The first post of the Death of Mors cycle... re-posted

[Shyriath]

Night hung over the village of Hure, the cool mists drifting in between the low-lying hills of Benacia. Most of the villagers were asleep, midnight having already come and gone; the pale silver light of the moon illuminated the empty streets in a pale glow, revealing no movement. Little happens in Hure in the winter, before the spring comes, the callamenni are herded out into the fields, and the tourists start pouring in. It was a sleepy place, with little reason to suspect that events of great portent were occurring.Within one of the larger houses of the village, a secret gathering had been called.The house itself was an older dwelling, done in stone with thatched roofs; though it must once have been a cultured place, it was partly in ruins. Sitting on the edge of town, it was rarely visited, owned by the head of the clan ta Pennúrissa; once upon a time, they had been a powerful clan, descended from the Syrradán himself, but were nearly forgotten nowadays. The only people who ever came to the manor house were the strange friends and associates of the eccentric clan head, suspicious folk all, and the villagers rarely wished anything to do with them or the house.Some of these were gathered in the still-intact study of the house, along with their host, Rynnu Pendúra ta Pennúrissa. They were grim types with burning eyes, men and women whose faces carried the deep marks that only absolute devotion and righteous wrath can bring. Their manner of dress was distinctive; not so much strange – most Benacian peasants wore similar homespun garments – as excessively traditional. The Benacian long vest, nowadays worn only on special occasions and in tourism advertisements; the sharp-heeled boots, such as those worn by callamen riders; the religious tokens, kept mainly by the extremely devout, hung on leather thongs around their necks. These tokens, small ceramic discs painted with the avatars of gods, are rarely seen, and most wear only the one with the sigil of B’caw. But the members of this gathering wore many, most of them belonging to less popular deities: Metun, protectoress of fisherman; Alcun, lord of the winds; even Chenrasir, the divine herdsman, whose status as a god was considered almost heretical. These were all old gods, the ancient divinities from before the coming of Cedrism, and of B’caw.These almost stereotypically Benacian people stared across the table at the other group that had agreed to see them, arriving earlier in the evening. Being visitors to the house, the villagers hadn’t paid them any mind either, lumping in with the other strange sorts that passed through; but these were no friends of the clan head, or his traditionalist associates. They were obviously wealthier and cultured men, dressing in the fashion common among the modern merchants. Their ancestors, taking in the riches that the days of the Commonwealth had brought, had supplanted the old clans in their power to shape events; nowadays, they remained connected with commerce and money and power, following the pulse of modernity in order to maintain their lifestyle.One of these was the first to speak. “None of us ever expected to come here… unless it were in the form of a coffin.” His style of speech was bland, retaining the peculiarities of Shirerithian English but otherwise unaccented. “Your people haven’t exactly been friendly to us in the past.”“Ye nin can buh-lame us, citee man,” replied one of the traditionalists, a great brute of a man with dark hair and a beard. His Benacian accent is artificially thick, as if he were trying hard to sound distinctive. “Witha yer pah-wer taykin ways…”He stopped at a hand signal from their host, Rynnu Pendúra ta Pennúrissa. It was evident who was in charge of the traditionalists. “You’ll parton my frent here,” he stated, in a less confusing accent, which was nonetheless marked by some odd consonantal shifts: a mark of upper-class Benacian. “But of course, he has a point: those of us who wish for a return to the tratitions of our forefathers haff suffered badly at the hants of ruthless commercial interests. Your acceptance of the culture of the outsiters has helpt to destroy that which makes us Pennár.”The city man scowled. “We choose not to hold to ancient superstitions and outlandish dress styles. We choose not to ignore the world, clinging to old stories…”“You choose,” suggested Rynnu, “to sell your souls and the history of our people, getting money and comfort in exchansh. You choose to corrupt the young with stories of life in the wide world of the foreigners. You choose to help our monstrous half-human Count erote the ways of life that he does not ant cannot comprehent, with his twistet brain.” “We are making life better… for ourselves, yes, but for others as well! Bringing knowledge, and wealth, and prestige to Benacia! Trying to make it shine as a beacon to the rest of the world! And Count Shyriath has helped us in that…” the portly man trailed off, as if he had nearly given away some deep secret.Rynnu smiled unpleasantly. “He has helpt you in that,” he continued, “until now? …Yes, we know of your falling out with our good demon Count.” He leaned forward into the light, revealing a young face, but a hard and calculating one, the face of a man who had lost what he thought was his, and would do anything to get it back. “You see, holding to our tratitions does not mean we are bumpkins. We haff informants… spies, if you will… and we haff been kept appraised of your quarrels. And this is why we callt you here.”The city man glanced at his surprised colleagues. Offering them a questioning look, he received several nods in reply and sighed. Turning to Rynnu, he nodded. “Very well. Yes, we have been quarreling with the Count. At first, we were pleased with what he was doing; he seems to be genuinely interested in the welfare of the island. But we’ve had significant differences with him over his insistence on enforcing the ban on political parties.”“Ahhhhhh yes… one of the most sacret edicts of the Kaisers.” The use of the word Kaiser was enough to draw the notice of his men; it was a powerful symbol of rejection. For ten thousand years, the people of Benacia had called the overlords of their island, the distant but all-powerful emperors and the petty kings of that had extended their reach over Benacia, by the ancient title of Thon. The connotations of the word were not merely those of a mortal ruler, but of a nearly godlike master of fate; and ever since Benacia had passed under the rule of Shireroth, the Kaisers had been called by that same title.“Oh, yes, I dare to say it,” he continued, noting even the shocked look on the faces of the merchants. “The ancient title of respect should not be demeant by placing it on foreign despots. In the beginning times, it was for the High Kings of the island, our own native rulers, that the name of Thon was reserfed, ant I, at least, shall keep that in my heart. …But come…”“Yes,” replied the merchant, squirming a little. “At any rate, he refused to bend on the issue, saying it was beyond his power to go against the rules of the… of the Kaiser. For a time, when he was made Duke of Brookshire, it was better; he was away on the mainland, and his representative was pliable. But then he came back here, and now… we have no means of speech. We’ve been permitted to talk to the Imperial Ombudsman, of course, but that won’t change anyone’s mind. The political party ban keeps us from organizing in our own interests. Our old rights are being whittled down, and when we ban together to protest, we get thrown in prison. And it’s all the worse because of the new Kaiser…”Rynnu nodded thoughtfully. The internal politics of the Imperial Bloodlines were complex and strange, and had unpredictable effects. In the chaos that resulted in the abdication of Wyltheow I, and the very short reign of Lacrymosa II, the formerly dominant branch of the Line of Mortis had been largely wiped out, and the head of a junior branch came to lead the bloodline. Shortly after the ascension of Los II, this new primary Mortis line came to settle in Benacia, where they adopted several elements of Benacian culture; and eventually, one of this new line came to the throne as Kaiser Mors IV.This had been bad for political groups of all types. The Kaiser had kept a close eye on events in his homeland, and at his bidding the Count had done his best to keep a lid on the demands of his subjects. Even the relatively friendly organizations, such as those formed by these merchants to protect their business, had been targeted. The advantage was now with those who had been hostile to the Shirerithian regime from the start.“You see,” replied Rynnu slowly, clearly savoring the moment, “this is why we askt you here. The Silent Brotherhoot hass always known that foreign kings cannot be trustet to keep the best interests of the Pennám and their native lant in mynt. My ancestor, the great Pendúra himself, gave his life in orter to keep them from Benacia; my own clan becan when we were cast out for refusing to supmit to the Kaisers when they first came. We haff waited long for the moment when we could free our islant for all time. Ant now, I think, you ant your brethren in the cities haff begun to see that this is the only way to achieff your desires as well.”The merchant nodded curtly. “If the Count insists on remaining no more than an Imperial lackey, we want nothing more to do with him or his masters. I suppose you wish an alliance or something.”“Of course. We haff numerous differences, but surely they can be solft after we haff forced Shireroth off our soil, correct? If we haff that common goal, that is enough for now. Ant we belief the benefit will be mutual; you haff money ant power in the cities, we haff appeal with the common people that you cannot hope to reach in the country.”The merchant leader leaned back. “We’ll have to consider this carefully. Trust takes a long time to build… and moreover, we’ll need to plan on how to defeat the Shirerithian military.”“But of course,” replied Rynnu benevolently. “Giff our regards to your fellows in Port Benacia. If you decide to move forwart with us, we can bekin to plan our next moofe.”@@@@@After the merchants had gone, the members of the Silent Brotherhood conversed among themselves for a while longer. The merchants were, more than likely, roped in; the loss of their old independence in money-making was far greater than their disdain for the traditional ways. But now, it was time to plan their own moves., said one of them, speaking in Benacian. Rynnu sniffed, as if such behavior could only be considered typical of foreigners. A shapely woman, her dark hair bound in a long braid, answered. asked the man who had first spoken to the merchants. replied Rynnu smugly. he gestured at one of the traditionalists, older and more timid than most of their gathering. He was loyal to the Silent Brotherhood, but was viewed by his compatriots as a useless man; he was no fighter, no planner. They had never known what their lord kept him around for. continued Rynnu, as if reading their thoughts, This got their attention. The ancient artifact known as the Sky Pillar of Tuné, a great metal tower filled with incomprehensible technology, had existed in the high hills of the island for as long as legend could recount. It was known that Count Shyriath had had studies performed on it, but few had been successful in uncovering more of the tower’s secrets.Sarcal stood up to speak, looking nervous. Rynnu spoke again. asks Caré.

[Kaiser Alejian I]

There's more to this isnt there? I demand more!

[Fax Celestis]

It's down there, as "A Benacian Tale." and "The Death Of A Kaiser"Or you could just skip over to SSHIT and read the whole script. I haven't changed it much. And who would have thought that my fate, it would conjure this twist in the road on which I have wandered?Each vision and dream now completely dismembered, to give one's whole life and find nothing's remembered...And what good is a life that leaves nothing behind? Not a thought or a dream that might echo in time

[Kaiser Alejian I]

Right. I knew that.

[Shyriath]

Never questioned it for a minute, my Kaiser.

[Kaiser Alejian I]

exactly. Good man.