11-01-2024, 08:25 PM
(This post was last modified: 12-04-2024, 07:24 PM by frenzied67.)
calls and echoes. Four doors opened into the throne room, one door for each cardinal point of the compass.
The pure gold throne was made into the shape of a short twisted oak tree with a seat set into the confluence of its lower branches. One hundred forty four thousand orange garnets had been faceted into the shape of oak leaves, those dangled from the branches that swept over and around King Lorinlil. Royal purple carpets ran from each door to the three step dais where the throne sat in the exact center of the huge chamber. With the magic in his green agate ring, King Lorinlil could rotate the throne to face any of the four directions he chose. Today it faced west in the same direction today’s supplicants hailed from; the city state of Anatheri. The rebellious city state of Anatheri, King Lorinlil thought with disgust, keeping his face unruffled through the prayer songs. Once Anatheri had been the sister city to Estanabril, when the empire had stood whole; it had been the last to break away from Emperor Rinlililor’s injured grasp.
For acoustics's sake, the thirteenth Through sixteenth floors had never been built, giving the throne room a high vaulted ceiling. Four pillars, all of worked stone, supported the floors above. Made in the image of giant sequoia trees, their root systems came out of the floor in a disturbingly realistic fashion, while the canopy of their entwined branches diffused a magical light that had burned sun like for over twenty thousand years. So realistic were these pillars, that some Faelora of lower birth claimed they had once been trees turned to stone by the relic magic of past emperors. That would be a magic I would dearly love to possess, the King thought. That magic and the knowledge of how the overhead light was crafted. A lot of lore had been lost in a mere ten generations of Faelora, even the story of the Faelora’s origins upon Tanabror.
While the twenty singing clergy were arranged in a semi circle behind the throne, close to three hundred Faelora were ranged up and down the long roll of purple carpeting coming from the distant western door; all the important people of Estanabril with a small smattering of travelers from Anatheri. In the hallway beyond those doors, the ambassador and an emissary from Anatheri were waiting to be ushered into his presence. They would have a choir of seven vocalists from their city in their train, that ensemble would sing the songs of introduction, greeting, and entreaty. King Lorinlil had a choir of twenty one vocalists who would sing the song of welcome to their traitorous guests after that long show had concluded. Prince Onanonwe stood to the left of the golden oak throne acting as the king’s page, his eldest son, Prince Lilantier stood as his squire too the right; the imperial sword Sansilar ready to be presented.
His youngest son, Onanonwe liked to dress in fine clothes, often setting the current fashions with the courtiers and nobility. Impeccable impossible hairstyles were another forte of his youngest, his taste in jewelry would have met his late grandmother’s approval. Though his face was similar to King Lorinlil’s, there was a persistent softness to his cheeks as though baby fat just refused to burn away with age, and his eyes were like faceted amethysts. Nature had gifted him with skin like willow tree bark. Despite Onanonwe’s seeming decadent lifestyle, he was a deadly warrior, a cunning diplomat, and a perfect companion for the kings eldest son, though the seeming was that they appeared diametrically opposed.
Lilantier favored uniforms, if not armor, to wear in public. He seemed to be the military prince that King Lorinlil favored over the younger son. Looking the part with his emerald imposing eyes that were more tilted than his father’s, his features were chiseled and his physique was that of an athlete born. He had skin like a noble fir tree. Prince Lilantier was also one of the finest warriors produced by the Faelora in many ages. Yet he loved his little brother, a bond that was reciprocated in private. Together their ruses kept the nobles and merchants of Estanabril on their back heel, always running to catch up. And when it came to foreign policy, their secret collaboration helped Lorinlil stay dominant over his lesser counterparts from other nations.
Though he loved his boys, they too were a source of dissatisfaction for King Lorinlil. They may be political sharks in a sea of minnows, they just do not share my drive to restore the empire. Always, it was his son’s who drew him back from conquest, they feared the unification of a slew of other city states that would form in order to thwart those efforts. Both young men seemed content with this system of loosely aligned city states, even willing to deal with Humans or Gachtler in order to whittle away the power of other upstart nations. This vile status quo will be the death of all beings on Tanabror. If the Osserjuka return, there will be no power to stop them.
The first time the Osserjuka had come to this world there had only been the Faelora to oppose them. His people and culture had spanned the continent then, and had the might to withstand the alien marauders. The second time those shadow spawned monsters had come, the Faelora had been weakened by the predations of the lowly Humans and Gachtler. The hasty alliance of the races had almost not been enough to stop the Osserjuka onslaught. The wounds of that last war still had not fully healed in the Faelora world. Case in point, a little over a decade ago a human had lead a coalition of disaffected people, Human, Gachtler, and even Faelora in an uprising against all the city states. The Trillam Trumage rebellion had proven the weakness of the city state system. Only the death of their freakish mutant Human leader, Trillam, had brought a halt to the mayhem.
Though the Trumage had died, his movement had not. Those racially diverse fanatics still recruited the disloyal from every city state, trading on the black markets, poaching game and relics from lands not their own, and remaining together for no known purpose. They were the reason the Anatheri were here today. One of the wandering bands of Trumage followers were near their city sowing discord, gathering supplies, and preaching to new converts. Estanabril’s once sister city wanted to embroil them in their dilemma, wanted to use King Lorinlil and his storied military to deal with this following. In the old days, this movement would have been rooted out, leaf and bough, within half a decade.
These Trumage followers have not been a military threat for a decade and a half, the King assessed. As a matter of fact if Anatheri’s troops marched out of their gates, this cult would flee without a fight. They do not need me to deal with this, the Anatheri just want me to expend money and resources in a useless march. This is just another attempt to weaken Estanabril. That was the problem. Every city state worked hard to keep their competitors weak, and the result was scores of weak nations. Estanabril is great, but it could become greater. All we need is more territory and a larger population. Yet it is my sons conspiring with the rest of the world that prevents me from acquiring what my people, the whole of my people, truly needs. Unity! Too many times in his long life, King Lorinlil had felt this type of frustration. His mind drifted back to one of those times, there were several hours of singing yet to go before he would have to face his Anatheri rivals.
The pure gold throne was made into the shape of a short twisted oak tree with a seat set into the confluence of its lower branches. One hundred forty four thousand orange garnets had been faceted into the shape of oak leaves, those dangled from the branches that swept over and around King Lorinlil. Royal purple carpets ran from each door to the three step dais where the throne sat in the exact center of the huge chamber. With the magic in his green agate ring, King Lorinlil could rotate the throne to face any of the four directions he chose. Today it faced west in the same direction today’s supplicants hailed from; the city state of Anatheri. The rebellious city state of Anatheri, King Lorinlil thought with disgust, keeping his face unruffled through the prayer songs. Once Anatheri had been the sister city to Estanabril, when the empire had stood whole; it had been the last to break away from Emperor Rinlililor’s injured grasp.
For acoustics's sake, the thirteenth Through sixteenth floors had never been built, giving the throne room a high vaulted ceiling. Four pillars, all of worked stone, supported the floors above. Made in the image of giant sequoia trees, their root systems came out of the floor in a disturbingly realistic fashion, while the canopy of their entwined branches diffused a magical light that had burned sun like for over twenty thousand years. So realistic were these pillars, that some Faelora of lower birth claimed they had once been trees turned to stone by the relic magic of past emperors. That would be a magic I would dearly love to possess, the King thought. That magic and the knowledge of how the overhead light was crafted. A lot of lore had been lost in a mere ten generations of Faelora, even the story of the Faelora’s origins upon Tanabror.
While the twenty singing clergy were arranged in a semi circle behind the throne, close to three hundred Faelora were ranged up and down the long roll of purple carpeting coming from the distant western door; all the important people of Estanabril with a small smattering of travelers from Anatheri. In the hallway beyond those doors, the ambassador and an emissary from Anatheri were waiting to be ushered into his presence. They would have a choir of seven vocalists from their city in their train, that ensemble would sing the songs of introduction, greeting, and entreaty. King Lorinlil had a choir of twenty one vocalists who would sing the song of welcome to their traitorous guests after that long show had concluded. Prince Onanonwe stood to the left of the golden oak throne acting as the king’s page, his eldest son, Prince Lilantier stood as his squire too the right; the imperial sword Sansilar ready to be presented.
His youngest son, Onanonwe liked to dress in fine clothes, often setting the current fashions with the courtiers and nobility. Impeccable impossible hairstyles were another forte of his youngest, his taste in jewelry would have met his late grandmother’s approval. Though his face was similar to King Lorinlil’s, there was a persistent softness to his cheeks as though baby fat just refused to burn away with age, and his eyes were like faceted amethysts. Nature had gifted him with skin like willow tree bark. Despite Onanonwe’s seeming decadent lifestyle, he was a deadly warrior, a cunning diplomat, and a perfect companion for the kings eldest son, though the seeming was that they appeared diametrically opposed.
Lilantier favored uniforms, if not armor, to wear in public. He seemed to be the military prince that King Lorinlil favored over the younger son. Looking the part with his emerald imposing eyes that were more tilted than his father’s, his features were chiseled and his physique was that of an athlete born. He had skin like a noble fir tree. Prince Lilantier was also one of the finest warriors produced by the Faelora in many ages. Yet he loved his little brother, a bond that was reciprocated in private. Together their ruses kept the nobles and merchants of Estanabril on their back heel, always running to catch up. And when it came to foreign policy, their secret collaboration helped Lorinlil stay dominant over his lesser counterparts from other nations.
Though he loved his boys, they too were a source of dissatisfaction for King Lorinlil. They may be political sharks in a sea of minnows, they just do not share my drive to restore the empire. Always, it was his son’s who drew him back from conquest, they feared the unification of a slew of other city states that would form in order to thwart those efforts. Both young men seemed content with this system of loosely aligned city states, even willing to deal with Humans or Gachtler in order to whittle away the power of other upstart nations. This vile status quo will be the death of all beings on Tanabror. If the Osserjuka return, there will be no power to stop them.
The first time the Osserjuka had come to this world there had only been the Faelora to oppose them. His people and culture had spanned the continent then, and had the might to withstand the alien marauders. The second time those shadow spawned monsters had come, the Faelora had been weakened by the predations of the lowly Humans and Gachtler. The hasty alliance of the races had almost not been enough to stop the Osserjuka onslaught. The wounds of that last war still had not fully healed in the Faelora world. Case in point, a little over a decade ago a human had lead a coalition of disaffected people, Human, Gachtler, and even Faelora in an uprising against all the city states. The Trillam Trumage rebellion had proven the weakness of the city state system. Only the death of their freakish mutant Human leader, Trillam, had brought a halt to the mayhem.
Though the Trumage had died, his movement had not. Those racially diverse fanatics still recruited the disloyal from every city state, trading on the black markets, poaching game and relics from lands not their own, and remaining together for no known purpose. They were the reason the Anatheri were here today. One of the wandering bands of Trumage followers were near their city sowing discord, gathering supplies, and preaching to new converts. Estanabril’s once sister city wanted to embroil them in their dilemma, wanted to use King Lorinlil and his storied military to deal with this following. In the old days, this movement would have been rooted out, leaf and bough, within half a decade.
These Trumage followers have not been a military threat for a decade and a half, the King assessed. As a matter of fact if Anatheri’s troops marched out of their gates, this cult would flee without a fight. They do not need me to deal with this, the Anatheri just want me to expend money and resources in a useless march. This is just another attempt to weaken Estanabril. That was the problem. Every city state worked hard to keep their competitors weak, and the result was scores of weak nations. Estanabril is great, but it could become greater. All we need is more territory and a larger population. Yet it is my sons conspiring with the rest of the world that prevents me from acquiring what my people, the whole of my people, truly needs. Unity! Too many times in his long life, King Lorinlil had felt this type of frustration. His mind drifted back to one of those times, there were several hours of singing yet to go before he would have to face his Anatheri rivals.