THE BRAZEN STATE

[SteppeNomad 1552]

THE BRAZEN STATE

 

 

 

"This is my wealth: My spear and my shield. With this I trample sweet wine from the vine. With this I am called Master of Serfs. Those who do not choose to have spear and sword, and fine shield of polished bronze to protect them, all cower at my knee and submit. Calling me master and great King"

-Words of Anaxagoras, Hero king. Father of many cities

 

 

These past few years, I have been taken to visit the lands of my old friends. The Noble True-Men, those who live far beyond the walls of the settled men, yet live Pure and Free lives, just as they had been created to do. To dwell below the open sky, and honor the world with the sacrifices they make. Truly a more noble Man has never formed since their inception in brigblaewas, that extreme north. It is because of them, that I have had the time and ability to introspect, to seek and commune with the nature of the blood, of purity, of honour, and nobility. Of brotherhood, and of kinship. All that the Scydri shared with one another, freely. I had witnessed the death and burial of their revered elder, king of Scydri, Abragan Thyrscys in a grand burial mound. Larger than any I had seen, golden treasure, A chariot, Twelve horses, dozens of sheep, and the greatest, whitest cow, I had ever seen, were sacrificed to creation and entombed with the Azukazi Khuzai and his wives. Mournful, were the people, as they sung and wailed and laughed, and drunk much of their fermented horse milk, partaking in the sacred scydrian herb. Soon, all declared their love for their king, the unifier of the steppe, and in the words of his son, the blonde charioteer, the words of adoration, for his greatest father, the doer of things. That only by being in his image, will the son ascend to take the place of the chieftain well. After this, to all, and all who shared, much was known was the love of their brother and uncle, chieftain, and father. Yet it was the night before he perished, and his spirit found undying freedom, that I had my finest meeting. What stuck with me greatly.

 

-Pov you are Pamphilos in Scydria, with the elder Abragan, son and khuzai of the Azukazi

 

Long was that day, many miles, over streams and through deep cut valleys upon that wide steppe. We had finished what we would later learn was his last ride. During the voyage he sung a throatsong, sharing with the sounds of the world, as a sign of his passing. Of how real one can truly be. We fired upon the old gryphon which had descended from the hills, seeking to plunder the herd of wild horses we passed, and seeing the elder and I, mounted upon our steeds, reared. Though i readied my spear for battle, she dared not approach upon seeing our garb, mounts and the beast flew back at the witness of the Scydrian's pointed hat. For they had done the battle many times. He laughed, and so did I.  We made it. To the stone of Volgarr. The Cimmerean. So fine was this black stone pillar, rising high above the steppe, atop a hill which laid to it a backdrop of the distant forest on the edge of the horizon. Some other world than this of boundless sky and grass. Yet I saw deep into the soul of the carving, and I knew it was not built by the hands of Cimmereans. The once greatest rival of these pure men. A tribe just as noble. I saw him pour a bag of kumis and press down the sword he had brought for the occassion into the earth. Wetting it with the blood of the lamb we had taken from the camp.

 

 

-The Khuzai sung songs of the ways of Hyperborean man. The memories of noble cimmeria, sung by who were once their enemies

 

We sat there, by the fire. We ate the meat we shared with the sacrifice. He sung me the song of war, of his people and the struggle with the cimmereans of their past. About how the mammoth hunters stole their cattle, and the horsemen ran them down. About the slaying of the chieftains brother upon the sacred sky mountain, and the vengeance which drove the cimmereans to ruin, scattered to the forests. Through the firelight in the dim darkness of the coming night my eyes caught glimpse of the bronze of the blade, point down at the top of the hill. Still wet with blood. "Durz..." He said rebukingly. I turned to him, to see his gaze, lost in the flame. I asked what it is he was considering, after taking me on such a long trip to such a distant monument? The elder looked over, his stick he waved as he twirled the smoke which rose from the fire into many forms. I watched as the horses and gryphons, the wolves and the eagles, the lions and the stag make war. Yet Still I saw in the eye of the Scydrian, those pools of blue, a world that I could only see in the heights of any maidensong.

 

"What is life... If you regret what you have done..?"

 

He looked up to me, smiling, yet I saw the tear which had first fallen from his eye. We retired shortly to the smoketent he brought and the bundle of scydrian herb.

 

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-Pamphilos Hyptos arriving from the lands of Scydri, the chieftain's last gifts well received.

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Now, I return to the lands where my people dwell, and to my own polis. The site of construction which had been betrayed and forgotten by the reddest skydaemons. It was here, when I turned the gifts of the chief off to the herdorc, an ugluk brudda, I had caught up at last with my dearest friend. The oldest lad of my band. He told to me, with eyes of fire, the state of things.  As he gripped from the herd, the weakest of the ewes and lambs, which writhed, bleating in his grip, he spoke of the injustice, the tyranny faced by my lads, and all the urukhiim at the hands of the few and impure.

 

Indeed. For it was not long after my meeting with my oldest lad, did I receive word, that my brother, twin-sun, Atemu-ta had raised a warband, as directed by the will of Purity itself. This force, to march upon the north, and rebuke the scourge that we have made war upon since they first made themselves known. Already was the shrine erected, already was the force armed, and the theurgy done. For this war had been blessed, authority bestowed from the Purest Source. After all, is there nothing more pure than purging the impure? To rid the land of the tainted and unclean? For this, I have given my devotion. So why is it that the kursed klan has raised such a fuss? If our noble lads and the fellow bronzed peoples continue forth to do the will of purity most high, then why is it they falter in doing such? But it is WE, the LADS who march out to bring the cleansing flames of war to our enemies, the enemies of the mortal world. Answer. Where is your courage, buurz ones?

 

Always do I, and by extension, the LADS seek to purge what corrupts, and cleanse the impure. For over a hundred years, Sulianpoli has stood, brilliant, its temples, resplendent. Its lads? Beautiful Honorable, Loyal, pure, and most of all, brothers. Think for even a moment. When has Sulianpoli faltered? When has her lads ever bent before the impure, bent before the lesser or the cursed?

 

When have we refused to take up arms to do battle? When have we refused to offer honor or homage? Who were the broddas we entreat with feasts, and place in the most honorable front ranks when the Call of War is found? Think. For one hundred years, and through great victories we had stood. From wars of Orenium when our silvery lads made war alongside the broddas, when we captured and colonized great swathes of the empire of Men and freed their slaves to instead toil for our blessings? Beer for the fratblarg. Glory for the colony.

 

To the Fall of Elysium, when our finest allies had grown hateful, resentful of the presence of the HolyLand. It was I, who warned the Blood Pharaoh Borok of the mercenary men, and then later the wyrmic dragons who would come to betray our trusts, and it was the cruel spears of OUR hoplites which stood shoulder to shoulder, with our bruddas and the blessed elves and drove the Elysians from the field and from their home.

 

For why did we go out of our way, will full heart to earn great glories and great privilege, if not for the love of our peoples? For it was I who brought about the inception of the first Great Horde, through tip of my own spear did I earn the privilege amongst the tribes of our people. It was we who urged for the second when the next scene of war had come to this land.

 

Let us not forget the myriad of wars and battles we have fought, each one a trophy in itself. For what is there, more beautiful, than to see the perfection of form, to fight and die besides the Lads and Bruddas who love you? To take victory with them. To RAISE them high. So we may all be known as masters, and great kings.

 

 

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-Pamphilos after returning, speaking of the philosophy of the news to his oldest, and most loyal Lad

 

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Tell me, bruddas, urukhiim, lads. Which one of you loves your brothers? Which ones of you would raise your choppa for the honour of brothers who have done the same for you? To raise them high and see them into victory with you at their side? Which of you would sooner see those noble and glorious amongst us crushed? Denegrated, smoked? If so, I must ask you. Why do you hate your truest bruddas? For I see no logic, no argument to this, except one. Vile impurity. A cursed mind. Cruel, greedy motives. Something completely foreign to us, champions of Scorthuz, Kezt, Dazkur, Leyd, Q a r k a h.

 

Purity,

Honour,

Brotherhood,

Strength,

Progress.

 

 

For THESE Greater-Powers, I raise my cruel spear, for THEY do I polish my greaves of gleaming bronze. For THEY I sacrifice the first of my bounty, and the last.

 

 

So it is in this age that we must see something righteous come to pass. For these are the words of my Lads, to whom I came to, to seek their love after my voyage. And there, my oldest, greatest, most beautiful lads spoke clearly to me, as a cloudless day, it was obvious. A solution so simple.

 

After all

 

Was it not krug, who in the greatest act of true love, killed Horen, sparing him a death in weakness?

 

 

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It is here I shall begin to account for my solution... This is my call-out post. The Rebuking of The Impure.

 

The impure, the darkness, isfet, da buurz, all of these words describe a single type of existence, a single strain of mental anguish of sickening infection which have weaved itself into the nest of the pure and honorable, of the just and beautiful, and I shall count the ways.

 

 

 

AKAAL! It is through your left-handed path, that chaos has entered our realm! It is your self-centered perception which has driven all away who may otherwise be cohorts! It is your deeds which have broken and waylaid the natural order of things! For it is by your doing, the realms shudder, and a darkness which hangs over the urukhiim weaves its way into the minds of the honorable! You turn your back upon the descendants and the world so you may bring about a world to come! Hark! And long recall! For what was the punishment of those who brought wrath upon the peoples! What is the fate of those of the dark who fall to the temptations of Ixli! Of Ikuraz! Gadhm'Akaal, my teacher, the greatest philosopher. He would overturn your spelltables, your dark rites, and rebuke you, with stronger words than I now! For this would be only shame and dishonour to see the heights his klan has fallen! You must break your pacts! Banish your evil mojos! Your plots dashed for their cursed nature!

 

 

MOTSHAM! It is YOU who speaks highly of the age to kum! Of the creation, of the destruction of the ways of things! For given to me by the high-priest of Rahtum-Ra, my dear lad Atemu were the same words I recall you telling me those years past, in the grottos most well. That what the spirits are, is tools to be used, not to be valued or worshipped! that to seek a place over them would suit you well! Tell me MOTSHAM! Did we not slay buurzshomos for less? It is YOU who have neglected the spiritual purity of the horde, so you may place yourself as master of others. For after all, to dare use the serpent men invites isfet, darkness to the realm. When have they NOT betrayed descendant kind. What is too risky? What is too impure? What is too heretical to be used? Is there such thing? The methods of your shamanism, the motivations bring to mind only IMPURITY. You are NOT fit to spiritually lead a Pure People such as the SONS OF KRUG! For this, I REBUKE YOU! VILE IMPURE!

 

 

KYBAL AKAAL! You, who are known as REX! It was by your words, the people of my brother Atemu-ta had been given succor. YOU had said for them to preach the spirits, to grow and prosper, YOU had had them assimilate with our most ladly band, and YOU had it known that they were blessed and well. It is YOU who has gone back upon this word. It is you who dare banish him, and not for a true crime. For his sista, slain by the predations of the motsham, was repaid in kind. The fall of Sharog is well enough to repay the vile act of trying to enslave a bruddas sistah... For she worshipped the spirit of freedom. The banishment and stripping of status of the pharaoh was the worst you could have done there. Yet this is but only ONE of your tyrantish actions. For what right, and BY what right do you rescind the land of Sulianpoli? For taxes? How can we tax something that the skydaemons could not deliver in a timely way? It was won a dozen times over, over the course of a hundred years. ALWAYS have my lads been loyal, and we had been privileged. Loved, or so thought, and we shared this with our bruddas freely. To be so dwarven as to take back this place, it shows how highly you value HONOR in your heart! To think! You treat the mali'ker with more tact and respect despite them being recently our foes as to issue a warning, than even your own most LOYAL LADS, YOUR OWN NEIGHBOR, A HORDE STATE. If you truly held any pain for the grievance of the mali'kers vassals, you would raid them WITH us. Yet you seek to throw us, to banish a pharaoh and his people, and to take from us, the privileges we have lost beautiful lads to securing? So I tell you now, Kybal Akaal. You must fight for your honour against the challenger... If you want our cihi, then you must do as we had did to first earn it. And take it by the tip of a cruel spear! It is for these reasons, your akaal tyranny, that I REBUKE YOU! CURSED AND TARNISHED

 

 

As an addendum rebuking, it has come to my attention that some vile rumours were started about me in the blessed and pure silver cihi. I did not bother reading that so-called issue of the gazette, because I took a single look at the writers, and I could tell who would write such filth and not have enough self respect to not post it. The VERY SAME tactless tarnished who would be known from that time, a hundred years ago, for she was made known to me as a hunter of magicians, an assassin who hunts magicians, and particularly slew numbers of beautiful silver elves. It was this impure who was banished from the High-Walled City and cast into the world. There, instead of seeking redemption and a purer path, sough that of hatred and lust for power. The impure path which lead to the worm itself being the subject of her worship and intentions. I ask to my reader, be they from the silver city or not, recall now that time when Princess Ivarielle, nearly given the city by that old cabal, the sorority, strode to the walls of Haelun'or, accompanied by bloodied Fennitians in their holy war, filthy impure valah and mali from old Lurin, and a grouping of tarnished 'aheral. Amongst those who prowled the streets of our occupied city, was Valindra and her co. She sought those who were cornered and alone, to slay. Seeking to murder the most beloved Maheral. It was once more, I, and my BEAUTIFUL LADS! Like Elarhil Sullas the Splendid, Beautiful Valazaer Calith, Edgars an'asul Hero of The High Walled City, The Poet Stelios, and I, myself, along with the other PATRIOTS who beat them back from our isle! Never did we spill blood in our sacred city, and still did she commit of the most filthy of all impure acts. Kinslaying. Remember NOW. How did Valindra return? She awaited for us to migrate, our government to change, twice, a new sohaer from an older time, and for the same Maheral she sought to slay to be gone from the city. Only then was she allowed back, while truer, actually pure folk, still laid banished for things much less than kinslaying and dragonworship, and poor journalism. It is for your rumormongering, murderous ways, and impure soul that I REBUKE YOU! VILE KINSLAYER! MAY YOU ENTER THE PURE WATER AND CATCH FIRE.

 

 

Hail Lady Justice, who can see to us these are all correct, facts, and entirely true.

 

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The Lads getting rowdy hearing Pamphilos Speak

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By the facts of the matter, by the love of eternity, by the love of my BROTHERS and my LADS, who have been castigated, punished, and rebuked, you will hear these demands, and by the spirits, they will be met.

 

TO THE REX, THE MOTSHAM, AND KLAN AKAAL

 

For your insults to your bruddas, to the lads, to the spirits, and your and impurity you shall deliver a hecatomb, 100 cattle to be sacrificed at Qarkah's alter, to buy your continued existence from the spirits.

 

You shall return the Pharaoh to his honour, and you will deliver unto his people, a hundred talents (100 items) of salt or silver

 

You shall accept the HONOR DUEL for REXDOM from the GOTH of UGLUK upon shame of COWARDICE (and much more)

 

You will raise a shrine to Hesthor, Spirit of Divine Purity and bovine consort to Qarkah, and you will bathe in it three times until you are cleansed.

 

 

 

You have until the date of the UGLUK'S KLOMP to accept these oaths of reparations. There shall be no way to skirt this, for you have chosen to make a poor bed, and you shall lay in it. We are your most loyal bruddas, but like krug before us, we will kill you in your bed for your weakness.

 

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-The old goths respected a victory taken by the spear of the lads

 

 

 

For those bruddas who are true, who recall the real ways, and the ways of our honour and our mighty kleos! Those bruddas who share the love! Who fight shoulder to shoulder, who raise their mug ob grog and shank of beef in great joy. Join bruddas! For THESE are impures! And they must be CLEANSED! Through the waters of golden Scorthuz, or the flames of cruel Qarkah! Rebuke these tyrants! Let the PATRIOTS take charge! STAND WITH UGLUK!

 

 

 

For ALL MY LADS! SPREAD THROUGH THE LANDS OF BRAEVOS!  Those who read this! This is a Ladly call-to-action! Recall now the OATHS you spoke before your lads, and HONOR itself! Lads help lads, and lads NEVER abandon lads! Come! And raise your club or cruel spike, your shield or pure katana, polish your panoply of armour, and be splendid! Come! Stand by my side, noble lads! Wherever you are! Individual heroes! True champions of our bloodlines! Come and do what your oaths are for! Come and defend your Polis!

 

Hail Sulianpoli! The Blessed Cihi!

 

HAIL LADY VICTORY! HAIL PURITY!

 

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-Pamphilos doesnt need to harass the ladies for them to be interested in what he has to say,

 

 

 

Edited October 18, 2023 by SteppeNomad

[Boknice275 1186]

[!] Atemu reads the missive in the desert lands near Hyspia, a smile coming across his face as he poured through it's voluminous contents. He then turned towards the vast dunes and sands of the deserts. These lands, he thought, were the birthright of the Rah'mun and Bronzed people. The GODS would permit no other conclusion than total victory.

 

"Our people shall be delivered from the clutches of tyranny - orcish and otherwise. The Gods will it. May Hesthor wash the Horde clean and secure our birthright with her immaculate authority." The Pharaoh prayed. "May the forces of Isfet fall to the dual-flames of the Ra'tuhmet and Qarkah. Hail victory!"

 

Atemu then began to wander the vast dunes of the deserts once more, taking out a quill and preparing to write his own missive to the scattered peoples of Rah'Tuma to meet and discuss recent events.

 

 

[Jihnyny 2572]

Spoiler

@Toddbringer@Shaman

 

"Loyalty...Honour...Rezpekt..."

 

Grimruk'Lur, stroking the great white fur of his Lur Wolf spoke,

"Blahz to faze tradition, yet expectz the Urukim, nubermind Gothz to bow beneath him."

 

His eyes then gaze upwards, to spot the ancient members of Yar sitting in secrecy. 

 

"It iz the tik of Wagh."

 

 

 

[Eokamaster 215]

 

Master wizard, renowned necromancer, and occasional targoth, Grubnakh the Elf, can be found polishing his thousandfold Nippon steel samurai blade outside the goi in Lak Village

 

"It iz tik...twu kaktuz dayz"

[Toddbringer 124]

A mountainous robed figure gave a small dip of his head, puffing on a large roll of cactus green, who's scent wafted about around a canvas tent. A deep sigh escaped his lips with a grumble, before shaking his head somberly. "Bûbhosh baak..." A rasp in that strange, primal tongue, before passing the toke across the way.

[Shaman 32]

The Iron-Horde, extending endlessly in every direction, laid beneath the scorching heat, with rocky deserts and hills forming a barrier that separates the Western World from the Honorable Lands. There was solace, for a time, amongst the confines of a lone tent. Plumes of smoke rose, out from the height of the canopy, merging with the desert winds that carried it across the dunes - originating from a single paper, split between those few in attendance. "Agh, zoh, dah wheel maykz ah'nuddah turn..." one individual utters, thick fumes rising from beneath their cowl. "... yet dah kunnin' 'ob elvez ihz tiklezz." the figure rasps, eyes filling with the echoes of a forgotten conflict, tracing all those present. The thoughts of strife and enmity swirl, for a moment - the marrow of their ancestory stirred in response to the presence of those who bore the legacy of Malin. "Gazh-Nûlanz." they affirm with a guttural tongue, the weight of such a designation being understood by the occupants of the space. After a final toke, the apparatus was sent right, as tradition detailed it should.

[wooz 341]

Spoiler

i want what they have

 

[Tentoa 1991]

(This goes hard)

[Crevel 4727]

Spoiler

Can someone who took the effort to read it please give a summary of the post? It is very long (3512 words) and not formatted very well. Thank you.