- Pronouns
- They/Them
*second roll*
Nope, the dice really do dislike you, but not pure hatred. More like...you're their annoying cousin?
Nope, the dice really do dislike you, but not pure hatred. More like...you're their annoying cousin?
-
Going forward, links to content from Twitter (now X) will no longer be embedded. Pre-existing links should not be affected.
Behind the Serpent Throne (CK2)
- Thread starter The Laurent
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
- Pronouns
- They/Them
*roll 3/3*
Huh, maybe they don't entirely hate you, though it's clear they don't love you.
Huh, maybe they don't entirely hate you, though it's clear they don't love you.
Canon Omake: Amai's Travails
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Amai's Travails
There were times when a girl could just about hate a Rassit's spontaneity and skill at invention and rolling with the punches. Any other man would have stuck around long enough for her to at least get a decent dinner in for him, and stopped at a local inn for a fresh start in the morning, but instead Kiralo had hurried off.
She'd only had about half the Baozi she'd planned on stuffing down his throat done, and so she had a lot left just laying there.
There was also the fact that he'd made her temporarily rich, she thought, bustling about the kitchen, and given her several days' job to do.
So he'd given her the ability to go on a tear through the town, see what the pretty boys would do when she showed up with a new fragrence and shawl, and wind up wasting a seasons' money in a week at the most.
And then he had given her a task, finishing up the household, that would take a while. Of course, she could just abandon the house as soon as she got the money, but that was against her own standards.
She wiped her hands on the hem of the dress, feeling tired and put-upon, and the other two servants hadn't even shown up for her to berate them. The sun was still high in the sky, and even through the spirits of the house and the construction kept it from being absolutely scorching, it was still miserable inside, and the kitchen was hot from her work.
Sweat was getting in her eyes and she kept on having to pause before getting back to her work.
Amai didn't feel sexy at all at the moment, let alone willing to go out and find a young man that night, but she smiled and grinned and bore it when finally Narain showed himself.
"Amai! Amai! The horses are gone, Amai! Rouse the…" the young boy said. He was short and dark haired, features slightly angular, nose a little large, and dressed in a boy's tunic, still not at an age for the sorts of things any adult would wear. "Why are you cooking so many...Baoni?"
"Baozi," Amai said, making sure to get the pronunciation right, "And no need to rouse the guards. Kiralo's gone and ridden north to become the Emperor."
"What, really?!" Narain asked. "I...Emperor of Csirit?"
Amai grabbed a Baozi, she thought it was an eggplant one, and stuffed it into his mouth. "Eat, you look like you're all skin and bones. No girl's gonna like you looking like that." And really, thirteen was the time to start caring about that. She'd certainly started caring at thirteen, though of course she'd had more to work with.
"Why would I care about a bunch of girls, what about the horses?" Narain said, after he'd taken it out of his mouth without even biting down on it.
"What you should ask about is the fortune you're going to be receiving. A full season's pay just for being here before he ran off with a letter from his dear pa," Amai said, "The horses are in good care, just as they always were, and you're officially rich. When the money comes, at least."
Narain snorted, "I guess that's something, but--"
"Family matters," Amai said, "Even when it's an old coot. So eat up. He hired you, he had to leave, he's gone. Way of the world, really."
Amai had seen her way through plenty of employers in her time, though few were as easy on the eyes as Kiralo, and it didn't hurt that if he was not going to respond to her flirting, at least he didn't try to have his way with her.
She'd miss that one time half a month ago when he'd been slightly hung-over and mostly distracted and he'd come down the stairs without a shirt on, skin the color of pale, fine honey. Maybe she'd write him, or find someone to pass the message along.
There were plenty of handsome men in the world (thank the Spirits, though the spirits took as they gave) and plenty of beautiful men as well, but few enough who combined them so well. So yes, she would miss him, and trying to make his weird foreign food had been a nice challenge, and he'd been a pleasant enough employer who paid well but not so well that she suspected he was trying to claim ownership or nothing.
"World sucks," Narain said, "He didn't even let me get on Gale."
"Well, that bun's one I cooked for him, so if you eat it, well, the sages of the south say…" Amai frowned and chuckled, "Uh, something something ties of substance something something food."
Narain frowned but took a bite of it anyways.
Oh! It was something about how eating someone's food created a bond with them, mixing of substances, something or other.
"Want another one?" Amai asked, hands on her hips.
"Uh, sure," Narain said.
*****
The other one was at least a little easier, so there was that. Yisangu was a nice enough man, but he was also a little off, she thought. Very accepting of everything that came his way, always happy no matter whether he was walking on a field of flowers or in horseshit, as the saying went. So he'd take his money and do whatever he wanted with it when it came, and that was that.
If it came, and at this point she was sure that Baozi were going to be so cooled as to lose some of their fresh taste, so she ate one or two, or three, and began to consider the virtues of going to the public baths and finding a group of women and just complaining about things. There were always women down there, and there were always groups of women--most of all wives or the aged--who had nothing to do but complain about their husbands or their lives or their aches and pains, and since right about now her back was twinging a little, maybe she'd even be part of that latter group.
A good scrub, though, and a wash, that'd set her right back on track. But she still had waiting to do.
There was a knock on the door, and sighing she went over and opened it, "Yes?"
It was Fei-Da, back again.
Oh, that guy.
The officious man, who hadn't even considered that yes, Amai could understand Csiritan, that was part of why she was hired, said, in heavily accented Southlander, "Would you mind if I stayed here for one day? It could be helpful…"
"Helpful how?" Amai asked, "And have another Baozi if you're going to be asking, Cs-Fei-Da."
"Well, I think that we could be helpful towards each other," Fei-Da said, his phrasing all wrong, "There are considerations."
"Considerations?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
She handed him a Baozi and waited to see him say more. "If I could get a look at his library or other such areas, I might get a hint of his personality."
"Oh?"
"And there are considerations I could do for you…" Fei-Da said and reached into his robe to pull out a small golden coin.
"I could do you a consideration as well," Amai snorted, and then waved her arm, whispering, "Ash."
The spirit that resided around the broom in the corner came sweeping in, well aware of what she wanted as it swept up dust all over Fei-Da.
He muttered something and pushed it aside, spirits streaking from his robes, and Amai realized that perhaps all of the spirits about him meant that he was more than a dabbler…
In fact, the spirits were dancing now, skulls and jeweled shapes and babies made of air all swirling high up in the air as if they would crash down on her.
"My apologies, Southern barbarian, I must respectfully say that it was not ultimately a request. Take my coin. Take it and move aside girl."
Amai briefly considered everything and said, in stumbling but rather on-point Csiritan (insults, now that was Csiritan she really knew well), "You can go fornicate with a donkey, if you weren't a eunuch, all respect owed and due to your position."
"What did you say, girl?" Fei-Da asked, and his voice wasn't raised at all but there was this cold fury in it, and she knew that it wasn't a smart move to annoy a sage.
Her mother said it wasn't a smart move to be a servant and go out on the town flirting with men instead of settling down with that poor cobbler...and yet here she was.
"Do they not have donkeys where you live, Cs-Fade?" she said, "Should I have respectfully said goat? Pig? Horse?"
If she was going to die, well. She wished she'd at least finished out the Baozi, she decided with a defiant grin, because now this all struck her as faintly ridiculous.
"You...you."
"The lady," a smooth voice said, "Did tell you to go fuck a donkey. I can help you find them, but I'm sure you know where they are. Asses being quite common in the Empire. I would offer you Kiralo's mirror to help you locate one, but…"
Amai burst out laughing as Kueli strolled on the scene. He was a man who swaggered where he walked and thought he was the head rooster of every coop, though she'd seen him staggering from Kiralo's house often enough to know the man wasn't always deadly grace. At the moment, though, he looked as if he could have danced on top of a needle without pricking his feet. He drew a sword and continued, "If you want to fight here, we can. And then the Prince will take great delight in being able to play to popular sentiment and hang you up until piss as yellow as a Csiritan[1] streams down your legs and then your body thrown to the dogs, with no pool for you. Or you can leave. A Southlander man's home is his fortress against the world, and this is Kiralo's house."
"Who are you?" Fei-Da asked, angry and yet still so cold.
"Kiralo's number two. Dealing with the fallout of his decision...and you're the man who sent him the letter. I'm not inclined towards you, so leave."
Fei-Da sighed, "I suppose so." He turned and stormed off, and Kueli invited himself inside.
"May I have a...Baozi, was it?" Kueli asked.
"It's made of seaweed and dough," Amai said, "You probably wouldn't like it."
"If you made it?" Kueli asked, "Kiralo has said you're a good cook on several occasions, and I've eaten your food before. Besides, I like seaweed."
He walked over and grabbed a Baozi and took a bite. "Delicious," he said, "Damn good cooking. So, I have your money here and then some, because Kiralo's that kind of guy." Kueli laughed, "Muck up the stable, tell me to clean it, and take the last shovel and the last canteen of water...but seriously, sorry I was so late in arriving."
"Not like my plans for tonight would have amounted to much," Amai said, smiling back at him, well aware that his grumbling was good natured.
"Kiralo's probably well on his way now," Kueli said, "I can only hope he has good luck. What were your plans?"
"I was going to go out, see if there were any parties," Amai admitted.
"What a coincidence...so was I," Kueli said, "Perhaps I should cancel my plans as well."
His tone, well, Amai flushed.
"For what, sir?" Amai asked, looking up to meet his eyes which sparked with amusement.
"Well, perhaps we could cancel our plans...together. I need to clear this place out of his things for his return, if he does return. I'm sure we're all looking forward to it."
"Well, looking is one thing I am," Amai responded, and he laughed as if it wasn't a slightly weak verbal bowshot.
"That man should be a Southlands-wide treasure," Kueli muttered to himself, "For what he does for me."
"Come again?" Amai said, and then paused.
Okay, she was stumbling over her words, which was never a good sign. Because she just about walked into what he could say next.
"Spirits," Kueli said wonderingly, "Are you interested?"
"Sleeping with a Rassit is something my mother said never to do, and I've stuck to it, even when I was as drunk as a Tarnarin on leave," Amai said, "At least if a man in town does anything he'd regret he can't be halfway across the Southlands before I can get my friends to pelt him with stones and dung until he pays what's needed…"
"I'm sure you have your ways, and your spirits, for such an occasion," Kueli said.
And yes, she did know a few spirits whose areas included a certain lack of fertility, though it wasn't something one advertised. Then again, all spirits were a secret thing, and she knew far more the household spirits anyways. Still, that was tempting. "Maybe I do...but is it such an occasion?"
Kueli smiled wider and said, "And even if it isn't, I have read books from beyond the Southlands on certain arts." He reached up and quite deliberately stroked his carefully groomed--and rather attractive, in its own way--mustache.
Her eyes were drawn, as she knew they were meant to be, to his lips.
"I'd be happy to give you a demonstration," Kueli said, "Every time I've been in his house I've been struck by your looks, and by your wit as well, so if you'll just listen to what I have to say…"
"Say?"
"Well, something like that," he said, and his grin split open and she smiled and moved to the door and made sure it was locked.
"Would you like another?" she asked, offering him a baozi.
"Oh no, I'm almost full," Kueli said. "Almost."
Amai's face reddened, and her nerves and her emotions were now a jangle of arousal and confusion and amusement. And probably a dozen other emotions, each of them fighting for attention as she considered the words and their meaning.
Merciful Spirits...
There were times when a girl could just about love a Rassit's spontaneity and skill at invention and rolling with the punches.
[1] In context, yes, this is relatively anti-Csiritan. Southlanders also don't have eunuchs, which makes it another thing associated (usually in insults) with the Csiritan Empire. There's bad blood involved, though it clearly doesn't stop Kiralo from being Kueli's best friend, so…
*****
A/N: Some of this wrote itself. Some of this was hard because I kept on having to pause to think of creative and inventive insults. The end part was really funny and was the general idea I based everything else around. Showing off Fei-Da before he shows up again and rocks everyone's world by not *just* being a loyal bureaucrat, but also being a magic-user of considerable skill.
This is for @drake_azathoth , I hope it passes muster?
There were times when a girl could just about hate a Rassit's spontaneity and skill at invention and rolling with the punches. Any other man would have stuck around long enough for her to at least get a decent dinner in for him, and stopped at a local inn for a fresh start in the morning, but instead Kiralo had hurried off.
She'd only had about half the Baozi she'd planned on stuffing down his throat done, and so she had a lot left just laying there.
There was also the fact that he'd made her temporarily rich, she thought, bustling about the kitchen, and given her several days' job to do.
So he'd given her the ability to go on a tear through the town, see what the pretty boys would do when she showed up with a new fragrence and shawl, and wind up wasting a seasons' money in a week at the most.
And then he had given her a task, finishing up the household, that would take a while. Of course, she could just abandon the house as soon as she got the money, but that was against her own standards.
She wiped her hands on the hem of the dress, feeling tired and put-upon, and the other two servants hadn't even shown up for her to berate them. The sun was still high in the sky, and even through the spirits of the house and the construction kept it from being absolutely scorching, it was still miserable inside, and the kitchen was hot from her work.
Sweat was getting in her eyes and she kept on having to pause before getting back to her work.
Amai didn't feel sexy at all at the moment, let alone willing to go out and find a young man that night, but she smiled and grinned and bore it when finally Narain showed himself.
"Amai! Amai! The horses are gone, Amai! Rouse the…" the young boy said. He was short and dark haired, features slightly angular, nose a little large, and dressed in a boy's tunic, still not at an age for the sorts of things any adult would wear. "Why are you cooking so many...Baoni?"
"Baozi," Amai said, making sure to get the pronunciation right, "And no need to rouse the guards. Kiralo's gone and ridden north to become the Emperor."
"What, really?!" Narain asked. "I...Emperor of Csirit?"
Amai grabbed a Baozi, she thought it was an eggplant one, and stuffed it into his mouth. "Eat, you look like you're all skin and bones. No girl's gonna like you looking like that." And really, thirteen was the time to start caring about that. She'd certainly started caring at thirteen, though of course she'd had more to work with.
"Why would I care about a bunch of girls, what about the horses?" Narain said, after he'd taken it out of his mouth without even biting down on it.
"What you should ask about is the fortune you're going to be receiving. A full season's pay just for being here before he ran off with a letter from his dear pa," Amai said, "The horses are in good care, just as they always were, and you're officially rich. When the money comes, at least."
Narain snorted, "I guess that's something, but--"
"Family matters," Amai said, "Even when it's an old coot. So eat up. He hired you, he had to leave, he's gone. Way of the world, really."
Amai had seen her way through plenty of employers in her time, though few were as easy on the eyes as Kiralo, and it didn't hurt that if he was not going to respond to her flirting, at least he didn't try to have his way with her.
She'd miss that one time half a month ago when he'd been slightly hung-over and mostly distracted and he'd come down the stairs without a shirt on, skin the color of pale, fine honey. Maybe she'd write him, or find someone to pass the message along.
There were plenty of handsome men in the world (thank the Spirits, though the spirits took as they gave) and plenty of beautiful men as well, but few enough who combined them so well. So yes, she would miss him, and trying to make his weird foreign food had been a nice challenge, and he'd been a pleasant enough employer who paid well but not so well that she suspected he was trying to claim ownership or nothing.
"World sucks," Narain said, "He didn't even let me get on Gale."
"Well, that bun's one I cooked for him, so if you eat it, well, the sages of the south say…" Amai frowned and chuckled, "Uh, something something ties of substance something something food."
Narain frowned but took a bite of it anyways.
Oh! It was something about how eating someone's food created a bond with them, mixing of substances, something or other.
"Want another one?" Amai asked, hands on her hips.
"Uh, sure," Narain said.
*****
The other one was at least a little easier, so there was that. Yisangu was a nice enough man, but he was also a little off, she thought. Very accepting of everything that came his way, always happy no matter whether he was walking on a field of flowers or in horseshit, as the saying went. So he'd take his money and do whatever he wanted with it when it came, and that was that.
If it came, and at this point she was sure that Baozi were going to be so cooled as to lose some of their fresh taste, so she ate one or two, or three, and began to consider the virtues of going to the public baths and finding a group of women and just complaining about things. There were always women down there, and there were always groups of women--most of all wives or the aged--who had nothing to do but complain about their husbands or their lives or their aches and pains, and since right about now her back was twinging a little, maybe she'd even be part of that latter group.
A good scrub, though, and a wash, that'd set her right back on track. But she still had waiting to do.
There was a knock on the door, and sighing she went over and opened it, "Yes?"
It was Fei-Da, back again.
Oh, that guy.
The officious man, who hadn't even considered that yes, Amai could understand Csiritan, that was part of why she was hired, said, in heavily accented Southlander, "Would you mind if I stayed here for one day? It could be helpful…"
"Helpful how?" Amai asked, "And have another Baozi if you're going to be asking, Cs-Fei-Da."
"Well, I think that we could be helpful towards each other," Fei-Da said, his phrasing all wrong, "There are considerations."
"Considerations?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
She handed him a Baozi and waited to see him say more. "If I could get a look at his library or other such areas, I might get a hint of his personality."
"Oh?"
"And there are considerations I could do for you…" Fei-Da said and reached into his robe to pull out a small golden coin.
"I could do you a consideration as well," Amai snorted, and then waved her arm, whispering, "Ash."
The spirit that resided around the broom in the corner came sweeping in, well aware of what she wanted as it swept up dust all over Fei-Da.
He muttered something and pushed it aside, spirits streaking from his robes, and Amai realized that perhaps all of the spirits about him meant that he was more than a dabbler…
In fact, the spirits were dancing now, skulls and jeweled shapes and babies made of air all swirling high up in the air as if they would crash down on her.
"My apologies, Southern barbarian, I must respectfully say that it was not ultimately a request. Take my coin. Take it and move aside girl."
Amai briefly considered everything and said, in stumbling but rather on-point Csiritan (insults, now that was Csiritan she really knew well), "You can go fornicate with a donkey, if you weren't a eunuch, all respect owed and due to your position."
"What did you say, girl?" Fei-Da asked, and his voice wasn't raised at all but there was this cold fury in it, and she knew that it wasn't a smart move to annoy a sage.
Her mother said it wasn't a smart move to be a servant and go out on the town flirting with men instead of settling down with that poor cobbler...and yet here she was.
"Do they not have donkeys where you live, Cs-Fade?" she said, "Should I have respectfully said goat? Pig? Horse?"
If she was going to die, well. She wished she'd at least finished out the Baozi, she decided with a defiant grin, because now this all struck her as faintly ridiculous.
"You...you."
"The lady," a smooth voice said, "Did tell you to go fuck a donkey. I can help you find them, but I'm sure you know where they are. Asses being quite common in the Empire. I would offer you Kiralo's mirror to help you locate one, but…"
Amai burst out laughing as Kueli strolled on the scene. He was a man who swaggered where he walked and thought he was the head rooster of every coop, though she'd seen him staggering from Kiralo's house often enough to know the man wasn't always deadly grace. At the moment, though, he looked as if he could have danced on top of a needle without pricking his feet. He drew a sword and continued, "If you want to fight here, we can. And then the Prince will take great delight in being able to play to popular sentiment and hang you up until piss as yellow as a Csiritan[1] streams down your legs and then your body thrown to the dogs, with no pool for you. Or you can leave. A Southlander man's home is his fortress against the world, and this is Kiralo's house."
"Who are you?" Fei-Da asked, angry and yet still so cold.
"Kiralo's number two. Dealing with the fallout of his decision...and you're the man who sent him the letter. I'm not inclined towards you, so leave."
Fei-Da sighed, "I suppose so." He turned and stormed off, and Kueli invited himself inside.
"May I have a...Baozi, was it?" Kueli asked.
"It's made of seaweed and dough," Amai said, "You probably wouldn't like it."
"If you made it?" Kueli asked, "Kiralo has said you're a good cook on several occasions, and I've eaten your food before. Besides, I like seaweed."
He walked over and grabbed a Baozi and took a bite. "Delicious," he said, "Damn good cooking. So, I have your money here and then some, because Kiralo's that kind of guy." Kueli laughed, "Muck up the stable, tell me to clean it, and take the last shovel and the last canteen of water...but seriously, sorry I was so late in arriving."
"Not like my plans for tonight would have amounted to much," Amai said, smiling back at him, well aware that his grumbling was good natured.
"Kiralo's probably well on his way now," Kueli said, "I can only hope he has good luck. What were your plans?"
"I was going to go out, see if there were any parties," Amai admitted.
"What a coincidence...so was I," Kueli said, "Perhaps I should cancel my plans as well."
His tone, well, Amai flushed.
"For what, sir?" Amai asked, looking up to meet his eyes which sparked with amusement.
"Well, perhaps we could cancel our plans...together. I need to clear this place out of his things for his return, if he does return. I'm sure we're all looking forward to it."
"Well, looking is one thing I am," Amai responded, and he laughed as if it wasn't a slightly weak verbal bowshot.
"That man should be a Southlands-wide treasure," Kueli muttered to himself, "For what he does for me."
"Come again?" Amai said, and then paused.
Okay, she was stumbling over her words, which was never a good sign. Because she just about walked into what he could say next.
"Spirits," Kueli said wonderingly, "Are you interested?"
"Sleeping with a Rassit is something my mother said never to do, and I've stuck to it, even when I was as drunk as a Tarnarin on leave," Amai said, "At least if a man in town does anything he'd regret he can't be halfway across the Southlands before I can get my friends to pelt him with stones and dung until he pays what's needed…"
"I'm sure you have your ways, and your spirits, for such an occasion," Kueli said.
And yes, she did know a few spirits whose areas included a certain lack of fertility, though it wasn't something one advertised. Then again, all spirits were a secret thing, and she knew far more the household spirits anyways. Still, that was tempting. "Maybe I do...but is it such an occasion?"
Kueli smiled wider and said, "And even if it isn't, I have read books from beyond the Southlands on certain arts." He reached up and quite deliberately stroked his carefully groomed--and rather attractive, in its own way--mustache.
Her eyes were drawn, as she knew they were meant to be, to his lips.
"I'd be happy to give you a demonstration," Kueli said, "Every time I've been in his house I've been struck by your looks, and by your wit as well, so if you'll just listen to what I have to say…"
"Say?"
"Well, something like that," he said, and his grin split open and she smiled and moved to the door and made sure it was locked.
"Would you like another?" she asked, offering him a baozi.
"Oh no, I'm almost full," Kueli said. "Almost."
Amai's face reddened, and her nerves and her emotions were now a jangle of arousal and confusion and amusement. And probably a dozen other emotions, each of them fighting for attention as she considered the words and their meaning.
Merciful Spirits...
There were times when a girl could just about love a Rassit's spontaneity and skill at invention and rolling with the punches.
[1] In context, yes, this is relatively anti-Csiritan. Southlanders also don't have eunuchs, which makes it another thing associated (usually in insults) with the Csiritan Empire. There's bad blood involved, though it clearly doesn't stop Kiralo from being Kueli's best friend, so…
*****
A/N: Some of this wrote itself. Some of this was hard because I kept on having to pause to think of creative and inventive insults. The end part was really funny and was the general idea I based everything else around. Showing off Fei-Da before he shows up again and rocks everyone's world by not *just* being a loyal bureaucrat, but also being a magic-user of considerable skill.
This is for @drake_azathoth , I hope it passes muster?
Loved it! 
And yes, perhaps the spirits around Fei-Da should have been a hint he was a sage. It certainly doesn't surprise me that he's also a spy of sorts.
And yes, perhaps the spirits around Fei-Da should have been a hint he was a sage. It certainly doesn't surprise me that he's also a spy of sorts.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Loved it!
And yes, perhaps the spirits around Fei-Da should have been a hint he was a sage. It certainly doesn't surprise me that he's also a spy of sorts.
Or he wanted to get some hint of Kiralo's character for political reasons. It's a Csiritan saying (among those who, you know, have libraries in some respect) that you can know a learned man by their library.
But either way, Fei-Da is a man of many parts, most of them rather formal.
Turn 0--Into the Snake's Den
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Turn 0--Into the Snakes' Den
Raein was the most famous river in all of Csirit, and perhaps the world. The second mother of empire after the many rivers and the lake in Irit, or perhaps the father itself, for the river stretched all the way from the mountains to the sea, broad and winding and powerful, and where it touched and where the many spirits that called it home reached, life bloomed.
To the east and a little south of Csrae the city, if you continued to Hirand, then Raein would deliver what was written to be the best farmland in the entire world. Its beauty was spoken of by hundreds of poets in terms that had not quite prepared him for the contrast and contradiction.
It was truly a beautiful river in the morning light, broad and at the moment almost serene, grand and wide and majestic, but the signs of washing, and the bits of refuse, the hints and indications that this river was like every other river, used for washing and dumping refuse and the contents of chamber pots, that this lord of all rivers was still a place where peasants caught a fish and broiled it and ate it with their millet or rice if times were prosperous...was comforting.
Kiralo was beginning to feel it, that strange spiritual tie, that strange not-at-home familiar feeling that filled the air as the strange and twisting spirits did, waking up as anyone else did. His two companions were staring at the walls, missing the city, and suddenly Kiralo wanted to compose a poem, though it was a poor attempt, and he needed to figure out the right language for it, the right way for the words to flow, and to impose order and structure upon it. Yet the words came nonetheless, ordered or no, irreverent or no. It was something he could work on later, figure out how to turn possibility to beauty.
To men he is king
They chase and lust after him with words.
Bind him lovingly in songs.
He is the poet's great mistress.
The poor woman servant
Grumbles as she empties the merchant's
shit into the waters.
To men he is king.
They, though, are gaping at the walls of the city. The city is so vast that it fills their vision, and so Kiralo cannot blame them. He himself is staring now as his eyes scanned its way to the vast grate that separted one part of the river from another, and the wall that went over that grate, and over the whole of the city. As tall as four men standing abreast, and with a dozen gates at each cardinal direction, it was an act of supreme caution and foresight.
Csrae had been besieged before, though the source of water and the many wells, the wealth and the power all meant that he suspected it would be a hard target. But it had been taken, by the usual strategy of internal dissent.
Through the great gates they went, and into a city that was larger than any that he or the other two had seen before. It was so vast that there was not a single center. There was the great market, and there were districts for merchants, but there were also entire districts detached from it that served the same purpose. The city broke down into more of the city and still more of it.
There was not one pleasure quarter Kiralo guessed as they rode over the cobbled streets.
The buildings were different, and the people swarmed one way and another. The roofs were all of the slanted style, and the clothing was strangely familiar. It was as if his mom was back, that's how it felt, even more than the small Csiritan districts in some Southland cities.
Amiri and Vedal looked almost the opposite, regarding the people who looked differently than them and talked in a language they only knew somewhat indirectly. Vedal was different, but the Csiritan he'd learned shared very little with what was spoken here, which itself was a variation on the proper Iritian version that meant that Kiralo had to strain to make out the words. Amiri didn't even have that advantage, and he perhaps caught one word in four, perhaps even less considering that the accents were no doubt strange to him.
They turned off before they got even close to the palace, and Kiralo followed his sense of cities, his understanding of how these things went. People moved out of the way when they saw him, staring at the horses and his gear in something between awe and fear. It was quite clear that the procession of horses meant a courier, and yet the garb they wore was that of a cavalryman, and so people whispered and speculated, or shrugged.
Kiralo was guessing as he rode, but if he was right, there would be...ah, there it was.
This was the right part of town for it, near enough to several important districts that any visitor would have need to pay far too much to sleep if they couldn't stay at anyone's house. He picked one at random that seemed in decent repair, the building two stories and possessing a small stable that would do for the short time they'd be holed up there.
In the front, a boy stood at attention, and when Kiralo dismounted the boy perked up, staring at them. "Are you a soldier?" the boy asked, eyes wide, dressed in a dirty hemp jacket and cheap pants.
"Of a sorts. Could you please tell your master that three men and twelve horses are going to stay here for one day, perhaps less?" Kiralo asked.
The boy finally took in all of that and turned and ran, and a little bit later a man in a stained robe stepped out, bowing profusely and naming a sum which was frankly extortion. Kiralo smiled and accepted it, in no mood to haggle as he was led inside the small dining hall, the floor covered with straw to catch any spills, and then up to a small, cramped room, two to a bed, whose only real luxury was that it overlooked a small muddy green in the back that might have been beautiful if there was anything to it.
But it didn't matter so much, and he turned and said to Amiri and Vedal, "Amiri, you are to stay here for now and make sure nobody steals our horses. Guard them as much as possible. Vedal, you should come with me--"
"Sir…" Vedal said, stiffening, but shaking his head, "I do not think that is a good idea. These are Rassit horses, and this is a Csiritan city. We need as many guards as we can muster."
Kiralo considered this point and weighed it against the fact that any man in court needed a bodyguard. Now, he did know that in the Southlands, a man walking into court on his own showed confidence and poise, and as he had been a mercenary captain there, he had done it often enough. It was a risk, but a risk that made him seem both confident and out of place, and there was a power in that if one made sure to pay close attention to what people said behind your back.
But, at the same time, the horses of the Rassit were no mere horses, and for even one to be stolen would be a problem.
"Very well," Kiralo said, "You shall both guard the horses. I shall be back for you before too long, I hope."
They nodded, and Kiralo dressed in front of them, putting on the high sandals of Southlands courts, as if they were imitating the spurs of a riding boot, and then the long two-part robes that both imitated and defied the nature of Csiritan court garb. It had the same general shape, the same tight robes and layers of silk and fine fabric, and even a similar motif of one layer of single-color followed by layers of patterns...yet the cut of the arms was different, and the fact that it was in two pieces instead of one long piece allowed a belt to be added without trouble, studded with gems to go along with the rings on his fingers.
Kiralo took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror, comparing the deep reds of the clothing and the subtle silver to what he knew of Csiritan expectations. The silver was an Imperial color, but then again it was also the color of the Imperial military, so perhaps it was acceptable. Everything else was merely a guess as to what they would say of it, and he double-checked everything, adding a few finishing touches before he finally pinned his hair up and descended.
On through the streets he went on Gale, and he knew when he'd reached the Palace City. And truly, that was what it deserved to be called, he thought in a moment of transcendent awe.
This was where the Empire that provided an example to the world was ruled, this vast and exclusive city bound by walls that were defensible and yet not about that at all.
There was a dip, a sort of waterless moat, and then green pastures, meaning that only one of eight entrances could get one in, but on the walls, there it was.
One of the holiest and most beautiful pieces of art in existence. A mural, vast and ever-changing, of the Empire itself, of the First Emperor and all of the Emperors after. Only the finest artists could contribute to it, putting their ink to the test, and any piece of it removed was preserved using the spirits in a grand archive-gallery so that all would know forever the names and deeds of any artist so great as to deserve such an honor.
Beautiful scenes of flowers and trees covered this section of the wall, showing the grasslands and meadows of central Csirit in painstaking details, and standing among them the Yari Emperor, if Kiralo had to guess, who had built up the Imperial Gardens and was said to have loved most of all the spirits of nature, who founded two Imperial shrines that were still visited today...and other scenes, scene after scene after scene.
He dismounted and stared, eyes feeling oddly wet, and inside this place was the holiest shrine in all of his religion. As, it was said, the lake was the place of generation and thus was run by women, the imperial capital was the place of leadership, and so there was a large all-male shrine, the largest in the world, resting in the heart of this nexus, where even the spirits that filled the air above seemed to hum with purpose.
For there were hundreds of spirits flitting about the walls or above the courtly city within a city which stretched so far beyond sight that he couldn't see the end of it. Despite all that he had read, he was not prepared for this.
Kiralo had at first thought that the Emperor would have been hunting on a nearby estate, perhaps out in the country-side, but slowly it dawned on him that it was entirely possible for a small forest to be lost or cultivated in such a place at great expense...and for all he knew that was just what the Emperor had did.
This was a scale unlike any he'd seen, and when he remounted and approached the gate, he found he was almost trembling.
"Halt," the guard said. He was wearing a tunic over his armor, bordered with white and black, and a small pot helmet. The tunic itself was silver, blue and green, marking him not as a member of the army but as a member of the Imperial Guard, and the cut of his tunic marked him as a lowly member, at that. "What business do you have here...Southlander?"
The man looked confused, especially when Kiralo spoke back to him in perfect Csiritan, "I am Kiralo of lineage Ainin, son of Chancellor Kuojah of lineage Ainin, and I have been summoned to court. Here is the seal and here is the Imperial pass of Fei-Da of lineage Wainu, who was sent to retrieve me upon the death of the previous Emperor, may the Ten Judges watch his passing with auspicious signs."
He then made a pious gesture, crossing his arm across as if he were waving away the troubles of the world.
The guard copied it, gaping at him, "Kuojah's...son? He has a son? You look awfully young to…"
Then he realized what he was doing and said, "Beg all pardons, Cs-Kiralo. I shall check with my superiors. If you wait here we shall be back with information as to whether you could enter."
And then he just turned and left. Kiralo knew that the unguarded nature of the gate was merely a pretense, that there were true defenses further on and it was awe and the promise of death to any who broke into the Imperial City, as well as the spirits that guarded against any such endeavor…
But even despite all that, it was somewhat comical to be left standing there, the gate open and the way unbarred, while others consulted.
It was perhaps the better part of an hour before at last the guard came back, "This way, I can take your horse, Cs-Kiralo. Your father will be expecting you."
"No," Kiralo said, "Or rather, this is a very large palace. The journey will be too long on foot, so I request a mounted guide. I shall dismount when we reach whatever building holds the Chancellor."
The guard sighed, and five minutes later Kiralo was following behind a man who didn't know how to handle his own horse, at least not to Kiralo's satisfaction. He'd been a far better horseman at thirteen than this grown man was, but it was hard to bungle a simple trot across the palace city, so there was that.
It was amazing, all of the buildings studded here and there. Some for servants, who lived full-time in the city, others for minor officials. Pools of water and gardens were everywhere, as were courts that seemed for traditional exercises and combat arts, and other spaces whose purpose Kiralo could not even begin to guess at.
Their goal was the center palace, which was the largest structure by far, with a huge dome that seemed to stretch into the very sky itself, and wings and wings and wings upon wings of buildings flowing out from the main thoroughfare, and the entrance which was large enough to lead a procession of thousands down and around, as it had to do at times. Behind this building, Kiralo knew, was the inner-palace of the Emperor, where he lived and did his 'private' business, though the word had no meaning in any court Kiralo had ever seen.
And behind that, the shrine, isolated near where the imperial grave pools were located.
At the entrance he dismounted and whispered words of comfort to Gale before saying, "Take care of my horse, if you would." He then opened his coin-purse and slipped a large silver coin into the man's hand, "Gale would appreciate it, as would I."
The man nodded, avarice in his gaze as Kiralo entered and found himself in the very halls his mother had once run through. Looking at the size of the palace, not merely her own descriptions which had assumed them as given, it was obvious that many things his mother had said of her time were even more impressive or stranger than he had thought, such as Kuojah's abandonment of all of this for an entire year. Death purification had its limits, and Kuojah's show of piety was all the more remarkable and bizarre against the size of the residence, and Kiralo knew more than a few priests who would have argued that the size of the residence merely meant that the Emperor would have to move into a smaller palace within the grounds, not uproot the entire structure.
In front of a large, thick wooden door, guarded both by two well-trained looking men with spears and a number of scrolls on the wall holding powerful spirits--he himself had passed a strangely hairy flying spirits, whose ten arms each held a different letter, going outward--that he knew his father had not summoned or bound himself.
It was no secret from Kiralo that his father's knowledge of the spirits was cursory and academic.
"I am here to see my father," Kiralo said, and then with a satisfied smile, "He is expecting me."
Expecting...and yet not expecting.
*****
Father Dearest 1: 1d100+23 (dip)-6 (Father Issues)+5 (Advantage, Speed)+10 (Reaction Post)+3 (Some form of Court Garb)-2 (Southlander…)=1d100+33=50, ouch, not...bad, overall, but.
The room was rather large, and Kiralo took it all in as fast as he could. It was dominated by a few features. A fireplace in one corner, an entire half of the room filled with shelf-space that held what had to be several hundred books, a collection that would have made it the envy of any man. The books were carefully bound, their names upon the cover, and it was all but a private archive bundled up here, with a small set of stairs that Kiralo assumed a servant would climb to get a particular volume.
The other half of the room was dominated by one large desk and two smaller ones. The smaller ones had a clerk at each one, currently frozen as they fearfully looked between him and his father and tugging at their robes as if suddenly far too warm. He quickly glanced over them and then moved to Kuojah.
Kuojah was old, and pinned in behind a huge desk filled with papers and writings, which had obvious areas where the desk could be pulled partially out to make more room for, say, calligraphy or to hold papers. The whole thing was a marvel, and made Kiralo wonder even upon seeing it just how it all worked. He thought similar things when he saw his father, high yellow and clearly ancient, bald as an egg and wrinkled as anything else, but whose dark and powerful eyes fixed him with their gaze.
"Kiralo, I was not expecting you for some time. Where is Fei-Da, if I may inquire?" Kuojah asked, as he shifted his white and black robes slightly, extending a long, manicured hand. Kiralo could see that he was making an effort to be composed, to hold himself rigid. Kiralo wondered if the man's hand shook with palsy.
"Eating my dust," Kiralo said, aware that this was impoliteness in the extreme, but filled with a vicious anger as he began to realize that this was the place. Jia had stood here and had her life torn to pieces by this man who now wanted to pretend at civility.
"I did not expect you so soon--"
"You never did know what you should rightly expect of anyone, old man," Kiralo said.
The two clerks gasped, and Kuojah said, "I'll forgive you one barb like that, boy. You are clearly overwrought, and taught like a barbarian in a foreign land, and considering--"
Kiralo said, "Considering what?"
"Considering your parentage…"
"This is true," Kiralo said, his voice as calm and as cold as his rage was boiling, "I'd like to think that despite certain disadvantages of blood I have lived up to my mother's good example."
Kuojah was trembling slightly now as he said, "Han, Li-ok, you are dismissed for the moment, I wish to talk with my...son."
They left, and Kiralo asked, almost rhetorically, "Did you think I would forgive all that you've done so easily? You summoned me and I have come, that is the limit of where we stand right now, father."
Father Dearest, Part 2: 1d100+33-5 (Insulting if potent)=57, geeze
"All that I've done?" Kuojah asked, "Were it in my power you would have been raised in court--"
"And for what you did not do I thank you," Kiralo said, then continued, "Instead I was raised in a land where I could be more than a hothouse flower. I have done much there that I would not have under your guidance."
"Your mother," Kuojah said, "Was a thief in the night to tear you from me." He sounded as if he were speaking plain and simple truth that any man could see, and the white and black patterns across his tight robes made him seem like someone already dead and in the land beyond human judgement. "Any lies she has told you of my evil--"
"She had told me that she loved you, that you were handsome, and charming...she told me many things before she died, and tried with all of her might to make me not hate you," Kiralo said, "You owe her far, far more than you gave her."
"I was married," Kuojah said, "And she seduced…"
Kiralo snorted, "This is not up to your own standards of dignity."
"Very well, all this is so. Your mother did as she did and I did as I did, and the Ten Judges will see what they say to it," Kuojah said, primly. He didn't agree with any of it, couldn't see that he was the one in the wrong, was still blaming Kiralo's mother, that he could see. But Kuojah continued with a single word: "And?"
"And so I hated you and hate you still," Kiralo said.
"Ah, is that all?" Kuojah asked, dark eyes filled with a dry, brittle sort of playfulness. "Then you may leave. You are dismissed, boy, go back to whatever endeavors might…"
Father Dearest, Part 2: 1d100+33-2 (Somewhat recovered)=104
"Yet I am still here," Kiralo interrupted, and then said quietly, "Father, if I hated you so much to come here, it would be to kill you." Though, Kiralo didn't say, the man did not need much help, he looked in poor health. "Instead I am here and unarmed. It is not for you, at least not more than a small part. I owe you nothing that a son would a father because you were not a father to me and held none of the ties that bond two people, and a tie unknown is a tie that does not exist, or so it is said. And you made it clear even in the letters that you did not know me. There is no obligation that brings me here, but, Cs-Kuojah, there is choice. I chose to come here."
"And why is that? To tell off your father who has done what he could, as if he were not an important official but some child to be insulted?" Kuojah said, testily.
"No, and not for the wealth and power, for I could have those in the Southlands," Kiralo said, well aware that there was a good chance that with his new fame he might have clawed his way into power if he so wished it. Not over a city, but as a powerful vassal or courtier, or he might have...he'd reviewed the possibilities before.
"Then what?" Kuojah asked, his voice cold as if this were merely an intellectual exercise, a game they were both playing, rather than the moment that would decide many things.
"Many reasons. In fact, many emotions. Mother loved you at first, and even when you cast her out, she pitied you as much or more than any flickering hatred. I hate you...but I also pity you, perhaps, and some of it is that, and the desire to see you for the first time." Kuojah looked as if he were about to speak but Kiralo continued, "But central of all of this is love. I love Csirit, and wish it to prosper. It is an example to all the world, a work in progress which controls, I believe, over a hundred million souls, protects and guides the world. We are an example, bad sometimes but I must believe we can and have be good, that the Gods have placed down upon the world for a reason. The First Emperor made an Empire and we must steward it in our own ways as best we can, is it not so?"
"Essentially, yes," Kuojah said, "Though I do not know whether your theology is suspect."
"No more than any man's," Kiralo said, "In the face of the vastness of divinity. Your words troubled me, and that harm might come to this land…"
Kiralo knew that this was the 'inconvenient' fact that had tipped the scales, for all that the fear for the boy had added to it. It wasn't something that he could admit in the Southlands, where Csiritan religion might be sometimes accepted in its God-worshipping forms, at least as one of the many religions, but not the Imperial Cult…
He'd become infamous for standing by his points, however politely. It had been a part of what he'd defined himself by against all comers.
He loved what he didn't even know, what he'd never known. He knew it was strange, yet it was the truth. "So I am here. You too had reasons to call me, and I have begun to guess at the situation in my journey here."
Kuojah sighed, and he sounded older than he had before, drained of something now. He didn't look like Kiralo's enemy, he just looked like an old man. "Yes, I suppose that your piety is to be respected. Prince Jinhai is a cousin of the Emperor Dai'so, and while his claim is a fraud for he is a mere cousin of Emperor, and at some moderate distance at that, there are those who will think he is the better choice. They are quite wrong. Prince Jinhai has made no improper moves, and is likely gathering allies and forces at this moment. People have suggested to me that I order his arrest."
"I hope you have not done so," Kiralo said. He could think of no way that, barring total success, and perhaps not even then that would end well. If Jinhai had not yet made a move that was treason, then you'd have the spectacle of the Emperor imprisoning his own cousin on no charges at all. There were Emperors who had the power to have swept such a thing under the Southlander rug, but not a new child Emperor barely seated upon the lily pad.
"No, I am not a fool, Kiralo, whatever you may think of me," Kuojah said, "Several of the Council of Head Generals in the Bureau of Defense have suggested I gather an army the moment there is even a hint that he is gathering forces and to march upon him, forcing him to give up his ambitions or fight. It would be civil war to do so."
Kiralo nodded, "Yet, if one waits until he has gathered his forces by coincidence or perhaps a planned raid against bandits. Then...the army marches north and east instead of anywhere else, and there would be no time.
"I have been made aware of this," Kuojah said, "Though I am not a soldier, and my calling is a higher one. I am managing the politics and figuring out what his regnal name shall be, and the Emperor must be taught to rule."
"Are you his official tutor, or is it merely a man who listens and obeys your every word?" Kiralo asked, a hint of rudeness slipping back in, "Because I know your game."
"Game? I plan on helping to educate Emperor Dai'so into being the greatest Emperor in five centuries," Kuojah asked, "It is no game[1], the perfection of the intellect and the virtues so that a man may rule. I hope only to live long enough to see him come into rightful and virtuous power, and I would ask that you not interfere there."
Kiralo would do as he liked.
"On the other hand, interfering in the mad plans of some of the members of the Bureau of Defense would be helpful," Kuojah said, "And you need to formally introduce yourself to the Emperor. At the moment I have some money for your maintenance, but at the moment there is no formal position for you to hold. I was preparing a number, but…"
But Kiralo had upset all of his plans. He couldn't find it in him to feel apologetic for that, and he smiled, "I can find my own way, as long as you can subsidize my activities for a few months."
"I'll do so as long as need be," Kuojah said, "Though I would ask that all major expenditures be routed through me. I shall not have you being frivolous with my money."
"Thank you for the confidence, father," Kiralo said, "Either way, I shall endeavor to help avert war, and if I cannot--"
Kuojah's face is grim, "If you cannot, then there will be much for you to do. We must all do what we can. Personal animosity should lie sleeping on the ground while the realm is in danger."
"Yes, it should," Kiralo said, quietly, thoughts already turning to the complicated matters of getting settled in.
But there was still conversation to be had, and now that they knew to avoid the topics that actual had any personal relevance and discuss merely the matters of settling in and a few tidbits as to the political layout of the court, they almost got along at moments, until Kiralo realized who this was or the conversation almost turned to any one of the dozen things that he knew could have led it to end in someone raising their voice or insulting someone else.
Better than he expected, though, for all that, and he departed feeling as if perhaps he could make a difference.
[1] OOC: At this, all CK2 players who have educated their children nod.
*****
A/N: So here we go. Some good rolls, some bad rolls, but most of all 'some rolls.' And some conversation.
And yeah, Kiralo's religion is a thing that matters to him a lot. It's an interesting dynamic considering how much SV does tend to like rebels in that respect. Roll bonuses from now on will go onto dice-rolls for Turns, because Turn 1 is coming up!
Raein was the most famous river in all of Csirit, and perhaps the world. The second mother of empire after the many rivers and the lake in Irit, or perhaps the father itself, for the river stretched all the way from the mountains to the sea, broad and winding and powerful, and where it touched and where the many spirits that called it home reached, life bloomed.
To the east and a little south of Csrae the city, if you continued to Hirand, then Raein would deliver what was written to be the best farmland in the entire world. Its beauty was spoken of by hundreds of poets in terms that had not quite prepared him for the contrast and contradiction.
It was truly a beautiful river in the morning light, broad and at the moment almost serene, grand and wide and majestic, but the signs of washing, and the bits of refuse, the hints and indications that this river was like every other river, used for washing and dumping refuse and the contents of chamber pots, that this lord of all rivers was still a place where peasants caught a fish and broiled it and ate it with their millet or rice if times were prosperous...was comforting.
Kiralo was beginning to feel it, that strange spiritual tie, that strange not-at-home familiar feeling that filled the air as the strange and twisting spirits did, waking up as anyone else did. His two companions were staring at the walls, missing the city, and suddenly Kiralo wanted to compose a poem, though it was a poor attempt, and he needed to figure out the right language for it, the right way for the words to flow, and to impose order and structure upon it. Yet the words came nonetheless, ordered or no, irreverent or no. It was something he could work on later, figure out how to turn possibility to beauty.
To men he is king
They chase and lust after him with words.
Bind him lovingly in songs.
He is the poet's great mistress.
The poor woman servant
Grumbles as she empties the merchant's
shit into the waters.
To men he is king.
They, though, are gaping at the walls of the city. The city is so vast that it fills their vision, and so Kiralo cannot blame them. He himself is staring now as his eyes scanned its way to the vast grate that separted one part of the river from another, and the wall that went over that grate, and over the whole of the city. As tall as four men standing abreast, and with a dozen gates at each cardinal direction, it was an act of supreme caution and foresight.
Csrae had been besieged before, though the source of water and the many wells, the wealth and the power all meant that he suspected it would be a hard target. But it had been taken, by the usual strategy of internal dissent.
Through the great gates they went, and into a city that was larger than any that he or the other two had seen before. It was so vast that there was not a single center. There was the great market, and there were districts for merchants, but there were also entire districts detached from it that served the same purpose. The city broke down into more of the city and still more of it.
There was not one pleasure quarter Kiralo guessed as they rode over the cobbled streets.
The buildings were different, and the people swarmed one way and another. The roofs were all of the slanted style, and the clothing was strangely familiar. It was as if his mom was back, that's how it felt, even more than the small Csiritan districts in some Southland cities.
Amiri and Vedal looked almost the opposite, regarding the people who looked differently than them and talked in a language they only knew somewhat indirectly. Vedal was different, but the Csiritan he'd learned shared very little with what was spoken here, which itself was a variation on the proper Iritian version that meant that Kiralo had to strain to make out the words. Amiri didn't even have that advantage, and he perhaps caught one word in four, perhaps even less considering that the accents were no doubt strange to him.
They turned off before they got even close to the palace, and Kiralo followed his sense of cities, his understanding of how these things went. People moved out of the way when they saw him, staring at the horses and his gear in something between awe and fear. It was quite clear that the procession of horses meant a courier, and yet the garb they wore was that of a cavalryman, and so people whispered and speculated, or shrugged.
Kiralo was guessing as he rode, but if he was right, there would be...ah, there it was.
This was the right part of town for it, near enough to several important districts that any visitor would have need to pay far too much to sleep if they couldn't stay at anyone's house. He picked one at random that seemed in decent repair, the building two stories and possessing a small stable that would do for the short time they'd be holed up there.
In the front, a boy stood at attention, and when Kiralo dismounted the boy perked up, staring at them. "Are you a soldier?" the boy asked, eyes wide, dressed in a dirty hemp jacket and cheap pants.
"Of a sorts. Could you please tell your master that three men and twelve horses are going to stay here for one day, perhaps less?" Kiralo asked.
The boy finally took in all of that and turned and ran, and a little bit later a man in a stained robe stepped out, bowing profusely and naming a sum which was frankly extortion. Kiralo smiled and accepted it, in no mood to haggle as he was led inside the small dining hall, the floor covered with straw to catch any spills, and then up to a small, cramped room, two to a bed, whose only real luxury was that it overlooked a small muddy green in the back that might have been beautiful if there was anything to it.
But it didn't matter so much, and he turned and said to Amiri and Vedal, "Amiri, you are to stay here for now and make sure nobody steals our horses. Guard them as much as possible. Vedal, you should come with me--"
"Sir…" Vedal said, stiffening, but shaking his head, "I do not think that is a good idea. These are Rassit horses, and this is a Csiritan city. We need as many guards as we can muster."
Kiralo considered this point and weighed it against the fact that any man in court needed a bodyguard. Now, he did know that in the Southlands, a man walking into court on his own showed confidence and poise, and as he had been a mercenary captain there, he had done it often enough. It was a risk, but a risk that made him seem both confident and out of place, and there was a power in that if one made sure to pay close attention to what people said behind your back.
But, at the same time, the horses of the Rassit were no mere horses, and for even one to be stolen would be a problem.
"Very well," Kiralo said, "You shall both guard the horses. I shall be back for you before too long, I hope."
They nodded, and Kiralo dressed in front of them, putting on the high sandals of Southlands courts, as if they were imitating the spurs of a riding boot, and then the long two-part robes that both imitated and defied the nature of Csiritan court garb. It had the same general shape, the same tight robes and layers of silk and fine fabric, and even a similar motif of one layer of single-color followed by layers of patterns...yet the cut of the arms was different, and the fact that it was in two pieces instead of one long piece allowed a belt to be added without trouble, studded with gems to go along with the rings on his fingers.
Kiralo took a breath and looked at himself in the mirror, comparing the deep reds of the clothing and the subtle silver to what he knew of Csiritan expectations. The silver was an Imperial color, but then again it was also the color of the Imperial military, so perhaps it was acceptable. Everything else was merely a guess as to what they would say of it, and he double-checked everything, adding a few finishing touches before he finally pinned his hair up and descended.
On through the streets he went on Gale, and he knew when he'd reached the Palace City. And truly, that was what it deserved to be called, he thought in a moment of transcendent awe.
This was where the Empire that provided an example to the world was ruled, this vast and exclusive city bound by walls that were defensible and yet not about that at all.
There was a dip, a sort of waterless moat, and then green pastures, meaning that only one of eight entrances could get one in, but on the walls, there it was.
One of the holiest and most beautiful pieces of art in existence. A mural, vast and ever-changing, of the Empire itself, of the First Emperor and all of the Emperors after. Only the finest artists could contribute to it, putting their ink to the test, and any piece of it removed was preserved using the spirits in a grand archive-gallery so that all would know forever the names and deeds of any artist so great as to deserve such an honor.
Beautiful scenes of flowers and trees covered this section of the wall, showing the grasslands and meadows of central Csirit in painstaking details, and standing among them the Yari Emperor, if Kiralo had to guess, who had built up the Imperial Gardens and was said to have loved most of all the spirits of nature, who founded two Imperial shrines that were still visited today...and other scenes, scene after scene after scene.
He dismounted and stared, eyes feeling oddly wet, and inside this place was the holiest shrine in all of his religion. As, it was said, the lake was the place of generation and thus was run by women, the imperial capital was the place of leadership, and so there was a large all-male shrine, the largest in the world, resting in the heart of this nexus, where even the spirits that filled the air above seemed to hum with purpose.
For there were hundreds of spirits flitting about the walls or above the courtly city within a city which stretched so far beyond sight that he couldn't see the end of it. Despite all that he had read, he was not prepared for this.
Kiralo had at first thought that the Emperor would have been hunting on a nearby estate, perhaps out in the country-side, but slowly it dawned on him that it was entirely possible for a small forest to be lost or cultivated in such a place at great expense...and for all he knew that was just what the Emperor had did.
This was a scale unlike any he'd seen, and when he remounted and approached the gate, he found he was almost trembling.
"Halt," the guard said. He was wearing a tunic over his armor, bordered with white and black, and a small pot helmet. The tunic itself was silver, blue and green, marking him not as a member of the army but as a member of the Imperial Guard, and the cut of his tunic marked him as a lowly member, at that. "What business do you have here...Southlander?"
The man looked confused, especially when Kiralo spoke back to him in perfect Csiritan, "I am Kiralo of lineage Ainin, son of Chancellor Kuojah of lineage Ainin, and I have been summoned to court. Here is the seal and here is the Imperial pass of Fei-Da of lineage Wainu, who was sent to retrieve me upon the death of the previous Emperor, may the Ten Judges watch his passing with auspicious signs."
He then made a pious gesture, crossing his arm across as if he were waving away the troubles of the world.
The guard copied it, gaping at him, "Kuojah's...son? He has a son? You look awfully young to…"
Then he realized what he was doing and said, "Beg all pardons, Cs-Kiralo. I shall check with my superiors. If you wait here we shall be back with information as to whether you could enter."
And then he just turned and left. Kiralo knew that the unguarded nature of the gate was merely a pretense, that there were true defenses further on and it was awe and the promise of death to any who broke into the Imperial City, as well as the spirits that guarded against any such endeavor…
But even despite all that, it was somewhat comical to be left standing there, the gate open and the way unbarred, while others consulted.
It was perhaps the better part of an hour before at last the guard came back, "This way, I can take your horse, Cs-Kiralo. Your father will be expecting you."
"No," Kiralo said, "Or rather, this is a very large palace. The journey will be too long on foot, so I request a mounted guide. I shall dismount when we reach whatever building holds the Chancellor."
The guard sighed, and five minutes later Kiralo was following behind a man who didn't know how to handle his own horse, at least not to Kiralo's satisfaction. He'd been a far better horseman at thirteen than this grown man was, but it was hard to bungle a simple trot across the palace city, so there was that.
It was amazing, all of the buildings studded here and there. Some for servants, who lived full-time in the city, others for minor officials. Pools of water and gardens were everywhere, as were courts that seemed for traditional exercises and combat arts, and other spaces whose purpose Kiralo could not even begin to guess at.
Their goal was the center palace, which was the largest structure by far, with a huge dome that seemed to stretch into the very sky itself, and wings and wings and wings upon wings of buildings flowing out from the main thoroughfare, and the entrance which was large enough to lead a procession of thousands down and around, as it had to do at times. Behind this building, Kiralo knew, was the inner-palace of the Emperor, where he lived and did his 'private' business, though the word had no meaning in any court Kiralo had ever seen.
And behind that, the shrine, isolated near where the imperial grave pools were located.
At the entrance he dismounted and whispered words of comfort to Gale before saying, "Take care of my horse, if you would." He then opened his coin-purse and slipped a large silver coin into the man's hand, "Gale would appreciate it, as would I."
The man nodded, avarice in his gaze as Kiralo entered and found himself in the very halls his mother had once run through. Looking at the size of the palace, not merely her own descriptions which had assumed them as given, it was obvious that many things his mother had said of her time were even more impressive or stranger than he had thought, such as Kuojah's abandonment of all of this for an entire year. Death purification had its limits, and Kuojah's show of piety was all the more remarkable and bizarre against the size of the residence, and Kiralo knew more than a few priests who would have argued that the size of the residence merely meant that the Emperor would have to move into a smaller palace within the grounds, not uproot the entire structure.
In front of a large, thick wooden door, guarded both by two well-trained looking men with spears and a number of scrolls on the wall holding powerful spirits--he himself had passed a strangely hairy flying spirits, whose ten arms each held a different letter, going outward--that he knew his father had not summoned or bound himself.
It was no secret from Kiralo that his father's knowledge of the spirits was cursory and academic.
"I am here to see my father," Kiralo said, and then with a satisfied smile, "He is expecting me."
Expecting...and yet not expecting.
*****
Father Dearest 1: 1d100+23 (dip)-6 (Father Issues)+5 (Advantage, Speed)+10 (Reaction Post)+3 (Some form of Court Garb)-2 (Southlander…)=1d100+33=50, ouch, not...bad, overall, but.
The room was rather large, and Kiralo took it all in as fast as he could. It was dominated by a few features. A fireplace in one corner, an entire half of the room filled with shelf-space that held what had to be several hundred books, a collection that would have made it the envy of any man. The books were carefully bound, their names upon the cover, and it was all but a private archive bundled up here, with a small set of stairs that Kiralo assumed a servant would climb to get a particular volume.
The other half of the room was dominated by one large desk and two smaller ones. The smaller ones had a clerk at each one, currently frozen as they fearfully looked between him and his father and tugging at their robes as if suddenly far too warm. He quickly glanced over them and then moved to Kuojah.
Kuojah was old, and pinned in behind a huge desk filled with papers and writings, which had obvious areas where the desk could be pulled partially out to make more room for, say, calligraphy or to hold papers. The whole thing was a marvel, and made Kiralo wonder even upon seeing it just how it all worked. He thought similar things when he saw his father, high yellow and clearly ancient, bald as an egg and wrinkled as anything else, but whose dark and powerful eyes fixed him with their gaze.
"Kiralo, I was not expecting you for some time. Where is Fei-Da, if I may inquire?" Kuojah asked, as he shifted his white and black robes slightly, extending a long, manicured hand. Kiralo could see that he was making an effort to be composed, to hold himself rigid. Kiralo wondered if the man's hand shook with palsy.
"Eating my dust," Kiralo said, aware that this was impoliteness in the extreme, but filled with a vicious anger as he began to realize that this was the place. Jia had stood here and had her life torn to pieces by this man who now wanted to pretend at civility.
"I did not expect you so soon--"
"You never did know what you should rightly expect of anyone, old man," Kiralo said.
The two clerks gasped, and Kuojah said, "I'll forgive you one barb like that, boy. You are clearly overwrought, and taught like a barbarian in a foreign land, and considering--"
Kiralo said, "Considering what?"
"Considering your parentage…"
"This is true," Kiralo said, his voice as calm and as cold as his rage was boiling, "I'd like to think that despite certain disadvantages of blood I have lived up to my mother's good example."
Kuojah was trembling slightly now as he said, "Han, Li-ok, you are dismissed for the moment, I wish to talk with my...son."
They left, and Kiralo asked, almost rhetorically, "Did you think I would forgive all that you've done so easily? You summoned me and I have come, that is the limit of where we stand right now, father."
Father Dearest, Part 2: 1d100+33-5 (Insulting if potent)=57, geeze
"All that I've done?" Kuojah asked, "Were it in my power you would have been raised in court--"
"And for what you did not do I thank you," Kiralo said, then continued, "Instead I was raised in a land where I could be more than a hothouse flower. I have done much there that I would not have under your guidance."
"Your mother," Kuojah said, "Was a thief in the night to tear you from me." He sounded as if he were speaking plain and simple truth that any man could see, and the white and black patterns across his tight robes made him seem like someone already dead and in the land beyond human judgement. "Any lies she has told you of my evil--"
"She had told me that she loved you, that you were handsome, and charming...she told me many things before she died, and tried with all of her might to make me not hate you," Kiralo said, "You owe her far, far more than you gave her."
"I was married," Kuojah said, "And she seduced…"
Kiralo snorted, "This is not up to your own standards of dignity."
"Very well, all this is so. Your mother did as she did and I did as I did, and the Ten Judges will see what they say to it," Kuojah said, primly. He didn't agree with any of it, couldn't see that he was the one in the wrong, was still blaming Kiralo's mother, that he could see. But Kuojah continued with a single word: "And?"
"And so I hated you and hate you still," Kiralo said.
"Ah, is that all?" Kuojah asked, dark eyes filled with a dry, brittle sort of playfulness. "Then you may leave. You are dismissed, boy, go back to whatever endeavors might…"
Father Dearest, Part 2: 1d100+33-2 (Somewhat recovered)=104
"Yet I am still here," Kiralo interrupted, and then said quietly, "Father, if I hated you so much to come here, it would be to kill you." Though, Kiralo didn't say, the man did not need much help, he looked in poor health. "Instead I am here and unarmed. It is not for you, at least not more than a small part. I owe you nothing that a son would a father because you were not a father to me and held none of the ties that bond two people, and a tie unknown is a tie that does not exist, or so it is said. And you made it clear even in the letters that you did not know me. There is no obligation that brings me here, but, Cs-Kuojah, there is choice. I chose to come here."
"And why is that? To tell off your father who has done what he could, as if he were not an important official but some child to be insulted?" Kuojah said, testily.
"No, and not for the wealth and power, for I could have those in the Southlands," Kiralo said, well aware that there was a good chance that with his new fame he might have clawed his way into power if he so wished it. Not over a city, but as a powerful vassal or courtier, or he might have...he'd reviewed the possibilities before.
"Then what?" Kuojah asked, his voice cold as if this were merely an intellectual exercise, a game they were both playing, rather than the moment that would decide many things.
"Many reasons. In fact, many emotions. Mother loved you at first, and even when you cast her out, she pitied you as much or more than any flickering hatred. I hate you...but I also pity you, perhaps, and some of it is that, and the desire to see you for the first time." Kuojah looked as if he were about to speak but Kiralo continued, "But central of all of this is love. I love Csirit, and wish it to prosper. It is an example to all the world, a work in progress which controls, I believe, over a hundred million souls, protects and guides the world. We are an example, bad sometimes but I must believe we can and have be good, that the Gods have placed down upon the world for a reason. The First Emperor made an Empire and we must steward it in our own ways as best we can, is it not so?"
"Essentially, yes," Kuojah said, "Though I do not know whether your theology is suspect."
"No more than any man's," Kiralo said, "In the face of the vastness of divinity. Your words troubled me, and that harm might come to this land…"
Kiralo knew that this was the 'inconvenient' fact that had tipped the scales, for all that the fear for the boy had added to it. It wasn't something that he could admit in the Southlands, where Csiritan religion might be sometimes accepted in its God-worshipping forms, at least as one of the many religions, but not the Imperial Cult…
He'd become infamous for standing by his points, however politely. It had been a part of what he'd defined himself by against all comers.
He loved what he didn't even know, what he'd never known. He knew it was strange, yet it was the truth. "So I am here. You too had reasons to call me, and I have begun to guess at the situation in my journey here."
Kuojah sighed, and he sounded older than he had before, drained of something now. He didn't look like Kiralo's enemy, he just looked like an old man. "Yes, I suppose that your piety is to be respected. Prince Jinhai is a cousin of the Emperor Dai'so, and while his claim is a fraud for he is a mere cousin of Emperor, and at some moderate distance at that, there are those who will think he is the better choice. They are quite wrong. Prince Jinhai has made no improper moves, and is likely gathering allies and forces at this moment. People have suggested to me that I order his arrest."
"I hope you have not done so," Kiralo said. He could think of no way that, barring total success, and perhaps not even then that would end well. If Jinhai had not yet made a move that was treason, then you'd have the spectacle of the Emperor imprisoning his own cousin on no charges at all. There were Emperors who had the power to have swept such a thing under the Southlander rug, but not a new child Emperor barely seated upon the lily pad.
"No, I am not a fool, Kiralo, whatever you may think of me," Kuojah said, "Several of the Council of Head Generals in the Bureau of Defense have suggested I gather an army the moment there is even a hint that he is gathering forces and to march upon him, forcing him to give up his ambitions or fight. It would be civil war to do so."
Kiralo nodded, "Yet, if one waits until he has gathered his forces by coincidence or perhaps a planned raid against bandits. Then...the army marches north and east instead of anywhere else, and there would be no time.
"I have been made aware of this," Kuojah said, "Though I am not a soldier, and my calling is a higher one. I am managing the politics and figuring out what his regnal name shall be, and the Emperor must be taught to rule."
"Are you his official tutor, or is it merely a man who listens and obeys your every word?" Kiralo asked, a hint of rudeness slipping back in, "Because I know your game."
"Game? I plan on helping to educate Emperor Dai'so into being the greatest Emperor in five centuries," Kuojah asked, "It is no game[1], the perfection of the intellect and the virtues so that a man may rule. I hope only to live long enough to see him come into rightful and virtuous power, and I would ask that you not interfere there."
Kiralo would do as he liked.
"On the other hand, interfering in the mad plans of some of the members of the Bureau of Defense would be helpful," Kuojah said, "And you need to formally introduce yourself to the Emperor. At the moment I have some money for your maintenance, but at the moment there is no formal position for you to hold. I was preparing a number, but…"
But Kiralo had upset all of his plans. He couldn't find it in him to feel apologetic for that, and he smiled, "I can find my own way, as long as you can subsidize my activities for a few months."
"I'll do so as long as need be," Kuojah said, "Though I would ask that all major expenditures be routed through me. I shall not have you being frivolous with my money."
"Thank you for the confidence, father," Kiralo said, "Either way, I shall endeavor to help avert war, and if I cannot--"
Kuojah's face is grim, "If you cannot, then there will be much for you to do. We must all do what we can. Personal animosity should lie sleeping on the ground while the realm is in danger."
"Yes, it should," Kiralo said, quietly, thoughts already turning to the complicated matters of getting settled in.
But there was still conversation to be had, and now that they knew to avoid the topics that actual had any personal relevance and discuss merely the matters of settling in and a few tidbits as to the political layout of the court, they almost got along at moments, until Kiralo realized who this was or the conversation almost turned to any one of the dozen things that he knew could have led it to end in someone raising their voice or insulting someone else.
Better than he expected, though, for all that, and he departed feeling as if perhaps he could make a difference.
[1] OOC: At this, all CK2 players who have educated their children nod.
*****
A/N: So here we go. Some good rolls, some bad rolls, but most of all 'some rolls.' And some conversation.
And yeah, Kiralo's religion is a thing that matters to him a lot. It's an interesting dynamic considering how much SV does tend to like rebels in that respect. Roll bonuses from now on will go onto dice-rolls for Turns, because Turn 1 is coming up!
- Location
- Australia
Well written and much enjoyed, @The Laurent
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
Alright, time to seduce the uncle.
What? it's a valid plan.
What? it's a valid plan.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
You got some pretty shirty rolls. Also, you hate the shit out of him.
We had some serious daddy issues. If not for our high stats we might have just double flipped him off by the second roll
Bakkasama
There is always a greater fool
- Location
- Buenos Aires, Argentina
- Pronouns
- He/his
I guess that makes them... what was the term you use in English?
Ah, yes. A mixed blessing!
OOC: More on Da Rules
- Pronouns
- They/Them
More on Da Rules
So, allow me to reiterate a few things. In this game, with Turns lasting a month, Kiralo will have Court Influence and State Influence. The former is more plentiful than the latter, and opens up options and possibilities for the latter. Winning the friendship of a bureaucrat in charge of some of the taxation might open up options that way, etc, etc, and the only way you gain State Influence is through the use of the courtly arts, so even options which seem unimportant can actually be very, very important.
You get influence dice, rather than options, and so you may put as many dice towards something as you want. Each dice doesn't add to the other, but you take the highest roll, so it increases the odds of doing well.
Mathematically, you add half of your relevant score (Martial 30=+15) plus any modifiers when making the roll. Some rolls might take the average of two scores as its score modifier if it's an action equally balanced along both poles.
Influence can not only be gained, but traded, and at times there will be offers to trade influence or choose certain actions or give up resources or assets towards a certain cause in exchange for support or temporary dice.
For instance, let it be said that the Sub-Master of Logistics in the Bureau of Defense hates one of the popular Court Poets for some insult towards his wife. And let's say that he wants the man dead...and is willing to be in your debt to do so. By choosing the appropriate action to quietly kill the man, you might gain logistical resources, or dice that can be put to acquiring resources for one's army. In a less negative example, if one of the nobles at court wishes to found a new shrine in his domain but is on the outs with one of the Head Priests, he might ask you to intercede, for instance, in convincing the man, and if you do so he would owe you much and might become an ally.
On and on it goes, but Influence and resources are things to trade and use.
Resources and Assets can exist at both levels. An obvious 'Asset' at the State level would be an army, or an entire spy network, where at the court level a single particularly skilled assassin can count as an asset that adds a modifier to certain actions or a free 'dice' towards certain actions (such as Intrigue.)
A crit success is something that is a 95 or higher. A crit-fail is something that is five or lower.
The target for any action merely is what it takes to succeed, and barely getting it will achieve what is wanted, but with some level of backlash. Barely failing will be barely failing, with all of the consequences, and relative to what is wanted, one doesn't have to crit-fail for things to go very wrong.
Any score whose undivided total is 15 or greater rerolls any natural ones, though they have to take the second roll.
Any score whose undivided total is 20 or greater rerolls all rolls that are five or lower, though they have to take the second roll if somehow their luck is that bad.
A score of thirty or greater means that all rolls that are ten or lower are rerolled, again with the caveat that the second roll is binding.
A score of 35 or greater means that all rolls that are ten or lower are rerolled, and if ten or lower is rolled again, it is rerolled until a higher number is gotten, and that the threshold for a crit-success is 90 instead of 95.
I'll explain War Turns if they actually come up.
Currently in terms of resources and the like, it's all being covered by Kuojah, Kiralo's father, but that does mean that he has to run things by the man, and things that are seen as 'too frivolous' might be vetoed. Hence why there was a potential reason to take money with you.
Information on the state of the realm and important actors will be put on the front-page as it is acquired.
Let's see, any other questions?
So, allow me to reiterate a few things. In this game, with Turns lasting a month, Kiralo will have Court Influence and State Influence. The former is more plentiful than the latter, and opens up options and possibilities for the latter. Winning the friendship of a bureaucrat in charge of some of the taxation might open up options that way, etc, etc, and the only way you gain State Influence is through the use of the courtly arts, so even options which seem unimportant can actually be very, very important.
You get influence dice, rather than options, and so you may put as many dice towards something as you want. Each dice doesn't add to the other, but you take the highest roll, so it increases the odds of doing well.
Mathematically, you add half of your relevant score (Martial 30=+15) plus any modifiers when making the roll. Some rolls might take the average of two scores as its score modifier if it's an action equally balanced along both poles.
Influence can not only be gained, but traded, and at times there will be offers to trade influence or choose certain actions or give up resources or assets towards a certain cause in exchange for support or temporary dice.
For instance, let it be said that the Sub-Master of Logistics in the Bureau of Defense hates one of the popular Court Poets for some insult towards his wife. And let's say that he wants the man dead...and is willing to be in your debt to do so. By choosing the appropriate action to quietly kill the man, you might gain logistical resources, or dice that can be put to acquiring resources for one's army. In a less negative example, if one of the nobles at court wishes to found a new shrine in his domain but is on the outs with one of the Head Priests, he might ask you to intercede, for instance, in convincing the man, and if you do so he would owe you much and might become an ally.
On and on it goes, but Influence and resources are things to trade and use.
Resources and Assets can exist at both levels. An obvious 'Asset' at the State level would be an army, or an entire spy network, where at the court level a single particularly skilled assassin can count as an asset that adds a modifier to certain actions or a free 'dice' towards certain actions (such as Intrigue.)
A crit success is something that is a 95 or higher. A crit-fail is something that is five or lower.
The target for any action merely is what it takes to succeed, and barely getting it will achieve what is wanted, but with some level of backlash. Barely failing will be barely failing, with all of the consequences, and relative to what is wanted, one doesn't have to crit-fail for things to go very wrong.
Any score whose undivided total is 15 or greater rerolls any natural ones, though they have to take the second roll.
Any score whose undivided total is 20 or greater rerolls all rolls that are five or lower, though they have to take the second roll if somehow their luck is that bad.
A score of thirty or greater means that all rolls that are ten or lower are rerolled, again with the caveat that the second roll is binding.
A score of 35 or greater means that all rolls that are ten or lower are rerolled, and if ten or lower is rolled again, it is rerolled until a higher number is gotten, and that the threshold for a crit-success is 90 instead of 95.
I'll explain War Turns if they actually come up.
Currently in terms of resources and the like, it's all being covered by Kuojah, Kiralo's father, but that does mean that he has to run things by the man, and things that are seen as 'too frivolous' might be vetoed. Hence why there was a potential reason to take money with you.
Information on the state of the realm and important actors will be put on the front-page as it is acquired.
Let's see, any other questions?
- Location
- Australia
You don't think that would happen, do you? A whole bunch of people just go on a quest and start a war like that? *blank stare*
Right, so when the war starts in Turn 2...
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Being fair, it'd be all but impossible to start a war in two turns. That's part of what I'm trying to do with the whole separation thing. We'll see how it goes...
Edit: Also, I think I was going to say or think something else, but I forgot. Like, mid-sentence.
...
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I don't think we're liable to go to war that soon. The predators all round are still waiting to see if they smell blood in the water. The internal forces are faced with a weak ruler, and still seek to swallow the whole thing by maneuvering than tearing it apart and fighting over the scraps.
If we got here late, it might be a possibility. But we're here early and we confused all the plots while they recalibrate for this wildcard...and our military reputation disincentivizes an early war as the last thing you do is take the fight to the specialty arena of this southern barbarian famous for military deeds...but they likely underestimate Kiralo's diplomatic skills, since he IS working against a cultural gap.
If we got here late, it might be a possibility. But we're here early and we confused all the plots while they recalibrate for this wildcard...and our military reputation disincentivizes an early war as the last thing you do is take the fight to the specialty arena of this southern barbarian famous for military deeds...but they likely underestimate Kiralo's diplomatic skills, since he IS working against a cultural gap.
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- Pronouns
- They/Them
A note on formatting. Voting will be by plan (and I'll be reiterating this about a hundred times), and the format should be something like.
[X] Plan Watch The Throne
-[X]No Church in the Wild.
-[X] Lift Off
--[X] 3 dice.
-[X] Niggas in Paris
-[X] Otis.
--[X] 2 dice.
Etc, etc.
In other words, unless noted in formatting, an action will be assumed to only spend one influence dice on it.
[X] Plan Watch The Throne
-[X]No Church in the Wild.
-[X] Lift Off
--[X] 3 dice.
-[X] Niggas in Paris
-[X] Otis.
--[X] 2 dice.
Etc, etc.
In other words, unless noted in formatting, an action will be assumed to only spend one influence dice on it.
- Location
- The Great Beyond
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
I forget, when did we attack Tranquility by turn in Sartier quest? Speaking from experience, I take it?
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Okay, doing the one roll for the next update, since everything else is options.
*rolls a crit*
...okay.
*rolls a crit*
...okay.
Quest
The Great One
- Location
- Everywhere
You know, the sheer number of crits present in ck2-type games is seriously weird. Is the site cursed?(blessed?)
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Okay, okay, this is fine.
I've calmed down, had a glass of wine, and worked some on Covenant.
I'm ready for this.
*rolls the dice for the crit*
...
Another crit.
I've calmed down, had a glass of wine, and worked some on Covenant.
I'm ready for this.
*rolls the dice for the crit*
...
Another crit.
