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Post by The Storyteller on Feb 8, 2015 2:28:04 GMT
The court of Alastor the Erudite was once filled with wagging tongues and excited feet. Now, Camlann's tedious ministers and Imperial emissaries are but tawdry bones in old robes that hang loosely off their once plump figures. One skeleton, the former Earl of Dragon's Rest, still wears the most obscene dragon-shaped medallion of gold that is ever so slowly breaking his neck bones in half. Everytime that one shambles into view, Alastor is reminded that he had the most irritating laugh when he still possessed lungs, but looked so serious the last time he came to court. While there are skeleton guards everywhere, they are more for decoration than protection. The Iron King's true subjects have no reason to fear them. One such subject, a male Aetherian of 215 years, approaches. He keeps his lower jaw hidden, but it is not for deceit, but safety. Jacob, as he was named in the old kingdom's traditions, had been blessed with the ability to distort reality to a certain extent with his voice. When he speaks, the air before him becomes a funnel of Aetherian energies. It is as much a curse as an ability, but Jacob has never exploited it, and his lord is one of the few who can hear his words without fear of imminent destruction. "Your Grace." Jacob kneels fifty feet from the throne, and remains kneeling until told otherwise. His voice remains muffled, but is clearly understood.
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 8, 2015 4:27:16 GMT
The Iron King sat his throne, fingers drumming a four count beat upon the armrest. How long had he been doing so? A minute? An hour? A year? A decade? It all blended together after so long, generations passing like fleeting moments. This day, the seat was of shimmering brass, though it changed often based on the king's whims; shining gold on some days and rusted iron on others as mood suited.
"Rise." the Undying intoned, voice echoing from its metal carapace in an unnatural timbre. "What word do you bring?"
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Post by The Storyteller on Feb 8, 2015 6:36:44 GMT
Jacob stood. "My lord... I deliver tribute from the Stormreapers, an ancient tapestry depicting a battle I could not recognize. The Bonetenders of Dragon's Rest remain quiet, but their Clanmother repledged their oath of service . Lord Shifter is still away, dealing with the Nightleaf, who it is said still maintain the largest numbers."
He listed a few other details while the Voice intruded on Iron King's thoughts with, Do you think these silly names matter? How does one reap a storm? Do bone tenders get paid more than farmers? Savages... we must rename them. Your father wouldn't have tolerated this, child...
Jacob finished his report before stating, "My lord... there is activity in the West..."
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 8, 2015 16:14:13 GMT
What had once been a maddening distraction, the burden of having two minds in a skull made for one, had become second nature over the centuries. The Iron King listened to his valued servant even as he held counsel in his head his eternal house guest. If a god was expected to be omnipresent, he could at least manage two matters at once.
"Father never had qualms about the smallfolk deeming him Ironfist. I imagine Bonetender and Nightleaf would do little to trouble his sleep." he reminded his passenger, forgetting as he often did that the spirit impersonating his mother had not actually been present to know the man. "Let the rabble keep the names as long as they offer tribute and bend knee."
"Bring the tapestry forward so that I may look upon what the Stormreapers have deemed worthy tribute." he said, returning his attention to Jacob. "What did the Bonetender's matron present to renew her bonds?"
"A man with your unique ability should not mince words, Jacob." he responded to the Aetherian's last point, with a laugh that echoed hollow in his metallic throat. "What stirs in the West?"
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Post by The Storyteller on Feb 8, 2015 20:20:11 GMT
Jacob gestured and several corpses presented what was now little more than a pretty carpet, but the details could still be made out. Alastor recognized the telltale crown of his father, who was pointing at a mob of finely dressed gentlemen in some square. It was hard to recognize the location after Queen Cassandra's reforms, but the content was clear enough.
The Iron King INT: 42
Asmodeus Ironfist is commanding his subjects to kneel, but they are refusing, forcing their king to set his guards upon them. Nearby, there is a mob of angry peasants. The Iron King's predecessor looks much younger, as there is no sign of the great beard he grew in his later days. After a moment of contemplation, Alastor recognizes it as the lost Kunstler tapestry 'In Spite of a Hammer', drawn by the young artist shortly after the annexation. It would've been burned by a lesser king, but his father simply politely asked Kunstler never to display it in public. A thousand years ago, this was worth a small fortune to collectors.
Beside the tapestry, Jacon lays out a small bag. Reaching inside, he pulls out a handful of stones, each stone marked with the name of a warrior to be called upon in conflict. The Iron King comprehends the Bonetenders have offered their lives in tribute.
As his master examines the gifts, Jacob elaborates. "New tribes have been spotted exiting the waste. I do not know if they are fleeing the Collector, or are already enthralled, but the numbers are too alarming to ignore. They are still beyond the mountains, but if they don't cease their movements, they will enter Iron clan territory in a fortnight." He paused before adding, "Beyond that, there are the usual tales of black faeries and other boogeymen."
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 8, 2015 21:30:37 GMT
He studied the tapestry for a moment. In his first century of undeath it may have held some sentimental value. Now it stirred nothing within him, such earthly tethers long passed. A god had no need for father.
"Have it stored in the vaults and inform the Stormreavers that their next tribute had better prove more utility." he said tersely, leaving the Bonetenders' gift unremarked as it apparently was found acceptable.
A moment passed before he addressed the second matter.
"Gather some of your brothers and the third legion as delegation to the new arrivals. Ensure there is one amongst you that can carry my words without setting ears to bleed. If they are refugees, instruct them to present themselves before me. If they are foe, send a man with haste to inform me and they will be made to bend."
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Post by The Storyteller on Feb 8, 2015 22:09:04 GMT
Jacob bowed, declaring "By your command" and left after giving the appropriate orders to the guards.
Wghen the Iron King was alone, the buzzing returned. I rather liked the tapestry. We should commission our own, child. 'The Iron King in His Glory' would cetainly lighten the mood here, and inspire respect in the help. Take my word, Alastor Drakenhoff, Eternity is even longer without something pretty to look at.
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 8, 2015 23:02:33 GMT
"Tapestries fade and fray with time." he replied in mind. "Seeing beauty turned to ruined shade. It is unworthy testament to one who would outlive it."
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Post by Shifter on Feb 9, 2015 11:38:19 GMT
It took a brief moment before Shifter entered the Court, he had just arrived from his failed collecting and was not in a good mood.
"Your majesty..." The Aetherian spoke as he entered the room, clad in his robed court form but this time with two extra arms that dragged across the floor the bodies of Roj and his sister.
Approaching the dais he kneeled.
"The people of Nightleaf are gone..." He spoke those words in a tone of mixed disappointment and rage. "They had the gall to openly attempt against my life, and consequently, against your majesty's rule."
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 9, 2015 21:20:12 GMT
There was a long uncomfortable silence before the Iron King Spoke, hollow slits that served as eyes moving from one dead Aetherian to the next before resting on the one still breathing, the room full of dead for once as silent as the grave.
"And what preceded their attack upon your person?" he asked, tone daring his favored servant to lie.
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Post by Shifter on Feb 9, 2015 21:38:02 GMT
"The fools refused to pay tribute, they said there was nothing left..." Shifter paused for a second, rethinking about his orders, but never regretting them.
"So I ordered their kids to be brought foward, some might have been useful to have here at your majesty's direct service."
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Post by The Storyteller on Feb 9, 2015 21:46:56 GMT
Can you hear it? He has brought a friend. They sing... so quietly, but I can hear them... Why does he not mention our guest? There is a hint of jealousy and paranoia in the Voice. It doesn't like competition.
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 9, 2015 21:53:32 GMT
"Yet you return to me empty handed, the only of your brothers to do so. Not only that, but in your failure you have slain two of my stock and lost my largest herd." the Iron King seethed, talking of his Aetherians as if they were cattle, fingers curling into fists before relaxing as the voice buzzed in my head. Rather than outright accusing Shifter of lying, he made a seemingly bizarre change of topic.
"Do you now how I spent the last millenia?"
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Post by Shifter on Feb 9, 2015 21:58:09 GMT
Shifter humbled himself, he looked to the ground, not daring to look up. He remembered of the ring that he had salvaged, he fumbled his pockets but it was still with the girl... He should have told the King about it.
"No, your majesty..." He said in a low voice.
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Post by The Iron King on Feb 9, 2015 22:20:52 GMT
"Of course, long before your time." he replied, leaning forward on his throne to steeple his fingers. "A life devoid of meaning, even an endless one, is of little worth. Therefore I scoured my many tomes, written by scholars and philosophers of great renown, seeking a code by which to live this eternity in a manner which would give it meaning."
"I had spent my first mortal life believing altruism would give my life meaning. I was good to my people; honorable, generous, benevolent. I ushered an age of peace and prosperity certain that it would provide meaning and reward from the gods. Instead it brought nothing but destruction to all I held dear. What sort of just universe would allow such? The answer was simple: it would not."
"Therefore I reasoned the universe to be unjust...devoid of meaning. A century of existential anxiety was endured with no answers, followed by another hundred years of nihilism in which I accepted the void in which we live. Madness and despair followed, with the ending of my own life considered. Another century passed with me feeling no less fulfilled."
Then came hedonism, reasoning that a selfish devotion to worldly pleasures would be meaning enough. I took a form of flesh once more and enjoyed the pleasures of every Aetherian or Undying fair of form. I indulged in drink, feasting, and exotic substances, to extremes that would kill a mortal. Another century passed with no meaning found."
"Unsatisfied, I turned to stoicism next, keeping a form of flesh only to experience a century of hardship within it. Thirst and hunger you will never know were endured, all providing no mental clarity. Solipsism followed that, a hundred years of silence alone where I spoke to not a soul."
"So the centuries proceeded, one philosophy to the next, none providing answers. Do you know which school of thought I have chosen for this century?"
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