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.

Eredael read a copy of the missive as he reclined upon a daybed in a marble tower some distance from the Silver State's borders, relaxing after an afternoon of enchanting. "The void is our birthright."

holy based

Talareth lounged in the Society's tower, patting his hatless head while he read the missive, "I suppose it's time for me to acquire a hat of grand proportions..."

A Saki-Gaki surface-dweller stumbled upon a crumbled up copy of the missive in a back-alley, musing to himself. "I remember an Auvergnese gaijin teaching me how to cook frog leg... it cost way too many mon but it tasted sugoi. Maybe it will be cheaper after this?"

A depressed former paladin--now full-time bodybuilder--sat in a dark alleyway in Saki-Gaki brooding over the defeat of Zanu. Upon reading the Shugo's wisdom he suddenly stood up and rejoiced in enlightenment, a single tear falling from his eye, "SUBERASHIII. TO SKIP LEG DAY IS TO FOREGO MY PATRIOTIC DUTY!" He then departed the city to go squat sacks of rice in the storehouses.

[!] Several copies of a leatherbound book have appeared in Sakuragakure, bearing fine calligraphy and artistic depictions of the characters within. 四歌仙 GRAND RECORD OF THE FOUR POETRY IMMORTALS ___________ Foreword I, Kakinomoto no Akahito, in possession of ancient poetic scrolls passed down for countless generations within my bloodline, have sought to transcribe and compile an anthology of the Four Immortals of Classical Oyashiman poetry, who were foundational in the standardization of the classical waka, choka, haiku, and haikai styles now enjoyed in tavern and court alike. ___________ I. 遍照 Konjō An ancient monk from Bachi-shoto, his early life was faced with the wanton destruction of the Fourth Great Pirate Disturbance which decimated the port cities of the Western archipelago. He was the first poet to practice the choka style, which typically but not always features alternating lines of five and seven syllables. His imagery revolved around the pursuit of internal harmony and political unity. ___________ “Heart of Oyashi scattered across the turtles and shattered by stormy seas brought together again under the blossom of sakura trees” ___________ “A stack of old books fingers stained by ink and quill to be wise is tiring” ___________ “Sharp like the horn of oni but tender like the summer sun are words from the lips of a lover” ___________ II. 祐子内親王家紀伊 Izumi Taishinnō-ke no Kii The first daughter of the mythical Daimyo Asatada of the famed Fujiwara clan, her mother was of common origins. Married to the second son of the Shogun, Izumi was renowned in her time for her beauty and sensibility. Primarily practicing the court-standard waka style, she exuded the traditional Oyashiman melancholy. She nobly committed seppuku during the Heavenly Disruption of Commerce to avoid being taken hostage by the infamous Li-ren invader Chao Ling, the bastard Marquis of Bongleng. ___________ “Meaningless, meaningless to watch the flowers wither but while their beauty fades My heart opens again.” ___________ “Winter nights are long seeming endless as the sea from Yamatai to Gushiken The kami warm our tea” ___________ “No, I do not want My wants are ever-shifting Like a sand-snake in the desert“ ___________ III. 天命開柿本別天皇 Kakinomoto no Taifu, posthumous name Amenokotohirakasuwake Perhaps the most famous of the ancient classical waka-poets in the old country, Taifu was the progenitor of the Kakinomoto line, a long-standing family of yōsei poets, calligraphers, and philosophers from Dodaitase. He was the court poet for three Shoguns across seven decades, and for this was granted the posthumous name Amenokotohirakasuwake. His verses characteristically espouse the natural beauty of the islands of Oyashi. ___________ “Dull moon in the sky, The misty autumn night Concealed in a blanket The stag and wolf alike” ___________ “Footsteps of shinobi like raindrops upon the roof A humble pitter-patter Signaling the season new” ___________ “Crashing thunder and roaring waves Triumphant are the winds of Dodaitose.” ___________ “Diamonds and gold, Kimonos of silk Even the blossoming sakura Has not the splendor of parenthood.” ___________ IV. 素性法師 Akabeko Jinsai The first and most esteemed of the oni poets, he lived in the early days when humans and oni-kind first began to intermix. Initially fearing him to be a raider, the villagers of Chomokyo, a fishing town in Fukukaze, soon learned his loud grunting had a soulful rhythm. He is the founder of the haikai-style, a baser genre popular in taverns and under the influence of sake, with imagery revolving around the mundane and vulgar pleasures of daily life. It is said that he sired as many children as he wrote verses, and some believe his spirit to have incarnated as a minor kami of fertility following his death; they call him Akabeko-kami and light candles in his honour. ___________ “Konnichi’ug Your mother’s bosom I rest there Yare yare.” ___________ “Butahito, katsuhito Small small man Majo majo, majomomo Oni lady big.” ___________ “Smoke of cactus green High on mountain top, Ahshu dubai gasu fushi Down goes the large rock” ___________ Transcribed with reference to ancient familial scrolls, this anthology of poetry was compiled in Year 177 SA (1154 Kamijikan) [!] A signature stamp was boldly imprinted at the bottom 柿本赤人 Kakinomoto no Akahito

((Minecraft Name: Nen) Name: Arethil Sullas Age: 344 Vote 1: Alaion Miravaris Vote 2: Alaion Miravaris

A grey-eyed 'thill seated in the square clutched a copy of the missive, examining its contents with apparent enthusiasm. "Progress is the republic," He affirmed.

"The pretender made it clear she has no understanding of Haelun'orian philosophy or tradition, or even its governmental structure. Had she been capable of speech beyond that of a mentally deficient bortu she may well have had her claims legitimized in the eyes of the Malauriran, an ancient cultural body far superseding whatever politics may presently grip the city. It is further evident she would rather rely on thugs and their weapons rather than mind and merit; in doing so she profanes the dialectics that form the very fundament of what it mean to be Mali'thill. Her claims were and remain to be baseless, supported solely by foreigners who seek to interrupt a tradition carried forth for millennia in their lust for power." Eredael mused towards his old companions following the humorous display in the Citadel.