TheMeanestGuest
Warlord
Welcome to my terrible NES! If you choose to join, you will be playing semi-cooperatively with other players as a political council in a troubled city set in a fantasy kingdom. Please take advantage of the system and setting information laid out below.
~
From Then
Atten’s house at Sul was tall and fine, but Hazzar knocked it down and sealed it up - children are frequently ungrateful; the Drakkanthron will tell you. He took his father’s seat and brought it south, desirous of his own grandeur. He built a great city by the sea, and he named it Tesch for the gold-hued flowers that grew on its sandy shores. Hazzar sought to rule as far as the waves would carry his ships, and so he did, for none dared interfere. His life was long, and Tesch became a finer country than what had been before. But children are ungrateful.
Hazzar’s son and daughter thought it long enough that he had ruled, and so with power they drowned him in the sea. Their mastery, though, was incomplete. Khares held the strands of life betwixt his fingers, to blossom or wither as he saw fit; a great talent in the cayanic art. Taigah knew each and every law, iron-bound within her mind, and when she spoke with command she could not be denied - in grammatarchy she was never surpassed. Neither had their father’s grace, and so to each the other’s skill remained beyond grasp. They married, and shared the throne between themselves, and in this way the unity of Tesch was preserved and strengthened, and they complemented one another in rulership and artistry. City and country prospered, girded by their father’s fleet, and counseled wisely by their grandfather’s seat. They had many children, and many pupils more besides. But as the Drakkanthron will tell you, wives and husbands both grow bitter and tired, and with long years even the strongest trust unwinds.
Taigah repaired to Sul, seeking artifacts of Atten’s elder rule. About the city the grammatarchs raised strong walls, and so they stand to this day. Though Taigah had no throne, in Atten’s House she found a crown that glowed with starlight, and poured fire in her veins. From Sul she reigned as Queen, and for a time two countries stood upon the island. Khares brooded in his lapis-garbed palace until one day his Emissaries came to him in council. Taigah was strong, they said, and her people indeed were loyal, but the armada’s artillery remained with the King, and in the south he had many more retainers than dwelt on the northern river. The strength of Tesch’s army would weigh down upon Sul’s walls.
And so there was a war. They fought in the fields and hills for many years, and each side did much to wound the other. But the councillors of the King had been right, and Taigah was forced back into her city. The siege lasted many a decade more, but the strength of Khares’ thousand magisters ground down the smaller cadre of the nictori. The city was opened and sacked, and Taigah was cast down. Khares cut out her tongue and removed her fingers, and sent her to live a life in penance at the monastery of Nitiras, to contemplate the wisdoms of their ancestors. He likewise took the tongues from the speakers among her students, and even from among his children who had sided with their mother - this is how the art of grammatarchy was beggared to the written form alone, and the primacy of cayanics assured; though it did, of course, beget further troubles for the King.
To Now
Down through the centuries were the seeds of treachery sewn again and again. Power is a lure, the Drakkanthron reminds. Tesch, though, has done naught but grow. With cold iron the armada has dispatched corsair, beast, and demon alike. With the ministrations of the magisters the fields have groaned with heavy crop. Tesch endures, one way or the other.
It owes this to the strength of three institutions: the throne, the college, and the armada. The rightful monarch sits upon the Drakkanthron, and it grants great vigour and long life, and so the crown gains the wisdom of many years and is a shining beacon to our country. The college puts to order the dangerous forces of magic, binding them both with talent and with writ to benefit the people of the Kingdom. The armada protects with its powerful leviathans, iron-clad and spewing fire, fashioned in hidden foundries by their secretive technologers. Of course, as the Drakkanthron will readily note, this is merely the ideal.
It was a small matter at first, a demon arisen in the south, threat to Tesch’s vassals. An intolerable interference, but not in any way unusual. The demon was dealt with by the guns of the armada, its barbarian armies obliterated, its fell magics all but useless. And so it fled away into the south and troubled Tesch no more. Triumph, however, is a trouble all its own.
King Haran is dead, and so too near all his line of heirs. A conflagration in the night, and the admiral Aomerzes has taken his fleet into the east. The College of Emissaries props up one claimant to the kingdom, and the pervasive influence of Carathir compels many to fealty. The throne and city itself, however, fall near by happenstance to the bastard of Azarnes. The Emissary Yetho is at the bastard’s side, and the constant presence of the storied warrior legitimizes the new Hazzarat.
These matters, however, are beyond you. More urgent problems require your attention closer to home.
The City of Sul
Ancient in its dignities, and twice a storied capital; its people second only to Tesch itself in number. Yet other cities first were granted rights to their own governance. All while Sul remained a College possession, fief to the Magister Keros, scion of the hated dal Esiers, and master of Cherid Mount. An insult long suffered, but shortly rectified. The Sulans are not known for their restraint.
A conspiracy was hatched amidst the chaos of the realm, a plot to win a city’s rights. Lesser knights, titled merchants, and armed factions of the lower classes united by base opportunity and bizarrely overwrought civic pride. A riot stirred on a warm spring night, clamour, blood and fire. The magister’s retainers are drawn away from the Raka Khareth, built atop the half-sheared bulk of the Observatory to glower down on the rebellious city from its ruined heights. With hooks and ropes and ladders the city’s strongest tower is taken with all the raucous stealth of a cobbled-together band of gradi, Sul’s ubiquitous metal-jacketed ruffians. The surprised garrison surrenders after a brief tussle in the dark with those cruel knifemen. Knights and armsmen pound upon the doors of Kingsmen and College sympathizers alike, throwing them from their homes with but clothes upon their backs, their worldly goods forfeit to the new council.
It isn’t done by morning, and smoke hangs over the city. The withering spells of college fratres have driven back many of the conspiracy’s attacks. The mercenary grammatarchs and failed acolytes the conspiracy has gathered unable to directly challenge them. The magister’s men yet hold the Cheridine Gate. Still, the throbbing rage of ten thousand angry men are enough to drive them slowly north, their barricades overwhelmed and strongpoints besieged. The rage of the Sulans is a fearsome thing, screaming like wild beasts - visiting Kings have been driven through the streets, and the mob won’t be dissuaded by the magister’s lackeys and a mere few hundred deaths. By the end of the second day the city is nearly won, and after a few short and brutal internal disagreements the nascent parliament holds its first session in the audiencia at Senno, shouts echoing in the distance, blood-stains hastily scoured from the polished granite floors of the city’s bureaucratic heart.
But clouds gather over the city, cold winds and a dismal rain begin to fall as Sul is put to its new order. It comes from Cherid Mount, a weapon of the magister. The clouds spread across the countryside, fields soaked through with rain. The spring planting is threatened, and a hungry winter lies ahead if the magister can’t soon be brought to heel.
~
Spoiler a map of the country :
From Then
Atten’s house at Sul was tall and fine, but Hazzar knocked it down and sealed it up - children are frequently ungrateful; the Drakkanthron will tell you. He took his father’s seat and brought it south, desirous of his own grandeur. He built a great city by the sea, and he named it Tesch for the gold-hued flowers that grew on its sandy shores. Hazzar sought to rule as far as the waves would carry his ships, and so he did, for none dared interfere. His life was long, and Tesch became a finer country than what had been before. But children are ungrateful.
Hazzar’s son and daughter thought it long enough that he had ruled, and so with power they drowned him in the sea. Their mastery, though, was incomplete. Khares held the strands of life betwixt his fingers, to blossom or wither as he saw fit; a great talent in the cayanic art. Taigah knew each and every law, iron-bound within her mind, and when she spoke with command she could not be denied - in grammatarchy she was never surpassed. Neither had their father’s grace, and so to each the other’s skill remained beyond grasp. They married, and shared the throne between themselves, and in this way the unity of Tesch was preserved and strengthened, and they complemented one another in rulership and artistry. City and country prospered, girded by their father’s fleet, and counseled wisely by their grandfather’s seat. They had many children, and many pupils more besides. But as the Drakkanthron will tell you, wives and husbands both grow bitter and tired, and with long years even the strongest trust unwinds.
Taigah repaired to Sul, seeking artifacts of Atten’s elder rule. About the city the grammatarchs raised strong walls, and so they stand to this day. Though Taigah had no throne, in Atten’s House she found a crown that glowed with starlight, and poured fire in her veins. From Sul she reigned as Queen, and for a time two countries stood upon the island. Khares brooded in his lapis-garbed palace until one day his Emissaries came to him in council. Taigah was strong, they said, and her people indeed were loyal, but the armada’s artillery remained with the King, and in the south he had many more retainers than dwelt on the northern river. The strength of Tesch’s army would weigh down upon Sul’s walls.
And so there was a war. They fought in the fields and hills for many years, and each side did much to wound the other. But the councillors of the King had been right, and Taigah was forced back into her city. The siege lasted many a decade more, but the strength of Khares’ thousand magisters ground down the smaller cadre of the nictori. The city was opened and sacked, and Taigah was cast down. Khares cut out her tongue and removed her fingers, and sent her to live a life in penance at the monastery of Nitiras, to contemplate the wisdoms of their ancestors. He likewise took the tongues from the speakers among her students, and even from among his children who had sided with their mother - this is how the art of grammatarchy was beggared to the written form alone, and the primacy of cayanics assured; though it did, of course, beget further troubles for the King.
To Now
Down through the centuries were the seeds of treachery sewn again and again. Power is a lure, the Drakkanthron reminds. Tesch, though, has done naught but grow. With cold iron the armada has dispatched corsair, beast, and demon alike. With the ministrations of the magisters the fields have groaned with heavy crop. Tesch endures, one way or the other.
It owes this to the strength of three institutions: the throne, the college, and the armada. The rightful monarch sits upon the Drakkanthron, and it grants great vigour and long life, and so the crown gains the wisdom of many years and is a shining beacon to our country. The college puts to order the dangerous forces of magic, binding them both with talent and with writ to benefit the people of the Kingdom. The armada protects with its powerful leviathans, iron-clad and spewing fire, fashioned in hidden foundries by their secretive technologers. Of course, as the Drakkanthron will readily note, this is merely the ideal.
It was a small matter at first, a demon arisen in the south, threat to Tesch’s vassals. An intolerable interference, but not in any way unusual. The demon was dealt with by the guns of the armada, its barbarian armies obliterated, its fell magics all but useless. And so it fled away into the south and troubled Tesch no more. Triumph, however, is a trouble all its own.
King Haran is dead, and so too near all his line of heirs. A conflagration in the night, and the admiral Aomerzes has taken his fleet into the east. The College of Emissaries props up one claimant to the kingdom, and the pervasive influence of Carathir compels many to fealty. The throne and city itself, however, fall near by happenstance to the bastard of Azarnes. The Emissary Yetho is at the bastard’s side, and the constant presence of the storied warrior legitimizes the new Hazzarat.
These matters, however, are beyond you. More urgent problems require your attention closer to home.
The City of Sul
Ancient in its dignities, and twice a storied capital; its people second only to Tesch itself in number. Yet other cities first were granted rights to their own governance. All while Sul remained a College possession, fief to the Magister Keros, scion of the hated dal Esiers, and master of Cherid Mount. An insult long suffered, but shortly rectified. The Sulans are not known for their restraint.
A conspiracy was hatched amidst the chaos of the realm, a plot to win a city’s rights. Lesser knights, titled merchants, and armed factions of the lower classes united by base opportunity and bizarrely overwrought civic pride. A riot stirred on a warm spring night, clamour, blood and fire. The magister’s retainers are drawn away from the Raka Khareth, built atop the half-sheared bulk of the Observatory to glower down on the rebellious city from its ruined heights. With hooks and ropes and ladders the city’s strongest tower is taken with all the raucous stealth of a cobbled-together band of gradi, Sul’s ubiquitous metal-jacketed ruffians. The surprised garrison surrenders after a brief tussle in the dark with those cruel knifemen. Knights and armsmen pound upon the doors of Kingsmen and College sympathizers alike, throwing them from their homes with but clothes upon their backs, their worldly goods forfeit to the new council.
It isn’t done by morning, and smoke hangs over the city. The withering spells of college fratres have driven back many of the conspiracy’s attacks. The mercenary grammatarchs and failed acolytes the conspiracy has gathered unable to directly challenge them. The magister’s men yet hold the Cheridine Gate. Still, the throbbing rage of ten thousand angry men are enough to drive them slowly north, their barricades overwhelmed and strongpoints besieged. The rage of the Sulans is a fearsome thing, screaming like wild beasts - visiting Kings have been driven through the streets, and the mob won’t be dissuaded by the magister’s lackeys and a mere few hundred deaths. By the end of the second day the city is nearly won, and after a few short and brutal internal disagreements the nascent parliament holds its first session in the audiencia at Senno, shouts echoing in the distance, blood-stains hastily scoured from the polished granite floors of the city’s bureaucratic heart.
But clouds gather over the city, cold winds and a dismal rain begin to fall as Sul is put to its new order. It comes from Cherid Mount, a weapon of the magister. The clouds spread across the countryside, fields soaked through with rain. The spring planting is threatened, and a hungry winter lies ahead if the magister can’t soon be brought to heel.
Spoiler a map of the city :
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