Empire!6: Union of Blood and Light Event!

[SOSDarkPhoenix]

https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/833654036350763008/847718584721735701/angel_hall_christening__by_ivanlaliashvili-daq6sla.png



Within the golden halls of Arrakh-Rah...

Arrakh-Rah may still be a shadow of its former glory, but the awakening of the Heart that now gleams over the city, casting an eternal celestial visage over the land, did more than merely move the city. The entire superstructure of the Eternal Palace too was restored and refurbished, towering over Aetheria from on high. Within the palace, an extravagant festival is being held, with partygoers from all races and walks of life mingling and getting to know one another.

The chamber is decorated in elaborately carved crystalline arches and patterns, dazzling brilliant lights that glow like twinkling stars, and of course the bright warmth of the Heart of Arrakh-Rah trickling down from the sky through the dome. Set against the rear wall is an elaborate throne of crystal and stone, shimmering and shifting from soft blues to vibrant oranges, two-tone colours that appear different from each angle. Upon the throne sits Aneirin, Thalaz'ir of the Arrakhi Sundom, Heir to Caloth Mawr, and Regent of the West Wind. A handsome, ever-young blood elf with the the caramel skin of his mother and the twisting spiked horns of his father, and glowing golden eyes signifying the Thalaz'ir's blood within him.


Members of the Trinity walk to and fro, Ataal, Kobolds, Arrakhi, Blood Elves, Aurorans, and of course the towering Scrim Emberguards that stand at the doorways. Various gifts have been laid at the foot of Aneirin's throne by the guests, most of which are passed through his guards, but they receive genuine thanks from the god-king nonetheless!


The mother of the Thalaz'ir, Chepri, is also in attendance, standing off to one side with her mother, Merine. Chepri appears as youthful as she did when she returned from the darkness, and to those unaware of her reputation, she would appear as any other Arrakhi, save for her proximity to Merine.


Aneirin - Thalaz'ir being crowned! Son of Chepri and Ceron, Regent of the West Wind, and heir to the Crimson Kingdom.

Chepri - The Daughter of Darkness. Immortal and mysterious, the creator of the Cometborn and mother of the new Thalaz'ir.

Idwal and Addaon - The twins, younger brothers of Aneirin. Idwal is a dexterous archer and explorer, Addaon is a well-built and strong warrior. (Both 24, Immortal Half-Elves)

Ahi - Sister of Aneirin, a diviner and mage of both blood magic and the celestial magic of the Arrakhi. (Age 27, Immortal Half-Elf)

Cerys - Youngest sister of Aneirin, a well-read poet and scholar who has yet to find herself a real place in life. (Age 18, Immortal Half-Elf)

More characters are able to attend upon request, including more siblings and cousins of the Thalaz'ir.

[Ausar]

The three riders dash past the outer pickets before they quite realise they’re there. The sand-hounds move at astonishing speed towards the halls of the Eternal Palace, their riders leaning in flush to their companions’ necks. They sprint along rooftops and above covered walkways, barely touching the elegantly adorned architecture. At last the trio slows, halting on the last roof before the palace grounds. They savour the moment, and the view. It has been a long journey made at harrowing speed. Their loping fellows, four dog-men in plain dun sandwraps emblazoned with a slavering maw join them after a minute, panting. Their packleader spoke up;
“A moment, Lord Runarn. There is no hunt to drive us on. The palace can wait a little longer.”
“One minute, Tor.”
“Yes Lord.”

Runarn turned his gaze back toward the Eternal Palace. He’s a man seemingly more long than tall, legs bowed from a lifetime on dogback. Skin pale and waxy, his loose white sand-stained robes distended by the protruding bone ridges where wings ought to be. Red and white headwraps leave only the red-streaked yellow eyes exposed to the outside world. His sand-hound stands bedecked in tens of miniature banners sewn into a caparison faded and sand-beaten, save for four banners newly-sewn on – the grey tree of the Deru, the flowered skull of the Listener’s dominion over the Illian clans, the torch and kapreh of the nomads of Reredan, and the slavering maw of the packs of the dog-men.
“Time, Tor.”
“Yes Lord.”

Runarn breathed deeply, then tensed as his sand-hound leapt off the rooftop and surged toward the palace once more. His trio entered the royal chamber dismounted, their sand-hounds padding alongside them. The four dog-men fanned out either side, baring teeth at those who got too close. His bannermen each unfurled a banner akin to Runarn’s hound’s, halting as he approached the guards at the base of the throne.

“I see you are well, young Thalaz’ir.” His voice was slightly hoarse, strained by a lifetime of roared battle commands.“Long have I wondered at the halls of Arrakh-Rah, heard of their splendour and majesty. I am not disappointed. No gift could truly do this day – your day – justice, but I hope that this-“ he says, holding forth a round shield of burnished gold inlaid with gemstones wrought into the shapes of flowers, the whole surrounding a boss inscribed simply ‘Aneirin’ “-will at least bring forth fond memories in the years of your reign to come. May they be long and bountiful.” Runarn bowed. “Suffer me not to intrude on your coronation with politics, Thalaz’ir. I would speak with your mother, if it be permitted.”

Annointed Runarn Ascendant, Lord of Banners, Master of Leaves, Protector of the Illian Clans, and Packleader of the Mortal Howl (Runarn for short) (43)
Having just executed his seizure of power in Bhaile-koma Runarn has ridden day and night for weeks to arrive here in time. He is accompanied by:
Bannerkeeper Uzjain, Runarn's boyhood companion and blood brother. (42)
Bannerkeeper Arelor, Runarn's tutor and closest adviser. (71)
Packleader Tor and his pups, Runarn's most significant ally in the attack on the Green Fields. The leader of the largest pack within the Mortal Howl Tor holds sway over most of the dog-men. (112)

[Nefarion Xid]

Outside the Palace

"Better to not lay your hands on him. Bring water, but make no attempt to handle Zahir. He will mind himself and the others."

In the strange lands of the north, horses were a rarity. People seemed to ride toads, elk, rams, wolves, indeed everything except horses. So, a party of horsemen meant the Ashir -- and most often the cloaked eyes and ears of the Sultan darting across the lands of the Night Kingdom on some inscrutable errand. They traveled at night, always light and swift enough to be gone before one man could tell another he'd seen them on the approach. It was good luck when they did stop. They always had coins and jewelry to trade for food and drink. It was said they purchased more than their share of wine and beer, though no one could ever say they'd seen a drunk rider. They kept to themselves, whispering in their dusky language and drawing down their blue headscarves only long enough to take a draft from their cups.

So it was odd when five of them appeared at Arrakh-Rah, with immodest dress, and white horses instead of the more subtle black. The lead rider threw herself from her mount and slapped away the hands of the servant who appeared to take the reins, instead passing over her shield and lance. The stallion meanwhile snorted out his nostrils and turned to glare at the man, steadily assuring him that he actually did want to bite.

"He's a schmuck, I know. Impossible! I try, but he never gets any better. Sorry about smacking you, but honestly, you could have lost a hand. I wouldn't make eye contact either," the woman said, slapping the stallion hard on the neck. He just turned his head and tried to smack at a tendril of curly black hair with his lips before being shoved away with unusual strength.

"Feh. Not now, you big baby. Mama is pretty today. No nibbles!" Mama was pretty. Among foreigners, it was rare to see the Ashir without their cloak and headscarf, but at least they were rumored to be pleasing to the eye, the royal family in particular. Jana the Jewel had actually earned her appellation before she proved herself the greatest warrior in the clan. It was little wonder the sultan threatened to raze a city when she was slain, or why they had so many children togeter. Today, she wore a crimson silk ensemble, a simply cut top and skirt with an exposed midriff. Both garments were well embroidered with gold thread and dripped with pearls and garnets. Her long hair was loose except for a diaphanous headscarf pinned at the sides.

If there were some lingering doubt as to the identity of the woman, they were dispelled by the gentle golden light seeping from her skin. The ruby amulet worn over her heart was illuminated from behind, dimming and ebbing every second. It was nearly imperceptible at first, but once you realized you were in the presence of an angel, it was difficult to look away. Or want to.

"I do not know well your customs," she spoke the local language passing well, though with a thick and unmistakable accent unique to the sultanate. Her eyes darted between the servants until one nodded with confidence, assuring her she had pulled the right language out of her head. "You will announce our presence? Yes? I am Jana. This is my husband the Sultan. Some of our children also: Amira Saida, Amira Mila, and Amir Vadim."

[SOSDarkPhoenix]

Emissaries of the Deru




“I see you are well, young Thalaz’ir.” His voice was slightly hoarse, strained by a lifetime of roared battle commands.“Long have I wondered at the halls of Arrakh-Rah, heard of their splendour and majesty. I am not disappointed. No gift could truly do this day – your day – justice, but I hope that this-“ he says, holding forth a round shield of burnished gold inlaid with gemstones wrought into the shapes of flowers, the whole surrounding a boss inscribed simply ‘Aneirin’ “-will at least bring forth fond memories in the years of your reign to come. May they be long and bountiful.” Runarn bowed. “Suffer me not to intrude on your coronation with politics, Thalaz’ir. I would speak with your mother, if it be permitted.”



Aneirin looked up from his throne before rising and offering a hand to clasp around Runarn's wrist in solidarity. "Your gift is wonderous, and is well received. If you wish to speak with my mother, by all means, but there is no intrusion on this day. If matters require my hand to set them in motion, do let me know. For now, my mother.

Chepri steps forwards toward the assembled crowd at the base of the throne, nodding politely to her son before beckoning Runarn aside. The daughter of darkness wears black robes that seem to wisp away into ethereal shadowy energy at its ends, a stark contrast to the bright colours of the rest of the Sundom. "To what do I owe the pleasure, distant men of the south?" As she speaks, her white hair seems to shimmer, violet energy running from seemingly an invisible crown down her attire and to the tips of her fingers. To some she may seem threatening, but her demeanor is calm.

The Ashir Arrive


"I do not know well your customs," she spoke the local language passing well, though with a thick and unmistakable accent unique to the sultanate. Her eyes darted between the servants until one nodded with confidence, assuring her she had pulled the right language out of her head. "You will announce our presence? Yes? I am Jana. This is my husband the Sultan. Some of our children also: Amira Saida, Amira Mila, and Amir Vadim."

The servant in question tasked with announcing the arrival of the Ashir is a boy, no older than fifteen. He stumbles over his words as he announces the southern royalty to the court. "N-now announcing, the uh, uhm Jana! Jana's husband is the sultan, and these are some of their k-kids?" The court is stunned for a moment before most have a quick laugh and return to their merriment. The Thalaz'ir perks up however at the name Jana, and stands to meet the guests himself! "Jana! Zidan! It is wonderful to have you here in the lands of light. May I have a servant pour you drinks?"

[Nefarion Xid]

Unlike his family, Zidan seemed to know the local tongue intimately. This was no surprise for Aneirin, who knew the magus ways of the Regent. The sultan had only a slight accent, which may have been an imagined affectation brought on his foreign features and garb. He wore some manner of black overcoat, embroidered with what were supposed to be orange tree blossoms, with a high starched collar and no sleeves. His arms and wrists (shockingly well muscled for his reported age) were adorned with beaten gold cuffs, and diadem of better make on his brow with a single ruby. He had green eyes, unlike is wife and children's, who were all a familiar gold. Like the others, his eyes were lined black with the traditional kahal.

"Ah. You must be Aneirin," he said after a silent appraisal of a few seconds, giving a shallow bow at the waist. "A shala elem, Thalaz'ir. Thank you for receiving us. Forty blessings upon your house. And yes, please -- I will admit a great fondness for the wines of the northern continent. The sultanate, you see, is poor land for growing grapes. I have tried many times to find a suitable plot, but alas. Beautiful oranges. Terrible grapes."

[Silent_Interim]

When Thunspeakers venture abroad, they have many duties. As a living representative of all of Thun, it is their responsibility not only to speak for it, but to display its glories and wealth. In the past, Thunspeakers have taken this as a reason to decorate themselves with their finest. Atir, ruling over a Thun wealthier than ever, is no exception.

The procession of the Thunspeaker is long and winding as it makes its sluggish approach to the palace, with Scrim of marble, basalt, limestone, and slate peppered across it, accompanied by humans, Watchers, and the white-furred Uzii of Frastham. Through it all, dancers, jugglers, singers and performers are carried on makeshift stages, each made of wood bound together and carried by over a dozen Scrim. And at the front, the Thunspeaker, with a crown of glowing pyroemeralds embedded in their head, glinting in the hot sun. All across their body, silver inlay highlights their carvings, in an extravagant display of wealth. As the procession creeps onwards, they call loudly in the Arrakhi tongue, orating tales of every variety- to astound, to amaze, and to rend the heart. It seems that they are intent on living up to their title of Keeper of Fables.

Once the procession draws close, the Thunspeaker walks to the front of their stage and simply steps off, landing on the ground with a loud crash. Brushing the dust of their landing off, they walk forward, Scrim attendants rushing up behind them, while the main procession peels away, to provide its entertainments elsewhere.

Soon they are entering the chamber of the Thalaz'ir, drums sounding their approach. The attendants slow their pace as the group enters the chamber of the Thalaz'ir, letting the Thunspeaker walk alone. Their silver inlay catches and reflects the light, while the pyroemeralds of their crown glow yellow and turquoise by turns in the blue and orange light. When they come to the appropriate distance, Atir drops to one knee, bowing deeply, before rising to their feet.

"It is my pleasure to come before you, Thalaz'ir, on this your day of ascension. It is strange to be here, in a place that is a sense my home; the very stone of your palace sings to me from afar. Its tale is not mine to tell, though, but yours- and I look forward to watching that tale unfold. Once, decades ago, my predecessor Nithor brought before a Thalaz'ir a gift of stone, from our first nursery- a piece of Thun's endless heart. I do not know where that stone resides now, and I thought- perhaps it is in need of replacement. But it occurred to me that Thun has had much fortune since then, and it would be unbefitting and ungenerous of me to give a gift that does not reflect that."

Atir claps their hands together overhead with a sound like a thunderclap, and attendants lurch forward, bearing something large and roughly rectangular, covered with a large animal hide. As they come to the foot of the stairs, they deposit it on the ground, and pull away the hide as they retreat, revealing a glittering prize. It is a large piece of marble, inlaid with emeralds, some aglow, and lines of silver running between them, in a patchwork of dazzling light.

"Thunspeakers of the past have clung to the independence of Thun. I come here not to tell you I will do otherwise, but to correct a failure on their part- a failure of Thun, and therefore a failure of mine, which cannot be permitted to stand. Independence need not mean isolation. It means that Thun must be able to stand upon its own. More and more of our attention drifts across the seas- it is as important as ever to ensure that our home front is secure. Therefore, to set your mind at ease, as I know that the Sundom has had its doubts to our reliability, I give you another gift- a weaving together of our tales. Consider me not just a friend to you, but to all the Sundom- and an ally, in all matters of the Trinity."

[Rolepgeek]

The journey had been long. Though the aid of the East Wind had made the trip by sail a breeze, they had been much delayed setting out thanks to the chaos reigning in Kiswa and the constant demands on the Prophet-Queen's attention. To make matters worse, acquiring new supplies during the trip was all the more difficult by the nature of the Dhraan, and the unfamiliarity with them in many of the smaller port towns - both in Sikar but especially in Mamut, where tensions along the coast were high in the wake of the disasters in Kursaal. In Sikar, at least, a day had been spent at port in the lands of the Alodites - there Ghaali's apprentice Shevu Pot-Breaker had left their company, and Maat, known to many as the Archer, had joined it.

By the time they had arrived at the mountain pass, the season for safe and easy passage had passed. It was fortunate indeed that Dora-Mak had accompanied the trip, for even with her aid, it took nearly a week to find and secure the aid of a Stonesage from the house of Mak - for the Great Mother's Children are Hers and no others. Even the Father of Rivers was but a beloved uncle, and so Eauden's blessings are not offered to the followers of the Serpent Goddess. All the same, the stone answers the touch of the Stonesage, and so a passage is created where none can be found.

Some among the guards, it seemed, had not been informed of the nature of some among the guests - but when a sergeant had hauled away the recruit responsible for brandishing a spear at a bemused, pale-skinned Dhraan with splotches of verdant green marking head and torso, much the same color as the jewel resting upon her brow, the matter appeared to be settled. From more than 10 feet above the floor, deep golden eyes, flecked with yet more brilliant green, gaze out upon crowd and servant alike. The voice that rumbled from the beast's throat was thick and guttural, though strangely soft for it.

"Grnnmmm. Please, child; you need not be afraid. I will not eat you. I am Usuukhusaa Lhungho. Only the young Thalaz'ir, and perhaps some of his guests, will know me even by title. You need say no more than that - save, perhaps, that I am accompanied by my sister-wife, Dora-Mak, my daughter, Ubuukhanya, and Prince Maat of the Alodites. I bring gifts for the young Thalaz'ir. "

And indeed, behind her was a smaller troll, perhaps no larger than the servant hmself, as well as a human woman in a mix of garb that would be familiar to those who had dealt with the merchants of Dannu-Yvaon before and a half-elf that was clearly uncomfortable in the furs he wore.

Heavily cured and spiced troll arm to be given in person, fan made from flamingo feathers, blood amber statuettes, tobacco and wadingstooth, alcohol (banana & rice wine, uudshatla - fermented hippo milk), mother's milk (ceremonial), pair of finely carved black iron daggers with serpent motifs in the grip and pommel, jaws locked around pearls like eggs.

Usuukhusaa, Dora-Mak, Maat the Archer, and Ubuukhanya

[SOSDarkPhoenix]

Emissaries of Stone

"Thunspeakers of the past have clung to the independence of Thun. I come here not to tell you I will do otherwise, but to correct a failure on their part- a failure of Thun, and therefore a failure of mine, which cannot be permitted to stand. Independence need not mean isolation. It means that Thun must be able to stand upon its own. More and more of our attention drifts across the seas- it is as important as ever to ensure that our home front is secure. Therefore, to set your mind at ease, as I know that the Sundom has had its doubts to our reliability, I give you another gift- a weaving together of our tales. Consider me not just a friend to you, but to all the Sundom- and an ally, in all matters of the Trinity."

The Thalaz'ir nods. "Very good, then. A reforging of old bonds will signify a new age for Mamut. Might I offer you a drink, Thunspeaker? A toast to long life, good health, and prosperous realms for us both."

The South Wind

"Ah. You must be Aneirin," he said after a silent appraisal of a few seconds, giving a shallow bow at the waist. "A shala elem, Thalaz'ir. Thank you for receiving us. Forty blessings upon your house. And yes, please -- I will admit a great fondness for the wines of the northern continent. The sultanate, you see, is poor land for growing grapes. I have tried many times to find a suitable plot, but alas. Beautiful oranges. Terrible grapes."

Aneirin snaps his fingers, and several servants rush to attend them with wines, sweet fruits, and salted meats. "I will have it arranged to send you home with a cart of the finest drinks the Sundom can offer, sultan. It pleases me to see you here in the north, though the journey was surely long. We would offer you the many fine comforts of our empire for as long as are here." Aneirin spends a few moments appraising the crowd. "Quite a turn out! A shame our kin in the north-east couldn't be here for such a splendiferous day of merriment, amidst such troubling times."

The East Wind

"Grnnmmm. Please, child; you need not be afraid. I will not eat you. I am Usuukhusaa Lhungho. Only the young Thalaz'ir, and perhaps some of his guests, will know me even by title. You need say no more than that - save, perhaps, that I am accompanied by my sister-wife, Dora-Mak, my daughter, Ubuukhanya, and Prince Maat of the Alodites. I bring gifts for the young Thalaz'ir. "

And indeed, behind her was a smaller troll, perhaps no larger than the servant himself, as well as a human woman in a mix of garb that would be familiar to those who had dealt with the merchants of Dannu-Yvaon before and a half-elf that was clearly uncomfortable in the furs he wore.

Pushing past the crowd to get a better look at the towering creature came a short half-elf, beautifully elaborate horns that curled back away from her face, and a dress that sparkled like starlight as she walked. "Pardon me, sir. You must be one of the trolls, yes? My brother Aneirin has mentioned your kind to me, but you are much taller than I had realized!" The girl curtsies as she introduces herself. "Cerys, sister of Aneirin and scholar of Vitaal Arcanus, our word for the study of world's living heart and all spawned from it. I should very much like to draw one of your kind, if you wouldn't mind the inconvenience?"

[Nefarion Xid]

"Let no one doubt your generosity, Thalaz'ir," Zidan said, holding his hand up in politest protestation. "But it is our way to travel swift and unburdened. The Zahirah also are too proud too and spirited to pull a cart. Let me drink your wine here and remember it fondly when I am gone."

The sultan's adult children initially recoiled when servants appeared with food. Vadim sneered and said something cross in Ashiric. Leaning over to speak with the servants, Zidan transliterated the objection, saying, "Bring water and a basin first. To wash. It is not permitted to touch food with unclean hands." What sorts of things led to hands becoming unclean in the first place was not well understood, especially when outsiders considered that the Ashir permitted prized horses to sleep inside their tents in cold weather. It seemed horse, at least, were clean animals, while everything else encountered outside the tent was a potential source of contamination. This included other people not of the Ashir.

Rejoining Aneirin, the sultan continued, "Our kin? Rikoz is my daughter's son, and his wife the Noctrix, who is Pina's heir. Pina my dear friend. In our time, it was Kylisa who was Regent of the West. Kylisa was my friend. Iorwerth was regent after her. So, I will ask you to forgive my kin their absence. They are, as am I, slow to warm. But I have lived a long time. I have made and lost many friends, and I have a great fondness of riding through lands my mother could not dream of. Believe an old man when he says that there are no untroubled times."

[Rolepgeek]

"Grhnnnn. If you desire it, I am not so humble as to refuse such an offer from a scholar of the World Soul."
A toothy grin, though any threat was definitively undercut by the wink that accompanied the gesture.
"Though, wind-sister, Ubuukhanya might serve a better subject for your art, if you are so eager as to begin your work this night. I would be happy to pose for your studies on another night, if you would seek it, but on this coronation I am afraid I must give your brother my congratulations, welcome, and gifts, before too great a time has passed. And, besides...someone looking after her for a time would allow Dora-Mak to attend to other matters while I am preoccupied."
For her part, Dora-Mak motioned gently for the troll to come closer to where her mother spoke to Cerys. Ubuukhanya herself was happy to oblige, fascinated as she was by Cerys's horns, staring with eyes that seemed fashioned from indigo and gold - verdant green scattered like leaves where they seemed to overlap. The young princess of Lhungho Saar had none of her mother's ivory coloring, her hide being instead covered with fluid patterns of brilliant emerald and a green so dark it seemed almost black which shifted before one's very eyes - a feature Usuukhusaa herself did not share. Those more familiar with the Dhraan - meaning none present save Dora-Mak and the Dhraan themselves - would know that these shifting stripes and splotches of light and dark served as something akin to human facial expressions. Usuukhusaa's own partial albinism therefore, borne of her copious consumption of the Mother's Milk, served to make her very difficult to read during negotiations with her Dhraanish subordinates - and effectively impossible for anyone else.

Maat, perhaps predictably, had wandered off. Unlike the royal family he accompanied, he'd not had great opportunity to go exploring in Mamut, and many of those present were unfamiliar to him.