Zamanjic
05-03-2008, 23:25
Neuva Ragusa, the island of Lagosta, Zamanjič
17:34, 4 March, 2008
As a cool Mediterranean breeze swept across the cobbled streets of Neuva Ragusa, a bell began to toll. Within minutes a hush descended on the city. In the Plaza Ragusim, the constant chatter of the hundreds of marketplace sellers began to die, slowly at first, but more quickly until only the sounds of the wind and waves could be heard. The tolling bell began to falter as well, but then across the city another bell rang, and another, and another until the city was surrounded in the din of a dozen clanging church steeples.
In the Plaza Ragusim, Marino Ghetaldi, like so many other citizens around him, turned his head, straining to see up the 400-meter slope of Mt. Hum. Silhouetted against the setting sun, the soaring towers and many chimneys of the Palazzo dei Doge could barely be seen. Perhaps it was the wind, Marino thought as the faintest wisps of smoke began to issue from the highest tower, but then a swept through the crowd. There was no denying it; thousands saw the smoke, now billowing fiercely into the western breeze. Some pointed, some wept, and as the thunder of many bells began to fade, a panicked hush descended on the city.
The silence was agonizing. Every citizen knew what the smoke meant, and yet no one talked. A minute crept by, and then from high above, somewhere in the Quatro Croato, a voice cried. “Dimni oblak! Gledatije do dime! Il Doge jest mrtvo!” The smoke! Look to the smoke; the Doge is dead!
[OOC: Okay, so it's not much, but I will keep posting. If you want to respond, at least wait until I actually get into the story, but then feel free to join in. I wouldn't even be opposed to having other nations supporting differnt claimants to the throne, but don't make this a dogpile please.]
17:34, 4 March, 2008
As a cool Mediterranean breeze swept across the cobbled streets of Neuva Ragusa, a bell began to toll. Within minutes a hush descended on the city. In the Plaza Ragusim, the constant chatter of the hundreds of marketplace sellers began to die, slowly at first, but more quickly until only the sounds of the wind and waves could be heard. The tolling bell began to falter as well, but then across the city another bell rang, and another, and another until the city was surrounded in the din of a dozen clanging church steeples.
In the Plaza Ragusim, Marino Ghetaldi, like so many other citizens around him, turned his head, straining to see up the 400-meter slope of Mt. Hum. Silhouetted against the setting sun, the soaring towers and many chimneys of the Palazzo dei Doge could barely be seen. Perhaps it was the wind, Marino thought as the faintest wisps of smoke began to issue from the highest tower, but then a swept through the crowd. There was no denying it; thousands saw the smoke, now billowing fiercely into the western breeze. Some pointed, some wept, and as the thunder of many bells began to fade, a panicked hush descended on the city.
The silence was agonizing. Every citizen knew what the smoke meant, and yet no one talked. A minute crept by, and then from high above, somewhere in the Quatro Croato, a voice cried. “Dimni oblak! Gledatije do dime! Il Doge jest mrtvo!” The smoke! Look to the smoke; the Doge is dead!
[OOC: Okay, so it's not much, but I will keep posting. If you want to respond, at least wait until I actually get into the story, but then feel free to join in. I wouldn't even be opposed to having other nations supporting differnt claimants to the throne, but don't make this a dogpile please.]