Weccanfeld
18-06-2008, 19:45
There are four different people in Seairo. There are the slaves, the poor, the wealthy and the excessively rich. I have always applied to the second class, and have always expected to be in it from cradle to grave – for in this city, only the exceptional go from rags to riches. I always considered myself average in my job – yet there are those who believe not. Many dispatch runners run from their birth, carrying messages first from minor nobility to craftsman and each other, and barely progressing beyond that – yet in the last 189 moons or so, I had progressed to the relay of messages between members of the major aristocracy and, rarely, those of royal blood. When the order came in for me to bring a message to the king himself, I should have noticed how my colleague’s attitude toward me seemed to deteriorate – indeed, overnight it seemed they had a great distaste of me. I ran, as fast as I could, the message burned to the inside of my eyeballs for fear of the punishment for the misplacing of a word, the forgetting of a sentence. I was perfectionist that way. Some considered it a virtue, some a vice – but it had seen me from the lows of my occupation to where I was now.
I reached the golden city before nightfall, and as if the usually tedious matter of security no longer existed, quickly found myself seemingly in no time at all in the building in which I met my true fate. It was as indescribably magnificent as the city outside, and yet my mind still refused to award myself a gander at the works of art that then would be impossible for me to put in words. I crept though the corridors, trying in vain to make myself a bit more presentable – little words can describe how nervous I was then. I felt as if one mistake, one stammer, would end in me dressing the high steps of the great pyramids. And perhaps, there is some truth in this fear – rumours spread quickly, especially if you’re the one spreading them.
I reached my contact, a man who told me with a degree of contempt the manners and obedience expected of anyone who addresses the king. I adjusted my headband, and removed my sling. All minor things that would realistically make no difference outside my panicking head came to light, and I spent what seemed hours reciting the words I had carried all these many miles. Not one thing could go wrong, my mind told me. Not one single thing.
And now, I find myself knelt before the golden lizard himself. He was the embodiment of the Hildlands, of Seairo in particular – the one true ruler of this broken land. The mere Chieftain of the southern barbarians was a mere commoner to him – the apparel of his person breathtaking. Golden bracers and armbands enveloped the arms, anklets the legs, with an incredible band around the waist, with all manner of craving into the metal, a large crest forming the centre. He wore a majestic, coloured tunic that ended at the top with a large, golden pectoral, itself carved with the upmost detail of the finest craftsmen of the land. Upon the head, he wore a tall, golden crown decorated with the finest and most colourful feathers you could imagine. The crown then reached down his long, reptilian face, tapering off below the eyes. It was a kind of royal splendour that few rulers possessed.
“Speak” he ordered. To speak before a member of higher class was an insult in itself, and the insult the king, even accidently, was an unwise idea.
Summoning my remaining resolve, I answered “Most high and holy Acaeninca Seairo, king of the Lake Seairo, ruler of the lands from the great mountains of the north, to the great seas to the south, most divine patron of the Tepalcyn. I bring word, and tribute, from your servant from the west, Naumanu. He says, ‘The gods have been kind, my lord, for traders from the east who desire the godly metal have ample supplies of the weapons of our enemies. This loyal messenger brings with him mere samples of our route to mastery of the Scoh”.
Still bowing, I nervously took from a bag a small leather package, which was quickly and forcefully taken from my trembling hands by the nearest guard and presented to the king. In it, he found a long, decorative steel dagger, which he took with care and played with for a while. He drew a similarly sized obsidian one, and compared the two weapons My throat was unbelievably dry, and by now I was visibly shaking – why must he procrastinate for so long?
“This is a good dagger” he started “One of elven construct, no less. I am pleased with Naumanu.”
I took this to be my dismissal, to carry another message to where I had come from, nearly blurting out “What would do you desire for me to tell your servant, Naumanu, my master…”
I was wrong
“That will not be necessary.” He began. All of a sudden, images of many way of painful death filled my mind, me dreading the impeding sentence. I gulped, loudly. No one seemed to notice. The king sat up from his throne, and walked toward me. I knelt, frozen in dread and fear. Had I got it wrong? Had I been late? No, that can’t be it – perhaps I had interrupted him mid sentence!
“Many other messengers have come to these halls. They never come out the same. You are just one, but a particularly interesting specimen. You still fear I am building up to your death sentence. Fear of the powerful is a good thing. But in this case, it is not needed…”
My nerves slackened, and I listened intently as he bent over, bringing his head close to mine.
“Tell me. What is your name?” He signalled to a servant, who jogged off to get something as I whispered the name I had since my hatching.
“No. It is not. You are Caecoch Acaecnapa. And today marks your rebirth...”
* * *
In one day, my previous life had been written off. My family, my friends, my enemies – I no longer knew them. All I got as compensation was an extensive session of cleaning, dress and jewelling – I was changed from the respectable serf to a piece of art – for this pampering was not for my pleasure. I was to be a model Tepalcyn – an example of the glory of our empire to our former masters. Over the centuries, begrudged respect and turned to admiration – now the elves that enslaved us are now to be our friends. I suspect it is due to convenience, but I have noticed how the King seems to hold them in deep respect – almost venerating them, it seems. Yet, I am not one to question the action of our king. And now, our party of five messengers set off to the Eastern Empire.
My attire was impressive – nothing compared to the splendour of the King, of course, but nice in its own right. I had a golden armband, a gift from the king that signified obedience, and an attractive headband that was adorned with colourful feathers – not to mention a long colourful tunic that reached the knees and the wrists. My feet were wrapped in bandages, in order to keep them clean – after all, cleanliness was a virtue.
We walked for the most of the journey our little procession escorted by guards to protect us from the brute tribes of the jungle. We were to enter the High Elven Empire, and seek parley, to discuss trade, and procurement of weapons, and the possibility of direct help in the Scoh problem. The king wanted rid of them, whether it was by his hand alone or the combined strength of others – then he would truly be the patron of the Tepalcyn.
OOC: An experiment in the first person, as you can see.
I reached the golden city before nightfall, and as if the usually tedious matter of security no longer existed, quickly found myself seemingly in no time at all in the building in which I met my true fate. It was as indescribably magnificent as the city outside, and yet my mind still refused to award myself a gander at the works of art that then would be impossible for me to put in words. I crept though the corridors, trying in vain to make myself a bit more presentable – little words can describe how nervous I was then. I felt as if one mistake, one stammer, would end in me dressing the high steps of the great pyramids. And perhaps, there is some truth in this fear – rumours spread quickly, especially if you’re the one spreading them.
I reached my contact, a man who told me with a degree of contempt the manners and obedience expected of anyone who addresses the king. I adjusted my headband, and removed my sling. All minor things that would realistically make no difference outside my panicking head came to light, and I spent what seemed hours reciting the words I had carried all these many miles. Not one thing could go wrong, my mind told me. Not one single thing.
And now, I find myself knelt before the golden lizard himself. He was the embodiment of the Hildlands, of Seairo in particular – the one true ruler of this broken land. The mere Chieftain of the southern barbarians was a mere commoner to him – the apparel of his person breathtaking. Golden bracers and armbands enveloped the arms, anklets the legs, with an incredible band around the waist, with all manner of craving into the metal, a large crest forming the centre. He wore a majestic, coloured tunic that ended at the top with a large, golden pectoral, itself carved with the upmost detail of the finest craftsmen of the land. Upon the head, he wore a tall, golden crown decorated with the finest and most colourful feathers you could imagine. The crown then reached down his long, reptilian face, tapering off below the eyes. It was a kind of royal splendour that few rulers possessed.
“Speak” he ordered. To speak before a member of higher class was an insult in itself, and the insult the king, even accidently, was an unwise idea.
Summoning my remaining resolve, I answered “Most high and holy Acaeninca Seairo, king of the Lake Seairo, ruler of the lands from the great mountains of the north, to the great seas to the south, most divine patron of the Tepalcyn. I bring word, and tribute, from your servant from the west, Naumanu. He says, ‘The gods have been kind, my lord, for traders from the east who desire the godly metal have ample supplies of the weapons of our enemies. This loyal messenger brings with him mere samples of our route to mastery of the Scoh”.
Still bowing, I nervously took from a bag a small leather package, which was quickly and forcefully taken from my trembling hands by the nearest guard and presented to the king. In it, he found a long, decorative steel dagger, which he took with care and played with for a while. He drew a similarly sized obsidian one, and compared the two weapons My throat was unbelievably dry, and by now I was visibly shaking – why must he procrastinate for so long?
“This is a good dagger” he started “One of elven construct, no less. I am pleased with Naumanu.”
I took this to be my dismissal, to carry another message to where I had come from, nearly blurting out “What would do you desire for me to tell your servant, Naumanu, my master…”
I was wrong
“That will not be necessary.” He began. All of a sudden, images of many way of painful death filled my mind, me dreading the impeding sentence. I gulped, loudly. No one seemed to notice. The king sat up from his throne, and walked toward me. I knelt, frozen in dread and fear. Had I got it wrong? Had I been late? No, that can’t be it – perhaps I had interrupted him mid sentence!
“Many other messengers have come to these halls. They never come out the same. You are just one, but a particularly interesting specimen. You still fear I am building up to your death sentence. Fear of the powerful is a good thing. But in this case, it is not needed…”
My nerves slackened, and I listened intently as he bent over, bringing his head close to mine.
“Tell me. What is your name?” He signalled to a servant, who jogged off to get something as I whispered the name I had since my hatching.
“No. It is not. You are Caecoch Acaecnapa. And today marks your rebirth...”
* * *
In one day, my previous life had been written off. My family, my friends, my enemies – I no longer knew them. All I got as compensation was an extensive session of cleaning, dress and jewelling – I was changed from the respectable serf to a piece of art – for this pampering was not for my pleasure. I was to be a model Tepalcyn – an example of the glory of our empire to our former masters. Over the centuries, begrudged respect and turned to admiration – now the elves that enslaved us are now to be our friends. I suspect it is due to convenience, but I have noticed how the King seems to hold them in deep respect – almost venerating them, it seems. Yet, I am not one to question the action of our king. And now, our party of five messengers set off to the Eastern Empire.
My attire was impressive – nothing compared to the splendour of the King, of course, but nice in its own right. I had a golden armband, a gift from the king that signified obedience, and an attractive headband that was adorned with colourful feathers – not to mention a long colourful tunic that reached the knees and the wrists. My feet were wrapped in bandages, in order to keep them clean – after all, cleanliness was a virtue.
We walked for the most of the journey our little procession escorted by guards to protect us from the brute tribes of the jungle. We were to enter the High Elven Empire, and seek parley, to discuss trade, and procurement of weapons, and the possibility of direct help in the Scoh problem. The king wanted rid of them, whether it was by his hand alone or the combined strength of others – then he would truly be the patron of the Tepalcyn.
OOC: An experiment in the first person, as you can see.