There is only one to lead them, only one to take responsibility, only one to take care of them, to see them defended and safe. And though you are surrounded by courtiers and supporters you feel so very lonely. But you grit your teeth, and force back the tears you wish to shed and tell yourself that should you die here, at least you may die the very ideal of a Shogunal heir before you get the chance to fail your empire upon its throne. You draw your sword and raise your voice, your voice breaking almost imperceptibly upon the first syllable like a wave against the odorous river deltas of Ta Vuzi as you ride forward and turn to face the throng.
You desperately try to think up a speech in the few heartbeats you have before you face them and must face just as you turn to the gathering that despite your mastery of all four high poetic styles, you do not have anything further than the opening access. What can one say in such a situation as this? No one prepared you for making what may be your very last address.
There's something really macabre and fascinating in how Holiest Gift regards her own demise. How much conscious thought she gives, has to give, to how it might happen, how it could happen, and how she could try and bend it towards some purpose. As one of the few exercises and acts of clear and direct power she has in the steadily brewing crisis. I really like how it humanizes her I think. The mix of like- seismic grief and also very grounded frustration and a kinda black-comedy peevishness.
Entering at the head of a two file wide column of soldiers, the first thing that strikes you about the Mirza is the force by which he already dominates your sight. Both lean and muscular, his tanned copper skin casts a contrast to the scarlet royal robe of a Yalpageshig sovereign, and the kidaris he wears on his head easily attracts your gaze to his face. With a sizable black beard on his chin, immaculately groomed and braided and his kohl-lined eyes, he casts a heroic sight like out of Yalpageshig frontier epics. On his robes and around his neck, hand-shaped chashmak amulets clatter, their wind-chime fingers moving in a subtle rhythm to the breeze and the gait of his horse. His painted black eyebrows, the same color as his hair and beard, only make his clear and ice-blue eyes all the more piercing; a stare like a spear. A few scars line his right cheek, looking much like they are no less than a few weeks or perhaps months old. For his part, he definitely looks the part of a man who has been leading an army for months on end with little end in sight, the thick scarlet shawl that frames his powerful shoulders doing little to conceal any of his muscles. A warrior-Mirza, this one. You muse to yourself, and try to pretend you aren't looking a few extra times at his chest. You notice that his skin is subtly oiled—at least his hands and face—and catch yourself wondering how much of the rest of his body that applies to. You mentally give that part of yourself a smack. Yalpageshig princes oil their hands and face for diplomatic meetings. Oiling the body would be stupid.
tfw you meet the chad on the road but all you can do is admire his gains
Also man. Man man man. All that slow building tension and dread and then the almost anticlimactic "yeah the would-be usurper just fucking Died and his brother's completely flipped the momentum," because in a scenario where people are stabbing each other with spears in front of the city that is an eminently possible thing that can Happen. Even if you torch a monarch's house he can -entirely plausibly- just get together a band of the Boys and ride you down a week later. I really kinda love it. The almost banality, mundanity of it. It really helps sell the feeling of how this could just about be an ordinary day. An ordinary trip home. Except for the way the foundations of Gift's whole world are creaking and the structure is rocking in the wind.
In one instance, you are wandering by a lonely road, wearing all your fineries and riches. Yet no one passes you even the slightest glance, and the gates to the city are closed and barred from you. When you open your mouth to call upon the gates to open, they fade into the horizon, the road extending further and further into the distance. A dog walking on its hind legs, wearing a purple shawl comes passing by you, laughing at your predicament. The dog offers you a pomegranate, its tongue lolling about from its open, salivating mouth and you cast the fruit aside. Maggots crawl from the holed-out chambers as it splatters against the ground, slowly filling the road while the dog laughs at you and you fall into the writhing mass.
You wake for the first time.
In another instance, you are a fruit in a garden. The red sunset illuminates all the trees and plants, casting the entire garden in its scarlet glow. From a tall and swaying cypress, you wobble in the wind, peaceful and undisturbed. Blue-furred monkeys swing in the branches and crawl about on the ground. Nightingale-song fills the garden. A man splits you from the tree, his scissors separating you from your arboreal home as he cuts down the wind-swaying cypress, rooting up the stump and chasing about the monkeys. In one hand, he palms you and with another, he palms the evening sun, crowning himself with its fiery light. He plants a new tree, greater and stronger, letting it grow and grow until all the garden is beneath a sea of darkness. Seating himself at the top of its branches, he lets the garden die and monkeys cower in the shade.
You wake for the second time. And you will wake a hundred times more.
I don't have anything in particular to say beyond that I really like these sequences and how they're a real potent cocktail of like- all the fears seething in her subconscious touched with just enough import and omen that you can't help but look at them sidelong. Also the imagery is just really evocative and I'm always a sucker for that.
Much like the Great Western Shogunate, this quest is by no means dead. We're back baby.
The Red Apple
[X] The Weather is Stormy
[X] Your City
Situated on the Nezremand Peninsula, the city of Keinginan-i-Gehan overlooks the calm sea formed between the Grand Hook Peninsula and the Shogunal Isles, sometimes simply the Islands. Its dependents, the townships of Abad-i-Khwarra and Bandar-i-Showgun, and the island of Greater Yeziret are all remnants of the vast empire that once permitted it to monopolize this trade completely. Those days, of course, are long gone and a Saatan quarter where the mercantile residents of that far-off trading city now reside near the harbor and within the city walls now overlooks your sea as well. Far north of the city, the great mountains divide the Grand Hook in two from the east to the west, between your side and that which the Realm now occupies with its so-called Protectorate to Pacify the West, but closer to you, the north belongs to Yalpagesh. For though you speak of the Yalpageshig as strangers from the east, in truth your city has become an enclave, surrounded on all sides but the sea itself, by the sovereignty of the Mirza of Yalpagesh. And the Karvand river which once formed your boundary with Yalpagesh lies now closer to the middle of that rising state than it is to your own city.
You have thought about this geography many times when you stare out at the foothills of the north from your solitary position on the walls of the world's center, or when you gaze upon the sea that was once called Your Sea. You wish you were still out there, gazing upon the fields and rolling hills.
But you are here instead.
Approximately two frasukhs north from Keinginan-i-Gehan, you stand in the middle of a pavilion. Lions and dragons of gold whirl about the red pillars of sandstone, carrying the circular roof that, umbrella-like, wards off the sun bearing down upon you. Surrounded by soldiers and notables, the heavy court robe of brocade wraps around you snugly, its touch against your skin and its weight against your muscles more like armor than cloth.
About the imperial shade of the pavilion, rugs and carpets are strewn about, the chirping of birds and the pleasant glare of the midday sun casting light upon the day. Despite the nearness of Wave and Song, and the lively assembly that surrounds the pavilion while you go through the ritual, the wonderful day means little to your gloomy mood.
Standards and pennants waft lazily in the breeze, breaking up the sameness of the large crowd surrounding the pavilion. Despite the distance from the City, a large crowd of onlookers has gathered to watch the ceremony; carpenters, artisans, beggars and many more alike have assembled, pushing and jumping to catch a glimpse of your face. A bitter smile touches the face you wear in your mind, and not the dignified face you wear on your body; to every girl of the City, being in your position right now is an impossible dream.
After all, it is not every day that one stands to receive an acclamation from the City that some call Half-the-World.
Standing still, you hear the jingle of gold and the rattle of scales behind you; a man of the army. You close your eyes and grasp firmly the mace-like scepter in your left hand and put your right arm in prayer posture. You feel him brush aside your hair and place a collar of cold metal on your neck; the imperial torc that symbolizes the Shogun as a poor slave of the Immaculate Dragons.
"Armed for war, do the soldiers and military of the Terrestrial Shogunate, which maketh peace on earth in accordance with the laws of heaven and the Creation-Ruling Mandate of the heavenly Immaculate Dragons, receive thee; thou who art Shogun-Banu Eight Vermilion Holiest Gift of the Five Days of Mela, most gracious daughter of the Sublime Heavenly Shogun-Banu, Six Gold Gentle Palm, of the Five Days of Mela."
His voice is barely louder than speaking to you conversationally, but you know that by the winds of Mela, he has propelled it to all the listeners, and you know that your response will be likewise projected.
"I refuse thee. A Shogun, I am not. Art thou my subject, I command thee to cease this process!" The command comes out of your mouth, well-practiced and rehearsed. A little part of you almost hopes that he will acquiesce and simply let you go. But you know it doesn't work like that. And the reply only confirms your expectations.
"Thy servant am I, but the subject of only the Terrestrial Shogunate am I. Speak ye your will, ye soldiers of the Terrestrial Shogunate!" He commands, and the response is a deafening cry. "Worthy! Worthy! Worthy!" come the cries from soldiers and commoners alike. You bow your head, defeated, and smile. You don't mind playing this part of the ritual.
He steps aside and a figure, whom you know to be Mother from the sound of her gait against the marble beneath your feet, places a heavy mantle upon your shoulders. You cannot see it with your eyes clothed, but you know it well to be the topaz-and-purple-colored mantle of Shoguns.
Mother steps back from you, and you open your eyes as Wave steps up and leads you forwards, through the crowd which parts as the soldiers split it to make way for you. Despite the ceremony and grandeur, you cannot help but notice how few soldiers there are. You think bitterly to the fateful meeting with Ruling-Exalted-as-a-Sovereign. How many dead soldiers of the Shogunate had he been responsible for at that date?
Wave leads you to a white horse, saddled and ready for you. Lightly surrounded by a few soldiers, she helps you up and you seat yourself, sidesaddle, on the horse's back. Taking the reins, you set the horse into a walk, back the way you came, so the crowd can follow and the soldiers can form a column. The path goes towards the City.
The road too, is strewn with observers and people who have come to watch the acclamation and to gawk at you. It is rare for the Shogun - or co-Shogun in this case - to be so visible, and so vulnerable, and it is as if you are devoured in their eyes, which take in every aspect of your body, from your face to your clothes, to your bearing and the way you sit. You wish it was less hot. You wish that the Shogunal robes and mantle were less heavy. Or maybe, you just wish you were somewhere else. You reflect on that a bit. Maybe the people who come to see you are no different. You suppose that in your accession to the Shogunate, they can forget their troubles too.
The walls of Keinginan-i-Gehan are imposing in the distance. Menacing with towers and battlements and standing up to twenty meters tall at the most defended segments, brick, mortar and Shogunal concrete married into walls that even the Empress could not defeat without treachery. It is reassuring to look at the walls like this from the outside, you consider. Though you could swear - illogically of course - that the air smells of the wafting of smoke from the distant camp of the Yalpageshig, the ancient walls fill your heart with confidence. At the Shogunate's height, raising these walls almost bankrupted it. Ever since, they have faithfully protected the city.
The city-gate too is built to impress, dragons twirling and intertwining to the sides of the city-gates and divine Elders standing guard by its sides, their faces obscured so as not to offend their memory. Lions in stone and simhatas in marble kneel in supplication before the gate; relics of a richer, more prosperous Shogunate. Only half of the city is defended in this fashion; the districts south of the river are built outside the walls, though they are less densely populated these days, and many of the houses have been abandoned and turned to ruin.
You enter the gates on horseback, your reception being the thunder of great drums and the cutting cry of trumpets and horns. The roar of the music rises as you and your assembly pass through the gates and into the city, where crowds await, joining those who had waited outside the city to receive you. The sounds and the chaos are almost overpowering, a wave of the city's multitude slamming into you. If you were not so used to it, you might think that you could drown in it.
From the gates of the city, you make your way to the monastery of Sextes-Jylis-He-Hath-Increased-the-Eternal-Splendor. A small and ancient monastery, it stood here before the city did. Surrounded by buildings to accommodate the legal school and the thousands of pilgrims who now visit it annually, it is an otherwise small and unremarkable building in a four-arched chahar taq style, built where He Who Hath Strewn Much Grass once left his occultation to bring succor to victims of the Great Contagion. The smooth black stones of the monastery stand a testament to its miraculous nature, for no such stone can be found within hundreds of miles.
Here you knock on the gates as you did not many weeks ago when you knocked on the gates of the Sublime Tranquil Grave Temple. You announce that you are Shogun, that the people and notables of the world-governing Shogunate have placed in your hands the trusteeship of the Shogunate, and that you seek refuge with them. You announce that you desire not the responsibilities and pains of being guardian for such a responsibility. Take my name and throne, my titles thousand and my acclamations three, o monks, ye people of the Immaculate path!
A little part of you means it too.
And the monks play their part as well: The Shogunate cannot be thus donated, for in thou art Pasiap incarnate and thine titles thousand are worthless against such a soul. Thou canst not take refuge with us, for thou art Shogun and in thine holy shadow, all the peoples of the world take refuge. You confirm the rights and titles of the monastery, you praise them for keeping to the word of occulted Sextes Jylis and you make your way further into the city and further into the acclamation.
In a brief moment of privacy, you enter the Garden-Filled Palace by the North-Gate. Built close to the northern gate of the city, the palace is a small island of serenity. For a few moments, you are alone with only Song, who has to be there as your chosen warden.
"Are you healthy?" She asks, concerned in a non-courtly register. Unlike you, she never spoke courtly as her native language.
"I will survive." You state matter-of-factly, not feeling particularly capable of surviving.
She makes a few affirmative noises that indicate her total lack of belief in your ability to survive without her, and you close your eyes tiredly while you change costume into something less heavy and cumbersome than the court robe and mantle. It's not that you feel uncomfortable around so many people—though you do—but that the weight of their expectations and hopeful gazes is so much. You wish the world was different.
In your lighter cavalry jacket and your baggy anaxyrides pants, you walk about the palace. You meet with the staff, greet them and they inform you of their functions which you already knew and which they were already aware you knew. You survey its rooms and hallways, and you enjoy the time you have for yourself. You know it will not last, after all.
You leave the palace by chariot. Song takes the reins of the horses and drives the contraption while you stand straight-backed, your head wrapped in silken cloth to leave your face free. Escorting the slow-moving chariot dragged by trotting horses, riders in rich dress and armor flank you, as much to announce your presence as to keep away any who might wish to get close.
Riding eastwards, you arrive first at the Pasiap-He-Governeth-Both-Worlds Temple. Furnished and expanded by several Shoguns, it is an enormous building that dominates one's gaze with its enormous decorated dome and crenelated towers. Here, it is said, Pasiap performed his famous Lecture Against the Taxmen and humbled the Anathematic tax collectors. Built near the center of one of the city's three hills, three roads make their way to its entrances. At the temple, you join the service, making sure that your voice is heard in the chants, prostrating yourself before the icons of the Dragons, washing your face and hands and making your offerings.
Here you feel at home, though you wish that you could be anonymous; that you could be any other participant for the duration of the chants. At the homily, you once again make a show of offering your sovereignty and guardianship over the Shogunate to the Immaculacy, and once again you are rebuffed. It is in this fashion that you leave the temple after directing prayers towards the patron gods of Keinginan-i-Gehan, the Shogunate, and many more and make your way towards the Image-of-Creation Square and the end of the acclamation.
There are many other meetings and rituals on the way. And you are tired when you reach the Square and meet with the district heads and the gathered notables. Amidst the springs, trees, grassy plains and pavement, you receive their supplications, and their oaths. From the rare beaming smile of Wave to the guarded neutrality of the Voice, who now speaks for you as well, they all give you their deepest bows and oaths and swear to uphold the Shogunate. You muse how much it matters when Yalpagesh is not far outside the walls.
. . .
It is early night when you are done, and it is with great effort that you make your way inside the palace. Your body and mind alike are tired, and every movement feels like a crime against either.
"Mother."
You enter your mother's study, making a first rank bow in the doorway.
"Daughter." She acknowledges you, rising perfunctorily to perform a similar first rank bow.
She sits in her curule chair, the open window behind her giving you an open view of the gardens and trees of the Image-of-Creation square outside. The curtains hanging to the sides, still bound up with their ropes of silk, depict peacocks and other animals in filigree-gold. A curule chair has been placed ready for you to seat yourself in. You take a seat, sitting opposite Mother.
"Congratulations on thine acclamation, daughter. We are equals in the Shogunate now."
You let out a sigh, your mind and body tired.
Mother sighs as well. She sounds tired, resigned. It's only now you notice the bags under her bloodshot eyes, the slight forward listing of her head, her unfocused stare. You suppose that in the rituals of daylight, such things are forgotten.
"Thou hast not been sleeping much?" You instinctively switch back to court speech, your voice full of concern.
"Concern thee with thine own affairs, daughter. And I will concern myself with mine." She doesn't snap at you, but the rebuke stings enough to annoy you. Why does she have to be like this?
"Did thou not just say thyself that we were equals in the Shogunate? For what purpose was I acclaimed by the grandees and notables of the Exalted State and brought into the co-Shogunate only to be dismissed?" You do not manage a gentle rebuke. Your tone is audibly annoyed. An acclamation is work and you are very tired.
A servant enters through one of the secret doors, briefly interrupting the conversation to bring you food. Still-steaming rice, glistening dolmas, thick-sauced kuah beulangong and thick and fluffy naan. In accordance with tradition, you both eat quickly and in silence as soon as the servants have left. You are silently thankful that the food is plentiful. It takes time before you are ready to speak to one another again. The servants take the clean and finished plates away just as swiftly as they were delivered.
Mother sighs again, this time clearly of exhaustion. "No, I have not been sleeping much."
"Thou must not overtax yourself. Thou hast only one body, regardless of the blessing of the Dragons." You furrow your brow.
"If not so thou couldst rest, why else take the trouble of bringing me before the State to be raised to the Shogunate?" You try to insert some levity into your voice, but fail.
"Now, more so than ever, it is imperative that the people see the Exalted State in splendor. If the Shogun goeth unsleeping, it is a petty price to pay. Thine acclamation too, I urged on, so the people could see thee. In veiling themselves to the public, our ancestors were wise, for the sight of our faces bringeth hope like the sun."
You nod, understanding the calculation well. Nonetheless, you bite your lips and ask the question that is on your mind.
"Dost thou think this war could have been avoided? That this fate could have been held at bay?" Finally, in a closed room with her to ask the question.
Her expression doesn't change, and her eyes stare at the same nowhere-horizon. She doesn't even sigh or say anything.
"Couldst thou have silenced the Voice? Rebuked the Agha and offered the Mirza a trade?" You realize it sounds more like you're asking yourself these questions.
Finally she gives voice to a long-suffering sigh. You aren't stung. You can hear the tiredness breathe out from her lungs; little fragments of a soul stretched far too thin.
"Perhaps. Perhaps it could have been different. Let us say that I follow thine proposal, and I bring silence to the Voice and send the Agha to his father. Peace would have reigned, no doubt. The Mirza would doubtlessly have been emboldened by the Shogunate's concern for his interests. Certainly, he would have had cause to understand us as his servants and slaves as we have dutifully been for many years. Mayhaps he would have rewarded the Exalted State by opening his coffers for the restoration of temples and the renovation of the roads-" You cut her off to interject.
"But couldst thou not have held him hostage? Couldst thou not have offered to return him to Yalpagesh in return for a concession of our safety?" You burst out.
Mother smiles patiently, ignoring your faux pas and nods.
"Certainly. As the poet says in The Unfolding of Ten Thousand Scrolls or in the Righteous Inquiries, several Shoguns tried their luck at such a trick. Yet, such an action would also bring forth, to the masters of Yalpagesh, news of our disloyalty and our desire to see the ancient lands of our Exalted State returned."
"But those lands are ours." You insist. "We are not subjects of the Mirza of Yalpagesh, but Shoguns!"
She nods again. It strikes you that in the firelight, she seems very much the picture of someone her age, rather than the supernal youth with which the Exalted are endowed.
"But to the masters of Yalpagesh," she continues, "those lands were laid below their feet by the right of conquest, and our right to live by our own laws is a gift from their own generous hand to the foremost jewel in their necklace. And what Yalpagesh giveth, its masters could also take away with just as much effort."
"So let us set forth for the argument that I withheld the Agha in the captivity of our state, and that I offered to Yalpagesh to trade him. In return, the Mirza would grant our Shogunate the possession of a few islands, perhaps. Or he could march to the boundary-stones of our city and he could simply demand the Agha. Or he could use it as a cause to bring war to the walls. And we would be in captivity as we are now."
You furrow your brow.
"But did we not command the loyalty of more than two thousand soldiers? Did we not have their oaths and spears? Did they not scatter the Yalpageshig?"
"They did, and they died." Mother says frankly, sighing again. "Any blessing that we were afforded when our ancient land was returned to us through the march of our soldiers would not be present, for we would have neither the opportunity to act with surprise, nor the support of Agha Seizing-Prey-as-a-Falcon, nor would the cities of the Eastern District be emptied of soldiers as they were."
She pauses for a moment, as if to reflect.
"One supposeth that our Shogunate now stands at a precipice at which it has never stood before." She rises from her curule chair and turns to face the window for a moment, before turning back to you. "Yet, the gambler only throweth the dice. Fate hath already spun her life's thread before the dice have left her hand."
"But thou didst throw the dice." You insist, not sure what you're really arguing with anymore.
"I did." She simply acknowledges. You are silent. There is a pregnant pause.
And then suddenly there is noise and movement.
"Mother!" You burst out, staring in transfixed horror at the dark and distant shape of the city walls, the towers lit by fires and resounding with commanding voices. She is already turning when the gasp is leaving your lips, the tired woman she was but seconds ago having seemingly left the room.
"Arm thyself daughter!" She shouts, her voice commanding, as she leaps out of the window with the strength of a Prince of the Earth, her sandal-clad feet touching against the paved ground below with a loud thud.
A brief pang of jealousy fills your heart. If only the Dragons had chosen you, but you suppress it quickly and make your way through the palace, arming yourself in the process. At the last moment, you catch sight of a blue monkey wielding two swords, a red tongue from a fanged and laughing mouth; the Shogunal war-banner. Inspiration strikes you, and you take the banner with you, and the Shogunal mantle, the weight of which you still remember, with you as you leave.
. . .
Everywhere around you people are opening the shutters of their windows, peering out in confusion and fear, or venturing out on the streets to look with terror-stricken faces at the fires on the walls, the distant gleam reflecting in their eyes like tiny stars. It strikes you that you have no idea if there is more or less fire than before. You could have sworn that this tower, or that section of the wall was not aflame when you last looked. Your lungs are burning, and your heart is beating in your breast like a raging drum. Once again, a silent prayer in your mind goes out; O Mela, Accordant to the Call of Battle, thou Petitioner of Clouds and Immaculate Dragon of Air, if I make it through this night, I beg thee and thy fellows breathe the Second Breath of Exaltation into my lungs.
As usual, there is no answer, and the rattling brigandine and mirror armor weighs heavy on your body when you arrive at the turreted northern wall. Your heart misses a beat, for despite a lack of gore, death and carnage, it is a sight out of your nightmares. The fires have been reduced, but nonetheless there is fighting on the city walls. Regardless of where you look, nowhere is Mother to be seen. A pang of fear for her life strikes you, but you suppress it and make your way up a staircase, ascending along the inner wall.
"At attention!" You command, at a soldier who seems not to be doing anything, and she turns around in shock when she sees you, "Clothe thy Shogun!" you command, handing him the mantle, which most will only see once in their lifetime. Despite the shock, he quickly gets to it, attempting to stammer several different expressions of assent to the command at once, but only managing an incoherent mess. Nonetheless, she puts the heavy mantle over your shoulders, and you resist the urge to chafe at its weight; it was not made for fighting, but the woven jade will nonetheless likely prove stronger protection than the armor you are wearing beneath.
With the mantle of a true Shogun over your shoulders, you make your way up to the top of the nearest tower, praying in your mind that the Dragons are with you. The soldiers there stare in astonishment at you for a second, and you unfurl the blue monkey banner. Could you have seen yourself, you would have said: What is this fearsome vision? From whence does the glint of fire dance in my eyes?
Swift arrows whistle you by, and the thick, distinctive smell of burnt wood and flesh assaults your nose. You want to vomit, you want to scream, you want to murder, you want to hide, you want to sing, you want to roar. This is the end times, it is life, it is death. Apokalypsis.
And then you raise the banner, and it is as if your mind becomes as clear as day. It was not in a pavilion, some two frasukhs from Keinginan-i-Gehan and amidst the soldiers of the City, that you became Shogun. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours.
It is here, standing in the mantle of your many predecessors, and lifting high their banner, raising your voice to command and facing fate itself, that you become Shogun. Heaven and earth are one. You raise your voice:
One. All is silence. Your heart beats.
"Arise, ye soldiers of the Creation-Ruling Terrestrial Shogunate!" You hope your voice is not too shaky.
"Everywhere across these walls, raised by our forefathers, you are fighting with unparallelled strength and ferocity. Everywhere, a hundred thousand enemies assaileth you!"
Two. An arrow strikes your arm, clattering as if it had struck metal against the mantle.
"Everywhere across the walls", you repeat, "raised by our forefathers and maintained by their successors, you are fighting; an army of a thousand heroes! Everywhere, the enemy who hath assailed our Shogunate for a thousand years under the command of heaven-bedeviling Anathema, is crawling and clambering upon our walls like unto the foulest and most noxious centipedes and vermin. Your Shogun is with ye, the banner which hath flown for eleven epochs, flieth still!" You can already feel the hoarseness setting in, but you know that your voice is being heard.
Three. You are feeling light-headed.
"By universal decision", you begin, "we are ready to die!" Your vocal chords feel like they are being torn apart with sharp claws. "But seize ye, ye soldiers and servants of the Shogunate, with hardened hands, your spears and your bows! Force ye, our enemy from the walls of a hundred Shoguns!" A little part of you cringes inside. Maybe the speech is too overwrought? What if you are ridiculing the Shogunate in front of all the soldiers, and bring doom to the city? But your voice and body act on their own, independent of your mind.
Four. The wind, blowing sparks and cinders, has seized the banner, and it flutters in the wind. The blue monkey laughs again.
"If the Dragons are with us," you ask with a thundering voice, greater than your mutilated throat has room for, "then who is against us?" A roar of furious agreement goes up along the walls like wildfire.
Five. You are ready to die.
It starts out slow and limited, but soon it is rising like a crescendo, spreading faster than the flames, which the soldiers are already suppressing, "Worthy! Worthy! Worthy!" they shout. "Worthy! Worthy! Worthy!" goes the chant as resistance goes on with redoubled ferocity. Your body feels like it is acting on its own, no longer "you", but a tool wielded by occulted Sextes Jylis and incarnate Pasiap; the Immaculate Dragons who await the end of times acting through your body. Everywhere you go, you run along the walls, raising high the standard, barking orders and commands you will not remember a second later at soldiers. It is like you are possessed! Like your body is aflame. Despite the heavy armor, and the equally heavy mantle upon it, you no longer really feel their weight.
Here, you wield the banner like a spear and drive it into the throat of a Yalpageshig soldier whose eyes meet yours before he topples down his ladder. There, you barge into a brawl between soldiers, and you strike the banner down upon a Yalpageshig spear to break its shaft. Sometimes you set aside the banner and loosen many arrows from your gorytos into the hearts and faces, arms and legs, of soldiers massing beneath the shadow of the walls.
You do not know for how long you fight, or how long you are there, but after a period that feels either like an eternity, or no more than a few minutes, Mother arrives on your section of the walls along with Song, herself clad in armor and sweating from combat, and a number of other retainers. The air around Song is lit by sparks and flames, and Mother is cloaked in a whirlwind of sharp diamond dust. The light and flux of their animas cast them in a baleful light, and everywhere they go, people keep their distance.
It is late, when the last of the Yalpageshig retreat from the walls, pulling their ladders with them and fleeing in a semi-organized rout across the plains. With reinforcements from the eastern wall, which had also been under attack, it did not take long for you to repulse them. And when the last of the soldiers is gone, it is as if a hundred years of hard labor catch up with you at once, and you all but collapse on the ground. The mantle which you had worn so confidently now feels like a prison; a restraint. You support the suddenly immense weight of your body against the standard.
In the sky, the sun is dawning and showing her rosy face. The pale sky blushes at her radiance, and the clouds retreat across the sky. A dawn like this has risen over Keinginan-i-Gehan, the city called the World's Desire and Half-the-World, many times, and this will not be the last time it does so. But right now, in the post-battle exhaustion, you cannot help but think of how close it was that this would be the last time the sun would show her face in this manner for the Shogunate.
Awake, the
sun is reddening
and dawn hath broken
night's many shadows but I
am alone.
Your eyes follow the retreating soldiers, and your rasping voice recites the poem, almost out of muscle memory. The meter is archaic, the language is almost impossible to understand. As far as you know, the poem doesn't even have a name. It is a scribble in the Book of Praises; a little lament, ascribed to no one in particular. The first of three verses in a sad and sorrowful lament for a world disappeared, older than every other poem in the entire book. What its unnamed author weeps for, and yearns to return to, you do not know. And perhaps you never will.
Maybe you will one day be similar.
"Thy Most High Divine Majesty." Song's voice breaks your reverie and you turn around, your eyes suddenly wide open and your breath seizing in your throat.
In Song's arms, Mother lies splayed out, her breath ragged and bits of diamond dust now and then falling from her limp fingers like droplets of rain. A red piece of clothing improvised as bandage is bound tightly around her head, failing to conceal the red blood accumulated beneath. You know there is more blood in the forehead, and it looks worse than it is, but you can't stop yourself from blurting out - your voice dry and cracking - a question:
"Doth she yet live?" A small, bilious sensation of panic rises in your throat.
"She does, thy Most High Divine Majesty." Song responds brusquely. "We pursued the Yalpageshig when they fled, but chanced upon the Mirza and challenged him. We wounded him, but he beat us anyway and drove us off. Her Most High Divine Majesty, thine co-Shogun, was wounded when he smacked her with his pommel and concussed her severely." She lets you take in the news before continuing.
"This Mirza, Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign, he doesn't fight like a normal man. He's much stronger than he looks like, more skilled than feels natural. He fights like the Exalted." She leaves the second part unsaid; or like an Anathema.
You take a second to compose yourself before instructing her to return Mother to the palace. And then, you begin your own slow journey through the city, to return, making sure to inform temples and monasteries on your way to open the call to court assembly.
. . .
This morning, it is your time to sit the Dais, and it is your time to have your face framed by a glorious radiate crown, and it is your time to gaze impassively at the assembled court before you, signing to your Voice - you almost considered placing Wave in the position - your desires and decrees. But your first court session does not have the advantage of calm or peace. The primary topic is from whom to seek aid against the Yalpageshig, and multiple times, you have to seek aid to quiet down the panic and arguments; a sign of how far the institution of the Shogunate has been pushed. After two grueling hours, however, you eventually arrive at the conclusion to send a plea for aid to:
Article:
[ ] The Lords of Seiarore - The aristocratic teyri clans, are the elite of the Seiarore archipelago. Experts in warfare utilizing Flame Pieces and Firewands of all sorts, the island is ruled by an elected male warlord, chosen by the female heads of the teyri clans upon the death of the last one. Since the 600s, the Seiaroreans have often served as mercenaries in service to the Shogunate, and their military support could now be crucial to its survival. However, Seiarore is a distant land, and you expect that even with good winds, it could take half a month for support to arrive.
[ ] The Satraps of Saata - The mercantile city-state of Saata, while nominally a satrapy of the Realm, is largely autonomous and poorly controlled. The reigning Sinasana family has broad powers to control it as they see fit, and Saata is a regional market without comparison. An emissary to Saata could potentially recruit a major mercenary force and send them back with a fleet loaned from Saata itself. There are many historic ties between the Shogunate and Saata, and the Sinasana family would be pleased to see the Shogunate favor them. An emissary to Saata might take a week to arrive and return, however.
[ ] SPECIAL - The Satrap-Protector Cathak Zamati - Normally an impossible suggestion, but you know the one-eyed woman who rules the Protectorate in the Realm's name well enough to know she cannot appreciate a conflict like this. An emissary to the Protectorate to Pacify the West could potentially convince her to intervene or broker a peace, but the costs of getting her to expend her forces on such an endeavor might mean being forced to adopt the Immaculate Philosophy, permitting her monks within the Shogunate or higher. Any Shogunal embassy, however, could reach back and forth from Keinginan-i-Gehan, to the Protectorate, within only a few days. This option is available because of Gift's personal connection to the Protectorate to Pacify the West.
As the talks of emissaries conclude, and they are dispatched with utmost haste, the court turns to other matters. But the rest of its proceedings might as well not matter to you. Receiving petitions and settling disputes seems almost absurdly pointless when compared to the gravity of the Shogunate's situation. And when, hours later, it comes to a close, you can barely remember most of what transpired. You take your leave to visit Mother on her bed. Sleeping, as she is, you could almost believe she was alright and would wake up any minute now, were it not for the bandages around her head. The physicians inform you that she will be fine, that her Exalted constitution will see her through, and you believe them. But the memory of Song carrying her, bleeding, from the field of battle remains with you nonetheless.
With Song trailing after you, you make your way through the palace corridors to arrive at the Sublime Tranquil Grave Temple. You make your way to the Temple to pray, and beseech a boon of the divine Elders. To intercede with the saffron-garbed goddess Mercury Wind-Swift, to put wind in the sails of your emissaries. The order you give is clear; do not disturb me unless it concerns the affairs of the very Exalted State itself.
Leave me alone with my prayers; those are the thoughts you think when you and Song make your way across the Image-of-Creation Square. Sometimes, when you look at her, you think of her poem so many day-cycles ago; a heart once silent remains, I shrug. You don't look into her eyes. You don't dare to see yourself in them.
In your mind, you have barely entered the Temple, before you are disturbed. Your annoyed inquiry into why you are disturbed is shattered in an instant:
Yalpagesh sends emissaries to discuss terms.
. . .
And there you sit, back, under the roof of the audience hall. This time to a hastily assembled greater court, you sit in the Peacock Dais which has hosted Shoguns for hundreds of years. Framed by the wall's radiate crown of peacock feathers of jade and sapphire, you make sure to look at the emissaries who respectfully prostrate themselves with the ultimately ineffective, but disinterested contempt of a sovereign monarch. Not that the emissaries, clad in their deceptively simplistic brocade kaftans and traveler's cloaks could care more about your contempt. It is childish defiance, and nothing more but you feel compelled nonetheless. You have your Voice perform the ritual introductions, and bid them rise and speak.
You almost wish you hadn't.
"Thou heavenly world-governing Shogun, Eight Vermilion Holiest Gift of the Five Days, thou whose eyes art falcon-like and whose face resembleth the radiant moon, our Lord, the Mirza of all Yalpagesh and Shogun of the world sendeth us to parlay on his behalf and give you his terms."
You narrow your eyes, but sign to your Voice to have them continue. In the meantime, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for possible supporters and opponents.
There are the heads of the Two Holy Monasteries, whip-thin and clean-shaved, both of them. They could never tolerate a peace with Yalpagesh, and would rather force your hand than permit a ruler who professes the Immaculate Philosophy to govern them.
"To the south lie the temple-fortresses of Putihay and Hitamay. These protect your City's unwalled neighborhoods, and these have been encircled by the army of our Lord, and the way to the City standeth open before his victory-laden armies."
There, your eyes pass over the city notables of the rich Zhavabad neighborhood. Sitting calmly, one feigns disinterest, others listen with intent. They might prefer to spare their neighborhood, than see war come into the City.
"The Shogun, in his wisdom, hath appointed a governor for the territories he hath seized with his firm, falcon-like grip, and wishes to spare the heavenly, Shogunal City further suffering. For though the Scarlet Empress seized the Desire-of-the-World, she left it a hovel, where he would seize it gently, and crown her with the world."
There, between two pillars, the Antangabad and Bihustani notables sit together. Both neighborhoods have long military traditions, and their notables seem to be of similar mind. They would not support the treaty.
"His Most High Divine Majesty, the Shogun-Mirza Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign, who is also called Eight Vermilion Exalted Sovereign, begs of thy co-Shogun to abdicate her position, and of thee to permit his Most High Divine Majesty entry into the City. Thine co-Shogun, her Divine Majesty, he would grant governorship over the Islands, or permit her to leave with all her possessions guaranteed." You raise an eyebrow.
The head of the palace garrison stands alone. She has the privilege of bearing her sword in here. She casts sneaky gazes at you, which she doesn't think you notice. You would not wake up in your bed tomorrow if you allowed this treaty to go through.
"And thee, his Most High Divine Majesty would have stay with him and take residence at his court with titles and possessions. All the privileges and rights of the Holy Monasteries and Temples shall be guaranteed, and the City shall be protected from sacking or plundering. His Most High Divine Majesty desireth not to bring about the end of the holy world-governing Shogunate, but its revivification. To thee and thy co-Shogun, he sendeth his compliments, for the Five Days Dynasty hath shepherded and stewarded the City with utmost care and statesmanship, and he perceived well the heroism with which thee raised its ancient banner."
And there sit Seven Cerulean Far Vision and Nine Saffron Swift Thought, the Head Treasurer and her secretary. Loyal, both of them, but a new administration would threaten their ability to skim the treasury far more than your ineffective Shogunal administration can.
"According to the ancient customs of the Yalpageshig, and the laws between nations, though it pains our Lord, should thee reject his merciful offer, the heavenly Shogunal city would be given unto his soldiers for three days of plunder."
There, Wave and Song sit together, the former's nails probably piercing deep into the palms of her hands, and the latter as surprisingly calm as ever. You think of the soldier whose eyes met yours, when the speartip of the banner impaled his throat. You look away from Song.
"And the fates of both thee, and thy co-Shogun would lay in the hands of his Most High Divine Majesty's decision, should his victory-laden armies reduce the ancient walls of thy city into rubble."
Opposite the commander of the palace garrison, the commander of the citadel is sitting cross-legged. He put the torc of rule on your neck when you were acclaimed before the army. Even if you made peace, you do not think he would acknowledge it.
"Mere hours ago, his Most High Divine Majesty tested the defenses of thy City, and though by the most valiant defense of its Two Heavenly Shoguns, the attack was repulsed, it matters little. In defeating the Shogunal Expeditionary Army, our Lord hath deprived thee of an arm; in defeating our Lord's army, thou hast only shaved his Most High Divine Majesty's beard. An arm, once cut off, can never grow again; but a shorn beard will only grow all the better for the razor."
There is Laughing Dancer, in the guise of a court servant. You can recognize her bearing and expression anywhere. You wonder if she would simply lose interest in you if you accepted such a peace. If you would wake up one day, with her sitting astride your body before digging out your heart and consuming it.
"When our Lord set out from the East, he conquered all the world. Whoever opposed him was killed. If thou escapeth into the sky, or the ocean, it matters little. Thine only policy is to make peace between us. His Most High Divine Majesty, in his infinite love and mercy, granteth thee the remainder of the day-cycle to accept or reject his offer, or he shall lay siege to the holy City with force that cannot be denied."
Everywhere you look, you find yourself pressed against the wall. What a cruel temptation of peace you are given. A poisonous apple has found its way into your court. You think of Mother lying in her bed, bandages around her head.
The emissaries take their leave, and leave the court in silence. And you are left with your many thoughts in a city that soon seems all too small, and a world that now seems far too vast for tiny little you.
Article:
Is this fair? Do you deserve this?
[ ] - No. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Struggle Against Fate.
[ ] - Yes. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Fate Abides as Fate Must.
I... Uh, dunno what's going on. It feels like we just missed a prime Exaltation moment, so whatever Gift is going to be, it's probably not going to be a Solar.
The question then is.
"Does Gift Deserve This"
And I'd say.
[X] - No.
She hasn't had a chance to be complicit or not, she never had a chance one way or another. She deserves nothing because her story's just begun. But that doesn't mean she should be denied the chance to act either simply because she was born in the wrong time.
My preference in allies is more subjective, and I might still convince myself to switch to the very intriguing Realm option, but mostly I think the Seiarore sound cool and slightly less problematic than the other options.
I have given up on predicting the future of anything in this quest, though part of me really wants this first arc to end with Getimian Gift thrown into the second arc very confused and upset.
I... Uh, dunno what's going on. It feels like we just missed a prime Exaltation moment, so whatever Gift is going to be, it's probably not going to be a Solar.
I have given up on predicting the future of anything in this quest, though part of me really wants this first arc to end with Getimian Gift thrown into the second arc very confused and upset.
that would be so fucking funny, if i just made everything that happened in the first arc an alternate world and had it be about coping with that instead lmao
I think the biggest brained move could be to actually both call in the Realm and try and make peace with the Yalpageshig, to set the falcon against the wolf and to profit from their contendings for the favor of World's Desire, queen of cities. Real like late Constantinople shit dealing with both the Latins and the Ottomans, which actually worked out for a surprisingly long time. We survive and power through the insults to our imperial Shogunate, regrouping and waiting for another die to cast. After all it's not impossible that reapplying ourselves to a more sustainable realm of ambitions checked within a larger interstate system actually does pay out in the end- like the rise and fall of the Neo-Babylonian Empire centuries after the ancient city of cities had been originally stripped of its imperial sovereignty by the Kassites and Assyrians.
[X] SPECIAL - The Satrap-Protector Cathak Zamati - Normally an impossible suggestion, but you know the one-eyed woman who rules the Protectorate in the Realm's name well enough to know she cannot appreciate a conflict like this. An emissary to the Protectorate to Pacify the West could potentially convince her to intervene or broker a peace, but the costs of getting her to expend her forces on such an endeavor might mean being forced to adopt the Immaculate Philosophy, permitting her monks within the Shogunate or higher. Any Shogunal embassy, however, could reach back and forth from Keinginan-i-Gehan, to the Protectorate, within only a few days. This option is available because of Gift's personal connection to the Protectorate to Pacify the West.
[X] - Yes. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Fate Abides as Fate Must.
Alright, so, uh, I get that it's been five months, and no one can remember anything, so I'll do this instead. Characters marked in brackets are dead or missing.
Major Characters
Eight Vermilion Holiest Gift, the main character and acclaimed co-Shogun of the Great Western Shogunate.
Three Red Rising Song, one of Holiest Gift's closest friends and an Exalted martial artist from a military family.
Twelve White Calm Wave, Holiest Gift's mistress of the robes and her closest friend, from a merchant family.
Six Gold Gentle Palm, Holiest Gift's mother, Exalted and reigning Shogun of the Great Western Shogunate.
Side Characters
[Seizing-Prey-like-a-Falcon], prince of Yalpagesh who sought the aid of the Shogunate in a succession dispute with Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign.
Seven Cerulean Far Vision, head treasurer of the Shogunate. Reputed to be corrupt and skimming off the treasury for herself.
Nine Saffron Swift Thought, secretary of the treasury under Far Vision.
Cathak Zamati, the Realm's strongest appointed imperial satrap in the entirety of Creation's Southwest. Once held Holiest Gift in captivity as a diplomatic hostage.
The Voice of the Shogun, technically a court title, but refers to Ten Lilac Sonorous Trill, Six Gold Gentle Palm's man appointed to the position. Took a major role in maneuvering the Shogunate to war.
Antagonists
(?) Seven Cerulean Laughing Dancer, Lunar Anathema and heart-eating shapeshifter. Takes the guise of a handmaid by the name of Two Brown High Peak, and has mysterious motives.
Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign, reigning Mirza of Yalpagesh and would-be conqueror of the Shogunate. Fashions himself Shogun and seems to be infatuated or otherwise interested in Holiest Gift.
The Story so Far
The Background
Eight Vermilion Holiest Gift is the acclaimed heir, and daugher of the Shogun-Banu Six Gold Gentle Palm of the ancient Great Western Shogunate or Blue Monkey Shogunate as it is derisively known by its enemies. Her closest friends are Twelve White Calm Wave and Three Red Rising Song, who both have positions at court. However, under past Shoguns, the Great Western Shogunate has declined in power and importance and lost much of its territory to The Realm, a great empire with its capital in the center of the world, named Creation, and to the Sublime State of Yalpagesh, ruled by the Semerw dynasty. The former has appointed an imperial satrap by the name of Zamati, from the Great House of Cathak to govern much of its conquests, organized into the Great Protectorate to Pacify the West. The latter has conquered much of the lands around the Shogunate's capital of Keinginan-i-Gehan, and now regularly receives payments of tribute from its Shoguns.
The Story
At a fateful court session in the monsoon season, a prince of Yalpagesh named Seizing-Prey-like-a-Falcon beseeches the Shogunate for help in a succession dispute against the promise of returning all lands west of the Karvand River, which could potentially see the Shogunate break its encirclement by Yalpagesh. Holiest Gift's mother, the reigning Shogun, agrees to the deal and sends the prince back into Yalpagesh with a Shogunal expeditionary force. Holiest Gift is terrified of this decision, as it could mean the end of the Shogunate. In the meantime, Holiest Gift whiles away her time with her friends composing poetry and attending court rituals, wondering about the future and reminiscing about the Shogunate's bitter history, and the immense responsibility on her shoulders.
While the expeditionary campaign is initially a success, the Mirza Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign manages to turn the campaign around and defeats his brother before marching on Keinginan-i-Gehan. Holiest Gift, unknowing of the impending danger, participates in a royal tiger hunt in which she comes face to face with the shapeshifting Anathema - a kind of demon masquerading as a human - Seven Cerulean Laughing Dancer, who almost kills her until she decides to masquerade as one of her servants instead and follow her back home. On her way back to Keinginan-i-Gehan, Holiest Gift encounters upon Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign's military camp, who offers her a position at his court and declares his intent to claim the Shogunal title for himself, once and for all. Holiest Gift, distraught by the terrible news, returns home to tell of her encounter, and the Shogunate prepares for war.
Holiest Gift is given an acclamation, a ritual tour through the city in which the populace of the city declares its support for her, and she is elevated to her mother's co-Shogun. The next night, Yalpagesh assaults the city to test its defenses, and Holiest Gift fights in the battle for the walls and rallies the troops defending them. Her mother is wounded and receives a concussion that knocks her unconscious in chasing the retreating troops, when she comes face to face with Ruling-Exalted-like-a-Sovereign, and Rising Song expresses her suspicion that the Mirza may be Anathema as well. The next day following the assault, Holiest Gift makes the decision to send a plea for help, and the Mirza sends emissaries to the Shogunal court to deliver his terms of peace that would involve the total annexation and integration of the Shogunate into his realm, and Holiest Gift realizes that even if she wanted to, her own court wouldn't back accepting the terms.
Here you knock on the gates as you did not many weeks ago when you knocked on the gates of the Sublime Tranquil Grave Temple. You announce that you are Shogun, that the people and notables of the world-governing Shogunate have placed in your hands the trusteeship of the Shogunate, and that you seek refuge with them. You announce that you desire not the responsibilities and pains of being guardian for such a responsibility. Take my name and throne, my titles thousand and my acclamations three, o monks, ye people of the Immaculate path!
A little part of you means it too.
And the monks play their part as well: The Shogunate cannot be thus donated, for in thou art Pasiap incarnate and thine titles thousand are worthless against such a soul. Thou canst not take refuge with us, for thou art Shogun and in thine holy shadow, all the peoples of the world take refuge. You confirm the rights and titles of the monastery, you praise them for keeping to the word of occulted Sextes Jylis and you make your way further into the city and further into the acclamation.
i wonder what it means that the Shogunate's millenia old trappings and ceremony is literally about the shogunate attempting to step down and being denied by all of their subordinates
i leave the interpretation to someone who can read and write
"Thou hast not been sleeping much?" You instinctively switch back to court speech, your voice full of concern.
"Concern thee with thine own affairs, daughter. And I will concern myself with mine." She doesn't snap at you, but the rebuke stings enough to annoy you. Why does she have to be like this?
"Did thou not just say thyself that we were equals in the Shogunate? For what purpose was I acclaimed by the grandees and notables of the Exalted State and brought into the co-Shogunate only to be dismissed?" You do not manage a gentle rebuke. Your tone is audibly annoyed. An acclamation is work and you are very tired.
And then you raise the banner, and it is as if your mind becomes as clear as day. It was not in a pavilion, some two frasukhs from Keinginan-i-Gehan and amidst the soldiers of the City, that you became Shogun. Seconds become minutes, minutes become hours.
It is here, standing in the mantle of your many predecessors, and lifting high their banner, raising your voice to command and facing fate itself, that you become Shogun. Heaven and earth are one. You raise your voice:
[ ] Your City - Ruling-Exalted-as-a-Sovereign will spare Keinginan-i-Gehan, promising to restrict his soldiers from sacking or looting as much as possible, restraining civilian casualties as is within his ability. This will not guarantee a peaceful siege, or that he will not kill any who resist. He will still seek to take the city through whatever means possible, he will just avoid doing damage to it.
"According to the ancient customs of the Yalpageshig, and the laws between nations, though it pains our Lord, should thee reject his merciful offer, the heavenly Shogunal city would be given unto his soldiers for three days of plunder."
the weather is stormy, the promises of conquering princes kept like water keeps oil, and yet today the scuffed jewel retains some of its old luster.
The choice for the Shogunate has been made when Yalpagesh arrived at the gates and failed to seize everything in their hands. The choice has been made not by the Shogun first, but rather by all those who the Shogun is called to defend. Should the Shogun attempt to relinquish this choice, she will be refused, by her own people first. The Shogunate will fight, with or without their Shogun, that much is clear.
There is no fighting this current, only choosing where to stand in time's roaring river.
Chehrazad, how long will Saata's forces take to arrive, from the moment we send out emissaries, akin to how Seiarore or the Satrap-Protector's options are suggested?
The other option is simple.
Defining Principle:
One day, by our hands, the age of glory may return.
If Fate is a friend of the Shogunate, then it makes sense to choose to believe in the grand weave. But even if the doom is already written, Eight Vermillion Holiest Gift will use her two hands to raise the Shogunate to glory regardless.
Chehrazad, how long will Saata's forces take to arrive, from the moment we send out emissaries, akin to how Seiarore or the Satrap-Protector's options are suggested?
Harder to say, on account of the premise being to hire a mercenary army, so it depends on how long it takes to hire those troops. Saata has by far the largest fleet of all these potential allies, though, and the average sailing time between Saata and Keinginan-i-Gehan is about three days in a fast merchant ship though, so it would probably take about a week at absolute most, and it is likely that the army would be returning with your emissary. Saatan ships could also potentially help lift the Yalpageshi blockade.
I take it that the presumed advantage for the Seiarore, despite their longer lead time, is that they're elite and reliable and less politically troublesome?
Also, Chehr, while the informational post is excellent, I didn't give up on predictions because there's too many pieces, but because you actually portray the fog of war and because nothing about Gift's eventual exaltation feels easily anticipated after it not coming up in several dramatic circumstances.
I take it that the presumed advantage for the Seiarore, despite their longer lead time, is that they're elite and reliable and less politically troublesome?
Seiarore guys are pretty elite, yeah, and have very little political interest in intervening in the Shogunate's politics like the other two might have (Saata for trade advantages, the Protectorate for obvious reasons). In addition, they also bring to bear a significant amount of flame weapons.
Also, Chehr, while the informational post is excellent, I didn't give up on predictions because there's too many pieces, but because you actually portray the fog of war and because nothing about Gift's eventual exaltation feels easily anticipated after it not coming up in several dramatic circumstances.
[X] SPECIAL - The Satrap-Protector Cathak Zamati - Normally an impossible suggestion, but you know the one-eyed woman who rules the Protectorate in the Realm's name well enough to know she cannot appreciate a conflict like this. An emissary to the Protectorate to Pacify the West could potentially convince her to intervene or broker a peace, but the costs of getting her to expend her forces on such an endeavor might mean being forced to adopt the Immaculate Philosophy, permitting her monks within the Shogunate or higher. Any Shogunal embassy, however, could reach back and forth from Keinginan-i-Gehan, to the Protectorate, within only a few days. This option is available because of Gift's personal connection to the Protectorate to Pacify the West.
[X] - No. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Struggle Against Fate.
I think the informational post is very good! There's nothing wrong with very basic "oh yeah that's this person". It doesn't really detract so long as it's succint.
Not sure what to vote yet, will need some time to think on it. Great update - I really like the first scene with Gift's mother and the dread that continues to carry over everything.
I feel like Exalted Sovereign is definitely an anathema, I'm leaning solar on the narrative economy of there already being a lunar, lol.
I am leaning towards voting for the Realm mostly because I think it'd be a really bad idea, but a very realistic one to do.
i wonder what it means that the Shogunate's millenia old trappings and ceremony is literally about the shogunate attempting to step down and being denied by all of their subordinates
I think the informational post is very good! There's nothing wrong with very basic "oh yeah that's this person". It doesn't really detract so long as it's succint.
Not sure what to vote yet, will need some time to think on it. Great update - I really like the first scene with Gift's mother and the dread that continues to carry over everything.
I feel like Exalted Sovereign is definitely an anathema, I'm leaning solar on the narrative economy of there already being a lunar, lol.
I am leaning towards voting for the Realm mostly because I think it'd be a really bad idea, but a very realistic one to do.
If it isn't obvious, there are essentially two competing strands of thoughts around the position of the Shogunate, and the position Gift and her mother hold is not a syntheis, but a somewhat awkwardly cobbed-together meeting of those two positions. Precisely what those two positions are, I'll leave up to my readers, but most of the clues are present in the update, though Gift doesn't necessarily think of them as contradictory.
Harder to say, on account of the premise being to hire a mercenary army, so it depends on how long it takes to hire those troops. Saata has by far the largest fleet of all these potential allies, though, and the average sailing time between Saata and Keinginan-i-Gehan is about three days in a fast merchant ship though, so it would probably take about a week at absolute most, and it is likely that the army would be returning with your emissary. Saatan ships could also potentially help lift the Yalpageshi blockade.
[X] SPECIAL - The Satrap-Protector Cathak Zamati - Normally an impossible suggestion, but you know the one-eyed woman who rules the Protectorate in the Realm's name well enough to know she cannot appreciate a conflict like this. An emissary to the Protectorate to Pacify the West could potentially convince her to intervene or broker a peace, but the costs of getting her to expend her forces on such an endeavor might mean being forced to adopt the Immaculate Philosophy, permitting her monks within the Shogunate or higher. Any Shogunal embassy, however, could reach back and forth from Keinginan-i-Gehan, to the Protectorate, within only a few days. This option is available because of Gift's personal connection to the Protectorate to Pacify the West.
[X] - No. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Struggle Against Fate.
If it isn't obvious, there are essentially two competing strands of thoughts around the position of the Shogunate, and the position Gift and her mother hold is not a synthesis, but a somewhat awkwardly cobbed-together meeting of those two positions. Precisely what those two positions are, I'll leave up to my readers, but most of the clues are present in the update, though Gift doesn't necessarily think of them as contradictory.
Mm, I feel like one of the strands is the aggressively servant leader one, but that might actually be part of the more symbolic strand more than a ruler strand?
A brief pang of jealousy fills your heart. If only the Dragons had chosen you, but you suppress it quickly and make your way through the palace, arming yourself in the process
This is alright, not being chosen by the dragons just means Holiest Gift may yet become a real Exalted.
[X] SPECIAL - The Satrap-Protector Cathak Zamati - Normally an impossible suggestion, but you know the one-eyed woman who rules the Protectorate in the Realm's name well enough to know she cannot appreciate a conflict like this. An emissary to the Protectorate to Pacify the West could potentially convince her to intervene or broker a peace, but the costs of getting her to expend her forces on such an endeavor might mean being forced to adopt the Immaculate Philosophy, permitting her monks within the Shogunate or higher. Any Shogunal embassy, however, could reach back and forth from Keinginan-i-Gehan, to the Protectorate, within only a few days. This option is available because of Gift's personal connection to the Protectorate to Pacify the West.
[X] - Yes. Holiest Gift will gain the Major Principle: Fate Abides as Fate Must.
Going against fate is going against the Dragons. Fate is always just.