- Location
- Somewhere.
This poor shepherd. Thrust into a world so far beyond his knowing. ...Why, though? Or, more importantly, how?
Twenty Seven Light Years To Heaven
- Thread starter Laplace
- Start date
- Original
-
- Tags
- god transcending humanity
The Trail It Left Scarred The Skies
- Location
- boundless optimism
Circles of bronze and glass twirled high above Junior Minister Abel Iota-6. He was in the observatory, higher than most mountains on this backwards dustball, clamped midway up the tower-stalk that reached into high orbit. A thin slice of sky was shown by the split dome roof, specks of starlight that sunk into the bleeding light of a fading sun. There were ministers- if they could deserve the title, for most were computers that were only important for their skill at abaci and scribes that were at the very least, literate and knew which levers on the augur to spin.
A mundane augur would be lucky to catch the Milshupa Constellation at dusk. This augury could see a shadow on the sun. But just looking wouldn't ferret out an exhuman deep-space swarm. They were skilled in hiding from those kinds of investigation- they could simply burrow themselves in asteroids and send them on collision courses, build their shells out of some transparent material, or hide in cloaks of distorted space. There was no instructor at the Tower Ministry that downplayed the baryonic might of exhumans.
But rarely did an exhuman have a response to a haruspex. It was good practice- the haruspex, Vo Senti, was certified by the Ministry of Words and not the sort of backwoods cut and slasher that were as much huckster as soothsayer.
Abel watched with vague interest as Vo Senti pinned the specially bred yoto-bird by its long neck to the marble slab at the center of the room, and slit its belly with a silver knife. With practiced motions and not a hint of disgust on her face, she plucked out the entrails and raised it a certain height, then dropped it with a wet splat, organs flying in directions that she would interpret.
"Well, Vo Senti?" Abel asked from his seat.
She wiped the blood off her hands, after poking and prodding at the bloody pile. "The entrails suggest that the exhumans will be approaching from Yr-Shalem's south." Vo Senti was as clinical as a physician suggesting that the tumor was terminal and the only thing to follow was a slow and gruesome death. Some natives swore she was a witch, that she ate children. And you know what? Abel couldn't blame them- there was something unsettling about Vo Senti, from her too thin physique and always closed eyes that conjured fears from one's lizard hindbrains. "The eight planet from the sun was where they attacked Bal Shuhalla, and by now they have reached the orbit of the sixth."
Abel sighed. "Give me a lock on the sixth planet," he told the scribes. This system was so backwards that outside of Nerga there wasn't even a name for the other planets. The tribals hadn't even figured out what to name half the stars.
The lenses aligned. The viewing lens, as long as he was thrice tall, was filled with a red gas giant- not as large as some. There were specks of blackness faintly visible across the surface. "Magnify and enhance," Abel ordered. It could just be an asteroid swarm, true. But as long there was even a faintest chance, Abel would refuse to simply skip it over. He had a good thing going on here on Id-Elam. The rubes treated him with nearly the same respect of Bal Shuhalla, even though it might just be borrowed glory, and he did not wish to give up such a position to the maws of exhumans.
Speaking of Bals, Bal Nuesh had better learn how to act the part of one. Abel frowned. Bal Nuesh was humble- too humble, and humble men did not don the crowns of the sacred word and pilot golems. Perhaps, Abel mused idly as the scribes hurried to and fro, slowly enhancing the image on the lens, Emets Nuesh was hiding an iron will like a crocodile in the reeds. Or perhaps Emets Nuesh was the voice of god, he thought with a small chuckle, and above the base need of lordship. Best not look a gift horse in the mouth. If he could mould Emets Nuesh, cloak him with glory, perhaps he could return to Yr-Shalem and shuck his Junior grade like so much unneeded skin.
He was stirred out of his reverie when Vo Senti stood up and said, "Those are exhumans." Soft gasps rose through the room. Abel found himself standing with her. Spiny, alien, and twisted, the exhuman craft numbered seven larger crafts that could be anything from troopwombs to titan-craft. Flanking them were smaller fly-like things- attack craft. To tie the skies up and menace anyone who stepped out of hiding.
Some computer completed their calculations. "We have a year, Vizer Abel," they said. "But we can't account for all of them- they could have spies and agents seeded on Narga already-"
"Alert Bal Nuesh at once," he ordered grandly, cutting that line of thought out. For an exhuman horde, this one was surprisingly mundane. Then again, those beasts loved trickery. "He must see the face of our foe."
When the messenger returned, they informed Abel that Bal Nuesh was missing from his rooms, that under the windows were melting handholds of ice. The erstwhile Bal had scaled the walls and gone walkabout.
React
[X]- Overtly. Order patrols, flip Id-Elam upside down to find Bal Nuesh. He cannot just leave! Letting him die to an exhuman assassin and having the Key be stolen would be disastrous.
[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
The city was crying. Mourners in white shifts wailed in the streets. Men and women in wine shops sat ashen faced over their cups. On the walls were strewn with banners of Bal Shuhalla's sigil, a north star above a globe. The potter was not at the wheel, nor the butcher at the abattoir, and neither the scribe at the pen. At least, Nuesh thought, the wine and beer sellers were making brisk business. And the flower-sellers too, garlands and streams of mourning lilies cascaded from every window, swaying with the dusk breeze.
The outer ring was far more noisy than the inner ring. Perhaps the nobility were saving their tears for the funeral proper.
How was he going to bring his body back to Yr-Shalem? And where would Nuesh start? Perhaps he could ask Abel for a genealogy. Thoughts flitted through his brain, blending together into a vague sense of unease.
Nuesh slipped between people lying insensate on the street. He found a quiet alley away from all the noise and sat on a loose brick, head on his hands. He was comfortable here, with all the mourner's wails faded into the background noise.
Maybe he should go back. Eventually, Nuesh told himself. Eventually. But for now, sitting here and not in that palace where he felt like he was trespassing was good. At some point, he noticed that someone was blocking the moonlight. He looked up.
"Share a brick?" she smiled, moon shining past her hair. She was wearing a plain white shift, the garb of one with enough money to regularly wash their clothes.
Nuesh shrugged, waving a hand across all the other piles. "Feel free. They are not my bricks, after all."
She laughed, sitting across from you in the alleyway. Her eyes shone like glinting glass in the moonlight, staring at you like a cat stares at a particularly concerning small animal. "It's strange, you know," she suddenly said without preamble. "That there's this giant mess about mourning and whatnot when I know half of them in Id-Elam passes their days complaining about Bal Shuhalla and his taxes."
Nuesh shrunk into himself. He wasn't Bal Shuhalla, true, but it still stung. "Why are you telling me this?"
She was about his age. Perhaps older. "I don't know," she said as she ran a hand through her hair. "I just wanted to get it off my chest, I suppose. Everyone's mourning like the sun died and you were the only one I've seen that's not crying so far."
"It's custom. Don't you know? Whenever somebody dies, that's what you do. And Bal Shuhalla did do good by us, no matter how angry you might be at the taxman." Mashda had often idly grumbled with the other men about digging shallow graves for the taxman, who often came wearing armor and surrounded by mercenaries. "How don't you know this?"
There was a gap in the conversation, where she blinked at Nuesh across the alley. Nuesh was reminded of cats once again, black and tawny, fat and sleek, staring at him with reflective eyes across the yard. "I came from Hastet," she eventually said. "With Bal Shuhalla as a… potter. A simplification, I suppose, but a fitting one. Say, what is your name?"
Say…
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
[X]- Ilsim. Your mother's brother's cousin's third son's name. Adopt it so that she does not make a big fuss about Nuesh who carried Bal Shuhalla's corpse into Id-Elam.
A mundane augur would be lucky to catch the Milshupa Constellation at dusk. This augury could see a shadow on the sun. But just looking wouldn't ferret out an exhuman deep-space swarm. They were skilled in hiding from those kinds of investigation- they could simply burrow themselves in asteroids and send them on collision courses, build their shells out of some transparent material, or hide in cloaks of distorted space. There was no instructor at the Tower Ministry that downplayed the baryonic might of exhumans.
But rarely did an exhuman have a response to a haruspex. It was good practice- the haruspex, Vo Senti, was certified by the Ministry of Words and not the sort of backwoods cut and slasher that were as much huckster as soothsayer.
Abel watched with vague interest as Vo Senti pinned the specially bred yoto-bird by its long neck to the marble slab at the center of the room, and slit its belly with a silver knife. With practiced motions and not a hint of disgust on her face, she plucked out the entrails and raised it a certain height, then dropped it with a wet splat, organs flying in directions that she would interpret.
"Well, Vo Senti?" Abel asked from his seat.
She wiped the blood off her hands, after poking and prodding at the bloody pile. "The entrails suggest that the exhumans will be approaching from Yr-Shalem's south." Vo Senti was as clinical as a physician suggesting that the tumor was terminal and the only thing to follow was a slow and gruesome death. Some natives swore she was a witch, that she ate children. And you know what? Abel couldn't blame them- there was something unsettling about Vo Senti, from her too thin physique and always closed eyes that conjured fears from one's lizard hindbrains. "The eight planet from the sun was where they attacked Bal Shuhalla, and by now they have reached the orbit of the sixth."
Abel sighed. "Give me a lock on the sixth planet," he told the scribes. This system was so backwards that outside of Nerga there wasn't even a name for the other planets. The tribals hadn't even figured out what to name half the stars.
The lenses aligned. The viewing lens, as long as he was thrice tall, was filled with a red gas giant- not as large as some. There were specks of blackness faintly visible across the surface. "Magnify and enhance," Abel ordered. It could just be an asteroid swarm, true. But as long there was even a faintest chance, Abel would refuse to simply skip it over. He had a good thing going on here on Id-Elam. The rubes treated him with nearly the same respect of Bal Shuhalla, even though it might just be borrowed glory, and he did not wish to give up such a position to the maws of exhumans.
Speaking of Bals, Bal Nuesh had better learn how to act the part of one. Abel frowned. Bal Nuesh was humble- too humble, and humble men did not don the crowns of the sacred word and pilot golems. Perhaps, Abel mused idly as the scribes hurried to and fro, slowly enhancing the image on the lens, Emets Nuesh was hiding an iron will like a crocodile in the reeds. Or perhaps Emets Nuesh was the voice of god, he thought with a small chuckle, and above the base need of lordship. Best not look a gift horse in the mouth. If he could mould Emets Nuesh, cloak him with glory, perhaps he could return to Yr-Shalem and shuck his Junior grade like so much unneeded skin.
He was stirred out of his reverie when Vo Senti stood up and said, "Those are exhumans." Soft gasps rose through the room. Abel found himself standing with her. Spiny, alien, and twisted, the exhuman craft numbered seven larger crafts that could be anything from troopwombs to titan-craft. Flanking them were smaller fly-like things- attack craft. To tie the skies up and menace anyone who stepped out of hiding.
Some computer completed their calculations. "We have a year, Vizer Abel," they said. "But we can't account for all of them- they could have spies and agents seeded on Narga already-"
"Alert Bal Nuesh at once," he ordered grandly, cutting that line of thought out. For an exhuman horde, this one was surprisingly mundane. Then again, those beasts loved trickery. "He must see the face of our foe."
When the messenger returned, they informed Abel that Bal Nuesh was missing from his rooms, that under the windows were melting handholds of ice. The erstwhile Bal had scaled the walls and gone walkabout.
React
[X]- Overtly. Order patrols, flip Id-Elam upside down to find Bal Nuesh. He cannot just leave! Letting him die to an exhuman assassin and having the Key be stolen would be disastrous.
[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
The city was crying. Mourners in white shifts wailed in the streets. Men and women in wine shops sat ashen faced over their cups. On the walls were strewn with banners of Bal Shuhalla's sigil, a north star above a globe. The potter was not at the wheel, nor the butcher at the abattoir, and neither the scribe at the pen. At least, Nuesh thought, the wine and beer sellers were making brisk business. And the flower-sellers too, garlands and streams of mourning lilies cascaded from every window, swaying with the dusk breeze.
The outer ring was far more noisy than the inner ring. Perhaps the nobility were saving their tears for the funeral proper.
How was he going to bring his body back to Yr-Shalem? And where would Nuesh start? Perhaps he could ask Abel for a genealogy. Thoughts flitted through his brain, blending together into a vague sense of unease.
Nuesh slipped between people lying insensate on the street. He found a quiet alley away from all the noise and sat on a loose brick, head on his hands. He was comfortable here, with all the mourner's wails faded into the background noise.
Maybe he should go back. Eventually, Nuesh told himself. Eventually. But for now, sitting here and not in that palace where he felt like he was trespassing was good. At some point, he noticed that someone was blocking the moonlight. He looked up.
"Share a brick?" she smiled, moon shining past her hair. She was wearing a plain white shift, the garb of one with enough money to regularly wash their clothes.
Nuesh shrugged, waving a hand across all the other piles. "Feel free. They are not my bricks, after all."
She laughed, sitting across from you in the alleyway. Her eyes shone like glinting glass in the moonlight, staring at you like a cat stares at a particularly concerning small animal. "It's strange, you know," she suddenly said without preamble. "That there's this giant mess about mourning and whatnot when I know half of them in Id-Elam passes their days complaining about Bal Shuhalla and his taxes."
Nuesh shrunk into himself. He wasn't Bal Shuhalla, true, but it still stung. "Why are you telling me this?"
She was about his age. Perhaps older. "I don't know," she said as she ran a hand through her hair. "I just wanted to get it off my chest, I suppose. Everyone's mourning like the sun died and you were the only one I've seen that's not crying so far."
"It's custom. Don't you know? Whenever somebody dies, that's what you do. And Bal Shuhalla did do good by us, no matter how angry you might be at the taxman." Mashda had often idly grumbled with the other men about digging shallow graves for the taxman, who often came wearing armor and surrounded by mercenaries. "How don't you know this?"
There was a gap in the conversation, where she blinked at Nuesh across the alley. Nuesh was reminded of cats once again, black and tawny, fat and sleek, staring at him with reflective eyes across the yard. "I came from Hastet," she eventually said. "With Bal Shuhalla as a… potter. A simplification, I suppose, but a fitting one. Say, what is your name?"
Say…
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
[X]- Ilsim. Your mother's brother's cousin's third son's name. Adopt it so that she does not make a big fuss about Nuesh who carried Bal Shuhalla's corpse into Id-Elam.
THatWhichWillBe
The Squiddly One
- Location
- In The Darkened Deep
[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
Man, we're really channeling Shinji out here.
Here's hoping we get an Asuka or a Misato or something rather than just a Gendo though
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
Man, we're really channeling Shinji out here.
Here's hoping we get an Asuka or a Misato or something rather than just a Gendo though
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[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
- Location
- Somewhere.
[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
...inb4 assassins
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
...inb4 assassins
- Location
- Sweden
[X]- Covertly. In the eve of Bal Shuhalla's death, a sudden tumult would raise questions. Questions that lead to fear. Fear that could lead to riot.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
Eventua
Just Me
[X]- Overtly. Order patrols, flip Id-Elam upside down to find Bal Nuesh. He cannot just leave! Letting him die to an exhuman assassin and having the Key be stolen would be disastrous.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
It feels a little too obvious that this lady is going to be an exhuman assassin, what with the earlier aforementioned, uh, assassins.
[X]- Nuesh. It's your name, a common one, and you see no reason why you should lie. Even if she connects this Nuesh with the other one, perhaps you can smooth it over.
It feels a little too obvious that this lady is going to be an exhuman assassin, what with the earlier aforementioned, uh, assassins.
The Moon Slip Skin
- Location
- boundless optimism
"I"m Nuesh," he said, keeping an eye on her. "And your's?"
"Eabani," she replied, seemingly mulling something over. "Nuesh, Nuesh, Nuesh. Hey, wasn't the fellow who brought Bal Shuhalla back also named Nuesh? Yes, Nuesh, son of the shepherd Mashda, I remember that's what he said. Poor fellow, I can't imagine what it would feel to be elevated so high."
"He would probably find the castles to be very empty," Nuesh said before he remembered that he was trying to go unnoticed. At least it didn't seem like Eabani noticed. She just laughed, a small tinkling sound like a temple bell.
"Aaah. Yes, those castles are too big, right? What kind of person needs that sort of space?" Nuesh found himself nodding along. When he climbed down from Bal Shuhalla's quarters to the roads, he found himself comparing the palaces to a cliff he once climbed when a goat kid got trapped on the side. It was on the scale of mountains, not men. Except…
"Well, Bal Shuhalla is a god. What can you do?"
"He could stop taxing three for every ten shekel I make, for one," Eabani complained. "Oh, but he is dead. Here's to hoping that Bal Nuesh or whichever fellow stops taxing us folk three out of every ten shekels, eh? And that Bal Shuhalla finds a peaceful death, so on, and so forth." She said the last in a great hurry.
Nuesh stood up. "Yes, peace and all that," he echoed. "Are there any good wine shops here?" Nuesh had spent most of the day either in the chariot or walking. And climbing. He had to drink something, and the food at Bal Shuhalla's apartments felt like a transgression with each and every bite.
"Oh, there's several," She said, standing with Nuesh and walking before him to the mouth of the alleyway. "Most of them are giving wine for free, or at least a discount. Otherwise people will start yelling at them for being skinflints. I'm not complaining."
"But it's not the funeral yet." Nuesh followed Eabani as she ambled her way through the crowds.
"Do you think we'd care?" she laughed, twirling around to face Nuesh. "It's free beer, Nuesh, stop complaining and drink. There's this shop on a roof by the South Gate. There's an excellent view and I know the seller."
It was more walking. There were less people wherever Eabani was taking Nuesh. The streets were first packed with wailers and drunks, and they had to shove their way through. Then the crowds thinned, and they could walk in lines without running head-first into pedestrians. Finally, when Eabani said, "hey, I think this is the place," there were perhaps two or three stragglers total.
Strangely, Nuesh didn't feel tired, not at all. Thirsty, yes. Hungry, a bit. But tired? Not at all. He felt like he just walked around for an hour or so, and not climbed down a sheer wall on handholds of ice.
Eabani stopped, and pointed at a four story tall building. "This is it," she announced. Nuesh looked at it suspiciously.
"It's an empty building," he astutely pointed out. The windows were boarded shut, there were cobwebs on the stairs winding along the walls. The only thing well maintained was the facade, a layer of fresh white paint that almost concealed the dust falling off of it's eaves.
"Yes, there was apparently a murder here and nobody wanted to settle in." There was an impish grin on her lips as she observed Nuesh blinking in surprise. "And the landlord even lowered the rents. There was a priest here and everything. It's on the roof, follow me."
"What's on the roof?" Nuesh asked her as he followed her up the stairs. "The murder scene? Do you have a dead body there?"
"No, it's just the view. Promise. Go up there yourself, I'll stay behind to get the beer." There was an open stall at one of the neighboring buildings. At least if Eabani shanked him somebody would see.
"That's reassuring." The sarcasm was so thick that you could mine it. Nuesh mounted the last three steps and walked onto the roof. Eabani was right. The view really was nice. The cityscape was an irregular sea of black, blocky mountains rising intermittently, broken by rivers of light on the streets and spots where people hung lanterns out by their windows. At the distance, a sheer, pale wall rose- the demarcation wall, glowing faintly in the night. High in the sky, like a silver shekel coin, the moon shone down on Id-Elam.
So engrossed was Nuesh in this view that he didn't notice when something was shoved into his back and forced him a step forward. His sandal dangled over the edge for a second.
It was Eabani, grinning like a cat in the moonlight.
She was holding a cup of dark brown beer right next to Nuesh's chest. "Heh. The look on your face. Drink up," she downed another clay cup as Nuesh took the proffered one. It was better than any Asim brewed- deep and sweet like honey. "See? I told you it's good."
Nuesh grunted in agreement and drained the cup, looking down at the streets. The silence stretched long, until Eabani could clearly not bear it anymore. "Say, you're not from Id-Elam, right?"
He thought about it. "No, I'm not. I just arrived this morning."
"So almost the same time that the other Nuesh entered, then. It must be a rough day."
"Of course. At least I got a free cup out of it, so things are not as bad as they are," he joked.
"And not me?" Eabani raised a single eyebrow. "I feel awfully neglected."
Heat rose on Nuesh's cheeks, and he disguised it poorly by pantomiming a drink from the empty cup to her wild laughter, before quieting. "Are you staying long?" she asked.
"It would seem like it." Nuesh could leave, yes, but would Abel let him? No. And most likely if he left Abel would put the screws in to his father.
"You'll hate it," Eabani said bluntly, gripping Nuesh's shoulder. "This place is going nowhere. The old Bal didn't care for anything but having a paper title and collecting the taxes to build the stupid palaces. I don't think the new Bal would be any different. Anyone with ambition already walked away. Do you hear me? This place has no future. Go back to where ever you came from. You will be happier. I know this from experience."
It was intense. There was no hint of a joke, just the iron grip on Nuesh's shoulder and her staring into his eyes with the moon above them.
Nuesh broke away. "Think on it," Eabani advised, before turning to face the sky, the moon three quarters of the way up. "I need to go," she said, waving goodbye. "I have work tomorrow, and I want to wake up early. See you around." Like that, she slipped away as Nuesh was still mulling over her… what was it? A threat? A prediction? Was she a witch or something?
He looked over the edge, and she was just gone. But that wasn't too strange- there were a whole mess of paths under him.
Take something away....
[X]- Nuesh needs to make changes. He didn't have the authority before, but he has it now.
[X]- Id-Elam couldn't be rotting. Look at it! Eabani is wrong.
[X]- He felt tired and exhausted all at once. Just slay the Dragon, bring Bal Shuhalla's body to Yr-Shalem, and end it.
Nuesh took a deep breath. He wanted to get away and find some peace but now his mind was more jumbled than ever.
He let it out and sat on the edge and watched the lights. Then he stood back up and walked down to the streets. Now that Eabani had mentioned it, what was his father thinking? His son was out herding goats one morning and now he is missing. He should have passed by the village before he made the journey to Id-Elam.
"Bal Nuesh?"
He turned around, to see three guards kneeling at him. "Yes," Nuesh said. "Are you to bring me back?"
"You are right, Bal."
They walked Nuesh back to the palaces and temples, eyes staring stonily forward, unresponsive to any of his questions or even small talk.
"Eabani," she replied, seemingly mulling something over. "Nuesh, Nuesh, Nuesh. Hey, wasn't the fellow who brought Bal Shuhalla back also named Nuesh? Yes, Nuesh, son of the shepherd Mashda, I remember that's what he said. Poor fellow, I can't imagine what it would feel to be elevated so high."
"He would probably find the castles to be very empty," Nuesh said before he remembered that he was trying to go unnoticed. At least it didn't seem like Eabani noticed. She just laughed, a small tinkling sound like a temple bell.
"Aaah. Yes, those castles are too big, right? What kind of person needs that sort of space?" Nuesh found himself nodding along. When he climbed down from Bal Shuhalla's quarters to the roads, he found himself comparing the palaces to a cliff he once climbed when a goat kid got trapped on the side. It was on the scale of mountains, not men. Except…
"Well, Bal Shuhalla is a god. What can you do?"
"He could stop taxing three for every ten shekel I make, for one," Eabani complained. "Oh, but he is dead. Here's to hoping that Bal Nuesh or whichever fellow stops taxing us folk three out of every ten shekels, eh? And that Bal Shuhalla finds a peaceful death, so on, and so forth." She said the last in a great hurry.
Nuesh stood up. "Yes, peace and all that," he echoed. "Are there any good wine shops here?" Nuesh had spent most of the day either in the chariot or walking. And climbing. He had to drink something, and the food at Bal Shuhalla's apartments felt like a transgression with each and every bite.
"Oh, there's several," She said, standing with Nuesh and walking before him to the mouth of the alleyway. "Most of them are giving wine for free, or at least a discount. Otherwise people will start yelling at them for being skinflints. I'm not complaining."
"But it's not the funeral yet." Nuesh followed Eabani as she ambled her way through the crowds.
"Do you think we'd care?" she laughed, twirling around to face Nuesh. "It's free beer, Nuesh, stop complaining and drink. There's this shop on a roof by the South Gate. There's an excellent view and I know the seller."
It was more walking. There were less people wherever Eabani was taking Nuesh. The streets were first packed with wailers and drunks, and they had to shove their way through. Then the crowds thinned, and they could walk in lines without running head-first into pedestrians. Finally, when Eabani said, "hey, I think this is the place," there were perhaps two or three stragglers total.
Strangely, Nuesh didn't feel tired, not at all. Thirsty, yes. Hungry, a bit. But tired? Not at all. He felt like he just walked around for an hour or so, and not climbed down a sheer wall on handholds of ice.
Eabani stopped, and pointed at a four story tall building. "This is it," she announced. Nuesh looked at it suspiciously.
"It's an empty building," he astutely pointed out. The windows were boarded shut, there were cobwebs on the stairs winding along the walls. The only thing well maintained was the facade, a layer of fresh white paint that almost concealed the dust falling off of it's eaves.
"Yes, there was apparently a murder here and nobody wanted to settle in." There was an impish grin on her lips as she observed Nuesh blinking in surprise. "And the landlord even lowered the rents. There was a priest here and everything. It's on the roof, follow me."
"What's on the roof?" Nuesh asked her as he followed her up the stairs. "The murder scene? Do you have a dead body there?"
"No, it's just the view. Promise. Go up there yourself, I'll stay behind to get the beer." There was an open stall at one of the neighboring buildings. At least if Eabani shanked him somebody would see.
"That's reassuring." The sarcasm was so thick that you could mine it. Nuesh mounted the last three steps and walked onto the roof. Eabani was right. The view really was nice. The cityscape was an irregular sea of black, blocky mountains rising intermittently, broken by rivers of light on the streets and spots where people hung lanterns out by their windows. At the distance, a sheer, pale wall rose- the demarcation wall, glowing faintly in the night. High in the sky, like a silver shekel coin, the moon shone down on Id-Elam.
So engrossed was Nuesh in this view that he didn't notice when something was shoved into his back and forced him a step forward. His sandal dangled over the edge for a second.
It was Eabani, grinning like a cat in the moonlight.
She was holding a cup of dark brown beer right next to Nuesh's chest. "Heh. The look on your face. Drink up," she downed another clay cup as Nuesh took the proffered one. It was better than any Asim brewed- deep and sweet like honey. "See? I told you it's good."
Nuesh grunted in agreement and drained the cup, looking down at the streets. The silence stretched long, until Eabani could clearly not bear it anymore. "Say, you're not from Id-Elam, right?"
He thought about it. "No, I'm not. I just arrived this morning."
"So almost the same time that the other Nuesh entered, then. It must be a rough day."
"Of course. At least I got a free cup out of it, so things are not as bad as they are," he joked.
"And not me?" Eabani raised a single eyebrow. "I feel awfully neglected."
Heat rose on Nuesh's cheeks, and he disguised it poorly by pantomiming a drink from the empty cup to her wild laughter, before quieting. "Are you staying long?" she asked.
"It would seem like it." Nuesh could leave, yes, but would Abel let him? No. And most likely if he left Abel would put the screws in to his father.
"You'll hate it," Eabani said bluntly, gripping Nuesh's shoulder. "This place is going nowhere. The old Bal didn't care for anything but having a paper title and collecting the taxes to build the stupid palaces. I don't think the new Bal would be any different. Anyone with ambition already walked away. Do you hear me? This place has no future. Go back to where ever you came from. You will be happier. I know this from experience."
It was intense. There was no hint of a joke, just the iron grip on Nuesh's shoulder and her staring into his eyes with the moon above them.
Nuesh broke away. "Think on it," Eabani advised, before turning to face the sky, the moon three quarters of the way up. "I need to go," she said, waving goodbye. "I have work tomorrow, and I want to wake up early. See you around." Like that, she slipped away as Nuesh was still mulling over her… what was it? A threat? A prediction? Was she a witch or something?
He looked over the edge, and she was just gone. But that wasn't too strange- there were a whole mess of paths under him.
Take something away....
[X]- Nuesh needs to make changes. He didn't have the authority before, but he has it now.
[X]- Id-Elam couldn't be rotting. Look at it! Eabani is wrong.
[X]- He felt tired and exhausted all at once. Just slay the Dragon, bring Bal Shuhalla's body to Yr-Shalem, and end it.
Nuesh took a deep breath. He wanted to get away and find some peace but now his mind was more jumbled than ever.
He let it out and sat on the edge and watched the lights. Then he stood back up and walked down to the streets. Now that Eabani had mentioned it, what was his father thinking? His son was out herding goats one morning and now he is missing. He should have passed by the village before he made the journey to Id-Elam.
"Bal Nuesh?"
He turned around, to see three guards kneeling at him. "Yes," Nuesh said. "Are you to bring me back?"
"You are right, Bal."
They walked Nuesh back to the palaces and temples, eyes staring stonily forward, unresponsive to any of his questions or even small talk.
InterstellarHobo
Cosmic Vagrant
- Location
- No Fixed Planetary System
[X]- Nuesh needs to make changes. He didn't have the authority before, but he has it now.
THatWhichWillBe
The Squiddly One
- Location
- In The Darkened Deep
[X]- He felt tired and exhausted all at once. Just slay the Dragon, bring Bal Shuhalla's body to Yr-Shalem, and end it.
The Face Of the Dragon
- Location
- boundless optimism
Abel looked just a bit mad. Perhaps it was his furrowed brow, perhaps it was the rapid tap-tap-tap he played out on his desk, or his flint-like glare directed at Bal Nuesh, who was sitting across Abel once more. "What, Bal Nuesh," he bit out each and every word with machine-like precision, "could possibly possess you to scale the walls of the palace and wander the outer city? What demon or dybbuk rode on your shadow to force you so? Are you not aware of the dangers?"
Nuesh was not, in fact, aware of the dangers.
"I was not aware of the dangers," he said.
"Well, Bal Nuesh, Lord Administer of Narga and Emets of the Ministry of Inspection of the Tower Ministries of Yr Shalem, allow me to expound upon them. " His voice was honey sweet, Abel raised a hand and started counting off of his fingers. "For one, the exhumans might have an assassin seeded amongst the populace. These assassins are ten times stronger than most men, are made of a metal that flows which allows them to look like anyone, and may, at the drop of a pin, grow all sorts of weapons- blades, guns, and beams of killing light- that would certainly kill you off hand. I, personally, have had one Emets perish to such an assassination." The minister leaned in close, as if imparting some great secret. "There was not even enough to fill a cup. A cup! And I would like to remind you, Bal Nuesh, your god, Bal Shuhalla, fell at the hands of an exhuman, and he was an Emets trained and bloodied. Did I not expressly inform you that you were to remain in your quarters?"
"No, you told me that I was to remain in Id-Elam, and I never even stepped outside the gates!" Nuesh snapped back.
The other man inhaled sharply, eyebrows flaring like the mask of an angry god. He was about to say some sharp rejoinder before he exhaled, "Fine. Fair. I misremembered." Abel paused, mulling something over. "So how did you find our fair city?"
"It's fine. I suppose." Should he reveal Eabani? "Someone I talked to complained about taxes."
"They always do. Nobody likes taxes. Three shekels out of ten is practically nothing compared to some other planets. Why, I know several places where the palaces take all of the money and provide bread and beer dole instead." Abel shrugged. "I am informed that the Ministry of Coin may or may not pass regulations stating that all planets under direct control must take such measures. Luckily, we in the hinterlands do not. Imagine the administrative overhead! I barely have enough finnickers alone to make the chiefs and petty kings pay their taxes, much less the muscle needed to confiscate all their earnings yearly."
"Wasn't there something about exhumans?" Nuesh rather desperately said. All this about taxes flew over his head. Perhaps he should learn those matters, but not now.
"Ah, yes, the exhumans. Let us talk while we walk, Bal Nuesh." He stood, walking out the door at a leisurely pace. "There are exhumans, Bal Nuesh, so you will have to fight. Wartime taxes must be levied-"
"No." The word was sudden and final, although Abel sought to contest that.
"Pardon me, Bal Nuesh?" He turned and faced the other. "Armies must be drawn up. Laborers torn from their fields. These men and women must be paid, and any mercenary legions that I can call up will similarly demand a salary."
He shrugged, waving a hand at polished marble and intricate frescos. "Sell those," Nuesh said. "I'll have no use of them." He outpaced Abel, striding confidently forward. "I remember Bal Nuesh giving out gifts of strange things from beyond the stars."
"Yes, imports from Hastet and beyond. But-"
"Sell those," Nuesh ordered.
Abel considered Nuesh thoughtfully. "You know, Bal Nuesh, for a second there you seemed almost lordly. Except you are giving away things, something lords never do. Are you thinking of becoming a Nazarite?" At Nuesh's shrug, Abel said, "It wouldn't be a terrible idea. The proles would love a lord that vowed poverty along with them."
"I'll think on it. Where are we headed?"
"You must have seen the great tower stretching to the sky," Abel overtook Nuesh, leading him through a set of doors and into a long chamber where grooves were cut into the floor. "The observatory is halfway up." A gilded carriage slid along the groove, grinding to a halt. An attendant at the lever on the other side of the groove bowed as Nuesh entered. "It will be a bit of a ride."
It was. Nuesh reckoned that it was half a turn of the hourglass, through winding tunnels and airy arcades, until the carriage slowed to a stop on a rimmed balcony upon the slopes of gently sloping disk. Abel dismounted first, walking without heed to the guards in scale armor surrounding them, into a set of doors. "This place leads up to space," he told Nuesh as they entered the disk. "The observatory- and to preempt your question, it will be used to show you what the Dragon looks like- is clamped halfway up the stalk."
The chamber was shaped as a disk, the roof curving so slowly upwards until it faded into white light. Another thin tube was placed at the center, and the two of them stepped foot on the elevator.
The ascent was smooth, if boring. The carriage ride had a view. The elevator ride just had an endless expanse of smooth white walls, until the elevator slowed to a stop they walked out to a thin pathway to the observatory.
When Nuesh entered, the sight stole his breath. The air was filled with the clacking of abaci as circles of glass and bronze slowly rotated in a line. At the one nearest to the floor, there was what could only be the exhuman.
Nuesh knew about dragons. His childhood dreams were filled with heroes slaying them with arrows or poison or cunning, descending into their chthonian lairs armed with their wit and a prayer to slay a great beast. They were titanic serpents that breathed poison that covered the lands.
They were not hordes of roaches and flies, crawling through the air on the tail of comets. They were not geometric shapes covered in reflective patinas.
"This is your foe, Bal Nuesh. Tomorrow, the chiefs and kings will come, and you will treat with them for their armies."
Nuesh nodded. "I know."
Tomorrow…
Who Came?
[X]- Everyone. From the mighty kings of the steppe to the princes of the lakes, to the chiefs of the highlands. All have responded to Abel's promise of great gifts to be handed out.
[X]- The Mighty. Abel had sent out letters of a threat, and the most valorous responded. The chiefs of the highlands and the kings of the steppe came in their armor and horses.
[X]- The Believers. A disparate union, the princes of the lakes and the highland chiefs, who believed in the threat of the exhuman. The others disregarded the missive.
Present yourself…
[X]- As a Nazarite. In humble robes and sitting on the floor, Nuesh will look the part of a simple mendicant monk.
[X]- In full regalia. Upon the old Bal's throne of crystal and ice, wearing his crown of silvered steel and his scepter.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
Nuesh was not, in fact, aware of the dangers.
"I was not aware of the dangers," he said.
"Well, Bal Nuesh, Lord Administer of Narga and Emets of the Ministry of Inspection of the Tower Ministries of Yr Shalem, allow me to expound upon them. " His voice was honey sweet, Abel raised a hand and started counting off of his fingers. "For one, the exhumans might have an assassin seeded amongst the populace. These assassins are ten times stronger than most men, are made of a metal that flows which allows them to look like anyone, and may, at the drop of a pin, grow all sorts of weapons- blades, guns, and beams of killing light- that would certainly kill you off hand. I, personally, have had one Emets perish to such an assassination." The minister leaned in close, as if imparting some great secret. "There was not even enough to fill a cup. A cup! And I would like to remind you, Bal Nuesh, your god, Bal Shuhalla, fell at the hands of an exhuman, and he was an Emets trained and bloodied. Did I not expressly inform you that you were to remain in your quarters?"
"No, you told me that I was to remain in Id-Elam, and I never even stepped outside the gates!" Nuesh snapped back.
The other man inhaled sharply, eyebrows flaring like the mask of an angry god. He was about to say some sharp rejoinder before he exhaled, "Fine. Fair. I misremembered." Abel paused, mulling something over. "So how did you find our fair city?"
"It's fine. I suppose." Should he reveal Eabani? "Someone I talked to complained about taxes."
"They always do. Nobody likes taxes. Three shekels out of ten is practically nothing compared to some other planets. Why, I know several places where the palaces take all of the money and provide bread and beer dole instead." Abel shrugged. "I am informed that the Ministry of Coin may or may not pass regulations stating that all planets under direct control must take such measures. Luckily, we in the hinterlands do not. Imagine the administrative overhead! I barely have enough finnickers alone to make the chiefs and petty kings pay their taxes, much less the muscle needed to confiscate all their earnings yearly."
"Wasn't there something about exhumans?" Nuesh rather desperately said. All this about taxes flew over his head. Perhaps he should learn those matters, but not now.
"Ah, yes, the exhumans. Let us talk while we walk, Bal Nuesh." He stood, walking out the door at a leisurely pace. "There are exhumans, Bal Nuesh, so you will have to fight. Wartime taxes must be levied-"
"No." The word was sudden and final, although Abel sought to contest that.
"Pardon me, Bal Nuesh?" He turned and faced the other. "Armies must be drawn up. Laborers torn from their fields. These men and women must be paid, and any mercenary legions that I can call up will similarly demand a salary."
He shrugged, waving a hand at polished marble and intricate frescos. "Sell those," Nuesh said. "I'll have no use of them." He outpaced Abel, striding confidently forward. "I remember Bal Nuesh giving out gifts of strange things from beyond the stars."
"Yes, imports from Hastet and beyond. But-"
"Sell those," Nuesh ordered.
Abel considered Nuesh thoughtfully. "You know, Bal Nuesh, for a second there you seemed almost lordly. Except you are giving away things, something lords never do. Are you thinking of becoming a Nazarite?" At Nuesh's shrug, Abel said, "It wouldn't be a terrible idea. The proles would love a lord that vowed poverty along with them."
"I'll think on it. Where are we headed?"
"You must have seen the great tower stretching to the sky," Abel overtook Nuesh, leading him through a set of doors and into a long chamber where grooves were cut into the floor. "The observatory is halfway up." A gilded carriage slid along the groove, grinding to a halt. An attendant at the lever on the other side of the groove bowed as Nuesh entered. "It will be a bit of a ride."
It was. Nuesh reckoned that it was half a turn of the hourglass, through winding tunnels and airy arcades, until the carriage slowed to a stop on a rimmed balcony upon the slopes of gently sloping disk. Abel dismounted first, walking without heed to the guards in scale armor surrounding them, into a set of doors. "This place leads up to space," he told Nuesh as they entered the disk. "The observatory- and to preempt your question, it will be used to show you what the Dragon looks like- is clamped halfway up the stalk."
The chamber was shaped as a disk, the roof curving so slowly upwards until it faded into white light. Another thin tube was placed at the center, and the two of them stepped foot on the elevator.
The ascent was smooth, if boring. The carriage ride had a view. The elevator ride just had an endless expanse of smooth white walls, until the elevator slowed to a stop they walked out to a thin pathway to the observatory.
When Nuesh entered, the sight stole his breath. The air was filled with the clacking of abaci as circles of glass and bronze slowly rotated in a line. At the one nearest to the floor, there was what could only be the exhuman.
Nuesh knew about dragons. His childhood dreams were filled with heroes slaying them with arrows or poison or cunning, descending into their chthonian lairs armed with their wit and a prayer to slay a great beast. They were titanic serpents that breathed poison that covered the lands.
They were not hordes of roaches and flies, crawling through the air on the tail of comets. They were not geometric shapes covered in reflective patinas.
"This is your foe, Bal Nuesh. Tomorrow, the chiefs and kings will come, and you will treat with them for their armies."
Nuesh nodded. "I know."
Tomorrow…
Who Came?
[X]- Everyone. From the mighty kings of the steppe to the princes of the lakes, to the chiefs of the highlands. All have responded to Abel's promise of great gifts to be handed out.
[X]- The Mighty. Abel had sent out letters of a threat, and the most valorous responded. The chiefs of the highlands and the kings of the steppe came in their armor and horses.
[X]- The Believers. A disparate union, the princes of the lakes and the highland chiefs, who believed in the threat of the exhuman. The others disregarded the missive.
Present yourself…
[X]- As a Nazarite. In humble robes and sitting on the floor, Nuesh will look the part of a simple mendicant monk.
[X]- In full regalia. Upon the old Bal's throne of crystal and ice, wearing his crown of silvered steel and his scepter.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
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THatWhichWillBe
The Squiddly One
- Location
- In The Darkened Deep
[X]- The Believers. A disparate union, the princes of the lakes and the highland chiefs, who believed in the threat of the exhuman. The others disregarded the missive.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
If we are to go and try to change the world, in the perspective of a shepherd's son- then perhaps being an ascetic Bal isn't the worst of things in the world:
[X]- The Believers. A disparate union, the princes of the lakes and the highland chiefs, who believed in the threat of the exhuman. The others disregarded the missive.
[X]- As a Nazarite. In humble robes and sitting on the floor, Nuesh will look the part of a simple mendicant monk.
There's always a flipside to these sorts of votes. Concessions needs to be doled out if we go for everyone- but Bal Nuesh is not one given to soldiery, save for perhaps in times of levy. The blurb for the Believers is interesting, they might be weaker- but they are unlikely to betray us for coin or titles. SO have at this vote com- Actually, @Laplace, are you counting the vote by Block or by Line?
[X]- The Believers. A disparate union, the princes of the lakes and the highland chiefs, who believed in the threat of the exhuman. The others disregarded the missive.
[X]- As a Nazarite. In humble robes and sitting on the floor, Nuesh will look the part of a simple mendicant monk.
There's always a flipside to these sorts of votes. Concessions needs to be doled out if we go for everyone- but Bal Nuesh is not one given to soldiery, save for perhaps in times of levy. The blurb for the Believers is interesting, they might be weaker- but they are unlikely to betray us for coin or titles. SO have at this vote com- Actually, @Laplace, are you counting the vote by Block or by Line?
- Location
- boundless optimism
I'm doing it by line because there's generally not enough votes for me to do it by block
- Location
- World
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X]- Everyone. From the mighty kings of the steppe to the princes of the lakes, to the chiefs of the highlands. All have responded to Abel's promise of great gifts to be handed out.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
Defeat the threat first, and then, from that coalition, bring changes.
[X]- As a soldier. Nuesh will be training in arms, and he will come to the meeting stained with sweat and in soldier's scale.
Defeat the threat first, and then, from that coalition, bring changes.
Come And Be Received
- Location
- boundless optimism
"Chin up and face forward," Abel hissed as he fussed over Nuesh, who was sitting cross legged where Bal Shuhalla's throne- a gaudy chair with armrests carved in the shape of lions and a thoroughly uncomfortable backing of lapal lazuli insets- once was. It was a shame that they could do nothing about the two human-faced shedus flanking him, Nuesh mused as he corrected his posture. "Good, good," Abel sighed, and stood at Nuesh's left. The shedus were covered in silver, and their eyes diamonds. Bal Shuhalla really did have a thing for that metal.
A rug of woven hemp ran the length of the room from the gates to the raised dias where Nuesh and Abel, along with some other dignitaries, were at. Soldiers in faceless helmets lined the walls, each bearing a spear pointed at the roof and a mace fastened to their belts. The midday sun shone down on all of this from a roof of glass.
Horns blared. The gate on the far end of the chamber- and of course it was decorated with silver filigree and silver serpents winding their way across sapphire stars- swung open slowly.
The first to enter were nine figures in fine silk robes, faces veiled and robes covered with brooches of jade and gold. "The princes of Nar-Huadda come to pay obscediances to Bal Nuesh, and to speak of our sorrow at Bal Shuhalla's passing." The one closest to Bal Nuesh was wearing a strange crown- a simple circlet of gold with an ornate thing that looked like something between a sunburst and a flower at their forehead. "We have gifts of fine clothes and jewelry that-"
The words come like a spring. "Thank you, O Prince, but I have no need for such trifles. Your mere presence is boon enough." The words came out awkward and stilted, but at least they came through. Abel had drilled responses into Nuesh from sundown to beyond sunrise, quizzing him endlessly of the situations he considered the most likely to occur, forcing him to drink a foul black brew when Nuesh had complained for lack of sleep.
Some fancy struck him. "Give the gifts to the craftsmen that made them," he said, drawing on the memory of some actor playing the part of a gregarious lord. "One ought to enjoy the labours of their own field." He hoped he didn't mangle the lines and that the princes were not fans of the theatre. Their faces were covered in silk, leaving only a thin slit for their eyes, so he couldn't even see their expressions. They could be sneering at the lowborn serf elevated so quickly to lordhood.
The princes of Nar-Huadda knelt down behind low tables on the left, a field of nine grave-posts wrapped in white silk.
The horn blared once again.
Where the princes of Nar-Huadda came in soft silk the chiefs of the highlands came in rattling armor. They were the sky-bandits that Bal Shuhalla conquered, and their delegation numbered ten fiercely scarred warriors, holding their maimed arms to their backs and slamming their mailed fists as one on bone scale armor. "We," they shouted as one, "the chiefs of the plateau and the highlands called Duranki, come to fufill our duties to the Lord of Narga!" The timbre of their voices caused all those in the rooms- excepting the guards- to flinch. "We bring arms, armour, and fighting men to be commanded at your leisure!"
They certainly do like shouting. Nuesh hesitated a second too long, so Abel stepped forward. "Your loyalty does you service, o chiefs, and the Ministries will remember." With that, the assorted ex-bandits milled around, kneeling, sprawling, or sitting cross legged behind their tables.
As Abel turned back, he nodded at Nuesh. "I would thank each and every one of you for heeding the missives," Nuesh rattled. This was a script Abel wrote in the span of half an hour, and Nuesh was already forgetting the words. He searched for the words desperately, as the moments stretched into seconds, his audience looking on at him with impatient eyes. "Bal Shuhalla is dead." Was this the right word? Nuesh didn't know, but he's talking now and he can't stop if he wanted to hold their attention.
"I have seen his last moments. The exhumans plucked out his eyes of the god that once ruled over this land and more! Remember the chariot he once rode? They smashed it like a vase and there Bal Shuhalla lay. This is the face of the enemy, the dragon that will blanket the land and swallow us whole."
Nuesh had stopped to take a breath and lick his lips when suddenly, one of the chiefs- a bearded man with a map of scars across his face and every visible inch of skin, shoots up and shouted, "and how can you save us, Bal Nuesh the son of the shepherd Mashda?"
A gasp rose from the princes of Nar-Huadda. Nuesh sympathized. The man continued his challenge, gesticulating wildly. "It was Bal Shuhalla that defeated us," he roared, jabbing an accusatory finger at Nuesh. "Bal Shuhalla! Who now lies fallow in the earth! And all that remains of his will is some shepherd!"
"Calm yourself," snapped one of the princes, her voice high and sharp. "Shepherd or not, you shout at the Bal of Narga."
"I shout at a paper king," the chief growled as he stood, kicking over the table with a great crash. His delegation looked at him with the sort of interest one shows a drunkard starting a fight. "Who are you, boy?" He steps closer, two guards peeling off of the walls to apprehend him, spears leveled at his throat.
He snapped the hafts like twigs, the broken heads falling onto the floor with a crash as he mounted the dias until he stood above Nuesh. "See? You can't even muster a response." His voice became gentle. "You're not cut out for this, Bal Nuesh. You know it. I know it. Go back to your sheeps, and give godhood to a warrior that slays dragons."
Resolve this.
[X]- Chaos: "And would that be you?" Throw an apple of discord among the dignitaries, and respond to the situation as it unfolds.
[X]- Might: The air grew bitterly cold as Nuesh stared dead-eyed at the chief, rime-frost forming over the floor and frost staining their breaths...
[X]- Humility: "Nobody is cut out for this. That is the point." Bare heart and soul to the chief, and see where the dice fall after that.
A rug of woven hemp ran the length of the room from the gates to the raised dias where Nuesh and Abel, along with some other dignitaries, were at. Soldiers in faceless helmets lined the walls, each bearing a spear pointed at the roof and a mace fastened to their belts. The midday sun shone down on all of this from a roof of glass.
Horns blared. The gate on the far end of the chamber- and of course it was decorated with silver filigree and silver serpents winding their way across sapphire stars- swung open slowly.
The first to enter were nine figures in fine silk robes, faces veiled and robes covered with brooches of jade and gold. "The princes of Nar-Huadda come to pay obscediances to Bal Nuesh, and to speak of our sorrow at Bal Shuhalla's passing." The one closest to Bal Nuesh was wearing a strange crown- a simple circlet of gold with an ornate thing that looked like something between a sunburst and a flower at their forehead. "We have gifts of fine clothes and jewelry that-"
The words come like a spring. "Thank you, O Prince, but I have no need for such trifles. Your mere presence is boon enough." The words came out awkward and stilted, but at least they came through. Abel had drilled responses into Nuesh from sundown to beyond sunrise, quizzing him endlessly of the situations he considered the most likely to occur, forcing him to drink a foul black brew when Nuesh had complained for lack of sleep.
Some fancy struck him. "Give the gifts to the craftsmen that made them," he said, drawing on the memory of some actor playing the part of a gregarious lord. "One ought to enjoy the labours of their own field." He hoped he didn't mangle the lines and that the princes were not fans of the theatre. Their faces were covered in silk, leaving only a thin slit for their eyes, so he couldn't even see their expressions. They could be sneering at the lowborn serf elevated so quickly to lordhood.
The princes of Nar-Huadda knelt down behind low tables on the left, a field of nine grave-posts wrapped in white silk.
The horn blared once again.
Where the princes of Nar-Huadda came in soft silk the chiefs of the highlands came in rattling armor. They were the sky-bandits that Bal Shuhalla conquered, and their delegation numbered ten fiercely scarred warriors, holding their maimed arms to their backs and slamming their mailed fists as one on bone scale armor. "We," they shouted as one, "the chiefs of the plateau and the highlands called Duranki, come to fufill our duties to the Lord of Narga!" The timbre of their voices caused all those in the rooms- excepting the guards- to flinch. "We bring arms, armour, and fighting men to be commanded at your leisure!"
They certainly do like shouting. Nuesh hesitated a second too long, so Abel stepped forward. "Your loyalty does you service, o chiefs, and the Ministries will remember." With that, the assorted ex-bandits milled around, kneeling, sprawling, or sitting cross legged behind their tables.
As Abel turned back, he nodded at Nuesh. "I would thank each and every one of you for heeding the missives," Nuesh rattled. This was a script Abel wrote in the span of half an hour, and Nuesh was already forgetting the words. He searched for the words desperately, as the moments stretched into seconds, his audience looking on at him with impatient eyes. "Bal Shuhalla is dead." Was this the right word? Nuesh didn't know, but he's talking now and he can't stop if he wanted to hold their attention.
"I have seen his last moments. The exhumans plucked out his eyes of the god that once ruled over this land and more! Remember the chariot he once rode? They smashed it like a vase and there Bal Shuhalla lay. This is the face of the enemy, the dragon that will blanket the land and swallow us whole."
Nuesh had stopped to take a breath and lick his lips when suddenly, one of the chiefs- a bearded man with a map of scars across his face and every visible inch of skin, shoots up and shouted, "and how can you save us, Bal Nuesh the son of the shepherd Mashda?"
A gasp rose from the princes of Nar-Huadda. Nuesh sympathized. The man continued his challenge, gesticulating wildly. "It was Bal Shuhalla that defeated us," he roared, jabbing an accusatory finger at Nuesh. "Bal Shuhalla! Who now lies fallow in the earth! And all that remains of his will is some shepherd!"
"Calm yourself," snapped one of the princes, her voice high and sharp. "Shepherd or not, you shout at the Bal of Narga."
"I shout at a paper king," the chief growled as he stood, kicking over the table with a great crash. His delegation looked at him with the sort of interest one shows a drunkard starting a fight. "Who are you, boy?" He steps closer, two guards peeling off of the walls to apprehend him, spears leveled at his throat.
He snapped the hafts like twigs, the broken heads falling onto the floor with a crash as he mounted the dias until he stood above Nuesh. "See? You can't even muster a response." His voice became gentle. "You're not cut out for this, Bal Nuesh. You know it. I know it. Go back to your sheeps, and give godhood to a warrior that slays dragons."
Resolve this.
[X]- Chaos: "And would that be you?" Throw an apple of discord among the dignitaries, and respond to the situation as it unfolds.
[X]- Might: The air grew bitterly cold as Nuesh stared dead-eyed at the chief, rime-frost forming over the floor and frost staining their breaths...
[X]- Humility: "Nobody is cut out for this. That is the point." Bare heart and soul to the chief, and see where the dice fall after that.
A slightly tricky question but folding the cards is... folding the cards.
[X]- Humility: "Nobody is cut out for this. That is the point." Bare heart and soul to the chief, and see where the dice fall after that.
Bal Nuesh's epiphany is that things needs to change. Bal Shuhalla was a warrior without equal to the then-Nuesh's eyes and look where it got him. Blinded and in death's door before Nuesh arrived. No, Bal Nuesh is not a warrior without equal- perhaps Bal Nuesh will never be one.
But perhaps he can always be one with conviction of a lower sort. A conviction and readiness to admit weakness.
[X]- Humility: "Nobody is cut out for this. That is the point." Bare heart and soul to the chief, and see where the dice fall after that.
Bal Nuesh's epiphany is that things needs to change. Bal Shuhalla was a warrior without equal to the then-Nuesh's eyes and look where it got him. Blinded and in death's door before Nuesh arrived. No, Bal Nuesh is not a warrior without equal- perhaps Bal Nuesh will never be one.
But perhaps he can always be one with conviction of a lower sort. A conviction and readiness to admit weakness.
Namer
ᵘʷᵘ
- Location
- Bangladesh
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Humility: "Nobody is cut out for this. That is the point." Bare heart and soul to the chief, and see where the dice fall after that.
I don't think this is the optimal response. Not at all. These Highland Chiefs are warriors - they would respond better to either of the other two options.
But it is the truest response for Nuesh's character, as it has been developed thus far.
I don't think this is the optimal response. Not at all. These Highland Chiefs are warriors - they would respond better to either of the other two options.
But it is the truest response for Nuesh's character, as it has been developed thus far.