Poetic Prose Master
New Member
Assyrian Action 1:
The 'Emperor" was moving down the halls. 'his' footsteps were loud as servants scurried out of his way and his guards kept pace with him. His thoughts were filled dreams of blood, dreadful nightmares crowding away all other things. When would the knifes come? When would the poison strike, the blades pierce, the whole fabrication end? It made 'him' angry that he was stuck musing on these thoughts, their sharp edges hurting to touch and feel but 'he' had to. 'He' had to grapple with them or otherwise 'he' would be dead.
They came before the door of 'his' chambers and 'he' bid his guards wait outside. 'He' opened the golden doors and passed on into 'his' chamber, 'his' wife, gem of 'his soul, darling flower that adorned 'his' breast and 'enfired' his loins was with 'her' servants for the time being. With the room to 'himself', 'he' went to lay on the bed and rest before the affairs of state came back to haunt 'him'.
'He' turned around and saw a sight that sent 'him' into a howling panic. A man with crimson skin and glowing veins, with hair of sable black looking rough and wild, like he has slept in both the streets and the forest. Was standing in front of 'his' door.
With a swish of his robes and a scream of his throat he began his attack, bringing out a knife he had on 'him' at all times and letting lose a scream that 'his' guards must surely hear. The tip of the dagger stabbed for the intruders heart and found only a backhanded strike, the knuckles turning the dagger into so much dust. The young Emperor kept screaming and went to grab a sword on a stand nearby. He took it from its sheath and it came cleaving down, years of tutors and instructors in sword play lessons revealing it worth,
The man tapped it with the tip of his finger and it went flying from the Emperor. Sticking to the top of the wall.
The Emperor looked to the sword and back to the man, 'his' eyes bouncing from both as if 'he' could not understand what 'he' was seeing; it was not going to happen. 'he' had a wife that needed him, a bounty of foes that could not be given the satisfaction of 'his' death; 'he' had not fought tooth and nail, clawed and scrambled, felt like a literal rat trying to not drown in a barrel of water for so many damn years to die like this.
Whatever 'he' might have done with those thoughts racing like fire through 'his' mind the world will never know. Because before they could spark any sort of action 'he' was carried and whisked away. It felt like becoming abstract, like blood become as mist, that flesh become as air and bone was turned into empty void. Thought, feelings, they drifted on a sea of dreams and dust like winds
When things become solid again the first thing the Emperor did was take out another blade and try to insert it inbetween the red skinned man's shoulder blades. The hand that gripped 'his' arm was like iron, no, not like iron. Iron was not this strong, this full of terrible might. The man kept the blade a inch from hitting his neck without letting the Emperor move a inch. It was the ultimate mockery.
The Emperor hated mockery.
He kicked, he screamed and shouted, he used his other hand to batter and claw, he went wild and turned himself ragged with his desperate fervor.
He might as well as have demanded the mountains to move, the seas to part, the skies to grow still when storm rolled or the earth to not shake when it grew angry for all the effect it had.
The Emperor began to sob, it started as anger but twisted and turned into waterfalls of pain and misery pouring from his eyes, deluges of buried pain.
He did not know when the man let go of his arm, or how he found himself sitting against the wall. All he knew was the man stood before him, a towering presence that would not move and seemed to have absolute power over him.
At this point he just wanted it to end.
Imagine his surprise when the man began to speak, and not to threaten or bully even.
"To sob is natural, you are powerless, alone, cast adrift in a desolate sea of politics and the serpents that swim such sickly waters. I feel for you and hope this has been a able enough demonstration of the many powers of Chi that can be taught. If, and only if, the student is willing."
The Emperor looked to the stranger with his red skin and glowing eyes of golden star-fire and pondered upon these words. It came to him then, a revelation to startle, and amaze.
This man was crazy. He had assaulted the Royal Person, played with him as a cat does with a mouse and now, at his breaking point. He was offering to teach.
What.
(Assyrian is going to be teaching the young Emperor a more advanced version of the Guard's Martial Art. The Guard is aware of this and is aiding Assyiran. He is just going to keep popping up and teaching the Emperor whenever he wants and there is very little people can do to stop him. Assyrain may or may not still be slightly pissed and took it out on the Emperor by fucking with him. Which is better then blowing up his capital or any of the other things he could have done.
The 'Emperor" was moving down the halls. 'his' footsteps were loud as servants scurried out of his way and his guards kept pace with him. His thoughts were filled dreams of blood, dreadful nightmares crowding away all other things. When would the knifes come? When would the poison strike, the blades pierce, the whole fabrication end? It made 'him' angry that he was stuck musing on these thoughts, their sharp edges hurting to touch and feel but 'he' had to. 'He' had to grapple with them or otherwise 'he' would be dead.
They came before the door of 'his' chambers and 'he' bid his guards wait outside. 'He' opened the golden doors and passed on into 'his' chamber, 'his' wife, gem of 'his soul, darling flower that adorned 'his' breast and 'enfired' his loins was with 'her' servants for the time being. With the room to 'himself', 'he' went to lay on the bed and rest before the affairs of state came back to haunt 'him'.
'He' turned around and saw a sight that sent 'him' into a howling panic. A man with crimson skin and glowing veins, with hair of sable black looking rough and wild, like he has slept in both the streets and the forest. Was standing in front of 'his' door.
With a swish of his robes and a scream of his throat he began his attack, bringing out a knife he had on 'him' at all times and letting lose a scream that 'his' guards must surely hear. The tip of the dagger stabbed for the intruders heart and found only a backhanded strike, the knuckles turning the dagger into so much dust. The young Emperor kept screaming and went to grab a sword on a stand nearby. He took it from its sheath and it came cleaving down, years of tutors and instructors in sword play lessons revealing it worth,
The man tapped it with the tip of his finger and it went flying from the Emperor. Sticking to the top of the wall.
The Emperor looked to the sword and back to the man, 'his' eyes bouncing from both as if 'he' could not understand what 'he' was seeing; it was not going to happen. 'he' had a wife that needed him, a bounty of foes that could not be given the satisfaction of 'his' death; 'he' had not fought tooth and nail, clawed and scrambled, felt like a literal rat trying to not drown in a barrel of water for so many damn years to die like this.
Whatever 'he' might have done with those thoughts racing like fire through 'his' mind the world will never know. Because before they could spark any sort of action 'he' was carried and whisked away. It felt like becoming abstract, like blood become as mist, that flesh become as air and bone was turned into empty void. Thought, feelings, they drifted on a sea of dreams and dust like winds
When things become solid again the first thing the Emperor did was take out another blade and try to insert it inbetween the red skinned man's shoulder blades. The hand that gripped 'his' arm was like iron, no, not like iron. Iron was not this strong, this full of terrible might. The man kept the blade a inch from hitting his neck without letting the Emperor move a inch. It was the ultimate mockery.
The Emperor hated mockery.
He kicked, he screamed and shouted, he used his other hand to batter and claw, he went wild and turned himself ragged with his desperate fervor.
He might as well as have demanded the mountains to move, the seas to part, the skies to grow still when storm rolled or the earth to not shake when it grew angry for all the effect it had.
The Emperor began to sob, it started as anger but twisted and turned into waterfalls of pain and misery pouring from his eyes, deluges of buried pain.
He did not know when the man let go of his arm, or how he found himself sitting against the wall. All he knew was the man stood before him, a towering presence that would not move and seemed to have absolute power over him.
At this point he just wanted it to end.
Imagine his surprise when the man began to speak, and not to threaten or bully even.
"To sob is natural, you are powerless, alone, cast adrift in a desolate sea of politics and the serpents that swim such sickly waters. I feel for you and hope this has been a able enough demonstration of the many powers of Chi that can be taught. If, and only if, the student is willing."
The Emperor looked to the stranger with his red skin and glowing eyes of golden star-fire and pondered upon these words. It came to him then, a revelation to startle, and amaze.
This man was crazy. He had assaulted the Royal Person, played with him as a cat does with a mouse and now, at his breaking point. He was offering to teach.
What.
(Assyrian is going to be teaching the young Emperor a more advanced version of the Guard's Martial Art. The Guard is aware of this and is aiding Assyiran. He is just going to keep popping up and teaching the Emperor whenever he wants and there is very little people can do to stop him. Assyrain may or may not still be slightly pissed and took it out on the Emperor by fucking with him. Which is better then blowing up his capital or any of the other things he could have done.
