Dying Dynasties - Nations of Hoken-Chi - Act 1

[DemetrioMachete]

Pat Trombone Geek enterelysium Heyitsjiwon E Eckscelsior GeorgeTownRaja Diosa del Sopa

Nation Building - Dying Dynasties - OOC

@Trombone Geek @Pat @enterelysium @GeorgeTownRaja @-Zed- @Eckscelsior @Heyitsjiwon @Arzee Hopefully I tagged everyone who expressed enough interest to warrant this page. But yes, mingle, ask questions, or pitch ideas in here.

www.rpnation.com

Castle of Lightning, Central Chowa - 5:14 A.M.

​

There it was again. That wretched red thing in the sky. He could feel the whispers of the ethereal horrors seep into his mind as he readied his blade. All around him, their awful screams lashed out, hungry for his divine blood. But was he truly so? Was his Great Grandfather, his Emperor, truly a false prophet? He didn't have time to think. He saw the mighty Oni raise his club, the Dragons above him descending with maws coated in flame. As he felt his final moments flash before him...

Getsuro awoke with a startle. His eyes were wide, and his hand immediately found a route to clutch at his chest. His heart was pounding so fiercely he could feel it through his flesh. What a vivid nightmare, he thought. Was it a nightmare, though? Leaping from the warmth of his quilts, he rushed for the window, and looked to the sky. It was still a little dark out, and he could see the moon, still silver and calm. As relief settled in, Getsuro's heart could no longer be felt so clearly. His eyes began to shut as it recalled how tired he was, and his breathing settled to a slow, steady stream. For a while now, he had been having these dreams of a coming Blood Moon, and inevitably, the Second Yokai War. It was said that a moon as red as blood indicated that the barriers between the Yokai Realm and the physical world weakened, and all creatures of the Afterlife could roam free, as incorporeal, yet perceivable, touchable, unkillable beasts. Getsuro dreaded this day more than any negotiation, any war, any intruder in his castle.

Alas, his sudden leave did not go unnoticed. The Daimyo heard a sliding of doors behind him, but he did not look, for he knew all too well who it was that had opened it. One of his guards, positioned outside his door. No doubt worried about his sudden, harsh breaths.

"My lord," the samurai answered, concerned. "Is everything alright?" With a heavy sigh, Getsuro turned away from the moon, his eyes shut as he addressed his ever aware bodyguard.

"Yes, Takeshi. All is well," came his short reply, as he approached his quilts once more. "For so long I have been perceiving these dreams of the Blood Moon, I worry all too much that they are not mere dreams, but rather, premonitions. Divinations of a disaster approaching all too soon."

"Speaking of the Blood Moon, my lord?" The samurai Takeshi asked, standing at ease knowing his Daimyo was unharmed. "You wield not only the Fang of Raiden, sire, but you also carry the blood of the Emperor. If the Yokai come, I wield faith in you that Chowa will stand tall."

"A man alone cannot win a war, Takeshi," Getsuro replied, easing himself back onto the floor. "If the Yokai are to surface once again, Chowa's armies will not be enough to halt catastrophe. We will need Bitoku. We will need Akizumi and Chikara. We must end these petty squabbles of our Grandfathers and Grandmothers, and make Hoken-Chi whole, as our Emperor did centuries ago. Divided as we are... we are vulnerable."

To this, Takeshi was silent. The civil war was a sore spot for Getsuro. Sure, his stubbornness may have lead to an uneasy peace, but Chikara and Akizumi could have it broken at any moment. Chowa was in a rough spot for it to be certain; pincered between the two nations. At the same time, though, attacking Chowa cut off all trade, unless one travelled by sea or braved the haunted Kage no Josai. Takeshi could only hold faith in his Daimyo that the peace would last. The morning would continue as the Daimyo slept, ready for whatever would come...

 

[Diosa del Sopa]

The sun gently rose over the dew-laden grasses of the countryside; its light, gentle, warming, and kind, cast itself over the waking lands of Central Chowa. The people arose with the breaking of the new day, and the fields came alive as countless farmers exited their homes to begin the harvest and cultivation of their crops.

Among them was a lone rider, a woman clad in the regalia of Chowa and atop the back of a well-bred horse. She moved along slowly, bare head gently swiveling as she took in the work of the proletariat and offered quiet calls of greetings and raised hands to the people that she adored so greatly. They appeared comfortable in each other's company, the peasants and the Samurai, an expression of the healthy and respectful relationship that the two different castes shared, at least in this case.

Tsukuyomi had made this act of simple care into a habit over the years; each month, as long as she wasn't deployed, the Demon of the Blossoms would travel throughout the hold and see the real status of the lands. This observation was the end of one such trip, and she was finally to return home, to the Castle of Lightning. Satisfied with the status of their farmers, the woman gently tugged her horse's bridle do the left and tapped her spurless heel against the loyal creature's side to guide them home.

The ride didn't take long, a few minutes at a stout canter, but it felt like forever to the warrior. She had missed her bed, her soldiers, her home, and this final approach brought with it both trepidation and elation, for she loved Chowa, but knew that the peace was fragile and this quaint little scene could be in flames the next time that she saw it. Tsukuyomi came to a stop ten meters from the gate and raised a hand in greeting; after a few moments of waiting, the gate opened, and another samurai was standing there to greet her, an old friend name Ren.

The older man, once a mentor of the Demon's, offered her a wave and approached with a goody looking grin on his elderly features. "Long time, no see, Madame Otono!" The female Samurai rolled her eyes at the statement and swung her right leg back and over the horse's rump, dismounting with fluid grace, "hello to yourself, old man," she replied, a happy greeting in her way. The two approached one another and embraced through the armor before turning to head deeper into the keep. A young Ashigaru came and collected the horse.

They discussed little, simple things for a time. Regaled tales of journeys taken and times long since passed, of the road and beyond, but soon, as they arrived at the front of the Lord's manor, the topic of Getsuro's growing frequency of dreams was broached. "The Takeshi and the others are worried about him, Tsukuyomi. They fear that his dreams aren't just dreamed any longer, but that they are warnings; premonitions of what is to come." The woman frowned slightly, a frequent gesture that was worn a small set of wrinkles into the edges of her mouth despite her young age. "A blood moon is the last thing that Hoken-chi needs right now..." She responded, knowing the subject of those dreams well enough from previous words spoken about the topic. Her blue eyes moved up to her companion, "I shall speak to him. If the Yokai come once again, our peoples must be united, as they were during the first war." Ren nodded, gave her a slap across her left sode and turned to leave, knowing she was more than capable of handling her own business.

 

[Pat]

Symkyn

​

Spall was most known for being the largest and easternmost island of the Empire of Grendel, and little else. Were the island of Hoken-Chi not to exist further to the east across the Titan's Strait, Symkyn pondered as his lithe crownring bearing fingers deftly manipulated the technomagically sophisticated globe resting on his lap to read the latest reports and census of the jagged skerry, the Anvil Peninsula with it's natural harbor on the mainland proper would've likely stagnated development. He skimmed the documents materializing before his eyes only to be banished with a twist of his left hand once committed to memory for later reflection. The isle's coal and iron production quotas were regularly met. Alchemy was a thriving household industry for the native farmers who coaxed magical plants to take root in the rocky soil. Intermittent whaling supplemented bulk food imports at the dinner table. Despite exemption from military levies many sons and daughters chose to volunteer in the imperial army to see the world. A large community of earth mages with specializations in geology and mining lived here...

Someone rapped on the door with a series of three knocks that would wake the dead, breaking Symkyn's concentration. "The Sovereign has arrived in Corrorus. We disembark at your leisure, Emperor." Admiral Dumont announced before walking away to bark orders at her crew. Symkyn tucked the uniglobe into his clothes and joined the woman on the deck. Already, a small crowd had gathered on the wharf. His flagship's arrival in port had apparently not gone unnoticed. "Governor Baxter won't be long, I'm sure," she smirked knowingly as she turned to face him, leaning comfortably against the gilded mainmast with her arms crossed. "These days the man spends more of his time 'overseeing' the local taverns, casinos, and brothels than he does down in the mineshafts where he belongs. Word from Scuttlebutt says he owns half of the establishments too."

"I'm well aware of his appetites." Symkyn said as he watched the crew unloading cargo from the hold onto carriages waiting on a section of the wharf cordoned off by the knights he could spare from their duties during the coming Blood Moon. Eighty kilograms of delicate Britannic teas, two hundred kilograms of Ghurnan bison, three hundred kilograms of lamb, one hundred kilograms of Frizden coffee, thirty bottles of cherry red first era vintage Frizden wine, a crate of Swurlish chocolate, ten bottles of Roagalian whiskey, two kilograms of Guinean hummingbird tongues, and three kilograms of Hanbuese caviar. Exotic gifts would do well to remind the governor of the generosity good servants received, as well as the resources at the disposal of the Empire of Grendel. "Even were I never to have so naively suffered his affections in the Capital years ago, stories of his perversions often permeate court gossip for weeks at a time."

"I can't fathom what your playing at, Sym." She finally deflated. "You were more of an open book to me when you were mute." She cheekily quipped, remembering simpler times. "Surprising him like this to catch the bastard flat-footed for once in his life won't be a prelude to banishment. I know that. I do understand you think appointing him to this backwater was exile enough. With the Blood Moon approaching and the dreaded Hoken-Chi Question weighing everyone's mind, you wouldn't want to sack someone who could do their job no matter how corrupt unless it came to treason. Far worse nobles would clamor to replace him; what with imperial ambitions turning towards the Orient."

"This visit won't be pleasant for him, rest assured." Symkyn replied, pulling the prototypical first draft of an air arquebus schematic from his waistcoat, sealed with his imperial crest. "While I'm busy meeting with Governor Baxter, I want you to focus on personally arranging for the local mage college to priority telemail this letter to Mr. Rödl. See to it that it remains within your hand just as long as it's on this island. He's taken up residence in the cannon foundry on the Anvil Peninsula to modernize the gunpowder arsenals in the region. You'll need to spread blood onto the seal when directed to for the ritual." He spoke, producing a small glass vial Admiral Dumont took. "Sir Brushwood will attend you. By now I'm sure the contents of the manifest have been all accounted for." She departed to enact his will with a curt nod. He watched her walk down the gangplank and approach Lyle to strike up a brief conversation before beginning to set a brisk pace down the street, the heroic knight quickly following at her heels.

 

[DemetrioMachete]

GETSURO, CENTRAL CHOWA​

The earliest twinges of the dawn passed, as Getsuro returned to slumber, plagued by his haunting visions no more that morning. He awoke hours later, rising up from his quilts from a position most strange; finding himself spawled out with the taste of spittle within his small beard. Before he could be bothered to deal with his nation, he had to be fed, cleansed, and dressed. The cleansing was easy enough to do. Exposing his body to the air, he conjured forth the water within the air, bathing himself in it as it danced across his body, cleansing whatever had accrued in his slumber. He then manipulated the heat around him to intensify and become arid, drying himself. Afterwards, he dressed himself into his kimono, a simple garb of a dull blue color, followed by tabi socks and zori sandals. As Getsuro left his chambers for the dining halls, his close guardians stood ready, Takeshi among them, accompanying him whilst detailing his agenda for the day as well as any information deemed worthy of his attention.

"Lady Tsukuyomi has arrived at the Castle of Lightning."

"She will be granted audience. Bring her to the dining halls."

"The Chowan Sumotori Tournament seeks an investment to hold an event within the castle, four weeks from now."

"I will have their rikishi inspected in exhibitions before I approve of this investment. Only the strongest of Sumo may be granted the status of Samurai in my court."

"The scouts have returned from your planned route to Bitoku. No belligerent activity detected."

"We may rule out common riffraff and highwaymen, but we must always assume the Shinobi are waiting to strike. I will maintain a small envoy of personal guards to ensure my safety... perhaps the Demon will accompany me."

"Merchants from Chikara have arrived. They bring with them livestock and rice wine."

"Hm... perhaps I shall drink well, tonight."

It seemed that was all there was to tell, for the moment. When Getsuro tried to inquire about the conditions of Akizumi and Chikara, he halted his questioning, remembering that constant suspicion was not healthy for strengthening Hoken-Chi's bonds. Arriving in the Dining Hall, Getsuro seated himself. As soon as his motions stilled, and his guardians positioned, one of them was relieved from his stance to deliver Tsukuyomi to him. He rushed out of the castle, his form clinking with steel and leather. Once he exited, and the morning sun glazed across his eyes, he caught sight of the Demon on her horse, and quickly dashed over to greet her. By the time he had arrived, she had dismounted, and was about to enter the estate. The noble soldier's salutation was initiated with a deep bow, and with a lowered head, he addressed Tsukuyomi.
"Getsuro requests an audience with you, most august Tsukuyomi. He awaits you in the dining halls."
Diosa del Sopa

LYLE, PORT CORRORUS, SPALL​

A damned maze, that's what this place was. There were no tall buildings for landmarks, and everywhere he looked from where he stood, he saw the same miners caked in soot. The promiscuous in the streets, Lyle could feel their eyes on him. Before he became known as Dragonslayer, these predators of coin and bodies would have given him a motherly approach, for he was then only just an adult, naive of the world, and vulnerable to deception. But now, he felt their gaze for what he was truly worth: a hero, a man. His brazen defiance of deception and trickery tempered from his constant mental battles with his own sword, the Binding Weapon known as Synh. For Lyle, the third option was usually the only option. But what third option was there to take here, in this maze of a town before him?

That third option came walking down the gangplank. She introduced herself as Admiral Dumont. It certainly was a pleasure to meet her. Lyle ensured to introduce himself to her, as well. Lyle Brushwood of Britannia, the Dragonslayer, that was his title. She hurried along, almost leaving the confident "hero" behind. While he managed to keep up with her, the Admiral's pace certainly caught Lyle off guard. She never wasted a single moment sightseeing or lollygagging, two things he would absolutely be guilty of. As he followed along, he tried to remember what his assigned task was. He may have been a capable warrior, and thanks to his symbiotic benefactor, a powerful magician, but Lyle was, if anything else, a dullard. While the thoughts of asking the Admiral to remind him of his task drifted, he felt a familiar voice in his head. One that spoke in a harsh, vile whisper.

*Remain silent. She will disparage you should you ask such silly questions. No one spits on the pride of the Dragonslayer...*
*She will certainly bring it up in the future, weapon. I choose to stay my tongue because I must keep up with her.*
*You delude yourself... you remain silent because you are stupid...*
*And your whispers never cease because you are spoiled.*

As his weapon called to his mind, anyone observing Lyle would see his face contort with nuisance, as though he were indulged in conversation with a petulant bully. All this as he marched along behind the admiral, prying himself away from Synh's insults to ensure his full attention upon Admiral Dumont. If he could not inquire about the mission on the fleeting doubts of being scolded for not remembering, there had to be something else he could say.

"I trust your morning has found you well, Admiral?" Came the short question from Lyle's lips; carried on a voice once so sweet and light, now dipped faintly in a prideful baritone.

Pat

 

[Pat]

Dumont

​

With a click of her boots at Knight Brushwood's small talk she stopped and turned around. Her pale blue eyes took a moment to regard him - longer than she spent deciding which street or alleyway to head down next. "Very well indeed, Sir Brushwood. I am confident that the imperial navy, with the Emperor's continued patronage, will soon become a mighty force unrivaled wherever it's warships have a presence. It is a splendid time to be alive for those such as us with the will to make their mark upon this yet uncertain world."

She turns around to continue with her courier work, but beckons for Lyle to walk alongside her at a far more forgiving pace. The buildings began to thin out as the pair approached the outskirts of the city. In the distance Lyle could make out a small floating island dotted with mage towers, though he couldn't make out it's method of suspension. Each residential property appeared to have a garden or a greenhouse attached to it growing alchemical ingredients, and the fine stonework was a noticable improvement from the simple utilitarian appearance of the homes within the wharf district. Families lived here. Brushing past a group of clerics while walking with Admiral Dumont down one alleyway, Lyle looked up to see a squat factory with a smokestack that spewed a hazy rainbow which spiraled away into the clouds. "Is it your first time in Port Corrorus?" She asked with a subtle curious tilt of her head as they passed the unusual building.

 

[DemetrioMachete]

Lyle, Port Corrorus, Spall
​

Her answer did present Lyle with a small portion of clarity onto their objective. Were they to set sail? Assert the Empire's presence? His heart began to fill from the bottom up with excitement. New lands? New adventures? New dragons to slay? A truly invigorating prospect. A smile curved its way onto the knight's face at the prospect, managing to persist, now that the Admiral's pace had eased up, allowing Lyle to walk alongside her.

As they reached the outskirts of town, Lyle's eyes widened im curiosity at the utterly alien designs of the island before him. The floating island of mage towers, the fine stonework, the practice and maintenence of a greenhouse or garden on every corner, and the factory spewing colors into the sky. Nothing from Lyle's old village in Britannia ever suggested such... advancement. It made him pause in surprise, at least until the Admiral asked about his presence here.

"Yes, actually," he answered her, shaking out of his stupor. "Of my decade or so of travels across the Quints Expanse, into towns, forests and caves, and through illusions so foreign to my senses, I don't believe I've ever been made familiar with this port, here." His eyes had been gazing just about everywhere, trying to make sense of these interesting visuals the port provided. Dumont's adapted, forgiving pace allowed this, but even so, his mind was not the best for comprehension. When his attention finally rested back on the Admiral, he continued on with a question.

"If we're to remain here for a while, perhaps you could educate me on this port?"

 

[Pat]

Dumont

​

"Unfortunately, the untamed interior of the Quints Expanse is as alien to me as the coast is to you." She replied. "There's been whisperings at court of moving the Capital further inland to encourage development, but we're at least a generation away from having the population needed to settle the entirety of Yharnal's old battlegrounds. As for when we disembark, only the Emperor knows for certain, though I'd be happy to answer your questions to the best of my ability. I suspect his intentions as of now are to find an answer for the Hoken-Chi Question after tying up loose ends."

Dumont led them to a walled park and walked up to a metal gate underneath the floating island above, handing a seal to the robed guard barring entry to would be visitors. "We're to dispatch a letter to Mr. Rödl from the desk of the Emperor himself." The admiral declared to the bearded man, handing over her identification papers. "My knight escort here is Sir Brushwood," she made a small gesture towards Lyle, "who will remain by my side within college grounds until my appointed task is completed."

The guard saluted her and handed the woman back her credentials. She promptly tucked the papers into her clothes as he made to unlock the gate. There wasn't a blade of grass nor a leaf out of place within the small preserve. Canaries fluttered between the trees and bushes, singing overhead as a handful of students under close supervision practiced shaping the earth. They walked together down the path towards a gazebo erected at the edge of an artificial pond.

 

[DemetrioMachete]

Lyle, Port Corrorus, Spall​

There was talk of settling the untamed masses of the expanse? This caused Lyle to furrow a brow. His experiences there suggested to him that was a bad idea. His worries of it may not have had much weight to the admiral, but alas, he felt he needed to give his two silver on the matter, seeing as how he was an "expert" upon the Quints Expanse.

"Maybe they shouldn't settle it right away," he remarked, looking off at the sky, as though remembering something long... important. "All the bloodshed from the Quints Crusades, it's done things to those wild lands. Stuff like trolls, giants, vampires, they're not supposed to exist, right? At least, not... here. In the real world. And yet all my travels across it, I found myself face to face with the best and the worst of the supernatural. Gloombüf, if you remember that name, being among them." He took a deep breath, and returned his gaze to Dumont. "You settle villages and holds out there, they'll come under raids. Lots of them. Even if you got the manpower to hold them off, I'm sure a constant life of defense and siege weighs heavily on the burden of sword-arms." Siege, Lyle thought, was just the most obvious of the dangers. The worse bits came to light when one considered that some of those creatures could sneak into holds, or blend in with the population. It would be a rough life, truly. Part of him relished in the thought of constant battle, but another half of him desired peace and exploration, rather than war. There had to be a way to return those creatures back to the world they came from, but he did not know how.

Before Lyle could say much more, they found themselves at a gate, one with a guard. The Admiral was able to get them past with ease, Lyle departing from the guard's sight with a nod and a smile. As he surveyed his surroundings, he found himself drawn in by their tranquility. The students molding the earth around him caught his attention as well. Magic. Without his blade, Lyle's own magic was exceptionally weak, knowing only the healing spells his mother had taught him in the few and far moments she was actually home. Synh allowed Lyle to cast spells far above his belt, for it allowed him to borrow its power. He knew he could call on spells that were exceptionally powerful, but he too possessed techniques that were more "useful" than they were strong. Synh would only let him cast these powerful loans of strength a few times before declining to assist further, demanding its wielder soak him in the blood of enemies. He blinked. Synh's thoughts were intruding on his own again, he thought.

*Isn't it wonderful, Synh? Behold how peaceful, due in... likely small part to me.*
*Wonderfully boring. I've spotted no vagabonds, no petty thieves to litter across the sands. How do you comprehend this peace?*
*I comprehend it by living in it and enjoying it. There's more to life than battle and carnage.*
*Nonsense...*

He needed to depart from the mischief of his blade.

"So, Admiral. Who is this Mr. Rödl?"