(OOC: Mischievous story mode. Heehee.)
Sitting in his manor in Benacia, Shyriath begins a serious pondering. A pondering about the course of Benacia, of Yardistan, of Shireroth. A pondering about the ways of power, and of legacy, and of continuation. A pondering about keeping one's grip, and of letting go.
...Then he decides that he cannot ponder on an empty stomach and goes to fix himself a tuna sandwich. He can continue pondering tomorrow.
And then, after he reaches a decision, he will summon his troops, and the people of his County, and speak to them.
Hmmmmm.
Moderator: Gman Russell
Nah, not quite. Nice guess though.
Shyriath stands before his people the next day. A curious but weary crowd has gathered in the great marketplace, cloven in two by the inner harbor at whose head Shryiath's podium stands. The crowd is smaller than it might once have been, and the city around them in a mild but ever-worsening state of neglect. Some years earlier, a great plague had stalked the land, reducing the population and nearly wiping out the great callamenni, the giant chickens, that sustained them.
Disease was thus componded by famine, and many of the villages and towns of the island had gone empty. Too few people to maintain the infrastructure, too few people to transport goods or repair buildings or carry communications. Port Benacia had retained some civilization by virtue of its connections with the outside world, but beyond, all had come to darkness; where people survived, they struggled to do so, or else tried to come here.
Shyriath clears his throat, and a microphone carries his strained voice over the harborplace. "People of Benacia," he begins. "We have suffered much. ...No, that is not so true. YOU have suffered much. Many of your loved ones, your friends and family, have perished in the aftermath of the Southering Plague.
"Perhaps just as much to be mourned, the old ways of life, the traditions and the rituals, the words in the tongue your ancestors spoke, have suffered with you. Much was forgotten in the struggle to survive ravening hunger and chaos, and I fear more may yet be forgotten. Even the great Sky Pillar on the high hill to the west, which speared the sky and shone like a beacon in the light of the rising sun, has fallen to the ground after thousands of years, its strange machinery broken or stolen by desperate passersby.
"Troubles have plagued the wider realm of Shireroth as well in these years, and its recovery may be long in coming. Help was not as abundant as it might have been in better days, and yet what we recieved was what kept this city from being utterly emptied and cast into ruin. And with such aid, you have been able to survive, and to begin the long task of rebuilding."
The dragon pauses, and sighs, before continuing; his scaly form looks bowed, as if under a great weight. "And again, I must say YOU, not WE. For I could not help you, I could not save you. I, who was supposed to lead you, could only sit in silence and wait..."
Which is true enough. The sympathy of the crowd, though extant, is definitely muted.
"The old Benacia is gone. I have faith that you shall build a new Benacia, more glorious than ever, and that you will have the full support of the Duke in this. But you will not have me... you will not NEED me." Shyriath straightens. "In the next few days, I shall vacate the Manor that I have inhabited during my stay here, and I shall travel to the Isle of Yardistan, and inform the Duke of my abdication as the Count of Benacia.
"Whether I shall become a Count of some other place, or wander free as a Yardistani, I know not. But it does not matter; my fate is not your concern, and there shall be a bright future ahead for you." He begins to step down from the podium, but adds, "I wish you well," before leaving.
Shyriath stands before his people the next day. A curious but weary crowd has gathered in the great marketplace, cloven in two by the inner harbor at whose head Shryiath's podium stands. The crowd is smaller than it might once have been, and the city around them in a mild but ever-worsening state of neglect. Some years earlier, a great plague had stalked the land, reducing the population and nearly wiping out the great callamenni, the giant chickens, that sustained them.
Disease was thus componded by famine, and many of the villages and towns of the island had gone empty. Too few people to maintain the infrastructure, too few people to transport goods or repair buildings or carry communications. Port Benacia had retained some civilization by virtue of its connections with the outside world, but beyond, all had come to darkness; where people survived, they struggled to do so, or else tried to come here.
Shyriath clears his throat, and a microphone carries his strained voice over the harborplace. "People of Benacia," he begins. "We have suffered much. ...No, that is not so true. YOU have suffered much. Many of your loved ones, your friends and family, have perished in the aftermath of the Southering Plague.
"Perhaps just as much to be mourned, the old ways of life, the traditions and the rituals, the words in the tongue your ancestors spoke, have suffered with you. Much was forgotten in the struggle to survive ravening hunger and chaos, and I fear more may yet be forgotten. Even the great Sky Pillar on the high hill to the west, which speared the sky and shone like a beacon in the light of the rising sun, has fallen to the ground after thousands of years, its strange machinery broken or stolen by desperate passersby.
"Troubles have plagued the wider realm of Shireroth as well in these years, and its recovery may be long in coming. Help was not as abundant as it might have been in better days, and yet what we recieved was what kept this city from being utterly emptied and cast into ruin. And with such aid, you have been able to survive, and to begin the long task of rebuilding."
The dragon pauses, and sighs, before continuing; his scaly form looks bowed, as if under a great weight. "And again, I must say YOU, not WE. For I could not help you, I could not save you. I, who was supposed to lead you, could only sit in silence and wait..."
Which is true enough. The sympathy of the crowd, though extant, is definitely muted.
"The old Benacia is gone. I have faith that you shall build a new Benacia, more glorious than ever, and that you will have the full support of the Duke in this. But you will not have me... you will not NEED me." Shyriath straightens. "In the next few days, I shall vacate the Manor that I have inhabited during my stay here, and I shall travel to the Isle of Yardistan, and inform the Duke of my abdication as the Count of Benacia.
"Whether I shall become a Count of some other place, or wander free as a Yardistani, I know not. But it does not matter; my fate is not your concern, and there shall be a bright future ahead for you." He begins to step down from the podium, but adds, "I wish you well," before leaving.
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Gman Russell
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- Joined: Thu Aug 23, 2001 3:31 pm
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A woman stood off to the side, watching Shyriath's speech with crossed arms and a concerned face. She had blue eyes and blonde hair cropped at the top of her shoulders. She wore all black, but on the lappel of her jacket she wore a strange insignia. She did not take her eyes off of the count for one second. Surely he did not see her....
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osmose1000
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Though he failed to notice the blonde woman, Shyriath did indeed hear the massive fart... and had he been in a less somber mood, he might've agreed that it was, indeed, totally sweet. Alas.
Shyriath continues on to his Manor (though it is his no longer) to remove a few last vital things...
(OOC: I must leave things as they are until the end of the month, since I'll be away in Italy... otherwise, I would've had Shyriath notice the blonde woman and speak to her. But if you want her to talk to him, Greg, have her follow him. When I get back, I can have him notice her, and they can talk at length, if you want.
Till my triumphant return from the land of pasta, I salute you all!)
Shyriath continues on to his Manor (though it is his no longer) to remove a few last vital things...
(OOC: I must leave things as they are until the end of the month, since I'll be away in Italy... otherwise, I would've had Shyriath notice the blonde woman and speak to her. But if you want her to talk to him, Greg, have her follow him. When I get back, I can have him notice her, and they can talk at length, if you want.
Till my triumphant return from the land of pasta, I salute you all!)
-
Gman Russell
- Posts: 3947
- Joined: Thu Aug 23, 2001 3:31 pm
- Location: Russell Castle, Mirioth
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