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Post by zurajai on Jul 4, 2017 6:09:27 GMT
Prince Yuron looked out across the rich and verdant valleys of the west, the emerald green of the Land of the Setting Sun like nothing he'd ever seen before. His birthplace in Beg Gurhim was filled with rich browns, tans, and rocky stone with green a rare but welcomed sight; here it seemed almost overly abundant as to be sickening. The Harcur's smile grew as the rest of the party followed suit, joining him at the top of the ridge. The party was a mixed group of Almur and Gurhim dwarves, as always a unique array of heights assembled with the express purpose of discovering the veracity of rumors that an Almur nation existed here in the west.
"My Prince," came a gruff voice from behind him, gaining the young giant's attention immediately, "It seems at least the directions were accurate."
Sokollogolu Osman Origm Saraskar, Chief of Staff of the Royal Army and commander of the Sultan's Sipahi, sat astride his ram in stripped down Sipahi armor and an assortment of well-stuffed travel bags hanging from the saddle. The old dwarf set an impressive visage despite his age, his bright black beard only now beginning to show the mountain grey whiskers of time. He and a host of Sipahi nearly one hundred strong had been assigned to the Prince as his bodyguards for the extent of the journey; even under the hegemony of the Firetooth the wastes were never truly safe for travelers.
"Can you believe it, Osman? That Almur are out here? Would that not be something to find another horde, even a nation, of my kin? It would mean everything to my father to know that Almur yet live beyond our realm. I wonder if they even speak the same language as we, so long has it been since the Empire fell."
"Aye, my Prince," responded the dwarf as he rode up to look out beside Yuron, "Truly it would be nothing less than remarkable."
With that the host descended down the hillside into the valleys below, intent on discovering the nation of the Almur in the West.
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Post by Tylonius on Jul 4, 2017 7:07:38 GMT
There were four provinces in the nation of Kalmar. Of them, Utari was the most northern, and was the provinces that most often saw visitors from outside the ecclesiocracy. It was not unusual for foreign diplomats to be met here by a procession to escort them further into the interior to do their duties. But never before had such a procession been seen in these lands, or anywhere else in Kalmar.
All nine hundred of the Pagahara Wardens formed the core of the detachment, the sunlight glinting off their immaculately kept armor and falling over the deep red of their uniforms and standards. Arrayed around them were detachments of the 7th Musket’s, 3rd Heavy Infantry, and 4th Lancers. The lances, shields, and guns of these soldiers were held in rigid military precision, brought about by a lifetime of training and practice from the Warrior Caste.
And at the center of the procession was a massive carriage. Crafted out of a rich brown wood and picked out in gold and silver, the carriage had to be pulled by a team of ten horses, each a brilliant white. The flag of Kalmar flew high from the carriage, the black and red fluttering in the wind.
Such was the sight that greeted the party of weary travelers as they finally crossed into the official territory of Kalmar.
All was silent, until the door of the carriage opened and a dwarf jumped down. He reached under the carriage and folded down a large set of stairs. They locked into place with a quiet thunk, that none the less carried over the silent field.
The first sight of the man who owned the carriage was his cane. A solid branch of ebony wood, topped with a stony handle. The sun fell over the hand that held it tightly, glinting off a simple gold ring. This was soon followed by the rest of him, the elderly Almur clad in finery, brilliant scarlet robes trimmed in black and white.
He slowly descended the stairs, Marshall Dirana carefully helping down them and onto the uneven ground. He attempted to help his ruler across the ground, but stepped away when the Almur waved his hand with a solemn imperiousness.
The elderly Almur slowly made his way across the field, out past the ranks of Kalmari warriors, and into the field of short grass that separated the two parties. And there, to the stunned shock of the watching warriors, he bowed low to the assembled party.
He straightened, and addressed them. “ I am Antal Kalmar, and it is greatest of honors to welcome my cousins, at last, to my home.”
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Post by zurajai on Jul 6, 2017 6:19:58 GMT
Nothing moved. Not a single sound was uttered. It was as if the entire world, down to even the birds and the field mice, went silent and still in respect of the reverent moment. Yuron, so named as an homage to his grandfather and directly after the very founder of the first Almuric Szekeres Empire, looked on in utter silence. Here was, before him, an Almur that looked as if he could have come straight from the Empire of yore so wizened and crooked was his figure. If it weren't for his coloration and the poor venue for his placement, Yuron might have mistaken him for one of the honored dead locked away in the Ancestor Vaults. And he bowed.
The crowd seemed as shocked as he, though to their credit they did an excellent job in mostly hiding it. Before their very eyes a statue had stood up and moved by all rights and had further still chosen another to bow to. The rest of the Princeling's party were equally stunned, although some for far different reasons; several regiments of warriors stood before the century of United Kingdoms troops and even the famed Sipahi Commander was feeling the odds might not quite be in their favor.
"Th-Thank you," stumbled Yuron, immediately regretting it as he considered the absolute ignominy that those should be the first words spoken by his people to the Almur of the West; his father would have his hide for that. After a momentary pause as the internal quarrel burned itself out, Yuron willed himself to continue, "I am Yu- Harcur Yuron Szaboyar-Szekeres, noble Ancient. I am humbled to be in your presence; the things you must have seen in what, three centuries? The stories of the west you could tell. And you speak Old Almuric! Father had sai-"
Yuron stopped in his tracks as the wind blew around him, his youthful excitement immediately souring in his belly; again he had made himself the fool in what was likely the most auspicious occasion since the Granite Crown was reforged. Osman rode up to his side, his faithful ram presenting its horns and broad chest to the massive host as if prepared to run down every last one of them.
"Young Master," he spoke calmly, quietly, "Perhaps you should ask the man why he has brought such a host before us?"
Yuron nodded quickly after a brief second of consideration, looking back to the wizened figure of the cracking Almur before him. His eyes danced across the glittering legion of soldiers at Antal's back, a knot filling in his heart as he evaluated his possible next words very carefully. After deep contemplation he looked back, meeting the eyes of the old Almur for several long seconds before he, himself, bowed low before the Ancient of the West. His Sipahi followed suit, as was custom, with even the gruff master of rams nodding his head low from his saddle. As Yuron rose he step forward, cautiously but with open arms, doing his best not to provoke the armies with undue action.
"I come from lands far to the East, known as the United Kingdoms. My blessed Grandfather, may he rest eternal with Aed, had founded it with hopes it would be home to all Almur. My father Kharok said that these days would come, ever since he reforged the Granite Crown, and has prayed each night for their arrival. He wondered if Almur had found their way this far from our ancient homeland; it seems now his prayers have been answered. There is so much we can learn from you, and you from us if you wish. Wizened Ancient, please, do me this honor to enlighten me of yourself and your honored people, even if they have not taken the field with you to greet us this day."
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Post by Tylonius on Jul 6, 2017 6:47:26 GMT
Antal stood silently for several seconds after the young Almur had spoken his lot. His mind, honed by a millennia of politics and research, churned with new information. Already he was putting together the scant information given to try to find more answers. The boy titled himself Harcur, Prince in the tongue of his childhood. He also named himself Szekeres, implying he either took descent from that most hallowed of lineages, or claimed to. He swore by a strange name. Aed. In a near reverential way. It was a topic that broached further investigation, as did all other matters.
But through it all, one fact kept swimming through his mind, interrupting his trains of thought. The Granite Crown had been reforged. Even as his father had fled the Cataclysm, news of the crowns destruction had reached him. It had only hastened the urgency with which what remained of his people had fled. To know that it had been reforged...
Antal forced his mind back to the subject at hand. The boy was concerned by the forces he had brought with him, and the body language of the warriors behind him virtually screamed 'Under Threat'. He rebuked himself silently. He should have known bringing such an overly large force would be a mistake. But he had desired to make sure that no harm would befall the Almur when they reached his lands. It would not be long before Tolani spies learned of the visit, and the young Harcur would be a prime target for assassination.
And perhaps, in some secret part of himself, he had hoped to impress the first Almur he had seen in over a century.
"Be not afraid young Harcur. The warriors behind me are here for my protection, and yours. I brought so large a force because, though you do not know this, your arrival marks this as the most auspicious day of my nation's history. The most important day in almost a thousand years. They are here, because they requested the right to come and see Almur. I assure you Harcur Yuron Szaboyar-Szekeres, that you and your party have my protection as long as you are in my lands. I swear it on my father, and my ancestors. But we have much to discuss, and the road to Pagahara is long and wearying. I offer you the right to ride in my carriage with me for the journey, and your Dwarven friend. We may talk along the road. You may learn of my nation, and I of yours. Will you join me?"
Antal turned his body slightly, back towards the carriage, and held his hand welcoming towards young Almur. He did hope he would accept. Already, this short time on his feet was begging to sap him of his scant reserves of strength, and he did not think he had the energy to continue this conversation under the sun.
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Post by zurajai on Jul 7, 2017 22:00:26 GMT
Yuron most certainly obliged, stepping into the Almur sized carriage with Osman swiftly in tow as soon as he'd dropped from his mount. Carriages this size were almost completely unused by Almur in the East, the nomadic legacy of their ancestry leading to a far more rugged lifestyle that did not befit such pleasantries. Though one hundred years had passed it was generally considered unseemly to travel somewhere not on your two legs with Almur sized carts often being reserved for Almur sized packages rather than Almur themselves. Despite this Yuron was most enthused, not the least of which because of the obscenely long journey on foot he had just now completed.
"Honored Ancient, I must thank you for your hospitality," replied Yuron as Antal took the seat across from him, "It is refreshing to know that even with the a continent separating us, such things can be found in both our homelands."
Osman, for his part, had remained mostly quiet the entire time; it was often his way to speak only when he was sure his counterpart had nothing left to say. The old dwarf, however, was seemingly considerably more curious than a normal day might find him. After a long pause he spoke up, thrusting a hand forward with one finger pointed in curiosity while his other hand calmly caresses his beard.
"My Lord," he chimed in, adding in a respectful bow of his head, "I am Sokollogulu Osman Origm Saraskar, humble servant and adviser to His Majesty, the Naryur. I must ask, for my curiosity tugs strongly at my mind, but where are the rest of your kin?"
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Post by Tylonius on Jul 7, 2017 22:52:36 GMT
Antal sighed internally when he settled down into the wonderfully cushioned seat in the carriage. He leaned his cane against the wall next to him, and watched idly as Marshall Dirana exited through a small side door to give the order to the driver and soldiers for them to begin pulling out. The carriage jostled slightly as the team of horses set into motion beneath the expert hand of the driver. Dirana stepped back in and took up his seat by the door. A respectful distance from the conversation, but in range to intercept any sudden attacks on his leader. He made as good a bodyguard as he did commander. Antal turned his attention back to the guests who had both taken their seats across from him. It was fortunate that this carriage was so old, as that meant there had once been a reason for it to have more than one Almur sized seat. “Hospitality and a welcoming of others has been one of the greatest strengths of my people Harcur. It is the least we can do to show some kindness in this harsh world. He-Who-Forged-The-World did not put us upon this earth the further the evil that infects it. All outsiders who mean us no harm are welcome here. And you are hardly outsiders, despite that you have just discovered us.” The dwarf spoke up next, Osman. His question sent a pang of long familiar pain through Antal, which ignored with ease of practice. He smiled softly at the dwarf as he responded. “That, I think, would be a question easier answered when we return to my capital. It is a very long story, and there are documents and artifacts there that would aid in the telling. But it is a long road to Pagahara, and I’m sure you have as many questions for me as I do for you. If you would allow me to start, I would like to hear more of this Aed you swear by...” ~~~~
The trip to Pagahara took several days to complete, winding along the great roads that led from the trade hub of Utari to the capital. Antal made sure to put in a short appearance at every town and hamlet they passed through. He took the occasional petition from the populace there, small things that would never reach him in the Palace. Perhaps it wasted time, but it was good for the people to be reminded that their leaders remembered and cared for them. Besides, Antal had always enjoyed this aspect of leadership, giving him a direct hand in settling disputes and helping his people. But if the people were ecstatic to see him in their towns, they were struck dumb by the Harcur’s party. A living Almur who was not Antal. He knew that as their party moved on from each settlement, celebrations would erupt in their wake, and no doubt soon spread to the rest of the land. That was good. It brought happiness to his people, and it was truly an event worth celebrating. Even so, he had no doubt that Bareka would have several reports waiting for him about Tolani movements. Korani would not stand idly by when news of new Almur in the west came to him. This would likely accelerate things between them. But that was not necessarily a bad thing. If the traitor moved too fast it would give his warriors openings they would take advantage of. But either way, it was a matter for the future to deal with. Now, they had finally reached Pagahara, the great city appearing as they crested a hill. The city shone in the sunlight, the stone standing out in contrast to the darker stone of Mount Bidu it was built into. Even from this far out the endless noise and hustle and bustle of the city reached them, carried softly on the wind. It took three hours to make it from the entrance to the city to the entrance of his Palace. Every step of the way the was impeded by the crowds drawn to the procession. The Seekers Carriage was not an unknown sight in the capital, antal required it to go any great distance these days. But the large procession of warriors with them brought more attention than usual. And the presence of unknown Almur brought far more. It was quite likely that the economy would be quite heavily disrupted by today. Antal idly wrote down an order to a troop to remove money from the treasury to bolster the loss of business and trade. Eventually however, they reached the palace and dismounted the carriage. Dirana brought the troops up to attention, and dismissed them. Antal ignored the cacophony of a thousand troops leaving behind him and began to slowly walk back into his home. He led the small party to a nearby parlor where they could rest. He did so in silence, and allowed Rendith to act as impromptu tour guide. He was deep in thought. A name for god, the Dwarves of this United Kingdom, the Granite Crown, the messy politics of the east. He had learned much over the last two days, Yuron and Osman giving a concise history of their peoples. Antal had done much the same, if skirting round a few issues. The death of the other Almur, and his own age primarily. He had not lied, but simply obscured or spoken around certain facts. The former truly was a story better told here than on the road, and he would need to think carefully about how to inform the Harcur of his own age. The secret of the ring was one he had told only to his closest and most trusted advisors. He would need to know if these cousins of his could also be included. But at last they came to the parlor, and Antal shook himself out of his revery. He turned to the party and addressed them. “Honored guests, I ask that you allow your attendents to rest here. It has been a long journey for you, and they would no doubt like to put up their weary feet. Marshall Dirana can take care of them. If you would care to accompany me Harcur, young Osman. I believe it is time to answer your question about the other Almur. He was already weary. The trip from the border had sapped most of his strength, and the walk through the Palace was not something he attempted most days now. Once he had strode these halls with ease, but now such an act cost him dearly. Already he could feel his bonus complaining to him, his muscles beginning to weaken. But this was better done now. He ignored the weariness and led his two companions through the maze of halls, to the Courtyard of Ivory. The sun had set by now, and the moon hung as a brilliant sliver in the sky, spilling ghostly illumination over the assembled remains. Antal slowly walked through the courtyard, till he reached the clearing in the middle. He turned to face his audience. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and grave. “You asked, Osman, where the rest of my kin where. They are here, around you. All of them. I have no more kin. I am the last Almur of the west.” |
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Post by zurajai on Jul 14, 2017 16:40:00 GMT
"It cannot be so . . . "
The princeling Almur stood in disbelief, looking out across the courtyard with a mix of denial and sadness marring his previously enraptured visage; this was not how he imagined the western Almur. Osman remained farther back, his lips tightened into a snarl of disappointment and shame for some perceived failure. Though he didn't know it now, Osman was sure his Sultan would be doubled over in grief and he was not pleased to be the bearer of that news. One by one Yuron slowly passed from one petrified Almur to another, most of them having been graciously maneuvered into dignified poses before their petrification to maintain a semblance of respect for the dead. Each one must have had a life and a story that would, in the end, go unremembered; Yuron was suddenly awash with troubling thoughts before he turned on Antal, his brow furrowed in a flurry of emotions.
"How could you not tell me of this sooner?!" he roared, fury and a royal upbringing combining to loosen his lips more than they should have, "You had me believe for the last two days that your people were thriving, that MY people were here, in this city!"
Osman began to move, lowering his arms and stomping towards the raging Harcur with a sincere look of worry on his face. Despite the immense size difference the dwarf reached forward to try to offer some form of comfort but was swiftly rebuked. A frustrated look came over the aging Saraskar as he followed after, speaking the most calming words he could think of while simultaneously trying to keep his own vigorous and famed temper down.
"My Prince, if you could just-"
"No!" bellowed Yuron, his words echoing throughout the courtyard, "I refuse to simply be silent! I will have answers; no more secrets! What else have you neglected to tell me, Honored Ancient, for it seems your silence has grave consequences indeed!"
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Post by Tylonius on Jul 16, 2017 20:31:33 GMT
Antal turned to examine the statue standing nearest to him as the Harcur exploded in rage. Understandable, but the ancient Almur found that he did not have the energy or patience to deal with it at this moment. The young boy's rage and sorrow were but a shadow of what Antal had lived with for centuries as his people dwindled and died. Still, the ivory remains he studied helped give him strength. It was a young Almur, a girl. Her name had been Feyenai Cerynor. She had been an aspiring artist, before she had been so cruelly cut down in the prime of life. Only thirty years old when she had contracted a virulent strain of plague, and had faded away quickly. It had been four hundred and twenty seven years ago. Antal still had one of her paintings hanging up in the palace.
The young Harcur did not understand, and so he was angry. Therefore, Antal would have to try and make him understand. It had been over two hundred years since he had last educated a young Almur, but he was certain he could still remember the war.
"You ask me how I could not have told you this before. You ask how I could deceive you. I say to that, young Harcur, that I told you the truth in my carriage two days ago. I told you the tale would be easier told here than in the field, and it is. We had much to discuss other than the fate of my kin, and if you had known of that before, the journey would have been dominated by questions and demands to know more. And perhaps... perhaps I enjoyed the presence of an Almur who was not weighted down by the loneliness and sadness of knowing they are alone. The last of my kin died one hundred and thirty one years ago, cut down in battle. But for the last five centuries, we have known that our population would not survive. There was not enough of us, too many had died during the liberation and in the times afterwards. Too few children were being born, and too many were dying.
So for five hundred years I have lived with the knowledge that I would be alone for quite some time. And if I perhaps indulged in your excitement and joy for a time, then I apologize for that. But I still maintain that I did not lie to you. You say I deceived you by telling you that my people thrived in this land, in this city. And I say to you that they do. The humans, and dwarves, and elves, and orcs, and sylphs, and the myriad of other races that dwell in peace and harmony in my land. Those are my people, as much as any of these Almur were.
Now, young Harcur. Are you prepared to calm down so that we may talk as the adults and leaders we are? Or do you require more time to process? It is late, and I had rooms you may retire to till tomorrow."
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