Yafor 2
31-05-2005, 02:14
OOC:Yes, I know, I am not an NS'er. However, there is a single reason, a very clear single reason, I am posting this here, as opposed to my regular II. That is the fact that I am not know. The Nationstates forum has a reputation for having the good RP'ers, the older, more descriptive, RP'ers and so I would like this to be criticsed, ripped, torn apart, and gaining constructive criticism. Please do that. Thank you.
Note: This has nothing to do with Yafor 2 or any of my other nations. THIS IS A STORY, written out of pure bordom, with no connection to the game Nationstates as a whole.
Thank you and enjoy.
BIC:
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Somewhere on the coast of The Sea of Broken Nightmares
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The man clambered slowly onto the piece of sodden driftwood, his eyes gazing ahead. He wore an expression of pain on his face, pain at a life that was not what he had wanted. A sodden rag surrounded his groin, a loincloth to cover, but his other clothing was gone, washed away most likely by the relentless onslaught of the tides. Matted hair and muscle were very obvious on the lean object of his body, thin from lack of proper nourishment.
The man glaned upward, his windblown face now open to a bystander, if there was indeed a bystander upon that lonely shore. His green eyes were like shining emeralds, like the grass that he had seeked so long and fruitlessly. They were dim with failure. His long mop of hair, un combed and upcut, was a symbol of what he had been through.
The man turned his head, looking back at the land from which he had came, now far away from him. "Archoria is dead..." he rasped, his voice like metal scraping against stone. "And it's Anatheron's fault. I'll get him for it...yes...I will....
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The Citadel of Blood, The Ravaged Lands
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The seat was occupied, by a man who was the master. The Once-Great Nation of Archoria, ravaged by war and famine, by the enemies of mankind, lay fallow in the ground, dust covering ages of dead bodies. Bullets lay scattered across the ground, the lore forgotten and misused. Only the army used bullets, but even they hadn't been spared from the strife of civil war.
Fully half of the nation had been slain, massacred by Anatheron's father, Kultur. The Kurasnik royal blood was storng, a light to hold onto in the world. That blood had been diluted by Kultur. Not only had he slain his people and diluted the spirit, but he married a commoner, a shepherd's daughter named Jacyla. Kultur had forced her into marridge and the relationship had sloped downward from there.
Thankfully, Kultur was dead, slain at the hand of his younger son, Zancor Kurasnik, with his elder, Anatheron Kurasnik watching in satisfaction. They had hated their vile father, how he had banished their mother, and slain all who they loved. They had enjoyed that killing.
Anatheron's reign on the throne of Archoria was just that, killings, slayings, and grief. Inheriting a broken nation, split into warring states of decay and blood, Anatheron had done everything he had to. Using smart staff commanders and quick discipline, Anatheron had restored Archoria's pride and glory. Smashing the former territories of the Archorian Empire, he slaughtered ruthlessly, appeasing the gods of Death and Decay, patron gods of Archoria.
During that time, the Citadel of Blood had never fallen. A prophecy stated that it would not fall "till the Blackrock defended it alone". The Archorians would never abandon the fort to be defended alone by someone other than themselves, even an ally like the Blackrock. And even if it did fall, The Citadel of The Dead was reputedly where the dead walked...alive...
"Enough!" A shout interrupted Anatheron's musings. "The Resistance are becoming too powerful! I demand we deal with them before we persue - " The great army general Zancor gave an annoyed growl. He too was of the royal line, being Anatheron's brother.
The man who interrupted him was Rochair of the Iron Fist, an important advisor. "The Rebellion is our primary concern. Ever since Iron Coldheart was banished, they have had a member of our inner councils." Anatheron groaned. Trust Rochair to bring that up. He had been opposed to banishing Coldheart from the start.
Anatheron knew his enemies, the Resistance, a group of men made up of soldier from places Archoria had conquered had spies, but he didn't know where. Nor did he know where the Rebellion, a group of Archorians bent on a Republican government were, but he did know something. He needed to be on his guard, ass all monarchs needed to be, all the time...
To Be Continued...
Note: This has nothing to do with Yafor 2 or any of my other nations. THIS IS A STORY, written out of pure bordom, with no connection to the game Nationstates as a whole.
Thank you and enjoy.
BIC:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere on the coast of The Sea of Broken Nightmares
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The man clambered slowly onto the piece of sodden driftwood, his eyes gazing ahead. He wore an expression of pain on his face, pain at a life that was not what he had wanted. A sodden rag surrounded his groin, a loincloth to cover, but his other clothing was gone, washed away most likely by the relentless onslaught of the tides. Matted hair and muscle were very obvious on the lean object of his body, thin from lack of proper nourishment.
The man glaned upward, his windblown face now open to a bystander, if there was indeed a bystander upon that lonely shore. His green eyes were like shining emeralds, like the grass that he had seeked so long and fruitlessly. They were dim with failure. His long mop of hair, un combed and upcut, was a symbol of what he had been through.
The man turned his head, looking back at the land from which he had came, now far away from him. "Archoria is dead..." he rasped, his voice like metal scraping against stone. "And it's Anatheron's fault. I'll get him for it...yes...I will....
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Citadel of Blood, The Ravaged Lands
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The seat was occupied, by a man who was the master. The Once-Great Nation of Archoria, ravaged by war and famine, by the enemies of mankind, lay fallow in the ground, dust covering ages of dead bodies. Bullets lay scattered across the ground, the lore forgotten and misused. Only the army used bullets, but even they hadn't been spared from the strife of civil war.
Fully half of the nation had been slain, massacred by Anatheron's father, Kultur. The Kurasnik royal blood was storng, a light to hold onto in the world. That blood had been diluted by Kultur. Not only had he slain his people and diluted the spirit, but he married a commoner, a shepherd's daughter named Jacyla. Kultur had forced her into marridge and the relationship had sloped downward from there.
Thankfully, Kultur was dead, slain at the hand of his younger son, Zancor Kurasnik, with his elder, Anatheron Kurasnik watching in satisfaction. They had hated their vile father, how he had banished their mother, and slain all who they loved. They had enjoyed that killing.
Anatheron's reign on the throne of Archoria was just that, killings, slayings, and grief. Inheriting a broken nation, split into warring states of decay and blood, Anatheron had done everything he had to. Using smart staff commanders and quick discipline, Anatheron had restored Archoria's pride and glory. Smashing the former territories of the Archorian Empire, he slaughtered ruthlessly, appeasing the gods of Death and Decay, patron gods of Archoria.
During that time, the Citadel of Blood had never fallen. A prophecy stated that it would not fall "till the Blackrock defended it alone". The Archorians would never abandon the fort to be defended alone by someone other than themselves, even an ally like the Blackrock. And even if it did fall, The Citadel of The Dead was reputedly where the dead walked...alive...
"Enough!" A shout interrupted Anatheron's musings. "The Resistance are becoming too powerful! I demand we deal with them before we persue - " The great army general Zancor gave an annoyed growl. He too was of the royal line, being Anatheron's brother.
The man who interrupted him was Rochair of the Iron Fist, an important advisor. "The Rebellion is our primary concern. Ever since Iron Coldheart was banished, they have had a member of our inner councils." Anatheron groaned. Trust Rochair to bring that up. He had been opposed to banishing Coldheart from the start.
Anatheron knew his enemies, the Resistance, a group of men made up of soldier from places Archoria had conquered had spies, but he didn't know where. Nor did he know where the Rebellion, a group of Archorians bent on a Republican government were, but he did know something. He needed to be on his guard, ass all monarchs needed to be, all the time...
To Be Continued...