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Topics - BarticaBoat

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16
Roleplaying / Respect your enemy
« on: June 11, 2014, 05:25:34 AM »
Roleplay from Kartet ka Habb   
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message to everyone in Meneriel
Soldiers of Kartet ka Habb have been seen committing random acts of violence.
The locals now fear Talerium a lot more than before. These locals now like Talerium a lot less.


The men of the Might of The Word led by Kartet, Warlord of Talerium have been patrolling the countryside of Meneriel for a few days now. Though the peasants outnumber the soldiers roughly 20 to 1 the savagery of the Taleri combined with the growing lawlessness leaves a chill in the air. As he and his retinue saunter through a small village the doors are shut and peasants nervously peek from the windows. There is a small statue of sorts in the middle of the village and as the Taleri approach an elderly man jumps out arms outstretched. He cries out attempting to block the path.

“What is this?” Kartet snarls, staying his men with an outstretched hand.

“S-stop! In the name of Saint Montague I demand you turn back! Do not deface this shrine!” the old priest stammers, though to his credit standing his ground quite firmly.

Kartet smirks, thinking for a moment. His contemplation is cut off by a rock whizzing by him and striking a scribe quite firmly in the side of the head, knocking him from the horse. He grimaces as he looks over and sees a young man calling out “Eat camel !@#$ Taleri scum!” before ducking behind one of the homes.

His men erupt into howls of anger, begging their lord to let them loose like a pack of dogs. He dismounts his horse and grabs the old man by his collar shoving him into the small shrine. Placing his sword upon the old man's neck Kartet turns back, “Beat any man older than 12, cut the hair off the women, string up the children by their ankles, and bring me the one who threw the stone!” His men once more erupt into a cacophony of noise, sounding horns as they disperse and begin kicking down doors. The screams of the men being beat, the cries of women as they are dragged by their hair, and the wailing of children tied upside down begins to drown out even the loudest of the horns.

“W-why...” stammers the old man, gulping against the blade “Why us?”

“Because these lands will become Taleri,” Kartet sneers, “Your clan and clansmen may live as you have, but they will bow to the Taleri Republic. And trust me, I would have rather done this peacefully, but you can only be called so many insults involving camels before you realize there is a far easier way.” He turns back to survey the work of his men.

“What vile damned gods do you follow that allow you to do this? How can such dishonour exist in the face of the Warrior Saints?” The priest spits with a little more venom. Kartet shakes his head.

“You don't understand...” Kartet nods up towards the shrine, “Your Saints are our gods by a different name. Our gods are your saints. I mean, you are not totally correct but your faith comes decently close to the truth of The Word.” The priest is aghast, but before he can reply Taleri soldiers carrying a badly beaten young man come forward throwing him to the ground in front of the Warlord. Kartet tosses the priest to the ground and pulls the young man by his hair to his feet. Turning him towards the shrine Kartet pulls his hair harder.  “Are you religious?” he growls. The young man nods briefly attempting to maintain his composure.  Kartet smiles, “Then become an acolyte to Saint Montague” and in a swift motion cuts off the young man's nose, drives the sword through his cheeks, and slashes open his mouth leaving a wide bloody grin. The boy cries out, tears streaming.  Kartet tosses him roughly in front of the shrine.

The priest trembles in anger. Kartet turns back to his men, thoroughly satisfied with brutalizing the village. He announces loudly “Let us pay homage to this shrine. Their saints are our Guiding Spirits, aspects of the Creator. We shall honour their Saint Montague as we honour Xanio the True.” His men bow their heads and begin murmuring their own prayers; Kartet opts to fall to his knees, hands outstretched towards the shrine, chanting slowly. The villagers watch in awe as the Taleri pray fervently. As each of the Taleri soldiers finishes his prayer, he tosses a copper or silver coin towards the shrine. Kartet finally finishes, a time after his men, and stands up. He pulls out three gold coins, raises them high still murmuring his prayer, and places them in front of the shrine. He bows again at the shrine and turns back. Mounting his horse, he rides up and spits on the still squirming young man, “Filth.” He waves his men forward and they ride out towards the next village.

17
Roleplaying / The Laments of the Old Toren
« on: April 08, 2013, 11:45:30 PM »
Marching back to Eidulb, Karibash is in a foul mood having missed most the battles.  Following the River Chrystal back east, he can't help but take in the beauty of this land. It is but a small pleasure regarding this whole situation. His passions have grown more fierce ever since donning his armour and marching to war. He can't remember the last time he truly marched out to war; perhaps fighting the Saxons? His loyal steward Edward riding at his side, the Old Toren speaks.

"Edward, when was I made Duke of the Shrine?"

The steward screws his face for a moment in thought. "Why... I can't remember to be honest. I believe it was during the long winter... 19 YD? That is over 3 years ago now."

Karibash ponders. "And when did I bring Aquitain to Astrum? When was it made King of Everguard? Sing my saga."

Edward laughs. "The Great Saxon War ended roughly the winter of 16 YD, when Golden Farrow was conquered. Your last great battle was fought in the Siege of Valkyrja... that was the spring of 14 YD. Aquitain, and by extension the Kingdom of Everguard was made a vassal of the Vasilif of Astrum in the winter of 7 YD... dark days those were. You had just recently been made General of Averoth too, but the King was overthrown in rebellion and you left. You were crowned King of Everguard in the winter of 6 YD, doomed to be her last. A dark ceremony that was, Gelene had just revolted and the Kingdom was in shambles. You did all you could to save us."

Karibash is silent, remembering the past. Edward speaks once more, "The Kingdom of Niselur was founded on the same day, and Virovene fell. Ancient history to modern scholars... but you were an old man even then and I was past my prime!" Edward smirks, hoping to humour his liege. He continues, slightly more sombre "You were made Marquis of Aquitain on a midsummer's eve in 6 YD, unaware of what would happen in the coming months. Early spring in 4 YD you were made the High Adjudicator of Everguard, sworn to defend the laws of the High King. Early in the spring of 1 YD you were one of the 17 original founders of Everguard, having marched into the blackness of the unknown looking for a new life, having landed in Dwilight the previous winter." Edward stops, having exhausted the dates.

They ride for a short while, in silence. The normally rowdy Toren Berserkers have also grown quiet. Karibash finally speaks. "Before then. Sing the saga!"

Edward clears his throat, "We last saw the beautiful walls of the Toren Stronghold in what would have been Autumn in 1 YD. Your brother Xanio died in Autumn, year 1 before Dwilight. You started your career in Toren late winter 6 BD, and you were born... I guess it would be the summer of 19 BD?"

Karibash is silent.

The long winter of 19 YD, made Duke of the Dark Mountains.

He cautiously accepts the title in a formal ceremony, his good friend Duke Kihalin having disappeared. He was given tasks to complete in memory of his friend, he will not fail.

Spring of 14 YD

Goading the Saxons into combat, he fights alongside his newfound brothers tearing down the walls he help build. How curious the world is.

Winter of 7 YD

Greeted by a herald of the Vasilif Ysgarren, he formally acknowledges the surrender of Everguard, as long as the crown is preserved in servitude to the Vasilif. The terms had been negotiated with Vasilia Alexandria, and he shall be forever known as the Last King of Everguard. He finally accepts that Tor has died, and forsaken His chosen people.

Winter of 6 YD

In a small and grim ceremony, he is crowned the High King of Everguard. The Emerald Throne and most regalia has been lost in Gelene, only the fabled crown remains. The High Queen Averyll had been captured by Astrum in battle. Karibash regrets it was not himself.

Summer of 6 YD

His old friend Averyll, as strained as their relationship has been, gladly offers him the Marquis of Aquitain. The night is cool and the wind blows off the Dark Mountains, the untamed west beckoning the rule of Everguard.

Spring of 4 YD

High Queen Averyll has entrusted Karibash as High Adjudicator, to quell the natives of the Kingdom under the rule of the High Queen and the supremacy of Everguard.

Spring of 1 YD

He finally emerges from the wilderness of monsters to see the great Spire of Valkyrja. He meets with Fisc Arylon, who greets him warmly. The promised land for Tor's children, they dream of a time when they shall raise the banners of Everguard from coast to coast of this undiscovered land.

Before

The unmitigated wars of the South-East. Men killed, friends and foes alike. He is a war hero, reknowned for breaking enemy lines so his allies may pour in. Respected and feared. A young man, dreaming of war. A young boy, hiding from Sandalakian warriors in his village.

Karibash chokes. His eyes roll in his head, gasps for air breaking the silence. His men cry out, looking for the assassin. Edward dives from his horse to protect his Lord. Dropping his shield, Karibash slumps forward and rolls off his horse. Pulling off his helm, healers rush forward. The Old Toren's mouth is open still gasping. Sweat rolls over his brow. Suddenly his eyes shoot open, wild and furious. He grabs Edward by the collar, pulls him in and hisses something in a very old dialect of Toren. He throws Edward away before passing out once more. Captain Oldric rushes over to Edward.

"My man, what did he say!?"

Edward is shaking. He murmurs in Captain Oldric's ear. Captain Oldric looks to the Old Toren in shock. Removing his helm, he calls out to the other Berserkers. With a low rumble, they begin the chant of the Toren Death March.

18
Roleplaying / The Challenge of the Old Toren
« on: December 13, 2012, 05:03:28 AM »
Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (13 minutes ago)
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In the Shrine of Seeklander, Karibash oversees construction of the third walls. The Shrine was built long ago by the native Mountainmen to honour some unknown god; when the Everguardians came to Dwilight they were compelled to find the Shrine and when they did the Shrine was little more than a small, barely maintained stone circle and packed earth walls with but a few dozen souls living there. They claimed the land and built over the original Shrine with a temple exalting Tor, God of War. They then built the original keep and stronghold walls which still remain today. The walls and surrounding city were built into the mountain to resemble the old Toren Stronghold, the narrow streets designed to confuse and disorient foes. After the Shrine fell to Astrum, the temple of Tor was demolished and the new Astroist temple was built over it. Three tall towers were added to the keep to symbolize the Bloodstars, and Astrumese revisions to Toren architecture were made. They were not to last however. Though most of the keep and stronghold was scrubbed clean of Toren imagery, the design of the buildings was far superior to the Astrumese, who had been influenced by Morekian castles on the plains in the east. Toren architects were found to complete a new set of walls, making the Shrine nearly impregnable. Presiding over their completion, he couldn't help but be proud. So he needed to build a third wall. These walls would be even bigger, 25 feet tall and 4 feet thick of granite from the mountains. Karibash personally oversaw the design process. As the last walls were a testament to the Duke Kihalin, these walls would be a testament to the lasting power of Astrum, the Toren people, and himself.

The Shrine has been a flurry of activity as of late. Using his considerable wealth he has funded many projects and using his considerable influence has convinced minor nobles, the burghers, and serfs alike of a destiny for the Shrine, a vision where they will grow strong. Though the Astrumese nobility has been a touch reluctant of the words of the ancient Duke, the Toren nobility have embraced him as have the largely Toren burghers while the Mountainmen serfs remain divided. The Astrumese of the Shrine are almost exclusively nobles or priests. They either came with the Astrumese conquerers or shortly after and quickly gained domination over the Shrine much to the distaste of the old Toren nobility. As lands and posessions were seized and given to the Astrumese, the number of Toren nobility quickly fell. Now the Toren nobility are but a handful compared to the Astrumese but the few who remain are extremely powerful: Astrum opted to placate them rather than risk rebellion. The burghers for the most part are Toren as foreigners do not last long in the culture. They have made their name as smiths, architects, engineers, and warriors. Unsurprisingly some Toren can be found as priests in the Astroist temple, an homage to their fiercly religious past. A few Astrumese merchants exist to peddle jewellery, but they tend to keep their heads down. The serfs are largely mountainmen, with some Toren miners. The Mountainmen either work as shopkeeps or labourers for Toren burghers, as farmers on the little arable land, but the majority live in the mountains as hunters. They come to the city only to sell their wares, but can make extra gold by taking Astrumese nobility on hunts. They accept the Toren as fellows from a far land, sharing some culture points and they have even started to intermarry. They experienced great hardship under the Astrumese though, taken to work in mines or sent abroad to work fields, and largely resent them. It is advisable for Astrumese to not stray too far outside the city or off the main road, nor to mingle with the impoverished Mountainmen. It is hard to track the number of Mountainmen around the Shrine; they view the mountains as one region and tend to travel about following the herds of deer or aurochs.

It was on this particular day, while watching a crew of Mountainmen labourers moving a granite slab, supervised by an Astrumese noble, advised by a Toren architect that Karibash had a most peculiar lapse. He lost where he was for a moment, forgot what he was doing, and in general could not remember for the life of him a few things, most particularly his age. Turning to his good retainer Edward, he speaks:

"Edward?

"Yes milord?"

"What are we doing?

"Observing construction of the new walls milord?"

"New walls?" He looks around, "Why in the world are we building new walls at the stronghold?"

"The... stronghold?"

Karibash laughs "The stronghold! Toren Stronghold! The centre of our glorious people!"

"Milord-"

"Who are those people over there? Why is there an Ikalakian here?" He strolls over to the assembled workers, patting the Astrumese noble on the back. "Greetings Ikalakian friend!" The Astrumese has a look of bewilderment, being approached by a Duke of Astrum, "I'm glad we are co-operating on repairing the walls after those damned Tassies damaged it." He strolls over to the Toren architect, speaking in Toren. "Greetings brother!"

"...milord Duke it is impolite to speak Toren in front of outsiders."

"Oh, of course," He finishes with a forearm handshake and a firm gaze.

"Lord Karibash are you well?" Edward approaches worried.

"Well? Edward, I've never been better! Those peasants there, their beards are unkempt for good pious Toren men. See that they are tended to." He looks away from the Shrine, out towards the countryside. He is quiet for a moment. "Edward. We're not in Toren anymore are we."

"We haven't been in over 30 years milord."

Karibash is quiet for a moment as his memories rush back. The South-East sinking, Everguard, monster hoardes, the Stars, the damned arthritis in his knees, the pain he has in his stomach, Astrum.

"Oh."

He turns back to Edward, shaking his head. "Remind me, are we at war?"

"Yes milord, with Aurvandil and her satellites."

Karibash ponders this for a moment. "Because their God-King is an arrogant fool, no?"

"Precisely."

"So why don't we kill him?"

"Milord that is precisely the aim. The armies of Astrum and her Allies have already been on one expedition to the south."

Karibash shakes his head smiling, "No, no. Why doesn't someone challenge him to one on one combat, kill him, and watch Aurvandil crumble?"

"Well... I'm not sure. Who would be fool enough to do such a thing?" Seeing the smile, Edward is aghast, "Milord... you can't possibly...?"

"Edward, bring me parchment and a quill. I wish to write this letter myself."

19
Roleplaying / The Death of Thomas Greyson
« on: October 15, 2012, 04:24:57 AM »
In pursuit of justice regarding a perceived slight, Karibash ka Habb, Duke of the Dark Mountains, Margrave of the Shrine of Seeklander, Marshal of the Twilight Wardens, Marquis of Aquitain, Last King of Everguard, Sovereign of the County of Forguthrie and all its Holdings, Vassal of the Vasilif of Astrum challenged "the knave" Duke Thomas of Greyhold to a duel to the death.

Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (3 days, 21 hours ago)
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Finishing his letter, he sets the quill down. It is to be sent to someone north. He sighs, then starts stretching his shoulders. They ache. But today he will kill or be killed. A suitable death for the great warrior of old. But he has no intention of dying today.

His eyes glaze over as he begins to chant in Toren. The Stars above him provide him wisdom, but the traditions of his people will give him strength.

In the mountains we call home,
There lies a people strong and old.

Built on steel and broken bone,
We sit upon our granite throne.

War our life and chaos our soul,
We crush the weak and take their gold.

Our god is dead we've lost our home,
Far o'er the salty seas we roam

The Stars above they brighten our path,
But in our heart still lies the wrath.

Our will ne'er breaks so long 's we breathe,
Our friends will die but we shan't grieve

Broken steel and broken bone,
We all return to the granite throne.


Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (2 days, 22 hours ago)
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Thomas Greyson, Duke of Greyhold, Baron of Balance's Retreat meets his challenger Karibash ka Habb, Duke of the Dark Mountains, Margrave of Shrine of Seeklander for the agreed duel till death.
Karibash has decided to use the 'trick moves' strategy while Thomas has chosen the 'defensive' strategy, giving Karibash the advantage.
The duel runs its course, until Karibash delivers a fatal blow. The healers carry Thomas away, seriously wounded but still breathing.


They meet at sundown. Karibash has long prepared for this moment. His eyes burn with a rage. Hate. The bloodlust of the Toren. He wears on his heart a pendant of his people. Overtop that a gambeson filled with horse hair, then chainmail, and finally plates on his torso, shoulders, and front of his arms. Though there are wide gaps in his plate armour, it is lighter than even the cheapest chainmail. His breeches are padded with hardened leather and scales of steel. He wears no helmet. His face is a maze of scars, his grey beard neatly trimmed, and his head freshly shaved. He has a shield and a sword. The shield is wooden and round. The Saxons told tales of how he was the son of Tor and that his shield arm was unbreakable; the tales were never proven false.

As he approaches the agreed upon site he notes many minor nobles and heralds bearing the banners of major nobles. The Old Toren duels the young Solarian.

A scribe speaks, but Karibash does not hear him. His gaze is fixed. He sees the target.

The duel begins and Karibash marches forward. The coward Thomas is being defensive, sword raised to parry. So let him parry. Karibash feints a lunge and as Thomas goes to parry his sword is slapped by the shield. Karibash sees terror through Thomas's helmet. It pleases him. They trade blows. Karibash though old is swift. His shield is unyielding and his sword swings come tantalizingly close. Karibash laughs. This is easy. Then he roars and as Thomas flinches he kicks him in the chest sending him sprawling to the ground. Karibash laughs again. Thomas stands up, now visibly shaking, but still cautious. But caution will have no use against the master. Leaving his armpit open while he swings his shield, Karibash beckons Thomas strike. And so he does. A lunge towards the armpit of his shield arm is met with the flat face of the shield coming up and in a flurry of movement Karibash has hacked deep into Thomas's kidney, cracked his helm with the shield, but his swing to remove Thomas's head deflects off the shoulder, instead wedging into the helm. Thomas falls to the dirt, mortally wounded but breathing as his second runs over waving his arms. Karibash removes his sword and shakes his head as his second, Edward, comes to help him with his armour. Karibash calls out loudly for all heralds to hear:

"The coward can't even die properly. Defeated by an old man, discredited in his homeland, the only way to prove that he has a shred of decency left would be for him to end his own life!"

And so was the coward Thomas Greyson defeated by the elder Karibash ka Habb, Duke of the Dark Mountains.

20
Roleplaying / Memories
« on: May 31, 2012, 08:46:05 AM »
A set of role plays I'm writing about my characters who are both really old and have seen a whole lot. Feel free to critique or comment!

Roleplay from Torsaan ka Habb   (4 hours, 25 minutes ago)
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High in the crags of Eagle's Glen, Torsaan sits meditating. He has hiked an hour or so from his encampment alone. His retinue is probably enjoying dinner, but Torsaan felt obliged to leave and wander. In his Eaglin Estate they are probably having a great feast with music and dancing. Torsaan however is sitting high in the mountains, shivering as the wind blows through him. He is old now, his beard long since silvered. He hasn't shaved his head in some time, his tight curly hair is also silver. His sight is failing him. The healers say it is age, other priests suggest it his connection to God or perhaps a curse from the Mapaxilists.

Though he usually wears an extravagant robe of red, purple, and gold, Torsaan is wearing a robe of purple and white. White, emptiness, Purple, royalty. It is perhaps fitting. He sometimes thinks of his brothers. Xanio is long since dead. Though it is not custom, Torsaan wishes that a monument was built. Somewhere he could feel connected to him. It seems so long ago that he received the news that he was slain in Amdor. Horace, another faithful, was killed in the melee but Xanio was killed charging the walls. The allied forces had pulled back but Xanio thought otherwise. He rallied his men ahead and 42 of them charged the walls. They managed to climb them, but Xanio was knocked off and then buried in arrows.

They say he is a god now. Both of them. Torsaan is told he is a living god, and when he ascends to their heavenly plane he will share in their great powers. Xanio is a god now. Xanio-Kargnchha is prayed to by some in times of fear when bravery is needed. Torsaan wonders what sort of God can barely read anymore. Torsaan wonders how his brother, his brashness, his humour, his anger, his kindness, his eccentricities can all be distilled down to Xanio the Valiant, Kargnchha of The Word. Some strange idol, some caricature of the man that was, the man long since decayed and eaten by lizards and vultures.

Torsaan thinks about his other brother, Karibash. Strange man he was. They did not see each other as much as he saw Xanio, but Xanio loved him as closely as he did Torsaan. The strongest, the fiercest, superlatives were the only descriptors. Torsaan wonders what his brother looks like now.

Hundreds of years ago, his own ancestor hung from one the cliffs here for days until he had a vision. That is how The Word began.

Strange. Torsaan rubs his beard.

Roleplay from Karibash ka Habb   (just sent)
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Karibash sits at his Eidulb estate. It overlooks the harbour and is an old building, built during the Everguard days. He thinks back to the South-East. Born in Neralle, he can only think of the forests. Thick, lush leaves adorning great and massive trees of all kinds. Sometimes he and his friends would climb as high as they could, more a test of bravery than climbing ability. Karibash would sometimes win, sometimes lose. He didn't mind. It was the hand he was given. He lived blissfully. Incongruous, with the wars that raged around him. It didn't matter, hide in the trees, hide in the cupboard, pick up that dagger and Tor forbid any man walks in. His mother was a minor noble. A pleasant lady, he lived comfortably. Then at age 6 he was sent to the Toren Stronghold high in the mountains. Military academy, so he may one day lead great armies and not just fight like some fool. Karibash remembers the strictness, the rigour, the lessons. He merely wished to learn how to fight: wrestling, duelling, sword play, shield work. Not foolish maths.

Karibash smiles. He was a terrible student. But it all changed when his father arrived. Not much past 8 years old and whisked away by the dark man from over the seas. He had only heard of him through his mother, some minor noble in a far off desert. But he was the descendant of great and powerful kings. Warriors who had slain hundreds of men. Fierce beings of legend amongst his tribe. And so he travelled with his father. The sights he saw. Sirion, Isadril, Fontan, massive cities. And he toured through Atamara too, York, Suville, Metemec, Strombran, Barad Falas. He met some of his family, learning that he was the second of three brothers but only meeting the younger one In the forests of Tara. One day though, his father told him his mother was angry and that he would have to return to Neralle. His desire to know more of his past quenched, he obliged. And he was happy. He found some of his old friends still living and made new ones. His father returned, this time with the other brother. Xanio.

Karibash will never forget the day he met his older brother. Though Karibash was massively tall, Xanio was taller still. Though Xanio was far skinnier than Karibash, he walked with a confidence unlike anyone else and for the first time in his life Karibash felt small. Where Karibash was quiet, Xanio was loud and bombastic. He quickly became leader of the group. Karibash would lose at checkers, laugh and say good game. Xanio would become enraged and flip the board screaming curses, and just as quickly as he flew into a rage he would be all smiles and laughter again. They became fast friends, seemingly polar opposites, but Karibash understood. Xanio was smart. Ridiculously so. Cunning. Crafty. Charismatic. Things Karibash aspired to be. Things Karibash believed the descendants of warrior-kings ought to be.

Xanio was smuggled out of the South-East late at night. Karibash had been seen in a compromising situation and the son of a lord threatened to expose him unless he provided a sum of 200 gold. Confiding in Xanio, Xanio stormed out to protect his younger brother. A heated argument, the flash of daggers, and suddenly the son of the lord laid with his guts spilled. Karibash and Xanio would never see each other again, though they exchanged letters regularly. It was difficult when Karibash learned of Xanio's death. But it was fitting. Facing 900 Falasani warriors, Xanio simply laughed and scaled the walls. The funeral was not difficult for Karibash, merely the fact that he couldn't see the face of his beloved brother again. So strange, so characteristic of him. In all his intelligence, Karibash could never explain why Xanio would charge 900 men besides "it seems a Xanio thing to do".

Karibash is old now. His hair silvered, though he shaves it bald. His goatee is growing more unkempt, he can't be bothered recently. His body is a canvas of old scars. He is no longer the giant intimidating man he once was. Descendant of desert warriors and Toren berserkers, now a withering old man. Fitting though. Xanio, in all his greatness, all his glory, could not handle the simple confines of this world. He had to expand, grow, push. And so he left the world in a fitting fashion. Karibash though, he was different. He could bear it. Like steel, he weathers year after year, blow after blow, ache after ache. Xanio was what the world needed, Karibash what it deserved. Flamboyance and talent versus perseverance and endurance.

Karibash wonders what his younger brother looks like, Torsaan. He had last seen him when Xanio died. Met his son there too. Karibash could never discern his motives. Xanio would describe Torsaan as a man yearning for greatness, but unsure where to look. The smartest of them all though, by far. Smarter than Xanio even.

The ships blow through the harbour in Eidulb. It is a sight he has seen, many years before. Nothing truly changes, simply the players. Strange.

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