Tenaria: The Xealial Empire
Posted: Tue Apr 08, 2003 11:06 am
The wind was rising, whipping the flaps of the great tent from side to side, snapping at tie-ropes and shaking the heavy walls of the Royal residence. Within the weather beaten outer shell of the tent was another smaller, more opulent construction, kept cool from the harsh summer sun outside, and the noise of the wind was less than a whisper.
In the middle of the great tent there stood a sturdy oak table. A scarred, battle weary Beast of a thing, upon its surface lay dozens of thick, leather maps, detailed constructions, showing lands far from the boundaries of the Xealial. Bending over the table, eyes following rivers and mountain ranges, roads and valleys, the Emperor Nestalawe' surveyed that which would all be his. His mighty forearms holding up his bulky frame, muscles rippling underneath the wiry hair spreading from wrist to shoulder.
"Bring me the Sorceror! Bring me Han-Haleel!" Bellowed the great man. As a servant swept silently out of the room, another man approached the table, hand stroking his chin, deep in thought.
"We have news of troops approaching from the north. They bear the arms of the Skaroush tribe, and their horses are swift. Their leader, Yukarr, has pledged his loyalty to us." The man's hand left his chin, and a wry grin drew across his lips. He looked towards his Emperor with pride. "The Scaroush are the last to join us, we now have every tribe under our banner, all recognise your sovereignty my Lord."
Nestalawe looked up at his General, his heavy, furrowed brow easing away into a knowing grin, his bright blue eyes glinting in the torch-light. Ghan-Raham and he had been as brothers for as long as each could remember. They had learned to ride together, shooting composite bows while leaning horizontal from the saddle. They had fought beside each other, sharing the blood of their enemies, they had even shared the same women. Now they were about to embark on the most ambitious campaign the land of Xealial had ever known.
Seven years had been spent already, gathering the tribes together, imposing their will on those that resisted, enjoying the benefits with those who joined them. Now the creation of the Xealial Empire was complete, with Nestalawe, son of Nestar, black jewel of the Abyss, as its Emperor.
"Bring Yukarr to me when he arrives. Prepare a feast for him, he and his men will be weary." Nestalawe cocked his head to one side. "I want you to listen well to what the Sorceror has to say. He does not tell us all he knows and I fear what he holds back may lead us from our path. There is much to distrust in that man, if he be of flesh and blood at all."
Ghan-Raham nodded and moved to a corner of the room, where a table of various weapons were laid out for his inspection. Nestalawe' returned to his maps, and was just tracing the route to the mountains in the south when a warm rush of wind rippled into the room. Glancing up he saw the sly smile of the Sorceror, Han-Haleel.
"You called master? Have you made your decision?" The tall, gaunt man bent his head slightly forward, hands buried deep in his sleeves, his eyes hidden behind crimson sheets of crystal bound by wire and held in place across the ridge of his crow-like nose.
"I want you to contact your, compatriots. We will be needing their services sooner than anticipated. The crest has risen, and it is time for us to strike, before our wave loses its momentum." Nestalawe held the Sorceror's eye.
"I shall do as you wish, oh Lord. I have been communicating with them most recently. They have been anticipating your request for aid and are most willing to be of service." A serene smile came across the Sorceror's face, as if everything was as expected, Han-Haleel seemed a difficult man to catch off guard.
"There is one other thing," spoke the Sorceror, his expression becoming stern and serious, "I have learned something that may come as a suprise, but it will be of great aid to you." He turned to pointedly regard the General, Ghan-Raham. "May I speak with you in private, alone?"
In the middle of the great tent there stood a sturdy oak table. A scarred, battle weary Beast of a thing, upon its surface lay dozens of thick, leather maps, detailed constructions, showing lands far from the boundaries of the Xealial. Bending over the table, eyes following rivers and mountain ranges, roads and valleys, the Emperor Nestalawe' surveyed that which would all be his. His mighty forearms holding up his bulky frame, muscles rippling underneath the wiry hair spreading from wrist to shoulder.
"Bring me the Sorceror! Bring me Han-Haleel!" Bellowed the great man. As a servant swept silently out of the room, another man approached the table, hand stroking his chin, deep in thought.
"We have news of troops approaching from the north. They bear the arms of the Skaroush tribe, and their horses are swift. Their leader, Yukarr, has pledged his loyalty to us." The man's hand left his chin, and a wry grin drew across his lips. He looked towards his Emperor with pride. "The Scaroush are the last to join us, we now have every tribe under our banner, all recognise your sovereignty my Lord."
Nestalawe looked up at his General, his heavy, furrowed brow easing away into a knowing grin, his bright blue eyes glinting in the torch-light. Ghan-Raham and he had been as brothers for as long as each could remember. They had learned to ride together, shooting composite bows while leaning horizontal from the saddle. They had fought beside each other, sharing the blood of their enemies, they had even shared the same women. Now they were about to embark on the most ambitious campaign the land of Xealial had ever known.
Seven years had been spent already, gathering the tribes together, imposing their will on those that resisted, enjoying the benefits with those who joined them. Now the creation of the Xealial Empire was complete, with Nestalawe, son of Nestar, black jewel of the Abyss, as its Emperor.
"Bring Yukarr to me when he arrives. Prepare a feast for him, he and his men will be weary." Nestalawe cocked his head to one side. "I want you to listen well to what the Sorceror has to say. He does not tell us all he knows and I fear what he holds back may lead us from our path. There is much to distrust in that man, if he be of flesh and blood at all."
Ghan-Raham nodded and moved to a corner of the room, where a table of various weapons were laid out for his inspection. Nestalawe' returned to his maps, and was just tracing the route to the mountains in the south when a warm rush of wind rippled into the room. Glancing up he saw the sly smile of the Sorceror, Han-Haleel.
"You called master? Have you made your decision?" The tall, gaunt man bent his head slightly forward, hands buried deep in his sleeves, his eyes hidden behind crimson sheets of crystal bound by wire and held in place across the ridge of his crow-like nose.
"I want you to contact your, compatriots. We will be needing their services sooner than anticipated. The crest has risen, and it is time for us to strike, before our wave loses its momentum." Nestalawe held the Sorceror's eye.
"I shall do as you wish, oh Lord. I have been communicating with them most recently. They have been anticipating your request for aid and are most willing to be of service." A serene smile came across the Sorceror's face, as if everything was as expected, Han-Haleel seemed a difficult man to catch off guard.
"There is one other thing," spoke the Sorceror, his expression becoming stern and serious, "I have learned something that may come as a suprise, but it will be of great aid to you." He turned to pointedly regard the General, Ghan-Raham. "May I speak with you in private, alone?"