Tradem Ling
24-12-2004, 04:58
A tall, bearded man steps onto the stage, his white robes trimmed with gold and spilling out behind him. He steps behind the podium, and four other men dressed identical to him, save for the gold trimming. They sit down on elegantly carved wooden chairs behind him and stroke their long, slim beards calmly.
The man at the podium has white hair and has the aura of a leader about him, commanding respect even from the reporters and camera crews that are arrayed around the stage. Light flash, and the man looks directly into the closest camera.
"I am Qin O'Lin, High Expressor the the Most Serene Republic of Tradem Ling. I've come before you all not to threaten the international community in foolish conciet. Yet nor have I come before you to beg dishonorably for allies and protection. I've come," the man says, his green eyes flashing defiantly from the crevices of his wrinkled face, "to declare Tradem Ling."
"Our people have been nomadic, wandering from city to city, country to country, continent unto continent. We have settled in many regions, many cultures, always is peace. And yet we have always been forced out. Religious and secular pressures continued to destroy us, ruin our culture, steal our youth. But we were peaceful. And so we moved on." The man pauses and extends a hand behind him to the four expressionless men.
"These men, these honorable men and I have been chosen by the Tradem people to lead our country. Our Ling. We have been choosen to express them. We are the Expressors." The man's voice softens and his eyes seem to lose focus. "Our people have at last found a home for our religion, for our culture. For ourselves."
The man pauses and focuses back on the camera. "I am Qin O'Lin, and I have declared the Most Serene Republic of Tradem Ling." A hushed pause falls over the press, and even the flashes of cameras stop. The man bows, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, and then he turns and walks off the stage and exits quietly, the four other men falling in line behind him.
The speech was moving and simple, and the man who read it believed every word of it.
It was also a work of complete fiction.
The man at the podium has white hair and has the aura of a leader about him, commanding respect even from the reporters and camera crews that are arrayed around the stage. Light flash, and the man looks directly into the closest camera.
"I am Qin O'Lin, High Expressor the the Most Serene Republic of Tradem Ling. I've come before you all not to threaten the international community in foolish conciet. Yet nor have I come before you to beg dishonorably for allies and protection. I've come," the man says, his green eyes flashing defiantly from the crevices of his wrinkled face, "to declare Tradem Ling."
"Our people have been nomadic, wandering from city to city, country to country, continent unto continent. We have settled in many regions, many cultures, always is peace. And yet we have always been forced out. Religious and secular pressures continued to destroy us, ruin our culture, steal our youth. But we were peaceful. And so we moved on." The man pauses and extends a hand behind him to the four expressionless men.
"These men, these honorable men and I have been chosen by the Tradem people to lead our country. Our Ling. We have been choosen to express them. We are the Expressors." The man's voice softens and his eyes seem to lose focus. "Our people have at last found a home for our religion, for our culture. For ourselves."
The man pauses and focuses back on the camera. "I am Qin O'Lin, and I have declared the Most Serene Republic of Tradem Ling." A hushed pause falls over the press, and even the flashes of cameras stop. The man bows, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, and then he turns and walks off the stage and exits quietly, the four other men falling in line behind him.
The speech was moving and simple, and the man who read it believed every word of it.
It was also a work of complete fiction.