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CERAMIC D.M. Final Judgements In- New Champion!
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<blockquote data-quote="NiTessine" data-source="post: 762376" data-attributes="member: 475"><p><u><strong>A Good Life</strong></u></p><p></p><p>Vennizen the Silvery lay dying. He was not particularly opposed to this, having lived good life, and reached venerable age of 90. Lying between his silken sheets on this warm spring morning, he felt only restful.</p><p></p><p>He was alone; it'd be an hour before the servants should start roaming the house, and yet another after that before the rest of the family would wake up. He'd have plenty of time to leave his mortal coil.</p><p></p><p>Taking a more comfortable position, he reflected back on his life. His earliest memories were at the age of five, when his latent magical powers had first awoken and marked him special for the rest of his life. The unfortunate, though deserving, recipient of his magical outburst had been a bandit chieftain, who was just in the process of burning down his noble family's estate in countryside, a day's ride from Dajeq. The man had been immolated in a conflagration that rivalled the heat of the burning buildings. <strong>(pic 1)</strong></p><p></p><p>He'd slung fire and flames many times that day, destroying the bandits with the sort of innocent rage that only a child can muster. The border riders had found him soon after, following the enormous pillar of smoke that cleft the grey sky in twain. </p><p></p><p>Many things had died that day, his childhood among them. After it had been ascertained he was a natural sorcerer, he'd been taken in by the clergy of Annek the Nighttime Protector, as the law dictated.</p><p></p><p>From then on, his days were full of study, about the principles of magic, the religious texts of Annek, and the histories of the Dajeqi people. He never saw his parents again, until over a decade later, when he'd been groomed into the rank of a full warrior priest. At the time, he was the clergyman of a patrol through the jungles surrounding the city, hunting a band of border raiders, the eternal plague of the borderlands. They'd been told the raiders had attacked a caravan and taken a number of prisoners, including Vennizen's parents. A cold rage had burned inside him that day, and once they came upon the flayed cadavers of his kin, he let it out. <strong>(pic 3)</strong></p><p></p><p>He'd run and tracked with exceptional skill that day, leaving behind the rest of his patrol. When they caught up with him, he'd already caught up with the bandits, and all that was left was a crater and smoking bones.</p><p></p><p>Vennizen had soon been transferred out of field duty afterwards. The Dajeqi military could not afford to have such unpredictable power in their ranks. He was made a temple priest, though he continued to practice the traditional skills of a Dajeqi warrior; archery, tracking, and the hom-dai.</p><p></p><p>The hom-dai was an integral part of the Dajeqi culture. It was a very dramatic martial arts, where the combatants moved about on short stilts. <strong>(pic 2)</strong>The first thing taught to a student of hom-dai was to never set his foot down from a stilt during a fight. Moving the foot in other ways, however, was quite important when pressing an attack. Some of the most devastating attacks were lightning-fast kicks to the front, or a double kick, where the warrior took support from his stilts and kicked forward with his feet. The punches were similarly quick, the hand leaving the stilt only for a fraction of a second to smack the opponent in the jaw.</p><p></p><p>The stilts themselves were also used for offence, when the fighter put both feet on the same stilt and used the other to swing at his enemies. Hom-dai was most often played as a sport, where the bruises and occasional broken bones were accepted as a risk and quickly forgiven by the cheerful Dajeqi, who saw it was a part of the fun. However, against the border raiders, it was used to deadly effect, and the stilts were iron-shod.</p><p></p><p>Vennizen had made a good hom-dai player. But those days were past him, now. He'd married in the meanwhile, too, and his beautiful wife, Mesijah, had borne him three healthy sons and a daughter.</p><p></p><p>Since his fortieth year, the priesthood called his attention once more to the ever-growing list of responsibilities he had as a senior clergyman. He was required to do sermons, paint himself white to symbolize the relation he had with the moon god, and live away from his family, in a niche behind the great statue's head in the temple of Annek. His quarters there were austere, and from there he would wander forth in the hour of midnight, to sit on the shoulder of Annek, and speak to the believers. <strong>(pic 4)</strong></p><p></p><p>That had ended, too. His time of duty as a priest of Annek expired, and he could retire to his rebuilt family estate, to spend his life as he would with his family. Mesijah died of a strange wasting disease along the years, leaving Vennizen feeling empty and old. And now, seven years after his wife, he felt his own death approaching. He had no fears, having served the Nighttime Protector well in his time. Now, he could just lie down in his bed, smiling.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NiTessine, post: 762376, member: 475"] [u][b]A Good Life[/b][/u][b][/b] Vennizen the Silvery lay dying. He was not particularly opposed to this, having lived good life, and reached venerable age of 90. Lying between his silken sheets on this warm spring morning, he felt only restful. He was alone; it'd be an hour before the servants should start roaming the house, and yet another after that before the rest of the family would wake up. He'd have plenty of time to leave his mortal coil. Taking a more comfortable position, he reflected back on his life. His earliest memories were at the age of five, when his latent magical powers had first awoken and marked him special for the rest of his life. The unfortunate, though deserving, recipient of his magical outburst had been a bandit chieftain, who was just in the process of burning down his noble family's estate in countryside, a day's ride from Dajeq. The man had been immolated in a conflagration that rivalled the heat of the burning buildings. [b](pic 1)[/b] He'd slung fire and flames many times that day, destroying the bandits with the sort of innocent rage that only a child can muster. The border riders had found him soon after, following the enormous pillar of smoke that cleft the grey sky in twain. Many things had died that day, his childhood among them. After it had been ascertained he was a natural sorcerer, he'd been taken in by the clergy of Annek the Nighttime Protector, as the law dictated. From then on, his days were full of study, about the principles of magic, the religious texts of Annek, and the histories of the Dajeqi people. He never saw his parents again, until over a decade later, when he'd been groomed into the rank of a full warrior priest. At the time, he was the clergyman of a patrol through the jungles surrounding the city, hunting a band of border raiders, the eternal plague of the borderlands. They'd been told the raiders had attacked a caravan and taken a number of prisoners, including Vennizen's parents. A cold rage had burned inside him that day, and once they came upon the flayed cadavers of his kin, he let it out. [b](pic 3)[/b] He'd run and tracked with exceptional skill that day, leaving behind the rest of his patrol. When they caught up with him, he'd already caught up with the bandits, and all that was left was a crater and smoking bones. Vennizen had soon been transferred out of field duty afterwards. The Dajeqi military could not afford to have such unpredictable power in their ranks. He was made a temple priest, though he continued to practice the traditional skills of a Dajeqi warrior; archery, tracking, and the hom-dai. The hom-dai was an integral part of the Dajeqi culture. It was a very dramatic martial arts, where the combatants moved about on short stilts. [b](pic 2)[/b]The first thing taught to a student of hom-dai was to never set his foot down from a stilt during a fight. Moving the foot in other ways, however, was quite important when pressing an attack. Some of the most devastating attacks were lightning-fast kicks to the front, or a double kick, where the warrior took support from his stilts and kicked forward with his feet. The punches were similarly quick, the hand leaving the stilt only for a fraction of a second to smack the opponent in the jaw. The stilts themselves were also used for offence, when the fighter put both feet on the same stilt and used the other to swing at his enemies. Hom-dai was most often played as a sport, where the bruises and occasional broken bones were accepted as a risk and quickly forgiven by the cheerful Dajeqi, who saw it was a part of the fun. However, against the border raiders, it was used to deadly effect, and the stilts were iron-shod. Vennizen had made a good hom-dai player. But those days were past him, now. He'd married in the meanwhile, too, and his beautiful wife, Mesijah, had borne him three healthy sons and a daughter. Since his fortieth year, the priesthood called his attention once more to the ever-growing list of responsibilities he had as a senior clergyman. He was required to do sermons, paint himself white to symbolize the relation he had with the moon god, and live away from his family, in a niche behind the great statue's head in the temple of Annek. His quarters there were austere, and from there he would wander forth in the hour of midnight, to sit on the shoulder of Annek, and speak to the believers. [b](pic 4)[/b] That had ended, too. His time of duty as a priest of Annek expired, and he could retire to his rebuilt family estate, to spend his life as he would with his family. Mesijah died of a strange wasting disease along the years, leaving Vennizen feeling empty and old. And now, seven years after his wife, he felt his own death approaching. He had no fears, having served the Nighttime Protector well in his time. Now, he could just lie down in his bed, smiling. [/QUOTE]
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