Nen

Manqu, son of Manqu, the paqo of the Tawintinsuyin, crumpled up a copy of the missive and threw it into the fire-pit at the centre of his wooden hut. From the flame he brewed his ayahuasca tea, and a great prophecy was revealed to him. 'Mama Quilla hides her face on the night of this joining, yet even a moonless sky still holds its stars. In the morning, Inti will not stop to ask from where the earth was born when he warms it with his daylight. Know this: The river that swallows another may grow mighty, or may lose its name forever.'

Manqu, son of Manqu, knew not of the pact wrought by the young Uru. Still, the paqo's perceptive eyes, blessed by the weeping tears of Viracocha, could see a growing wisdom in that girl. Beneath his austere and ineffable visage, he silently rejoiced for the kin of his kin. It was another knot in the quipu of fate, heralding the rise of the Tawintinsuyin and the return of the huaca to the realm of Man.

Bartholomew Diddicus sat before his hearth and beside a great mount of puff pastries filled with all manner of cremes and custards. Within his pudgy clutches was a letter that detailed the passing of his dear friend Alexandre. As the fire crackled beyond, streams of tears began to pour down the lordling's rotund face alike the spring meltwater descending from a gently sloping hillside. "Oh mon dieu!" The fat boy cried out, raising a hefty fist to the sky, "Mon ami. . . I shall avenge you. . ."

"So much emotion. . . mitashi need a drink." Dokumaru waddled away from a performance with tears in his eyes.

Dokumaru read out a copy in his boardroom in Yorumachi. "Atsuko-sama supah wise. True mastery in business requires being disciplined like rock but fluid like water. When all is quiet, mitashi hear only the sound of the mon counter. . ."

sugoi

american imperialism knows no bounds

do you not find it culturally insensitive and even outright discriminatory to refer to the gold allotted region as zion?

i am columbusing my christopher rn

Plegbert chortled toothily as he cleaned off his mace and rode into the sunset with his comrades. A crisp new spyglass hung at his hip, and he threw away items galore as his inventory had become overrun. "Man was bare skint still."

Tournament Participation Form Full Name (incl. title, if applicable): Vanya Nation: Empire of Man House: Carrion-Tuvyic [[IGN: Nen]]

'Generational aura loss,' thought Vanya after hallucinating the OOC noticeboard in a revelation from GOD.

"Who's gonna carry the boats? YOU ARE! Who's gonna carry the boats? YOU ARE!" Kokuryu Jinsai, former Vindicator of Xan, shouted at himself as he hoisted a canoe over each shoulder and marched in laps outside the walls of Caurost. After completing his one hundredth rep the hulking yosei dropped the canoes and hit a front double bicep flex, muscles glistening under the rising sun. "ORUSASHIAERU, I AM COMING FOR YOU!"

The squire of Sir Sirius Mareno stared at the swordfish sigil on the seal of the letter addressed to him. He had seen the Knight-Commander's grim injuries, and his covered body carried out from the Alban clinic to be returned to its rightful resting place in Myrine. To Vanya, those sights seemed less final than this letter. Until the moment he took it from the courier's hands he had been half-convinced Sirius would return with naught but a slight limp and a handful of new scars that would go easily camouflaged on that man's already ruinously scarred face. In his mind, Sirius Mareno was as much a mythical figure as he was a teacher. A legendary knight, one pried from the stories told to each boy growing up in the realms of Man. An old man with one-eye, out of his prime, that could still run circles around any hotheaded young soldier in the dueling pits. A man that lead the fray against countless daemons, devils and darkspawn driven by nothing but duty. Duty to the Empire. Duty to Mankind. A man that was too stubborn to be killed. The young Carrion finally swallowed his apprehension and pried open the letter. He had hidden his tears in public, maintained a strong and sturdy face. But now as he read the words under candlelight they flowed. Soon after that deep sadness was replaced with a fiery, vengeful conviction. "I will not fail you, Sir." The squire put down the letter and picked up his blade, heading out from his chambers and into the cold darkness of night. It was time to train.

Vanya read over a copy of the pamphlet, a wry grin forming on the squire's lips. He then tossed it into the campfire, laughing over the gossip with his elusive lady-friend as they eloped on a sunset picnic in the foothills east of Elizabeth.