Anchises
Leader of the Coconut Tree Fremen
- Location
- Germany
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'm going to betray you all to the conessionalists god willing.
Kingdom of God: A Quest of Holy Revolution
- Thread starter Cetashwayo
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
Random Member
Gardener of Human Happiness
- Location
- Behind You
See, this is why we need democratic centralism.
Turn 0, 822 Alul: Immolation
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Turn 0, 822 Alul: Immolation
[X] Take the Komandir hostage and drag him with you to the train.
Hollow MenA man has to stand up.
The sect debates and the sect decides, and with its decision comes the fate of the Black Elephant Standard, disallowed from deciding its own fate to its own traditions. The turncoat jurors are glum and their spokesman Hyanaki Akov has to frown, especially at one sect member swatted behind the ears by Baba Tanda for speaking blithely of becoming a machine of killing. As it was written by Opernani Myriam: Peace is a hand, closed tight atop the foolish mouth. But the members of the sect still disagree most viciously, and it is only by a narrow show of hands that Wendam declares the involuntary pilgrimage of Komandir Varan, as one grinning member put it, to be the favored option.
The message is sent out by the shout of men and women from the walls, transmitted to a juror envoy down below who transmits it to his fellows. The sect is in a strong position to defend, if the jurors dare to charge. They have no cannons or another implements by which to force them, and even now it is clear that though they number several dozen that their strength is flagging. A debate is had on their own side that is too far to hear and then, gathering into a ragged offensive line on this hot day, their rifles at their sides, they send two-thirds of their men of their men forward (d100+10=67). With their rifles dropped and hands held on their neck's nape in the prisoner's yoke they shuffle forward, ashen and defeated, and are pushed brusquely into Hasadaya's half-fortified gate. The members of the sect are all too aware of the potential of what the great Rav Karogen called the wartime art of "funny business", having been amateurs in it themselves just the night before.
And then the remainder on the field hoist up their standard and unexpectedly begin to sing, and it is a song of home.
A pond of Eel
and a heart to steal,
three smart daughters.
And three strong sons
a mount of bread
and a vale of rum
The jurors on the field clap one another on the shoulder, form a great huddle, and perform a brother's embrace, kissing and squeezing one another's shoulders. They step forwards with their hands raised high and their arms locked, approaching to the walls. As they do, they sing.
no titheman there to bleed me dry
no hangman there to make me fly
a wreath of thorns and a wreath of gold
that I'll wear like the chiefs of old!
Several of the turncoat jurors on the battlements hum along on instinct until hushed by their own neighbors and then at last the jurors on the field belt out the last, trembling beats, as they hoist the black elephant standard high on its wooden pole and fix their bayonets:
My dear Nesra, where have you gone?
My dear Nesra, so beloved by God?
And then they ignite the standard, and it bursts to flames. The battlements grow still, and every breath is held, for all know that this is an immolation.
The Jurors have always been more than just the sword and shield, and later musket and cannon, of old Vaspukaran. More than a martial order, they are a culture that lives and breathes through its status, set apart and unique for generation upon generation. Souls live and die as jurors without ever knowing war, and standards survive for centuries, collecting prestige, accolades, sacraments and holy dust. Each standard is gathered from the same region, the same area, the same village, town, parish, congregation. Each votes on its own komandirs, its star-shy officers, its own elective justice. They guard jealously their privileges of non-appeal and non-taxation and on the frontier take seriously their obligations as the only souls called to service on behalf of God to protect the boundaries of his Kingdom.
And yet it was not enough when they fought the Mare. The Mare, with its modern well-trained armies, and its garden corps, and its ships of wrought black iron was oblivion to the unprepared and poorly organized juries of the eastern shore. When the Mare came and besieged Eykshir and the Patriarch ordered the city be relieved, whole standards were wiped. Juror charges in the style of old heroes were torn apart by bulletspitters. Juror squares so well practiced in the instruction of the legendary Ataman Kutensi were blown apart by the new artillery. Those priests who gave them blessed sacraments that the righteous cannot falter did them cruelest injury for on the field in those wicked days they felt that they were trapped to live as false men or die true and honest deaths.
No way out except to perish, no way home except at the time of messianic resurrection. In these circumstances, to save the honor of their standards, to save their own personal honor, to ensure that they had a last martyr's path to heaven, that their widows and their sons and daughters would at least not know them to be cowards, they committed to the principle of immolation. Against reason, against logic, against hope, this was the chance to deny the facts of their world's demise. After the standard is lit, the juror in the man is already dead: there is no choice but for the rest to follow.
A martyr's charge, without reason, without point, without purpose, but to die with glory in the name of God. And now, today, at this moment, as the smoke of the burning standard wafts to heaven, three-dozen men who have been discarded and whose culture slides away and who never left Eykshir in those wicked days decide that they have no future but the one that God will find for them in the world to come. It is the despair of the old juror and his mad world of songs and heroes' honor consigned by history to obliteration.
And so Guru Wendam makes a prayer of forgiveness, though for whom he is not certain, and so Guru Wendam gives the order to present, and so the sect opens fire.
In the aftermath, as men and women cry from their wounds and their lost friends, and the turncoat jurors wander the field littered by the smears of brothers, there still stands held erect by the piled bodies of the men who bore it the tilted and burnt flagstaff of a culture called Black Elephant.
The last thought of its bearers was of home.
By Your Blood Shall You Live
What can any soul say in relation to such carnage? So says Pasan Ghadi: Look past the battlefield and to eternal salvation, for by salvation we shall abolish battlefields. Immolation is the gasp of despairing men: Pugilism is despair's mortal enemy that demands men stand up. Those who could not and would not are the men too broken by a world that tills them as an ox does infertile soil. But always grasp the outstretched hand, for those who are denied redemption will turn to immolation. This is the lesson of today, Guru Wendam proclaims with confidence, as he tries to hide his shaking and the people put themselves all back together again. The turncoat jurors wander like lost ghosts, while the calls of triumph so common before are gone quiet on this cold and breezy autumn day on the high dry plain. But the turncoats have made a choice, and they are alive: this is the first step to fight against the surrender of despair.
After the bodies are placed neatly and buried in shallow graves and with simple sacraments, that Wendam pulls you all together again. He calls a meeting outside Hasadaya, and hands out bolts of red cloth saved up over years from torn garments and smuggled fabrics, and he instructs each soul of the sect to tie it on the heads of their closest neighbor. Then he turns to the turncoat jurors, and instructs them to do the same, and to have it tied onto their heads by the members of the sect. Here is the sect, he says, to the sect, and here is the mass, he says to the jurors, and he orders each member of the sect to clasp each member of the mass, for today we are all brothers and we are all sisters. Not the survivors of massacre and war, not the oppressed and oppressed, but one movement, all together.
There are rites made to induct the jurors, including a performance of katas and a sacrament by Qanam, along with a vow of silence. Nesra is not gone, Wendam shouts, although he is Kokabi and his dreams of home are of Sufgar and its dusty plains and face-tree groves. Nesra is still there, and one day it will be ours again.
One day soon, for now, now, at this time, at this second, we prepare to march. To march to the railway station that will take us away. To march from the darkness of this doomed oblivion. To march all for one, for freedom.
There is a cheer from the sect, and a ragged cheer from the jurors who have become the mass, as they find new courage. Members rush to and fro to secure their children from the places they told them to hide the night before and replace their ammunition bandoliers with tight clothes onto which to hitch their infants and their things. Many of the children have never seen anything but Hasadaya, and they ask their parents with sparkles in their eyes as the wagons are loaded and the moas and horses reined where Nachivan is upon a map. Many of the mothers laugh and say they are not sure either, while the more learned members of the sect who act as teachers call the children over and distract with tales of distant lands while the vanguard argues over one last and sore subject.
The wounded and the imprisoned of Hasadaya have been left inside the castle in a group at the center, moaning and sulking and praying to God he will forgive that they did not join their brothers on the field. Hayanaki Akov would at least like to take the wounded with the caravan, arguing that they might be able to talk down the jurors at the railway station if they show that they are merciful. Baba Tanda growls that they are finished with favors for the ataman's dogs, and Akov reminds her sternly that he may be an eternal brother of the mass but to do so he committed fratricide. There are also a number of 'trembler' Jurors who have had their heads touched by the evil of the Mare: they mean no harm to anybody but are defenseless in the face of abuse, and need care at a Hessenine nunnery where they might be cured of their 'craven's shakes'. There is no doubt, though that the prisoners need to be left behind, as they are worth nothing in a juror's ransom.
The wounded are not safe here, Akov argues: Between the villagers and the criminals there is no telling if they should accidentally 'die', by the time help arrives. Qanam points out that this will further slow them down by overburdening the wagons, but Wendam again seems supportive, especially after what he had just seen with the immolated men. The rampaging and suicidal immolaters had not, thank God, killed many of those defending the gate (d50+20=70) but their wide eyes and careless attacks had worried all. Such ferocity was not expected from such demoralized and disorganized men, and he does not wish to test that they can withstand it a second time. Still, there is widespread unhappiness to take on men who had just tried to killed them and had been pressing down on them for years before. Turn the other cheek, indeed, but do it with a slap, so said the Pasan Ghadi.
The sect will debate it as they move on the road, for no one wishes to stay here a second longer. This has become a cursed fortress, and with the komandir in hand and their ranks swelled by armed if despondent new recruits, the sect is as ready as it could ever be to ride the rails to freedom.
Should the sect take the wounded and the ill among the Jurors with them to the railway station, or leave them behind? Modifiers to fervour and popularity are temporary, lasting to the railway station. Each modifier is a +10/-10.
[] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[] Leave the wounded behind here with the prisoners [+Discipline, -Popularity].
Crime and Punishment
The next step on the road are the criminals and here the sect finds itself unwelcome. It is the command of Pasan Ghadi to sanctify bandits, but destroy banditry: in this way it is understood that individuals may commit crimes, but for righteous reasons; the act of crime itself is forbidden. Those who do crimes for venal and petty reasons are seen as awful filth, creatures who scuttle at the edges of the vision of the good and hope to bring it down. The witch does not choose to be born a witch but is forced into it by nothing more than what the Patriarch proclaims as tainted soul. The criminal, however, chooses by their own will to act in their way, and so it is difficult for the sect to sympathize with these mercenaries who by their hands attack not up but sideways at their fellow man.
Neither do the criminals sympathize with them. They hold to the old rite: their crimes are against the faithful, not the faith, and they think you all a group of heretical cretins who will doom them all. There were efforts early on to remedy this gap, in order to apply the principles of organization and charity, but they were shrugged off and both sides surrendered not to understand the other. So as the sect comes by, though they are armed, the criminals shout and curse.
Some spit; a mother cradling her babe calls the armed women harlots and the armed men robbers before God. It almost comes to blows when one of the former jurors inducted into the mass is recognized by an old and enormous criminal. He makes one combative gesture and the former juror starts to rush towards him with his rifle butt. He is held behind only by the pressure of several members of the sect, who remind him that one of his oaths was to combat the five evils, and to exercise self-discipline against unrighteous anger.
The confrontation comes to a climax near the edge of the penitent village, where a trio of a short man, an old woman, and a tall man accost the sect.
They say to the caravan: You look at us and see nothing more than dirt. You do not say it but you think it every day, and surely pray that we would be replaced by better souls, the easier to include in your witches' coven. And yet here you bring into your number those who smash our noses in and exact every cruelty, and all you have for us is stares and 'righteous' whispers. We have made a life here, such a life as it is, and in your arrogance you seek to bring it down. What will they say when they come here and find you gone and us here? Do you think they will think us pure? We are not pure by the Patriarch's own decree, and we are all easy for them to blame for each and every issue. I sold yamroot without a stamp and Uya stabbed a dishonorable priest and Atoni shot down the local deacon's holy bird who ate his son and yet we are tainted souls. You forget God, and you forget your neighbors, and you forget yourselves. So then go, and go to hell, you Gushan-loving, Mare-riding, boot-kissing shit-for-nothing demon-fists.
Baba Tanda spits back. Rector Qanam chews the inside of his mouth so as not to immediately launch into a denunciatory sermon. Guru Wendam, though, is considerate and thoughtful, and he only sighs, slumping forward on his stolen horse. He looks back to the sect. Should they say nothing to do this, he seems to ask, should they respond, should they rebuke them?
Choose an option among the three. This will be an implicit debate, where the voter's discussion won't be reflected as an in-character debate but the thought process of the whole sect in responding to the penitents left behind. Modifiers to fervour and popularity are temporary, lasting to the railway station. Each modifier is a +10/-10. A ++ means a +20 modifier temporarily.
[] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline].
[] Defend yourselves [+Fervour].
[] Rebuke them [++Fervour].
Formal write-ins of what each option might contain will not be accepted, but players may absolutely write in what they think the option of 'rebuke' or 'defend yourselves' might be and if I like it I will incorporate it into the final option.
Cloud-Mountain
It is said in the holy scripture that Amalgast, when he was first building his rebellion of tillers and toilers against the Gushan Rohirrate that would found God's Kingdom, went through many trials. That he fell before he rose, that he faced every setback and every challenge, and the path to heaven was everywhere lined with the thorns of evil. It is hoped by the sect that these, too, are trials, for none are very happy. The road is bare and empty, and as the village is left behind all thoughts are of the railway station and salvation. But God is not inclined to grant the righteous rest from trouble, and trouble you will find one more time.
This, at last, though is a special, unexpected trouble. As the caravan marches along the road it approaches the ruin that has always loomed above Xococo, a place long abandoned unnamed by the people of the village. It is not abandoned, now, though, and the high hill which it occupies brims not with the frightened refugees you expected but confident, armed men of the village wielding modern arms, not muskets, and there is a sudden panic among the caravan and a shudder through the former jurors as Akov goes stark-white and realizes that what Xococo has been smuggling has not been potatoes, and that this Xococo is not just a story of how a culture dies. Again, the sect curses internally for forgetting one of the maxims of Fadi Burajaq: That reformation is a ship steering in the misty sea of God, and that they neither control the currents nor the routes of other ships they cannot see within the fog.
From the hill there is a screeching heathen flute like none have ever heard and then a rider on the greatest moa all have ever seen, taller than two men at the neck. Bedecked with a headdress of brilliant rainbow parrot and eagle feathers, the rider steers his moa on the hill's flank expertly, sitting back upon its saddle, a fine bolt-action carved with sacral symbols manufactured by the factories of Dvarim cradled in his lap. He wears a death mask of ironwood and jade configured into a frozen roar of outrage, with demon's fangs and brows of plucked yak-hair. His armor is of black ironwood, and he wears a fine and warmly-woven cloak of gold and purple beneath it. Beside him, another rider descends upon a horse, bearing the standard of the rainbow serpent, not seen this far from the mountains in a hundred years. These are not men of the village, but men of old Kutan, and they who were supposed to recede into the mists of oblivion seem here very much alive.
All of the sect makes protective circles on their chests, and a few of the more superstitious tremble and make quaking prayers to protect themselves from evil. The Pasan Ghadi always saw his movement as setting an exemplar to the heathens, but you do not seem seem very impressive compared to this bird-rider.
The death-masked heathen shouts down and proclaims himself as speaker of Shaktu, son of Shilpak, the mummy of Khimu, a fine cloud-mountain, a city, now destroyed. The people of Xococo have been dying a long time, so he will stop them dying and take him under his protection. He has been in the village in deception for many moons, but has been forced to act, and now you have done much of his work for him. For this the speaker of Shaktu is so thankful. And also, that you respect their customs, and you paid respect at the funeral of Kali, who was a good boy. This is why Xococo is leaving: So that the titheman does not take more potatoes and maize, and so that no more little boys will die.
But still, there is a price, for you carry with you juror-men that the death-god Kukay would like to add to his bone-meal. He speaks in a difficult to grasp dialect of Vasp, and it is clear he is still new to it, for sometimes his pronounciations need to be corrected by the standard-bearer.
Wendam responds he will not give the jurors off, especially as he refused to accept those into the mass who had been the great abusers of the garrison. The speaker of Shaktu bobs his head slowly. He explains that he is not here to fight, but to demonstrate. You are not his enemy, but you trod on his land. You call this place Kutan, but it is home of ten thousand mountains: it has been forced into one by your god-kingdom. Very well then, he says with the sign of a smile in his visible eyes, then we shall be one, and we shall see how it works out for the sheep-herder that you call Patriarch. As for this village: Xococo the place will disappear, but a cloud-mountain may shift with the wind, and the true Xococo is not a place but its people. It would be good if this, though, was not assumed.
Wendam understands it now, and explains it to the rest of the sect. The whole native village is evacuating away, out of the bounds and sight of the Patriarchate. And now they need a token of your trust to show that you will not speak of this. They trust you enough, the speaker says, you strange-but-not-so-bad-punch-people, which is apparently the literal translation of Pugilist from his language.
Wendam asks what token the speaker wants, and the speaker clicks his tongue and shrugs. He points out the komandir you surely have in your possession, if he is not already dead, or else some of the imprisoned jurors, if you have any, or else something of dear value. He points to the banner of the Six-Shin-Aluf, and some of the young women gather protectively around it as if terrified that the mere gaze of the heathen at it will put it into his possession. Baba Tanda sighs: there is still much education to be done to break all of the old prejudices.
The sect must decide. To give the speaker no guarantee is an enormous risk, but can be done: you would instead attempt to outline the true righteousness of your cause and vow solidarity. Probably better, though, mutters Wendam sarcastically, would be an actual sacrifice. Surrendering the Komandir would be a bitter pill after the immolation, and surrendering the Juror prisoners, although none have fond thoughts of them, would be another. But to give away the Six-Shin-Aluf...there are ways to grasp it as a sacrifice of such sheer selfless and ascetic piety that it would spoken of for a thousand years, but on the other hand it may be terrible fortune to give away the banner of their victory.
There may be other things the sect might think up of giving away, but in any case, they are given time to stew on their decisions. The speaker says he knows you people are always talking, which is why their nickname for the shepherd's souls are the always-talking people.
Kuti culture appears deeply literal, Wendam remarks with a wry smile, to which the speaker responds blankly, yes.
How should the Sect prove its loyalty to the village of Xococo and the speaker of Shaktu? Modifiers to fervour and popularity are temporary, lasting to the railway station. Each modifier is a +10/-10.
[] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee].
[] Give over the Komandir [Lose the Komandir as a hostage].
[] Inform them of the prisoners [-Popularity].
[] Give away the Six-Shin-Aluf [-Fervour].
[] Write-in [must have some significant cost to justify being a viable option].
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- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
First off, absolutely fantastic update. I really liked the section with the Jurors and their dead culture at the start. You really feel that sense of "this could be a real revolution", like this is an anecdote that would be mentioned in a crisp new academic book. Really well-written.
As for votes, currently I am thinking that I definitely want to Take the wounded on the sect's wagons. Doing popular outreach and demonstrating charity is extremely important to build support for the rise of the Six-Shin-Aluf; the oppressed of Vaspukaran will see the banner of Baba Pasan Ghadi, and they will come to know it as the banner of their savior, with which we will bring about the salvation of the nations. However, after that, I'm not so sure anymore. I'm leaning towards the option to Say nothing and move on to compensate for the loss of discipline, but I don't want to lose Fervour in return for a temporary Discipline loss, and Fervour is absolutely important to our cause, so I'm definitely not married to it. As for the last one, I'm militantly opposed to giving the Six-Shin Aluf, and my entire rationale for taking the Komandir in the first place was to help procure funding, so that would be pointless. Any suggestions?
As for votes, currently I am thinking that I definitely want to Take the wounded on the sect's wagons. Doing popular outreach and demonstrating charity is extremely important to build support for the rise of the Six-Shin-Aluf; the oppressed of Vaspukaran will see the banner of Baba Pasan Ghadi, and they will come to know it as the banner of their savior, with which we will bring about the salvation of the nations. However, after that, I'm not so sure anymore. I'm leaning towards the option to Say nothing and move on to compensate for the loss of discipline, but I don't want to lose Fervour in return for a temporary Discipline loss, and Fervour is absolutely important to our cause, so I'm definitely not married to it. As for the last one, I'm militantly opposed to giving the Six-Shin Aluf, and my entire rationale for taking the Komandir in the first place was to help procure funding, so that would be pointless. Any suggestions?
- Location
- Denmark
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Hmmm, yeah, good point. I think rebuking the prisoners is a good idea.
DocMatoi
Theoretical Lover of Girls
- Location
- within 2 hours of the White House
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
Absolutely. "Briing up the weak and level the strong"- here we have those who are weak, and a way we may bring them up. To leave them behind, even though we now know that the villagers, at least, are no threat to them, is to abandon our duty as thinking, caring people.
As for our defense, are the words of the broken truly worth coming to blows over? they do not stand in our way. they do not oppose us, as the jurors would. They say only- your actions may hurt us in the world that is. They say only- the world that is to come may not suit us. They say only- please go away.
They speak plainly the words of fear, and they are to be forgiven for it.
[x] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline].
As for the mummy-speaker; though he has been good to us, in his way, and his people have been fine hosts, as it were, we have nothing of value we can truly spare. The Komandir is being kept as vouchsafe against a greater future obstacle. The prisoners are dead men walking, when they learn of the immolation- to do anything to them they do not choose would be cruelty.
The six-shin-alufstays on during sex is right out. The very symbol of our holy revolution? It could be given up, yes. But it should not.
We have among our number great orators. Let us preach, then, to this representative of the mountain mummies.
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee].
Absolutely. "Briing up the weak and level the strong"- here we have those who are weak, and a way we may bring them up. To leave them behind, even though we now know that the villagers, at least, are no threat to them, is to abandon our duty as thinking, caring people.
As for our defense, are the words of the broken truly worth coming to blows over? they do not stand in our way. they do not oppose us, as the jurors would. They say only- your actions may hurt us in the world that is. They say only- the world that is to come may not suit us. They say only- please go away.
They speak plainly the words of fear, and they are to be forgiven for it.
[x] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline].
As for the mummy-speaker; though he has been good to us, in his way, and his people have been fine hosts, as it were, we have nothing of value we can truly spare. The Komandir is being kept as vouchsafe against a greater future obstacle. The prisoners are dead men walking, when they learn of the immolation- to do anything to them they do not choose would be cruelty.
The six-shin-aluf
We have among our number great orators. Let us preach, then, to this representative of the mountain mummies.
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee].
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- Location
- Great Khanate of Scotland
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
- Location
- Somewhere over the rainbow
i am going to create a KoGgers emoji just so that i can express how much satisfaction seeing the alert for a new update
i know not when, only that i must
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Rebuke them [++Fervour].
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
i know not when, only that i must
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Rebuke them [++Fervour].
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
Of course, we must bring the wounded, to otherwise would be terribly dishonorable.
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
They are a sad pitiful people. We have no need to fall to their level.
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Perhaps these folk could be useful, they certainly seem capable enough. Perhaps we could earn their trust by sending a small number of our people with them?
(The idea here is that we leave a small group of our sect with the Kuti, to go with them for a time, and maybe learn a bit from the locals while earning their trust.)
Of course, we must bring the wounded, to otherwise would be terribly dishonorable.
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
They are a sad pitiful people. We have no need to fall to their level.
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Perhaps these folk could be useful, they certainly seem capable enough. Perhaps we could earn their trust by sending a small number of our people with them?
(The idea here is that we leave a small group of our sect with the Kuti, to go with them for a time, and maybe learn a bit from the locals while earning their trust.)
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Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
This won't fly; you're not like trained soldiers or an army who can afford to send a dude as an agent. You're all homesick prisoners on a breakout. Nobody wants to follow a heathen, no matter how cool, into the mountains. Many have their children with them.
Fair enough, in that case, I suppose we make a vow, I don't think we can really afford any of the other options.
How outgunned and outclassed are we by the Kuti people if we fail really hard?
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Fairly badly. That being said, they are leaning much more towards not fighting you for both their sake and theirs, but this is a village which has clearly been planning to flee to the mountains for a while and you detonated their plan by doing yours early so they are just as nervous and afraid as you are.
- Location
- Derna
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
We must.
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour].
We forget ourselves? If only, if only. I pray every day that I might forget myself. For they are correct: I judge them on sight. I cannot pretend my disgust is pure - can mine eyes see the colors of other times? Actions that have fallen to the oblivion of the past? Of course not. No. I judge them because of their lowly status and my own prideful nature. Because I believe that I am learned and they are not, that I am free and they are chained. As if I know anything of Truth! I am a fool, lost in the home of my mother.
(I am beset by my own arrogance. I condemn my pride and feel superiority for my self-discipline - an even emptier pride. My apologies.)
They are shockingly correct about my failings while I have no claim to theirs. I shall bear this shame with eagerness - it is a blessing - but I will not allow aspersions on my faith. My heart cries out for Truth and Goodness with such urgency that I fear it may leap from my chest! I am no 'demon-fist'! And they already know the truth. They do not fear us. They fear the injustice of their own shepherds. If we are demons, what words are left for them?
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Frankly, the heathens don't have to worry. Once we've left, not even torture could make my mind dwell on this awful place!
We must.
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour].
We forget ourselves? If only, if only. I pray every day that I might forget myself. For they are correct: I judge them on sight. I cannot pretend my disgust is pure - can mine eyes see the colors of other times? Actions that have fallen to the oblivion of the past? Of course not. No. I judge them because of their lowly status and my own prideful nature. Because I believe that I am learned and they are not, that I am free and they are chained. As if I know anything of Truth! I am a fool, lost in the home of my mother.
(I am beset by my own arrogance. I condemn my pride and feel superiority for my self-discipline - an even emptier pride. My apologies.)
They are shockingly correct about my failings while I have no claim to theirs. I shall bear this shame with eagerness - it is a blessing - but I will not allow aspersions on my faith. My heart cries out for Truth and Goodness with such urgency that I fear it may leap from my chest! I am no 'demon-fist'! And they already know the truth. They do not fear us. They fear the injustice of their own shepherds. If we are demons, what words are left for them?
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Frankly, the heathens don't have to worry. Once we've left, not even torture could make my mind dwell on this awful place!
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Cassiemouse
Market Atheist
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Rebuke them [++Fervour].
[X] Give away the Six-Shin-Aluf [-Fervour].
The Six-Shin-Aluf lives in our hearts, we need not the physical one, maybe?
[X] Rebuke them [++Fervour].
[X] Give away the Six-Shin-Aluf [-Fervour].
The Six-Shin-Aluf lives in our hearts, we need not the physical one, maybe?
- Location
- USA
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
We were freed by the grace of God and by the grace of God we shall be free together. We would commit the vilest of heresies to leave behind a single comrade!
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Our cause is righteous and just. We march under the Six-Shin for a reason - let all know it! Shout it to the heavens, so that God can answer back!
We were freed by the grace of God and by the grace of God we shall be free together. We would commit the vilest of heresies to leave behind a single comrade!
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Our cause is righteous and just. We march under the Six-Shin for a reason - let all know it! Shout it to the heavens, so that God can answer back!
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
- Location
- PA
Punch-people they call us? A part of me wonders about their views on punching...Bah, but that must await the day we meet again, should it occur before we are to wait for the Resurrection. That I feel certain that it will be after the resurrection that we next encounter each other is of no major importance.
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
...That immolation. Perhaps I might have been willing to be harsh had we not seen that but...
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
If you have but only words to fight with, then you are not yet ready to fight the five evils...
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
I am sorry, but the weight of my words will have to be enough. Please do not shift to much, lest they blow away in the winds and return bearing misfortune for us both.
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
...That immolation. Perhaps I might have been willing to be harsh had we not seen that but...
[X] Say nothing and move on. [-Fervour, +Discipline]
If you have but only words to fight with, then you are not yet ready to fight the five evils...
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
I am sorry, but the weight of my words will have to be enough. Please do not shift to much, lest they blow away in the winds and return bearing misfortune for us both.
- Location
- Hollister
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
- Location
- Somewhere in the area
- Pronouns
- He/She/They
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
Regency
PFP by vanathema (previously yubishines)
- Location
- Morioh Town, Mt. Ebbot
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
RNG & Fervour bonuses don't fail us now
[X] Defend yourselves [+Fervour]
[X] Make a verbal vow of righteousness [+Fervour but success is no guarantee]
RNG & Fervour bonuses don't fail us now
[x] Take the wounded on the sect's wagons [-Discipline, +Popularity].
We must strive to be better than those who we oppose and seek to overthrow. Care for our fellow man and woman is but the least of these.
[x] Defend yourselves [+Fervour].
Why do we fight? They speak of the wrongs carried out upon them by an uncaring state, their lashing out against injustice branding them with a life of suffering. This is what we fight to correct. To right these wrongs against our neighbours, that no more should suffer in penury. Here before us stands the very foundation of our cause, the pillars of our movement. They truly are our neighbours, and are reminding us to not forget them, and to not forget God. Even the lowliest beggar is equal to the most princely priest.
[X] (Write-in) Offer up some of our stolen weapons and ammunition, and an oath sworn in our spilt blood [-- to combat rolls].
@Cetashwayo Would something like this be a valid write-in? EDIT: Was allowed with edited clarifications.
Typoes?
inainainaina!
in a?
We must strive to be better than those who we oppose and seek to overthrow. Care for our fellow man and woman is but the least of these.
[x] Defend yourselves [+Fervour].
Why do we fight? They speak of the wrongs carried out upon them by an uncaring state, their lashing out against injustice branding them with a life of suffering. This is what we fight to correct. To right these wrongs against our neighbours, that no more should suffer in penury. Here before us stands the very foundation of our cause, the pillars of our movement. They truly are our neighbours, and are reminding us to not forget them, and to not forget God. Even the lowliest beggar is equal to the most princely priest.
[X] (Write-in) Offer up some of our stolen weapons and ammunition, and an oath sworn in our spilt blood [-- to combat rolls].
@Cetashwayo Would something like this be a valid write-in? EDIT: Was allowed with edited clarifications.
Typoes?
in a?
broken formatting breaking song immersion 😭
This really feels like it should be "instinct"
I'm not sure what this was supposed to be, but seems incorrect.
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