Jenrak
24-04-2005, 16:43
OOC:Alright, for those who have RPed with me before, as my modern tech, they'll probably know that I a religious fanatic, and my country is technically a major theocracy, and there are usually vague references to 'Ascherach' the Living Empire, and the two gods my country worships, Nuir Enkur and Ciranaar Arkszen. I've decided, instead of writing a factbook or something about it, that I'll show the history of Ascherach, right from Enkur's beginning reign to the fall of Ascherach at the battle of Sasz Eren. You can Tag but please don't post anything else.
IC:
Echoes rambled out the hallway, with long swords gleaming amongst the statues of guardians that befell them. Sunlight crept past the pine trees that leapt high into the sky, and the clouds were thick and heavy rain, as the droplets of water were as clear as day.
Grass billowed around the building, as the giant fortress of Gurag-Das gloomed around the green natural world. Soon, in times ahead, there would be no green for the world, no bright sun to greet them in the morning. It would be dark, as black as his heart, as poorly seen throughout as his eyes, and the empire he would create would be as alive as his evil purposes would take him. For he, as dictated by the prophecies of older than him, that his power alone could afford the ancients glory.
Stood amongst the giant fortress, in his glorious tower, was a tall man, a tall powerfully built man, a man of massive strength, and great armor covered his entire body, where a long robe sashed around his metal woves. Through a thick iron mask, as heavy as the stones themselves, laid two empty black eyes, and no hair, but a dark motionless face, and a creeping intent. In his left fist laid a long barrage of spikes, and in his right were an array of blades, as the hung and shined with the blood of many victims of his strength, alongside his back bearing giant blades that shook the earth, and rattled stone foundations. On his robes, laid the tourney of his pain, a giant claw of red fire, and a bleak sunsetting world that could have laid beyond.
For he, as he called himself, was Nuir Enkur, the one who would unite this barbaric land, and under his fist, his strength and testaments of will, shall his power instead steadfast. His armor made no sound when he moved, but the giatn echoes of his footsteps followed him around whenever he walked within the stone hallows of his castle. Large is was, almost as strong as he was. It was, to his design, undefeatable, and he was sure that is was so. Entire layers, and a network of tunnels miles afast, laid underneath the castle, and the burgeoning towers screamed at night with pain and sorrow of his victims.
Down the steps he took, towards his empty hall, was within the stone room there laid assortments of many weapons of torture. Nuir Enkur walked apast, and took a massive blade, and with his test of strength, threw his blade onto the grass outside. It flew a long journey, until it stabbed itself defiantly into the dirt, and a dirty water spurted out of the grass, as if the earth itself bleeded under his command. War was coming, and if the Muruns would not submit, then he would take their city down piece by piece with his army.
It was already three days, and he is an impatient man. Gathering up his strength, he left his empty castle to rally his men at the edgecombes of the silver mountains within east. Every step he took aboard the grass made a grey mark, as no more grass no longer grew there, as if his spirit was salt to the earth. He was determined to show everything that defied his will the death that awaited him. He would not stop until he unified every single shred and assimilated it unto his own, in his tongue, 'Ascherach', the Living Empire.
IC:
Echoes rambled out the hallway, with long swords gleaming amongst the statues of guardians that befell them. Sunlight crept past the pine trees that leapt high into the sky, and the clouds were thick and heavy rain, as the droplets of water were as clear as day.
Grass billowed around the building, as the giant fortress of Gurag-Das gloomed around the green natural world. Soon, in times ahead, there would be no green for the world, no bright sun to greet them in the morning. It would be dark, as black as his heart, as poorly seen throughout as his eyes, and the empire he would create would be as alive as his evil purposes would take him. For he, as dictated by the prophecies of older than him, that his power alone could afford the ancients glory.
Stood amongst the giant fortress, in his glorious tower, was a tall man, a tall powerfully built man, a man of massive strength, and great armor covered his entire body, where a long robe sashed around his metal woves. Through a thick iron mask, as heavy as the stones themselves, laid two empty black eyes, and no hair, but a dark motionless face, and a creeping intent. In his left fist laid a long barrage of spikes, and in his right were an array of blades, as the hung and shined with the blood of many victims of his strength, alongside his back bearing giant blades that shook the earth, and rattled stone foundations. On his robes, laid the tourney of his pain, a giant claw of red fire, and a bleak sunsetting world that could have laid beyond.
For he, as he called himself, was Nuir Enkur, the one who would unite this barbaric land, and under his fist, his strength and testaments of will, shall his power instead steadfast. His armor made no sound when he moved, but the giatn echoes of his footsteps followed him around whenever he walked within the stone hallows of his castle. Large is was, almost as strong as he was. It was, to his design, undefeatable, and he was sure that is was so. Entire layers, and a network of tunnels miles afast, laid underneath the castle, and the burgeoning towers screamed at night with pain and sorrow of his victims.
Down the steps he took, towards his empty hall, was within the stone room there laid assortments of many weapons of torture. Nuir Enkur walked apast, and took a massive blade, and with his test of strength, threw his blade onto the grass outside. It flew a long journey, until it stabbed itself defiantly into the dirt, and a dirty water spurted out of the grass, as if the earth itself bleeded under his command. War was coming, and if the Muruns would not submit, then he would take their city down piece by piece with his army.
It was already three days, and he is an impatient man. Gathering up his strength, he left his empty castle to rally his men at the edgecombes of the silver mountains within east. Every step he took aboard the grass made a grey mark, as no more grass no longer grew there, as if his spirit was salt to the earth. He was determined to show everything that defied his will the death that awaited him. He would not stop until he unified every single shred and assimilated it unto his own, in his tongue, 'Ascherach', the Living Empire.