Dear Mr Curly, I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all nothings lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that I am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat. Yours sleepily, Vasco Pyjama xxx P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
Sabine wished she knew what to say. She dearly wanted to make things right. She did not want Do'Rhajul to keep suffering. But everything she could think of and all the experience she had could not measure up to the magnitude of the general's actions. The more she thought about how he must feel, the more she remained at a loss. She worked out after a while that the years she had spent running from Do'Rhajul with her pack made her think differently of him. There were times she wanted to kill him for the pain he had caused her friends. And that is to mention nothing of what he did to Meesei.
She could not connect the two in her head; the unstoppable warrior that was poised to strike her down beside this pitiful man in front of her now.
When Do'Rhajul reiterated his surrender, Sabine was not so panicked as to walk away from it this time. She realised she was still afraid of him. She needed to do something.
Sabine propped herself up on her knees to level her eyes with Do'Rhajul. A shivering hand extended from her cloak, slowly edging towards Do'Rhajul. With some reservation, she reached and settled her hand on the side of Do'Rhajul's face. Then, leaning further, she lifted her hand and placed it upon Do'Rhajul's ear, folding it down. She continued to explore the side of his head. As she did so, her hand stopped quivering. She grew more comfortable.
Finally, Sabine settled back and brought her hand behind her cloak again. "Yerig said that you made a pact to get your old life back. What was your old life like? You deserve to tell me why you did everything."
Being the poster child for someone with way too many plots to juggle, I won't jump on and claim Aeramen (or Crucibar and his rabble!) in case someone else wants to do something. However, I might well try to find ways to weave this into future plots.
What's the timeline on when Aeramen was visited by Vestec? I have an idea for a post with Xos making the rounds and paying a visit to some djinni lords.
Well, Xos killing Kyre and Aeramen getting Kyre's sword both happened in 5 PR, so unless you want to specify months or anything higher resolution, you're pretty much free to handle the timing however you like.
MMMMM Why did this post take so long? Weather, my friends! Beating hot humid heat! Also coming down from my last exam.
Considering the size of the post, though, I'm surprised that it took as long as it did for me to finish it.
Anyway, I hope someone is inspired to do something with it. It's going to be nice to have an active and widespread force for unselfish righteousness in the world for a change.
You are called to give yourselves You are called to fight the chaotic You are called to fight the malnatural You are called to fight the tyrant and the destroyer But any may fight You must fight to protect
Cast to the lives of lost ages The days of bare earth, sour wind, and hail The great wild realm where before we thrashed as whelps By what grace of Fate were our nests left uncrushed?
Luck?
Willpower?
Guile?
None of these things
Nay, it was gods
Years ago, gods fought for the world They rallied the just around them They showed us themselves -- what we could embody Flickers and souls alike grew to reach their shoulders
Not the wind could have their finesse Not the water could weather them away Not the earth could have their strength Not the fire could consume their valour
They grew above the desires of power They grew above life and death In that moment They opened their eyes and saw the heavens
They lived true honour And there is no greater sacrifice
The world now lies threatened For Kyre is dead And scavengers gnaw at the bones of old giants
Chaos itself threw down Kyre's sword before us in a challenge! Who are we but flickers and souls?
We are flickers and souls with the legacy of a god!, I answer This sword shall rally the just around us This sword shall show us Kyre himself -- what we can embody Flickers and souls alike shall grow to reach his shoulders
Not the wind will have our finesse Not the water will weather us away Not the earth will have our strength Not the fire will consume our valour
We have grown above the desires of power! We have grown above life and death! In this moment We open our eyes and see the heavens!
Kyre may be dead His sword remains His messenger guides our arms And we live true honour
For we are the Knight Protectors
We are necessity from chaos We are the invader's bane Conata, witness our custody! Forth! Children of Aeramen!
We Live True Honour
East Amestris c. 7 PR
"NOW!" The line of hain raised their long spears from flat on the ground. They thrust forward in unison. The oncoming troll had too much momentum to stop if he wanted to. His deep battlecry was cut short as the spears bent into his exposed front. And he gurgled his last, dropping in a pool of dark blood.
"Drop! Next rank!" The commander barked. The hain line filed back to let the next line of spears come through.
A familiar chorus of shrieks leapt over the dying troll. The smell of blood, dirt, and soil.
"Maces! Maces!" The front hain pulled out a variety of sidearms. Stone clubs. Obsidian blades. The goblins practically jumped over one another to meet the formation and brawl. Most were stuck on spears from the rear row. The rest felt the wrath of hain arms.
The commander feinted the first to come his way and chopped the goblin's arm with a razor-sharp hatchet. Deft follow-up across the throat cut off its scream.
Around him, more hain struggled to survive.
"Pergia! Where are Blue-Stone's force!?!" The commander barked to one of his messengers.
Pergia's beak was flitting all around him. "There, Sorn! Look, sir! Incoming!" He pointed.
The commander, Sorn, turned his beak. A rolling urtelem intercepted the next line of rovaick, flattening goblins and crashing into tedar and trolls. A group more followed in and bowled over more. They unwrapped after impact. Glowing runes gave power to their already formidable fists as bones broke and blood flew. One slammed a stone fist into the gut of a troll. The force thumped against Sorn's chest, even from his distance. The troll fell. Further thumps took the fight to them.
A great tedar with oversized hammers in each hand roared. He threw a hammer strike down. An urtelem head was crushed. The urtelem folded into the earth. The tedar threw his other arm out, striking down another. He bellowed something in the mountain language and gestured forward with a hammer.
Another wave of goblins sprinted forth like a screaming swarm of flightless birds. More trolls backed them up with maces the size of tree trunks.
"There are too many, Sorn! They're too strong! We have to fall back!"
"There is no falling back!" Sorn snarled out. "Our families and stores are behind us! Here, we win or die."
Beak forward, knife and hatchet drawn, Sorn screamed a battle cry and countercharged the incoming goblins. His hain soldiers cried in his wake with weapons raised.
They crashed into one another in clashes of stone, hainshell, bones, and blood. Cries of battle joined shouts of pain, shrieks of death, and ripping limbs. Sorn stabbed and slashed at every creature around him. They bit him, they struck him, they tried to hold him down. He felt no pain. He was a mightier hain than most.
A shell crack and a pained grunt heralded the death of one bodyguard. Another fell soon after. A third was mobbed to the floor and his arm twisted until it made a sickening sound.
Blood sprayed onto Sorn's white shell. He lost his knife in the throat of a goblin several paces behind. A huge foot stopped him in his tracks.
The urtelem-felling tedar loomed over Sorn, looking down with an animalistic gurn.
"Kill me or retreat, beast! I shall not turn back!" Sorn taunted.
The tedar wound one of his hammers up behind his head and bared his massive tusks. Sorn braced to roll out of the way.
A bright reflected light glinted onto the Tedar.
"We live true honour!"
The tedar's brow lifted and he turned to the right.
"Conata, witness our custody!"
Strange voices across the din joined flashes of light. The sound of ringing and slicing and fear. Sorn snapped his beak to lay his second set of eyes on them.
Six shining humans. Young females. They danced through the lines of goblins and trolls. They cut them all with blades for hands. Their pirouettes and leaps threw blood far and wide in an unstoppable waltz. Nothing got near them alive but the hain and urtelem they passed harmlessly over. They slaughtered all else with frightening speed.
"We are necessity from chaos!" One cried.
"We live true honour!" Said another.
They were grey-skinned, grey-clothed. Shining. They were made from the metal of their blades. Though, these were no realta from the bright night seven years ago.
Sorn's opponent, the great tedar, sprinted away. The raiders broke immediately. Goblins sprinted away stumbling, leaving their crude clubs behind. The not-realta pursued.
The defending hain cheered and raised their weapons. Even some of the younger urtelem raised their large hands and brayed with excitement.
"We are the invader's bane!"
Were these the Claidebites? Sorn thought, contemplating his now-unnecessary acceptance of death. Were these the mythical sword-djinn of the dead god Kyre?
"Fear no longer! The Knight Protectors shall meet your oppressors in force! The fire djinni Crucibar has power no longer!"
That confirmed it for Sorn. Crucibar was the master of these rovaick brigands. Sorn did not quite see the heavens that day. However, he did now believe in Wind Striker and those that prayed to him. They would be ransacked no more.
He lifted his blood-dripping obsidian hatchet. He opened his beak wide and joined in the growing chant in his army.
Before I summarise, I have a disclaimer for this post: I have too many storylines going on. I am not starting another arc for myself here. However, with the investment that Rtron and myself put into the Kyre/Conata cult in the hilt, I would like to hand this off as something of a writing hook to anyone in the RP who's interested. A source of inspiration, if you will. I invite anyone to start a storyline or interaction with the Knight Protectors. All the relevant canon information is as follows:
First, Vestec's canon intent that Rtron conveyed to me and some other players:
Vestec used Kyre's sword and leftover might to reactivate the Hilt and make an Order purely dedicated to protecting the world from all threats be it Chaotic, Jvanic, Tounic, Lifprasilian, or Realtan. Probably one of the few truly 'Good' factions in Galbar. Their leader will posess all the power of the War God (except immortality) when he or she draws the weapon. The general idea is Kyre's might from the Hilt will funnel into the sword, gradually increasing it's power and sentience so that it can actually begin to choose it's wielders and how much power it expends and so on so forth.
Next, what I have extrapolated: - The Knight Protectors are an order of warriors lead currently by Aeramen, the djinni lord of the Hilt that Conata smelted into metal. - The djinn of the hilt, all part of the Knight Protectors, were informed that Kyre is dead, but they see Conata as his messenger and 'inheritor,' so she's their de facto patron. This is unbeknownst to Conata right now. - Sculptors might get a pass from the Knight Protectors if they aren't threatening anyone due to djinn of Earth having a history of sheltering them. - In their Conata-mimicking metallic forms, they've been running skirmishes against their enemies out of the hilt recently. - The metal djinn in the Knight Protectors belong to a new variety called 'claidebites,' (sword-djinn, if you will). As opposed to dryads, other djinni varieties, etc. - Unlike realta, claidebites are much more vocal, openly righteous, and they're just as much street rappers like any other djinn. They are fond of their recurring battle cries. - The skirmishes of these human-looking metallic djinn calling themselves claidebites cutting up wicked folk has had a mostly positive reception by the vulnerable general public. - Members of other races may soon be inspired to venture to the hilt and become Knight Protectors themselves. They can prove themselves pure of heart to become initiates and get taught the rest. - Other races could be named honorary claidebites as a title if they git gud enough. - The teachings of the first dedicated academy of Kyre in the form of the Knight Protectors at the hilt may eventually seep out into the rest of the world. Remember that Aeramen is a djinni lord that has strived to perfect the art of combat over most of his long life. Any student of his will be formidable. - Against the worst enemies (mostly diaphanes and powerful djinni lords), Aeramen personally sallies out, wielding Kyre's reforged sword. This sword really needs a name. - Aeramen may have the sword leave him at some point if it wants to make a hero out of whoever wants to make a chosen one. - Aeramen needs an author to adopt him. Otherwise, he's going to languish until Conata calls on him for something.
With that out of the way, here's the summary of the post:
In a visual-less opening, Aeramen addresses his claidebite djinn with a motivational speech about the power and sacrifice necessary in defending the world, the glory of the gods, etc.
The next scene is midway through a desperate battle between the army of a hain town in eastern Amestris and a much larger force of rovaick barbarians overwhelming them. The barbarians are under the yolk of an off-screen fire djinn named Crucibar.
The battle is seen from the perspective of Sorn, the hain commander.
The hain and their urtelem friends are fighting valiantly, but it looks like they're going to be overwhelmed. Sorn leads one last charge to try and repel the barbarian reinforcements. He goes HAM for a bit.
Sorn's goblin killing spree is interrupted by a massive Tedar who was seen wounding rune-scribed Urtelem with massive hammers. He has some unnatural power, probably.
Sorn accepts his face and prepares to battle the massive warrior. Just as the tedar is about to strike, however, the battle turns.
The Knight Protectors are here! A group of just six claidebites makes mincemeat of the lightly armoured brigands and routs them. They assure the remaining hain and urtelem that Crucibar will not be a problem for them anymore.
Sorn has a spiritual moment from this, just having consigned himself to death to protect his people and coming out alive. He's stoked.
Sabine sniffed loudly and raised her eyes. She forced her breathing until she could at least try to compose herself. Enough to speak, at any rate. "I will speak to Rhajul first," her roughened voice croaked.
Now that she was warmed up, fed, slaked, and at least partly calmed down, Sabine carefully took up the staff and stood to her feet. The cloak pulled up with her by the shoulders. She did not walk immediately. "Yerig. Thank you for saving Kaleeth-Rei's life."
Her steps were so light in approaching Do'Rhajul that Sabine made more noise with the cloak dragging over the ground. She did not make eye contact with Do'Rhajul at any point. She simply stood opposite where he knelt and knelt down in turn. She was still a head shorter than the massive Khajiit. The only things keeping her from being just as terrified as the ambush were the Staff of Magnus and the sheer sadness he radiated.
Sabine waited a few seconds to see if Do'Rhajul would speak first. She had things she wanted to talk about but they had disappeared from her mind out of nervousness.
Though still crying and keeping her face low, Sabine tried not to be too loud. She did not react to Yerig placing a hand on her shoulder. Yerig could tell just how tense she still was, even through the cloak.
To Yerig's questions, Sabine nodded without facing him. She normally needed to fortify her magicka reserves to open a portal but the staff would easily mitigate her deficiency. "What about you two?" Sabine asked through her crying.
Her initial thoughts for an answer had Sabine slowly shrink back into her cloak again. Her thoughts went swiftly back to the still-fresh memories of her torture. The constant fear and pain. And the way she was so angry at Arinette. She did not even realise that she was shuddering and crying until she had left Yerig without an answer for at least half a minute.
"I do not know," she whined under her cloak. She held her eyes shut and quietly cried further. "I was angry before. So angry. I could have destroyed her. Painfully. Cruelly. I could have kept going." She forced in two hard breaths. "I could have killed them all like that. I...I am scared. I do not want to become like that. I do not want to be a monster."
Sabine wrapped herself a little tighter in her oversized cloak. She thought for another moment. Though her expression was still neutral, if negative, Yerig had not discouraged her. "I was never beaten by Meesei when I misbehaved. If I ruined a hide, I had to hunt for another one. If I broke something, I had to make a replacement. I made it right again."
It was a simplistic idea. One that Sabine knew she had to elaborate if she wanted the others to understand. "...Rhajul cannot bring those people back that he killed. But he can save their souls from Clavicus Vile. That is better justice than getting executed."
Whether or not the team had discerned the plans Meesei and her pack had, Sabine did not want to go back on her claim of the impossible.
I was thinking just now about whether I should explore who Sabine and Ariel's birth parents were. I decided it wasn't really important, but I wondered for a moment what it would be like to find out that Do'Rhajul or Yerig is their father all along.
Probably difficult to justify but it was a fun thought.
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPjJCVylFBo[/youtube][/center]
[quote=Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.]
Dear Mr Curly,
I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all [u]nothings[/u] lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that [u]I[/u] am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.
Yours sleepily,
Vasco Pyjama
xxx
P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
[/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/HPjJCVylFBo?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><blockquote class="bb-quote">Dear Mr Curly,<br>I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all <span class="bb-u">nothings</span> lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that <span class="bb-u">I</span> am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.<br>Yours sleepily,<br>	Vasco Pyjama<br>	xxx<br>P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!<footer>Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.</footer></blockquote></div>
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