Avatar of bloonewb

Status

Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current Wheremst
2 likes
3 yrs ago
What if *I* was the small creature all along?
1 like
3 yrs ago
O . O staring
1 like
4 yrs ago
OooooooOooOOOOooooooOOOOOooOoooooooOOooOOOOoooOo
2 likes
5 yrs ago
V.1.26 (House of Caecilius Iucundus); 4091: Whoever loves, let him flourish. Let him perish who knows not love. Let him perish twice over whoever forbids love.
2 likes

Bio

User has no bio, yet

Most Recent Posts

I have a concept, but friend suggest I run it by a few others first. I'd love to get that discord invite please.
Hello. A friend of mine introduced me to this rp, and I thought I'd like to join it. Is it still possible to do so?
"It's . . . not as I envisioned it," Kutur said nervously. Of course, he was imagining the form of the bathhouse, he had thought on the lines of something more . . . human. His mind hearkened back to his own youth, studying as an apprentice in the University of Constantsea, marveling at the grand structures of the human city, not least of which was the bathhouse, easily fitting thousands of concurrent bathing citizens. "The draconic influence upon the design is certainly prominent. I shall go and take a look at those libraries. Do you think you can manage the little ones alone for a bit?"
________________________________
"Are the soldiers rallied?" Mardex asked. An officer, clad in full armor, nodded curtly. "Excellent." He turned to his quartermaster Zandex and gestured that he join him by the window. "Look out that window there. Do you see that?" Mardex continued, pointing out at the rising cloud of dust. "Infringement. How many times has it been this year alone? I don't have the numbers, maybe you do. See, this is why we keep constant vigil." A military courier ran up the stairs, himself dressed in mail.

"The men await your command at the fort's entrance, my lord. They are growing restless. Legate Ajax says-" the courier began, but Mardex interrupted him.

"I know what Legate Ajax said, even before he sent you," Mardex groaned. He slapped the messenger's shoulder, his talon meeting the mail with a sharp clank. "Ajax, Ajax. If he weren't such a good taskmaster, I would have thrown that reckless beast out of my force. Shame, that I cannot spare him. Run back down to him, let him know that I will be on my way, and I'll get there when I get there. If he protests, well, threaten him with something on my command. I don't care what, as long as it gets him to quiet down. Do you think you can do that?" The messenger nodded, and rushed off, clattering down the stairs. "Can't get good help these days, not out here at any rate," Mardex says, half to Zandex and half to himself. "Get your armor, you're coming with me to meet them in the field. It's lucky that we have exactly what it is they don't," he smirked, then. "I hope you've brushed up on your red discipline. It's all the rage back in the city, isn't it?"
Of course. I shall promptly.
"What, do you mean the biology of it?" Kutur asked. "Well, let's see. It is true, as the scholarly texts say. Precious few of them are left, or rather, have never existed in the first place. Our library draws primarily from dracon sources and the transcription of tribal shamans, both of which are not completely empirical, or for the matter, without bias. However, we may be reasonably certain that your feet won't develop the callouses of an adults until about nine years or so, whereupon . . . " Kutur began to drone on about his knowledge of kobold anatomy, muttering more to himself than to his son. Trying to recall the various scraps of knowledge he had dredged from comparing the sources of the Librarium Constantseae, the various dracon lords' texts throughout the continent, piecing them together in his head as he tended to do. Eventually, he stopped talking altogether, save for the occasional "hmm, indeed" when within his own mind he broke though his own fog of questions.
_______________________
Mardex looked out from his perch on the great walls at the growing village below. It was not sizable, certainly not yet. No settlement in the empire could yet hope to compare with the might of Xigyll city. Mardex' own hadn't even yet a name, excepting its various descriptive nicknames by the locals. However, his fort was impressive, no question about that. Behind the Rughid palace in the capital, he might say without a doubt that his own domain is the most magnificent from the Northriver to the Varganix. Dracon names, once common in use, were being eroded from the minds of Xigyll's inhabitants, and being replaced by their own. New counties, new commanderies, were being drawn on the maps. It was as if the land itself were changing, becoming a true kobold home. He had yet to think of a name for what would one day become the centerpiece of a mighty city. "Greygrass? Narvandul?" he mused to himself. Then, a flash from the horizon caught his eye, and from it a plume of smoke. Rage filled him then. His army was in the fort. This was an infringement upon his supremacy, possibly from that traitor the Count Risi. Every day he wears at the line drawing his lands, which he was quick to arrogantly name Risihold, and his own. Immediately afterword, a scout rushed to him from a wall barrack.

"My lord! Word from the north!" he shouted as he approached.

"I can see," Mardex replied. "Let me guess, Count Risi is leading another drill over his line. He wants more space." The scout, stunned, nodded.

"It would seem so, my lord," he said. Mardex huffed at the answer, and crossed his arms.

"I am done bowing to him, who should by rights be my lesser. Send for my strategoi. Send for Prefect Zandex as well. We will need to discuss strategy."
"Coming!" Kutur shouts, looking up from his studies. Peace, for other people, meant a life of quiet and carefree leisure. Peace, for other people, meant relaxing at the bath, coming home to their bound mates, and perhaps taking a dip in the rivers on a fresh sunny day. Peace for him, however, meant paperwork. Loads of paperwork, coming from all across the empire, to be approved from Xigyll. Most have to do with the construction of a network of fortresses springing up across the mountains, from which legions may be stationed and ruled over by commanders. He didn't even know when this project started, nor where Rughoi came up with the idea, just that it showed up one day, and now they're filling his cabinets. He hastily scrawls a reply for one of these forts, one too far away from the capital to truly be of much worth. Perhaps there was a village out there?

The commotion outside was evidence enough that his wife was getting annoyed with him. She had always been more assertive with he, and he doubted if anyone in the empire aside from Rughoi would dare to disagree with her to her face. Well, Rughoi and of course, their children. He packed away his books, setting them hurriedly on their shelves, before grabbing his robes and slipping it on. "I'm here, I'm here," he muttered, entering the main room and tying the knot on his robes. All eyes were on him. "Well then, to the baths?"
Ardasa hummed to herself, striding down the hall on what she feels are longer legs.

"Just you wait, little one," she said, touching the nose of the bundle in her arms. The baby cooed up at her, stretching up with his stubby arms. Ardasa smiled down at him, feeling reinvigorated by his presence. While other ladies within the court would complain about the nuisance of child rearing, she found little stress, if any, in holding her babies in her arms, of feeding them, bedding them down at night, and even in the late hours, playing with them when they woke up. This was what she felt she wanted to do. By day, she was the empress of mighty Xigyll, the city of hopes and dreams. Second only to the emperor himself, her word stretched into the halls and keeps of every general and noble in the realm. Yet, by evening, she was a mother, like any other who lived within her city. "Do you want to see dada? Yes you do! Yes you do want to see dada!" she said. The baby's smile seemed to widen at the thought.

As she entered the meeting hall, all the councilors and generals fell silent. They stood up, in near unison, and turned to face her. A voice broke the silence.

"Mama! Mama!" came the cry of a young kobold girl, as she ran from her fathers side to collide with her mother. Ardasa was experienced enough to carry her baby in one arm, and hug the older one with the other.

"Hello, Forgga," she said. "Have you been busy?"

"Very!" Forgga shouted. "We were talking about . . . econna . . . enna . . . monicee . . . s."

"How exciting!" Ardasa exclaims. "Well, I think you should listen closely. Gold is one of many things that keep our city alive and running." Forgga dashes back to her father's side, as he stands up from the head of the table.

"Well, how's the little one?" he asks, his normally grim face parting into a wan grin. Ardasa hefts the bundle up.

"I think little Alteonus wants to see his father," she says. Rughoi gingerly accepts the little kobold into his own arms, still awkward with holding a baby.

"It's been too long since Forgga was about this size," he whispers.

"Your Might, if I would return you to the matter of the finances," says a councilor.

"Urgh . . . of course," Rughoi responds, trying poorly to hide his sigh. He hands Alteonus back to his mother. "I hope I'll be done by . . . the evening. Maybe a little later. Then I want to hold him again." He pats his daughter's head gently, as she turns her head up to face him. "Come along, Forgga. There is much work to be done, especially if you are going to be empress."
". . . WHAT!?" roared the great Sumtagus Bogudus, king of Imasicia. His hand was gripped about the armrest of his chair so hard Masinissa wondered with an idle corner of his brain as to whether he shall break his hand first, or under the pressure begin to warp the very wood from which the rest is made. Judging by the king's rage, he suspected the latter. The spirits were a powerful peoples, and are attracted to the tempting emotions of anger and fear. They provide the man who is given to such feelings with unfathomable strength, and steal away his mind, turning him into a machine built to create death. That is the sort of humor the spirits revel in, cruel and uncaring are they, unless tempted with sacrifice. If the king were to lose his mind . . .

"As I say, Excellency," chirped the censor. He adjusted the glassworks about his eyes, humming in delight as he did so and jotting down some more notes in his ledger. "Shall I repeat the figures again, Excellency?"

"Yes. Do," Bogudus said. Masinissa simply stood there, under the enflamed gaze of his sovereign, hanging his head. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, his child self calls to him, commanding him to just concentrate on the king's shoes. Perhaps if he stared at the shoes hard enough, the man above them would disappear. With a little more wishful thinking, perhaps the entire court would just vanish into mist, absolving him of his public shaming.

"Legii XLVIII through LVIII have gone missing, Your Excellency," said the censor, reading off the book. "Legii L and LI are partially depleted, in combat against the barbarians of the west, the rest have last been ordered into reserve, and thus theoretically should be in full condition." He shoots a withering stare at both Tingitus Gauda and Inumedigus Guba, both of which return their own. "Thus, the manpower currently missing in action totals . . . forty seven thousand . . . hmm . . . seven hundred and . . . let's see here . . . apologies, Excellency, the logistics are never so precise . . . eighty two."

"Ten. Whole. Legions." Bogudus said, enunciating each word. He stood up suddenly, throwing the chair behind him as he did so. It flew back with the harsh creaking of wood meeting with wood. In that moment, despite Masinissa being the taller of the two, he felt very small indeed, and the form of Bogudus grew in his eyes to rival the pillars themselves. "Praetor Masinissa?"

"Excellency?" Masinissa squeaked. His voice could barely be heard. The court's eyes were locked onto him, covering him in their judgement.

"As of this moment, by my decree, you are dishonored. You have betrayed your command, as well as your kingdom. You are lucky you once served with distinction. Most traitors I behead." Bogudus' eyes shone dark in the bright room. Light itself seemed to be absorbed into his pupils, dark voids tugging, tugging at Masinissa's soul. "Now GET. OUT. OF MY SIGHT." Masinissa dropped to a knee, resigning himself from a lifetime of banishment from the court, and perhaps the city. By the sun, the moon, and the stars, he would consider himself fortunate to even remain within the kingdom. Then, a centurion burst into the room, panting like a dog.

"Apologies . . . Excellency . . . I have . . . a message," he says, between breaths. Two house guards rush to him, helping him to the meeting table. He plops down on a vacant chair with little regard for ceremony in the presence of his king.

"Go on then," Bogudus says, seeming to have completely forgotten his earlier judgement. They wait in silence as the messenger relaxes, and begins to breathe normally again.

"We have encountered Legatus Fesus Badis on our border," he said. "He bears grim news, and is recovering from his long travel. He tells us that the Surabhi have sent us a threat. Either surrender Praetor Masinissa or face the wrath of Surabhumi." If Bogudus was angry before, his face revealed to the entire court just how much angrier he could become.

"So, Surabhumi thinks they can send us threats!?" he shouts. "Surabhumi, who killed my grandfathers, and their grandfathers, and their grandfathers as well!?" The courtiers look at each other, fearful of what the king might do to them should they dare to enter their sovereign's line of sight. "You . . . find someone. Return a message to the cow-kin. They will not have as much as a single hair upon any Imasician's head. Should they come with their armies, we shall meet like with like tenfold. GO!" The messenger sprang up and rushed from the room. Bogudus then turned his eye on Masinissa. "And you . . . go into the forests. Take ten days labor, and seven days to seek the spirits' wisdom. Then, I want to hear everything you have seen of the Surabhi battle strategy. From you and your uncle."
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet