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Bahutar Heavenly Palace, Kehlo, Angorian Kingdom
As the sun peeked over the horizon, the city of Kehlo had already awoken. The docks had been awake since the dying hours of the moon and the fishing boats were already long gone into the bay. They would not return for days. The Kehl river, which had been the life source to this town for last 300 years, was a bustle of activity as entire families crammed onto tiny boats floated lazily with the current, selling their wares or washing themselves in the rivers filthy water.
The buildings which composed of much of Kehlo were a simple affair, made up of mud bricks and the blood of slaves. Some of the more affluent sectors of the city had real mortar and concrete or reached two stories into the sky. But none was as tall as the Heavenly Palace. Built smack-dab in the middle of Kehlo, towering above the red tiles that covered the homes of the poor, was the residence of the Bahutar family and most importantly, the Narayang.
Despite it still being relatively early in the morning, the Narayang had been up and wide awake for over 3 hours. Being Narayang could be fun but it also had responsibilities that often seemed silly or pointless to the young leader. He had barely been out of his 20th year when the title and throne were dumped on him by his father, who had died of a stomach related illness just a year before. The stress was already taking its toll.
Shen Bahutar had once been a healthy young man with a full head of hair and bright future. When his father had died and was reincarnated into Shens body, the young Narayang was thrust into the world of palace politics, rules and religious ceremonies. His abdomen had been shaved and heavily tattooed with prayers and religious poems declaring his successful reincarnation. His head, once covered in a crown of curls, had been shaved to the scalp and tattooed with four dots at the highest point of his scalp. Even his face and groin had to be painfully waxed so no hair would grow. To the clergymen, hair on a Narayang was worse than murder.
The Narayang sat on his knees atop a comfortable cushion in his throne room. It was called the throne room but there was no throne. In fact, it was a relatively bare room, save for the lit braziers and candles that littered the floor. A raised dais that was in the centre of the room served as the stage which only the Narayang was allowed to sit on. Cushions lay in piles around his but he was only allowed to use one. Yet another silly rule.
Before him, his entourage sat on the steps or leaned against the pillars. In front of him stood a young Suktra man who spouted stories of creatures rising from the ancient city of Angor and pillaging villages deep within the Fengdai jungle. "Your Holiness, these creatures are dangerous! They are stealing children, massacring livestock and demolishing entire villages! Please, we need your assistance. We can't defend ourselves alone" begged the Suktra.
Before the Narayang could even open his mouth, Puya Bikram stepped out from the shadows of a pillar and spoke. "And why should we send troops away from the front line to stop things going bump in the night? These creatures you speak of are just rumour. There are many great beasts wandering the forests. It's probably just an elephant that went a bit mad and is killing your villagers. We've got bleedin' pirates and Republicans at our southern borders. They're what you should be scared of, not some fucking peasant-killing elephant" sneered Puya, scratching at a scar on his cheek. He bowed apologetically at the Narayang before stepping back into the shadow of the pillar.
Puya was fast approaching his 70th year yet he was as limbre as he'd ever been. The scars of war and old age hadn't stopped him from taking an active role in the Narayangs life. He seemed to fear the Republican Islanders to the south more than anything and according to him, every issue could be fixed if they launched an invasion on the islands. He was influential and despite his rather mad old personality, clever. Like every soldier in the land, he wore the thigh-low maroon tunic, beige trousers and boots. But unlike every other soldier in the land, he did not wear a turban. His head was instead covered in thinning, grey hair and his face was covered in stubble.
Shen glanced to his mother, who was perched on a stool below him. She was still wrapped in the robes of mourning and the bottom half of her wrinkled face was covered. She shook her head at the Puya
"Puya, our troops are not all required on the southern borders. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were looking for a war with the Republic" said Shen dryly, shifting in his cushion. Muffled laughter echoed across the court as Puya stepped out from the pillar once again and bowed apologetically. "I mean nothing by it, your Holiness. I just think we should not be so rash to believe the ghost stories of our subjects" he said, his eyes fixed on the mosaic-tiled floor.
The Narayang seemed to consider this for a moment before making a decision. "Move a few units from the eastern border into the interior of Fengdai. Set up a fort near the problem. Get it done in conjunction with this man, Puya Bikram" announced Shen. "Very good, Your Holiness" said Puya, bowing. The Suktra who had brought the problem to court dropped to his knees and thanked the Narayang with a prayer.
Shen glanced impatiently at Wu Ganesh, the clergyman wrapped in white to his left. "Is that all problems today, Wu?" he asked. "Yes, Your Holiness" murmured the priest, bowing and wringing his hands. Wu had always been a nervous and jumpy man but he was likable - for a clergyman. The Clergy demanded all its members dress simply - bare foot and wrapped in a simple woolen robe. As Wu was the court representative, he was given some leniency. He allowed his dark hair to grow to an acceptable length and occasionally wore sandals. Even the peach fuzz on his top lip was supposedly forbidden.
"Shen Bahutar, 12th Narayang of the Angorian Kingdom, God Reincarnate of Sriv Pak and the 11 men before him" exclaimed Wu, his voice cracking slightly. Every person in the room dropped to their knees and placed their foreheads to the ground. Shen stood and strode through a back door while murmured prayers bounced across the room. When the door shut behind him, it became a muffled chant. The Narayang of the Angorian Kingdom ran a hand through the stubble that he called hair and sighed.
Now he could get to the fun stuff.
Fort Ranit, Bashwar Peninsular, Southern Angorian Kingdom
"Well, Wanli, I told him to go fuck himself" smirked Injit. "No, you didn't, Injit. I bet you just said 'sorry, sir' and bowed" sneered Wanli, spitting on the ground as he said it. The pair of soldiers walked casually down the hill, following a beaten track through the jungle. Behind them, the place they had called home, the workplace and the dinner table for the last few seasons loomed - Fort Ranit. Ahead lay the tiny fishing village for which the fort was named and the vast, twinkling ocean that stood as a buffer zone between the Angorians and the Republicans.
The soldiers were uncomfortably warm in their itchy uniforms and looked to their time off with relish. Their heads were tightly wrapped in maroon turbans which matched the colour of the uniforms. A maroon red jacket that hung down to their thighs and split into tails on either side. At least the trousers were a light beige colour and their boots the colour of muck.
"Wanli, I think becoming a soldier was the best thing my master ever commanded me to do" grinned Injit, twirling his moustache. Injit had been of the slave class, the lowest of the low. Social mobility was discouraged in Angorian society but there were ways to achieve it. Fourteen years in the Narayang's Blood Army allowed you to retire with a full pension, a patch of land in Fengdai and, if you showed bravery in battle, a title. It proved highly popular with members of the slave and peasant classes for these very reasons.
"It's all right" shrugged Wanli, unconciously checking his belt for his weapon. All members of the Blood Army were trained to fight with the Angorian Camwar, a heavy iron sword with a curved end. Wanli had become rather attached to his and feared the punishment of losing it. "The ban from meeting with women is an annoyance, though" continued Wanli, confident his Camwar was still attached to his body. "Eh, I've had enough of women. They drive me mad. Ordering me to do this and that, you know?" replied Injit, hopping over a pile of mule dung.
"Yeah but a good woman can give you a bit more pleasure than your hand" grumbled Wanli, kicking at a stone. The jungle thicket had cleared by now, replaced with the dying stumps of the trees that had once stood there. The great jungles of Bashwar and Fengdai were becoming smaller yet more civilised by the year as more people moved out of the rich central regions and into these frontiers. The village of Ranit was barely a century old, having been founded by a group of freed slaves who wanted to get as far away from their masters as possible. They kept moving until they found the sea and from there, they stopped.
The villagers here lived simple lives, getting all their sustenance from the sea. There were perhaps one hundred people at most squatting in the small stone hovels they called home or in the small fleet of six fishing boats that pulled up maybe five fish a day. They had been relatively isolated until Fort Ranit was built on one of the hills overlooking the jungle and the village. Since then, soldiers were regularly sent to the village to patrol for pirates or collect taxes.
The soldiers more often than not spent the time flirting with local women or starting fights among themselves. Pirates rarely bother Ranit and that suited the villagers just fine. Injit yawned and stretched his arms as they walked into the tiny village. The homes were made of stone with some of the luckier families having a thatched roof. Most just placed logs over their heads and hoped for the best. "When I was a slave, I lived in better conditions than these" snorted Injit, stamping through the mud of the village centre.
Wanli hated Ranit - animals and children ran wild around the village, only occasionally checked by the adults who were lazy and demanding. The fleet of boats barely pulled in enough haul for everyone and some people went to sleep starving. At least the fort had food, alcohol and roofs. Injit stopped in the village green and looked did a full circle, lazily looking at every building and their inhabitants. "You know, I think, just like yesterday, there's fucking nothing here" groaned Injit. "We've got to guard here all day. Might as well get comfortable" replied Wanli, growing bored of Injits constant moaning.
With that, he perched himself on the edge of the well and took a long drink of water from the rotten bucket that hung loosely in the middle of it. "You know how I said becoming a soldier was the best thing I was ever commanded to do?" said Injit, taking a seat beside his friend.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I lied. This is one of the most boring thins I've ever done."
As the sun peeked over the horizon, the city of Kehlo had already awoken. The docks had been awake since the dying hours of the moon and the fishing boats were already long gone into the bay. They would not return for days. The Kehl river, which had been the life source to this town for last 300 years, was a bustle of activity as entire families crammed onto tiny boats floated lazily with the current, selling their wares or washing themselves in the rivers filthy water.
The buildings which composed of much of Kehlo were a simple affair, made up of mud bricks and the blood of slaves. Some of the more affluent sectors of the city had real mortar and concrete or reached two stories into the sky. But none was as tall as the Heavenly Palace. Built smack-dab in the middle of Kehlo, towering above the red tiles that covered the homes of the poor, was the residence of the Bahutar family and most importantly, the Narayang.
Despite it still being relatively early in the morning, the Narayang had been up and wide awake for over 3 hours. Being Narayang could be fun but it also had responsibilities that often seemed silly or pointless to the young leader. He had barely been out of his 20th year when the title and throne were dumped on him by his father, who had died of a stomach related illness just a year before. The stress was already taking its toll.
Shen Bahutar had once been a healthy young man with a full head of hair and bright future. When his father had died and was reincarnated into Shens body, the young Narayang was thrust into the world of palace politics, rules and religious ceremonies. His abdomen had been shaved and heavily tattooed with prayers and religious poems declaring his successful reincarnation. His head, once covered in a crown of curls, had been shaved to the scalp and tattooed with four dots at the highest point of his scalp. Even his face and groin had to be painfully waxed so no hair would grow. To the clergymen, hair on a Narayang was worse than murder.
The Narayang sat on his knees atop a comfortable cushion in his throne room. It was called the throne room but there was no throne. In fact, it was a relatively bare room, save for the lit braziers and candles that littered the floor. A raised dais that was in the centre of the room served as the stage which only the Narayang was allowed to sit on. Cushions lay in piles around his but he was only allowed to use one. Yet another silly rule.
Before him, his entourage sat on the steps or leaned against the pillars. In front of him stood a young Suktra man who spouted stories of creatures rising from the ancient city of Angor and pillaging villages deep within the Fengdai jungle. "Your Holiness, these creatures are dangerous! They are stealing children, massacring livestock and demolishing entire villages! Please, we need your assistance. We can't defend ourselves alone" begged the Suktra.
Before the Narayang could even open his mouth, Puya Bikram stepped out from the shadows of a pillar and spoke. "And why should we send troops away from the front line to stop things going bump in the night? These creatures you speak of are just rumour. There are many great beasts wandering the forests. It's probably just an elephant that went a bit mad and is killing your villagers. We've got bleedin' pirates and Republicans at our southern borders. They're what you should be scared of, not some fucking peasant-killing elephant" sneered Puya, scratching at a scar on his cheek. He bowed apologetically at the Narayang before stepping back into the shadow of the pillar.
Puya was fast approaching his 70th year yet he was as limbre as he'd ever been. The scars of war and old age hadn't stopped him from taking an active role in the Narayangs life. He seemed to fear the Republican Islanders to the south more than anything and according to him, every issue could be fixed if they launched an invasion on the islands. He was influential and despite his rather mad old personality, clever. Like every soldier in the land, he wore the thigh-low maroon tunic, beige trousers and boots. But unlike every other soldier in the land, he did not wear a turban. His head was instead covered in thinning, grey hair and his face was covered in stubble.
Shen glanced to his mother, who was perched on a stool below him. She was still wrapped in the robes of mourning and the bottom half of her wrinkled face was covered. She shook her head at the Puya
"Puya, our troops are not all required on the southern borders. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were looking for a war with the Republic" said Shen dryly, shifting in his cushion. Muffled laughter echoed across the court as Puya stepped out from the pillar once again and bowed apologetically. "I mean nothing by it, your Holiness. I just think we should not be so rash to believe the ghost stories of our subjects" he said, his eyes fixed on the mosaic-tiled floor.
The Narayang seemed to consider this for a moment before making a decision. "Move a few units from the eastern border into the interior of Fengdai. Set up a fort near the problem. Get it done in conjunction with this man, Puya Bikram" announced Shen. "Very good, Your Holiness" said Puya, bowing. The Suktra who had brought the problem to court dropped to his knees and thanked the Narayang with a prayer.
Shen glanced impatiently at Wu Ganesh, the clergyman wrapped in white to his left. "Is that all problems today, Wu?" he asked. "Yes, Your Holiness" murmured the priest, bowing and wringing his hands. Wu had always been a nervous and jumpy man but he was likable - for a clergyman. The Clergy demanded all its members dress simply - bare foot and wrapped in a simple woolen robe. As Wu was the court representative, he was given some leniency. He allowed his dark hair to grow to an acceptable length and occasionally wore sandals. Even the peach fuzz on his top lip was supposedly forbidden.
"Shen Bahutar, 12th Narayang of the Angorian Kingdom, God Reincarnate of Sriv Pak and the 11 men before him" exclaimed Wu, his voice cracking slightly. Every person in the room dropped to their knees and placed their foreheads to the ground. Shen stood and strode through a back door while murmured prayers bounced across the room. When the door shut behind him, it became a muffled chant. The Narayang of the Angorian Kingdom ran a hand through the stubble that he called hair and sighed.
Now he could get to the fun stuff.
Fort Ranit, Bashwar Peninsular, Southern Angorian Kingdom
"Well, Wanli, I told him to go fuck himself" smirked Injit. "No, you didn't, Injit. I bet you just said 'sorry, sir' and bowed" sneered Wanli, spitting on the ground as he said it. The pair of soldiers walked casually down the hill, following a beaten track through the jungle. Behind them, the place they had called home, the workplace and the dinner table for the last few seasons loomed - Fort Ranit. Ahead lay the tiny fishing village for which the fort was named and the vast, twinkling ocean that stood as a buffer zone between the Angorians and the Republicans.
The soldiers were uncomfortably warm in their itchy uniforms and looked to their time off with relish. Their heads were tightly wrapped in maroon turbans which matched the colour of the uniforms. A maroon red jacket that hung down to their thighs and split into tails on either side. At least the trousers were a light beige colour and their boots the colour of muck.
"Wanli, I think becoming a soldier was the best thing my master ever commanded me to do" grinned Injit, twirling his moustache. Injit had been of the slave class, the lowest of the low. Social mobility was discouraged in Angorian society but there were ways to achieve it. Fourteen years in the Narayang's Blood Army allowed you to retire with a full pension, a patch of land in Fengdai and, if you showed bravery in battle, a title. It proved highly popular with members of the slave and peasant classes for these very reasons.
"It's all right" shrugged Wanli, unconciously checking his belt for his weapon. All members of the Blood Army were trained to fight with the Angorian Camwar, a heavy iron sword with a curved end. Wanli had become rather attached to his and feared the punishment of losing it. "The ban from meeting with women is an annoyance, though" continued Wanli, confident his Camwar was still attached to his body. "Eh, I've had enough of women. They drive me mad. Ordering me to do this and that, you know?" replied Injit, hopping over a pile of mule dung.
"Yeah but a good woman can give you a bit more pleasure than your hand" grumbled Wanli, kicking at a stone. The jungle thicket had cleared by now, replaced with the dying stumps of the trees that had once stood there. The great jungles of Bashwar and Fengdai were becoming smaller yet more civilised by the year as more people moved out of the rich central regions and into these frontiers. The village of Ranit was barely a century old, having been founded by a group of freed slaves who wanted to get as far away from their masters as possible. They kept moving until they found the sea and from there, they stopped.
The villagers here lived simple lives, getting all their sustenance from the sea. There were perhaps one hundred people at most squatting in the small stone hovels they called home or in the small fleet of six fishing boats that pulled up maybe five fish a day. They had been relatively isolated until Fort Ranit was built on one of the hills overlooking the jungle and the village. Since then, soldiers were regularly sent to the village to patrol for pirates or collect taxes.
The soldiers more often than not spent the time flirting with local women or starting fights among themselves. Pirates rarely bother Ranit and that suited the villagers just fine. Injit yawned and stretched his arms as they walked into the tiny village. The homes were made of stone with some of the luckier families having a thatched roof. Most just placed logs over their heads and hoped for the best. "When I was a slave, I lived in better conditions than these" snorted Injit, stamping through the mud of the village centre.
Wanli hated Ranit - animals and children ran wild around the village, only occasionally checked by the adults who were lazy and demanding. The fleet of boats barely pulled in enough haul for everyone and some people went to sleep starving. At least the fort had food, alcohol and roofs. Injit stopped in the village green and looked did a full circle, lazily looking at every building and their inhabitants. "You know, I think, just like yesterday, there's fucking nothing here" groaned Injit. "We've got to guard here all day. Might as well get comfortable" replied Wanli, growing bored of Injits constant moaning.
With that, he perched himself on the edge of the well and took a long drink of water from the rotten bucket that hung loosely in the middle of it. "You know how I said becoming a soldier was the best thing I was ever commanded to do?" said Injit, taking a seat beside his friend.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I lied. This is one of the most boring thins I've ever done."