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Chapatrap,
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I RP for the ladies
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#Diapergate #Hugs2018
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I fucking love catfishing
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Every time I insult a certain coworker, i'll take money from their jar. Saving for beer would never be easier!
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The Jungle Book is good.
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soon...
Donald Trump
Hillary Clinton
To think, in another month this couple will stop being in every game. May auld acquaintance be forgot.
@Vilageidiotx
I'm just saying this because plate armour (especially full late medieval plate armour) is not really Viking/Migration Age. It really changes battlefield tactics, the types of weapons in use and requires a very different set of economic processes to bring about. Obviously not the GM, but stuff like this bothers me a lot when something is supposed to be a 'period' RP.
I'd hate for us to worry too much about small details like this and get bogged down in it, because that just sucks. I won't use it to strut around all OP if you are worried about that. GM knows this.
<Snipped quote by Vilageidiotx>
Yeah I know what it is, got a specific period in mind?
Not particularly. Gotta leave something to the imagination.
@Dannyrulx Yeah I'm game for it, I just don't have a character for me to step for that right now, will have a think
@Vilageidiotx Could you care to elaborate on the 'plate armour' in your post?
This sort of thing.
Celsmuth., Kingdom of the Cels
"You see, the problem with the Ice-People is that they have no concept of military science. Words like 'Tactics' and 'Strategy' mean nothing to them. They all climb into boats with whatever they or their ancestors have stolen from better people, and if they have no stolen weapons, they grab whatever tools they have lying around, and they sail along the coast until they find a place to deploy. And when a band of Ice-People 'Deploy', what they really do is act like bandits, dashing every which way and stealing what they can. Militarily speaking, it's all very easy to mop such a mob. But arriving in time for the mop up? That's a complicated notion."
Serdic spoke to his companions on the road. It was him and Sibetta, him on a powerful white charger, her riding side saddle on a white mare. Behind them rode four Good Men in heavy armor. They were traveling a sunken road, old beaten cobblestones appearing in the kneaded mud like raisins in a pudding. Overgrown hedges and hoary oak trees leaned in toward them and formed a natural breastwork.
"I will tell you one thing, Sibetta. They don't understand cavalry. That is important. You show one of the Ice-People a regiment of our Good Men and they only see men in plate armor, with helmets and horses and such. But there is more to military science. A regiment of Good Men understand the value of the flank, of high ground, of how to divide and smash an opponent. The armor helps, sure. I don't believe I've ever heard about an Ice-Man in full plate." He looked back at their Good Men escort, conscious they were listening. Their true faces were not visible, hidden behind cylindrical helmets with small slits for the eyes. On the face of their helmets, the smiths had crafted metal faces with strong noses and thin mouths. Each metallic face had a mustache, some no wider than the nose, others arching toward the bottom of the helm. Thin ribbons of colored cloth flew from the back of their helmets and caught the breeze. A Good Man wore one ribbon for every battle he had fought, or tournament he had competed in, or personal duel he had survived.
"It is a gloomy day." Sibetta said, looking in the direction of the sea though she could not see it from the road. "I fear it might rain while we are out here in the open." The air was thick with a cold droplets, and grey clouds threatened from the direction of the coast.
"I will keep you dry, dear. Don't worry much about that. And a little bit of water is worth witnessing glory. Now... I was saying. Oh! I would reckon even a few hundred Poormen could destroy the entire race of Ice Men arrayed in their natural formation. Because armor isn't the most important part of a horseman's capacity, you see. Come in from the sides, drive them in fear toward the center, and squish them as if they were in your hands." he pressed his palms together for emphasis. "I would even bet that, if you took a few cavalrymen and arrayed them on their mounts as naked as babes, they would still destroy a mob of icemen. Even if the ice men stole stone armor for the dwarves. Military science, my dear... Ah, this is the hill. If you are afraid of blood, my dear, then steel yourself."
They crested a ridge and followed the road as it emptied onto the coast. At the edge of the grey-sand beach was a fishing village in the shadow of an abandoned castle. The fortification, salt and moss digesting its stones, watched the sea from a rocky escarpment like a forlorn fisherman's widow. Under the walls, silhouetted against the stone, were dozens of gallows, all in use.
A rider blocked their way. He sat a wiry mare, a smear of blood on it's shoulder but no sign of injury to its body. Except for a pointed steel helmet anchored by a nose guard, the man's clothing consisted of leather and padding. The butt of his lance, a simple wooden thing, was pressed into the dirt of the road. A buckler was strapped to his other arm.
"Humble friend!" Serdic shouted to the man in a tone more suited for a dress ball. "I am your Karl of Estbyrn. And this is your King's daughter. We are here to review the field. Take us to Lord Bulfirth, if he is still here."
"Aye." the rider said tonelessly. "Follow me, lords."
They moved at a trot through the village. Its huts were driftwood, stone, and thatch. Old jute fishing nets, made brittle and ragged from years of use, were hung over the outside walls of the huts, where flowers or seashells where attached as decoration. Women in woolen dresses were combing the battlefield for trinkets, taking jewelry off of corpses, or pieces of damaged armor, or pulling teeth from the gaping mouths, so that these souvenirs may be added to their netted walls. Those who looked up at Serdic and Sibetta recognized them for nobility and bowed their heads. Beyond, along the water, the village's men wrangled with the forfeited Longboats. Fishermen to a man, they studied them with the sympathy of professionals.
After crossing the beach, they approached the castle, and the hanged bodies became apparent. "Lord save us all." Serdic exclaimed. "They are only boys!" The bloating blue faces, their eyes made red as devils and their faces twisted from the struggle of strangulation, were otherwise boyish and without hair. They things they had brought with them - their jewelry, armor, weapons, shoes, and totems - had been stripped from them, so they swayed barefoot in the worthless seal-skin rags their kind preferred. It was disappointing. Serdic was further disappointed when he realized who the lynched Ice-Men were. The prisoners. He wished to see living Ice Man, but Bulfirth had put them down before he could arrive.
"Fair one." it was Bulfirth, riding down from the ruins with his own escort of Good Men, voice echoing in a thick conical helm fringed with victory ribbons like rays from a setting sun. The barrel-chested Lord rode up along side Sibetta, and Serdic noticed his betrothed was covering her face and looking away from the gallows. "You do not have to look at them." Bulfirth said, speaking in a hushed tone to Sibetta. "But do not make it so plain. Your people should not see their princess looking like a child." He took off his helmet and placed it on his saddle horn, showing the blushing princess a warm and fatherly smile on a care-worn face. A neatly kept brown beard followed the line of a thick jaw that would have been handsome if it didn't jut slightly to the side. His hair was kept manageable short, and was not maintained in any purposeful style. On the front of his plate armor was a thick steel device made out like a shield bearing the image of a venerable owl with wings outstretched.
"Lord Bulfirth!" Serdic greeted. "You have the praise of the King and his court. More victories like this and the race of Ice People will cringe from our shore."
"I thank you." Bulfirth replied. "But I hope the court will agree when I say that this victory belongs to God. I arrived, lord Karl, and did not find certain victory waiting for me. I found an enemy, and I fought him, and God found it suitable to reward me with the field."
"Yes." Serdic said. "Well, God has been very good to us."
"Very true." the big warrior said humbly. "I can only hope we have earned that blessing."
Serdic looked up at the gallows. "Did they give you any trouble?"
Bulfirth looked back, turning awkward in his heavy armor. "No. But there was no purpose in keeping them alive. Ice-People are profane little creatures."
"Did you have time to question them?"
"They could have nothing of value to say." Bulfirth replied. "What could they say? That they want to menace our people and steal their things? That he has a concubine at home who he wishes to rape before he dies? Maybe say prayers to the rotten hump of seal fur his people worship? I took what I needed. I have this..." he motioned to a hatchet hanging from his belt. "...one of them made this. It's not very good. And I have those..." he motioned to the longships swarmed with fishermen on the sand. "...they do have value to me. Come, join me. I am going to sail back home."
"In one of theirs?" Serdic looked out at them and wondered, for only a moment, how something they made so far in the north could be sea worthy. "Of course." he said. "Lead the way, my lord."
"I don't want to!" Sibetta blurted. Serdic looked blankly at her, not completely accepting she had said that.
"Sibetta, my dear." Serdic rode next to the skinny girl looking so frightened and small on the top of her horse. "If you don't want to do something, that is fine. If you are certain of it, say so, and I will send you back with our escort."
Sibetta looked ashamed, the offer rattling in her head. "I want to ride home." she confirmed. "I'm sorry, Serdic, but the sea..."
Serdic didn't want to admit she had let him down, so he smiled as warm as he could pretend and sent her on her way. What an honor she was going to miss. What an experience!
They loaded onto the longboats awkwardly. Serdic went first, climbing into a vessel and finding the angle of the thing uncomfortable to walk on. Bulfirth placed his helmet in the sand and, with the help of a young squire, took off his plate and placed it next to the helmet. Next came off a coat of chainmail, leaving him in a woolen padded suit that covered his head and hung down to his knees. He put back on his belt and scabbard and climbed in next to Serdic.
The sailors, mostly footmen with a few fishermen to help, pushed the boats into the water and jumped on board to man the oars. Soon they were off, skimming over crystal water like a spoon through cream, the sea spray cooling their faces, the sail cracking solidly in the wind.
"These are cleverly done." Bulfirth said. "The shallow draft must be for river travel. Brilliant speed. Their only disadvantage is they cannot stand in a fight against a heavier ship, but so far our heavier ships haven't been able to catch them."
Salt stung at Serdic's eyes, and he squinted to keep from crying. "It's a wonder those people can build something like this." he said.
"I think they were meant for us." Bulfirth said. "And if I can get the King to accept it, I think we can make use of this gift."
"I don't understand." Serdic said.
"These ships move fast and can be used cheaply. Group them in parties of three, place seasoned soldiers at the oars, and use them to patrol our coasts. Enough of this and we could clear our seas of these Ice-People."
"Can you build these?" Serdic asked.
"What would be the purpose of an empty gift?" Bulfirth asked. "We must be able to build them if they are here in our hands."
"You see, the problem with the Ice-People is that they have no concept of military science. Words like 'Tactics' and 'Strategy' mean nothing to them. They all climb into boats with whatever they or their ancestors have stolen from better people, and if they have no stolen weapons, they grab whatever tools they have lying around, and they sail along the coast until they find a place to deploy. And when a band of Ice-People 'Deploy', what they really do is act like bandits, dashing every which way and stealing what they can. Militarily speaking, it's all very easy to mop such a mob. But arriving in time for the mop up? That's a complicated notion."
Serdic spoke to his companions on the road. It was him and Sibetta, him on a powerful white charger, her riding side saddle on a white mare. Behind them rode four Good Men in heavy armor. They were traveling a sunken road, old beaten cobblestones appearing in the kneaded mud like raisins in a pudding. Overgrown hedges and hoary oak trees leaned in toward them and formed a natural breastwork.
"I will tell you one thing, Sibetta. They don't understand cavalry. That is important. You show one of the Ice-People a regiment of our Good Men and they only see men in plate armor, with helmets and horses and such. But there is more to military science. A regiment of Good Men understand the value of the flank, of high ground, of how to divide and smash an opponent. The armor helps, sure. I don't believe I've ever heard about an Ice-Man in full plate." He looked back at their Good Men escort, conscious they were listening. Their true faces were not visible, hidden behind cylindrical helmets with small slits for the eyes. On the face of their helmets, the smiths had crafted metal faces with strong noses and thin mouths. Each metallic face had a mustache, some no wider than the nose, others arching toward the bottom of the helm. Thin ribbons of colored cloth flew from the back of their helmets and caught the breeze. A Good Man wore one ribbon for every battle he had fought, or tournament he had competed in, or personal duel he had survived.
"It is a gloomy day." Sibetta said, looking in the direction of the sea though she could not see it from the road. "I fear it might rain while we are out here in the open." The air was thick with a cold droplets, and grey clouds threatened from the direction of the coast.
"I will keep you dry, dear. Don't worry much about that. And a little bit of water is worth witnessing glory. Now... I was saying. Oh! I would reckon even a few hundred Poormen could destroy the entire race of Ice Men arrayed in their natural formation. Because armor isn't the most important part of a horseman's capacity, you see. Come in from the sides, drive them in fear toward the center, and squish them as if they were in your hands." he pressed his palms together for emphasis. "I would even bet that, if you took a few cavalrymen and arrayed them on their mounts as naked as babes, they would still destroy a mob of icemen. Even if the ice men stole stone armor for the dwarves. Military science, my dear... Ah, this is the hill. If you are afraid of blood, my dear, then steel yourself."
They crested a ridge and followed the road as it emptied onto the coast. At the edge of the grey-sand beach was a fishing village in the shadow of an abandoned castle. The fortification, salt and moss digesting its stones, watched the sea from a rocky escarpment like a forlorn fisherman's widow. Under the walls, silhouetted against the stone, were dozens of gallows, all in use.
A rider blocked their way. He sat a wiry mare, a smear of blood on it's shoulder but no sign of injury to its body. Except for a pointed steel helmet anchored by a nose guard, the man's clothing consisted of leather and padding. The butt of his lance, a simple wooden thing, was pressed into the dirt of the road. A buckler was strapped to his other arm.
"Humble friend!" Serdic shouted to the man in a tone more suited for a dress ball. "I am your Karl of Estbyrn. And this is your King's daughter. We are here to review the field. Take us to Lord Bulfirth, if he is still here."
"Aye." the rider said tonelessly. "Follow me, lords."
They moved at a trot through the village. Its huts were driftwood, stone, and thatch. Old jute fishing nets, made brittle and ragged from years of use, were hung over the outside walls of the huts, where flowers or seashells where attached as decoration. Women in woolen dresses were combing the battlefield for trinkets, taking jewelry off of corpses, or pieces of damaged armor, or pulling teeth from the gaping mouths, so that these souvenirs may be added to their netted walls. Those who looked up at Serdic and Sibetta recognized them for nobility and bowed their heads. Beyond, along the water, the village's men wrangled with the forfeited Longboats. Fishermen to a man, they studied them with the sympathy of professionals.
After crossing the beach, they approached the castle, and the hanged bodies became apparent. "Lord save us all." Serdic exclaimed. "They are only boys!" The bloating blue faces, their eyes made red as devils and their faces twisted from the struggle of strangulation, were otherwise boyish and without hair. They things they had brought with them - their jewelry, armor, weapons, shoes, and totems - had been stripped from them, so they swayed barefoot in the worthless seal-skin rags their kind preferred. It was disappointing. Serdic was further disappointed when he realized who the lynched Ice-Men were. The prisoners. He wished to see living Ice Man, but Bulfirth had put them down before he could arrive.
"Fair one." it was Bulfirth, riding down from the ruins with his own escort of Good Men, voice echoing in a thick conical helm fringed with victory ribbons like rays from a setting sun. The barrel-chested Lord rode up along side Sibetta, and Serdic noticed his betrothed was covering her face and looking away from the gallows. "You do not have to look at them." Bulfirth said, speaking in a hushed tone to Sibetta. "But do not make it so plain. Your people should not see their princess looking like a child." He took off his helmet and placed it on his saddle horn, showing the blushing princess a warm and fatherly smile on a care-worn face. A neatly kept brown beard followed the line of a thick jaw that would have been handsome if it didn't jut slightly to the side. His hair was kept manageable short, and was not maintained in any purposeful style. On the front of his plate armor was a thick steel device made out like a shield bearing the image of a venerable owl with wings outstretched.
"Lord Bulfirth!" Serdic greeted. "You have the praise of the King and his court. More victories like this and the race of Ice People will cringe from our shore."
"I thank you." Bulfirth replied. "But I hope the court will agree when I say that this victory belongs to God. I arrived, lord Karl, and did not find certain victory waiting for me. I found an enemy, and I fought him, and God found it suitable to reward me with the field."
"Yes." Serdic said. "Well, God has been very good to us."
"Very true." the big warrior said humbly. "I can only hope we have earned that blessing."
Serdic looked up at the gallows. "Did they give you any trouble?"
Bulfirth looked back, turning awkward in his heavy armor. "No. But there was no purpose in keeping them alive. Ice-People are profane little creatures."
"Did you have time to question them?"
"They could have nothing of value to say." Bulfirth replied. "What could they say? That they want to menace our people and steal their things? That he has a concubine at home who he wishes to rape before he dies? Maybe say prayers to the rotten hump of seal fur his people worship? I took what I needed. I have this..." he motioned to a hatchet hanging from his belt. "...one of them made this. It's not very good. And I have those..." he motioned to the longships swarmed with fishermen on the sand. "...they do have value to me. Come, join me. I am going to sail back home."
"In one of theirs?" Serdic looked out at them and wondered, for only a moment, how something they made so far in the north could be sea worthy. "Of course." he said. "Lead the way, my lord."
"I don't want to!" Sibetta blurted. Serdic looked blankly at her, not completely accepting she had said that.
"Sibetta, my dear." Serdic rode next to the skinny girl looking so frightened and small on the top of her horse. "If you don't want to do something, that is fine. If you are certain of it, say so, and I will send you back with our escort."
Sibetta looked ashamed, the offer rattling in her head. "I want to ride home." she confirmed. "I'm sorry, Serdic, but the sea..."
Serdic didn't want to admit she had let him down, so he smiled as warm as he could pretend and sent her on her way. What an honor she was going to miss. What an experience!
They loaded onto the longboats awkwardly. Serdic went first, climbing into a vessel and finding the angle of the thing uncomfortable to walk on. Bulfirth placed his helmet in the sand and, with the help of a young squire, took off his plate and placed it next to the helmet. Next came off a coat of chainmail, leaving him in a woolen padded suit that covered his head and hung down to his knees. He put back on his belt and scabbard and climbed in next to Serdic.
The sailors, mostly footmen with a few fishermen to help, pushed the boats into the water and jumped on board to man the oars. Soon they were off, skimming over crystal water like a spoon through cream, the sea spray cooling their faces, the sail cracking solidly in the wind.
"These are cleverly done." Bulfirth said. "The shallow draft must be for river travel. Brilliant speed. Their only disadvantage is they cannot stand in a fight against a heavier ship, but so far our heavier ships haven't been able to catch them."
Salt stung at Serdic's eyes, and he squinted to keep from crying. "It's a wonder those people can build something like this." he said.
"I think they were meant for us." Bulfirth said. "And if I can get the King to accept it, I think we can make use of this gift."
"I don't understand." Serdic said.
"These ships move fast and can be used cheaply. Group them in parties of three, place seasoned soldiers at the oars, and use them to patrol our coasts. Enough of this and we could clear our seas of these Ice-People."
"Can you build these?" Serdic asked.
"What would be the purpose of an empty gift?" Bulfirth asked. "We must be able to build them if they are here in our hands."
Fall is here. The holidays are starting to drip in now, and that means themes for shitty forum games.
So here is the shtick: We're going to collect 48 names and then I'm going to rewrite the BrantSteel Hunger Games simulator's events so we can kill them in halloween themed ways. Of all the holidays, Halloween is probably the most suited for this sort of thing. You can contribute any tributes you want, but just remember I'll be rewriting this thing for a Halloween theme, which'll be a mixture of horror tropes and American halloween holiday culture (I know not everyone is American but I think we've colonized your media enough that you at least know the proper ways to do things, so imma assume most people are vaguely aware of the gist of the thing). So even though the only rule I'll enforce here is "No redundancies", and aside from that you can pick whoever you want, keep the theme in mind when picking out people so we end up with the highest amount of funny BS.
One more thing, I do things a bit differently than Aaron, so if you want your own name in you'll have to say so. I won't just add it along with your picks.
Okay, so let's do this thing.
1: Vilageidiotx
2: Token Black Guy
3: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer.
4: Skeleton Kid
5: VarionusNW
6: scary clown
7: Youtube Hero
8: Jack Skellington
9: Spooky Skeleton
10: Michael Myers
11: Mike Myers
12: Leatherface
13: The Overlook Hotel
14: Sans
15: Demon Teemo
16: Shaco
17: Swedish Death Metal Band
18: X-Tan
19: Diablo
20: Mahz
21: Donald Trump
22: Hillary Clinton
23: A Reaper
24: MayLien
25: MayLily915
26: Shoryu Magami
27: ArenaSnow
28: Baklava
29: Hank
30: 30's Milkman
31: Cockle
32: Hooplah Fish
33: Neighborhood Watch Guy
34: Hollyburst
35: Gary Johnson
36: Jason Voorhees
37: Obama
38: Sarah Palin
39: Myyt
40: Shifty Kebab
41: Buffalo Wings
42: Alabama
43: Mia the Pillow
44: Overwatch
45: Pokemon GO
46: Undertale
47: Final Fantasy XV
48: tsukune
So here is the shtick: We're going to collect 48 names and then I'm going to rewrite the BrantSteel Hunger Games simulator's events so we can kill them in halloween themed ways. Of all the holidays, Halloween is probably the most suited for this sort of thing. You can contribute any tributes you want, but just remember I'll be rewriting this thing for a Halloween theme, which'll be a mixture of horror tropes and American halloween holiday culture (I know not everyone is American but I think we've colonized your media enough that you at least know the proper ways to do things, so imma assume most people are vaguely aware of the gist of the thing). So even though the only rule I'll enforce here is "No redundancies", and aside from that you can pick whoever you want, keep the theme in mind when picking out people so we end up with the highest amount of funny BS.
One more thing, I do things a bit differently than Aaron, so if you want your own name in you'll have to say so. I won't just add it along with your picks.
Okay, so let's do this thing.
1: Vilageidiotx
2: Token Black Guy
3: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer.
4: Skeleton Kid
5: VarionusNW
6: scary clown
7: Youtube Hero
8: Jack Skellington
9: Spooky Skeleton
10: Michael Myers
11: Mike Myers
12: Leatherface
13: The Overlook Hotel
14: Sans
15: Demon Teemo
16: Shaco
17: Swedish Death Metal Band
18: X-Tan
19: Diablo
20: Mahz
21: Donald Trump
22: Hillary Clinton
23: A Reaper
24: MayLien
25: MayLily915
26: Shoryu Magami
27: ArenaSnow
28: Baklava
29: Hank
30: 30's Milkman
31: Cockle
32: Hooplah Fish
33: Neighborhood Watch Guy
34: Hollyburst
35: Gary Johnson
36: Jason Voorhees
37: Obama
38: Sarah Palin
39: Myyt
40: Shifty Kebab
41: Buffalo Wings
42: Alabama
43: Mia the Pillow
44: Overwatch
45: Pokemon GO
46: Undertale
47: Final Fantasy XV
48: tsukune
Got a post finished and proofed. I'll wait and reproof it so @Vinsanity gets last-posted for a few more hours.
Celund, Kingdom of the Cels
Wine and an egg yolk, when mixed with pigment, creates a brittle paint that must be applied quickly before it dries, and in thin layers so it doesn't crack. Boiling the bones and skin of fish creates a glue that must be reheated before application. Moss, plucked fresh, dipped in green paint, and glued to a thin board, creates the illusion of grass in miniature. Buildings can be formed with clay, then decorated with wood shavings and plaster before the clay dries, creating towns and fortresses. The application of moss to twigs allows for trees. The use of glue alone with blue pigment creates the vague effect of water. With all of this combined, a landscape is created. When hundreds of small, hand-painted tin soldiers are arranged on the board, great battles are formed. This was the hobby that consumed King Woracs IV's spare time. For his nephew, the Karl Serdic of Estbyrn, watching the old man delicately paint tiny tin soldiers was like seeing madness incarnate presented on the illuminated pages of a morality tome.
The cellar room smelled of rotten eggs and human farts. It was the sort of smell that starts plagues. Vile, unhealthy. Serdic inhaled through his mouth to avoid overexposure. He stood on the stairs, wearing a red linen shirt and matching pantaloons, a red velvet vest with silver buttons, and a red velvet hat that flopped like a pillow emptied of its down. He stared down at the old man, his white hair frazzled, his faced sporting new growth, and wearing thick woolen underclothes. Paint stuck to the King's thick fingers like mucus.
"Bulfirth drove a party of Ice-men into the sea." Serdic said. "Some of them fell into his hands, alive if you can believe it."
"We all owe Bulfirth our dear respect." the King muttered. He did not look up from his work.
"I have it in mind to visit the site, uncle." He would have said more, but the smell choked back his words and he paused to hold his breath.
"Your right."
Serdic coughed. "I also have it in mind to take Sibetta. Would that meet with your approval."
"She is your betrothed. Do as you will." the King finished painting a soldier and put it on the table to join a shield-wall approaching the earthworks of his clay-brick fortress. "In glory came the Cels, shield by shield, to thrust the Glins from their parapet."
"You should dress yourself uncle. It is morning again. The people will expect you to hold court."
The King frowned. "You don't appreciate our history." he said, and in his voice he sounded older than ever.
"Glinbadl fell. There are academics who argue that the War of Glinbadl never happened, so perhaps it never fell. Either way, uncle, I have other things to worry about."
"An academic would argue his wife's lover doesn't exist if he ever heard of the affair. You can't argue with something just because you don't like it. They need proof that the war never happened."
"No matter."
The King looked up at the thin beam of light entering from the brick-sized window a the top of the cellar. "Go, do what you want to do. Take Sibetta."
"Gladly." Serdic said, and he retreated into the relatively fresh air of the castle's ground level.
Celund Castle, the home of the royal family, was an old fortification. The thick grey stone that formed it had been weathered and rounded with time. Stucco plugged the gaps, and then aged over the centuries itself, cracking, and requiring new stucco to plug it all over again. The effect indoors was a mottled pattern of egg-browns, creams, and near-whites, where spurs of stone occasionally stuck out. The further he got from the cellar, the better the work got, until the stucco walls were uniform and smooth. Tapestries appeared, presenting ancient myth in woven color. Whale-oil lanterns replaced the pitch-fueled torches. In the civilized parts of the castle, cinnamon and clove purchased from southern traders was burned along with the oil, making the air pleasant and Serdic happy to breath correctly again.
"Good morn', your excellency." The Ex-Chequer bowed, dressed in linen finery and draped in jewels, and with a black velvet hat much like Serdic's own. He was a short man with very few real duties since the Prince had taken to caring for the books. A minor noble with a title of honor and an apartment in the castle, that was all he was. Serdic politely nodded as he passed the man. Decics of Horelund, that was his name and breed. The Horii were an old family with a character present on the King's recreated battle. Still minor though. Ancientness did not necessarily denote real importance.
The exchange was recreated several times with different officials as Serdic ascended into the royal quarters. He strutted through the hall and knocked at the door to Sibetta's room.
"Dear Sibetta." he warbled. "It is myself, your betrothed."
The door opened. He was greeted by the pink-eyed albino handmaiden, Pari. The way her mouth and nose came close together reminded him of a small dog.
"Mistress is away." she said.
"Away? Where would she go at this time?"
"To visit." the ugly handmaiden said.
"Well, if she returns spare no time to inform me. I will go look for her in the mean time."
The first place he looked was her brother's room. He didn't expect a visit to Prince Hecte "The Lingerer" to achieve anything more than it usually did. He didn't bother to knock at the man's door - nobody did, because he would never answer if you knocked, and he never cared when you barged in on him. The room smelled almost worse than the King's hobby cellar, but for another reason. Hecte sat unbathed, unshaven, in a sweat-stained woolen robe. His servants did their best to keep the room clean, but they could never keep the Prince clean. If they asked he would sometimes get to it, but not always. The Lingerer sat at his desk, bent over the accounting of the kingdom, working on it as passionlessly as he did everything else.
"Hecte, have you see Sibetta? Her girl says she is out."
"Yes." Hecte muttered. The way he looked at the books, a man unaccustomed to the Prince's way might think him enthralled, but Serdic had seen him just as focused on staring at the ceiling for hours when he was a child.
"Where did she go?" Serdic asked.
"To meet the porters." Hecte said. Serdic retreated from his room as eagerly as he had his father's.
He found her in the kitchen where men were prying open shipping crates. Inside, packed among the straw, were a number of goods purchased from far away, wrapped in burlap covered in pitch. Sibetta stood nearby like a child receiving a gift. She wore a thick woolen dress, baby blue, covered in linen and silk finery. Sibetta was fifteen - ten years younger than Serdic - and still young enough to look boyish. Her mousy brown hair was done up in a bun and covered with a jeweled netting.
He placed his hands on her shoulders suddenly, and felt her should muscles twitch as she spun around. "Serdic, you are a bully!" she smiled.
"I should have been a spy rather than a bully." he replied. "To sneak up on a gazelle as quick as you? There are hunters in Hemet that couldn't do that."
"Some of this is from Hemet!" her eyes lit up and she turned to grab a small ebonywood box, handling it carefully to avoid touching the splotches of stubborn pitch still sticking to the surface. Inside were a number of something stacked side by side like cookies. To him, it looked like mummified scrotums. When she picked one and ate it, he didn't know what to say.
"Try one." she said. "It's dried fruit."
He did so, slowly. A nibble, and then the entire thing. It tasted like honey with a fruity tang. "This is interesting. How did you come about it?"
"Our agent in Hemet of course. I forget his name. He finds these things for us all the time." she put the box away and perused through the others.
"Bulfirth has won a great victory in Celsmuth. It is a short ride from here, so I am going to ride out and tour the battlefield. Your father says you can join me if you wish."
"Tour a battlefield?" she looked at him, startled. "Is that a safe place to be?"
"The battle is over. And I will ride armed, I promise that. If you wish, Bulfirth left some Good Men in the capitol. We could ride under escort."
"I would prefer it." she said, looking down, biting her lip, thinking. "It is good then. We will see this battlefield. I have always been curious about what an Ice-man looks like."
Wine and an egg yolk, when mixed with pigment, creates a brittle paint that must be applied quickly before it dries, and in thin layers so it doesn't crack. Boiling the bones and skin of fish creates a glue that must be reheated before application. Moss, plucked fresh, dipped in green paint, and glued to a thin board, creates the illusion of grass in miniature. Buildings can be formed with clay, then decorated with wood shavings and plaster before the clay dries, creating towns and fortresses. The application of moss to twigs allows for trees. The use of glue alone with blue pigment creates the vague effect of water. With all of this combined, a landscape is created. When hundreds of small, hand-painted tin soldiers are arranged on the board, great battles are formed. This was the hobby that consumed King Woracs IV's spare time. For his nephew, the Karl Serdic of Estbyrn, watching the old man delicately paint tiny tin soldiers was like seeing madness incarnate presented on the illuminated pages of a morality tome.
The cellar room smelled of rotten eggs and human farts. It was the sort of smell that starts plagues. Vile, unhealthy. Serdic inhaled through his mouth to avoid overexposure. He stood on the stairs, wearing a red linen shirt and matching pantaloons, a red velvet vest with silver buttons, and a red velvet hat that flopped like a pillow emptied of its down. He stared down at the old man, his white hair frazzled, his faced sporting new growth, and wearing thick woolen underclothes. Paint stuck to the King's thick fingers like mucus.
"Bulfirth drove a party of Ice-men into the sea." Serdic said. "Some of them fell into his hands, alive if you can believe it."
"We all owe Bulfirth our dear respect." the King muttered. He did not look up from his work.
"I have it in mind to visit the site, uncle." He would have said more, but the smell choked back his words and he paused to hold his breath.
"Your right."
Serdic coughed. "I also have it in mind to take Sibetta. Would that meet with your approval."
"She is your betrothed. Do as you will." the King finished painting a soldier and put it on the table to join a shield-wall approaching the earthworks of his clay-brick fortress. "In glory came the Cels, shield by shield, to thrust the Glins from their parapet."
"You should dress yourself uncle. It is morning again. The people will expect you to hold court."
The King frowned. "You don't appreciate our history." he said, and in his voice he sounded older than ever.
"Glinbadl fell. There are academics who argue that the War of Glinbadl never happened, so perhaps it never fell. Either way, uncle, I have other things to worry about."
"An academic would argue his wife's lover doesn't exist if he ever heard of the affair. You can't argue with something just because you don't like it. They need proof that the war never happened."
"No matter."
The King looked up at the thin beam of light entering from the brick-sized window a the top of the cellar. "Go, do what you want to do. Take Sibetta."
"Gladly." Serdic said, and he retreated into the relatively fresh air of the castle's ground level.
Celund Castle, the home of the royal family, was an old fortification. The thick grey stone that formed it had been weathered and rounded with time. Stucco plugged the gaps, and then aged over the centuries itself, cracking, and requiring new stucco to plug it all over again. The effect indoors was a mottled pattern of egg-browns, creams, and near-whites, where spurs of stone occasionally stuck out. The further he got from the cellar, the better the work got, until the stucco walls were uniform and smooth. Tapestries appeared, presenting ancient myth in woven color. Whale-oil lanterns replaced the pitch-fueled torches. In the civilized parts of the castle, cinnamon and clove purchased from southern traders was burned along with the oil, making the air pleasant and Serdic happy to breath correctly again.
"Good morn', your excellency." The Ex-Chequer bowed, dressed in linen finery and draped in jewels, and with a black velvet hat much like Serdic's own. He was a short man with very few real duties since the Prince had taken to caring for the books. A minor noble with a title of honor and an apartment in the castle, that was all he was. Serdic politely nodded as he passed the man. Decics of Horelund, that was his name and breed. The Horii were an old family with a character present on the King's recreated battle. Still minor though. Ancientness did not necessarily denote real importance.
The exchange was recreated several times with different officials as Serdic ascended into the royal quarters. He strutted through the hall and knocked at the door to Sibetta's room.
"Dear Sibetta." he warbled. "It is myself, your betrothed."
The door opened. He was greeted by the pink-eyed albino handmaiden, Pari. The way her mouth and nose came close together reminded him of a small dog.
"Mistress is away." she said.
"Away? Where would she go at this time?"
"To visit." the ugly handmaiden said.
"Well, if she returns spare no time to inform me. I will go look for her in the mean time."
The first place he looked was her brother's room. He didn't expect a visit to Prince Hecte "The Lingerer" to achieve anything more than it usually did. He didn't bother to knock at the man's door - nobody did, because he would never answer if you knocked, and he never cared when you barged in on him. The room smelled almost worse than the King's hobby cellar, but for another reason. Hecte sat unbathed, unshaven, in a sweat-stained woolen robe. His servants did their best to keep the room clean, but they could never keep the Prince clean. If they asked he would sometimes get to it, but not always. The Lingerer sat at his desk, bent over the accounting of the kingdom, working on it as passionlessly as he did everything else.
"Hecte, have you see Sibetta? Her girl says she is out."
"Yes." Hecte muttered. The way he looked at the books, a man unaccustomed to the Prince's way might think him enthralled, but Serdic had seen him just as focused on staring at the ceiling for hours when he was a child.
"Where did she go?" Serdic asked.
"To meet the porters." Hecte said. Serdic retreated from his room as eagerly as he had his father's.
He found her in the kitchen where men were prying open shipping crates. Inside, packed among the straw, were a number of goods purchased from far away, wrapped in burlap covered in pitch. Sibetta stood nearby like a child receiving a gift. She wore a thick woolen dress, baby blue, covered in linen and silk finery. Sibetta was fifteen - ten years younger than Serdic - and still young enough to look boyish. Her mousy brown hair was done up in a bun and covered with a jeweled netting.
He placed his hands on her shoulders suddenly, and felt her should muscles twitch as she spun around. "Serdic, you are a bully!" she smiled.
"I should have been a spy rather than a bully." he replied. "To sneak up on a gazelle as quick as you? There are hunters in Hemet that couldn't do that."
"Some of this is from Hemet!" her eyes lit up and she turned to grab a small ebonywood box, handling it carefully to avoid touching the splotches of stubborn pitch still sticking to the surface. Inside were a number of something stacked side by side like cookies. To him, it looked like mummified scrotums. When she picked one and ate it, he didn't know what to say.
"Try one." she said. "It's dried fruit."
He did so, slowly. A nibble, and then the entire thing. It tasted like honey with a fruity tang. "This is interesting. How did you come about it?"
"Our agent in Hemet of course. I forget his name. He finds these things for us all the time." she put the box away and perused through the others.
"Bulfirth has won a great victory in Celsmuth. It is a short ride from here, so I am going to ride out and tour the battlefield. Your father says you can join me if you wish."
"Tour a battlefield?" she looked at him, startled. "Is that a safe place to be?"
"The battle is over. And I will ride armed, I promise that. If you wish, Bulfirth left some Good Men in the capitol. We could ride under escort."
"I would prefer it." she said, looking down, biting her lip, thinking. "It is good then. We will see this battlefield. I have always been curious about what an Ice-man looks like."
On text color: I really don't like the idea of changing text color. You can just as easily just write, "X said in Y-language" or some variation there-of.
But really it's probably very likely that people may be more monolingual than bilingual so it may not be too much of an issue. With a map that's about four-hundred-fifty miles north-to-south it'll be difficult to justify how so many small state-lets speak their own individual nations and not dialects of the same language. Outside of a few 'non-native' types like the Seolhi and Misruvani there's probably not going to be an insane diversity of language, and all might very well be in the same language group and pretty much mutually intelligible.
I'm totally with this. We're writing here, not decorating an old myspace page.
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