- Location
- boundless optimism
Votes closed. Update after the weekend.
The Bowshot King (A Nomad Quest)
- Thread starter Laplace
- Start date
- Original
Chapter Four: The Court, the Trampling Temple
- Location
- boundless optimism
Atil was informed that the correct procedure for anyone, even a supposed prince of a foreign state, was to throw oneself on the carpet and wriggle like a worm until one reaches the first dias, where it is permitted to look up and address the imperial majesty.
Atil was also predisposed to not doing this. In fact, he voiced his thorough dissatisfaction with this course of action to Jigei Tolma, who agreed perfectly. "What say you," he said, a twinkle in his eyes, the memory of a more mischievous past brought to the present, "we cause a little bit of a scandal?"
He marched forward, ignoring the sussration of whispers, directly at the divine presence, head high. At the first dias, he sank to one knee in a clatter of jewelry that almost sounded like the rattle of armor. A fist slammed into an open palm, held above the heart. "This prince greets the August Thearch, may he live without end!" His voice was like a winter wind. Atil fancied that it shook the lanterns, certainly, the crowd was shook, courtiers recoiling from him until the entire court appeared to be nothing more than a placid lake, with a rock suddenly thrown in the center.
The August Thearch allowed the chaos to continue. Then with a single sentence he quelled it. "Small barbarian," the Thearch said. Atil raced to place characteristics based on the Thearch's words. Yes, he's certainly old, middle aged perhaps. He sounds weak, speaking in this theatrical whisper. Except it would certainly force his supplicants to listen, so maybe it's a purposeful affect? "Why do you contravene My laws?"
"I was raised in cold marshes and bitter plains. I beg of you, majesty, to make allowances for the poverty of my upbringing."
"Are you aware then, small barbarian, that I could have you dragged out and executed, torn to four pieces and scattered to the four directions?"
A bead of sweat dripped down Atil's back. "It is certainly within your power, majesty," he agreed. "Yet to do so isn't a cause for woe, but of celebration. For just as the court will celebrate over the grand festivity of a boy of fifteen summers torn to pieces, my honored father will rejoice that he can once again reave, raid, and burn your western provinces."
It was so silent that Atil fancied that he could hear the flickering of the lanterns, high above him. Was that a rasp of a dagger, drawn from its sheath, or his own imagination? He feared that the court would not even wait for an executioner, and would instead fall on him like a pack of dogs, bludgeoning him with articles of office, strangling him with their belts and chewing on his flesh.
This fear, this evil miasma, was dispelled by the golden laugh of the August Thearch. It was a deep, bell like sound, and the person of the Thearch was utterly consumed by mirth, shoulders heaving, beaded hat clacking together. "You small barbarian," he coughed out between chortles, "you're a glib one, for certain. When I threaten people with death, they usually go pale and throw themselves at my mercy, or they become uncommonly brave and dare me to kill as many of their family as I can find. You, child, are certainly the most uncommon of my supplicants!"
Now, what to say…
"Thank you, your majesty."
"Grand Attendant."
"Here." Behind Atil there crawled a worm. It was insulting to refer to the Grand Attendant of the Mingde Palace as such, but he couldn't help it. The way he wriggled forward brought that animal to mind.
"The Serpi embassy is to be housed to suit their rank. They will have a manor house to themselves, and will be supplied with a stipend according to their dignity." The Thearch reclined against his throne. "Such is the will of heaven," he said, commanding divine will with utmost casualness.
His guard hustled Atil out of the court before he could be bogged down in the interminable demands for his attention. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of him, and while they would have been satisfied to take it as conversation, they probably would have accepted it as a chunk of flesh. In the days to come, many personages would batter down Atil's doors in a very polite manner. Not even posting surly guards who only knew how to say "go away" and "or I'll kill you!" could dissuade all of them, and not even the barbarous but simple expedient of shooting arrows at the messengers could dissuade the boldest.
It was very good exercise, however. Atil would be accompanied by Jigei Tolma or one of the soldiers with a bow, with a seventy pound draw, and spend many happy hours shooting arrows as close as they could to the messengers without killing any. Some of them came in carriages, which made for fine sport-- betting on if one could strike down one of the many dangling, gilded attachments was a lot more fun than trying to land one close to a poor servant's head.
Still, they were only twelve and change men, which was simply not enough to dam the river of requests. Eventually, one slipped through, and Jigei Tolma was persuaded by means of adolescent sulking on Atil's part to allow him contact with the world of the Moth and Flower.
Who Commands the Child's Attention?
[]- The Eunuch: How wonderful it is for you to come to the abode of the world! It would not do, not at all, for such a noble prince to simply exist in obscurity. Why should you simply languish when you can bloom? I, the Grand Attendant, have many friends, Serpi and civilized alike. Please! Visit my manor, make acquaintances. I aim to be a friend of yours, and then my friends will be your friends.
[]- The Historian: I am the grand historian of the court, and it's my life's goal to write a comprehensive history of our world. I find that all sources on the proud Serpi people are nothing more than lies, ill mannered talk, and fabrications. As you are tutored by one of the Serpi's finest poets, I wish for nothing more than to have you put the history of the Serpi in your own words, such that it may be transmitted down to posterity.
[]- The Young Princes: We're a group in the fullness of our youth, and we enjoy nothing more than competing amongst ourselves in feats of wrestling, poetry, and archery. You are the son of the great khan, a prince in your own right. We are also princes, the sons of nobility, so we therefore extend an invitation for you to partake of our company, to enjoy racing fast horses and drinking fine wines.
Atil's life was thus:
Their manor was in the Wild Goose District, nearest the Mingde Palace and overlooking the North Market. Inside its walls there was a garden and a pool, absolutely useless for anything other than decoration, as the soldiers soon discovered when they pastured their horses there. The animals ate the garden down to nothing. He was waited on by a selection of servants, who would always lay out clothes for him, clean his beddings and cook his meals. While he was happy to be liberated from household chores, Atil always took his meals down with the soldiers at the veranda, as setting for a good old round of boasting, song, and ranked poetry recitals. Some nights it was even possible to convince Jigei Tolma to serve as the judge, though it was never worth it. He was classically trained and demanding, and in any case, Atil had to suffer through the old man's classes already, therefore not having much desire to mix pleasure with work.
Not all passers by were unwelcome to the Serpi. A whole range of peoples stopped by the road to gawk at the stoic soldiers posted at the door, from not at all insecure military gentlemen, passers by who materialized for the sole purpose of gawking at interesting things, to a whole species of jokers who thought it grand to bait the soldiers like bears. Atil's favorite were a pair of old gentlemen who set up a table to sit at and drink tea and play various games opposite of the gate. They only endeared themselves more to him when they cheered on the feats of archery and provided running commentary on the fleeing messengers.
The entire affair took on the air of something like a festival, complete with harried constables doing their best to maintain order. However, they were only yamen runners, while the Serpi soldiery were, well, soldiers, and disinclined to follow the law of anything other than Xige Angha Khan, and the messengers were all representatives of great persons and thus disinclined to follow their own law. There was even music-- provided by the course of Atil's training. Each day, after noon, he would be accompanied by Jigei Tolma. While the only thing they would ever sing was the Epic of Angar, Atil was set to a variety of musical and memory exercises. Frightfully difficult musical progressions were teased out of the fiddle and the zither until Atil felt like his fingers were on fire. He was set to recite whole portions of the ninety canto long epic, often between bouts of saber and spear sparring. For the first time in his life he almost hated the sight of a fiddle.
But not for long.
Although he lived in luxury, such that men would and have killed for, Atil felt trapped, like a goose in a cage, fattened for the slaughter. This was not helped by the many rich foods the servants cooked-- dried jujubes in millet soup, rice paired with livers fried in dog fat, and various fruits and sweet bean cakes. After a week, Jigei Tolma resolved to keep the Serpi delegation fit for war by the simple expedient of forcing all to run around the manor in full armor. The fact that Atil was still a youth and the weight of chain and scale weighed him down even more did not elicit an ounce of sympathy. At the very least, the way some of the younger and prettier servants looked at him when he cast down the suit of armor was highly flattering.
His only consolation, as to his penned up, fattened feeling was sitting at the very top of the tower in the manor. There, he could see the entirety of the city, districts and towers and manors cresting like a lake in storm. Beyond that were the dark lilac colored mountains obscuring one horizon, and on the other, an endless ribbon of yellow water, carrying barges of all sorts. Grain, wood, and pleasure.
From this lofty view, he could survey the world. Yet his eye was drawn to one feature in particular, returning to it day after day. It was his fascination.
What is it?
[]- The Lanterns: It's a pit of sin and degeneracy. Everyone says so, from the chatter on the street to the honorable Jigei Tolma! Yet, Atil is drawn to it. He hears that there you can be someone you're not. A penniless wanderer can, if he's got the skills, become a king, a god, creation itself! That has its own appeal to Atil. Also, he's developed a taste for gambling and cheating at gambling in his games with his guards.
[]- The Bellfoundries: Across the city there is a place where every so often the earth shakes and the skies fill with fire. This is where the Moth and Flower construct their fire lances and exploding mines. Atil is a very simple child. He loves nothing more than the sheer destructive power, hellish flames and heavenly lightning issuing out of bronze pots, fuming bamboo bombs, and other miraculous devices.
[]- The Temples: Alright, he has to admit it. Staring at those elegantly imposing pagodas all day has left a mark on Atil. They're very nice. Lovely building scale calligraphy, even though he can't read a word. He admires their serenity, their grace, and how they seem to have the world flow gracefully around them, lead weights on the world. That's a sign of divinity, Atil imagines.
Atil was also predisposed to not doing this. In fact, he voiced his thorough dissatisfaction with this course of action to Jigei Tolma, who agreed perfectly. "What say you," he said, a twinkle in his eyes, the memory of a more mischievous past brought to the present, "we cause a little bit of a scandal?"
He marched forward, ignoring the sussration of whispers, directly at the divine presence, head high. At the first dias, he sank to one knee in a clatter of jewelry that almost sounded like the rattle of armor. A fist slammed into an open palm, held above the heart. "This prince greets the August Thearch, may he live without end!" His voice was like a winter wind. Atil fancied that it shook the lanterns, certainly, the crowd was shook, courtiers recoiling from him until the entire court appeared to be nothing more than a placid lake, with a rock suddenly thrown in the center.
The August Thearch allowed the chaos to continue. Then with a single sentence he quelled it. "Small barbarian," the Thearch said. Atil raced to place characteristics based on the Thearch's words. Yes, he's certainly old, middle aged perhaps. He sounds weak, speaking in this theatrical whisper. Except it would certainly force his supplicants to listen, so maybe it's a purposeful affect? "Why do you contravene My laws?"
"I was raised in cold marshes and bitter plains. I beg of you, majesty, to make allowances for the poverty of my upbringing."
"Are you aware then, small barbarian, that I could have you dragged out and executed, torn to four pieces and scattered to the four directions?"
A bead of sweat dripped down Atil's back. "It is certainly within your power, majesty," he agreed. "Yet to do so isn't a cause for woe, but of celebration. For just as the court will celebrate over the grand festivity of a boy of fifteen summers torn to pieces, my honored father will rejoice that he can once again reave, raid, and burn your western provinces."
It was so silent that Atil fancied that he could hear the flickering of the lanterns, high above him. Was that a rasp of a dagger, drawn from its sheath, or his own imagination? He feared that the court would not even wait for an executioner, and would instead fall on him like a pack of dogs, bludgeoning him with articles of office, strangling him with their belts and chewing on his flesh.
This fear, this evil miasma, was dispelled by the golden laugh of the August Thearch. It was a deep, bell like sound, and the person of the Thearch was utterly consumed by mirth, shoulders heaving, beaded hat clacking together. "You small barbarian," he coughed out between chortles, "you're a glib one, for certain. When I threaten people with death, they usually go pale and throw themselves at my mercy, or they become uncommonly brave and dare me to kill as many of their family as I can find. You, child, are certainly the most uncommon of my supplicants!"
Now, what to say…
"Thank you, your majesty."
"Grand Attendant."
"Here." Behind Atil there crawled a worm. It was insulting to refer to the Grand Attendant of the Mingde Palace as such, but he couldn't help it. The way he wriggled forward brought that animal to mind.
"The Serpi embassy is to be housed to suit their rank. They will have a manor house to themselves, and will be supplied with a stipend according to their dignity." The Thearch reclined against his throne. "Such is the will of heaven," he said, commanding divine will with utmost casualness.
His guard hustled Atil out of the court before he could be bogged down in the interminable demands for his attention. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a piece of him, and while they would have been satisfied to take it as conversation, they probably would have accepted it as a chunk of flesh. In the days to come, many personages would batter down Atil's doors in a very polite manner. Not even posting surly guards who only knew how to say "go away" and "or I'll kill you!" could dissuade all of them, and not even the barbarous but simple expedient of shooting arrows at the messengers could dissuade the boldest.
It was very good exercise, however. Atil would be accompanied by Jigei Tolma or one of the soldiers with a bow, with a seventy pound draw, and spend many happy hours shooting arrows as close as they could to the messengers without killing any. Some of them came in carriages, which made for fine sport-- betting on if one could strike down one of the many dangling, gilded attachments was a lot more fun than trying to land one close to a poor servant's head.
Still, they were only twelve and change men, which was simply not enough to dam the river of requests. Eventually, one slipped through, and Jigei Tolma was persuaded by means of adolescent sulking on Atil's part to allow him contact with the world of the Moth and Flower.
Who Commands the Child's Attention?
[]- The Eunuch: How wonderful it is for you to come to the abode of the world! It would not do, not at all, for such a noble prince to simply exist in obscurity. Why should you simply languish when you can bloom? I, the Grand Attendant, have many friends, Serpi and civilized alike. Please! Visit my manor, make acquaintances. I aim to be a friend of yours, and then my friends will be your friends.
[]- The Historian: I am the grand historian of the court, and it's my life's goal to write a comprehensive history of our world. I find that all sources on the proud Serpi people are nothing more than lies, ill mannered talk, and fabrications. As you are tutored by one of the Serpi's finest poets, I wish for nothing more than to have you put the history of the Serpi in your own words, such that it may be transmitted down to posterity.
[]- The Young Princes: We're a group in the fullness of our youth, and we enjoy nothing more than competing amongst ourselves in feats of wrestling, poetry, and archery. You are the son of the great khan, a prince in your own right. We are also princes, the sons of nobility, so we therefore extend an invitation for you to partake of our company, to enjoy racing fast horses and drinking fine wines.
Atil's life was thus:
Their manor was in the Wild Goose District, nearest the Mingde Palace and overlooking the North Market. Inside its walls there was a garden and a pool, absolutely useless for anything other than decoration, as the soldiers soon discovered when they pastured their horses there. The animals ate the garden down to nothing. He was waited on by a selection of servants, who would always lay out clothes for him, clean his beddings and cook his meals. While he was happy to be liberated from household chores, Atil always took his meals down with the soldiers at the veranda, as setting for a good old round of boasting, song, and ranked poetry recitals. Some nights it was even possible to convince Jigei Tolma to serve as the judge, though it was never worth it. He was classically trained and demanding, and in any case, Atil had to suffer through the old man's classes already, therefore not having much desire to mix pleasure with work.
Not all passers by were unwelcome to the Serpi. A whole range of peoples stopped by the road to gawk at the stoic soldiers posted at the door, from not at all insecure military gentlemen, passers by who materialized for the sole purpose of gawking at interesting things, to a whole species of jokers who thought it grand to bait the soldiers like bears. Atil's favorite were a pair of old gentlemen who set up a table to sit at and drink tea and play various games opposite of the gate. They only endeared themselves more to him when they cheered on the feats of archery and provided running commentary on the fleeing messengers.
The entire affair took on the air of something like a festival, complete with harried constables doing their best to maintain order. However, they were only yamen runners, while the Serpi soldiery were, well, soldiers, and disinclined to follow the law of anything other than Xige Angha Khan, and the messengers were all representatives of great persons and thus disinclined to follow their own law. There was even music-- provided by the course of Atil's training. Each day, after noon, he would be accompanied by Jigei Tolma. While the only thing they would ever sing was the Epic of Angar, Atil was set to a variety of musical and memory exercises. Frightfully difficult musical progressions were teased out of the fiddle and the zither until Atil felt like his fingers were on fire. He was set to recite whole portions of the ninety canto long epic, often between bouts of saber and spear sparring. For the first time in his life he almost hated the sight of a fiddle.
But not for long.
Although he lived in luxury, such that men would and have killed for, Atil felt trapped, like a goose in a cage, fattened for the slaughter. This was not helped by the many rich foods the servants cooked-- dried jujubes in millet soup, rice paired with livers fried in dog fat, and various fruits and sweet bean cakes. After a week, Jigei Tolma resolved to keep the Serpi delegation fit for war by the simple expedient of forcing all to run around the manor in full armor. The fact that Atil was still a youth and the weight of chain and scale weighed him down even more did not elicit an ounce of sympathy. At the very least, the way some of the younger and prettier servants looked at him when he cast down the suit of armor was highly flattering.
His only consolation, as to his penned up, fattened feeling was sitting at the very top of the tower in the manor. There, he could see the entirety of the city, districts and towers and manors cresting like a lake in storm. Beyond that were the dark lilac colored mountains obscuring one horizon, and on the other, an endless ribbon of yellow water, carrying barges of all sorts. Grain, wood, and pleasure.
From this lofty view, he could survey the world. Yet his eye was drawn to one feature in particular, returning to it day after day. It was his fascination.
What is it?
[]- The Lanterns: It's a pit of sin and degeneracy. Everyone says so, from the chatter on the street to the honorable Jigei Tolma! Yet, Atil is drawn to it. He hears that there you can be someone you're not. A penniless wanderer can, if he's got the skills, become a king, a god, creation itself! That has its own appeal to Atil. Also, he's developed a taste for gambling and cheating at gambling in his games with his guards.
[]- The Bellfoundries: Across the city there is a place where every so often the earth shakes and the skies fill with fire. This is where the Moth and Flower construct their fire lances and exploding mines. Atil is a very simple child. He loves nothing more than the sheer destructive power, hellish flames and heavenly lightning issuing out of bronze pots, fuming bamboo bombs, and other miraculous devices.
[]- The Temples: Alright, he has to admit it. Staring at those elegantly imposing pagodas all day has left a mark on Atil. They're very nice. Lovely building scale calligraphy, even though he can't read a word. He admires their serenity, their grace, and how they seem to have the world flow gracefully around them, lead weights on the world. That's a sign of divinity, Atil imagines.
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
[X]- The Historian
[X]- The Temples
The Moth and Flower are woefully mistaken about Serpi culture. If we're to amount to anything in court besides a passing curiosity, changing how people view us via the spread of information is a must. It also helps that Atil is pretty clever and suited for the job.
That aside, Temples are also great! I'm curious about the local's religion and customs, and knowing them will help Atil out a lot when it comes to politics and interacting with the people of the empire.
[X]- The Temples
The Moth and Flower are woefully mistaken about Serpi culture. If we're to amount to anything in court besides a passing curiosity, changing how people view us via the spread of information is a must. It also helps that Atil is pretty clever and suited for the job.
That aside, Temples are also great! I'm curious about the local's religion and customs, and knowing them will help Atil out a lot when it comes to politics and interacting with the people of the empire.
- Location
- USA
[x]- The Young Princes
[x]- The Bellfoundries
[x]- The Bellfoundries
Theaxofwar
Definitely not a Bunny Cat in disguise.
- Location
- Standing right behind you
[x]- The Young Princes
[x]- The Bellfoundries
All that stuffy stuff is no place for a child of the steppes! Let's wrestle and blow stuff up!
[x]- The Bellfoundries
All that stuffy stuff is no place for a child of the steppes! Let's wrestle and blow stuff up!
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- The Historian
[X]- The Temples
[X]- The Temples
Regency
PFP by vanathema (previously yubishines)
- Location
- Morioh Town, Mt. Ebbot
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Just found this quest, definitely following
[X]- The Historian
Synergizing with our abilities as a singer of the Serpi-
[X]- The Temples
-and as as a child of the Sudynn.
Hm, I wonder what IRL states these roughly correspond to - I assume each are a mix. Moth and Flower so far seems...Chinese?
...are these dinosaurs? đź‘€
Ah so it's the dawn of the gunpowder age in this world
Oh, I'm liking this little brother
[X]- The Historian
Synergizing with our abilities as a singer of the Serpi-
[X]- The Temples
-and as as a child of the Sudynn.
THatWhichWillBe
The Squiddly One
- Location
- In The Darkened Deep
[x]- The Young Princes
[x]- The Bellfoundries
We're still a child. Let us live a little.
[x]- The Bellfoundries
We're still a child. Let us live a little.
Deadly Snark
Tryhard As Fuck
[X]- The Eunuch
[X]- The Lanterns
You know exactly what I am doing.
[X]- The Lanterns
You know exactly what I am doing.
- Pronouns
- It/Its
[X]- The Eunuch
[X]- The Lanterns
[X]- The Lanterns
- Location
- boundless optimism
Yeah there's no magic and like one waifu and it's the PC's mother, but check it out: you can have cannons and dinosaurs. Anyway, since we're sitting at five votes for the princes and the historian, I'm flipping a coin, or rolling a 1d2. 1 for princes, 2 for historian. Historian takes it, update out after the weekend.
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Chapter Five: The Hegemon's Dream
- Location
- boundless optimism
In the current era, the Grand Historian was a man named Zhonghang Yue, his courtesy name Ziwen. He was from the only somewhat civilized province of Gong, a great mountain basin that produced the first dynasty to rule over the Moth and Flower, miles of fruit orchards, and the characteristically dour and eccentric peoples of Gong. While the other provinces, back when they were kingdoms, were still riding around in chariots, the kingdom of Gong had learned to shoot arrows from horseback like barbarians. Where the peasants were cultivating the tenth field for their lords, the kingdom of Gong had long replaced it with a yearly tax. When the Moth and Flower needed revenue, the ministers from Gong advocated for state control over the salt and iron industries where everyone else simply told the Thearch to cease extravagant spending.
Zhonghang Yue did not break with this fine tradition. This is exemplified when he hosted the Serpi delegation in his fine manor. This, in itself, was not odd. Many wanted to feast them, showing them off like prize horses and trinkets. However, it was clear that Zhonghang Yue was not interested in rubbing in the fact that he was able to lure the Serpi delegation out of their fortress, but appeared to be genuinely interested in the possibility of a scholarly debate, as if this braided hair barbarian, who was last seen shooting arrows at the servants of the Minister of Works, Chen Bing, could provide a similar level of conversation as an educated, literate gentleman. It was a great laugh.
On that day, Atil went alone, or as alone as he could be. Three soldiers followed him in plainclothes at a discreet distance, although the fact that they were all riding fine horses rather spoiled any attempt at camouflage.
"I am Atil. Your master is expecting me," he told the footman at the gate. The footman-- a fat, buttery ball-- stared at him wide eyed and then vanished. It took a while, in which time Atil idly contemplated the mechanics of sacking Eternal Peace on general principle, before an old man appeared in a flutter of cloth.
For a moment, Atil studied the old man with the focus of a tiger and old man studied Atil with the focus of a tiger. Atil was reminded of no one else than Jigei Tolma. They were both old, they were both lined, and they had the tenacious, stubborn strength of old trees in them. They also had a similar cast, a similar way of looking at the world, as if they were constantly comparing the world as it is to the world as it was described in tradition and finding the real world dreadfully wanting.
Then, as one, they moved, pouncing on each other in the jungle of etiquette and customs. Where the old man brought his hands together, Atil slithered down his horse and grabbed his arm, as in the manner that Serpi soldiers greeted each other.
They remained locked in this absurd struggle of customs. Eventually they disengaged. "Let us call that our greeting," the old man decided, stroking his long beard. "I am Zhonghang Yue, you are Atil. Allow me to congratulate the Xige Angha Khan on such a fine son…"
Atil blinked. "Is that a customary greeting, or heartfelt? I'm a little new, you see, and I have trouble telling these things apart."
"It is most certainly customary," Zhonghang Yue agreed. "Pap that gets chewed up like cud because it's written in all the classics. Frankly, I can't stand it. Now, do you drink tea? I heard you people only drink milk. I would offer wine but are you not a little young?"
"It's too early in the day for wine anyway," Atil told Zhonghang Yue. He liked the old man, just a bit, because he was a little like Jigei Tolma. "If you want to talk, then why don't you show me to your parlor?"
"Certainly."
In those days, and in fact in any time, all gentlemen would be certain to have a pavilion in their manors. Overlooking their gardens, perhaps, with a nice scholar's rock rising out of manicured rivers. The sound of rushing water and whispering leaves would accompany scholarly discussion and drunken debauchery alike. Zhonghang Yue's pavilion was nothing special, an eight sided, roofed platform. The only thing strange was that one of the railings was splinters, opening to a lane ending in some straw dummies, still studded with feathers. "My grandsons," Zhonghang Yue explained. "They all want to join the military."
"You don't seem to approve."
The old man made an ambiguous twitch of the hand, before sitting down at the low table in the center of the pavilion. Atil followed suit. "Why? We have you people to do it for us. Without the Serpi, we wouldn't have an army, and without the Serpi, we wouldn't need an army."
Atil laughed. They drank tea, and talked about small things. Zhonghang Yue confirmed the existence of river dragon snakes. "They come up the canal, every once in a while, about the size of a small barge. The Thearch must hunt them down, him personally at the head of his guard. Then the meat is chopped up and distributed to the poor. What about your dragons?"
"Some clans follow them," Atil told Zhonghang Yue. "The snake necked ones, because the tyrant dragons are too savage. Their shit burns hotter than horses, or they have more of them. That makes the clans following them good smiths but they have to defend their herds against the lions and the tyrants."
They talked like this, from dragons, because every man of any age loves dragons, to horses, because every man of any age also loves fast horses, and sliding past the raids and the wars, because Zhonghang Yue was a gentleman and refuses to talk of such matters, and because Atil was a child, and can only respond to the barrage of questions. In words Atil sketched out the great steppes. The movement from the summer camps to winter camps. The forever ice capped mountains of Lakh. The spring hunt, and romance of the border raider.
In return, Zhonghang Yue spilled tea and with a magician's trick transformed it into the Moth and Flower. Here, he says, is the ports in Nanzou. Pearls are traded here, as are fragrant wood and spices. Follow this river, along the under the pepper trees. In the mountains, the Moth and Flower work stud farms, but never to the quality of Serpi horses. Then, on one of those horses, you can try the northern pass, Stone Cattle, where one of the kings of Gong traded sculptures of oxes for a kingdom. Stone Cattle, then Heaven-Gate Pass, where the traveler can tack north. Here, on rich black soil, wheat and tall conifer trees grow in equal measure. Make a loop, stop by the Polang Sea for the fishes and return once more to Eternal Peace.
Yet as he described the world, Atil realized that, willingly or not, Zhonghang Yue was describing how to conquer the Moth and Flower. Atil closed his eyes. He imagined bands creeping over the mountains and into Gong. Without horses, then there wouldn't be war. Hold it, and then send armies sweeping around the coast of Polang to threaten the capital. Then force the Moths and the Flowers past the rivers, battering them into submission. And then…
There came to Atil a vision of someone, the nameless, prototypical king devoid of all features but a crown. There were two wings sprouting on his shoulders. One overshadowed all the lands of the Serpi, the other overshadowed all the lands of the Moth and Flower.
Why hasn't anyone done it yet?
Could he do it?
"I heard that the first Serpi was the son of one of our sages," Zhonghang Yue said, stirring Atil out of his reverie. He poured another cup for Atil, the scent of jasmines rising with the steam.
"Was he?" Atil asked skeptically.
"Zhu Di died, and the king ordered his sons to follow him in death. His sons disagreed, and moved to wilder areas and forsook the grain. Only after eight generations did they return," Zhonghang Yue quoted. "We take it as assumed that the Serpi, and indeed, all barbarians from the western desert, are descended from that honorable sage."
"Really? How honorable could he be? His sons were ordered to die, but didn't. I was ordered to come here, and I did. That seems like, what's the word, rebellious behavior." Atil frowned. Zhonghang Yue sipped at his tea and redrew some of the rivers on his spilled water map. "And anyway, that doesn't fit. At most, I suppose this Zhu Di could have become a tribe, just a family among many. It smacks of… what's the word?"
"Superiority?"
"Yes, that. I suppose he might have fathered the Nuerci. Maybe that's why they always end up farming, and certainly not because the banks of the Gol River are rich enough to support wheat crops and the forests there spread across thousands of leagues."
"Without this fiction," Zhonghang Yue pointed out, "we would never have had the justification to hire you barbarians. We would be locked in a certain war. I think it's better this way. In any case, it's written down, so it has to be the truth."
Atil hooted. "What a silly view," he cried, "hardly any guarantee! It's a pack of lies. If I wrote down on a standing stone that all Moth and Flower peoples were born from river worms, does that make it true?"
Zhonghang Yue frowned. "Do you write?" He asked. "I've only come across mentions of the Serpi people using notched sticks to keep track of their wealth."
"Not that much," Atil admitted, still taken back at the speed the conversation shifted. "Some of our old kaghans and khans write their deeds on standing stones, but it's a boasting language, and not many pay attention to that."
"But your Anggar's poem is ninety cantos long!"
"Yes, but we can just memorize it, can't we? Jigei Tolma has all ninety, I have thirty. It's not hard. It makes you have a good memory."
"Consider this," Zhonghang Yue put to Atil, "your story, your glory, relies on fallible human memory. I have no doubt that you will remember the epic of Anggar, and your own deeds put to verse, but think on this! Once you are gone, who will be there to remember? Your family? Clans die, they go extinct and kaput! The only ones that are remembered are the real noteworthies. After all, you've only got the one Anggar.
"While you are going around, singing songs and reciting poems, our lying pens are painting a more savage picture of you. We will call you man eaters, savages, while we lie, safe from you behind your own brother's bows! How does that make you feel, I wonder?"
Atil yawned. "The hell should we care what you people think? You obviously hate us like poison, yet the tributes of silk, gold, grain and tea still flow to the steppe and any man with a raiding party can rise to become a general. My dear uncle, you hating us hasn't stopped you from making us rich."
Zhonghang Yue could do nothing but laugh. "Very eloquently put! But allow me to… actually, follow me, I have something to show you." He stood up and leapt off of the pavilion. Atil drank the last of the tea in his cup and then the last of the tea in Zhonghang Yue's cup as well before following.
He lead Atil to what was most likely a reading room, but what did an illiterate know about that? All Atil knew was that it was full of scrolls and on the wall facing the door there was a hanging. On that hanging was a view into another place, perhaps another time.
Atil knew he was standing on a boat, not inside a house. He was not looking at ink and paper, he was looking at mountains, carpeted with trees swaying in the breeze, he was looking at an entire city, spilled over the mountainside like gravel on the road. Slowly, the sound of the wood floors creaking was transmuted into the sound of a wooden boat creaking in the river waves. Creeping in like a welcome guest was the sound of the city, urbanity. Thousands of people, shitting and shouting, laughing and leering.
"Across the river toss'd waves," Atil said quite spontaneously, "the orioles sing in small cages, o'er…" He frowned. Several stanzas suggested themselves to him, but all of them seemed dreadfully pedestrian.
"A Serpi poem?"
"Well, yes. I am Serpi, and it might be my poem, if I could figure it out. What are those words for?" Atil pointed at the painting. He might have touched it, but Zhonghang Yue slapped it away with a stick before he could. "It's ruined the painting," he complained, "the clouds were perfectly fine."
"You could send it to me. Your poem, when you finish it," Zhonghang Yue suggested, pulling out two stools. He sat on one, Atil sat in another. "That's a poem. The painter composed it as he was putting ink to paper. It's a common practice. Here, let me read it for you." The old man cleared his throat and straightened. "Thirty leagues from Wuliang, the river enters the mountain passes, to enjoy a thousand mile sight, and climb another street."
Zhonghang Yue waited for Atil to draw a conclusion. While he waited, he talked about the art and practice of poetry. "It's written in the court style. Everywhere, from wild Gong to wilder Liao, follows the standard. I find it a little restrictive, but I think restrictions are what really builds art. Everyone's got their own provincial styles, but if they want to become officials, well, the exam proctors always take better to this style…"
What does Atil conclude?
[]- It's a thing of beauty. It would move him to tears, and it has moved him to tears. In its sheer elegance, it will outdo anything Atil will ever compose, with his current skills. The solution, therefore, is obvious. He will simply learn all that he can, and move on. After that, when he comes to his patrimony, his court will outshine even Eternal Peace.
[]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
Zhonghang Yue did not break with this fine tradition. This is exemplified when he hosted the Serpi delegation in his fine manor. This, in itself, was not odd. Many wanted to feast them, showing them off like prize horses and trinkets. However, it was clear that Zhonghang Yue was not interested in rubbing in the fact that he was able to lure the Serpi delegation out of their fortress, but appeared to be genuinely interested in the possibility of a scholarly debate, as if this braided hair barbarian, who was last seen shooting arrows at the servants of the Minister of Works, Chen Bing, could provide a similar level of conversation as an educated, literate gentleman. It was a great laugh.
On that day, Atil went alone, or as alone as he could be. Three soldiers followed him in plainclothes at a discreet distance, although the fact that they were all riding fine horses rather spoiled any attempt at camouflage.
"I am Atil. Your master is expecting me," he told the footman at the gate. The footman-- a fat, buttery ball-- stared at him wide eyed and then vanished. It took a while, in which time Atil idly contemplated the mechanics of sacking Eternal Peace on general principle, before an old man appeared in a flutter of cloth.
For a moment, Atil studied the old man with the focus of a tiger and old man studied Atil with the focus of a tiger. Atil was reminded of no one else than Jigei Tolma. They were both old, they were both lined, and they had the tenacious, stubborn strength of old trees in them. They also had a similar cast, a similar way of looking at the world, as if they were constantly comparing the world as it is to the world as it was described in tradition and finding the real world dreadfully wanting.
Then, as one, they moved, pouncing on each other in the jungle of etiquette and customs. Where the old man brought his hands together, Atil slithered down his horse and grabbed his arm, as in the manner that Serpi soldiers greeted each other.
They remained locked in this absurd struggle of customs. Eventually they disengaged. "Let us call that our greeting," the old man decided, stroking his long beard. "I am Zhonghang Yue, you are Atil. Allow me to congratulate the Xige Angha Khan on such a fine son…"
Atil blinked. "Is that a customary greeting, or heartfelt? I'm a little new, you see, and I have trouble telling these things apart."
"It is most certainly customary," Zhonghang Yue agreed. "Pap that gets chewed up like cud because it's written in all the classics. Frankly, I can't stand it. Now, do you drink tea? I heard you people only drink milk. I would offer wine but are you not a little young?"
"It's too early in the day for wine anyway," Atil told Zhonghang Yue. He liked the old man, just a bit, because he was a little like Jigei Tolma. "If you want to talk, then why don't you show me to your parlor?"
"Certainly."
In those days, and in fact in any time, all gentlemen would be certain to have a pavilion in their manors. Overlooking their gardens, perhaps, with a nice scholar's rock rising out of manicured rivers. The sound of rushing water and whispering leaves would accompany scholarly discussion and drunken debauchery alike. Zhonghang Yue's pavilion was nothing special, an eight sided, roofed platform. The only thing strange was that one of the railings was splinters, opening to a lane ending in some straw dummies, still studded with feathers. "My grandsons," Zhonghang Yue explained. "They all want to join the military."
"You don't seem to approve."
The old man made an ambiguous twitch of the hand, before sitting down at the low table in the center of the pavilion. Atil followed suit. "Why? We have you people to do it for us. Without the Serpi, we wouldn't have an army, and without the Serpi, we wouldn't need an army."
Atil laughed. They drank tea, and talked about small things. Zhonghang Yue confirmed the existence of river dragon snakes. "They come up the canal, every once in a while, about the size of a small barge. The Thearch must hunt them down, him personally at the head of his guard. Then the meat is chopped up and distributed to the poor. What about your dragons?"
"Some clans follow them," Atil told Zhonghang Yue. "The snake necked ones, because the tyrant dragons are too savage. Their shit burns hotter than horses, or they have more of them. That makes the clans following them good smiths but they have to defend their herds against the lions and the tyrants."
They talked like this, from dragons, because every man of any age loves dragons, to horses, because every man of any age also loves fast horses, and sliding past the raids and the wars, because Zhonghang Yue was a gentleman and refuses to talk of such matters, and because Atil was a child, and can only respond to the barrage of questions. In words Atil sketched out the great steppes. The movement from the summer camps to winter camps. The forever ice capped mountains of Lakh. The spring hunt, and romance of the border raider.
In return, Zhonghang Yue spilled tea and with a magician's trick transformed it into the Moth and Flower. Here, he says, is the ports in Nanzou. Pearls are traded here, as are fragrant wood and spices. Follow this river, along the under the pepper trees. In the mountains, the Moth and Flower work stud farms, but never to the quality of Serpi horses. Then, on one of those horses, you can try the northern pass, Stone Cattle, where one of the kings of Gong traded sculptures of oxes for a kingdom. Stone Cattle, then Heaven-Gate Pass, where the traveler can tack north. Here, on rich black soil, wheat and tall conifer trees grow in equal measure. Make a loop, stop by the Polang Sea for the fishes and return once more to Eternal Peace.
Yet as he described the world, Atil realized that, willingly or not, Zhonghang Yue was describing how to conquer the Moth and Flower. Atil closed his eyes. He imagined bands creeping over the mountains and into Gong. Without horses, then there wouldn't be war. Hold it, and then send armies sweeping around the coast of Polang to threaten the capital. Then force the Moths and the Flowers past the rivers, battering them into submission. And then…
There came to Atil a vision of someone, the nameless, prototypical king devoid of all features but a crown. There were two wings sprouting on his shoulders. One overshadowed all the lands of the Serpi, the other overshadowed all the lands of the Moth and Flower.
Why hasn't anyone done it yet?
Could he do it?
"I heard that the first Serpi was the son of one of our sages," Zhonghang Yue said, stirring Atil out of his reverie. He poured another cup for Atil, the scent of jasmines rising with the steam.
"Was he?" Atil asked skeptically.
"Zhu Di died, and the king ordered his sons to follow him in death. His sons disagreed, and moved to wilder areas and forsook the grain. Only after eight generations did they return," Zhonghang Yue quoted. "We take it as assumed that the Serpi, and indeed, all barbarians from the western desert, are descended from that honorable sage."
"Really? How honorable could he be? His sons were ordered to die, but didn't. I was ordered to come here, and I did. That seems like, what's the word, rebellious behavior." Atil frowned. Zhonghang Yue sipped at his tea and redrew some of the rivers on his spilled water map. "And anyway, that doesn't fit. At most, I suppose this Zhu Di could have become a tribe, just a family among many. It smacks of… what's the word?"
"Superiority?"
"Yes, that. I suppose he might have fathered the Nuerci. Maybe that's why they always end up farming, and certainly not because the banks of the Gol River are rich enough to support wheat crops and the forests there spread across thousands of leagues."
"Without this fiction," Zhonghang Yue pointed out, "we would never have had the justification to hire you barbarians. We would be locked in a certain war. I think it's better this way. In any case, it's written down, so it has to be the truth."
Atil hooted. "What a silly view," he cried, "hardly any guarantee! It's a pack of lies. If I wrote down on a standing stone that all Moth and Flower peoples were born from river worms, does that make it true?"
Zhonghang Yue frowned. "Do you write?" He asked. "I've only come across mentions of the Serpi people using notched sticks to keep track of their wealth."
"Not that much," Atil admitted, still taken back at the speed the conversation shifted. "Some of our old kaghans and khans write their deeds on standing stones, but it's a boasting language, and not many pay attention to that."
"But your Anggar's poem is ninety cantos long!"
"Yes, but we can just memorize it, can't we? Jigei Tolma has all ninety, I have thirty. It's not hard. It makes you have a good memory."
"Consider this," Zhonghang Yue put to Atil, "your story, your glory, relies on fallible human memory. I have no doubt that you will remember the epic of Anggar, and your own deeds put to verse, but think on this! Once you are gone, who will be there to remember? Your family? Clans die, they go extinct and kaput! The only ones that are remembered are the real noteworthies. After all, you've only got the one Anggar.
"While you are going around, singing songs and reciting poems, our lying pens are painting a more savage picture of you. We will call you man eaters, savages, while we lie, safe from you behind your own brother's bows! How does that make you feel, I wonder?"
Atil yawned. "The hell should we care what you people think? You obviously hate us like poison, yet the tributes of silk, gold, grain and tea still flow to the steppe and any man with a raiding party can rise to become a general. My dear uncle, you hating us hasn't stopped you from making us rich."
Zhonghang Yue could do nothing but laugh. "Very eloquently put! But allow me to… actually, follow me, I have something to show you." He stood up and leapt off of the pavilion. Atil drank the last of the tea in his cup and then the last of the tea in Zhonghang Yue's cup as well before following.
He lead Atil to what was most likely a reading room, but what did an illiterate know about that? All Atil knew was that it was full of scrolls and on the wall facing the door there was a hanging. On that hanging was a view into another place, perhaps another time.
Atil knew he was standing on a boat, not inside a house. He was not looking at ink and paper, he was looking at mountains, carpeted with trees swaying in the breeze, he was looking at an entire city, spilled over the mountainside like gravel on the road. Slowly, the sound of the wood floors creaking was transmuted into the sound of a wooden boat creaking in the river waves. Creeping in like a welcome guest was the sound of the city, urbanity. Thousands of people, shitting and shouting, laughing and leering.
"Across the river toss'd waves," Atil said quite spontaneously, "the orioles sing in small cages, o'er…" He frowned. Several stanzas suggested themselves to him, but all of them seemed dreadfully pedestrian.
"A Serpi poem?"
"Well, yes. I am Serpi, and it might be my poem, if I could figure it out. What are those words for?" Atil pointed at the painting. He might have touched it, but Zhonghang Yue slapped it away with a stick before he could. "It's ruined the painting," he complained, "the clouds were perfectly fine."
"You could send it to me. Your poem, when you finish it," Zhonghang Yue suggested, pulling out two stools. He sat on one, Atil sat in another. "That's a poem. The painter composed it as he was putting ink to paper. It's a common practice. Here, let me read it for you." The old man cleared his throat and straightened. "Thirty leagues from Wuliang, the river enters the mountain passes, to enjoy a thousand mile sight, and climb another street."
Zhonghang Yue waited for Atil to draw a conclusion. While he waited, he talked about the art and practice of poetry. "It's written in the court style. Everywhere, from wild Gong to wilder Liao, follows the standard. I find it a little restrictive, but I think restrictions are what really builds art. Everyone's got their own provincial styles, but if they want to become officials, well, the exam proctors always take better to this style…"
What does Atil conclude?
[]- It's a thing of beauty. It would move him to tears, and it has moved him to tears. In its sheer elegance, it will outdo anything Atil will ever compose, with his current skills. The solution, therefore, is obvious. He will simply learn all that he can, and move on. After that, when he comes to his patrimony, his court will outshine even Eternal Peace.
[]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
Theaxofwar
Definitely not a Bunny Cat in disguise.
- Location
- Standing right behind you
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
LucidProp
Pocky Eating MafiaDoka
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
- Location
- New York
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- It's a thing of beauty. It would move him to tears, and it has moved him to tears. In its sheer elegance, it will outdo anything Atil will ever compose, with his current skills. The solution, therefore, is obvious. He will simply learn all that he can, and move on. After that, when he comes to his patrimony, his court will outshine even Eternal Peace.
- Location
- USA
[x]- It's a crown writ in words.
Regency
PFP by vanathema (previously yubishines)
- Location
- Morioh Town, Mt. Ebbot
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Seriously underrated quest.
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
Tentatively voting this for now
Edit: altered the vote a bit to the full paragraph
Khan of All Khans moment
Huh, plesiosaurs?
Ayo T-Rex! I assume the lions are more a threat to younger dragon-elephants (sauropods)?
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
Tentatively voting this for now
Edit: altered the vote a bit to the full paragraph
Last edited:
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.
Invadingcat478
Certified Homophone
- Location
- Nekoneko town
[X]- It's a crown writ in words. Today, when Atil returns to his estate-prison, he will tell Jigei Tolma, sir, I have heard the most wonderful piece of information. Your student knows where to start to conquer the world. First, we must conquer the Serpi, and to do that, we need words so people can say the things I want them to think. After that, everything else will be easy.