Original Hylion
RPn's Original Jello Lion Pirate
| The ending of the first age, a proper event to mark the ending of an age and the start of a new one. Jean of Nysa |
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God Fall (Lion's den)
- Thread starter Original Hylion
- Start date
Silver Lion Coalition
The Silver FalcLion of... This Place
Though the sun had only just risen, crowds were already gathering in the holy city of Sanctitas. Today was, after all, a special day. The music being played so early in the day proved that it would, indeed, be a merry day as well, full of mirth and celebration. Surely, no other country in all of Terryal had more of a reason to be happy, for today, Thardania would enter a new age. For too long, Thardania had known dark cycles full of corruption and strife, where the monarchy would simply use the great religion of Signum for its own benefit and the king would take the All-Mother Sultra’s words out of context so that he could achieve his goals and his alone. But thanks to a coup d’état brought about by the leaders of The Holy Cambilar, those days were no more. After much deliberation, it had been decided that, from now on, the leaders should be chosen directly by Sultra herself in order to avoid another corrupt individual controlling the throne. And so, today, a crowd was forming, with the greatest church in all of Thardania at its epicenter.
Just outside the gates of the cathedral stood a man who was older than almost everyone in the crowd. The mere appearance of this man had become increasingly rare over the past few cycles, so to have him appear at this public event gave the crowds even more reason to celebrate. A few of the more powerful people in Thardania knew his name: Zotesy; the rest of the population knew him as one of the few living Saints in the world, as well as the head of the Thardanian Church. Though he stood confident and wise; his hair had turned white with age, and his right eye was dead. Despite his disability, he reacted quickly to the movement of the crowd, turning his head just in time to see the celebrating masses briefly separate to allow a caravan the opportunity to reach the cathedral. The emblem of the black dragon on the armor of the escorting soldiers quickly narrowed down the possibilities of who could be within the wagon. Only the members of the Siraiyacus family had the privilege to use the famous Thardanian Dragons for something as trivial as an escort, after all. The caravan stopped, halfway between the crowd and the cathedral. Out of the central wagon came a large, rotund man in fine clothing. Zotesy blinked. It was hard to believe that this man was a direct descendant of Falror the First King. He was a far cry from the hero who had saved Thardania from complete destruction at the hands of the diuris. Still, he was a Siraiyacus. To some Thardanians, that was reason enough to allow him to try to become the next leader of Thardania, though Zotesy had no doubt that there were some that wanted his head on a platter. In the end, though, none of that mattered. The only opinion that mattered on this day was that of Sultra’s, and if she believed that this man, Doza Siraiyacus, was fit to be leader, then many of the people would stand by and accept that.
No, he is not the one that will split opinions if he is to become leader, Zotesy thought before getting interrupted by the greeting of the would-be leader.
“Zotesy!” the man called out as he got closer, “I had expected you to be preparing the room for the ceremony. It’s surprising to see you out in public like this.” The old saint examined him before allowing that watchful eye to rest on the wagon.
“The same could be said about your cousin. I had not received any news of Tyrann’s recovery,” Zotesy said.
“Oh. No, he has yet to recover.” Doza gave a swift glance back at his caravan. “Today is a special day. He insisted on being here to celebrate along with the rest of us.
Zotesy was quiet for a few moments, thinking over what Doza had just said. “Perhaps his path to recovery would be shorter,” the old monk said, regaining Doza’s attention from the crowd, “if you simply allowed my monks to heal him.”
Doza was quick to reply, the words on his tongue before Zotesy had even finished speaking, “Your monks will only end up wasting their time. Our family’s personal healers are more than enough to bring him back to full strength. I’d wager that he’ll recover before the country itself will.”
Zotesy chose not to respond, instead letting his gaze travel over the crowd. He was sure that Doza had carried the same conversation with many of the Priests in the capital. Before long, Zotesy could once again spot movement in the crowd. It seemed that another contender to the throne had arrived. The crowd parted to reveal a large man in black sitting astride a dark brown horse. Surrounding the large knight were other men on foot. Though the style of their armor was similar to the horse-rider, their armor had different colors: some wore silver armor, while others were adorned in green. As Zotesy recognized who the man on the horse was, his eyes narrowed in irritation. This was the man who could split the nation; this was Tiberius the Bull, the Killer of Kings, and the leader of the Cambilar.
Just outside the gates of the cathedral stood a man who was older than almost everyone in the crowd. The mere appearance of this man had become increasingly rare over the past few cycles, so to have him appear at this public event gave the crowds even more reason to celebrate. A few of the more powerful people in Thardania knew his name: Zotesy; the rest of the population knew him as one of the few living Saints in the world, as well as the head of the Thardanian Church. Though he stood confident and wise; his hair had turned white with age, and his right eye was dead. Despite his disability, he reacted quickly to the movement of the crowd, turning his head just in time to see the celebrating masses briefly separate to allow a caravan the opportunity to reach the cathedral. The emblem of the black dragon on the armor of the escorting soldiers quickly narrowed down the possibilities of who could be within the wagon. Only the members of the Siraiyacus family had the privilege to use the famous Thardanian Dragons for something as trivial as an escort, after all. The caravan stopped, halfway between the crowd and the cathedral. Out of the central wagon came a large, rotund man in fine clothing. Zotesy blinked. It was hard to believe that this man was a direct descendant of Falror the First King. He was a far cry from the hero who had saved Thardania from complete destruction at the hands of the diuris. Still, he was a Siraiyacus. To some Thardanians, that was reason enough to allow him to try to become the next leader of Thardania, though Zotesy had no doubt that there were some that wanted his head on a platter. In the end, though, none of that mattered. The only opinion that mattered on this day was that of Sultra’s, and if she believed that this man, Doza Siraiyacus, was fit to be leader, then many of the people would stand by and accept that.
No, he is not the one that will split opinions if he is to become leader, Zotesy thought before getting interrupted by the greeting of the would-be leader.
“Zotesy!” the man called out as he got closer, “I had expected you to be preparing the room for the ceremony. It’s surprising to see you out in public like this.” The old saint examined him before allowing that watchful eye to rest on the wagon.
“The same could be said about your cousin. I had not received any news of Tyrann’s recovery,” Zotesy said.
“Oh. No, he has yet to recover.” Doza gave a swift glance back at his caravan. “Today is a special day. He insisted on being here to celebrate along with the rest of us.
Zotesy was quiet for a few moments, thinking over what Doza had just said. “Perhaps his path to recovery would be shorter,” the old monk said, regaining Doza’s attention from the crowd, “if you simply allowed my monks to heal him.”
Doza was quick to reply, the words on his tongue before Zotesy had even finished speaking, “Your monks will only end up wasting their time. Our family’s personal healers are more than enough to bring him back to full strength. I’d wager that he’ll recover before the country itself will.”
Zotesy chose not to respond, instead letting his gaze travel over the crowd. He was sure that Doza had carried the same conversation with many of the Priests in the capital. Before long, Zotesy could once again spot movement in the crowd. It seemed that another contender to the throne had arrived. The crowd parted to reveal a large man in black sitting astride a dark brown horse. Surrounding the large knight were other men on foot. Though the style of their armor was similar to the horse-rider, their armor had different colors: some wore silver armor, while others were adorned in green. As Zotesy recognized who the man on the horse was, his eyes narrowed in irritation. This was the man who could split the nation; this was Tiberius the Bull, the Killer of Kings, and the leader of the Cambilar.
