View Full Version : Our Roots Run Deep (Closed)
Our Roots Run Deep (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cqPgbwHdn0A&feature=fvwrel)
2481
An introduction thread which serves to outline the intentions of the Hummel people concerning the outbreak of civil war in the kingdom of Corone.
Contains references to the events in Of Shadows And Dusk (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?19948-Of-Shadows-And-Dust-(Task-Vs.-Cydnar)&highlight=), and Where No Gods Go (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21497-Where-No-Gods-Go-(Solo)&highlight=).
Spring became summer, and golden age began,
Beings grew proud and intelligent without measure
And they began to use magnificent tools of man,
Working Yggdrasil for their food and pleasure
Autumn made Yggdrasil a resplendent rainbow,
The multi-hues mirrored inner growing diversity,
Men did wage many a war, overshadowed though
By the wonders of invention, such technology!
As Autumn neared its end, troubles could be scryed,
As Yggdrasil's very leaves began to shrivel.
Swarms, droves, crowds of people warred and cried.
O Yggdrasil! What has caused you to unravel?
Eric W. Liao
Time had not been kind to the last of the World Eater’s disciples. Futures were distant memories, pasts were lies on the tongue, and all the presents imaginable were beyond reach. Cydnar felt alone, even amongst his kin, for the decisions that were his, and his alone to make would be difficult to make.
The choice was simple enough, but the execution, another matter entirely.
“War, my lords of the Keep,” he said softly, but with composure and command. The many faces gathered around the stone table at the heart of the Hummel capital fell silent and still. “Or death.”
They shuddered in unison, and took to whispering amongst themselves with hushed words and deadly rumours.
“To War,” said a voice, which Cydnar recognised as the Captain of the City Guard. He was a stout man with half a heart and a heavy blade permanently within his reach, but possessed limited intelligence or grasp of the economical ‘bigger picture.’
“How would we fund such an endeavour, Dalasi?” The Arch Deacon of the Salthias Temple stood, fist clenched in defiance of Council protocol and eyes keened to a stare.
“Sit,” Cydnar said, his solitary word silencing the interruption and seating both men firmly in their places.
“We shall not resort to turmoil here, not beneath the World Tree,” he gestured both palms upwards, at the crystalline branches of Yggdrassil, before he returned his hands crossed to his lap. Each of the Council bowed, and waited patiently for their leader to continue.
“Time is the one ally that remains firmly on our side in this matter. We do not have to rush headlong into the conflict, we can pick, and choose our moments, falter to think, love to learn from our mistakes, correct our course.”
His charisma worked it’s wonderment on the Council, who listened with intent and earnest devotion. The last ten years had been a long struggle to gain their trust, but Cydnar, in the wake of the Corpse War and the desolation it had wrought on his people, had persevered.
“However,” he said with a solemn edge, cutting through the positivity like a knife, “Dalasi is not far off the mark.”
More rumours were flung in the gloom, until the tree shook and a single crystalline life fell with a calamitous thud onto the very heart of the table. It shattered into many fragments and startled them, except Cydnar, who had flexed a part of his mind to tear it from its stem. They were too ensconced in their internal dialogue to have noticed the minute geometric rush of energy he had utilised to his advantage.
“Not even in death can we find peace, if we let this war tear the surface world apart without doing all we can to steer the course of history from catastrophe,” he held out a delicate palm and cupped it, as if he were suspending it beneath a cold and nourishing stream of water. With a summoning of power that the Council paid full attention to, he touched each of the shards with his mind and pulled them through the air until each one spiralled in orbit around one another above his fingers.
“We made the mistake of becoming involved in the wars of the surface dwellers once before, Lord Cydnar, do you not recall?”
Cydnar did recall, viscerally so. He had been on the field of battle when the Lord Magister and his disciples had fallen and on the High Road when the Daemon Zara broke from its prison, deep in Heidi, and crushed the resistance they had offered to aid the High Blade Singers of Raiera. His friends and the might of the Hummel had fallen that day, like blades of grass cut by the winds of change.
“Without question, Arch-Deacon, without question…” he paused, for dramatic effect and to rid his mind of the smell of the battlefield and the chill in his stomach.
“So why ready us to fight once more? Would it be prudent,” the old man leant forwards, his elongated ears curled and tattered by wars with time and pierced with the ritual circlets of iron worn by all priests of the World Eater Cult. “To take a more subservient role in the war, steer its course with unseen motions?”
Cydnar thought pensively about the suggestion, as he waved his fingers to control the direction and movements of the levitating shards. One by one, he fragmented the bright purple quartz, veined with streaks of luminescent pink and broke them down further into spiralling wisps of crystal dust.
“The Empire will not stop until The Rangers are defeated, and all sense of freedom and what the humans perceive to be justice is pushed from the shores of Corone. They will not stop with sacrifice, nor will they stop with submission. It will be a matter of kill, or be killed, and I do not favour a change in that outcome.”
Dalasi clapped his heavy gauntlets and armour plates scraping together with the vigour of his applause. He was a young and still very much passionate Hummel, as experienced at half the age as Cydnar was when he served on the front lines against Xem’Zund.
“Do not be so hasty, Dalasi my child,” said the Arch-Deacon with venom on his tongue.
He produced a scroll from the folds of his deep vermillion robes, and set it silently onto the heavy slab of the Council table. He pushed it tantalisingly into view of the silent faces, and leant back into the comfort of the tall backed chair.
“What is this evidence you wish to produce, Arch-Deacon?” Cydnar said dryly. His voice drifted up into the high edifice of his home, and echoed about the archways set with faint glowing crystals high above.
“The Council has eyes and ears in the most inhospitable of places, what this scroll contains, must be deliberated upon before a decision is made.”
Cydnar collapsed the swirling miniature dust storm and pressed hard with his mind inwards. An intense heat formed around the quartz, reshaping the fragments of the tree’s once beautiful leaf into a perfect sphere no larger than an apple. He smoothed it down with gentle rotations of both his palms, as if he were rolling a bead between finger and fore thumb, and set it down onto the polished stone.
“Then read it, Arch-Deacon, and inform the Council of the reason you think we should not go to war.”
With dignity and pomp, the old man plucked the scroll up and unfurled it, removing the string that kept it bound with shaking, skeletal fingers. The rustle of the parchment broke the awkward silence, and he cleared his throat before beginning his presentation. There was an apprehension in his voice, but also, a level of excitement that suggested he had been waiting to speak of its contents for a very long time.
“Our reports tell of Alerar’s movements into the lands once occupied by Xem’Zund and his Death Lords, unrivalled militaristic movements to stake claim to the sundered territories.”
This Cydnar knew to be true, having seen it with his own eyes when he had travelled the surface in the long months after the Lightbringers had gathered beneath the Wold of the War to finish the necromancer once and for all. The sorrow of his conflict had made him numb to the sadness of kith and kin turning on another for profit in such times, but he considered it to be part of the natural course of society, of civilisation.
“The magic that corrupted the conduits of energy in Scara Brae, and prevented the World Eater from draining the over flow from the island has been inexplicably defeated.”
The Dark Bard Lucian, Cydnar mused. Another ancient enemy felled by heroes proud and strong and noble.
“The river tribes of Northern Akashima still wage war with one another, but rumours speak of Ronin and Oni stirring from their long slumber.”
Now the Arch-Deacon had transgressed into hearsay, and Cydnar grew impatient.
“Speak plainly, and without much more delay. If there is a point to this account of the history of our recent age, pray tell us?”
The Arch-Deacon settled a stern gaze on Cydnar, before continuing with a dramatic eye roll and a return to his narrative. “These events show that the world is changing, that without our help, our interference, and without Yrene’s guidance, the surface cultures are tearing themselves apart.”
The Council mumbles grew into a din, until Cydnar levitated the quartz orb a foot into the air and dropped it firmly like a judge’s gavel. They all snapped into silence once more, allowing the Arch-Deacon to continue.
“The semantics of this sundering are a clear expression of reason for us to remain as we are. If we recover our losses, a process that may take many centuries, we may yet gather the strength to emerge to the surface and reclaim what was taken from us all those centuries ago.”
“Stay our hand from a war that could kill us all, purely to wait, and start one of our own?” Dalasi’s voice was sarcastic, and devoid of any attempt to make small of the fact. Cydnar watched his favoured captain’s hand move instinctively to his sword hilt.
“The Arch-Deacon has one matter nailed to a cross with great intelligence, and I dare say with great wisdom,” Cydnar said, using perfect timing and decorum to sever the rising threads of anger in Dalasi’s heart. He looked across the table at the old man and gestured for him to be seated once more.
“Thank you, Lord Cydnar; I speak only plainly and with accords to my station.”
Cydnar chuckled, seeing through the man’s ruse. The Templarite of the Salthias had long been opposed to the theological ideals of the World Eater Cult, and they had argued often about their differences of opinion. Racism cut through the friendship of the two men clear as day, and few denied that it was a constant schism in Hummellian culture.
“You speak only with accords to the betterment of your station, Arch-Deacon, and I would be wise to not deny it. However,” he pulled the sphere into his right palm and set his left on top of it, enclosing it with his hands to connect with the polished surface of his artistry. It keened his mind and kept him calm, like an artist with his muse. “I fear those facts will only make our decision more difficult.”
“How can that be so?” Dalasi asked, turning to Cydnar with a curious and questioning expression.
“There are indeed many movements on the surface, each as turbulent as the breeze through the branches of the World Tree,” he looked up into the crystal haven of the crystalline tree, a massive construct he had added to himself, as had every Lord Provost of the City since the race first fled to the Under Dark.
Since we first hid from the world...
Since we first became monsters, mocking our Thayne with our self-loathing...
But no more!
“We cannot simply ignore them, to do so would be brazen, incompetent, and rash.”
He paused for a moment, to see if the Council had objections to give rise to, or questions to ask. Though there were nine elves gathered at the great table, once again, the conversation was a three way game of thrones between war, peace and politics.
“I suggest we divide our forces threefold, as follows. Dalasi, you will take a contingent of Salthias and mages to Radasanth, and offer the support and diplomatic aid formally to the Empire and its officials. Make it clear that the Hummel are fully invested in the swiftest of resolutions to any conflict. I trust you will be able to do so without losing your composure and cleaving heads from shoulders?” He asked sarcastically, to which he received a cheeky nod of acceptance.
“Arch-Deacon,” he turned to catch the old man’s attention, who simply nodded back as he rolled the scroll tightly into a rod and tied the tattered string around the ageing parchment. “I wish for you to gather the Way Stones together, here, in the Citadel, and commit to researching theological ways to revive Yrene from his…” he had to think to choose his word carefully, “stasis.”
The old man smiled, as if he had been given keys to the catacombs of heaven itself, where the greatest heroes and their relics rested for eternity.
“I shall lead the Demiurge and the initiatives of the Salthias Templarite into Concordia, and make the same pledge Dalasi will make, to the leader of the Rangers. Time will tell if working on three battlefields will be a wise decision, but in making the offers, we leave reserve initiatives in place to fall back on should either venture turn sour.”
The Council stood, one by one, and as Cydnar rose to seal the agreement, he set the sphere into a forwards glide and brought it to a dead stop at the centre of the table. It span slowly, catching the light from the World Tree until it shone with inner luminescence.
“Let us pray,” said the Arch-Deacon, whose authority, if only briefly, overrode Cydnar’s.
The Council lowered their heads and held their hands solemnly before their hearts, fingertips crossed gently into a weave.
As the prayer of the World Eater was recited by the Arch-Deacon, Cydnar’s mind recalled each of the lives that he had been responsible for.
The most important flashed before his eyes like a painful sword strike to the heart.
Manira...
She had fallen in the forests to a horde of ghouls, her ice tower still stood in the heart of the elven lands for all to see, for all to remember the sacrifices the unseen people of the Under Dark had made to defend the surface from Xem'Zund.
As the Lord Provost, it was his duty and his responsibility to remember. Each life given in service of the Salthias had given form to a new leaf on the World Tree, each soul severed from reality an extra ring on the ever growing trunk of the heart of Hummel culture.
One by one, a beam of light shot from the Council members to the sphere, each a shade of purple or violet, and each pulsating with the tenets of faith.
“When darkness falls,” the Arch-Deacon said.
“The world tree shines,” the Council called in response.
“When the magic of men contaminates.”
“Yrene consumes.”
“When light surveys.”
“Nidhogg rises.”
“When futures are clouded.”
“Yggdrassil guides.”
The tree above their heads shone brighter for a moment, before it returned to serenity, serendipity, and nonchalant observation of Althanas and all the worlds beyond.
“So it is, and so it has been, and so it will always be,” the Arch-Deacon dropped his hands, severing the beam of light and the others followed. Cydnar pulled back his soul into his chest last of all.
“Salthias,” they all whispered.
A moment passed, and the sphere glowed with an inner fire in silence.
“Then each of you know what you must do,” Cydnar said with conviction, waving the Council from his house as he sat with a drained expression. His hair fell over his face like curtains closing on the first act.
One by one, the Council members bade one another farewell and wandered from the grand chamber and out into the cold of the Under Dark, far from the gentle serenity of Yggdrassil and the light of the Ancestors.
“Dalasi, wait.”
The young soldier turned slowly, and smiled at his old friend. He waited for a moment until all the other Council members were out of earshot, and started to make his way back to the table.
“I did not think you were done with me, brother.”
Cydnar sat comfortably, and waved his hand over the rune panel set into the great stone table before him. As he had done long ago when discoursing politics with the Elders of the Order of the Salthias, he levitated a glass bottle and two deep purple glasses out of their compartment, and set them gently to his left as the captain pulled the great stone chair aside and sat turned to face his old friend.
"I must speak with you frankly, and quickly, for the people of our great city will wish to hear of our decision and I fear if we delay it longer than is required, they will grow weary."
Dalasi nodded in agreement, and reached out to pull the cork from the stopper of the ancient decanter. Cydnar ceased his act of hosting, and leant back into his chair.
"Speak, brother, tell me what you need of me, you've only to ask."
Cydnar sighed, a long, frank expression of a burden.
"When you go to Radasanth, there is something I wish for you to do. It is not something I can ask lightly, nor is it something I can trust to anyone else but to you. Before I even contemplate placing the idea into your mind like a seed whose roots will one day run as deep through the world as Yggdrassil, I must hear it from your own lips..."
Cydnar watched his brother as he poured two generous slugs of the harsh, Dheathain liquor he had procured in his time as an artisan in the cities of the Fae and took it with a polite nod as it was offered to him.
"Will you trust my judgement, and see what I ask of you through?"
Dalasi, young, brash and blinded by adoration raised his glass and cocked his head, allowing his long silver hair to fall sequentially from his shoulders with a cheeky smile.
"I will trust you to the ends of the surface, and to the very darkest depths of the Under Dark Cydnar."
The sound of quartz colliding in a toast filled the cavernous expanse of the Council chamber, and Cydnar smiled with a wry satisfaction.
"Then listen closely..." he said, leaning forwards to convene the true Council of War.
"When you get to Radasanth, I want you to kill him."
Dalasi looked pensive for a moment, reflecting on the sphere and trying to wonder who Cydnar meant.
"I want you to kill the highest official you can reach, use every diplomatic tool at your disposal, reach into their hierarchy, and slay whosoever you can find."
Dalasi blinked.
"I ask this of you, in earnest, because there is no-one else that I could ever hope to trust with such clandestine operations."
Though they had fought side by side in battle many times over the years, and cleared the forests of the ghouls of the Death Lords in their defence of the Hummel mages decades ago, Dalasi leant back and swirled the liquor in his glass, staring into it as if he hoped to divine truth in the haze of alcohol.
"Dalasi..."
The soldier looked up from his spell making, and smiled weakly.
"Assassination is no honourable way to end a life, Cydnar. I am a soldier, not an agent of the shadows."
"Then proclaim open war, if you must, render all hope of the Empire using our offer of aid. You must give it to them, all the same, but as long as you take it away, then the effect is still the same."
The two elves stared into one another's eyes for several minutes, sipping their drinks between breathes as if there were no thoughts kindled between them. Wits were parried, nerves severed, incantations muttered silently dispelled with thoughts.
Cydnar caved first.
"The Empire will be enraged by our actions, and dedicate their troops, even if it is a hundred men, to finding us, and claiming vengeance."
"We're supposed to be saving our race from war, brother!"
And we will...Cydnar thought with great satisfaction. He took a swig from his glass and leant forwards.
"Do you really think they have the remotest chance of ever finding us?"
The truth of the matter was, the Empire would never penetrate the surface of Althanas. They could not sacrifice that much of their forces and their magical resources to tearing open the world.
"Hmmm..." the soldier mumbled.
As Dalasi considered Cydnar's suggestion, he realised that in splitting up the limited forces they had, but utilising confusion and mystery, they could turn the tide of the war in the favour of the Rangers, and settle peace in Corone to better not only the tides of history, but the chances of reviving the Hummel to their former glory.
"You are wise, brother, beyond your years," Dalasi smiled with a satisfactory wink and finished off the contents of his glass. It burnt his lungs and slivered into his stomach with aniseed overtones and a hint of mint.
"It is not without risk, but I have seen you fight, Dalasi, and I believe you can kill anyone if you put your mind to it."
"This coming from the one who escaped the grasp of a Thayne, is a high praise indeed!"
"That was more chance, than skill," was Cydnar's response.
He passed the glass to Cydnar, who took up the bottle with his mind and tipped it. The geomagnetic energies radiated through the chamber, and the leaves on the tree overhead shined brightly.
"Tell me," Dalasi leant back into the chair and brought the glass to his nostrils to take in a draught of the hedonistic aroma. "What of your exploits in the south of Corone? Do you have ulterior motives to conceal there also?"
Cydnar blinked.
"If you are successful in Radasanth, brother, you will flee through the floor itself and join me in Jadet."
"To what end? That port is so lightly defended it could not possibly hold against a full scale attack from the forces the Empire possesses. It would be a fool's errand to even try."
"True," Cydnar nodded several times, and then pulled the still radiant sphere into his hand as he shuffled his glass into his left. The quartz touched his skin and instantly invigorated him. "The Rangers, as honest as their intentions are and as potent as their resiliency to the tyranny of the Empire has become, do not possess this."
Dalasi tried to remember through the fog of war and rekindled the memories of his childhood. He had, before he discovered the thrills of swordplay been an avid scholar. Many years were lost idly reading through the tomes of the Citadel Library, many years spent rifling through a thousand years of tradition, rivalry and venom tipped treachery.
"I do not know what it is, not truly." He said reluctantly, giving in to the confusion and the strain on his mind.
He watched it with great interest as Cydnar span it in the air above his flattened palm, and felt its glow shimmer on his pupils. It seemed to call to him, speak to him without words, only an inner emotion. With a resonating hum, it seemed to speak louder and louder the more he stared at it and the quicker it rotated.
"Oath Stone," said Cydnar flatly. He sipped the liquor from his glass and set the sphere down onto the table.
Dalasi remembered.
"The spirits of the dead...binding the living to contract?" He looked shocked, scared almost, and leant back into his chair as far as he could, as if slinking away from its peering gaze would save his soul.
"There are many dark legacies in our tradition, Dalasi, this is one of them, but it is a valuable tool to further our ends. A good cause, sometimes needs a bad seed to be planted in the furrowed and scorched earth."
"To use that, though?"
In the Salthias tongue, an Oath Stone was a powerful divination tool and a potent talisman that possessed mind control capabilities. Forged only from a leaf of Yggdrassil, an Oath Stone could be placed anywhere in the world and the one who crafted it could bend the mind of anyone who helped forge it, and for one purpose, Cydnar had tempted fate to be able to do so.
"The Oath Stone is not to control the Council. They have pledged their lives to the betterment of society, as have I. No," he set his empty glass onto the table and folded his leg over his knee, he leant closer to Dalasi over the arm of the chair, as if he were scared of eavesdroppers. "I have made it for the purpose of trust. If the Rangers possess something they think is powerful, that they think will bend their new found allies to their will in case of betrayal..." He cut his sentence short, and let Dalasi's eager young mind work out the rest.
"Then their loyalty and determination in the coming war..."
They spoke as one.
"Will be unbreakable."
"Then let us tell the city of our plans, and set them into motion!" He stood with enthusiasm, waving for Cydnar to follow.
The Lord Provost shook his head. Dalasi sat, as if were a child newly scolded, a dead pan expression on his pallid face.
"The Oath Stone has another purpose."
Now Dalasi remembered. The Hummel had used the stones when the High and Dark elves had first begun their tempered arguments, the stones had lasted a century, before treachery broke them and they shattered into countless pieces. The civil war between the two now mortal enemies had been blistering, disastrous and cowardly. When the Hummel had formed their new society away from their ancestral homes on the surface, no more than a splinter sect then, they had vowed never to wield an Oath Stone lest there be no other choice.
Even then, Dalasi thought with fear mounting the tip of his tongue, it will require a great sacrifice.
"I will be able to hear and see through the Oath Stone's perspective, and we must use that to our advantage."
The two veterans of many wars stared at the sphere, which despite its stillness, possessed a life about it that filled the cavernous emptiness of the Council Chamber. Even the distant roar of the crowds gathered at the feet of the Salthias Temple which adjoined the mansion of their Lord Provost could not temper its presence. It seemed to press down so hard on the table that the fabric of the rock itself seemed to weaken.
"You do not mean to help the Rangers at all?"
Cydnar shook his head.
"We must do everything we can to balance the outcome of the coming war, so that when we mount our offensive against the true enemy, the chaos on the surface will stretch him thin."
The branches of the World Tree shook violently, as if a great bird had landed in them. Crystal shards and leaves fell like perilous rain, clattering against the stonework and shattering into a thousand shards. As each leaf broke against the ancient, polished stone, a scream or whisper or line of song burst briefly into existence as the soul bound in the quartz was released, and lost to the afterlife for all eternity.
Dalasi looked nervously up at the moving purple shadows as they danced, and dared to whisper the name that the tree feared to even have thought in its presence.
"Nidhogg..."
"Our roots run deep, Dalasi, but the teeth of Nidhogg sink deeper still."
Even though Cydnar had seen the Great Snake with his own eyes, and escaped his presence by divine residence, he too feared to say its name. The Thayne Yrene had died to save the world from Xem'Zund, they were utterly alone to face their greatest enemy now. To speak the god's names, was to incite their anger.
"You have hatched a mighty plan, to tempt fate, to deal a mortal blow to our true enemy and level the game of thrones amongst the players on the surface...that is a sign that the tree bends it's bough to you, Cydnar." Dalasi bowed in his seat, forgiving himself the lapse of friendliness between old companions.
"You bow to nobody but the gods, Dalasi. We must concentrate on supporting the Rangers to defend Jadet, and divert as many of the Empire's troops away from that inevitable battle as we can. If the Arch-Deacon so happens to find a way to release Yrene from his theological quandary too," which meant death, but Dalasi smiled with understanding all the same, "then we will be in an even stronger position than anticipated."
"I wish you the best, but, when do we depart?"
"The most crucial question, brother," he stood slowly, and Dalasi rose with him as was customary.
Cydnar set the bottle and the glasses back into the recess with his own hands, too tired from the intensity of their discussion and the constant barrier he had to maintain in official circumstances to ply his magic to their movement. He pulled the lid over the hole with both hands and sighed.
"We leave as soon as we are readied. The mage Trichina has foreseen that the battles ahead will be soon, though he is not as adept as the Arch Magog was at divination." Cydnar remembered Manira, and once more the crystal spire of ice that had been summoned in the moment of her death lanced his chest with regret. If she were here, they would have the power of the rivers and the streams at their command, and Concordia would suffer winter for the cause of delaying the Empire's forces further still.
"I am ready now, I would leave now if I could!"
"Your eagerness is contagious, Dalasi," Cydnar smiled, and moved to his brother's side to pat him enthusiastically on the shoulder.
They walked side by side around the table, their backs glowing with the purple blessing of the World Tree and their bellies warmed with the hearth of the best liquor the surface dwellers could muster. The hollow steps of their buckled boots echoed and skipped through the hall and up into the heights of the temple complex to join the still ricocheting conversation and prayers that had lingered there for centuries.
"Let us make our declaration to the people, and then march to our uncertain futures," Cydnar reconciled the moment with doubt, and adjusted the folds of his purple and black robes to make certain that the symbolic snake threads showed themselves fully.
"It is time," said Cydnar, stepping out from the dark of the Council chamber to face the semi-circular crowd. His declaration silence down the steps and up onto the raised circle from which the pedagogues of the Hummel reeled of their fiery oratory. The bustling voices died down swiftly, leaving the Salthias the centre of attention and every pair of eyes except his own settled onto his robes.
The tall pillars that peppered the vast entrance sparkled in the pallid violet light cast down from above through crystalline lens, and in the silence, something formed that had not been present at the heart of the city for many centuries. Hope came, and with it, a chance, an opportunity. Cydnar tucked his hair behind his ears and allowed his head to roll gently left and right on natural reflexes as he composed himself, before looking dead set to the crowd's gaze and clearing his throat.
"You are the leaders of the Hummel. You are the councilmen, the noble peons, and the captain of the guard and the generals of our sundered army. You are the artisans, the paupers, the warriors and slaves. Under your gaze, and under Yrene's, you encapsulate the people and provide sanctuary, nourishment and morality to the masses. Is this true?"
The crowd mumbled in agreement, paranoid eyes looking to neighbour, friend and foe in search of common ground. They had heard of Cydnar, and his deeds in the last fight against Xem'Zund...they had heard of his bravery and his deeds as Lord Provost, and some would say foolish journey into the depths of Haida. Some called him a daemon, for no mortal man could survive the fiery wastelands and survive, least not with his sanity intact.
"We stand upon a precipice, teetering over the edge of despair between victory, and extinction. I need not apply more dramatic flair to the cause than that, you have all witnessed the destruction of the Salthias, the desolation of the army, and the sundering of the last of the ward stones that protect Donnalaich above from our greatest and oldest enemy..."
A flashback struck Cydnar, and he felt the same cold and foreboding dread he had done in the council chamber, as he was sentenced by the mock court. It had been no more than a day since he had returned before he had convened the Grand Council, the sense of urgency, or so he felt, was of the uttermost importance. Something had to be done after such haughty promises had been made.
Dalasi stepped out from behind his brother's protection and hammered the air with his fist, the crowd roared in response each time.
"Then let us show the people of the surface that the Hummel will not suffer their transgressions!"
It took several minutes for the cheers to die down, and even then the whispering and excitement only died when Cydnar drew Altheas and pointed it upwards to the very lofty and uppermost shadows of the massive geode in which the capital city stood.
"I have come to ask for your agreement, your pledge, and your honour - as the last of the Salthias I am entitled to Kinship and command of the Highest Honours our People possess. I shall ask of you all to join me in war only once. So shall we together resurrect our people from these dark days, so that we may stand strong against the one you call Nidhogg? Or shall we allow his fangs to engulf the world, and end all we have fought for since time immemorial!" The roar of passion and agreement that filled the chamber rattled Cydnar's bones to their very marrow.
With a pull of energy born from their enthusiasm, he reached out and pulled the Oath Stone from the table top. It flickered at great speed through the dark, casting it's incandescence over the polished, worn floor that had witnessed a thousand desperate Council meetings in its time and into Cydnar's hand.
It burst into a supernova born from their hope and his fear, and shot up into the skies.
"Then to war!" He roared.
Guided by the light of a new purple sun, the Hummel stepped out vibrantly from the Under Dark, and into the realm of undiscovered light.
Thread Title: Our Roots Run Deep (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?22958-Our-Roots-Run-Deep-(Closed)&p=185362#post185362)
Faction: Rangers
Brief Synopsis: Cydnar sees the brewing turbulence of the Civil War as a perfect opportunity to kill two snakes with one stick. He sets about a grand design to weaken the Empire whilst strengthening the Rangers, which in turn will cause a disturbance in favour of the resistance whilst offering the Hummel a perfect opportunity to create a much needed distraction.
They intend to seed doubts in the Empire with an assassination, and offer military aid and a pledge of honour with an Oath Stone, a binding relic and symbol of power to the Hummel. The ultimate outcome of the war is only a secondary concern to them, however - if they can defeat Nidhogg, it does not matter how many cities on the surface of Althanas burn...
Some sacrifices have to be made...the Hummel have made too many, it is someone else's turn.
Status: Completed
Spoils:
The Oath Stone: A spherical quartz magical device, forged from a leave of Yggdrassil, the world tree, and bound and empowered by the souls of the Nine Council members of the Hummel. It allows the owner to see and hear all the stone sees (using the divination pool at the foot of the World Tree) and also binds anyone who is bound to the Stone, or anyone who receives the stone as a gift to any Oath that is sworn in it's presence.
It cannot be broken by any means, nor can it's enchantments be increased (though more Oaths can be bound to it). It will lose all of it's power and hold over anyone connected to it if any of the original members of the Council dies (a new one will thus have to be made to keep any use active).
Dalasi Yrene: (NPC) A lithe, agile swordsman with the tactical acumen of an elf three times his age. Wields a single sword and uses the same fighting style at the same skill level as Cydnar, but does not possess any other abilities. His blade is haematite, as is his heavy platemail.
Silence Sei
08-01-11, 12:04 AM
I had this all written out, but a mistake with the server cause my commentary to be deleted. Therefore,I am only giving my scores, and giving you my commentary via PM/IM Duffster, hope you don't mind.
Story - 6/10
Strategy - 7/10
Setting - 7/10
Continuity - 7/10
Interaction - 9/10
Character - 8/10
Creativity - 6/10
Mechanics - 9/10
Clarity - 5/10
Wildcard - 5/10
Total - 69/100
Cyd gets 1300 exp, all spoils approvedpending RoG decision, and 0 GP. Leading ain't easy.
Silence Sei
08-04-11, 09:36 PM
EXP-GP Added.
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