- Pronouns
- They/Them
Also, who here can draw maps?
Behind the Serpent Throne (CK2)
- Thread starter The Laurent
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
Turn 2--Results
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Turn 2--Results
"Listen," the man said, slumped halfway over the table holding the tea as if it were a rock and he was in danger of being swept out to shore, "I know that maybe I did a little...just, I promise you, Cs-Kiralo, that I can be a loyal and true servant."
Kiralo looked at the man, whose long dark hair was messy, and whose sleepy eyes belied a certain desperate fervor. He was near middle-age, and starting to grow plump with his craft, but sources said he was a skilled man, if he could be kept from the rice wine, or the plum wines. His tastes ran quite Csiritan, but while drinking was no crime, being too drunk and botching an important dinner for a mid-level official was all but a crime.
Still, Kiralo had heard good things about the man's talents, and more than that, about how desperate he was. Kiralo took a breath and said, "I hope you can. I myself do not drink tea so fortified," he said, gesturing to the cup.
The man groaned and covered his face with his hair in shame, "They told you that? They...oh, by Yalin, they told you that?"
Yalin, who made rice because he knew that man would have need of it. From the start, strong drink and food had rested hand in hand, Kiralo thought. Still, the idea of taking perfectly good tea and adding alcohol to it was rather shocking, so he was not surprised that it had been bandied all about court as a joke.
Just like Hieng was, nowadays. A masterless servant drinking out the last of the bonus they'd once been given for serving the Emperor himself at a dinner party. A long dead man, who had with a single word of appreciation won them two years salary given as a bonus.
Hieng had been unemployed since last Spring, and all that he'd saved was almost run through. Desperate, and thus, it had to be admitted, cheap.
His father's budget did not stretch to the sort of cooks that one needed if one was going to host a large party within a week or two, one that would have to have a guest list and a course list and...it was all very complicated, is the end result of this deliberation.
And so Kiralo decided to take a little bit of a chance. Smiling slightly, he said, "They did, but do not worry. You shall have an assistant in the kitchen who shall make sure that when plum wine is out, it is for a duck sauce and not as medicine for a dry throat."
Hieng nodded, "I'll take it. I'll take anything, Cs-Kiralo, at this point."
Kiralo knew, and said, "Then can you start immediately?"
"Of course. What of the other servants?"
"We'll be having new ones soon," Kiralo said, "And in a week and a half, you are going to have to organize a banquet. A large one."
"How...large are we talking about, Cs-Kiralo?" Hieng asked, eyes wide.
"Only about forty or fifty guests," Kiralo said.
Hieng laughed, "And here I thought you were going to challenge me!"
*****
Hari was a friend of his father's, which put Kiralo in a difficult position. Or, friend was not the right word. It was more that his father was a patron of his work, and considering Kuojah's own abysmal attempts at poetry, it made sense that the man would lack the ability to judge good poets from bad, though Kiralo did not have time between interviewing servants and plotting his next few moves to see just whether he was representative of the quality of poetry at court in general.
Still, Kiralo had a few ideas for helping the young Emperor, the largest of which was quite simple, and easy to do. It would even be fun.
******
"I would advise you to stop reading quite so much poetry, Your Imperial Majesty."
"What?" Hari asked, "What is this nonsense?"
"I too," the Emperor said, placatingly, turning to Hari as they walked in the garden, the day a little less fine, even slightly chilly, "Wonder at what sort of advice this is?"
The servants and functionaries tittered, and Kiralo maintained his composure. His face, his ability to speak as one whose authority on such matters was respected was in question. But he had expected this reaction, and quietly he said, "It is the advice of a poet to a young poet who might yet be great. Instead of reading poetry, listen to poetry, and song, and stories. Words are the form by which a poem is written, so too are words the form that you must master. By listening the epic songs, by hearing poetry, and by reading the ancient stories, you can begin to see words for what they are?"
"And what are they?" The Emperor asked, quietly.
"Tools. The man who debates philosophy and the man who writes the poem and the man who sings a song are using the same tool for many things, just as the gods used their power and authority to do many things, and just as a ruler may with words do many things, so may a poet, but only if he or she knows such words."
"The Emperor is well aware of this," Hari said, annoyed that Kiralo was paraphrasing Mencinus' own words on the nature of poetry, using them against him.
"Yes, he is well aware that if he ordered us to kneel in the dust and recite poetry for him, Cs-Hari, that we would all happily do so," Kiralo said quietly, "An Emperor's words have vast power, but skill is a thing that must exist with power. In fact, that is a lesson that is well taken, and one that my father no doubt would wish for me to teach you, uncertain poet that he is."
The Emperor giggled at the words, eyes wide and said, "He's not a good poet?"
"He's a perfectly competent poet."
"Cs-Kuojah should acknowledge that there are areas where his skill does not reach," Kiralo said, "Knowing one's limitations is a part of understanding how to surpass them for the good of the Empire and the world. But as to the lesson, it begins with a story. Have you heard of the Tale of the Spiritless Garden?"
"No…" the Emperor said, eyes wide.
"Listen to the message, the story, and the words themselves," Kiralo said, glancing over at Hari.
But how could the man object to a story he knew nothing about, especially when its content was in fact quite proper and pious, though he could not know that yet.
"Once, when the world was still quite young, when people's great-great-great-grandfathers might truly have known the First Emperor and served him loyally and humbly, there was a pious and happy merchant, whose lot was not the richest nor the poorest, but was by far the happiest. His hands were soft as butter, though his beard was like that of a hedgehog, and his head reflected the sun when it shone down upon the world in its glory. He was blessed with a lovely wife, a kind and humble woman, whose eyes in later years had become like the moon on a clouded night, her sight obscured, and yet though her eyes were pale like milk, she saw yet far, and taught all of her sons and her daughter the value of respect for both the spirits and the gods."
Though the story would get quite exciting, he knew that this opening would draw Hari away, would make the man miss what the Emperor was being taught. Language and form, the way one told a story and made it understood.
"This man was blessed with three sons and one daughter. The youngest of their sons, Bei, was a kind-hearted dreamer, a boy who read constantly, a boy with the soul of a poet and the mind of a philosopher, untrained though it was. One year, when the merchant was going out on a trip, he asked all of his assembled children what they wanted him to bring back from the trip. The oldest asked for a plow, that he might till his own land, the second oldest for a vase, so that he might adorn his own house, and the daughter asked for a jade comb, so that she might be beautiful and that her father might get many offers of marriage for her. The youngest, though, said, "If you spy a beautiful flower along the way, I would love to have one, but the roof over my head and the care that you show for me as a father is more gift than I could ever repay."
"And so off the merchant went, and before he was even halfway to his destination, he spied a high wall and growing over it, the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen in his life…"Kiralo said, his voice high, allowing a little sing-song accent to slip through.
The Emperor was hooked.
******
The serpent's mouth held an eyeball, and its empty eye flaps were hissing as the rustle of wings surrounded him. Spirits everywhere in front of this small office, Kiralo thought, adjusting his new robes. There were rumors popping up like midges on a corpse, and apparently the man who did his tailoring liked to gossip. Kiralo's unfamiliarity with the latest Csiritan fashion was a small and subtle joke already being bandied about even as he had begun to look into the matter of Irit.
When he had dressed as a Southlander nobility, he could pretend magnificent ignorance, an ignorance so deep it became a proud stand, but when revealed to have some knowledge of Csiritan dress, but only of the clumsiest sort, far behind the latest fashions. In the long term, he knew he'd had to switch clothing, and now was better, perhaps, than later. But he could have been more discreet and chosen better, and the fact of it was that there was little enough he could do.
Or rather, little enough that he wished to do. He could of course send servants around to beat up the tailor, or speak far and wide to the tailor's discredit, or plot to have him exiled, but each reaction, even absent any issues of morality, was an extreme overreaction that would only draw attention to him of the worst kind.
He was already choosing his staff carefully for their loyalty, or at least their unwillingness to sell him out at the first indication, and any gossip would pass as more interesting subjects reared their heads.
He glanced down at the snake-like spirit and knocked on the door.
"You may enter," a young sounding voice called from within.
It was a small office, and crowded in on all sides by wooden boxes, which seemed to hold documents of some kind, considering that one, already open, rested on the large, creaking wooden desk of Yonu, whose position was actually one, Kiralo suspected, of some import. The Bureau of the Masses, after all, handled such matters as the distribution of food and supplies during a famine.
Yonu himself was a young man, perhaps a little bit older than Kiralo, and perhaps not, with a small and well-cultivated beard, long fingernails, and hair that was carefully divided into three braids. It gave his eyes an oddly pinched look. But Yonu was smiling, and the thin man--who certainly, especially with those nails, had never worked in a field or done hard labor in his life--gestured towards a hard-backed chair.
"Welcome, welcome. For the respect that I hold for those who are responsible for you, welcome."
"My father, you mean?" Kiralo asked, "That is a rather roundabout way to say it, Cs-Yonu."
"Oh, you offer me too much respect, Cs-Kiralo," Yonu said, "But it must be said that I do admire your father. I know that you and he are not on the kindest of terms, and I acknowledge that it is an impiety to interfere in the family affairs of others that I do not know. Yet, I respect your father."
"I mean no disrespect to how you feel," Kiralo said, cautiously, as he sat down across from the other man.
"Cs-Kuojah, the honorable Chancellor, had a grandfather who sold fish and other goods in a small market town. I had a grandfather who worked the earth itself, knowing nothing but piety." He gestured with his long fingernails at his garb, which was as proper as it was official, green, representing some level of status. The hint of gold here and there, too, meant that while he was far from the top even of one Bureau, he was a rising man, and one of respect, dignity, and an office that probably afforded him some creature comforts.
"What I am is what Cs-Kuojah has made me, through subsidizing my Civil Service Exams, and through promoting me and my talent, giving me chances to prove that I have skill and that I have worth, that I have dignity and worthy pride and worthier ambition. He can be very generous, and it is no mistake that nobles dislike him."
"Is that so?" Kiralo asked.
"They dislike him because he believes that anyone can come from even the lowliest background and serve the Emperor well."
"So long as they are of pure Csiritan stock," Kiralo said, unable to keep from lashing out, however mildly he said it.
Yonu paused, face stricken into a moment of shock before he said, "I suppose that this is fair that you have said this."
"Thank you," Kiralo said.
"But still, he is a man I greatly respect, more than I can find proper words. He has done many great things for the Empire, but he is not why I have asked you to visit me. And thank you for responding, I am honored."
"It is not a matter of honor," Kiralo said, "It is a matter of respect."
"Perhaps that is so. But I am here not because of only your father. I am here also because of your grandfather, of lineage Faru."
"What?" Kiralo asked, carefully.
"Your father made me who I am, and put me where I am, but your grandfather made my father who he was, for is it not said that it takes many generations to climb from root to branch? Your father subsidized the education of many of the most promising sons of merchants and even a few sons of peasants, as long as they showed promise, piety, and dedication. Many yet failed to obtain even the first level of distinction, at the district level, but my father through your grandfather's help rose to pass the province level examinations in the top third, and through the education and status it afforded…"
Kiralo took a breath, stunned.
"I rose yet higher, to pass the third examination in the top quarter, which is why I sit here now, and why I might even take the fourth examination one day," Yonu said, "So I owe you and yours everything that I am to this day, and I have a great debt even to you, and a great shame that there was nothing that could be done for your mother, whose name is mentioned in some of my father's letters."
Kiralo shook his head, "Merely the words that someone remembers my mother's side of my lineage are a gift beyond compare. I grew up with stories of my mother's father, and he seemed to be a man of great kindness."
"I would like to think so as well," Yonu said, "Though I have not met him. Still, I wish to do more for you. In my own position, I have the ability at least to speak to others on your behalf."
"What does your job as liaison involve?" Kiralo asked, sensibly.
"The palace and the city are separate governments, and in fact separate cities. It is my job to make sure that the Imperial presence enriches the city, and that those who govern the city have what they need to maintain it, and that they are following the guidelines and rules of the Court. This includes things like handing out the rations of millet and sometimes rice for the poor, and making sure that all roads are maintained, that all shops follow the standard of measurements...a whole host of matters which the local government must conform to."
"I understand it, even if it is not a worry that ever exactly came up in my previous experience as a courtier," Kiralo admitted. The courts had been big in the city, but they'd also *been* the city, and the idea that the government of the palace was not also the government of the city was of course nonsense.
That's the nature of the city-state, though of course they governed more than just the city, for there had been a vast hinterland of towns and villages that fell under the sometimes-changing sway of one of the Seventeen or the other.
"Ah, you were in court in the Southlands?" Yonu asked.
"Yes, at times," Kiralo said, "I have experience in these matters. So, you are with the Department of the Masses and Governance?"
"Yes, which is related to the Department of Works, or at least works closely with them in a number of areas," Yonu said.
"Well, in Irit, have you heard the problems that are plaguing it?"
"Some...distant word and whisper," Yonu said, "But you'd be surprised how quiet this court can be to the outside world."
"I wouldn't, not really," Kiralo said, quietly.
"...perhaps you wouldn't be," Yonu admitted, knitting his hands together. He gave a long, slow sigh, covering his mouth with his sleeve to hide his frown.
*****
Dancers, he needed dancers for the party, and so he went in search of dancers. Two he found quite easily, an older dancer whose skill more than made up for the fact that by the standards of her profession, her age (she was past thirty) was the first sign that she was fading. But she was intelligent, and she knew many dances that would no doubt be pleasing for the men (and most likely only men, since such a small, intimate party from such a man as Kiralo would be seen as suspect) to watch. Then another woman, this one younger and inexperienced, someone who could follow along with the older one's instruction.
Compared to that search, the search for a musician was somewhat less successful. There were men for hire, and he got a lutist who played the Pipa, a harper, and a singer, but all of them were of only middling quality and cost enough that he had to cut short most other plans, except that he'd managed to find the money set aside for two more services purchased.
The first was Xialon, a man who claimed to be a famous knife-juggler, who had been with the Imperial Army for a number of years. A man who always went around half-dressed, he claimed that the spirits that surrounded him could light a torch on fire, and that he used it for his juggling act.
"Your Lordship will see sights that none could imagine. The spirits do not catch the thrown objects, only I do, but they can do wonders yet," Xialon said, his voice as if he were trying to sell fish in a market, with a deep Hari-Su accent.
"I believe you," Kiralo asked, "But what kinds of wonders can you do for two silver princes?"
"...small but impressive miracles," Xialon said.
"Then your pay is three silver princes," Kiralo said with a grin.
******
Last was Han, the dancer. He was certainly a very beautiful boy, as all of the rumors had said. Which was certainly the word for him, Kiralo thought: boy. Though sixteen, he looked hairless, his skin pale and delicate, and there were none of the spirits about him that Kiralo had suspected. The spirits of a boy bought from a farming family, spirits of agriculture and animals, wild things that danced underneath one's skin and through one's clothing, always ready at the call.
Of course, many were not mobile, but it was still an interesting absence, as was the relative absence of any other spirit around him. It reminded Kiralo of a boy scrubbed clean. Sometimes one got servants like that, and you gave them a bath and scrubbed them until their skin was raw and they came out clean, at least until they--for these were young men--found some way to get dirty all over again.
So too did his accent sound too clean, with none of the slight Iritan cadence he'd expected. "Cs-Kiralo, I am honored to be in your presence." He inclined his head, brown hair perfectly braided.
His clothes were silken and rather less formal than that of a noble, loose and easy to dance in, and yet also somewhat tight at places. He was attractive, and Kiralo remembered himself at that age. Very different, of course, but there was that same aura of youth, of fragile power...the sort of thing that drew certain men like vultures.
But Han was not a Rassit, a warrior capable of breaking the arms of any hairy old men who thought to put their hands where they were not wanted. In this world, servants existed to obey: and was it any different in the Southlands? Certianly there had been Silver Steeds that young. Younger still.
The boy's hands were turned downward, and Kiralo had a suspicion which drove him to step forward towards the boy.
His protections were thin, and he was better than a slave only by degree and by the fact that he was free only until some man became his patron.
No doubt Han was afraid that Kiralo was here to be that man, or to try. A new courtier, and one who was inexperienced in the ways of the court, a man to take what he wanted and ask later if ever if it was a problem.
That didn't describe him, but it did describe the way people viewed outsiders. Kiralo reached down and grabbed the boy's downturned hand and flipped it up, tracing his fingers over them as the boy flushed. "Southern Irit, or Northern? These scars, and the calluses, even after the milk and butter you've probably used to try to remove it all. There's some that will be there for a long time."
Han flushed and said, "S-southern, sir."
"It's bad down there, isn't it?" Kiralo asked.
"I am grateful for your inquiry and--"
Kiralo sighed, "I've heard about the banditry. Your parents did well to get you out of there any way they could, even perhaps this way."
Han was trembling slightly as he said, "I...miss them. But if I was there and not here, I'd be dead or worse." He shuddered.
"I would like to hire you to dance at a party I shall be holding to celebrate my arrival in this court, but I would also like to assure you that I am doing what I can to help Irit. I have heard of the evil that is happening there, and I am working to send aid to those who have been displaced by the conflict."
Han nodded, and reached his hand out for his robes, "I can...I mean...I."
Kiralo stared at him, realizing what it was. Han thought that somehow this was a deal.
Dance at my party and give your body to me, he thought Kiralo was saying, and I shall aid Irit.
Kiralo stood up, a little horrified, and not as surprised as he wished he was, and said, "No, I do not wish for that. I shall hire you at a good rate, with what little my own father has set aside for what he'd no doubt see as frivolous entertainment. I hope it is enough, and if it is not there are loans that could be taken, because I shall not short-change you on this matter."
Kiralo saw emotions flicker across Han's face. First confusion, and then relief. And then, amusingly, wounded pride. Han was used to being wanted, even when he didn't desire it, so it made sense that there would be pride there. Better pride than a lack of concern, since if he was so unconcerned at his looks it'd mean that someone else was forcing him to go through more than a little effort.
The room felt quite small as Han's face finally settled on gratitude. "Thank you, My Lord."
"I am a lord of nothing," Kiralo said, "Thank you for taking the employment, Han. The party will be in nine days."
******
Sometimes, there was a reason to visit his father, and the meeting was quite uncomfortable. But Kuojah had known of the need in Irit about as soon as Kiralo had, and was willing to help. In fact, he had planned to work on getting such alms through, but had run into a few problems, including a very important figure, just a step down from the top, in the Department of Works. This opposition combined with several nobles in key positions that would be needed to smooth any troubles (such as the sub-Department of River Transport), meant that Kuojah had been moving carefully, busy as he was with a dozen other projects.
"I will of course work as diligently as possible upon the matter, but perhaps there are those who hate me who do not hate you," Kuojah said.
Kiralo resisted any barbs, because for the moment they were working to help the Empire and its people. Kiralo still hated Kuojah, but he'd worked with people he'd hated before, and the old man, who looked sick and as if he had aged yet more in the last month. He didn't look healthy, but if he knew his father from the stories the man would plough on no matter how badly he needed to be in bed.
"I can try. But there's another matter. The geography means, if I've read the maps correctly, that overland trips will be necessary at points to get from one river to the other," Kiralo said, "The shipments need to be guarded. You need at least a small contingent of soldiers, and perhaps a larger one than that. It does not have to be an army, but it is an added difficulty."
"By the Judges," Kuojah muttered, "That is more that you can manage."
"I know logistics," Kiralo said, "I can look over the plans, at least see if anyone is lying."
"So do I," Kuojah said, "But your eyes would be accepted."
They sat there, and talked for a while, but once their business was exhausted, there were no words left to exchange. The silence hung for a while, and then Kiralo left.
*****
The fall came, and slowly drew itself about the world. It grew a little chillier, a little darker, a little earlier. The walks in the garden were now complete with thicker robes and servants with warmth spirits to aid the Emperor and keep even the slightest hint of chill away from his bones. But the talking continued, and so did the songs, and the stories.
Each of the three times they met, Kiralo had another story, entirely proper yet with enough details and fancies to excite the Emperor's attention. Every time, Hari seemed more and more set upon, more and more tired.
Angrier, and yet impotent in his anger because Kiralo was not going to present him with an easy target. So let him sit and stew and boil like one of Hieng's rather tasteful meals.
Kiralo would eat him alive, given time, he decided. But he could no more be the Emperor's Poetry Tutor than he could be his personal assistant, or the man who fanned him in hot days. It was a position of some power, but only in a limited way. Yet Hari could be brushed aside, and more than that...if Kiralo only knew a man to replace him, then that man would do a better job, and would be Kiralo's man.
That was the sort of thinking that the court brought, and he missed his friend, he missed the Rassit, for all that he had been tired of fighting.
He still rode every day, though others glared at him and thought him arrogant. And he worked as tirelessly as his father and played as ceaselessly as any son could.
But even the play was work, and the Emperor must know it, just a little. It showed in the way he sometimes glanced up at the sky and the way his poems sometimes asked the question that he couldn't: just what am I doing? The Emperor was unsure, the Emperor was a boy so of course he was unsure.
He could be unsure or he could be a fool, those were the only choices.
Kiralo wished there were better choices.
*****
"Come on...no fucking eels?" Hieng yelled, "Just, go over to the bastards next door, I know that toady little man, yes, yes, respected and honored sub-sub-sub...yes, yes."
He said yes, yes, quite a bit, Kiralo thought, listening.
"So get me his eels, and that sauce, it needs to be thicker and the gods, man, if you can't stand watching a man cut a head off a chicken, then how by the afterlife did you grow up, yes, yes. Now, I need to...no, it isn't for me to drink I'm not going to do that at all. It's plum wine for the sauce. The sauce. No I won't be tasting the sauce if you get like that with me, girl. Stop glaring. Alright, so we need...vegetables. More vegetables. And, Cs-Kiralo! Yes, I see you there, watching everything…"
"Yes, Hieng?" Kiralo asked.
"You like Baozi, right?"
"Indeed."
"I'll make the best you've ever had," Hieng said, "Special for the party."
Kiralo closed his eyes, and the world fell away. The small rooms fell away for a moment and the months ticked backwards piece by piece until at last they were gone, and he remembered the boazi he had had on that fateful day and said, meaning every word, "I expect that I've already had the best already."
*****
His friends stood out a little as they skulked from room to room, listening and acting as much as possible as if they were stumps. Arimi, in particular, was quite good at standing and looking as if he wasn't part of anything, and perhaps this was true. The dinner party in all of its rooms had mostly one or two color men, and then the occasional three color man, including some high enough to be truly important to the entire working of the court. Allowed to wear three of the four Imperial colors, and in dashes and degrees that marked them as important indeed.
The party, like all Csirit house-dinner parties, was split up. Six rooms, each of which had a table that could hold eight or nine men, and people would move between the tables, which each had different themes of food and replacement courses ran in as often as they filled out. The men were all dressed properly, though against his expectation there was even a single woman, the mother of a minor functionary, present.
Out of curiosity he passed by her and heard her say, "Of course, honored son, the parties in my day were far grander."
"I have no doubt, mother," the man said, embarrassed as if he were not nearing middle aged, but still a child. Others chuckled at him, hiding it behind their hands out of bare politeness.
Kiralo walked and listened. This early, the discussion would be on gossip and scandal, and that was always worth listening to, and then it would turn to art, poetry, philosophy, and perhaps a few interests and hobbies.
And then, towards the end of the night when the plum wine was broken out, it would turn to politics.
So for a full hour or so he learned quite a bit about who was on the outs with who, and more than a little about the rivalries and potential marriages of the court. It was all quite useful, or at least it was something he could use.
Then it came time for the dancers. People spilled out of the side rooms, though these two would have the dancers visit at some time, and stood in a crowd at or near the table, or opened up the thin partition and peered through while drinking.
"I'll tell you, detachment is the only way to contemplate the gods," one man argued, having already moved to philosophy "It's clearly said and it clearly cannot…"
Another man shushed him, and Kiralo smiled and then, against ancient protocol, a nod towards the younger set, he beat his fist against the table in the beat, and the musicians began to play, matching his fist. A fast dance to start, as the three dancers streamed out from behind their panel, dressed in beautiful reds and rich purples (in the Southlands a color of power, here a color of nothing), swaying with the music.
The snake dance was a dance that involved slowly moving their bodies and then suddenly striking out in a sudden pose, in a sudden darting movement forward. The two female dancers were snakes, while Han was a crane, his movements even more careful but even slower, edging closer and closer to the assembled crowd, who watched all three dancers with admiration and desire.
The song went faster and they went faster, and the singer began to sing, "Peace and prosperity! The crane and the snake! Many happy tidings!"
The lyrics were not complex, because they were meant to punctuate the dancing, and the dancing of course drew eyes to their body, to the way it moved, and that these were fit bodies, bodies that were skilled at movements that were...most impressive.
Then there was a slower dance, and the slowness seemed only to emphasize the skill that Han had in making sure every eye was on the way he moved his hands, in a dance entirely his own, covering up the marks of his past, and yet showing himself boldly. His eyes were fire, and Kiralo was rather stunned that this was the same boy who had seemed so passive.
Han enjoyed dancing, and there was a power when he danced just like Kiralo felt when he declaimed poetry, or rode. A power over himself.
A power over the world, perhaps.
Quietly Kiralo said to the shushed man, almost in a whisper, "Yet other sources say that attachment is as the gods made it."
The man, who was not particularly displaying detachment at the moment, flushed.
"Honorable assembled gentlemen and very honored gentlewoman, I am almost without words to express my gratitude, to be dancing here for you tonight."
Everyone was surprised by the dancer speaking, but they were the right words, and Kiralo was curious to see where he was going with this.
"Not only for the opportunity to entertain you all," Han said, still dancing, "But to be away from my village. They say...that the village is the true home of all men," Han said, clumsily quoting a piece of philosopher's wisdom, "But in the village where I come from, bandits kill and destroy everything, and all are poor and unhappy, and this is true of many villages in Southern Irit, which lacks the benevolent masterly hand it needs."
He made those last words sound like a suggestion of so much that nobody--besides Kiralo, who had started to grin--could think past his words to the insult they were, for such a lowly figure to address them so.
"So, please enjoy the bandit's dance," Han said, well aware that he was walking a very fine line as he began his own dance, grabbing a fan from one of the women dancers, who must have been in on it, and began a dance that seemed entirely new. Brutal, like the tiger dance, and yet shifted and suddenly-striking like the snake dance, with other elements still, as the fan shifted from one hand to the next, and he moved unsettlingly close to the assembled men before drawing away, coyly, eyes hot with challenge as he danced.
When he finished, he bowed deeply, and then prostrated himself and said, "Thank all assembled and Asei," the goddess of dance, song, and poetry, "Should she be watching, for witnessing this dance, for the first time before any eyes but those within my heart."
Kiralo began the clapping, slamming his fist down against the table.
The whole room seemed to shake with the applause, and he heard the old mother say, "Perhaps...it wasn't quite this enjoyable when I was younger."
Among those watching were Mufai, an Assistant-Director of the Department of Works. His eyes bore holes into Han as he retreated, still prostrate.
Kiralo suspected that he'd find ready ground for arguments towards the organizing of alms, now.
*****
Hours of entertainment, hours of politicking and listening to the web of alliances and remembering dozens and dozens of names, and then afterwards hours of cleanup. It had been late before he'd finally felt ready to collapse into his bed, and an hour later he got up and began his day again.
Yet through all of it he couldn't help but grin.
Han, but a boy? Perhaps, but he had a hero's heart. And a dancer's soul, if that was really the first time he'd performed a dance before an audience. Yet another person for Kiralo to hope he got what he deserved, and not what life would likely give him.
He'd done a soldier's work in making Kiralo's job a little bit easier, and he'd capitalized on it, and over the next week he found that there was not a moment other than sleep where he wasn't engaged in some business.
The Emperor seemed glad to see him, when they walked in the gardens, and people were beginning to notice and whisper, and Hari--whose heart was a coward's--grew increasingly silent, afraid of acting against Kiralo when he was at the moment respected by the Emperor and feted for throwing a truly grand banquet, at the end of which he'd given a speech he didn't even remember afterwards--drink, far too much drink from far too many toasts--but that he'd told had made grown men weep at its sentiments.
In a good way, he had to hope.
He was advancing at breakneck speed, grabbing every opportunity he could, and even then he was impressed by the sheer shamelessness of his reaction to his father's crisis.
Kuojah had wished to present the proposed alms package to the Emperor, to of course ratify and read and declare that it was the best idea out there and was in fact his idea, fully realized. Others had wanted that honor, and they had taken to arguing incessently about it.
So with the bold innocence of a bandit, Kiralo had offered to be the one to present it. And he'd managed, after days of argument, to win that right, because of all of the people involved, he was the only one who was not hated by all but one side.
*****
And so on the 29th Day of the Eighth Month[1], Kiralo of two lineages approached the serpent throne at last.
The whole room was grand, with murals on the walls and ceilings, so beautiful one might stare in awe if they were unused to them. Kiralo didn't hesitate as he approached the throne.
It was huge, a massive serpent coiling around a set of steps. The serpent was golden and rich imperial green and inlaid with silver, and blue gems, the whole thing a masterpiece of art. The serpent looked as if it could rear up at any moment and strike down the Emperor's enemies, and its head was raised up, coiled at the back, to hiss at the world, its eyes inlaid pearls, its mouth golden and its fangs silver.
In the coils hid the Serpent's Teeth, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor. If they failed to protect an Emperor from assassination, they would be forced to drink poison and die with their Emperor, and more would be carefully selected and chosen. They hid at all times, and the spirits around them were so potent when they wanted them to be that it was said to be terrifying to face in a direct fight.
In fact, there were hundreds of spirits in the air, or crawling on the ground, and yet they could not touch being upon the throne, which held a spirit vast and powerful that repelled all other spirits. Men who knelt before the Emperor were temporarily stripped of all spirits, naked before that whose blood held the promise for all of mankind.
The serpent was wrapped around a set of steps that led to a silver-blue mirrored surface. It was the pond, and at the center was the Lily seat, a rich, cushioned and raised seat, all in green, upon which sat the Emperor himself, enthroned as the First Emperor was, who made land from nothing, green and rich, in the middle of a lake in Irit.
Kiralo held the papers tight and approached, knowing the eyes of the courtiers on each side of the throne, or kneeling at the steps just out of the way were on him.
At the start of the steps he knelt, and then prostrated himself, knocking his head against the ground twice. Then he ascended the steps, feeling his spirits stripped away from him, and at the third step he again threw himself to the ground, and tapped his forehead twice against the cool marble steps. Then up, and up still, onto the mirrored glass, now crawling like a beast upon its belly to knock his head twice more.
And then, not looking at the Emperor except through the mirror below--and seeing a look of passivity that must have been well trained--he advanced once more and knocked his head twice more before speaking words that were well worn for how many times people, even great people who thought themselves the master of the Emperor, had spoken them.
"Your Imperial Majesty, I am a lowly worm, a thing that crawls upon the dust and lives in filth, and my presence, if it so displeases your Serenity, to make a proposal to the best of my ability for you to consider and perfect, discarding all that is facile and worthless, may be discarded. I am nothing before you, and yet I beg my leave as one that might be called a human by the generosity of an Emperor. I beg to present this petition to you."
There were times when, despite all of the planning and scheming that made this moment a foregone conclusion, the Emperor nonetheless said no, to the ruination of vast fortunes and the death of many, and frustrated ambitions even if the matter was minor. There were also times when the Emperor, who was not stripped of spirits--and nor were his highly trained guards--instead looked down at the man giving the petition and struck like a serpent.
Kiralo lacked a weapon, he lacked his spirits.
Men had died upon this glass and had their blood cleaned from it on the whims of an Emperor who saw at last the perfect moment to dispose of an enemy who had overreached with a proposal that could not be borne. Not every Emperor throughout history had been a puppet, and even a puppet could choose to cut his own strings.
But that would not be today.
"You are not a worm at all," the Emperor said, "In your humility and your humanity, I see you are like a snake." It was the compliment that told everyone assembled that the Emperor was going to play his part and, barring some sudden shift, accept the proposal.
Yet there was still so much theatre left, not that Kiralo minded in one way, though he wondered how his father's knees managed such bending and scraping. It felt strange to act so totally subservient, and yet...there were harder things in this world.
"Then allow this humble servant to present to you a petition that the people of Irit who are suffering now from famine and deplorable bandit activities may have alms and relief," Kiralo said.
He reached up and held out the papers. The Emperor hesitated and finally took them, flipping through them. He seemed to be trying to pay more attention than usual, Kiralo thought. Or perhaps this was the usual time, but two minutes later the Emperor said, "This proposal does you much honor. You may rise."
Not to his feet, of course not. But Kiralo was able to get up onto his knees, held still bowed, keeping the grin that threatened to bubble up off his face.
The Emperor's uncertain voice was amplified by spirits as he spoke the next words. "This proposal matches what my Imperial Soul, Imperial Heart, and Imperial Mind say are the best and most eff...efficacious actions, that will bring harmony and prosperity to our land." This part was partially improvised, in that the Emperor could use what descriptions. Harmony and prosperity, wealth and glory...whatever was seen as most fitting. "It must have been the Imperial Will itself, and the spirit of the First Emperor, who guided this plan. Thus I decree that the--"
Kiralo very carefully rubbed his hand against the glass, and the Emperor saw it and blanched, saying, as he was supposed to say, "My plan, which is in accordance with my own will, shall be enacted, to be read by heralds and propagated at all due speed."
In the throne room, the Emperor took credit for everything. For him to dare to do otherwise threatened his power and his position. Credit for all and blame for nothing. He knew others had noticed, but hoped that his subtle correction of the Emperor prevented the boy from being lectured by Kuojah later on.
"You are dismissed, Cs-Kiralo, may the Gods and the Judges smile upon you."
Kiralo started, stunned by the words, which were spoken with an earnestness that had been missing earlier, when he'd been speaking in rote or desperately trying to appear Imperial when he was, in fact, a young boy.
He hid his triumph as he knocked his head twice agains tthe ground, retreated, and re-did the whole ritual, until he was at last before the serpent throne, as a herald read out the document and its complex plans.[2]
[1] The new year starts with the birth of Spring, and so the months do not align with January-December months.
[2] Obviously not every decision gets read before the Serpent throne, since many are handled behind the scenes for obvious reasons. Can you imagine a decree authorizing a spy to sneak into a Governor's staff, or...any of what else goes on? It's only for the big, public stuff.[3]
[3] Really now, consider the dynamics that are going on. It's kinda interesting.
*****
A/N: And so here we go! God, this took a while to write. I always underestimate the length of these things.
"Listen," the man said, slumped halfway over the table holding the tea as if it were a rock and he was in danger of being swept out to shore, "I know that maybe I did a little...just, I promise you, Cs-Kiralo, that I can be a loyal and true servant."
Kiralo looked at the man, whose long dark hair was messy, and whose sleepy eyes belied a certain desperate fervor. He was near middle-age, and starting to grow plump with his craft, but sources said he was a skilled man, if he could be kept from the rice wine, or the plum wines. His tastes ran quite Csiritan, but while drinking was no crime, being too drunk and botching an important dinner for a mid-level official was all but a crime.
Still, Kiralo had heard good things about the man's talents, and more than that, about how desperate he was. Kiralo took a breath and said, "I hope you can. I myself do not drink tea so fortified," he said, gesturing to the cup.
The man groaned and covered his face with his hair in shame, "They told you that? They...oh, by Yalin, they told you that?"
Yalin, who made rice because he knew that man would have need of it. From the start, strong drink and food had rested hand in hand, Kiralo thought. Still, the idea of taking perfectly good tea and adding alcohol to it was rather shocking, so he was not surprised that it had been bandied all about court as a joke.
Just like Hieng was, nowadays. A masterless servant drinking out the last of the bonus they'd once been given for serving the Emperor himself at a dinner party. A long dead man, who had with a single word of appreciation won them two years salary given as a bonus.
Hieng had been unemployed since last Spring, and all that he'd saved was almost run through. Desperate, and thus, it had to be admitted, cheap.
His father's budget did not stretch to the sort of cooks that one needed if one was going to host a large party within a week or two, one that would have to have a guest list and a course list and...it was all very complicated, is the end result of this deliberation.
And so Kiralo decided to take a little bit of a chance. Smiling slightly, he said, "They did, but do not worry. You shall have an assistant in the kitchen who shall make sure that when plum wine is out, it is for a duck sauce and not as medicine for a dry throat."
Hieng nodded, "I'll take it. I'll take anything, Cs-Kiralo, at this point."
Kiralo knew, and said, "Then can you start immediately?"
"Of course. What of the other servants?"
"We'll be having new ones soon," Kiralo said, "And in a week and a half, you are going to have to organize a banquet. A large one."
"How...large are we talking about, Cs-Kiralo?" Hieng asked, eyes wide.
"Only about forty or fifty guests," Kiralo said.
Hieng laughed, "And here I thought you were going to challenge me!"
*****
Hari was a friend of his father's, which put Kiralo in a difficult position. Or, friend was not the right word. It was more that his father was a patron of his work, and considering Kuojah's own abysmal attempts at poetry, it made sense that the man would lack the ability to judge good poets from bad, though Kiralo did not have time between interviewing servants and plotting his next few moves to see just whether he was representative of the quality of poetry at court in general.
Still, Kiralo had a few ideas for helping the young Emperor, the largest of which was quite simple, and easy to do. It would even be fun.
******
"I would advise you to stop reading quite so much poetry, Your Imperial Majesty."
"What?" Hari asked, "What is this nonsense?"
"I too," the Emperor said, placatingly, turning to Hari as they walked in the garden, the day a little less fine, even slightly chilly, "Wonder at what sort of advice this is?"
The servants and functionaries tittered, and Kiralo maintained his composure. His face, his ability to speak as one whose authority on such matters was respected was in question. But he had expected this reaction, and quietly he said, "It is the advice of a poet to a young poet who might yet be great. Instead of reading poetry, listen to poetry, and song, and stories. Words are the form by which a poem is written, so too are words the form that you must master. By listening the epic songs, by hearing poetry, and by reading the ancient stories, you can begin to see words for what they are?"
"And what are they?" The Emperor asked, quietly.
"Tools. The man who debates philosophy and the man who writes the poem and the man who sings a song are using the same tool for many things, just as the gods used their power and authority to do many things, and just as a ruler may with words do many things, so may a poet, but only if he or she knows such words."
"The Emperor is well aware of this," Hari said, annoyed that Kiralo was paraphrasing Mencinus' own words on the nature of poetry, using them against him.
"Yes, he is well aware that if he ordered us to kneel in the dust and recite poetry for him, Cs-Hari, that we would all happily do so," Kiralo said quietly, "An Emperor's words have vast power, but skill is a thing that must exist with power. In fact, that is a lesson that is well taken, and one that my father no doubt would wish for me to teach you, uncertain poet that he is."
The Emperor giggled at the words, eyes wide and said, "He's not a good poet?"
"He's a perfectly competent poet."
"Cs-Kuojah should acknowledge that there are areas where his skill does not reach," Kiralo said, "Knowing one's limitations is a part of understanding how to surpass them for the good of the Empire and the world. But as to the lesson, it begins with a story. Have you heard of the Tale of the Spiritless Garden?"
"No…" the Emperor said, eyes wide.
"Listen to the message, the story, and the words themselves," Kiralo said, glancing over at Hari.
But how could the man object to a story he knew nothing about, especially when its content was in fact quite proper and pious, though he could not know that yet.
"Once, when the world was still quite young, when people's great-great-great-grandfathers might truly have known the First Emperor and served him loyally and humbly, there was a pious and happy merchant, whose lot was not the richest nor the poorest, but was by far the happiest. His hands were soft as butter, though his beard was like that of a hedgehog, and his head reflected the sun when it shone down upon the world in its glory. He was blessed with a lovely wife, a kind and humble woman, whose eyes in later years had become like the moon on a clouded night, her sight obscured, and yet though her eyes were pale like milk, she saw yet far, and taught all of her sons and her daughter the value of respect for both the spirits and the gods."
Though the story would get quite exciting, he knew that this opening would draw Hari away, would make the man miss what the Emperor was being taught. Language and form, the way one told a story and made it understood.
"This man was blessed with three sons and one daughter. The youngest of their sons, Bei, was a kind-hearted dreamer, a boy who read constantly, a boy with the soul of a poet and the mind of a philosopher, untrained though it was. One year, when the merchant was going out on a trip, he asked all of his assembled children what they wanted him to bring back from the trip. The oldest asked for a plow, that he might till his own land, the second oldest for a vase, so that he might adorn his own house, and the daughter asked for a jade comb, so that she might be beautiful and that her father might get many offers of marriage for her. The youngest, though, said, "If you spy a beautiful flower along the way, I would love to have one, but the roof over my head and the care that you show for me as a father is more gift than I could ever repay."
"And so off the merchant went, and before he was even halfway to his destination, he spied a high wall and growing over it, the most beautiful flowers he had ever seen in his life…"Kiralo said, his voice high, allowing a little sing-song accent to slip through.
The Emperor was hooked.
******
The serpent's mouth held an eyeball, and its empty eye flaps were hissing as the rustle of wings surrounded him. Spirits everywhere in front of this small office, Kiralo thought, adjusting his new robes. There were rumors popping up like midges on a corpse, and apparently the man who did his tailoring liked to gossip. Kiralo's unfamiliarity with the latest Csiritan fashion was a small and subtle joke already being bandied about even as he had begun to look into the matter of Irit.
When he had dressed as a Southlander nobility, he could pretend magnificent ignorance, an ignorance so deep it became a proud stand, but when revealed to have some knowledge of Csiritan dress, but only of the clumsiest sort, far behind the latest fashions. In the long term, he knew he'd had to switch clothing, and now was better, perhaps, than later. But he could have been more discreet and chosen better, and the fact of it was that there was little enough he could do.
Or rather, little enough that he wished to do. He could of course send servants around to beat up the tailor, or speak far and wide to the tailor's discredit, or plot to have him exiled, but each reaction, even absent any issues of morality, was an extreme overreaction that would only draw attention to him of the worst kind.
He was already choosing his staff carefully for their loyalty, or at least their unwillingness to sell him out at the first indication, and any gossip would pass as more interesting subjects reared their heads.
He glanced down at the snake-like spirit and knocked on the door.
"You may enter," a young sounding voice called from within.
It was a small office, and crowded in on all sides by wooden boxes, which seemed to hold documents of some kind, considering that one, already open, rested on the large, creaking wooden desk of Yonu, whose position was actually one, Kiralo suspected, of some import. The Bureau of the Masses, after all, handled such matters as the distribution of food and supplies during a famine.
Yonu himself was a young man, perhaps a little bit older than Kiralo, and perhaps not, with a small and well-cultivated beard, long fingernails, and hair that was carefully divided into three braids. It gave his eyes an oddly pinched look. But Yonu was smiling, and the thin man--who certainly, especially with those nails, had never worked in a field or done hard labor in his life--gestured towards a hard-backed chair.
"Welcome, welcome. For the respect that I hold for those who are responsible for you, welcome."
"My father, you mean?" Kiralo asked, "That is a rather roundabout way to say it, Cs-Yonu."
"Oh, you offer me too much respect, Cs-Kiralo," Yonu said, "But it must be said that I do admire your father. I know that you and he are not on the kindest of terms, and I acknowledge that it is an impiety to interfere in the family affairs of others that I do not know. Yet, I respect your father."
"I mean no disrespect to how you feel," Kiralo said, cautiously, as he sat down across from the other man.
"Cs-Kuojah, the honorable Chancellor, had a grandfather who sold fish and other goods in a small market town. I had a grandfather who worked the earth itself, knowing nothing but piety." He gestured with his long fingernails at his garb, which was as proper as it was official, green, representing some level of status. The hint of gold here and there, too, meant that while he was far from the top even of one Bureau, he was a rising man, and one of respect, dignity, and an office that probably afforded him some creature comforts.
"What I am is what Cs-Kuojah has made me, through subsidizing my Civil Service Exams, and through promoting me and my talent, giving me chances to prove that I have skill and that I have worth, that I have dignity and worthy pride and worthier ambition. He can be very generous, and it is no mistake that nobles dislike him."
"Is that so?" Kiralo asked.
"They dislike him because he believes that anyone can come from even the lowliest background and serve the Emperor well."
"So long as they are of pure Csiritan stock," Kiralo said, unable to keep from lashing out, however mildly he said it.
Yonu paused, face stricken into a moment of shock before he said, "I suppose that this is fair that you have said this."
"Thank you," Kiralo said.
"But still, he is a man I greatly respect, more than I can find proper words. He has done many great things for the Empire, but he is not why I have asked you to visit me. And thank you for responding, I am honored."
"It is not a matter of honor," Kiralo said, "It is a matter of respect."
"Perhaps that is so. But I am here not because of only your father. I am here also because of your grandfather, of lineage Faru."
"What?" Kiralo asked, carefully.
"Your father made me who I am, and put me where I am, but your grandfather made my father who he was, for is it not said that it takes many generations to climb from root to branch? Your father subsidized the education of many of the most promising sons of merchants and even a few sons of peasants, as long as they showed promise, piety, and dedication. Many yet failed to obtain even the first level of distinction, at the district level, but my father through your grandfather's help rose to pass the province level examinations in the top third, and through the education and status it afforded…"
Kiralo took a breath, stunned.
"I rose yet higher, to pass the third examination in the top quarter, which is why I sit here now, and why I might even take the fourth examination one day," Yonu said, "So I owe you and yours everything that I am to this day, and I have a great debt even to you, and a great shame that there was nothing that could be done for your mother, whose name is mentioned in some of my father's letters."
Kiralo shook his head, "Merely the words that someone remembers my mother's side of my lineage are a gift beyond compare. I grew up with stories of my mother's father, and he seemed to be a man of great kindness."
"I would like to think so as well," Yonu said, "Though I have not met him. Still, I wish to do more for you. In my own position, I have the ability at least to speak to others on your behalf."
"What does your job as liaison involve?" Kiralo asked, sensibly.
"The palace and the city are separate governments, and in fact separate cities. It is my job to make sure that the Imperial presence enriches the city, and that those who govern the city have what they need to maintain it, and that they are following the guidelines and rules of the Court. This includes things like handing out the rations of millet and sometimes rice for the poor, and making sure that all roads are maintained, that all shops follow the standard of measurements...a whole host of matters which the local government must conform to."
"I understand it, even if it is not a worry that ever exactly came up in my previous experience as a courtier," Kiralo admitted. The courts had been big in the city, but they'd also *been* the city, and the idea that the government of the palace was not also the government of the city was of course nonsense.
That's the nature of the city-state, though of course they governed more than just the city, for there had been a vast hinterland of towns and villages that fell under the sometimes-changing sway of one of the Seventeen or the other.
"Ah, you were in court in the Southlands?" Yonu asked.
"Yes, at times," Kiralo said, "I have experience in these matters. So, you are with the Department of the Masses and Governance?"
"Yes, which is related to the Department of Works, or at least works closely with them in a number of areas," Yonu said.
"Well, in Irit, have you heard the problems that are plaguing it?"
"Some...distant word and whisper," Yonu said, "But you'd be surprised how quiet this court can be to the outside world."
"I wouldn't, not really," Kiralo said, quietly.
"...perhaps you wouldn't be," Yonu admitted, knitting his hands together. He gave a long, slow sigh, covering his mouth with his sleeve to hide his frown.
*****
Dancers, he needed dancers for the party, and so he went in search of dancers. Two he found quite easily, an older dancer whose skill more than made up for the fact that by the standards of her profession, her age (she was past thirty) was the first sign that she was fading. But she was intelligent, and she knew many dances that would no doubt be pleasing for the men (and most likely only men, since such a small, intimate party from such a man as Kiralo would be seen as suspect) to watch. Then another woman, this one younger and inexperienced, someone who could follow along with the older one's instruction.
Compared to that search, the search for a musician was somewhat less successful. There were men for hire, and he got a lutist who played the Pipa, a harper, and a singer, but all of them were of only middling quality and cost enough that he had to cut short most other plans, except that he'd managed to find the money set aside for two more services purchased.
The first was Xialon, a man who claimed to be a famous knife-juggler, who had been with the Imperial Army for a number of years. A man who always went around half-dressed, he claimed that the spirits that surrounded him could light a torch on fire, and that he used it for his juggling act.
"Your Lordship will see sights that none could imagine. The spirits do not catch the thrown objects, only I do, but they can do wonders yet," Xialon said, his voice as if he were trying to sell fish in a market, with a deep Hari-Su accent.
"I believe you," Kiralo asked, "But what kinds of wonders can you do for two silver princes?"
"...small but impressive miracles," Xialon said.
"Then your pay is three silver princes," Kiralo said with a grin.
******
Last was Han, the dancer. He was certainly a very beautiful boy, as all of the rumors had said. Which was certainly the word for him, Kiralo thought: boy. Though sixteen, he looked hairless, his skin pale and delicate, and there were none of the spirits about him that Kiralo had suspected. The spirits of a boy bought from a farming family, spirits of agriculture and animals, wild things that danced underneath one's skin and through one's clothing, always ready at the call.
Of course, many were not mobile, but it was still an interesting absence, as was the relative absence of any other spirit around him. It reminded Kiralo of a boy scrubbed clean. Sometimes one got servants like that, and you gave them a bath and scrubbed them until their skin was raw and they came out clean, at least until they--for these were young men--found some way to get dirty all over again.
So too did his accent sound too clean, with none of the slight Iritan cadence he'd expected. "Cs-Kiralo, I am honored to be in your presence." He inclined his head, brown hair perfectly braided.
His clothes were silken and rather less formal than that of a noble, loose and easy to dance in, and yet also somewhat tight at places. He was attractive, and Kiralo remembered himself at that age. Very different, of course, but there was that same aura of youth, of fragile power...the sort of thing that drew certain men like vultures.
But Han was not a Rassit, a warrior capable of breaking the arms of any hairy old men who thought to put their hands where they were not wanted. In this world, servants existed to obey: and was it any different in the Southlands? Certianly there had been Silver Steeds that young. Younger still.
The boy's hands were turned downward, and Kiralo had a suspicion which drove him to step forward towards the boy.
His protections were thin, and he was better than a slave only by degree and by the fact that he was free only until some man became his patron.
No doubt Han was afraid that Kiralo was here to be that man, or to try. A new courtier, and one who was inexperienced in the ways of the court, a man to take what he wanted and ask later if ever if it was a problem.
That didn't describe him, but it did describe the way people viewed outsiders. Kiralo reached down and grabbed the boy's downturned hand and flipped it up, tracing his fingers over them as the boy flushed. "Southern Irit, or Northern? These scars, and the calluses, even after the milk and butter you've probably used to try to remove it all. There's some that will be there for a long time."
Han flushed and said, "S-southern, sir."
"It's bad down there, isn't it?" Kiralo asked.
"I am grateful for your inquiry and--"
Kiralo sighed, "I've heard about the banditry. Your parents did well to get you out of there any way they could, even perhaps this way."
Han was trembling slightly as he said, "I...miss them. But if I was there and not here, I'd be dead or worse." He shuddered.
"I would like to hire you to dance at a party I shall be holding to celebrate my arrival in this court, but I would also like to assure you that I am doing what I can to help Irit. I have heard of the evil that is happening there, and I am working to send aid to those who have been displaced by the conflict."
Han nodded, and reached his hand out for his robes, "I can...I mean...I."
Kiralo stared at him, realizing what it was. Han thought that somehow this was a deal.
Dance at my party and give your body to me, he thought Kiralo was saying, and I shall aid Irit.
Kiralo stood up, a little horrified, and not as surprised as he wished he was, and said, "No, I do not wish for that. I shall hire you at a good rate, with what little my own father has set aside for what he'd no doubt see as frivolous entertainment. I hope it is enough, and if it is not there are loans that could be taken, because I shall not short-change you on this matter."
Kiralo saw emotions flicker across Han's face. First confusion, and then relief. And then, amusingly, wounded pride. Han was used to being wanted, even when he didn't desire it, so it made sense that there would be pride there. Better pride than a lack of concern, since if he was so unconcerned at his looks it'd mean that someone else was forcing him to go through more than a little effort.
The room felt quite small as Han's face finally settled on gratitude. "Thank you, My Lord."
"I am a lord of nothing," Kiralo said, "Thank you for taking the employment, Han. The party will be in nine days."
******
Sometimes, there was a reason to visit his father, and the meeting was quite uncomfortable. But Kuojah had known of the need in Irit about as soon as Kiralo had, and was willing to help. In fact, he had planned to work on getting such alms through, but had run into a few problems, including a very important figure, just a step down from the top, in the Department of Works. This opposition combined with several nobles in key positions that would be needed to smooth any troubles (such as the sub-Department of River Transport), meant that Kuojah had been moving carefully, busy as he was with a dozen other projects.
"I will of course work as diligently as possible upon the matter, but perhaps there are those who hate me who do not hate you," Kuojah said.
Kiralo resisted any barbs, because for the moment they were working to help the Empire and its people. Kiralo still hated Kuojah, but he'd worked with people he'd hated before, and the old man, who looked sick and as if he had aged yet more in the last month. He didn't look healthy, but if he knew his father from the stories the man would plough on no matter how badly he needed to be in bed.
"I can try. But there's another matter. The geography means, if I've read the maps correctly, that overland trips will be necessary at points to get from one river to the other," Kiralo said, "The shipments need to be guarded. You need at least a small contingent of soldiers, and perhaps a larger one than that. It does not have to be an army, but it is an added difficulty."
"By the Judges," Kuojah muttered, "That is more that you can manage."
"I know logistics," Kiralo said, "I can look over the plans, at least see if anyone is lying."
"So do I," Kuojah said, "But your eyes would be accepted."
They sat there, and talked for a while, but once their business was exhausted, there were no words left to exchange. The silence hung for a while, and then Kiralo left.
*****
The fall came, and slowly drew itself about the world. It grew a little chillier, a little darker, a little earlier. The walks in the garden were now complete with thicker robes and servants with warmth spirits to aid the Emperor and keep even the slightest hint of chill away from his bones. But the talking continued, and so did the songs, and the stories.
Each of the three times they met, Kiralo had another story, entirely proper yet with enough details and fancies to excite the Emperor's attention. Every time, Hari seemed more and more set upon, more and more tired.
Angrier, and yet impotent in his anger because Kiralo was not going to present him with an easy target. So let him sit and stew and boil like one of Hieng's rather tasteful meals.
Kiralo would eat him alive, given time, he decided. But he could no more be the Emperor's Poetry Tutor than he could be his personal assistant, or the man who fanned him in hot days. It was a position of some power, but only in a limited way. Yet Hari could be brushed aside, and more than that...if Kiralo only knew a man to replace him, then that man would do a better job, and would be Kiralo's man.
That was the sort of thinking that the court brought, and he missed his friend, he missed the Rassit, for all that he had been tired of fighting.
He still rode every day, though others glared at him and thought him arrogant. And he worked as tirelessly as his father and played as ceaselessly as any son could.
But even the play was work, and the Emperor must know it, just a little. It showed in the way he sometimes glanced up at the sky and the way his poems sometimes asked the question that he couldn't: just what am I doing? The Emperor was unsure, the Emperor was a boy so of course he was unsure.
He could be unsure or he could be a fool, those were the only choices.
Kiralo wished there were better choices.
*****
"Come on...no fucking eels?" Hieng yelled, "Just, go over to the bastards next door, I know that toady little man, yes, yes, respected and honored sub-sub-sub...yes, yes."
He said yes, yes, quite a bit, Kiralo thought, listening.
"So get me his eels, and that sauce, it needs to be thicker and the gods, man, if you can't stand watching a man cut a head off a chicken, then how by the afterlife did you grow up, yes, yes. Now, I need to...no, it isn't for me to drink I'm not going to do that at all. It's plum wine for the sauce. The sauce. No I won't be tasting the sauce if you get like that with me, girl. Stop glaring. Alright, so we need...vegetables. More vegetables. And, Cs-Kiralo! Yes, I see you there, watching everything…"
"Yes, Hieng?" Kiralo asked.
"You like Baozi, right?"
"Indeed."
"I'll make the best you've ever had," Hieng said, "Special for the party."
Kiralo closed his eyes, and the world fell away. The small rooms fell away for a moment and the months ticked backwards piece by piece until at last they were gone, and he remembered the boazi he had had on that fateful day and said, meaning every word, "I expect that I've already had the best already."
*****
His friends stood out a little as they skulked from room to room, listening and acting as much as possible as if they were stumps. Arimi, in particular, was quite good at standing and looking as if he wasn't part of anything, and perhaps this was true. The dinner party in all of its rooms had mostly one or two color men, and then the occasional three color man, including some high enough to be truly important to the entire working of the court. Allowed to wear three of the four Imperial colors, and in dashes and degrees that marked them as important indeed.
The party, like all Csirit house-dinner parties, was split up. Six rooms, each of which had a table that could hold eight or nine men, and people would move between the tables, which each had different themes of food and replacement courses ran in as often as they filled out. The men were all dressed properly, though against his expectation there was even a single woman, the mother of a minor functionary, present.
Out of curiosity he passed by her and heard her say, "Of course, honored son, the parties in my day were far grander."
"I have no doubt, mother," the man said, embarrassed as if he were not nearing middle aged, but still a child. Others chuckled at him, hiding it behind their hands out of bare politeness.
Kiralo walked and listened. This early, the discussion would be on gossip and scandal, and that was always worth listening to, and then it would turn to art, poetry, philosophy, and perhaps a few interests and hobbies.
And then, towards the end of the night when the plum wine was broken out, it would turn to politics.
So for a full hour or so he learned quite a bit about who was on the outs with who, and more than a little about the rivalries and potential marriages of the court. It was all quite useful, or at least it was something he could use.
Then it came time for the dancers. People spilled out of the side rooms, though these two would have the dancers visit at some time, and stood in a crowd at or near the table, or opened up the thin partition and peered through while drinking.
"I'll tell you, detachment is the only way to contemplate the gods," one man argued, having already moved to philosophy "It's clearly said and it clearly cannot…"
Another man shushed him, and Kiralo smiled and then, against ancient protocol, a nod towards the younger set, he beat his fist against the table in the beat, and the musicians began to play, matching his fist. A fast dance to start, as the three dancers streamed out from behind their panel, dressed in beautiful reds and rich purples (in the Southlands a color of power, here a color of nothing), swaying with the music.
The snake dance was a dance that involved slowly moving their bodies and then suddenly striking out in a sudden pose, in a sudden darting movement forward. The two female dancers were snakes, while Han was a crane, his movements even more careful but even slower, edging closer and closer to the assembled crowd, who watched all three dancers with admiration and desire.
The song went faster and they went faster, and the singer began to sing, "Peace and prosperity! The crane and the snake! Many happy tidings!"
The lyrics were not complex, because they were meant to punctuate the dancing, and the dancing of course drew eyes to their body, to the way it moved, and that these were fit bodies, bodies that were skilled at movements that were...most impressive.
Then there was a slower dance, and the slowness seemed only to emphasize the skill that Han had in making sure every eye was on the way he moved his hands, in a dance entirely his own, covering up the marks of his past, and yet showing himself boldly. His eyes were fire, and Kiralo was rather stunned that this was the same boy who had seemed so passive.
Han enjoyed dancing, and there was a power when he danced just like Kiralo felt when he declaimed poetry, or rode. A power over himself.
A power over the world, perhaps.
Quietly Kiralo said to the shushed man, almost in a whisper, "Yet other sources say that attachment is as the gods made it."
The man, who was not particularly displaying detachment at the moment, flushed.
"Honorable assembled gentlemen and very honored gentlewoman, I am almost without words to express my gratitude, to be dancing here for you tonight."
Everyone was surprised by the dancer speaking, but they were the right words, and Kiralo was curious to see where he was going with this.
"Not only for the opportunity to entertain you all," Han said, still dancing, "But to be away from my village. They say...that the village is the true home of all men," Han said, clumsily quoting a piece of philosopher's wisdom, "But in the village where I come from, bandits kill and destroy everything, and all are poor and unhappy, and this is true of many villages in Southern Irit, which lacks the benevolent masterly hand it needs."
He made those last words sound like a suggestion of so much that nobody--besides Kiralo, who had started to grin--could think past his words to the insult they were, for such a lowly figure to address them so.
"So, please enjoy the bandit's dance," Han said, well aware that he was walking a very fine line as he began his own dance, grabbing a fan from one of the women dancers, who must have been in on it, and began a dance that seemed entirely new. Brutal, like the tiger dance, and yet shifted and suddenly-striking like the snake dance, with other elements still, as the fan shifted from one hand to the next, and he moved unsettlingly close to the assembled men before drawing away, coyly, eyes hot with challenge as he danced.
When he finished, he bowed deeply, and then prostrated himself and said, "Thank all assembled and Asei," the goddess of dance, song, and poetry, "Should she be watching, for witnessing this dance, for the first time before any eyes but those within my heart."
Kiralo began the clapping, slamming his fist down against the table.
The whole room seemed to shake with the applause, and he heard the old mother say, "Perhaps...it wasn't quite this enjoyable when I was younger."
Among those watching were Mufai, an Assistant-Director of the Department of Works. His eyes bore holes into Han as he retreated, still prostrate.
Kiralo suspected that he'd find ready ground for arguments towards the organizing of alms, now.
*****
Hours of entertainment, hours of politicking and listening to the web of alliances and remembering dozens and dozens of names, and then afterwards hours of cleanup. It had been late before he'd finally felt ready to collapse into his bed, and an hour later he got up and began his day again.
Yet through all of it he couldn't help but grin.
Han, but a boy? Perhaps, but he had a hero's heart. And a dancer's soul, if that was really the first time he'd performed a dance before an audience. Yet another person for Kiralo to hope he got what he deserved, and not what life would likely give him.
He'd done a soldier's work in making Kiralo's job a little bit easier, and he'd capitalized on it, and over the next week he found that there was not a moment other than sleep where he wasn't engaged in some business.
The Emperor seemed glad to see him, when they walked in the gardens, and people were beginning to notice and whisper, and Hari--whose heart was a coward's--grew increasingly silent, afraid of acting against Kiralo when he was at the moment respected by the Emperor and feted for throwing a truly grand banquet, at the end of which he'd given a speech he didn't even remember afterwards--drink, far too much drink from far too many toasts--but that he'd told had made grown men weep at its sentiments.
In a good way, he had to hope.
He was advancing at breakneck speed, grabbing every opportunity he could, and even then he was impressed by the sheer shamelessness of his reaction to his father's crisis.
Kuojah had wished to present the proposed alms package to the Emperor, to of course ratify and read and declare that it was the best idea out there and was in fact his idea, fully realized. Others had wanted that honor, and they had taken to arguing incessently about it.
So with the bold innocence of a bandit, Kiralo had offered to be the one to present it. And he'd managed, after days of argument, to win that right, because of all of the people involved, he was the only one who was not hated by all but one side.
*****
And so on the 29th Day of the Eighth Month[1], Kiralo of two lineages approached the serpent throne at last.
The whole room was grand, with murals on the walls and ceilings, so beautiful one might stare in awe if they were unused to them. Kiralo didn't hesitate as he approached the throne.
It was huge, a massive serpent coiling around a set of steps. The serpent was golden and rich imperial green and inlaid with silver, and blue gems, the whole thing a masterpiece of art. The serpent looked as if it could rear up at any moment and strike down the Emperor's enemies, and its head was raised up, coiled at the back, to hiss at the world, its eyes inlaid pearls, its mouth golden and its fangs silver.
In the coils hid the Serpent's Teeth, the personal bodyguard of the Emperor. If they failed to protect an Emperor from assassination, they would be forced to drink poison and die with their Emperor, and more would be carefully selected and chosen. They hid at all times, and the spirits around them were so potent when they wanted them to be that it was said to be terrifying to face in a direct fight.
In fact, there were hundreds of spirits in the air, or crawling on the ground, and yet they could not touch being upon the throne, which held a spirit vast and powerful that repelled all other spirits. Men who knelt before the Emperor were temporarily stripped of all spirits, naked before that whose blood held the promise for all of mankind.
The serpent was wrapped around a set of steps that led to a silver-blue mirrored surface. It was the pond, and at the center was the Lily seat, a rich, cushioned and raised seat, all in green, upon which sat the Emperor himself, enthroned as the First Emperor was, who made land from nothing, green and rich, in the middle of a lake in Irit.
Kiralo held the papers tight and approached, knowing the eyes of the courtiers on each side of the throne, or kneeling at the steps just out of the way were on him.
At the start of the steps he knelt, and then prostrated himself, knocking his head against the ground twice. Then he ascended the steps, feeling his spirits stripped away from him, and at the third step he again threw himself to the ground, and tapped his forehead twice against the cool marble steps. Then up, and up still, onto the mirrored glass, now crawling like a beast upon its belly to knock his head twice more.
And then, not looking at the Emperor except through the mirror below--and seeing a look of passivity that must have been well trained--he advanced once more and knocked his head twice more before speaking words that were well worn for how many times people, even great people who thought themselves the master of the Emperor, had spoken them.
"Your Imperial Majesty, I am a lowly worm, a thing that crawls upon the dust and lives in filth, and my presence, if it so displeases your Serenity, to make a proposal to the best of my ability for you to consider and perfect, discarding all that is facile and worthless, may be discarded. I am nothing before you, and yet I beg my leave as one that might be called a human by the generosity of an Emperor. I beg to present this petition to you."
There were times when, despite all of the planning and scheming that made this moment a foregone conclusion, the Emperor nonetheless said no, to the ruination of vast fortunes and the death of many, and frustrated ambitions even if the matter was minor. There were also times when the Emperor, who was not stripped of spirits--and nor were his highly trained guards--instead looked down at the man giving the petition and struck like a serpent.
Kiralo lacked a weapon, he lacked his spirits.
Men had died upon this glass and had their blood cleaned from it on the whims of an Emperor who saw at last the perfect moment to dispose of an enemy who had overreached with a proposal that could not be borne. Not every Emperor throughout history had been a puppet, and even a puppet could choose to cut his own strings.
But that would not be today.
"You are not a worm at all," the Emperor said, "In your humility and your humanity, I see you are like a snake." It was the compliment that told everyone assembled that the Emperor was going to play his part and, barring some sudden shift, accept the proposal.
Yet there was still so much theatre left, not that Kiralo minded in one way, though he wondered how his father's knees managed such bending and scraping. It felt strange to act so totally subservient, and yet...there were harder things in this world.
"Then allow this humble servant to present to you a petition that the people of Irit who are suffering now from famine and deplorable bandit activities may have alms and relief," Kiralo said.
He reached up and held out the papers. The Emperor hesitated and finally took them, flipping through them. He seemed to be trying to pay more attention than usual, Kiralo thought. Or perhaps this was the usual time, but two minutes later the Emperor said, "This proposal does you much honor. You may rise."
Not to his feet, of course not. But Kiralo was able to get up onto his knees, held still bowed, keeping the grin that threatened to bubble up off his face.
The Emperor's uncertain voice was amplified by spirits as he spoke the next words. "This proposal matches what my Imperial Soul, Imperial Heart, and Imperial Mind say are the best and most eff...efficacious actions, that will bring harmony and prosperity to our land." This part was partially improvised, in that the Emperor could use what descriptions. Harmony and prosperity, wealth and glory...whatever was seen as most fitting. "It must have been the Imperial Will itself, and the spirit of the First Emperor, who guided this plan. Thus I decree that the--"
Kiralo very carefully rubbed his hand against the glass, and the Emperor saw it and blanched, saying, as he was supposed to say, "My plan, which is in accordance with my own will, shall be enacted, to be read by heralds and propagated at all due speed."
In the throne room, the Emperor took credit for everything. For him to dare to do otherwise threatened his power and his position. Credit for all and blame for nothing. He knew others had noticed, but hoped that his subtle correction of the Emperor prevented the boy from being lectured by Kuojah later on.
"You are dismissed, Cs-Kiralo, may the Gods and the Judges smile upon you."
Kiralo started, stunned by the words, which were spoken with an earnestness that had been missing earlier, when he'd been speaking in rote or desperately trying to appear Imperial when he was, in fact, a young boy.
He hid his triumph as he knocked his head twice agains tthe ground, retreated, and re-did the whole ritual, until he was at last before the serpent throne, as a herald read out the document and its complex plans.[2]
[1] The new year starts with the birth of Spring, and so the months do not align with January-December months.
[2] Obviously not every decision gets read before the Serpent throne, since many are handled behind the scenes for obvious reasons. Can you imagine a decree authorizing a spy to sneak into a Governor's staff, or...any of what else goes on? It's only for the big, public stuff.[3]
[3] Really now, consider the dynamics that are going on. It's kinda interesting.
Absolute Rubbish, Laddie
Needed: 30, Rolled: 85+14+8 (rune save)=107
Effect: +1 court Influence, unlocked other actions. Influence might potenially be temporary, or might not.
xTo Serve…
Needed: 25, Rolled: 61+9=70, very solid success
Get cook?:50+20 (two degrees of success)=70
Other thing?: 25-20 (Pushing it)=5, nope
Effect: Gain loyal servants. A new option, a skilled cook, even if he is a drunk.
xClothes Make the Man
Need: 23, Rolled: 23+7=30, bare success, comes with penalties…
Effect: 'Strange and Foreign' penalty to court influence will wear off, but not until after next turn, representing some minor gossip.
Csrae Bound
Needed: 45, Rolled: 58+12=70, solid success
Effect: Bonus to Alms, new actions unlocked regarding Csrae the city, potential ally, other stuff.
Welcoming Party (2 dice)
Need: 60, Rolling: (83, 51)+12=95
Dancers?: +12+5 (Rumors)+1 (near-crit)=89, sure
Musicians?: 27+14=41, some, but you'd need to actually search some out to get good quality.
Other Entertainment?: 92...something special.
Any special guests?: 24, guest list is what would be expected for the roll (so pretty good) but not super-special.
Han thing: 68
Effect: +1 Court Influence that will last for around a season (3 turns starting with next turn as one of the three), gain new options, gain contact and potential options in the future with Han, that strange knife juggler, and others.
Alms
Needed: 35, Rolled: 92+9+3 (Csrae Bound)+ 3 (Party success)+2 (Han finger on the scale)=109
Effect: Bonus to seeing the results of the alms through (over the next three turns), new options unlocked. Gain +1 (Temporary, duration unknown) State Influence for seeing to take the lead on the project and delivering it to the Emperor after only two months in court. This influence is definitely tied up in the success of the alms project, and the overall Iritan situation in general.
Needed: 30, Rolled: 85+14+8 (rune save)=107
Effect: +1 court Influence, unlocked other actions. Influence might potenially be temporary, or might not.
xTo Serve…
Needed: 25, Rolled: 61+9=70, very solid success
Get cook?:50+20 (two degrees of success)=70
Other thing?: 25-20 (Pushing it)=5, nope
Effect: Gain loyal servants. A new option, a skilled cook, even if he is a drunk.
xClothes Make the Man
Need: 23, Rolled: 23+7=30, bare success, comes with penalties…
Effect: 'Strange and Foreign' penalty to court influence will wear off, but not until after next turn, representing some minor gossip.
Csrae Bound
Needed: 45, Rolled: 58+12=70, solid success
Effect: Bonus to Alms, new actions unlocked regarding Csrae the city, potential ally, other stuff.
Welcoming Party (2 dice)
Need: 60, Rolling: (83, 51)+12=95
Dancers?: +12+5 (Rumors)+1 (near-crit)=89, sure
Musicians?: 27+14=41, some, but you'd need to actually search some out to get good quality.
Other Entertainment?: 92...something special.
Any special guests?: 24, guest list is what would be expected for the roll (so pretty good) but not super-special.
Han thing: 68
Effect: +1 Court Influence that will last for around a season (3 turns starting with next turn as one of the three), gain new options, gain contact and potential options in the future with Han, that strange knife juggler, and others.
Alms
Needed: 35, Rolled: 92+9+3 (Csrae Bound)+ 3 (Party success)+2 (Han finger on the scale)=109
Effect: Bonus to seeing the results of the alms through (over the next three turns), new options unlocked. Gain +1 (Temporary, duration unknown) State Influence for seeing to take the lead on the project and delivering it to the Emperor after only two months in court. This influence is definitely tied up in the success of the alms project, and the overall Iritan situation in general.
*****
A/N: And so here we go! God, this took a while to write. I always underestimate the length of these things.
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I hope everything was alright and not bad and all...
Lealope
Not yet invincible
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I liked it. Han seems pretty cool and I'm very glad we've slid ourself into the Emperor's graces so thoroughly. I just think people don't know what to say because there's no vote.
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Some typos:
I liked the update, but I'll need to read it again to digest it properly. Amazing work.
Hold for those?
Fair
Perhaps not capitalized
He words Are a gift mb?
Dot missing at the end.
I liked the update, but I'll need to read it again to digest it properly. Amazing work.
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Fixed.
That went FANTASTIC
xD
I really liked the dance descriptions, very easy to visualize
And we have three more Influence for now. Tasty. Now to make it count while it lasts.
Certainly rustled some jimmies for what was probably one of the most expedited projects proposed by a relative nobody. Hopefully Irit gets their food before the snows
This line killed me.
xD
Oh wow nice save there. And the Emperor is so, so in need of help. And even more in need of a friend, one who wouldn't capitalize on inexperience.
I really liked the dance descriptions, very easy to visualize
And we have three more Influence for now. Tasty. Now to make it count while it lasts.
Certainly rustled some jimmies for what was probably one of the most expedited projects proposed by a relative nobody. Hopefully Irit gets their food before the snows
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I'm really glad that I was finally able to describe the Serpent Throne, I've been sitting on that for a while.
Also, the Rumors will be up on Sunday.
Also, the Rumors will be up on Sunday.
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Also, @drake_azathoth , have you given any thoughts to your month's request?
As a reminder, Reaction Posts, detailed analysis (like, bringing in historical stuff or etc and really digging) and Omakes get bonuses.
As a reminder, Reaction Posts, detailed analysis (like, bringing in historical stuff or etc and really digging) and Omakes get bonuses.
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You are doing pretty well, or at least rolling decently. There's even a moderate chance that you might still possibly be alive by Turn 12.
...maybe.
...maybe.
I have been trying to write an omake about that meeting between Han and Kiralo from Han point of view but as last attempt shows I am not good writer. So I will give my thought to the scene and hopefully someone better would be inspired.
I began with something like this
Now notice even if Kiralo notices that Han is basically helpless, and has some right to be afraid, he still gets into his personal space and grabs him, and then comments about his body. Try to think how would that look fro Han's side.
Well that looking from any sane perspective does sound like what Han think it is. He offers him things he never dared to hope, at price he was already willing to pay.
Here I would have Han compare himself to some legend with similar idea, there must be some, it is rather common trope. Here he prepared for Heroic Sacrifice, offering made on altar of cruel god to save everything he cares about. Something suitable dramatic for 16 old.
This is crux of the matter. You know Han has been taken from everything he knows, stripped of both his identity, spirits and support, left in dangerous place, which dangers he does not really know. That would break everyone self esteem, and the come Kiralo not only offering not only to save his home but to make him part of it. This mix of emotions right here is very interesting...
This is direct consequence of how Kiralo treated him. Kiralo probably would know recognize but without him Han propbably would not have had courage for this.
And after that he support him. And is known that carried plan for help for Irit to the Serpent Throne. It would not suprice that Han has something between hero worship and crush on Kiralo.
I began with something like this
But I then stopped, because I have no idea how both Kiralo and South are viewed in capitol. Also I thought to add something about how he is son of very powerful man, then counter with some of Kuojah reputation, and then remember scandal of Kiralo birth. Next would be meeting, nice place to describe how Kiralo looks from his perspective (Commanding, beautiful, frightening) but I have no idea how to do so.
Now notice even if Kiralo notices that Han is basically helpless, and has some right to be afraid, he still gets into his personal space and grabs him, and then comments about his body. Try to think how would that look fro Han's side.
Well that looking from any sane perspective does sound like what Han think it is. He offers him things he never dared to hope, at price he was already willing to pay.
Here I would have Han compare himself to some legend with similar idea, there must be some, it is rather common trope. Here he prepared for Heroic Sacrifice, offering made on altar of cruel god to save everything he cares about. Something suitable dramatic for 16 old.
This is crux of the matter. You know Han has been taken from everything he knows, stripped of both his identity, spirits and support, left in dangerous place, which dangers he does not really know. That would break everyone self esteem, and the come Kiralo not only offering not only to save his home but to make him part of it. This mix of emotions right here is very interesting...
This is direct consequence of how Kiralo treated him. Kiralo probably would know recognize but without him Han propbably would not have had courage for this.
And after that he support him. And is known that carried plan for help for Irit to the Serpent Throne. It would not suprice that Han has something between hero worship and crush on Kiralo.
Turn 2--Rumors and Gossip
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Turn 2--Rumors
A Harvest Reported
There were fears that this would be a dark winter. The weather had not been cooperating and there were fears that the Spirits and the Gods themselves had abandoned Csirit in its time of needs. For a famine now, a shortage of crops, would weaken the Empire's claim to prosperity and leave it more vulnerable to civil war.
It would also, one suppose, kill many thousands of peasants, but more importantly the political consequences would be disastrous, to say the least. Instead, as the winter crops begin to be planted, the best way to describe the harvest coming from Hirand is...mediocre.
Below average, and in any other year that would be a damning moment of poverty and difficulty. Except, in fact, against the expectations, fears, and speculations of a ruined season, mediocre was above what was hoped for.
It has prompted speculators to tear their hair out, having bet on bad harvests, and the guards of the city have been quite busy keeping order when the numbers and figures from Hirand came in and leaked out to the populace, which relies on the grain of Hirand to survive. One's daily millet or rice was all but expected by many of the poorer of Csrae, and its lack might have even led to riots.
But for now the situation is secure, but it is something that needs to be closely watched.
*****
A Season of Rains
High in the mountains of the Province of Rerin, sickness has struck the Governor in his palace. A young man, he has taken to his bed, and while all hope for his rising from his sickbed, while his fortunes are low, the swarm of plotters is quite large. Lacking any siblings, his cousins have swarmed to his small palace to tend to him. And plot.
It is a source of some amusement in the court, and has sent large parts of the court, especially the Rerinese among them, who now see a very different picture of just which of them may be recalled and which may exalt themselves by how they act and their deeds.
The heavily forested and mountainous province is nearly as rich in resources as Hari-Nat, in certain areas, but the strange forests hold dangers that mean that a strong hand, it has been said, is always needed to grip the province.
Chancellor Kuojah has sent a message to the Governor, inquiring after his health, and received a reply that caused him to lock himself in the study and send out more messages. Each Governor is important whether it comes down to war or peace, and which cousin is currently in the lead should the Governor actually die is a matter of great speculation and import, in these dangerous times.
*****
A Well of Spirits
Nearby Nestirin, the province of many spirits, has again turned out to be home to yet another strange oddity. A number of small wells have been found that seem to breed spirits exceptionally fast, so far as they, well, breed and create themselves.
This curiosity has led to a fast bit of politics that even Kiralo had to be impressed about, and the end result is that the Imperial Mages and their school have sent out a number of observers who shall examine this phenomenon and report on it.
In exchange for granting this concession, it is suspected all around court, the Chancellor has no doubt asked for some sign of show of support, so vital if it comes down to either war or peace.
Gossip--
Making a Splash
Kiralo, son of Kuojah, hosted a party and helped get into motion a decree all in the same month. Rumor is now spreading that he might be a more powerful political operative than previously expected, and gossip about him is likely to fly hard and fast.
Clumsy, lonely, powerful, cunning, even canny, he seemed to have say and influence beyond what he should have, and while his military knowledge has not been seen much as of late, his ability to play the game has.
What is his goal? What is he trying?
How can we use him?
These and other burning questions are in everyone's minds.
******
Too Hot to Handle
There has been a murder in the court! A servant, furious at another servant, used spirits that he had no right to have to horribly burn another servant, leading to their death. Their reasoning has be determined by judicial torture and questioning to be some matter of the heart, and they have been executed after a short trial before a three man panel of one Priest of the Ten Judges, one noble scholar, and one court official, who have come to unanimous and learned agreement.
He has been put to death by the method that has been deemed most fair and reasonable, and was boiled to death before a crowd of witnesses, both holy and those merely interested in the proceedings (such as the victim's family), his spirits stripped from him.
May the Judges too find justice upon him. His corpse has been burned as well, and the ashes scattered upon the grounds of many gardens, that his soul might not rise as a spirit and trouble man any further than his life has.
*****
The Shaming of the Sword
Recently one of the fast-set was humiliated by one of the court ritual men, a eunuch of all people, who turned his razor wit against the man's pretension of swordsmanship and scholarship. When challenged to a duel, against the protocol and politeness of the court, and yet not yet technically against any rules, the eunuch merely smiled and asked around for favors, leading to a soldier who owed him already fighting the duel.
It was, of course, to first blood, and the man, Qinae, lost to the eunuch's soldier. He survives to lick his wounds, but the mood of the young is torn between fury and mirth, and this latest incident isn't likely to make things less tense in the court, as the eunuch calls upon friends and allies in case there is a second attempt at vengeance, and Qinae, well, the animal that survives to lick his wounds survives to fight again, in one arena or another.
*****
A/N: And there we go! Enjoy. I really do find it fun to tell some of the gossip, since it gives me a chance to basically point out that no, these aren't modern humans with modern-human-morals. I mean, last rumor turn was about a new sixteen-year-old dancer and how everyone was appreciating him with rather dark implications as to their appreciation, and about open and rather blatant corruption going on. This time a man was boiled to death, and a duel was fought. Kansas, not in, etc, etc.
A Harvest Reported
There were fears that this would be a dark winter. The weather had not been cooperating and there were fears that the Spirits and the Gods themselves had abandoned Csirit in its time of needs. For a famine now, a shortage of crops, would weaken the Empire's claim to prosperity and leave it more vulnerable to civil war.
It would also, one suppose, kill many thousands of peasants, but more importantly the political consequences would be disastrous, to say the least. Instead, as the winter crops begin to be planted, the best way to describe the harvest coming from Hirand is...mediocre.
Below average, and in any other year that would be a damning moment of poverty and difficulty. Except, in fact, against the expectations, fears, and speculations of a ruined season, mediocre was above what was hoped for.
It has prompted speculators to tear their hair out, having bet on bad harvests, and the guards of the city have been quite busy keeping order when the numbers and figures from Hirand came in and leaked out to the populace, which relies on the grain of Hirand to survive. One's daily millet or rice was all but expected by many of the poorer of Csrae, and its lack might have even led to riots.
But for now the situation is secure, but it is something that needs to be closely watched.
*****
A Season of Rains
High in the mountains of the Province of Rerin, sickness has struck the Governor in his palace. A young man, he has taken to his bed, and while all hope for his rising from his sickbed, while his fortunes are low, the swarm of plotters is quite large. Lacking any siblings, his cousins have swarmed to his small palace to tend to him. And plot.
It is a source of some amusement in the court, and has sent large parts of the court, especially the Rerinese among them, who now see a very different picture of just which of them may be recalled and which may exalt themselves by how they act and their deeds.
The heavily forested and mountainous province is nearly as rich in resources as Hari-Nat, in certain areas, but the strange forests hold dangers that mean that a strong hand, it has been said, is always needed to grip the province.
Chancellor Kuojah has sent a message to the Governor, inquiring after his health, and received a reply that caused him to lock himself in the study and send out more messages. Each Governor is important whether it comes down to war or peace, and which cousin is currently in the lead should the Governor actually die is a matter of great speculation and import, in these dangerous times.
*****
A Well of Spirits
Nearby Nestirin, the province of many spirits, has again turned out to be home to yet another strange oddity. A number of small wells have been found that seem to breed spirits exceptionally fast, so far as they, well, breed and create themselves.
This curiosity has led to a fast bit of politics that even Kiralo had to be impressed about, and the end result is that the Imperial Mages and their school have sent out a number of observers who shall examine this phenomenon and report on it.
In exchange for granting this concession, it is suspected all around court, the Chancellor has no doubt asked for some sign of show of support, so vital if it comes down to either war or peace.
Gossip--
Making a Splash
Kiralo, son of Kuojah, hosted a party and helped get into motion a decree all in the same month. Rumor is now spreading that he might be a more powerful political operative than previously expected, and gossip about him is likely to fly hard and fast.
Clumsy, lonely, powerful, cunning, even canny, he seemed to have say and influence beyond what he should have, and while his military knowledge has not been seen much as of late, his ability to play the game has.
What is his goal? What is he trying?
How can we use him?
These and other burning questions are in everyone's minds.
******
Too Hot to Handle
There has been a murder in the court! A servant, furious at another servant, used spirits that he had no right to have to horribly burn another servant, leading to their death. Their reasoning has be determined by judicial torture and questioning to be some matter of the heart, and they have been executed after a short trial before a three man panel of one Priest of the Ten Judges, one noble scholar, and one court official, who have come to unanimous and learned agreement.
He has been put to death by the method that has been deemed most fair and reasonable, and was boiled to death before a crowd of witnesses, both holy and those merely interested in the proceedings (such as the victim's family), his spirits stripped from him.
May the Judges too find justice upon him. His corpse has been burned as well, and the ashes scattered upon the grounds of many gardens, that his soul might not rise as a spirit and trouble man any further than his life has.
*****
The Shaming of the Sword
Recently one of the fast-set was humiliated by one of the court ritual men, a eunuch of all people, who turned his razor wit against the man's pretension of swordsmanship and scholarship. When challenged to a duel, against the protocol and politeness of the court, and yet not yet technically against any rules, the eunuch merely smiled and asked around for favors, leading to a soldier who owed him already fighting the duel.
It was, of course, to first blood, and the man, Qinae, lost to the eunuch's soldier. He survives to lick his wounds, but the mood of the young is torn between fury and mirth, and this latest incident isn't likely to make things less tense in the court, as the eunuch calls upon friends and allies in case there is a second attempt at vengeance, and Qinae, well, the animal that survives to lick his wounds survives to fight again, in one arena or another.
*****
A/N: And there we go! Enjoy. I really do find it fun to tell some of the gossip, since it gives me a chance to basically point out that no, these aren't modern humans with modern-human-morals. I mean, last rumor turn was about a new sixteen-year-old dancer and how everyone was appreciating him with rather dark implications as to their appreciation, and about open and rather blatant corruption going on. This time a man was boiled to death, and a duel was fought. Kansas, not in, etc, etc.
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WanderingEye
smol skeleton
I didn't realize I was holding my breath while reading this.
Well done GM.
Well done GM.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Why were you holding your breath?
WanderingEye
smol skeleton
I was like reading the dance scene in previous post and I don't know.
It feels very vivid? Like I don't know I feel the suspense of scene.
I don't really know how to describe this.
- Location
- Spain
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Fixed.
Why do I have suspition that we used actions to get closer to eunuchs Kiralo could have been that soldier. I am thinking that at least some of the rumors are QM ways of showing what we have missed.
I am little confused. If one has the name of the spirit is one considered in ownership of it? Or that does work only for little spirit? Also is there special name for malicious spirits? Also we really should invest some actions to play little with magic (learn the names local spirits or perhaps visit the mages)
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Please don't triple-post.
And, 'has no right to have' as in 'Servants shouldn't have knowledge of such dangerous spirits.'
It's not their place.
Time bought for the Alms to see results. Precious time indeed.
And now we have people still alive to save.
Ah, he's probably going to die then. Unless Kuojah is using that expectation to maneuver people.
That was...very thorough. And unpleasant to imagine.
As is generally considered a policy of the wise not to have servants in possession of the equivalent of rocket launchers.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I can't think of a good and easy way to divide things off like @OneirosTheWriter was asking me about. Any ideas?
- Location
- Australia
By target type?