Post by RantzOn on Jun 20, 2010 19:46:24 GMT -5
Somewhere, Close to here, Not in the sense that you could get there in a day's journey by foot, or even horseback. No, I should say similar to here. Yes, that is much more appropriate.Lets begin again. Somewhere, Similar to our world, but in no means a short distance away, is the world of Ilivan. It is very much like our world, with familiar trees and blue skys. Deep seas and sprawling deserts, Forests as thick as your great uncle's eyebrows, and villages that are as simple as those of old, or as complex as need be. (It is likely you can blame the elves for those extravagant ones)
But what is different of this world, are it's inhabitants. And within this tome are tales and discriptions of each... From The wise and valiant frost elves of the north, or the wicked Tsun'Val of the deep down. The Desert Elves of Saccmir's Blade, a Pennensula to the south, Or the Beast-like, but deeply spiritual Dashkin of Westwood. Or perhaps the mysterious Kikatael of the Eastern Swamps?
No... no, You're much too wet behind the ears to fathom that. I keep forgetting you're not used to this realm. Lets start with something you might find simple to grasp.
Not as far north as the bitterly cold Ring of Northhelm, and not as south as the Tepid Coasts, are the far reaching Kingdom of Mordiem, Where those who the texts books call 'Those of the Realm of Man" Reside. Spanning many miles in either direction, blessed by mild winters and pleasant summers, Mordiem is among the most fertile farm lands of all of Ilivan. Rolling hills and white-walled houses mark towns, villages. And the Jewel of the Realm of Man, The city of the Tribunal. Where the strongest fort above ground resides, It's tallest tower rises several hundred feet, and the base is carved right into a shallow mountainside, Beautiful in it's own right, and worth it's own tale. But the tale I'll share for you is not in the capital city, but the farming village, a days horseride from the outer walls of the Tribunal, Turma.
Turma, in every way, shape, and form, normal. Far from the grandeur of the Tribunal, the local law is carried out by the local guilds. And more often then not, the Warriors Guild keeps the peace. Perhaps the lofty bookkeepers from the Crafter's Association are too busy counting beans, or the stuck up know-it-alls from the Library of the Tribunal stay locked in some study in their basement. But everyone would agree, a man trudging up the road in platemail is more intimidating then a old man with a staff.
And today, such a scene was happening outside of the McGrimbly's home, An Iron-clad fist pounding on the front door.
"Theodore! This is the third time you've been accused of theft!" The warrior shouted, Voice deep, the sort of authoritative tone that would command as much respect as it should strike fear when he shouts, and on this day, even the mountains would tremble. "Get out here before we break down the door!"
The man answered after a short moment, coming to the door. He was a lanky sort of man, unkempt raven hair hung over parts of his face, giving him an uncaring expression. He is dressed simply, a brown vest clasped thrice at his midsection by copper bands, and a white shirt seen underneath, sleeves that would natually settle about his wrists are folded up around past his elbows. With a quaint nod, he speaks in his usual brogue.
"Ah! Officer Chantly, Tis a good day t' see a stout man like y'self, Hardly could hear y' over all that shoutin' going on outside, oh-what d' I owe this visit t-urk!" As he's lifted up by his shirt collar.
"Don't play coy with me McGrimbly, the baker saw you walk off with sixteen silver pieces, Right off of his stall!" He shakes him once when he tries to speak over him. "So help me, If your next words are 'it was a misunderstanding' I'm going to drag you to the Tribunal Dungeon myself!"
Again Theodore tries to speak, thinking over his words, and finnaly speaking, hands out to either side. "Right right, y' caught me. My reign o' terror is over, an' th' baker's pies are safe... y' mind lettin' me go?"
The Warrior only smirks and shakes his head. "Aye, I think we'll let you go.." He's set down and pushed agenst the wall, in a flash, iron shackles are tossed on his wrists and he's tugged backwards to the Warrior's guild, two other guards following after with mutterences of 'I knew we'd get him' and 'Bet he stole from widow Durgry too."
(Chapter one continues with the next post, Feel free to post and comment!)
But what is different of this world, are it's inhabitants. And within this tome are tales and discriptions of each... From The wise and valiant frost elves of the north, or the wicked Tsun'Val of the deep down. The Desert Elves of Saccmir's Blade, a Pennensula to the south, Or the Beast-like, but deeply spiritual Dashkin of Westwood. Or perhaps the mysterious Kikatael of the Eastern Swamps?
No... no, You're much too wet behind the ears to fathom that. I keep forgetting you're not used to this realm. Lets start with something you might find simple to grasp.
Chapter 1: The Humans of Mordiem
Not as far north as the bitterly cold Ring of Northhelm, and not as south as the Tepid Coasts, are the far reaching Kingdom of Mordiem, Where those who the texts books call 'Those of the Realm of Man" Reside. Spanning many miles in either direction, blessed by mild winters and pleasant summers, Mordiem is among the most fertile farm lands of all of Ilivan. Rolling hills and white-walled houses mark towns, villages. And the Jewel of the Realm of Man, The city of the Tribunal. Where the strongest fort above ground resides, It's tallest tower rises several hundred feet, and the base is carved right into a shallow mountainside, Beautiful in it's own right, and worth it's own tale. But the tale I'll share for you is not in the capital city, but the farming village, a days horseride from the outer walls of the Tribunal, Turma.
Turma, in every way, shape, and form, normal. Far from the grandeur of the Tribunal, the local law is carried out by the local guilds. And more often then not, the Warriors Guild keeps the peace. Perhaps the lofty bookkeepers from the Crafter's Association are too busy counting beans, or the stuck up know-it-alls from the Library of the Tribunal stay locked in some study in their basement. But everyone would agree, a man trudging up the road in platemail is more intimidating then a old man with a staff.
And today, such a scene was happening outside of the McGrimbly's home, An Iron-clad fist pounding on the front door.
"Theodore! This is the third time you've been accused of theft!" The warrior shouted, Voice deep, the sort of authoritative tone that would command as much respect as it should strike fear when he shouts, and on this day, even the mountains would tremble. "Get out here before we break down the door!"
The man answered after a short moment, coming to the door. He was a lanky sort of man, unkempt raven hair hung over parts of his face, giving him an uncaring expression. He is dressed simply, a brown vest clasped thrice at his midsection by copper bands, and a white shirt seen underneath, sleeves that would natually settle about his wrists are folded up around past his elbows. With a quaint nod, he speaks in his usual brogue.
"Ah! Officer Chantly, Tis a good day t' see a stout man like y'self, Hardly could hear y' over all that shoutin' going on outside, oh-what d' I owe this visit t-urk!" As he's lifted up by his shirt collar.
"Don't play coy with me McGrimbly, the baker saw you walk off with sixteen silver pieces, Right off of his stall!" He shakes him once when he tries to speak over him. "So help me, If your next words are 'it was a misunderstanding' I'm going to drag you to the Tribunal Dungeon myself!"
Again Theodore tries to speak, thinking over his words, and finnaly speaking, hands out to either side. "Right right, y' caught me. My reign o' terror is over, an' th' baker's pies are safe... y' mind lettin' me go?"
The Warrior only smirks and shakes his head. "Aye, I think we'll let you go.." He's set down and pushed agenst the wall, in a flash, iron shackles are tossed on his wrists and he's tugged backwards to the Warrior's guild, two other guards following after with mutterences of 'I knew we'd get him' and 'Bet he stole from widow Durgry too."
(Chapter one continues with the next post, Feel free to post and comment!)