The sounds of battle were already dying, the small village of Skan already buckling under the ferocity of Jjonveyo’s forces. Every house had a busted down door, pools of blood painting the entrances of the more resistant Skanians. Jjonveyo himself stood before a violent man far past any notion of reason. The Skanian man held a copper bladed axe with both hands, fury burning in his eyes. They stood between two homes, a cowering boy not even in his double digits was hiding in the shadows, tears running down his face.
With a roar, the Skanian swung his axe. Despite his enormous size, Jjonveyo moved like liquid out of its way, angling himself for his own hefty swing. His own axe swung quick, cleaving into the man’s skull and knocking his corpse off its feet. The body bounced off the wall of the house before folding to the ground. Jjonveyo gritted his teeth, dark eyes falling on the cowering boy.
Jjonveyo’s footsteps seemed to shake the boy’s world with each impact until finally the giant of a man was towering over him. The heavy axe head thudded into the ground beside the boy, Jjonveyo kneeling until he was face to face with the sobbing child. The boy’s cheeks were stained red with tears, snot dripping from his nose. Jjonveyo met the sight with a hard analytical glare. The boy was breathless with sobs, so Jjonveyo seemed to talk for him. The Tsar’s voice rumbled, shaking the boy’s attention so they stared eye to eye.
“Do you want to live?”
The boy nodded quickly.
“So do we,” Jjonveyo slowly offered a calloused hand. Scared, the boy slowly gripped the man’s fingers. With a ginger pinch, Jjonveyo grabbed ahold of the boy’s hand and slowly lifted him to his feet.
“My Tsar!” Piotr’s voice found Jjonveyo, and the dark man turned to his retainer.
“Take census of the village,” Jjonveyo commanded quickly, “Let the survivors know I prefer peace.”
“Yes my Tsar,” Piotr nodded, “But I hold news.”
The Tsar’s eyes darkened, glaring deep into Piotrs. The Retainer tipped his head to avoid eye contact, “The Village of Jren refuses to give tithe on account that they aren’t Čeleviak.”
A deep hum growled from Jjonveyo, his eyes flickering over to the boy then back at Piotr, “They insult their Tsar and kin?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jjonveyo exhaled through his nose, “What is their census?”
“About two hundred and fourteen individuals.”
“The Tsar prefers mercy; execute every tenth, hang their elder, and inform them that they are now Čeleviak.” Jjonveyo stood perfectly straight, eyes flickering once again at the boy. “We are all in this together. To tithe is to ensure your kin and kith live, to deny the tithe is a grave crime against all.” He flicked back to Piotr, “Demtri will be boyar of Jren in place of their elder, inform him of my desires.” Jjonveyo kicked his axe up and over his shoulder, walking away from his most recent victory.
“My Tsar?” Piotr’s voice came again. Jjonveyo didn’t stop, a simple “Hm?” Coming from him.
“Wojeck still hasn’t sent word.”
“Mm...” The groan came, “No doubt the proud and greedy of Ha-Duna have done something vile. What do the Auspices say?” Jjonveyo turned to Piotr. Piotr shrugged.
“They returned to your hall after your victory over Aleksiej.”
Jjonveyo frowned deeply, “We will head to the hall of the Tsar, then, and consult them.” He paused, “No doubt they have grown lazy on my pillows and drunk with my dancers.” Disappointed he let out another rumble, “They will march with me after they give me the reading I know they will.”
WE visit the village of Skan where we find the end of a tiny invasion by Jjonveyo concluding. He lectures a scared child briefly and passes judgement on a rebelling village nearby known as Jren. After requesting census to be taken on Skan and punishment on Jren, he is reminded about Wojeck’s absence. He requests the insight of the Auspices but is informed that they left his company for his hall after his campaign against Aleksiej and so he decides to head home to gather them before marching on Ha-Duna.
The Great Hall of Chief Aleksiej -- Last holdout of the Čeleviak tribes
Tables were toppled, chairs were split, wooden bowls and bone carved cups were strewn about. The walls were spattered with a mixed mess of a now unidentifiable concoction, and the great door that led into this pine log hall was crushed into the floor, a single metal hinge squeaking against a growing wind outside. By the foot of the Chieftain Aleksiej’s wooden throne was the Chieftain himself, eyes open wide in terror and a gaping cut nearly cleaving his head from his neck. Under him laid his wife, her eyes closed as if she resigned peacefully when her chest was split open. Jjonveyo, the man who sat on the throne, knew that wasn’t true.
A bloodied axe lay across his crimson died pants, one calloused finger tapping against its ivory pommel. Specks of blood flaked in Jjonveyo’s deep black beard and moustache and his dark eyes stared thoughtfully at his slaughtered nephews and nieces. Their bodies littered around his brother Aleksiej’s, bloody and broken. A dense circlet weighed more on his head than his thoughts, though - he felt no remorse in the massacre.
“Is it done?” A voice called from the fallen door, the long grey beard of a man named Piotr poking in. Jjonveyo simply looked up from his deeds and narrowed his eyes. Piotr gulped and took a step in, but as his first footfall hit the wooden floors, Jjonveyo’s voice rumbled from his gruff throat.
“They dwell in the caves of Thaa, now, as cowards.” It was a decree as much as a statement, and one that Piotr didn’t dare question. His old eyes looked as if they desired to ask a question, but instead his lips waited. Jjonveyo waved a hand and Piotr tilted his head.
“You are Tsar.” Piotr announced.
“I am,” Jjonveyo’s voice was certain and without any doubt in the fact, “Čeleviak united...” There was a dense pause, and Jjonveyo stood up a whole head taller than Piotr. He looked down at his loyal retainer, “What of Wojeck, has he returned from Ha-Dûna?”
“No,” Piotr said, following the Tsar who was now on his way out of the hall. Silence overtook the pair again as they crossed the threshold to the outside, where Jjonveyo’s warriors were still picking loot from the dead warriors and people who lived under his brother Aleksiej. Jjonveyo’s glare seemed to follow the scene and a low rumble hummed in his throat as he thought.
“Leave your trinkets!” He suddenly barked, his words freezing the scene, “We will not take from Čeleviaks, they now know who is their Tsar -- leave their wealth so they can multiply it for the tithe.” The warriors blinked at Jjonveyo, but quickly began to drop whatever they had looted to the floor -- survivors huddled in the shadows of broken yurts and a-frame homes watching on desperately. “We already have so little,” Jjonveyo confided in Piotr, voice a low grumble.
“You’re a generous leader,” Piotr remarked, mouth hanging open as if wanting to say more. Jjonveyo frowned.
“But no word from Wojeck?”
“No.” Piotr reminded.
“Then we must wait longer to see if the people of Ha-Dûna will find the caves of Thaa in death, or the mountainside above.” Jjonveyo rolled his jaw in thought, eyes glued to the dark grey banner hanging from the ruined great hall -- the image of a devouring snake upon it. Flicking his eyes back to Piotr he spoke, “Collect my warriors.”
Ha-Dûna
The autumn harvest was approaching its end, and sleds, carts and farmers with baskets and haystacks on their backs filled the mud-path streets to the brim, flowing in and out of the city gates like the tide. Druids patrolled every resthouse, silo and storehouse, scraping down the amounts on oak and birch tablets. Overseeing the peace were leather-armoured constables armed with whips, ready to punish any who dared short their taxes or sneak handfuls of grain and vegetables. Children zoomed between the legs of adults and animals, playing with sticks. By the largest resthouse, the South Gate Hall, théin Aifric rubbed her groggy eyes, hardly paying attention anymore to the masses of ethnicities from the southern farmlands that came with all kinds of taxable and untaxable goods. She had to kick herself awake several times - it may have been the last day, but she had beheld this very sight for weeks now. The responsibilities of a théin weren’t always as exciting.
“Théin Aifric?” asked the druid tallying the goods. Aifric instinctively took the whip off her belt and slowly rolled it out.
“Alright… How many?”
The druid blinked and shook her head. “No, no, no - it’s not a criminal this time.” Aifric frowned in surprise and looked up to see the line of farmers and herders shiver as one at the sight of the whip. At the head of the line, though, stood a man. He was dressed in thick woolen clothes hardened with a leather chap. A great serpent was stitched into the chest of his coat, mouth agape and eyes clearly gouged out. The man himself looked rather young, but held experience in his sharp dark eyes. He was flanked by two similar looking men of varying ages. They all wore the same dark beard and moustache.
“You are an official?” The middle man’s voice was thick and groggy with an accent that could only be described as Čeleviak. It was as if speaking Dûnan words made his tongue swollen and slow. The théin blinked.
“I am,” she replied curtly. “What’s this? Uh… Chelivyak, right - there’s no mistaking that accent. You are very far from home, man. You’ve got goods to tax?”
“No,” The man, Wojeck, said sternly, “I have come for tithe to the Tsar.” He pulled a wooden circle out of his coat and pushed it into Aifric’s hands. On its sanded surface were surprisingly well written Dûnan characters and numerals. It almost looked like one of the inventory reports for the post-tax season, but the way it was written and the context made it clear that it was a list of demands. The théin hardened her eyes skeptically.
“First of all, it’s ‘fithe’. Second of all, we have no such law. What even is a saar, anyway?” She turned the plate around in her hand before giving it back. “If you’ve had your fun, stop wasting my time, son.”
The plate was shoved back at Aifric, narrow black eyes glaring from Wojeck. “Jjonveyo the Great demands his tithe under threat of annihilation. Your law is now under his, your time is now under his. Jjonveyo the Great is a man of mercy, and wishes a simple transition of the tithe.” The two other men grunted in agreement. The théin snarled and shoved him back forcefully.
“Back off! I don’t know what you’ve eaten today, but you are far out of line. Go home to your saar or whatever he is and tell him to send a better joker next time.” She flexed her hand around her whip. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”
The three men looked between themselves. Wojeck slowly grinned menacingly, “What is your name, that you speak so cocky against Jjonveyo?”
“What is my--” The woman looked to not know whether to laugh or snarl, standing dumbfounded before the men. The tax line had at this point stopped, and the druid and the constables were paying close attention. Aifric uncoiled her whip. “I wouldn’t give a damn about this Joanveyoh even if I had a damn to give. You can go right home and tell whoever that even is that Aifric, théin of Ha-Dûna and daughter of Clan Sûr-le-Mont, sent his loon of a messenger back home with those words - and if you even open your mouth right now, I will give you as many lashes as it takes to get you to leave. You are wasting my and everybody else here’s time with your games.”
A roar of laughter erupted from Wojeck, and he turned to one of the other bearded men -- explaining something in Čeleviak. The other man started to laugh with Wojeck, the latter following last. All at once they turned to Aifric, Wojeck pointing a finger, "I had no idea I was speaking to an ignorant, indeed I have wasted time. Pray tell, where may I find an official?" He quickly added, "Capable of diplomacy."
That was the last drop, and the théin lifted her whip, cracking it furiously at the three men. More constables hurried over to help, taking out their own whips. “Go! Get out of here, you slobs! Back to your dirty caves!”
The whip lashed across Wojeck's chest, but his ears perked at the mention of caves - pushing him through the pain. He gritted his teeth and barked something in Čeleviak. The other men narrowed their eyes. Wojeck and one of the others whipped out daggers from their coats, murder in their eyes.
"Stop!" The oldest of the three suddenly shouted, voice dripping with a foreign accent thicker than Wojeck's. Wojeck and the other man hesitated.
“He’s pulled a blade!” shouted one of the constables. The crowd of people who had come to pay taxes screamed and scattered, and the théin and her warriors pulled their own weapons, most of them axes, but Aifric’s, a long dagger. They then jabbed and lunged the Čeleviak, trying to get a good stab in, the first stab puncturing the hesitating Wojeck. The blade sunk deep into the base of his neck, a rough gurgle spattering out.
The old man's eyes widened with fear and in a moment, he had his own blade drawn and deep in the leg of Aifric. He pulled it out in time to dodge an axe swing from a constable - the same constable shrieking in pain as the last Čeleviak stabbed his blade into their heart.
An axe came crashing down into the man's back, and before the older man could retaliate and avenge - an axe slammed into his own. He fell to the ground, bone crunching against the axe blade. The constables stood panting over the corpses until one of them turned to the théin, shouting, “The théin! She’s wounded! Kaer Samwyn, do something!” The druid, shocked by what had just transpired, hastened to action with healing Aifric’s leg. One of the constables took the head of the one whose heart had been stabbed and lifted his torso onto her lap, tears filling her face.
“Ron… No… Oh gods, not Ron…” She looked pleadingly over at the druid, who looked back and shook her head slowly.
“There’s nothing I can do for him… I’m sorry. He’s in the afterlife now, being welcomed by his mothers and fathers of yore.”
Regeneration II: Jjonveyo can regenerate from most of any normal wound within minutes.
DP and 2 Free titles due to Undying port
Undying V: Jjonveyo can survive wounds and even can slowly heal that which should have killed an ordinary man. They won't go into shock or otherwise be debilitated beyond the physical debasement, an arm cut off means that they can't use that arm, not that they have been declawed. Their soul is tied to their body by bonds stronger than that life ordinarily permits, as such even when they should be dead, they remain tied to their body as it tries to heal to whatever extent it can.
We open with Jjonveyo sitting on the throne of his brother Aleksiej, who he had just killed along with the entire family. Jjonveyo is one of six Chieftains of the Čeleviak ethnicity that lives in the harshest mountains by Ha-Duna. With the murder of his brother, Jjonveyo had now successfully killed the other five Chieftains of the Čeleviaks over the course of a year. Being the sole ruler of the Čeleviaks, he is named Tsar and begins to amass an amazing army.
Back at Ha-Duna, Jjonveyo’s nephew -- Wojeck -- arrives to demand “tithe” for the great Tsar. He is continuously mocked by the Thein receiving him, Aifric. Wojeck returns the mockery and then suggests talking to a more diplomatic official, but is met with whips. Insulted, Wojeck and one of his lackeys pulls blades to kill Aifric but are stopped by a third Čeleviak emissary. Unfortunately Aifric and the other constables are already descending on them and Aifric kills Wojeck. The other two Čeleviak are quickly dispatched, with only one constable dying and Aifric suffering a minor wound. It is assumed that without Wojeck’s word ever reaching back to Jjonveyo, that Ha-Duna has chosen war.
The sun only just started to rise. Its murky golden rays cut over the red roofs of the surrounding buildings and spilled into the half open window of Juniper Twiceseven’s room. She laid on her back, big brown eyes wide open as they sucked in the new light. There was a dryness on her face, having been awake for at least an hour. Her breathing didn’t change much with the realization that it was now properly morning - just a small knit in her brow recognizing that this was starting to become a habit.
Reluctantly she kicked the wide bed’s covers away from her body, revealing an acorn laying ontop of her chest, a cheap silver wire tying it to a thin silver lace about her neck. Her fingers were already toying with it, as they had been since she woke up. Tucking a slant into her cheek she looked down at it and slipped it under her collar. Rising, much as one would imagine a creaky corpse might rise from a coffin, she sat up -- fluffing a hand through her messy nest of soot black hair.
Rolling the rest of the way out, she looked at the clothes folded on a chair in the corner of her room. Quickly she started to count her fingers, sure she didn’t see more than three people she knew yesterday. She raised her chin and looked to the ceiling as a thought started to form -- no it was four.
“Still in the clear,” She said without much enthusiasm and snagged them from their resting spot.
The process was quick and punctuated with an angry brush cleaving through her hair up until she gave up on it. Tying it up, she walked into the only other room her little home had -- the kitchen. There she stared at a bowl of oats and a cold hearth. She tucked another slant in her cheek.
“Later,” She promised, “I’ll eat twice what I missed.”
With her oath settled, she slipped on some beat up boots and threw her trusty grey and white checkered cloak over her trusty burgundy tunic. Snapping a smile on her face, she made another oath, “Today will be a good day. Tomorrow even better, and the day after that...” She fell into her mantra as she slammed her front door behind her.
It was a cold Macsalsday morning - as all Dûnan mornings were - and the first thlénn had not set in yet. These summer days were long, but if one wanted to be up with the sun - as Juniper did - then you just had to sleep less. People were already stirring, and the odd, “mornin’ ta yeh, Jun,” piped out. The particularly energetic Kala was already making her Macsalday pie, and she popped her head out of the window and called her to join them.
“You look like you’ve had nothing but oats again,” the motherly woman said with a smile. “Come on in now, the college can wait.”
Juniper scrunched her right eye at the sun, the left peering at Kala. A thought buzzed just for a moment -- more of a mental wince -- regarding Kala’s observation. But with a brilliant smile, Juniper managed to ward off the rest of the thought. “Sure,” She replied, mustering what morning social energy she could find.
The little woman hummed to herself as she let Juniper in, pulling up a chair for her. “And how are things going at the college? Learned any good morning ditties yet?” She asked as she placed a slice of pear and apple pie before her. A pair of feet could be heard scrambling about, and a little brown-haired boy came dashing from the only other room the little home had, making himself comfortable in one of the seats. A grumble followed, and a big bearded man came lumbering in after him.
“Gods, where do you find the energy so early,” he half-growled, walking up to the pie.
“No! No, sit down Feidlir,” Kala rushed over and just about caught the bear’s hand, pulling him away. He sat down and looked tiredly at Juniper, muttering a low, “g’mornin’.” Calloused hands tapped at the wooden table and he stared out of the open window for a few seconds. “Can ye shut the damn thing, it’s freezin’.” Kala drew it shut and stoked returned to stoking the fire.
“Well you better start seeing to our wood stores, you’re burning through it and it’s not even winter yet.” The woman gave a frustrated glance, and he growled something incomprehensible in response. Soon enough she sat herself down and they all tucked into the pie.
“Akh, it’s bitter as dog shite.” He muttered, but Kala just sighed and smiled at Juniper.
“What was I saying? Oh, yes, the college.”
With one finger poking into her slice of pie, Juniper finally looked up. She blinked twice before slippering her arm back under her cloak, “Oh right.” Her thoughts returned to the conversation at hand, “Well you know how it is -- I go in, I recite old stories, the kids recite them back” Sucking in a breath she recalled the most recent, “Lately it’s been mostly histories regarding the local area.”
“Well, your job is even more important now. Everyone has been terrible worried about Macsal’s cursesong - if you don’t teach ‘em well and make good art who knows what’ll happen. And all this business of war, I’ve never understood it. Anyhow, are you going to come by again afterwards? I’ve been dying for you to finish off the story of how you got away from those Sigerans. And I know my little Callfir has too.” The brown-haired boy looked up from his pie. “I think he has the makings of a bard, if you ask me.”
"Maybe I will," Juniper lied with a flash of guilt, knowing all too well she'd likely be isolating herself in her room later. Turning her attention to Callfir she smiled, eyes squinting as they do, "I can see it. He has the energy." Poking a chin at Feidlir, she continued, "Don't let the hairy one take that away, even if he groans."
“Oh, you know I never,” Kala laughed, then she leaned in and put a hand on Juniper’s forearm. “Oh, and just so you know, Herla is back from the north and hasn’t stopped gabbering about what she saw out there. She’ll be here tonight, so you be sure to come by now.”
"I'll do my best," Juniper offered, following the weak tone with a strong smile. Standing from her chair she held onto the smile, "Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I don't have much to say this morning but hey I'll try and stop by later." She eyed the door, "But work awaits."
The Bard College was in every way a magnificent structure. It’s smooth brown walls rose like cliff faces into the skies of Ha-Dûna, the many red roofs juxtaposing beautifully against the brown beneath. Perhaps in days past the mere sight of it would have been enough to whittle away at any doubts and fill her with energy, these days it did not quite cut it.
Moving over a great stone bridge, through a gateway, and into the main courtyard, Juniper allowed herself to pause a moment before the great statue to Eoghan that commanded the centre of the plaza.
As if talking to the frozen face, Juniper whispered under her breath, "What?" She waited long enough for a response that wouldn't come. She exhaled through her nostrils, "Figures."
“I’ve seen plenty of people talking to those old rocks up in the circle, but no one’s been talking to this one.” Came a euphonious voice, and from behind the statue came a woman, her cheeks flushing in the cold morning air. “Which is really quite a shame, because this old hunk has a lot to say.” She flashed her a small smile, more alluring than nature allowed.
At first the words entered Juniper's ears holding a familiar feeling that caused the woman's chest to tighten and face to heat with emotion. There was an itch behind her eyes that's swelling only stopped upon recognition of the speaker. "About twenty-nine years of stories, even," Juniper managed with a sputter, her surprise splashing over her face. Shaking the slouch off her shoulders, Juniper forced a smile through her sudden conflict of emotion. Her eyes cringed as they met the Song's, seeing a certain beauty she wasn't hoping to see, "I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a moment." She paused, "but it's Shae, right?"
“If you like,” the song intoned, trailing a finger across the base of the statue. “I was told you like to be here early - ‘if you’re after good stories, it’s the Twiceseven’s daughter yer after’. Complain enough about the stories going round any resthouse and that’s what you’re bound to hear eventually.” She glanced at the other woman, “but you probably already know that.” She reached into the folds of her clothes and emerged with an apple hued with pinks and yellows and reds and greens. In her hands it seemed quite unlike any apple that grew from a tree. “An apple for a story, if you like? Tell me who you saw in my eyes.”
"That story doesn't have an end," Juniper shook her head, "But really, I have any other story you could like - oh!" Juniper's smile forced her to squint, "That actually reminds me of a story regarding a young druid that went out into the mountains in search of something precious." Juniper paused, "Have you heard that one?"
Shae looked across the courtyard to the great gates of the college, the smallest knot in her brows. “I know of a certain druid who seems to be looking for something, but I don’t think this is the same one.” She stepped away from the statue, drawing her tartan cloak about her, and sat back on one of the benches. “Go on, I’m all ears.”
"Likely not," Juniper pressed on, putting herself before the sitting Shae as if she were on a stage. "You see this druid's name isn't as important as his story. It's simple enough though, you see he took it upon himself to travel high into a far away mountain range in search of something precious. He toiled and traveled and walked and grew weak. For days he did this, rising with the sun and settling with the stars, until he lost count of how many days and nights passed on his journey." Juniper shook her head as if dismissing her own tale, "But you see, one day this druid came across an insurmountable obstacle, his goal just on the other side."
There was a pause.
"So what he did was he took his knapsack and threw it over to his goal." She tucked a slant into her cheek, "And now he knew he was going to reach his goal, this way or that, the obstacle would be surmounted or circumvented and he would be reunited with what was precious." Shae fiddled with the apple, her thoughtful eyes on Juniper. She rose and handed her the apple.
“Mysterious, I can just about make out a homiletic pinch to it.” She leaned in and looked Juniper in the eye with a curious smile. “Only question is, which bit did you make up?”
Juniper rolled the apple in her hands and shrugged, "None of it, it's an old story belonging to... Well everyone. It's like the story of change: how the only thing that never changes is change and that with time, even the face of a mountain can change." She put the apple on the armbar of the bench, "Could even turn an obstacle into something else if not nothing."
“Now that’s wisdom right there. But what use is a story if it needs explaining?” She let the tune hang in the air then reached into her clothes and emerged with another apple, biting into it.
"It incites thought." Juniper defended and took a seat, "Not everything needs to be understood right away." She pointed a finger as if scolding a child, "As they say to the students: there is a difference between telling a story and sharing one."
“That a story should incite thought and provide insights is a noble goal, no doubt - but if that is all it does then it’s not a story at all, just a lesson.” Shae countered with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Shouldn’t a story teach you while you are unaware of that fact? Shouldn’t those thoughts and insights emerge unconsciously as you go on living your life?” She cocked her head and took another bite from the apple.
"Speaking of the two," Juniper snapped a finger, "Didn't you ask me for a story and now you're giving me a lesson?" She drummed her fingers on her lap, "Not to sound rude, of course. Why don't you try telling me a story instead? I promise I'll steal it." Shae chortled melodiously.
“Hey, don’t blame me if all your thought inciting worked!” She glanced at the other woman, then scratched her nose with a finger. “Ah, a story. I don’t think I could do one as thoughtful as you.”
"Then don't," Juniper offered her untouched apple back to Shae, "Who says there needs to be thought, reason, or rhyme?" The song looked up to the sky for a few moments, then rose and took a small breath, loosening her tartan cloak and standing before her in the cold. She swayed from side to side, humming to herself with eyes closed. And then her crooning voice came like a gentle wave, a wave that slowly but surely rose with the tide until it became a cascading deluge of sound and harmony.
When hale Caden to Naya wed The gods from far all came And meats were lined and all were sat And all their furies tamed And all was joyness for a while There at the godly feast And all hostil'ty was forgot As palms became full greased For food and joy is, as oft said, The path to any heart So eat ye gods and drink full draughts Forget the deadly dart! Rose Boris, stone full-flushed with drink And raised the hearty horn 'To ye, my friends an famalam 'To wee gods yet unborn! 'To yer endless beauty, Naya,' Then, 'wat'ry Clar!' he said: 'To yer ugly gob, ye fat mutt! 'I wish that ye were dead!' Well then the feast became a fray The guests raised spears and bows A furious moon rose bright and cold Beneath it battle rows And all on earth below them cried And like took up to war The gnashing rat struck here, and there Trolls, men, cut deep and tore And on the mount and on the shore And 'neath the darkest wave The clash of gods quicked mortal hearts All got as good they gave And when the feuding gods all stopped And put aside their jibes Hale Caden paused and looked on down At all the warring tribes 'Why do you fight, you down below?' Said he with growing frown And all of them looked up in thought As all the gods looked down 'We fight down here, you gloried one 'As you must surely know 'As up above among the gods 'So too it is below!' 'Not so! Not so!' Cried Reiya's light 'Not while yet here I shine 'The gods may fight their endless wars 'Their blood the sea of brine 'And yet below let peace still reign 'No heart by rancour torn 'Praises to Boris, too to Clar 'Raise ye to both the horn! 'The feuds of gods are their affairs 'And not for you below 'So go off home, ye warring tribes 'And till the earth and grow!' And there by Caden and Naya The gods all shared a meal And all on earth was a long peace And wounds and hurts did heal And though the gods still clash above And though they fight and cry We mortals have no need for war 'tis vain that we thus die The fight of gods is fought by gods The fight of men by men And better yet fight not at all And let peace reign again!
The song’s hums and notes continued for a time after her poetic lay was concluded, and then she stopped at last, opened her eyes, and looked at Juniper before taking up her cloak again. “By the Lady, I can never get used to this cold.” She shivered.
Juniper clapped, "And there you have a story -- which I'll keep my word about." Juniper's eyes opened wide with sudden panic, "I'm late!" She shot to her feet and turned to Shae, "I'm late!" The song looked around in confusion. Students were just about beginning to stream in and she knew that lessons were not due to begin for a while yet. She glanced back at Juniper.
“Late? Late for wh-” she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed on something behind Juniper, lips pursed. She cleared her throat and moved slightly so that the other girl was between her and whatever had caught her eye. “Actually, I think I should get out of here too.” She whispered.
Juniper's panicked face raised a suspicious brow, "Story?"
Shae grinned and took her by the hand. “If you like.” And with that she hurried to the side of the plaza, disappearing between the pillars and the growing tide of students. “Is there a back exit or something?” She glanced at the main gate, where a number of bald druids were staring intently in their general direction. “I’d prefer not to go that way.”
Juniper frowned, "I don't think so-" She made a sudden face, as if resigning to a dumb idea. Gripping Shae's arm, Juniper yanked her into the closest building. They flowed with the influx of students until Juniper tugged Shae once again, the pair slipping through a thick oaken door.
Inside, the office they snuck into a room reeked of mould often associated with scholars, plus the stench of pipeweed and other smokables. The entire place was otherwise immaculate, with everything neatly coordinated and labeled. "Cleanliness is unique among bards, I know," Juniper cracked as she yanked on Shae's arm once again - pulling her over to a shuttered window that stood about shoulder height on the wall. "I boost you up, then you me?" She said, nervously looking at the door to the room. Shae nodded, glancing out of the open windows to see if there was anyone waiting there. Assured that there was nothing beyond the odd student or passerby, she raised her leg gracefully and lithely lifted off Juniper’s readied hands.
Finding her balance quickly, she held onto the side of the window and extended a hand to Juniper. “How did you ever last in this smelly old place?”
"By being smelly." Juniper grabbed Shae's hand and began to yank herself up to the window. At that moment, the door began to open -- a wispy haired old man tottering in. He gasped at the sudden sight. Before he could grumble a word beyond a scoff, Juniper pushed Shae out the window, toppling after her and straight into a generous bush.
They were in the shrubs outside the college walls, nicked and stuffed with leaves. A big adrenaline smile was on Juniper's face, fading quick into worry. "Before he looks out the window!" She hissed, jolting back up to her feet.
Red-faced, grinning, and leaking ink where the small twigs had penetrated her thin skin, Shae leapt spryly from the bush and went flowing after Juniper. They were soon safe between the houses and Shae slowed to a dignified walk as people bowed and generally showed their deference for the helgen. She soaked in the attention and weaved her way through them with relative ease. “Know anywhere we can sit away from all…” she glanced around at the hustle and bustle, “this?”
"Yeah," Juniper nodded and tilted her head in the direction of the farms, "I know a lonely white pine surrounded by brush." Shae glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.
"It's a thinking spot," Juniper shot a defense.
“Must make for some very happy thoughts,” Shae chortled. “Show me to it, my lady.” She half bowed and gestured for her to lead the way. Juniper shook her head but walked on regardless.
Within a short amount of time, the pair skirted a mostly empty field plus a few orchards, and found their way to -- as Juniper described it -- a very lonely white pine, the only in the surrounding area in fact. Pushing through the brush that grew in its periphery, the two were soon shaded from all.
Inside this little secret land, a good amount of old dried grass and leaves bedded up against the trunk of the tree, giving its otherwise gnarled base a sort of comfy sitting spot. Juniper motioned to the tree, a flash of sadness briefly behind her grin, "As the guest, you get sitting rights."
Shae shook of her tartan cloak, looking up into the tree’s canopy while descending to her knees. “I’d prefer to…” she lay down, her eyes fixed on the canopy, “lie down.” She paused for a few seconds. “Have you ever looked up at a branchless tree against the sky? It’s most striking at night against the moonlight and stars.”
"Is this the start of a story?" Juniper leaned a shoulder against the tree and looked down at Shae. The song glanced at her and shook her head.
“No,” she crooned, “just an odd thing I noticed. No trees where I come from, no night, no stars, moon, sun. You notice those little things.” She exhaled and was quiet for some time. “So, uh. I might know somebody who told a little lie and might be in a pinch of trouble.” She turned to her side and leaned up against her hand, looking at Juniper.
"Is it me?" Juniper asked ridiculously. The song narrowed her eyes, a smile playing around her lips.
“Now I’m suspicious.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s just say… the name isn’t important for the story.” She looked at the tree trunk, her gaze drifting upwards. “The people here are obsessed with the gods. I’m not complaining, I love the attention. ‘Macsaldatr, Macsaldatr,’ it’s great. And it’s not like I’m doing anything nefarious. But see, there’s somebody who might have told a little teeny tiny lie about one of the gods… and everyone believed it. Except a few tuneless boors who have been giving this friend of mine a hard time.” She ran her free hand through her hair.
"Uh oh, lying about the gods. I hear that makes their ears itch -- imagine the ear infection from a whole city doing it." Juniper waved a hand, grin in her face, "Go on."
The song half-grimaced at the thought, but could not contain a grin of her own. “I guess it must be a pretty bad infection - the god in question hasn’t cast his punishment down upon us all yet. But anyhow, this friend of mine - she’s getting pretty tired of these fellas following her about. I’m no expert in these things, but surely somebody who's heard it all like you knows a trick or two, right?”
"Depends," Juniper mentally catalogued a few similar stories, "Who exactly your friend is evading, which god... The goal of the protagonist." She tapped her chin, "Genre."
“I wouldn’t call my friend the protagonist as such - more like a single-purpose character. Like the old man who sits by the cross-roads and tells the protagonist which way to go. The protagonist is after the great treasure - peace - and the old man took him to the side, told him not to take either route, and pointed out the short-cut, that’s all.”
"Aw, well that isn't very fair to your friend to picture them merely as an old man at a crossroad." Juniper pointed out.
“Oh I doubt it’ll be any skin off their nose. The point of the old man is that he doesn’t get stuck in adventures - and now he’s being tracked down by angry hooligans. It’s not what he signed up for when he walked into this story, I can tell you that. Or at least, not that kind of adventure.”
"Well, what do you wa- er you're friend wants.. Does? What does your friend want." Juniper knitted her brow, "Yeah, what does your friend want?"
“Oh, I don’t know,” Shae sighed, “maybe losing the hooligans would be a good start. And if they tell everybody that the protagonist took a shortcut it would be disastrous - that hard-won peace will be shattered.” She looked at Juniper with sudden realisation. “We need to warn the protagonist.”
"You calling me an old man?" Juniper frowned, "Can't say I can't blame you... Okay sure, this is very roundabout but I'm already likely in trouble with the professor I assist under so why not pull this a little longer? Makes for a good story at least. What's the details?"
Shae sat up and tapped her fingers against one another. “Uh, I’m not sure if this is my story to tell, really. We should go to the protag- uh, Boudicca.”
"B-Boudicca?" Juniper stood up straight, "Are you sure that's even okay!?"
“I mean, unless you can think of some covert way of getting rid of this bald druid problem.”
"Other than just leaving town?" Juniper shrugged. Shae frowned at the suggestion, curiosity lining her brows. "That's what I would do- but I'm biased... Suppose you could go the pushed to the edge murderer route that favors some horror stories..." Snapping back to reality Juniper sighed, "But okay, going to the top is probably the best and most reasonable option." Stretching away from Shae, Juniper covertly gave her cloak a sniff and briefly cringed before turning back, "You know her though, right? This won't just be a surprise - 'here I am with a random college assistant'?"
“I mean, she’s been all busy recently, no time for little old me I suppose. Or maybe she’s too guilty to be in the same place as me or something. Who knows.” She forced a smile. “I guess leaving…” she pursed her lips, “ah, but I like it here. The people love me, everyone is nice - no grumpy Saluna, that’s for sure. I don’t really want to leave.” She looked at Juniper, curious once more. “Why would you want to leave?”
"If you don't want to leave, then don't - simple as that," Juniper sighed, suddenly feeling very guilty, "Sorry to project my own stress on you like that..." She paused, looking intently at Shae, "Did you ever hear the fevered stories about the land of Limbo?" Shae shook her head in response.
“Lim Bow? I’ve never heard of any such land existing on Toraan.” She paused and leaned forward. “Is that why you’d want to leave? You’re after this Lim Bow?”
"No," Juniper let out a single laugh, "it isn't real -- it's a way of feeling metamorphed into this fictional land... For example," Juniper cleared her throat, "Limbo is a strange land with no ground and no sky, no front and no back -- it's just you floating in a meaningless existence doing tasks that neither progress you or give you substance or meaning. There, your only company is the shadows of what was. It's said the dead can't learn anything new, so I guess it's a lot like being dead, but still alive enough to hate it." Juniper tapped the ground with her foot, "I hate it here, and I want to leave."
“And what lies out there, which is not here, that will give you this substance and meaning?” Shae asked with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
"I don't know yet," Juniper answered, voice devoid of it's previous wit and silly humor. "I'm sorry, what are we discussing again?"
“A bigger adventure than mine, it seems.” Shae murmured, rising to her feet. “So, shall we go pay old Boudicca a visit?"
"Yeah," Juniper nodded slowly, "yeah, and maybe she could write me a note or otherwise I'm not sure work will believe this.”
“Or maybe it’s best she not.” Shae countered with knotted brows as they emerged from the underbush. She pinned her cloak back into place then wrapped an arm around Juniper’s shoulder as she emerged, bringing her head in close. “Maybe this is the excuse you needed to escape the land of Lim Bow. Or that smelly old place, at least.” She whispered, then released her and walked on ahead.
"Could be..." Juniper seemed skeptical, "But let's give it a go."
Shae cast a grin over her shoulder, “heh. Sure, if you like.”
We meet Juniper Twiceseven, and her very lackluster morning routine. She is then pulled into breakfast with old family friends, they discuss the Bard College where Juniper works as an assistant. Later she gets into a storytelling fit with Shae, then the two end up escaping some druids and fix to see Boudicca.
Due to the incredible tenacity and pure metal of the real title, we instead present to you...
The Beefiest Roleplay that the Guild has Ever...
SEEN
If you’re here it is because you’ve had it with the flood of grimdarkness, the scourge of deep thinking and the frilly so-called-edge of the newest spawn of fantasy. Instead you want the beef and pure brawn of the classic fantasies often screamed about in the ballads of power metal; you wan’t the barbarians, you want the brutality, you want the corded muscle straining in your faceness of the epics of the late 20th century -- and you want them in a loin cloth and holding an axe. Korgoth, He-Man, Golden Axe, Conan, and so many others had that hard ripping funk -- the real beef, and we are bringing it back with this simple roleplay.
You’re a champion of the Mountain King, a stone cold elder of throbbing mass and wise hard hitting words. Your loyalty to the King is what netted you this most sacred of missions -- to retrieve the vial of the Rainbow Warrior from his eternal crypt so that you may save the Mountain King himself as he lays on his stone cold bed of throbbing headaches, dying of a mysterious illness.
This macguffin won’t be so easy -- if it were, why send a beefy champion such as yourself? NO! You will have to cross the crawling deserts, cut through scrawny wizards, climb the tallest peaks, find your way through the kingdom in the clouds, find the land of light, and best the grave protections of the Rainbow Warrior’s crypt -- and then do it all again on your way back. Are you up to the challenge?
The Premise: You are all citizens of a recently liberated country. This liberation was done at the hands of your own rebel forces along with the drastic help of a rather faraway empire. The empire had decided to give the budding nation the right to rule themselves locally so long as they answer the calls and concerns of a local Imperial governor who sits watch over your newly formed council. OH RIGHT, so each of you are actually not only citizens but members of this council. The first meeting will define what position you actually have on the council, be it a minister of defense for your military prowess during the liberation, or a minister of treasuries, or perhaps a Bishop? The point is you are in charge of governing this new government alongside your fellows (be they nemesis or allies) and as problems arise, you will meet in council to deal with them... but nothing is stopping you from scandals, backroom deals, and general politics between hearings. There is nothing stopping you all from pasting your agenda across this government’s visage... be it puppet kings, removing the Imperial presence, building a theocracy, or maybe a dictatorship? The choice is yours... though it won’t be easy and not everyone will agree on all fronts.
The choices of the council as well as the actions of the ministers will affect the entire region relative to the drastic nature of the action. Every choice will have a consequence.
An example scandel: Buying off a regiment of soldiers from an enemy nation to foil the solution proposed by your biggest opponent, ruining their credibility. I bet you guys could get more creative than myself so I’ll stop there. There will be plenty of third parties to work with: assassins, companies, charities, thieves, stocks!
How It Will Work: Each post will start mentioning what day it is from the start of the RP. Day 1, Day 2, and so on. We will do this to keep track of when the next hearing will be. Say it is Day 5 and we are meeting on Day 12, that’s a week to get people to support you... or remove any obstacles. You can post as much as you’d like on the current day and subsequent days but you can’t post on a hearing day until I start that day. Hearing day posts will be a little stricter to keep the flow going, something like -- I open the hearing with the Imperial Governor (so long as they are still relevant) and name the speakers in the order they will speak. You are allowed a single post in the order of you being named. After this initial run -- feel free to collab, play by post, and do whatever be it arguing, debating, countering until I call for a final vote, which you can simply send me a line or two in a pm and I’ll add it in my final call post to save time... unless you have something special planned but we can talk about that as it comes. (if this system sucks balls we can change it)
The vote will go into effect right after the hearing and the next day will begin, free form once more. As time goes on, I’ll update on the effects of the actions and surrounding countryside -- but you are free to go visit areas of interest on your own.
As for further mechanics... we can discuss this -- ideally this will be character driven but if we feel like we need hard numbers in things like treasury, or personal purchasing power, then we can look into it.
Setting! Up to debate, but I’m thinking mundane (no magic), 17th century-esque. The Empire will be across a body of water, historical enemies and allies nearby.
Anyways, let’s try and make this work, so send thoughts and concerns. I’m flexible to change! (Also will take ideas for worldbuilding + things to add.)
I'm not really a bird.
[center]-0-
Where did I play,
A land of twisted branches,
A kingdom of clay,
A swamp of memories,
A never-ending day,
Where did I run,
Across the dawn,
Through the sun,
Across the sky,
Through laughs and fun,
Where did I walk,
Pristine grass green,
White cliffs of chalk,
Pools of sky so blue,
Orchard stones that talk,
Where did I sit,
By the gates of silver,
Near endless pit,
By forever horizon,
You may remember it.[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">I'm not really a bird.<br><br><div class="bb-center">-0-<br><br>Where did I play,<br>A land of twisted branches,<br>A kingdom of clay,<br>A swamp of memories,<br>A never-ending day,<br><br>Where did I run,<br>Across the dawn,<br>Through the sun,<br>Across the sky,<br>Through laughs and fun,<br><br>Where did I walk,<br>Pristine grass green,<br>White cliffs of chalk,<br>Pools of sky so blue,<br>Orchard stones that talk,<br><br>Where did I sit,<br>By the gates of silver,<br>Near endless pit,<br>By forever horizon,<br>You may remember it.</div></div>