Armphid
Crowned Sun
- Joined
- May 18, 2003
- Posts
- 9,831
There were many continents on the gleaming, wildly spinning world that shone like a cerulean and green jewel in the fabric of space, and those seas and that land teemed with life, and on both (unknown generally to one another), there were many things that lived, and some that lived were not mere life but peoples, though little they often resembled each other. Those peoples gathered into nations, and the fates of those nations, and of all the lives within them, hinged on the belief of many, and the actions of few.
On the northwestern shelf of a continent in the northern hemisphere was a lush, green land of mountains and rivers. The peaks rose on the eastern border and formed a barrier between it's western ports and the rest of the land. Ridges and foothills rolled through it, leaving wide and fertile valleys, fed and made by many running rivers and pouring streams. All of it, valleys, hills, mountains, was green. Forests grew lush and wild and free, carefully harvested and hunted for their bounty on the hills and ridges. The valleys held fields and flowering orchards and pastures where aurochs, cattle, sheep, goats, darters, and other beasts were raised and bred.
The rivers teemed with traffic; fisherman fished, goods passed along on barges, riverboat merchants plied their trade. Hides, meat, herbs, nuts, lumber, and the other fruits and labors of the forest flowed down them and out to the rest of the world. The fields and barns brought forth grains, vegetables, milk, cheeses, oils, wool, cloth, all manner of goods and products for all the world to partake of and use.
Its' people worked hard and long and with great skill, yet they celebrated as much as they toiled, and many also took care to train in less productive arts to guard their land from those who would despoil and claim it for their own. It was the law of land that every man and woman keep a bow and train in its' use at least an hour on each day of rest. They knew how to stalk and hunt quietly, how to track and trail, skilled with knife and spear.
And yet, they were still vulnerable. And in their hearts of hearts, as they prayed in churches and hill shrines to gods of fertility and plenty, and most of all to the great and grand God of the Sun, held highest above all in their eyes, they knew and feared that other saw they were vulnerable as well.
The mighty darter stepped over a fallen log on the forested path, the massive avian creature easily avoiding the obstacle that a horse or ram or one of the four legged beasts others rode would have had to jump or be stymied by. The riding bird was taller than a man at the wing, with thick and powerful legs, wide spread gripping feet with large, curving talons on each foot. It's wings were large and wide, but not enough to lift its' body in flight, though they could add distance to their great leaps both vertical and horizontal. Its' feathers were a sleek, glassy black, the legs a full orange, the heavy, thick, curved beak was a bright harvest pumpkin orange. The bird's eyes were the size of a large man's fist.
A bit was in it's beak and rich tackle of brown leather and polished sleet reins and tack fit the saddle and the rest of the bags and tack. A quiver hung there, as did an unstrung longbow the size of a man, a keen hunting dagger, and other common items and tack. Only one item made the gear stand out, beyond it's high quality and make, a thick bladed sword perhaps three feet in length.
The darter's rider was a tall young man, standing a hand taller than most. His shoulders were broad and his waist tapered from them, giving him the build of a woodsman and hunter; strong and powerful but agile at the same time. His face was handsome and noble; his features clear but strong, clean shaven and sure. Keen eyes of storm cloud grey took in the forest around him and his hair was a rich forest brown, falling to his shoulders, but currently gathered back and held in place by a simple leather thong. He was young, perhaps five years into his second decade but no more than that, and yet his eyes and shoulders seemed bent with many cares.
His clothes were of rich fabrics but were simple, garments for every day use but the use of a well born person, all in hues of green and brown save for his cloak; black with a white tree flowering out of a blue river beneath it. An elaborate and cunningly made ring was on his right hand, and a gleaming circlet of gold with an engraved leaf pattern was about his head.
King Valius Argetlam rode through the woods of his country and he was troubled. He did not ride alone; a full branch of rangers were spread out around him, moving quietly through the trees on darters of their own, some with spear in a hand, others with strung bow at the ready. Four others rode with him as well, dressed in the raiment of forest nobility.
"Sire," one began, an older man with a receding hairline and a finely cultivated, curling mustache. "I feel I must address this once more."
Valius sighed, "Magnus, please. It's decided." The young king shook his head, "I still can't get used to being called 'Sire'...it feels wrong."
His advisors all looked to one another. One of them, a young woman only a few years older than Valius shook her head, "Val, I mean, Sire, don't say that. You are the rightful king, you have our full trust and loyalty."
He winced at her words and snorted softly, "Doesn't mean it's right, Enna. Countess Enna, I mean. It should have been another ten years."
The older man who first spoken looked at the young woman with a grimace, "Countess, this is a matter for the high nobility, not for-"
"She is here at my request, Lord Magnus," Valius interrupted, "and my pleasure, as are you. Don't forget that." He looked back at the man, who was suddenly looking sheepish. "But it doesn't matter, I suppose. Neither does you bringing up the argument again."
He had been king only a month. The eldest son of his line, he had been trained to become king; been taught, trained, and schooled, watched his father and mother govern to learn it. But he was not to become king until his third decade, his father stepping aside as had been done for generations. But then the accident; the bridge had collapsed under the royal family while riding, and the river below was cold, swift, and hungry. Only he had emerged alive.
"Sire-"
"The Fire Nation needs what we have, Magnus. The troubles they've gone through, they need food, water, lumber, all of the goods we make and sell. And they'll buy them, certainly, but they can't afford all they need." Valius shook his head, "And we need arms, and soliders, and metal. And we can't buy as much as we need. If they can't get what they need one way, they'll decide to take it. Maybe not this year, but soon. This way...we can head that off, make a powerful alliance, and maybe even make a more permanent alliance." Marrying the princess of the Fire Nation would make him heir to that arid, strange land beyond the eastern mountains. "Without this, it will come to war in time."
"But you're so young, Sire. And she is as well. And there's that rumor about her sister..."
"None of it matters, Lord Magnus." Valius shook his head and urged his darter forward. "The letter is sent and once word is back I will ride there straight away. Young nor not, I am king, and my country must be served my her lord."
On the northwestern shelf of a continent in the northern hemisphere was a lush, green land of mountains and rivers. The peaks rose on the eastern border and formed a barrier between it's western ports and the rest of the land. Ridges and foothills rolled through it, leaving wide and fertile valleys, fed and made by many running rivers and pouring streams. All of it, valleys, hills, mountains, was green. Forests grew lush and wild and free, carefully harvested and hunted for their bounty on the hills and ridges. The valleys held fields and flowering orchards and pastures where aurochs, cattle, sheep, goats, darters, and other beasts were raised and bred.
The rivers teemed with traffic; fisherman fished, goods passed along on barges, riverboat merchants plied their trade. Hides, meat, herbs, nuts, lumber, and the other fruits and labors of the forest flowed down them and out to the rest of the world. The fields and barns brought forth grains, vegetables, milk, cheeses, oils, wool, cloth, all manner of goods and products for all the world to partake of and use.
Its' people worked hard and long and with great skill, yet they celebrated as much as they toiled, and many also took care to train in less productive arts to guard their land from those who would despoil and claim it for their own. It was the law of land that every man and woman keep a bow and train in its' use at least an hour on each day of rest. They knew how to stalk and hunt quietly, how to track and trail, skilled with knife and spear.
And yet, they were still vulnerable. And in their hearts of hearts, as they prayed in churches and hill shrines to gods of fertility and plenty, and most of all to the great and grand God of the Sun, held highest above all in their eyes, they knew and feared that other saw they were vulnerable as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mighty darter stepped over a fallen log on the forested path, the massive avian creature easily avoiding the obstacle that a horse or ram or one of the four legged beasts others rode would have had to jump or be stymied by. The riding bird was taller than a man at the wing, with thick and powerful legs, wide spread gripping feet with large, curving talons on each foot. It's wings were large and wide, but not enough to lift its' body in flight, though they could add distance to their great leaps both vertical and horizontal. Its' feathers were a sleek, glassy black, the legs a full orange, the heavy, thick, curved beak was a bright harvest pumpkin orange. The bird's eyes were the size of a large man's fist.
A bit was in it's beak and rich tackle of brown leather and polished sleet reins and tack fit the saddle and the rest of the bags and tack. A quiver hung there, as did an unstrung longbow the size of a man, a keen hunting dagger, and other common items and tack. Only one item made the gear stand out, beyond it's high quality and make, a thick bladed sword perhaps three feet in length.
The darter's rider was a tall young man, standing a hand taller than most. His shoulders were broad and his waist tapered from them, giving him the build of a woodsman and hunter; strong and powerful but agile at the same time. His face was handsome and noble; his features clear but strong, clean shaven and sure. Keen eyes of storm cloud grey took in the forest around him and his hair was a rich forest brown, falling to his shoulders, but currently gathered back and held in place by a simple leather thong. He was young, perhaps five years into his second decade but no more than that, and yet his eyes and shoulders seemed bent with many cares.
His clothes were of rich fabrics but were simple, garments for every day use but the use of a well born person, all in hues of green and brown save for his cloak; black with a white tree flowering out of a blue river beneath it. An elaborate and cunningly made ring was on his right hand, and a gleaming circlet of gold with an engraved leaf pattern was about his head.
King Valius Argetlam rode through the woods of his country and he was troubled. He did not ride alone; a full branch of rangers were spread out around him, moving quietly through the trees on darters of their own, some with spear in a hand, others with strung bow at the ready. Four others rode with him as well, dressed in the raiment of forest nobility.
"Sire," one began, an older man with a receding hairline and a finely cultivated, curling mustache. "I feel I must address this once more."
Valius sighed, "Magnus, please. It's decided." The young king shook his head, "I still can't get used to being called 'Sire'...it feels wrong."
His advisors all looked to one another. One of them, a young woman only a few years older than Valius shook her head, "Val, I mean, Sire, don't say that. You are the rightful king, you have our full trust and loyalty."
He winced at her words and snorted softly, "Doesn't mean it's right, Enna. Countess Enna, I mean. It should have been another ten years."
The older man who first spoken looked at the young woman with a grimace, "Countess, this is a matter for the high nobility, not for-"
"She is here at my request, Lord Magnus," Valius interrupted, "and my pleasure, as are you. Don't forget that." He looked back at the man, who was suddenly looking sheepish. "But it doesn't matter, I suppose. Neither does you bringing up the argument again."
He had been king only a month. The eldest son of his line, he had been trained to become king; been taught, trained, and schooled, watched his father and mother govern to learn it. But he was not to become king until his third decade, his father stepping aside as had been done for generations. But then the accident; the bridge had collapsed under the royal family while riding, and the river below was cold, swift, and hungry. Only he had emerged alive.
"Sire-"
"The Fire Nation needs what we have, Magnus. The troubles they've gone through, they need food, water, lumber, all of the goods we make and sell. And they'll buy them, certainly, but they can't afford all they need." Valius shook his head, "And we need arms, and soliders, and metal. And we can't buy as much as we need. If they can't get what they need one way, they'll decide to take it. Maybe not this year, but soon. This way...we can head that off, make a powerful alliance, and maybe even make a more permanent alliance." Marrying the princess of the Fire Nation would make him heir to that arid, strange land beyond the eastern mountains. "Without this, it will come to war in time."
"But you're so young, Sire. And she is as well. And there's that rumor about her sister..."
"None of it matters, Lord Magnus." Valius shook his head and urged his darter forward. "The letter is sent and once word is back I will ride there straight away. Young nor not, I am king, and my country must be served my her lord."
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