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Behind the Serpent Throne (CK2)

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Unlikely friends in low places can be useful. Like, say, abother source of intel on intrigues of newfangled commision.
Thus, let's hope this awkward but cute man makes friends and remembers that we gave him this opportunity.

[X] Hao Ran makes friends.
 
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Adhoc vote count started by The Laurent on Sep 26, 2017 at 8:20 PM, finished with 29 posts and 16 votes.
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Turn 13A--Part 6
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    • Turn 13A--Part 6

    Strike the drums. Dance! Drink! Make merry, for life flows like a river, and the Gods will do only so much to smooth the path. Faith is important, but so is industry, and so is happiness, enjoyment.

    The Gods were not merely worshipped, Kiralo thought, in temples and in pools of water. They were also worshipped in the very air itself, in the way a man could walk, and the way another man could live.

    There were hundreds of guests, bodies all crowded together, though there were scents and perfumes that they all wore. It was part of society, this similarity. All of the men who weren't monks wore similar sorts of robes, with similar hats that they took off, except for those who didn't stick to the fashion of dark scholar's hats.

    They wore their hair long, in a careful bun, and pinned it with some creativity, but mostly as per the fashions. They used similar perfumes, and spoke in similarly rarified accents, chattering and nattering about topics, all while eating their fill.

    Kiralo didn't have his cook, and didn't have the best chefs in the Empire, but they could make a feast, the ones he'd hired, and that they did. Checked for poison, and carefully laid out, dish after dish.

    Kiralo made polite talk, looking over at Hao Ran every so often to see how he was getting along.

    It was surprisingly well, in fact. He was talking with one of the mid-Csraen nobles about, of all things, the planting of rice.

    "Well, if you understand the process, you can better predict what the spirits will want, can't you? Spirits are like that," Hao Ran said, firmly. "They need attention." He bit his lip, and said. "I think?"

    "Right, right!" a drunken guest said, waving his cup. "The spirits! It's what brings us here."

    Kiralo didn't correct the man, since it was of course the Gods that brought them to this place now. As for spirits? They were hovering and crawling, skittering and sometimes assaying to steal some small bit of food for their own devices, though spirits didn't eat in the way that people ate, at least not normally. There were always exceptions, always strange rules and stranger beings. Even the dumbest spirits were inhuman in a way, and the smartest were inhuman in another way.

    Hao Ran didn't disagree, just smiled and tried to plunge back into conversation. It was impressive to watch, really, considering how much of a wreck the other man had been.

    He kept on glancing over at Kiralo, sneaking peeks as the banquet continued. The main dishes were taken away for a light round of soups and sake, in order that those who needed it could take a break, and prepare for more.

    Truly, of course, with all the rice there was, a man could fill up before he even reached halfway through the best was of course for last. Steamed rice cakes, made sweet and then covered in fruit, and shaved ice, with slightly sweet syrups and covered in red bean paste. The former was the specialty, made perfectly and carefully with ingredients drawn from across provinces, all shipped here with great care.

    For in a festival of rice, how could one refuse to make the very best rice cakes?

    And the Shaved ice provided an alternative for those who didn't want the rice cakes.

    So, at last, people got drunk and began to quiet down, as they prayed between each small course, now one after another, building up to the tea and the desserts.

    The drinking, in fact, stopped. It was not thought to be very polite, to drink so when there was tea available, especially so publically.

    It might well be an act of self-defense, Kiralo thought with amusement, culturally. He thought it was impolite, but then that's how he was taught. It was still wise policy besides that, for if you drank all the banquet, you'd be completely beyond help by the end.

    So on came the tea and the cakes, and Kiralo watched as Hao Ran began to mingle. He had perfect manners, trained into him no doubt from his parents, and the gathering as a whole seemed to embody that.

    As Kiralo began to eat the shaved ice, using the traditional spoon to devour it, he watched the conversation swirl, trying to see the patterns.

    People from the same areas tended to cluster, in general, but what they talked about varied. Politics was more interesting to them than theology, but theology did slip its way in.

    Especially considering the disrespect to rice and agriculture, according to some, was being done in the capital in the name of reform.

    Kiralo smiled, wondering how much most of these men actually knew about peasant life, let alone the methods of cultivating rice. He wished Kueli was here, because without the other man he felt rather lonely, exchanging polite greetings and watching that everything hung together. The purpose of this banquet was to understand, not dominate, and his brain was no doubt swollen with all of the names he was going to have to memorize, and all of the positions.

    But you didn't get ahead in court without an understanding of people… and of mental tricks to keep names tucked away, ready to be retrieved when the moment was right.

    Sticky-sweet rice haunted his tongue as the party began to wind down, slowly dissolving like the rice cakes that had been thrown into ponds early in the morning, as offerings. Now at last the day was over, and the beggars had been driven off, along with the chosen few peasants who had been allowed in mostly to sit and eat and partake at a distance, in secondary, divided tables.

    Now all that was left was for the people to leave, but they seemed to be inclined to stay.

    Kiralo rose, clearing his throat and saying another poem, and then another, each of them meant to imply, subtly, that it was time for people to leave. It was almost midnight, the day was almost done, and yet they wouldn't leave.

    So he stood up and, stepping along in his slippers, he headed towards the kitchen, wanting a little peace and quiet, and more than that, a little perspective.

    Agendas rattled in his brain, attempting to crawl their way out: they talked of politics, they whispered of war, they considered the good of the Empire, and yet it was impossible not to listen in on a group of such nobles and such scholars and not get the vague impression that when they said 'The Empire' they meant 'Myself' and when their concerns didn't match the Empire's, it was the Empire that must change, not their minds.

    It was enough to make one wonder at the wisdom of such groups. They argued, they bickered, they traded favors--favors, the currency of all men in the Empire--and they ended the night a little closer to their goals, or a little further.

    You added it up, like grains of sand, and you got a lot of work for a little gain. It was how he lived his life in court too, and he'd be doing it all his life…

    Kiralo realized that he was probably drunk himself, though he didn't feel like it. His movements weren't clumsy at all, his stomach didn't churn, his thoughts seemed to proceed with as much pomp as a priest, of which there were a number here, taking part in a more pious version of the same games, and the same arguments too, for that matter.

    But for all of that, he was sure he was drunk. If not on rice wine, then on late hours and hard work, piling itself down upon him one document at a time.

    There was so much to do.

    Then his contemplation was interrupted by a tipsy group of men stumbling onward, clearly looking for the toilets. Among then was Hao Ran, who waved off the men who were going to all wait in line, and looked over at Kiralo.

    The other men, most of them in their twenties, clearly, though one of them was a balding, aging monk, all laughed and shooed him along.

    His hair was in disarray as he stopped in front of Kiralo. His face was darkened with drink. It made him look a little younger than he was. Hao Ran had seemed young, and then when he'd turned out to know his business as a noble, or at least the business of managing the land, he'd seemed older. Now, face flushed with alcohol, he seemed young and vulnerable again.

    "Cs-Kiralo. What are you doing here?" Hao Ran asked.

    "Standing," Kiralo said, drily. "Cs-Hao Ran, you are drunk."

    "So are you," Hao Ran insisted, though his own voice was so slurred and thick with alcohol that his accusation seemed to land softly.

    "Perhaps, perhaps not," Kiralo said. He was taller than the other man, by more than a little, and he'd been more careful, so he wasn't nearly as drunk.

    "Y'know, it's nice in the city. Out in the country, there's relaxation, and you get drunk on hedge wines or country air, and there's nobody else there to laugh with until you set up for guests or visit some other manor," Hao Ran said, absently, looking up at Kiralo. "Nothin...like thisssss. And you're lonely, by the Gods you're lonely. And all there is are letters from your Dad, and what does he say but obey, obey, obey. I'm good at it." He paused, "Doin' what I'm told. And yoouuuu, everyone says you aren't."

    Kiralo frowned. "Maybe I'm not," he said, looking at Hao Ran.

    "My father always said that you are either good at taking orders, giving orders, or nothing," Hao Ran said.

    "I'm not sure that's true at all."

    "You aren't sure? You? You're a general, that's… leadership."

    "And you manage your lands well," Kiralo pointed out. "That's not following."

    "Maybe I wanna follow. It's easier, filial piety and tradition says what you have to do, and you do it…"

    "Not all traditions are good."

    Hao Ran snorted, clearly amused by something. "Are you your father's son?"

    "Apparently more than I thought," Kiralo said, a little startled. Clearly, he hadn't been raised by the old man, but some things passed down by blood.

    "If you told me to kiss you, I would," Hao Ran said.

    Kiralo blinked in shock. Hao Ran's look was as coy as any that Kiralo had ever seen, his hair a mess, his eyes wide and wet with drink. "Told you to?" Kiralo asked.

    "I'm a coward. I'd never have fought," Hao Ran said. "But I can listen and do what I'm told. So can you write? Even if it's just to share poems and talk about agriculture and reform?"

    "Of course I can," Kiralo said, baffled and wary, but willing. There was something else, too. He was warm, and more than that.

    Gods.

    "...if you tell me to kiss you, I would," he repeated.

    Kiralo was not a fool. He wasn't a knave. He knew what was going on. His heart ached for a moment, filled to the brim with desire, and then he leaned down and gave an order.

    "Kiss me."

    *******

    A/N: And thus ends Turn 13A. Rumors will be going out in due time, or whatnot. And stuff and things. This was a short update, so sorry about the delay in writing it.
     
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    • Dang, that's going to start rumours - our secret weapon of being immune to feminine wiles is going to fail us, when they bring out masculine wiles instead!
     
    I mean we seem to be fairly good at controlling our desires and considering our appearance are probably the one who's going to be doing any seducing.
     
    Turn 13A--Rumors
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    • Turn 13-A Rumors

    Delaying Actions

    At the border, at Hari-Bueli, there is work to be done. The armed forces there are doing the best they can to delay the pushes, and thus far they've managed to keep the Bueli off-balance, though not without costs. Stories come in of villages half-evacuated and then left to be burned in favor of concentrating forces and making it impossible for Bueli raiders to actually gain more than a little ground.

    It's no more than that, but that's something, considering how badly things had been going in general along the border.

    The situation is going to need to be changed by force, but it's not the collapse that many at court feared would happen, as soon as they started to become aware of the extent of the problem. Still, it is a pressing issue, and one that would be more talked about if it weren't for the traitor's return, for he is said to be just a week or two from the capital.

    In other Hari-Bueli news, it is said that the Anlan are trying to send messengers to the court, though for what purpose, nobody knows. Rumors are spreading of the potential that someone at court may have been talking to these… barbarians.

    Basrat Blues

    (Auto-sux on finding out information)

    Word has come to Kiralo about what is happening in Basrat. Not the full report, and there's nothing that can be done yet, but Ha'dong's actions have been deeply harmful to Basrat thus far, or at least… questionable.

    He's giving mercy and cruelty out seemingly at random, pardoning one person while throwing another in the dungeon, though he seems to be keeping to Kiralo's amnesty, at least in the most narrow interpretation of it. The nobles of Basrat are terrorized, and so too are the common people, and everywhere his influence is to be found.

    He pillages, he takes, he intimidates and works his charm in equal measure to try to make himself supreme in Basrat, even though a Governor would eventually be appointed.

    And more than that, he seemed to have taken the chance for revenge on those associated with the Prince, those who had betrayed him and the Emperor. It is an impulse caused less by a love of justice, or so the reports come, then by a burning, almost desperate desire for revenge.


    The Collapse

    A city has not yet fallen to the Sea Raiders, but that looks like it will change very shortly, as news has come in, by runner, of Isae besieged, surrounded on all sides, its walls crumbling, its people trapped and helpless, and so far from the bulk of the army that had been arriving to sort things out that a reprieve seems unlikely.

    It is not yet lost, but the army would have to move fast, and in great force, to stand a chance of saving the city, and with the rest of the Tycoon's forces harassing the entire sea coast, the maxim "Strong everywhere, weak everywhere" seems more and more appropriate. It's a complicated, difficult situation, which is why of course everyone has an opinion on what must be done, especially if they don't have any military experience.

    The news is not all bad, because it's very clear that the Tycoon is over-extending himself.

    At least, Kiralo's careful analysis seems to fit that. And it is a sensible over-extension. He expected that the civil war would last weeks longer, and he needs to conquer a coastal city so that he can winter there and plan his next move.

    It's a weak position, but the position of his enemies is even weaker, and that means that for the moment, Hari-Os is all but open at places for the depredations of the Sea-Raiders. Whatever reforms planned for them take back seat at the moment to the giant loss of transportation up and down the empire, and the chaos that all of this is causing.

    And of course, the petty gossip of the court, which doesn't tend to make its way to Kiralo, at least not often enough for it to matter… until he reaches the court again.

    The Opposition of the Court

    Letters, coded and otherwise, pour in daily, messages representing themselves to be the true voice of this or that group of nobles and wise scholars, all of them hinting that Kuojah's initiative doesn't have the full support of the court, though Kiralo notes their cowardice in not openly stating this, nor even doing more than implying some level of connection between their very polite letters and their feelings about his father.

    All of them seem to dance around the issue of his opinion of his father and its relevance, and none of them are as direct as Kiralo forced Hao Ran to be, about their objections. But then, Kiralo realizes that plenty of them can't be open, because their reason is greed.

    He needs a secretary, in truth. He has scribes, but those aren't the same thing. But history shows that the secretary of powerful men becomes a man of power in his own right.

    So there was a difficulty there, but if he was going to take over his father's role and power at court, he'd have to expand his servants, and work with all sorts of people who, as the letters show, are mostly spineless.

    But, then…

    The truth was, he did want that power. He did want to make his mark on his Empire. He did want to protect the Emperor.

    And that meant he'd have to deal.

    It took over an hour each day to write replies to each of the letters, and even that was rather more brief that he might have wanted to be.

    It was a start, but nothing more than that. It would take hard work and dedication if he was going to achieve his goal.

    Hard work, and hands stained not with bood, but ink.

    *******

    A/N: And yeah, next up is the voting for the next turn, 13B, which will be the transition turn back into the Court.
     
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