The Mighty Subudai!

[Samson Option 9652]

Observing the ranks of his own soldiery, Sauros Alanbataar watches curtly as some of the nomads sneer and chuckle as they polish their scimitars, falxes, tabar axes, and rub serum of cacti onto their composite bows; effectively driving them to harden and become sturdier. Looking to the Pontifex of the Blackwood Legion, Cailean, he nods curtly towards the ranks as they sloppily stand; yet trying to correct their lines to impress the idea that they are learning to become organized. Shining a mischievous smile towards the men and women dotting the desert sands in the calming night temperatures, he holds up his composite bow and declares their marching location as the Pontifex shouts out commands to follow himself and Sauros. The clutter of men and women move with a beeline evident in a soldiery learning the ropes of command, obedience, and discipline as they leave the vividly designed and exotically smelling camp of the Jahvids and head towards the Orc Camp west of the Cloud Temple.

Meanwhile, the Orcs were clamoring through their Goi towards the same camp, armed to the teeth and bearing insults for each mile they traveled towards their battle to be. The night being their cover, they moved without need to be out of sight, led by torch for the Orcs, incense for the Subudai and Legion. Approaching towards the camp, the Orcs and Subudai trade words confirming their presence and identity as the Orc's armor would clink, metal to flesh, and the Subudai's lamellar and chain would shake and shiver. With the rare show of competitive flair, Rex Pok'Ugluk and Khagan Sauros Alanbataar bark orders of getting into lines, leaving Sauros impressed with a beaming smile as his nomads stand alert and facing forward; shoulder to shoulder and man and women interchangeably holding a proper line.

Marching into formations, Pok lingered with Sauros enough to inform him that the Subudai and Legion would flank the Dwarves in battle; leaving as he noted the determined nod from the Khagan. A guide Uruk, by the name of Motsha Brevias, was leading the flanking party as they divided at a forked river leading towards Karik; the Dwarven Nation. Walking into a desert east of the Dwarven Lands, the two forces sprinted and with scouts ahead, were told that much to their chagrin, it was not to be a open battle; but a siege. Bolts and arrows being flung caught the attention of the main force as they faltered backwards to gather the flanking Subudai and Blackwoods. Scattering through the desert, the Orcs and Subudai stepping knowledgeably across the sands and the Legion marching with trouble, the forces found large dunes to hide under to avoid arrow fire as the whirring of crossbow sinews and releasing of bowstrings filled the air.

Sliding atop and down the dunes, the Subudai notch their composite bows and retaliate as the Orcs organize their detonating wares and figure ways to assault the sturdy fort with haste. Under heavy fire and various retaliatory fire, both sides stand stoically as Orcs attempt to lob explosives and gain sturdy holes that would not give to traverse through...

[Part 1 Complete]

[Samson Option 9652]

It would seem a dream had turned into a catatonic nightmare, one that started with the vividness of many cultures splashing across the lands of Levanthus, Sauros making his travels as he acts as a guide to many far and between the Levanthusan lands. Meeting the steadfast Frijots of the dark pines in Varivik, to seeing the Jahvids set the first stones in the desert; unfortunately falling ill as of late and progress halting; to meeting Relgard Sintel of the village Sanctum and discovering one of the fabled Ferrum Wardens in the deeps of the Man'gul plains. Now, it seems as if this ancient order that was once held by those who roamed the plains in the past; of the Ancient Subudai was shattered within Sauros.

One would wonder why such a dream was quelled so swiftly, Sauros was no man to build an empire, no man to build a grand tower to be felled like timber in the forest, no man to entrust so much wealth or material prizes that could be pilfered; he was a simple nomad by a simple creed. The Subudai ever since having splint asunder from the families who were guided through the Verge Portal by the Wandering Wizard himself had striven to keep their lives as simple and noble in the sense of no greed being able to take root in the mind and hearts, surely Sauros had kept that creed to his heart. His beginnings in Asulon was marked by success of collecting the many divided Kotansmani [Tribesmen] into one confederacy within the outstretched camps that lines the southern Seventian border, even now does a colorful camp lay vividly across the oceans of tall grasses in the lands of Levanthus; seductive in their transfixing colors and designs.

The Subudai have now separated, some such as the Kirvels and a few Ulfgars live within Varivik, the Jahvids desiring to build a grand and arabesque settlement in the desert in Levanthus; whilst individual Kotansmani [Tribesmen] such as Aldjiro Sel'Ahim traveled throughout and settled within Auroch Nor. Such is not the reason however, but Sauros recognizes the fluidity of life, one to not harken nor harass his Kotansmani to exist only in one place upon this vast continent. Throughout the plains, many of the Subudai still gather and segregate in harmonious cultivation of their horse-back games and calming traversing of the oceans green.

His dream began to dissolve upon finding young Milena Kirvel who in her young age had found comfort in confiding her needs in her toddler ways to Sauros, his pleasure to have granted her a small hovel within Varivik. As they entered and she gave a aggravated complaint for bedding and a place for her trinkets and weapons, Sauros shone his broad smile as he joked, but swiftly responded by dragging a woolen cot and a chest affixed from pine wood into the house; resting atop the chest as he made conversation with the young Milena Kirvel. As she acquired about her father Syrmatae, Vladivoj, they ruminated about the situation that was occurring; how it was suspected that Varin Ulfgar had died due to his missing presence. The next question was one that drove Sauros into his nightmare... 'Why do people have to die?'.

With that, his smile faded, the creases on his grizzled face lowering, as if bowing to a question that was to force Sauros to abdicate his happiness. He stumbled at first audible protest, wondering how to explain to a child such philosophical questions; but what drove him into the nightmare was the many faces that seem to appear to beg the question for added importance. The faces were very much real, but of people very much dead, perhaps if he had required evidence of their faces; they would be mottled and decayed. Sauros's posture slumps as he stares out the window, little Milena tilting her head in such youthful curiosity as to why her question stumped him so. As he gains composure upon noticing her curious look, he grapples for excuses to give to her, attempting to explain that death is required to defend oneself, but nonetheless the shame was acclimating biting at his every excuse to eat him whole.

With lingering words and the young girl distracted from the oddity of noises from the forests near her new home, he escaped as if a man fresh from the prison cell. He stumbled throughout the streets, blinded as each face continued to keep their presence within his view, begging the question more and more; taunting him at his evident guilt. He looks up as one of the Mongol Kotansmani ride through atop a steppe horse, Tavros Archigos, and with withdrawn glance and a saddened tone, he slips a note towards Sauros Alanbataar. Sauros looks up, righting his felt hat back atop his head and opens the note with his dexterous fingers and reads:

"*A hawk drops a small note at your feet, it then dives down, cooing, apearing upset, it lands on your shoulder and nestles in your neck* Dear father. I am sorry for all my absence as of late, I hear of fighting between the Dervas and our people. I wish you luck in all your tasks. I am writing this letter to warn you... Oren is to power-hungry, they chase anything with land, and crush everyone in their path... The Teutons are developing something in Fich-loch... I have no idea what it is though... All I know is that Oren as a whole must be stopped. I am a lost cause father, I am dying. Not of old age, or even of poison. I have been betrayed by my fathers sister. She gave me up as a spy to Oren, and they are after me. I leave what remains of my chests at camp to the Kotan, may they use it well. Please take care of my hawk, Zar'ton for me... He was my best friend, he like carp, but won't eat the eyes. I loved you as my father... I hope you can be proud of me, as I will not go down without a fight. My time on this world is done, continue the legacy of the Subudai, keep he kotans tight. Do not let power corrupt us! My only advice in leaving this world is th- *the rest of the note is splattered in blood, with only the ending readable* Your son, Antian Nightblade... Goodbye father.."

Upon reading to the last letter, Sauros looks up blindly, devoid of any facial expression; Tavros' words playing no effect as if deaf tone to his ears. He continues to walk towards the shore of the Ulfgar Bay, observing the Orme Lang with nary a smile, nor change of facial expression. Catatonic was to describe his current feelings, Tavros staring in sadness at the Khagan's stupor. With a sudden spit of sand, Sauros falls to his knees and bends over to view himself in the water's reflection. As he viewed himself, he remembered his creed of simplicity, but also of surviving of what obstacles man would randomly endeavor and resolved himself there; the sounds returning in a rush and he lifted up his head at Tavros' calling.

He walked more and more firmly towards Tavros and took him by the elbow and drew him close whilst Tavros stood mounted atop his steppe horse.

'It wawld' seem bawt' fur' a minute I fur'gawt' tha' way awf' tha' Subudai. Yakshte, I will nevur' again, I mawst' resawlv' myself fur' tha' pain I caws'd. I wawl' prewv' awr' creed thawt' stewd' tha' test awf' time. Bear Witness thawt' I wawl' allaw' cawl'ture tew' graw' awn' this very soil, fur' I shawl' ride tew' visit the many places and write fur' tha' pee'pul awf' many generatiuns' awf' wah't had stewd' in these lands and wah't stands naw'!'

[Translation: It would seem but for a minute I forgot the way of the Subudai. Bullshit, I will never again, I must resolve myself for the pain I caused. I will prove our creed that stood the test of time. Bear witness that I will allow culture to grow on this very soil, fur I shall ride to visit the many places and write for the people of many generations of what had stood in these lands and what stands now!]

[Samson Option 9652]

[The Khagan Sauros Alanbataar has removed himself from leadership as RPly, Agrabah will be developed and led by the Jahvids, Varivik by the three Chieftains Gunjar [xx_David_xx], Uvel [wardog4445], and Vladivoj [KoToTamoPeva], and Sanctum being the newest and third 'City-State' led by Relgard Sintel [Darkdragon274]. I am allowing this thread to be turned into a diary-style RP thread for ANY SUBUDAI to use.]

[EmeraldStag 165]

[[that was exciting to read, though I think that some of us are still waiting for part two~ No need to sound like I am trying to rush you or anything, I am just confused as to the parts of battle I was unable to witness, seeing as a few posts ago, I killed my character near the beginning of the battle, though not intentionally at the beginning. Anyway, was a great read I was on the edge of my seat, you are a great writer.]]

[Aelvus 15]

As Antian limps slowly, slumping down into a rock crevice, a sharp ain hits his side and he has a flashback. As Antian releases his bird to Sauros, a sharp pain hits his back. Turning around, he sees blade running him through. Turning around he stared at his soon-to-be killer cloaked in a dark hood, his face all but visible... Did he even have a face? now that he thinks about it, Antian is still unsure. One thing Antian was sure of at that time, he was near death now, almost bleeding out. One sentence is heard from his assassin, "Sleep my child, sleep." Recognising the voice of his father, Antian quickly jolts, now infused with rage. Staring into the eyes of his true father, his birth father, he growls with spite. "You are no father to me Aeros, never were." Aeros, staring in the cold, almost dead eyes of his son, smiles. Spitting on the ground, Icarus shouts at Antian. " You are in cohorts with oren you bastard of a child! " Antian's face drains of color, now greyer than normal. "You... You idiot.. I am a Mongol of the Subudai... You actually think I am with those power-hungry humans?" Aeros steps back, surprised at Antian. " You... Followed in my footsteps.. Even after I killed your ***** of a mother infront of you?" Antian, now very weak from the wound in his center, buckles to his knees. "Killing is in my blood father, you know that..." Aeros's face now loses color, aware now of what has happened. Kneeling by his son, Aeros rips off his shirt and wraps it around Antian, surpressing the bleeding. Antian slowly begins to recover. Looking up to Aeros he now sees what has happened to his father's face. Burned, charred to every slightest tissue.. even every hair is missing. "By the creator-" Antian says, but then infront of him, his father simply, dies. Antian, now frightened and slightly hurt, limps away, dripping blood in the cold desert sand as he goes. Slumping down into a rock crevice. Antian jolts back into conciousness, aware it is daylight. Unsure if he will make it or not, Antian slowly goes to sleep.

OOC NOTE: Antian will be percieved as dead to Sauros and missing to others. As I am banned this is the best way to resolve RP conflictions. Should I ever be unbanned, this RP event will have taken a toll on Antian.

[Samson Option 9652]

All that can be heard this far away is the tufts of sand being kicked up and the whining of the steppe horse beneath him. His breathe in front of him is transparent, but the entrance to his grave is opaque. As the horse protested the continuous kicking in the hinds, the stallion standing with a quaking weakness as it's horseshoes grinds into the sand. His goatee drips with the sweat of a long ride, whereto is purposely unknown, but his life has slowly subsided. As was the death rite of the Subudai, for the man or woman nearing their death, would write of what they remembered and turned to ride into nothingness. The Subudai were different from their kin, the Dervas and the Hanseti in the fact that they faced death in utter silence, in utter loneliness.

Such was the way of the plains, they enjoyed their company until death invited them towards what transcending path they'd discover for themselves and only themselves. Such an action was not riddled with questions and sneer disbelief, but solemn respect as they recognized that what would await their souls may not particularly warrant a clasp of the shoulder and the harkening guffaw, but rather a damning bow of the head and a reconciling quiet as each and every Subudai would eventually die. So it was now that Sauros Alanbataar would ride into the desert, onto his place of rest and bare his last thoughts in his own company. Where as he enjoyed a thousand feasts alongside his nomadic companions, it was this last feast with his memories that he would be able to gorge himself, or take to admiring what he accomplished or what he enjoyed most in life.

The few companions who saw him make his departure nodded their head in recognition and continued their daily affairs, rather than outcry in sorrow. Now, as his horse protested going further, he dismounted and continued on foot. He had taken with him his Draco banner, the dragon's head sewn of leather mounted upon a laminated pole. The sound was eerie as the dragon-scales whistled with the dry desert air shifting between them, he began at a modest sprint, but soon after calmed into a jog as he viewed the endless horizon of the glowering sands. As his footsteps slowed and his body lurched with tire, he fell to his knees and looked outward towards the desert. A faint smile flickered as he realized his death was nearing, riding behind him to lay a shoulder.

Closing his eyes, his memories flashed before his eyes, it was as if he was experiencing heaven at that moment. Remembering his recollection of the Subudai upon the northern riverbed of the Salvus River, remembering the sacking of Rienna and the migration and raids on Ursakar and Sarun. The pilfering of the vaults of Alras at the time of ruling of Syrio Forel, the klomps with the Orcs of the War Uzg. What came after was the most refreshing, what felt like a breeze upon the skin to raise goosebumps as he remembered the lovely raising of Varivik, the vivid encampment of the Subudai in Levanthus. He remembered the young, the old, the strong, and the beautiful of the Subudai; of Varin Ulfgar's first reply to the recollection and his hardy warriors of the Ulfgar. Of Delthor Ulfgar, Rocco, Maria Ulfgar and Olaf. He remembered the Mongol Kotan, of Tavros Archigos, Aetos Kynigos, Aldjiro Sel'Ahim, Antian Nightblade, Foros and Midori Tengu. The crafty Kirvels, Vladivoj as their leader and of Atila, Ragnorak, Milena, and Ramaji. The last to comprise his memories were of the artisan Jahvids, painted of ornate and geometric beauty; Manuchehr, Borya, and Darius.

He frowns curtly as he feels the hand on his shoulder, opening his eyes to see a face devoid of emotion. His time has come, Sauros knows his death is now.

[OOC: It was a great run, my summer break is near over. I enjoyed the company of the plethora of players that roleplayed within the Subudai or the neighboring forces that influenced the RP. I will not be participating, but on the forums and in-game writing books. If one could decipher, Sauros has left a good amount of tomes that describe the entirety of the culture and history of the Subudai and Dervas. The Subudai had separated from Hanseti and were not directly communicating with them, thus I have no memories ICly of what my fathers passed down in oral traditions. Mirtok has full Lore-rights to Ancient Hanseti Lore.

PS: No, the books are not at my yurt, it will unravel into a questline of sorts :3]

[Aelvus 15]

Wedged behind his rock crevice, Antian Nightblade hears the pained whine of a horse. Clenchting his tattered clothing, he starts to wimper. Unknowing as to why, or even what would bring it on at a place like this. Something inside Antian just knew... something knew... that he was now alone in the world... He looks into the sky, tears streaming down his face. One phrase passes in his head, and these words will forever stick with him. "The Legacy must continue."Wretched with pain, tears freshly dried on his rough, cracked skin, Antian walks off toward what was once his home.

[steelersfan1221 300]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.