The Maid
Shenlin, Meiya
Soon enough, a new patron stepped into the establishment. It was a tall figure, clad in a garment of strange cloth weaved into many patterns of mainly deep orange, red and gold colors. On their head, the new patron wore a shield shaped hat made apparently of weaved straw. Their feet were clad in simple, leather boots and bronze bracers covered their arms. Hanging nearly horizontally from their lower back, hung a sheathed two edged blade and the stranger also carried over their shoulder a rolled up pack which obviously marked them as a traveler.
This patron had a quick conversation with the owner of the establishment, one of which they gesticulated quite a bit with their hands during it. After their conversation was over, the Eralih turned back to look at a corner of the establishment where the owner pointed and nodded their head. Once the Eralih got to their place, they set down their pack andtook off their colorful garment off their shoulders and lay it on the floor... revealing the traveler to be a somewhat young woman. At first, given the distance and the garment, this Eralih might be mistaken for a comely man, however closer inspection revealed the truth. The woman had long straight black hair, not tied up in any way. Her eyes were deep blue in color and her complexion was slightly tanned from days on the road. Her limbs were long and slim, though marked with compact muscles. Beneath her colorful garment she wore a rather more simple tunic and pants, with long sleeves folded up and held in place by some tied cords.
The woman then sat on the floor, her spot not far from the playing Fen and waited for the drink and meal she ordered from the owner.
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
Perpetually Disappointed
Shenlin
The older looked over at the Eralih and paused for a moment, looking her up and down before shaking his head and looking elsewhere.
"Erali cu ígelá?" The younger looked up from his game at towards where his companion had looked.
"En bél décír del ít me re," The elder shrugged looking back to his game, "Té di ce írím fhabhen ba cím. Lé me re."
"Cun re ba med," the younger sighed looking down.
Meanwhile, a Chilai woman scanned the crowd both nervously and scornfully. She looked as though she lacked sleep but was otherwise well-kept. Not likely a commoner, a contrast to many of the merchants, mercenaries and other travellers that frequented it. It wasn't clear to an observer whether she scanned for someone particular or was looking over the crowd as a whole.
edited 1st Feb '13 1:57:19 PM by Fauxlosophe
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The Maid
The Eralih woman remained sitting on her spot, taking in her surroundings and the people resting in the establishment just as she did. Soon enough, she was handed a cup of liquor and a plate of the local cuisine. The black haired woman downed the cup before the owner was able to walk away and then ordered another cup of the same.
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
State of Mind
The door to the tavern swung open and for a brief moment the patrons inside were treated to the storybook spectacle of lightning illuminating the shadowy outline of a stooped over man standing at the doorway amid the downpour outside while thunder rolling above announced his arrival. Then flash faded as quickly as it had appeared, the thunder died down, and the figure quickly dove inside and slammed the door behind him. With the fires from inside bringing their glow to his front side, people who looked over to see who the newcomer was saw a young Zetali man, soaked and unhappy. His brown skin looked orange in the dim fire light, his eyes and the colorful beads in his hair shining in contrast.
Taking off the large leather poncho that had kept him mostly dry, he straitened up and looked for an empty seat. Noticing a spot near some other foreigners, he headed that way. The tavern owner had just set a plate of food before a young woman, who was ordering another drink. Passing by the server on his way back to the kitchen, the young man murmured, "I'll have what she's having." and pressed some coins into the owner's hand.
The Zetali man took a seat, looking over those nearby before turning his attention to stuffing the poncho into a bag he had slung across his shoulder.
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
Ordo Xenos Inquisitor
Horatelemos looked briefly at the Zetalian stranger who had caused him a distraction and cursed in So'raan under his breath. He had slipped with his chisel, gouging a greater cut in his latest timber carving then he had intended. Now the figurine of Ovaros of Arshe would have to be discarded, meeting his untimely demise in a Meiyan bar.
"No warrior funeral for you, my friend." He lamented, before placing the carving on the table and picking up his drink - not up to the standards of the wines of the League, but enough to down his sorrows.
"Those who stand for nothing will fall for anything."
Perpetually Disappointed
The bartender grunted and slid along a drink to the Zetali, inadvertantly knocking the figurine to the floor as he did so.
The Chilai Woman took to the stage and took to singing an old lament. Her dialect was course to Meiyans and those who learnt the Meiyan toungue, though the song itself had been originally Chilai which allowed it to flow.
- Son, oh child of mine,
- To what eastern lands do ye deign,
- far from this mither o' thine.
- Dinnae be forlorn,
- From far they com tae adorn,
- An' I'll be gone by morn,
- Tae th' town o' gold,
- Auld Shenlin whaur they'll mold,
- From me, a scholar bold.
- I'll return in wealth,
- An' bring to ye great health,
- Of kind we ne'er dreamt.
- for many years he left,
- His poor auld mither bereft,
- Tae be a pupil deft.
- When he saw his home,
- The years pass'd o'er his auld loam,
- Now He had but a tome.
- He cam untae his ma,
- And he show'd his earnin's a',
- From study o' th' law.
- He was called a fool,
- Though he offered gold and jewel,
- Still she called him cruel.
- From 'neath her shawl
- She listened tae him drawl
- And so she turnt tae bawl;
- No words so sublime,
- Nor e'en gold may pay the crime,
- No thing may return time.
Her voice rang out and gave pause to a few patrons. Meiyan locals grumbled abit, while Chilai immigrants cheered and clapped at the end, though some sighed deeply too with regrets not long after. She looked over the bar at the patrons where she eyed the line up by the bar, and then briefly looked upon the Fayn travellers.
"Di ba culem," The younger smirked, now glancing around the pub as the other did.
"En té. Lé del anan me re," The second grumbled, shifting his attention more intently at the board.
"Té anan ce dé" The younger replied, "Bhen té dér cór di. An cún ghír én chon del re ba elin."
He got up and headed over towards the Eralih woman. As he did so, the Chilai woman headed in the same direction but kept her distance.
"Hello," The younger replied, "I am Conímoc and this is my friend, Donil. Inspite of appearances, he's a little shy but you caught his eye from across the bar. I hope I'm not interupting anything but I felt we should at least say hello."
The older grunted as if in apology.
edited 26th Nov '12 12:44:59 PM by Fauxlosophe
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State of Mind
He thought himself well versed in Maeiyan, but try as he might, the Zetali man could not make out much of what the woman was singing. Must have been her accent. The heavens knew he had a hard time understanding mountain folk and their jargon in his own language, it was only natural that all but the most basic of the tongues of other places would just confuse him.
It was a pretty song though. Sad, not doing much to better his mood, but pretty. The man took the drink that the bartender had shoved his way, long and deep gulps washed it down his throat as fast as his body could manage.
"Jiltan bawi" he sighed with satisfaction.
He looked over to the other foreigner, one who had been carving a figurine up until he had shown up. The other man did not look particularly pleased, and the Zetali man took a guess as to why.
"Stuck here until the rain goes away too?" he asked in Meiyan.
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
「MENACING」
Shenlin, Meiya
The merchant sat on the floor, keeping to himself near the wall, his thick furs and wool not helpful in this climate. His cloak lay like a pillow around him, but in defiance of the humidity he still kept his loka up, covering his thick, long hair that was graying faster than ever, it seemed. He bore a long beard and mustache; both of which, on a good day, would have been combed and trimmed until he resembled one of the ancient scholars and warriors whose beards had been sharp enough to cut with.
It had been a long time since he'd had a 'good day'.
"Tinma hau ghoni ha-imit..." he muttered. I need stronger beer. Of course, the chances of him getting up and taking some were virtually nil - He just felt like complaining to himself. He paused, listening to the song, smiling thinly and taking another sip. Good music, he thought, though he lacked the initiative to decipher the gaudy southern language. His eyes were too busy scanning the crowd, searching for the familiar markings of the Tumamxin in the crowd. Paranoid, perhaps, but it hadn't been long since he'd lost them, and there was no way of knowing if they might pick up his trail again.
His clothes would obviously mark him from the north, but notably (for any versed in the culture) he bore no signs of his clan, no identifiers or colors displayed, an unusual action for a country usually quite vocal about their loyalties.
edited 26th Nov '12 8:10:52 PM by Hydrall
A man walked into the building through the door, quickly stepping through and closing it to keep the wet, cold air out. He appreciated the warmth the structure provided. As he looked around, his odd face was clearly visible, with the man not making any attempt to hide it. It bore some form of branded markings that covered the majority of the right side, and as they would be unfamiliar to most, he did not have to be too cautious about them, regardless. Though, with the number of foreigners he saw in here, he might have reevaluated his assessment.
He approached the counter, and spoke to the attendant in crude, albeit understandable, Meiyan. "How many bread for coin?" he asked.
The Maid
"You interrupt nothing but boredom and drinking alone" says the Eralih woman and easy smile on her lips as she raises her cup a bit and takes another sip of the local liquor "I am named Masuyo. Masuyo Callicho"
She then grinned a little and added "Anything in specific that caught Donil's eye?"
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
Perpetually Disappointed
"That's a question for Donil alone and no others of the name," Conímoc smirked, "In fact, I may leave take my leave, though should fortune smile, I may see you yet again."
With that Conímoc looked over at the two patrons by her side. One had cast down an idol and looked rather annoyed at the first, Conímoc marked them then moved down beside them, giving a gesture of salutation.
Donil looked over at the Eralih and with a shrug, he sat down, "You'll excuse my friend, he is rather rash. I was thinking of other things. It's a long way we've travelled, I suspect it is the same with you. What brings you to Shenlin?"
The Bartender looked over at the Kergen newcomer and said, "Depends oan yer coin."
Conímoc looked over and said in more academic Meiyan, "A simple drink should do the man, I'll see it paid for."
The Bartender took that as a cue to slide down two drinks and Conímoc put the cash on the table. It was a rice-based drink, called Neipao, rice-water, in the Chilai tongue which had first brewed it. This particular one was much diluted but still held strength to it.
The Meiyan woman was somewhat surprised and looked over observantly at the assembling group of foreigners at the front.
Eralih Capital
sahri approached the throne beside him, two old comrades. He had traveled far and worked hard to learn the Eralih tongue, though his accent was still evident.
He looked upon the Erakali,
"Th' narth cries far hulp. Th' Dussarit da nat wish ta live this way, undar Toryl banner. Ar brothers in the suth thaught thay wuld have freedom, but instud have only found a new tearant. Come and aid us and ya will be wulcom'd as a freend and ally by bath th' narth and suth. Me brothers here befar ya wull lead the charge if we must. Thar is na gret rush but we pramise ar hulp shuld ya want it, whathar ta hulp ar brothers in th' suth or as humble saldiers ta ya, shuld ya but offar shalther"
Igarbre, Western Shore of Kergen
Dawn rose over the coastal village and as though leading the sun to her shores, Fén raiders came. Wild eyed, Long haired and furious, they struck without warning against the town. As the bells rang, the torches had already been lit.
"Cuc ét tel cuc me re!"
"Cherigan, Té fír cór di!"
"Cím con cur íc!"
Scattered shouts were given as the villagers scattered in panic.
The militia that rallied came too late and focused upon protecting where they could. What was left was stripped by the Fén raiders.
"Té Nílan ba Ban Phélúdin cu di," He shouted, then spoke Kergan, "I am Payloudin the Red, son of the North. Know my name and be wise, that you might rather leave a tribute than loose a home."
As he spoke, the last returned to the ship and sailed Northwards before any Gedakur could arrive or assemble.
edited 27th Nov '12 8:33:30 AM by Fauxlosophe
Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.
Ordo Xenos Inquisitor
Shenlin, Meiya
Horatelemos shot the bartender a filthy look - his carving might have been ruined, but it still deserved a modicum of respect. He knew all too well that the Meiyans disliked the depiction of their people through traditional means, preferring geometric patterns over his crafted busts, and he supposed the friendly barkeep had unnescessarily decided to remind him of the fact. Horatelemos decided not to pursue an argument, he was a guest in this place and city, and would not make a nuscience of himself.
"Stuck here until the rain goes away too?" a voice addressed him in Meiyan - a Zetali, by his stature and tan, and the same one who had entered so dramatically minutes before.
"Uares" he grunted back affirmitively. He paused, realising he had vocalised in his native So'raan, instead of Meiyan.
"My apologies" Horatelemos rectified. "Instinct, I am a long way from home. But yes, I am trapped here too." He paused, mostly for dramatic effect, but partly so he could sip at his beverage.
"And I don't just mean this bar either."
"Those who stand for nothing will fall for anything."
"We may defeat these raiders, but what of our losses? Too many of our people shall die defending" yelled a second. "We must seek assistance from the others!"
"If we do not kill Payloudin the Red ourselves, the others will think us weak," said the third. "We are not so helpless as you say. We have an established position we can defend. We have more who can fight. Our representative is not the most well known, but with the glory from defeating the raiders, they will no doubt be remembered when they select the next member of the conclave."
"But they have no location we can attack, yet they can strike at us at any moment!"
"Then we shall be ready at every moment!"
"And we can prepare. We will not be so easily taken next time. One moment Payloudin will think he is being given his 'tribute', and then he shall truly be known as 'the Red'."
"Two are in agreement, then."
"I will make sure to remind you both of my words when you burn your families!"
"We shall remind you of your words when our Kerghan is victorious! Now we must prepare the Gedakur for the next attack. Those whose work is not crucial can begin fortifying the area, laying traps, and be assigned to scout the area."
"This type of coin," Zed replied, pulling out a single copper coin and displaying it to the man, though holding on to it tightly with his left hand. With his right, he reached for the drink and took an inquisitive taste, before saying "Who am I thanking for this drink?" to the Fen who was near him.
edited 28th Nov '12 11:20:16 PM by nman
The Maid
The Eralih woman grinned as she said "The winds brought me here" Which was the most vague answer possible in her particular culture which venerated the winds as divine.
"Though not really. I'm an traveler, a wanderer. I wish to see the world and go where opportunity takes me. I'm a healthy woman not afraid to get my hands dirty, either in the fields, construction or battlefield. Came working with a caravan, got paid and here I am, waiting for the next opportunity to carry me along"
"What about you and your friend?"
Aramakal - Capital of the Eralih Empire
Manaraku, Erakali of the Eralih Empire held meeting with the Dussarit in a great airy hall made out of the pride of Eralih stonework. A palace held not by mortar but by stones carved and polished to perfection... such as that every single piece fit perfectly in its place among the others.
From the walls hung great tapestries of vivid colors, depicting surreal scenes of Eralih Myth and Story. The seats were made of wood and comfortably cushioned, with the seat of the Erakali of course, being the biggest and most elaborate of all.
The Manaraku was not an old man. While a bit past his prime, he still cut a strong image. Taller than most men, with wide shoulders and in obviously good physical shape. On his head there was not a single hair that was not shaved away, both on his face and over his head. He had deep grey eyes and a good number of lines on his face, from carrying the weight of an Empire over his shoulders for many years.
When he spoke, his voice carried far with practiced ease "Indeed, we the Eralih know of this issue... for often do we look South, to our friends the Dussarit. I have worried over the state of events in the South, over the intentions of the Toryl upon your people. And for long we have wished to help our friends on this endeavor... but only today, when our help has been asked, can we truly offer it"
"Let us speak then, I have heard lots, but nobody better than those who have suffered under the banner of the Toryl to tell me the situation the Dussarit face"
If I'm sure of something it's that I'm not sure of anything.
Ordo Xenos Inquisitor
Mecras - The Huon League
The Speaker General of the Huon League, Torcecles strode into his office. Only three days ago had the Fayn sent to Mecras a number of poets, who now sat in his chambers. These poets had proposed an alliance to the council - hoping to combine their strengths in the case of an attack from the Galyl, and the inevitable followup from their parents - the Toryl Empire.
The council had discussed the matter for two entire days - for this was a weighty decision. The Fayn and the League had little contact historically, and thus the council where reluctant to put their blessing behind the pact. On the other side, the Toryl were constantly pushing to annex new territory, of which the League was easy prey due to its divided nature.
The vote then, was almost equal... thirteen members for the alliance and nine against. The Huon League would support the Fen.
Torocecles addressed the poets before him: "You have the League's word that we will help to defend your land in the event of an attack from the Galyr. It goes without saying though, this pact is of a secret nature, do not proclaim it throughout your people, for it may yet provoke an attack on the League."
Torocecles then bid the men farewell, sincerely hoping that he wouldn't have to honour their agreement, lest the Huon League be committed to war.
"Those who stand for nothing will fall for anything."
Perpetually Disappointed
"Conímoc of Génibhír," Conímoc said to the Kergen, "The coin won't buy you much. Twenty more might get you a cheap drink."
He looked at the bartender who had already wandered off.
"But who is it that is thanking me? And what brings him so far east?"
Meanwhile...
"The wind alone travels, it is men who follow," Donil said, "But I ask only because I had not seen an Eralih caravan and I have seen Eralih here for other reasons. As for myself, I follow where I am led as long as the food is good and the pay is fair. For more than that, you would have to ask Cedíl or my compatriot."
The Meiyan woman interceded here, pulling over the attention of the So'raan and the Zetali.
"Travellers," She said looking at the four, "I could not help over hearing your stories, more in certain cases than others. And I would like to ask a favour which brings with it opportunities. Shall you hear me?"
Aramakal
"Th' Narth is divided now. They realize that they have last their freedom and glory ta tha that scarn their name. Taryl trait us as a pravince, ar saldiers as thair awn. We are na natiun noo, we are slaves in all but name. The Dussarit wha flee to Eralih and Taryl da ar names na hanaur and mak us anly mar hated. This will change with raballion, th' Dussarit wh' flud and noo are scattered ta th' wind as bandits and baggars will raturn home. Th' nation is divid'd still but many mar will side with th' narth noo, the Bahrarin is weak and his allies are few. If Aralih surve as a rally punt ta than th' rust ta Dussarit will rase in arms aftar."
Mecras
"Much can be said when no honour is saked upon it," A younger one said along the side, "Words spoken in the dark are without guarentee, though I do understand your reasoning."
"Youth speaks its mind rashly, though its speech may at times be fair," The Elder nudged him demanding silence, "I could expect no more than what we were graned. We thank you on our honours, and pray you success."
Igarbre
A lone man, Bérígar, came to shore. He looked upon the village. Some signs of the devastation still showed but a great deal had been repaired in the brief interlude.
He came to a villager on the outskirts of town, "Let me speak to your leader. I bring words from Pélúdín."
edited 29th Nov '12 1:04:09 PM by Fauxlosophe
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edited 15th Dec '12 10:16:46 PM by nman
Perpetually Disappointed
Igarbre
"Pélúdín grants you a moon's time to decide whether to pay the Délóchír. The tithe will be a tithe over a sixth of your storehouse grain and his pick of the livestock or else the value of it in gold that shall be negociated upon his arrival. He sets no clear day but shall return as he will it. You shall know his arrival by the sail on the horizon. Then send your watch to light a fire to the north of the village if you seek truce. He will come ashore with a small retinue and speak with you. If no fire is lit then, then the wise ought to arms or flee."
Shenlin
"Work is hard comeby so far East," Conímoc replied taking a long drink, "Though you look accustomed to fighting and caravans seem to always be in need. You should not be long waiting if you go to the market square and talk with merchants there. I wouldn't be surprised if there were work here, if you look around."
edited 30th Nov '12 8:12:05 AM by Fauxlosophe
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edited 29th Nov '12 1:09:20 PM by nman
Perpetually Disappointed
Igarbre
Bérígar tilted his head slightly and then raised his hand bend, to signal both apathy and his goodbye respectively, as he left to the rowboat he had taken to shore with.
Shenlin
"I couldn't say with just a glance around," Conímoc said with a sigh realizing he'd likely spoken too soon as he looked around, "Many foreignners are likely mercenaries like yourself, merchants, scholars or else looking for odd jobs. It's difficult to say at first glance. It'd look for those with expensive clothes though."
edited 29th Nov '12 3:03:33 PM by Fauxlosophe
Mé féin ag daṁsa faoin ngealaċ seanrince gan ċeol leis ach ceol cuisle. DS FC: 4141-3472-4041, feel free to add me.
State of Mind
"I am trapped here too. And I don't just mean this bar either."
Jesa, the Zetali man, wondered what that meant. He considered asking, but reconsidered after figuring it was rude to pry. Then he reconsidered again; would the So'raan have said anything if he did not want to tell his story? Some people just liked to talk but wanted a little prodding. Jesa's sister was like that.
The singer from earlier came up just then, making Jesa's indecision a non-issue.
"Travellers, I could not help over hearing your stories, more in certain cases than others. And I would like to ask a favor which brings with it opportunities. Shall you hear me?"
"Of course. Please, tell us what you have in mind." Jesa responded without thinking, partly from his own sense of duty to a lady in need and partly because he was bored already.
"What a century this week has been." - Seung Min Kim
The Sword of the Morning
The comfortable din of conversation and clinking mugs was broken suddenly by the furious pelting of rain as the door slid open and a pair of figures slipped swiftly inside, shutting it quickly behind them.
The two, a man and woman, were obviously foreign, showing the tell-tale tans of distant Toryr. Their clothes were plastered to their bodies, and water dripped off the woman's breastplate as they caught their breath.
Artum gave a bit of a chuckle and glanced at his bodyguard. "Byus haich dy Selug, tyl nyv tenyr haanyn synaasy rik Toryr." He commented, apparently amused despite his soaking wet tunic. He ran a hand through his dripping hair and shivered. He motioned towards the bar, where a group of clearly foreign people were clustered, apparently conversing amiably. "Os viros y nyr a takos ai gyros, nyv?"
Daelia rolled her eyes and grunted, still wringing water out of her braid. Her leather was thoroughly drenched and soggy, and it was putting her in an even fouler mood than usual. "Rynch haayn." she swore under her breath as Artum took off towards the group of foreigners at the bar.
Artum
Artum approached the bar and spotted what looked like a Kergen, drinking and chatting with either a Galyr or a Fén, in what appeared to be Meiyan. He guessed Fén, based off the long hair. Glancing further up the bar, he spotted an eclectic mix of foreigners, before sliding onto a stool alongside the pair. He clapped the long-haired Fén on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "Good evening, brother from the west." he greeted in Meiyan. "Mind if I sit with you pair?" He slapped a handful of coppers onto the bar without waiting for an answer, to get the bartender's attention.
Daelia
Daelia finished wringing out here hair, handed her sword over to the bouncer, and sighed. She was a bit tired from her frantic sprint through the rain and muck, and decided that it'd probably be best to grab a drink. Although it was likely she'd have to haul Artum out of this place on his ass, so she'd have to be careful to only have one or two.
She made her way towards the bar as well, ignoring the patrons she passed, and found an unoccupied stool next to an odd group of a Huon, Meiyan, and one of the northern countries (Zel? Zal? Tel? Something like that). She rubbed her shoulder with irritation, the skin under her leather lightly chaffing, but stopped as she heard the nearby group's conversation in Meiyan.
"Travellers, I could not help over hearing your stories, more in certain cases than others. And I would like to ask a favor which brings with it opportunities. Shall you hear me?"
"Of course. Please, tell us what you have in mind."
Daelia's inner (or outer for that matter) mercenary couldn't pass up on eavesdropping that. Trying to remain unnoticed, Daelia half-turned her head, turning her ear to listen to what was said next.
edited 2nd Dec '12 3:41:49 PM by rabbitRider
Your legacy shall drift away, blown into eternity, like the sands of the desert.
Perpetually Disappointed
"Not at all," Conímoc replied, "I assume your woman there is a mercenary, you wouldn't happen to be in the business for a second, would you?"
He looked over at Zedeeru and said, "I cannot claim to know the markets well enough to speak for woodcutters but there is no promise they would trust a foreignman on the job if they had the option of hiring someone more well established. It couldn't hurt to ask around and find out but I suspect they would be wary until you could prove you weren't a fleeing murderer or were just planning on stealing their equipment and uniforms once left alone. Bodyguard on the other hand is an old trade that crosses between the barriers of language and culture where trust isn't always necessary."
Meanwhile...
"I am Faiyinr and am of no common birth, my husband is of the Rialjodi, the 'Eight Generals of the Chilai' in Meiyan tongue. My son, Tsridai, departed for the capital suddenly and with little notice and we have not heard word from him since," She spoke as best she could in the Standard Meiyan language and did quite well as befitting her apparent station, "The Capital shall not hear word from me although I have travelled this far, they tell me instead to send an impartial representative. I fear blackmail or some sort of foul play but it is necessary that he return soon. His loss has not only left me ill at ease but all respectable Chilai murmur of revenge should the situation be as a fear. If you go in my place to speak then you will be granted an audience with the Dynast of the Meiya and should you give us definite word, you shall have the gratitude of all the Chilai. A very lucretive gratitude, whether you be mercenary, merchant or even humble tradesman."
edited 30th Jan '13 6:31:47 PM by Fauxlosophe
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Shenlin, Meiya
The glorious capital of the Meiya typically bustled with countless souls. The Golden capital however found itself pelted under a black sky and pelted with heavy rain. Many hid from the rain only leaving their buildings to dart quickly back and forward from the places they needed to be. The outdoor markets were closed save for a handful of the most desperate and determined souls, instead travellers and natives alike found shelter in inns, stores and bars.
Small wooden houses built on elevated stilts to protect from harsh monsoons lay in close order to one another. It was a wonder for most outsiders who first lay eyes upon, nothing of the scale and enormity of its labryth streets would be found outside of Toryl. Though the Eralih and Zetal capitals hoped to oneday rival them in size.
Inside odd groups were gathered, foreigners and natives alike were all odd company. The owner spoke only Chilai-Meiyan but there were no shortage of interpretors willing to translate orders for a small tip.
In this crowd of foreigners, two Fén lay on their sides rather than sitting properly upon the floor. The both of them had grown their hair long which betrayed their ethnicity. Though one had chosen to don Meiyan clothing, the other prefered his native dress which looked rather a roughly made and scruffy robe next to the fine silk of the Meiyan. Between them was a board on which they moved the pieces between them. The elder looked around warily while the younger fixated on the pieces and the strategy like an eager child.
Génibhír, Fén ír
Bénagén Nímhul, Fén ba Níl Cúden.
Neimul sat uneasily on his throne as the name and title hung over him as a blade. High King of the Fayn people, he won the title against his Highland rival by appealing to the rather disdainful priests and other leaders that it would otherwise end in war with the Toryl.
Yet, while Neimul did not intend to hasten things, the idea of preventing the war was still a great question for him. Highland and Mercenary raiders were a cause of constant tension. Many of Galyr's cyrics were already appealing to the senate to bring their entire might against the Fayn. Neimul did what he could to appease but promise of trade was the only thing which could passify both sides.
Of Galyr, some of whom still knew themselves as Galél in the old toungue appealed to him to for aid, though it would be difficult to grant any as their war would be defensive. In the tall highlands, their soldiers and tactics had proved in the past more than a match for Toryl's army. By sea, the Fén were feared far more.
Neimul had little doubt both sides would survive such a war but he feared the Fén would suffer more. So he sent his most trusted Poets east to Huon, in hopes to an unlikely pact...
edited 18th Dec '12 10:42:47 AM by Fauxlosophe
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