up when she was threatened that Wen Jie would be killed. They were put into a large room filled with wine bottles (big bulky Chinese ones) filled with wine and told to wait for people to come and buy them.
It was here that Crazy head told Wen Jie that she was the 10th Daughter of the High Lord, his pride and joy. Wen Jie dismissed her as a crazy person and proceed to make traps and other stuff in the straw covered floor and asked their captors for water. When their captors came in, they were attacked by bags of flours, small mousetraps and other things activated via a series of levers. They went out and saw a constable and indicated him to the whereabouts of the villains. However, for a long time the constable didnt emerge so they went in looking for the constable. It turns out that the villains had been let go and now they surrounded Wen Jie and Crazy Head and threw them in the room again telling them that if they tried to escape again, they would kill them.
Wen Jie, not scared of the threat proceed to think of another plan and when seeing the wine bottles got one. He encouraged Crazy Head to join him in drinking wine, and when he had enough empty wine bottles, he stacked them in a pile and was high enough to reach for the small window and turning back asked if Crazy Head wanted to leave. Crazy head still drunk said no and Wen Jie jumped off the window and escaped. Hearing the commotion, several of their captors came in and asked Crazy Head where the other kid was. Crazy Head drunk answered that he had left and they ran out leaving the drunk Crazy Head inside.
Meanwhile, the High Lord was in Kunming enjoying the sites when he was informed by 1st rank Official Ni Shen that the 10th Princess had escaped from the Palace and had went south into Burma to see who was the greater warrior with Xiao Xiang, and who was the smarter person with Wen Jie. The High Lord shook his head and said things about how she was the pride and joy of his heart and summoned his Bodyguard Chu Shu and ordered him to go south into Burma and locate his Daughter. Ni Shen immediately proposed that the Princesss betrothed, his son also have a place in the search for his daughter.
Xiao Xiang, alone on the ship recovered and looked around at the unfamiliar sights around the boat. He asked the person moving the boat if he could stop, but was told that he couldnt do anything unless the master of the boat said so. Right on cue, the master of the boat appeared and on taking off her cape and hat was the most beautiful person Xiao Xiang had ever seen. He could easily see that she knew the martial arts and offered to pledge his 10 year old self to her and become her pupil and learn the ways of Water fighting. She easily accepted and the voyage continued
To be Continued
alex994
Hail Divine Emperor!
orders sent.
MjM
Deity
orders sent finally
das
Regeneration In Process
"No, Syrian scum! Go back to hell from whence you came, vile fools!" - shouted some red-faced Sabaen, leaving the council room.
Danval was unsure what was this "hell" the Sabaen was talking about, but he supposed it to be something like "desert" or somesuch.
""Hell"? We came from Syria, it is not a desert. "Vile"? What vile things did we do for which we did not agree to make amends? "Fools"? Fools are those who fight despite the fact that they stand no chances at winning. Our armies are great and vast and we can simply... burn down all of Yemen unless you agree to our reasonable proposal. Or you can at least try and negotiate. We want not the control of Yemen, and we will leave anyway. HOW we will leave is up to you - peacefully and quietly or leaving a desolate wasteland in our wake. Any armies that you will send after us will be destroyed - and your armies are not quite as vast as ours.
And finally, remember this. We are offering you good relations and profitable trade, not to mention that we promise not to send the Suhd af-Frikahn Repablik to devastate your trade, the foundation of your nation."
During Danval's speach, the Sabaen guards already managed to surround him, foolishl ignorant of the two knives hidden in his robes, as well as of the fact that he already calculated the optimal way to knock out and kill enough of them to distract the others while he escapes.
Danval was unsure what was this "hell" the Sabaen was talking about, but he supposed it to be something like "desert" or somesuch.
""Hell"? We came from Syria, it is not a desert. "Vile"? What vile things did we do for which we did not agree to make amends? "Fools"? Fools are those who fight despite the fact that they stand no chances at winning. Our armies are great and vast and we can simply... burn down all of Yemen unless you agree to our reasonable proposal. Or you can at least try and negotiate. We want not the control of Yemen, and we will leave anyway. HOW we will leave is up to you - peacefully and quietly or leaving a desolate wasteland in our wake. Any armies that you will send after us will be destroyed - and your armies are not quite as vast as ours.
And finally, remember this. We are offering you good relations and profitable trade, not to mention that we promise not to send the Suhd af-Frikahn Repablik to devastate your trade, the foundation of your nation."
During Danval's speach, the Sabaen guards already managed to surround him, foolishl ignorant of the two knives hidden in his robes, as well as of the fact that he already calculated the optimal way to knock out and kill enough of them to distract the others while he escapes.
Similar threads
