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| Earth Bleeds, Sky Weeps | |
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| Topic Started: Aug 4 2008, 09:42 PM (203 Views) | |
| Rhadamanthus | Aug 4 2008, 09:42 PM Post #1 |
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Legitimist
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With a cowl draped over his face, a robed man drifted through a street. He liked not the things he saw. Given to the wanderer was the vision of a man on the street. Sprawled across the cobblestone, back to the wall, a human stupor stunk of drink. In another world, the man thought, the poor sod would have been a proud fighting man, and he would have taken his drink like a warrior. Instead he drank his fill in his spare moments, his reward for being part of the warrior race, for once having been a great killing man. The same spectacle might have been repeated ubiquitously as the robed man walked the streets of the Sakhan Khaganate of Mexico. Years had passed since the Sakhans had come to this land of temperate cities and tropical forests, a land where they had made themselves masters by fighting prowess and earned for themselves the spoils of conquest. But the lordly men who who sailed across the sea no longer resembled the brutal overmen of yesteryear. Thank you God, he thought, for harding my heart in youth. There were still great warriors among the Sakha, and among the free Mexicans in the south, but this land was not the old land. For the Sakha this was a land of plenty, full of wonderous things. Food, drink, women, and most of all, a lesser people to lord themselves over. The robed man saw a softness, a gradual weakening. Comforts were foreign to the Sakhan way. It was not good for them to live in the land plenty. Their fighters were now only normal man. Gone were the fearsome demons of old... Like the brilliant physician identifying an illness by observing its symptoms, the man in robes silently diagnosed the sickness that plagued his race. He saw as the root the mighty leader who had unified the fighting men and gathered the tribes. For Dagyn, a great warrior, knew only of material things. He was a leader in body, but he had not the soul for it. A true leader of Sakhans was more than simply a man of the flesh. So Dagyn could fight, and he could seek power, and he could conquer. Dagyn could gather great material rewards for his followers. But he lost the war of the spirit. This was not a good thing, so the robed man continued to walk toward the city of Mexico. |
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| Kasnyia | Aug 4 2008, 09:45 PM Post #2 |
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Chairman of the Bank
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OOC- Daygn will be overthrown? :unsure: |
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| Rhadamanthus | Aug 5 2008, 08:20 AM Post #3 |
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Legitimist
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The robed man had no memories before his journey. He had no knowledge of friends, of family, or of any acquaintance. He was without name or geneaology, remembering no connections to humanity. In the stillness of his mind, he may have been a new thing, entirely sui generis. But despite this, he knew things. The Greater Sakhans were his people. And he would redeem them. And he had divined from the entrails of a human sacrifice that a greater sacrifice was required. Mexico was a land with volcanoes in its midst. This was known. And it was a simple thing for the robed man to find a village, to talk them in to following him, to convince them, of their own choice and will, to go with him, even knowing what he intended. Because human will is malleable and the robed man had considerable talents, the sacrifice would be a voluntary one, for what that meant. And though he remembered no education, he remembered the prayers, he remembered the rituals. He performed each rite in turn as the victims stood mesmerized before the volcano. Finally, the robed man took his long curved knife and ritually cut the soft earth, wounding the earth so that it might bleed. He left, and later the volcano would errupt, violently and sickeningly as if it knew that was acting before its time. From the wounds of the earth, here and throughout Mexico, its internal juices poured out violently through the land, the gaping and festering openings pouring forth black bile into the skies. First the sacrifice was consumed, and then many more, less willing sacrifices. And likely, this cataclysmic chain of eruptions would have disasterous effects on the weather systems of much of the globe, so who knew how many victims would be numbered? The robed man continued on the road to Mexico, effortlessly avoiding the danger of the violent natural disasters. |
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| Rhadamanthus | Aug 5 2008, 04:58 PM Post #4 |
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Legitimist
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Having crossed the boiling, magma-scarred lands of the apocalypse, the nameless one threw open massive doors in Mexico. He smelled the sweet smells of kingship, and strode knowingly into the throne room, seeking his quarry. The mighty khagan reclined, resting from his labors. Dagyn lay on cushions, gazing into an elaborate fountain, while clotheless female slaves stroked his muscles and fed him grapes. A guard sat on either side of the room, lazily warding their master from threats. All was tranquil as the doors opened and the man approached Dagyn with long strides. Dagyn gazed at him, lifting one hand to stay his guards. The man stopped several paces from where Dagyn lay. "You have neglected the rites of our God," the hooded man pronounced, not bothering to address Dagyn by name or title. Dagyn was mildly irritated, but still curious enough not to have his guards remove the man. With the easy air of a man used to command, he responded to the man's challenge. "Our God is dead," Dagyn laughed, "he cares not for this earth anymore. Better for us to focus on here and now, to grow strong and to rule over slaves." He paused slightly before asking the obvious question, "Who are you and why are you invading my palace?" The robed man yanked out his long curved blade and shoved it deep into Dagyn's midsection too quickly for the guards to respond. They only reached him as he was turning toward them, cleaning the dead man off of his blade. They quickly moved to neutralize the threat, but he held them at bay with his long knife. Quick movements blocked off avenues of attack, but he eyed the guards lazily, as if toying them. One of the guards repeated the question, "Who are you?" As his dexter clutched the knife, the robed man brought his sinister up to pull back the hood, revealing an ageless and expressionless Sakhan face. He finally spoke, "This one is merely a vessel of hardened clay." But as he spoke, at the same time, a terrible thunder boomed behind him, roaring "Fools, don't you recognize me? Do your duty." The two guards bowed before the robed figure. Each then sheated his blade in the body of one of the female slaves, ending her before withdrawing the blade. Then the two men, simultaneously drew their knives toward themselves, slicing their abdomens and tearing at their own intestines. Alone except for the dead, the robed man smiled as he strode back out of the room. At this point other guards, thralls, and warriors had assembled in the front of the castle, preparing to block his passage. But seeing his terrible visage, they let him pass, and followed him instead. They stepped out of the palace to find the heavens in immense commotion, rain roaring down at the earth. The sky was not sad, but angry, angry at the bleeding earth, at the slaughter of kings, and at the weakness of men. At this time, the people of the kingdom, whether Sakha or Mexica, if they still lived gathered to the great city, the last city of judgment. The robed man sat down on a throne, and the people stood in a line in front of him. And he called out each name to step forward, and at the same time, the thunder roared out judgment, and each penitent stepped to the left or to the right. And finally, the robed one led the people of the right side to the airfields, where they boarded the Sakhan planes. As the planes prepared for take-off, one of the others on board the robed one's conveyance questioned him. "My Lord and my God," the attendant addressed, "Is it safe to take off in this terrible storm?" "It is safe," he responded, "for the worthy. The weak may fail, but the strong will live." "And what then of the weak?" "They will be left for the southerners to take and do with as they please." The attendent was taken aback by this, and the robed one saw that he was not blessed with a hard heart. Seeing this, he laughed and spoke. "Your compassion is indeed strong. You may join those with whom you sympathize with." At this, a massive thunderclap deafened the skies as the robed figured shoved the faithless one out of the door of the lane, which had begun to ascend. The door closed, and those pilots with the skill to rise through the storm would guide their people to their homeland... |
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| Rhadamanthus | Aug 14 2008, 08:02 PM Post #5 |
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Legitimist
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The sky roared as the aerial armada touched down in Chukotka. The Sakhans landed violently without airfields to recieve them. The planes thrust forth into the soft earth, who parted herself reluctantly but submissively, like a maiden on her wedding night. The landing was not without pain, as injuries and even deaths sliced through the armies of God, culling the weak and leaving a hardened force of fighting men. The robed man, however, emerged unscathed, as if he had been floating gently to the ground, instead of enduring a catastrophic crash landing. Slowly, he formed his people into fighting ranks. First they would hunt and kill to eat. And then, they would hunt for men. They would track down and take the measure of those who still remained here, those who still occupied the old country, whether Sakha, Chukchi, or other tribe. And they would take the measure of those remaining, in order to form the worthy into fighting men. Edited by Rhadamanthus, Aug 14 2008, 08:02 PM.
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| Rhadamanthus | Aug 23 2008, 07:39 PM Post #6 |
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Legitimist
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It was not long before the Sakhans had reestablished control of the old country. Naturally infrastructure would take more time to build up, but the main foundation had been built. Greater Sakha was born again. |
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11:49 AM Jul 13