Gartnait, son of Galan, High Chief of all of Qritland, was not having a particularly good day. At the moment he was trying to get some relaxation in his home, but he was certain that soon someone would come barging in once again to inform him on the headache that was the dynastic incident in Epiae. At the moment he wasn't able to tell whether their chief was one of the bratty children of his late friend Galan or the cousin of their capitals' reeve! He had always hated the stresses of maintaining the Talorgian bond. The lies, deceit, bribery, bartering, it all served to make him yearn for the days of his ancestor Talorg, where a thousand men at his back charged for the glory of Pitath and the conquest of Qritland. He had always held fantasies of greater warfare, and he was sure that some other chief's did as well, but these fantasies as of late were becoming especially potent.
Through the course of his thoughts he had been leaning on one of the engraved wooden pillars holding the roof in place, near to one of the silver candle holders, upon which burnt a bright orange flame, with the tallow with which it was made slowly dripping onto the floor. There were signs that it had been without replacement for some time, as the puddle which had begun to form on the expertly constructed wooden floor had begun to solidify at its lower layers. Gartnait didn't much care, these sorts of things did not trouble him he thought as he moved his gaze towards the slowly forming puddle. He had begun to feel the need to practice more with his spear, and was about to rouse his tattooed body, clothed in a fairly comfortable whitish brown woolen tunic, from his thoughts when, as he suspected would soon happen, one of his servants barged in through the door.
The servant was wiry and old, older than Gartnait certainly, he had long suspected that the servant had worked with his father or even possibly his grandfather, but he had never probed him on the subject. He had too much to do for that sort of conversation. He was sure however that he was here to sour his mood even further, and thus Gartnait began to speak with a sigh. "What is required of me now Nechtan?"
A crease drove itself between the eyebrows of the old man's weathered and worn skin, Gartnait had seen that look before, it was a sign that he had come with news of importance. His raspy, low voice bellowed with almost unnatural vigor towards him, "Great Chief, a messenger from beyond the water, coming from a distant land, has sought you out, bringing correspondence from his master to you. He has arrived outside your door."
Beyond the water! This was truly a surprise to Gartnait, an occurrence far beyond that of the petty politics of his position! In his reaction was easily visible the effects of this announcement. Gartnait sprung to action, speedily walking towards his servant at a visibly hurried pace, to the door at the end of his dwelling past the several pillars that paralleled on both sides of his home, all of which dripping tallow onto the floor. He came close to his servant and stated officially, "Bring me to this messenger, and quickly."
They both proceeded outside. It was a particularly foggy day, and neither Gartnait nor his servant could see very much beyond the buildings that held the organs of government that held the eternal bond forged by Talorg together. Today was a convenient one for a foreign messenger (
the thought!) to arrive, as Gartnait had called for the chiefs for a convening and several of them were beginning to arrive, many of which on horse, the creature with which the trendy among the nobles favored but Gartnait personally detested, partly because of the smell, partly because of the difficulty of riding them, but mostly because he saw them as nothing but a tool for the sending of correspondence.
Let the mailmen have their horses and the warriors have their spears[i] thought he.
Both Gartnait and his servant proceeded down the beaten dirt road towards this messenger. His clothes were made of some sort of cloth foreign to the island, from what Gartnait could garner at first glance. However, their visibly fine weave had shown various signs of stress, probably due to the fact that getting to Qritland from anywhere is a very, [i]very difficult challenge that only some of the most adventurous traders even dare to attempt, however a diplomat was unprecedented. The messenger was escorted by two armored men, their armor no less frayed by the journey. In front of both the diplomat and his escort was clearly a trader of foreign background, given that he had a different shade of skin and, parallel to his side, a wagon was drawn loaded with goods, however he at least had a mind to wear the typical dress of Qritland unlike the diplomat.
Nechtan the servant stopped at the side of the trader, in front of the wagon, and said towards Gartnait in his unnaturally young voice, "This trader from Atath is familiar with the tongue of the messenger, and has come to act as an interpreter."
Gartnait stroked his beard in interest. He gestured for the messenger to speak. The messenger began to talk in his strange dialect, Gartnait couldn't understand him in the slightest, but the trader, from the expression on his face, seemed to know what the diplomat said. After he spoke a bit, the trader translated what the diplomat said in his clearly foreign accent, "Leader of this nation, this diplomat comes from the Empire of Valhall, within which they have successfully resolved their civil war and have united their continent under their banner. His leader, Caylor Brant, Emperor of Valhall, Protector of Man, has sent his offer to all nations ruled by humanity. Should your nation swear their allegiance to the Empire of Valhall and choose civility over barbarism..." Gartnait visibly scowled at this statement, "...you shall be placed under the protection of the Empire of Valhall. Should you deny the Empires' generous offer of hospitality, the Empire of Valhall and their righteous allies shall declare war upon you after three full moons have passed, and the Great War for Mankind shall begin."
Gartnait, before expecting offers of riches or alliance, found that some foreign nation, this so called 'Empire', from across the waters, was expecting that the people of Qritland be subservient to them? Gartnait had become displeased.
Very displeased. In the seconds that the words began to fully sink in, Gartnait felt a great fury rise through him. He did not quite remember exactly what happened after that fury had boiled over, but he was sure it was unpleasant, as within the next few minutes the ground had been soaked with blood, two mangled corpses, what remained of the escort, lay haphazardly stacked on one another off the side of the path, and the messengers face had been beaten to a pulp, with a couple of his ribs busted open. His arms and legs were bound, and his mouth was tied so he would stop wailing in pain. It was at this point that Gartnait calmed down a little, just enough to as to make some coherent logical thought.
While he had initially planned to kill the messenger who had so rudely strolled into his home and demanded his island and his people from him, likely through the most gratuitous and painful methods of torture, he realized that the message would not be carried very well that Qritland had denied Valhall's demand unless there was actually somebody to relay the message. And while having their messenger beaten to a pulp was enough, it didn't carry as much of a point as Gartnait wanted to make.
Gartnait turned towards the trader, who, besides having received a single punch to the face, had managed to stay out of the conflict relatively unharmed. "Can you write in their tongue?" Gartnait asked him, the rage still audible in his voice. The trader nodded, obviously still scarred from the acts he had just witnessed. The trader dug through his cart and pulled out some thin material, similar to animal hide but far thinner, as well as some instrument, probably for writing the words themselves. He used what little space he had on his loaded cart to prepare to write down Gartnait's message to be relayed with the messenger by a Qriythonic escort to the Valhallan ship that had landed in Atath...
"To the most abominable and detested Caylor Brant, Emperor of Valhall;
Your message to the people of Qritland has been carefully weighed and considered, and we have decided that you and your so called 'Empire' can retreat to the deepest depths of the pit within which your loathsome and most obnoxious people crawled out of. Your nation is deserving of nothing more than the utmost detest, your arrogant and wicked attempts to usurp the sovereign Qriythonic people shall be met with nothing less than the most vigorous opposition to your barbaric and unjust claim to power. We Qriythons seek not association with your distasteful and permeably odious nation, and we politely ask that you keep your most filthy and meddling hands away from our land.
With the lowest regards;
Gartnait, Son of Galan, High Chief of Qritland."
