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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4794896" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>The Heart of the World</strong></p><p></p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">NO ONE IN </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">the party will ever forget their first glimpse of the shining pinnacle of Imperial Tziwan: dozens of gilded towers reflecting the sun, suspended at an incredible height above the treeline of the forested plain. Even the normally impassive Xaimani legionnaires cannot restrain the excitement and reverence in their voices. Nearly a year after the <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4740612-post67.html" target="_blank">cataclysm at Guardwatch</a>, the party’s long march south is nearly over. The trees thin out around them as they trudge onward, soon replaced by a warren of buildings built densely upon each other, with people seemingly living or plying a trade in every crevice, ledge, tunnel, and corner. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Then the party turns a corner and can see in the distance, rising out of this teeming ocean of houses, the glorious entirety of the central mount of Tziwan: nine vast tiers resting one upon the other, in a cascade of domes, hemi-domes, towers, and ornate battlements descending from the gold and ivory splendor of the Imperial Palace. The enormous pagoda spires jutting above the walls of the lower tiers look like miniature sculptures when set against the overwhelming mass of the mount above them. Banners big enough to shroud a Guildhall in Lynar hang from the walls of the fourth tier, covered in stark, vivid calligraphy and images of brilliantly colored beasts. The plodding column of slaves comes to a halt, trying vainly to fathom the scale of the capital mount. Gripped by the same awe, the soldiers stand still for several minutes.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">After a long silence, Curago speaks hoarsely. “If this Empire has seriously turned its eyes North, the war is already over.”</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THOUGH THE STREET </span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">crowds part quickly for the legions, it still takes the better part of a day for the triumphal column to descend to the muddy, mile-wide Shanyang river. They camp for one final night in a riverside military compound, with an outer field where the slaves sleep in the dirt. As the sun sets and seven moons rise, the river becomes a shimmering field of stars, with paper lanterns, torches, and magical spheres kindled on hundreds of ferries, barges, and trade boats.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">In the morning, the slaves are led down to the Shanyang to bathe, washing their matted hair in the brown water and rinsing off the muck of the long road. (Atrix, who has put considerable resources into the skill of Looking Good At All Times, manages to come out looking almost like he’s been groomed for a ball, despite nearly a year’s growth of hair and beard). They are then loaded onto ferries across the river and marched through the seemingly endless outskirts of the great city. At last they come to a towering gate whose glass, gold, and enamel ornamentation catch the sunlight and create a brilliant nimbus around its peak. As in Tsanyang, a steep rise marks an outer wall that has long since been overrun by the sprawling city.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“The Celestial Gate,” says Korael, dry-mouthed. “I only remember a little about the map of Tziwan. Within this outmost, ninth tier, the tier without walls, are the <em>qohei</em> -- the residential quarters -- of the Empire’s favored subject nations.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“What’s behind that first wall?” Ash murmurs, pointing to the massive battlement just ahead of them. The stone of Tziwan’s mount is ivory-colored and appears unnaturally smooth, as if the walls had not been built so much as grown. Along the very top, made tiny by distance, trailing flower-vines bloom in magenta, pale yellow, and silvery blue.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“The city of artisans, I think. And one of the tiers beyond that belongs to the legions.” Korael looks back from the immense wall. “We won’t be going there. Slaves are sold in the outermost tier.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The road winds southwest for two miles, following the wall of the eighth tier to an enormous gate of dark bronze: the Slave Gate. The party can see <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4779583-post83.html" target="_blank">Overlord Daiqao</a>’s gold plate armor shimmering as he rides triumphantly through the gateway into the upper city, followed by most of his army. A few dozen legionnaires, under the command of <em>cadan</em> Tshien Lo Dan, remain to escort the shackled slaves further south.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">Thousands of spectators from all over the Xaimani Empire line the roads around and beyond the Slave Gate. The cheers for the legionnaires are deafening, and the captives shuffle forward with shouts and taunts echoing in their ears: “Where are you from, barbarian? How many of your sisters and brothers escaped the net this time? Don’t worry, they’ll soon be here with you! What rock have you been hiding under, little whiteface, little onion? Did you think the Xaimani wouldn’t find you one day? They find everyone... Did Ii forget to paint you, or was it just not worth His trouble? We’ll put some color into you. Do you even understand a civilized language? Welcome to the heart of the world -- welcome to Tziwan!”</span></p><p> </p><p><strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">THE PARTY LIMPS</span></strong><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"> into the grand slave market, a mile-long strip of raised stone platforms where human wares of all ages, nations, and sexes stand for inspection of passers-by. Some of the slaves are wearing gilt and perfume, others nothing but their own filth. Terrible shrieks echo through the market as women are parted from their children or gray-clad men are beaten for some infraction. Almost as loud is the constant, raucous haggling beneath the slavers’ canopies, where chains and shackles hang in great, vine-like clusters from the rafters. Many of the stalls are guarded by burly, branded men wearing rough gray slaveclothes but also brandishing clubs and staves. The side streets are lined discreetly with wheeled bamboo cages of all sizes.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">A great square has been set up exclusively for the sale of the Northerners. Beneath the canopies on all sides of the square stand the Xaimani rich and noble, wearing radiantly colored silks and elaborate hair arrangements, carrying jeweled fans and weapons that appear to be both beautifully crafted and lethally efficient. Other robed men and women who appear to be priests and sorcerers stand among the nobles. Seated at a dais, surrounded by an impressive honor guard, is a thin-faced man whose pale gray robes are embroidered in gold and pearls with two shimmering, winged mythical beasts, their necks intertwined just below his high collar.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">When the slaves have all mounted their blocks,<em> cadan</em> Tshien Lo Dan ascends the dais and kneels before the official, holding out his short ceremonial spear with the point toward himself. “Exalted Chancellor Hun. On behalf of <em>qil-ayan</em> Daiqao, I present to you these spoils of the great Northern campaign. If they do not please, my life stands forfeit.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The Imperial Chancellor takes the spear, turns it upright, and hands it back to the soldier. “Rise, <em>cadan</em>. Your legion brings honor to the Emperor.” He turns to the assembled Xaimani nobility. “On behalf of the glorious and generous Emperor, his humble servant cedes the Imperial right to these spoils, and permits the Sword Path to open their sale to all the honored guests here present. All praise to the benevolent Emperor for his great generosity.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">“Praise and gratitude,” the nobles call back, clearly itching to approach the slaves. “The blessings of Heaven be upon him.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'">The Chancellor and <em>cadan</em> descend from the dais. Tshien Lo Dan raises his spear and calls out in a ringing voice, “Let them be sold.”</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4794896, member: 61094"] [b]The Heart of the World[/b] [B][FONT=Verdana]NO ONE IN [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]the party will ever forget their first glimpse of the shining pinnacle of Imperial Tziwan: dozens of gilded towers reflecting the sun, suspended at an incredible height above the treeline of the forested plain. Even the normally impassive Xaimani legionnaires cannot restrain the excitement and reverence in their voices. Nearly a year after the [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4740612-post67.html"]cataclysm at Guardwatch[/URL], the party’s long march south is nearly over. The trees thin out around them as they trudge onward, soon replaced by a warren of buildings built densely upon each other, with people seemingly living or plying a trade in every crevice, ledge, tunnel, and corner. [/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Then the party turns a corner and can see in the distance, rising out of this teeming ocean of houses, the glorious entirety of the central mount of Tziwan: nine vast tiers resting one upon the other, in a cascade of domes, hemi-domes, towers, and ornate battlements descending from the gold and ivory splendor of the Imperial Palace. The enormous pagoda spires jutting above the walls of the lower tiers look like miniature sculptures when set against the overwhelming mass of the mount above them. Banners big enough to shroud a Guildhall in Lynar hang from the walls of the fourth tier, covered in stark, vivid calligraphy and images of brilliantly colored beasts. The plodding column of slaves comes to a halt, trying vainly to fathom the scale of the capital mount. Gripped by the same awe, the soldiers stand still for several minutes.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]After a long silence, Curago speaks hoarsely. “If this Empire has seriously turned its eyes North, the war is already over.”[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]THOUGH THE STREET [/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana]crowds part quickly for the legions, it still takes the better part of a day for the triumphal column to descend to the muddy, mile-wide Shanyang river. They camp for one final night in a riverside military compound, with an outer field where the slaves sleep in the dirt. As the sun sets and seven moons rise, the river becomes a shimmering field of stars, with paper lanterns, torches, and magical spheres kindled on hundreds of ferries, barges, and trade boats.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]In the morning, the slaves are led down to the Shanyang to bathe, washing their matted hair in the brown water and rinsing off the muck of the long road. (Atrix, who has put considerable resources into the skill of Looking Good At All Times, manages to come out looking almost like he’s been groomed for a ball, despite nearly a year’s growth of hair and beard). They are then loaded onto ferries across the river and marched through the seemingly endless outskirts of the great city. At last they come to a towering gate whose glass, gold, and enamel ornamentation catch the sunlight and create a brilliant nimbus around its peak. As in Tsanyang, a steep rise marks an outer wall that has long since been overrun by the sprawling city.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“The Celestial Gate,” says Korael, dry-mouthed. “I only remember a little about the map of Tziwan. Within this outmost, ninth tier, the tier without walls, are the [I]qohei[/I] -- the residential quarters -- of the Empire’s favored subject nations.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“What’s behind that first wall?” Ash murmurs, pointing to the massive battlement just ahead of them. The stone of Tziwan’s mount is ivory-colored and appears unnaturally smooth, as if the walls had not been built so much as grown. Along the very top, made tiny by distance, trailing flower-vines bloom in magenta, pale yellow, and silvery blue.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“The city of artisans, I think. And one of the tiers beyond that belongs to the legions.” Korael looks back from the immense wall. “We won’t be going there. Slaves are sold in the outermost tier.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The road winds southwest for two miles, following the wall of the eighth tier to an enormous gate of dark bronze: the Slave Gate. The party can see [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4779583-post83.html"]Overlord Daiqao[/URL]’s gold plate armor shimmering as he rides triumphantly through the gateway into the upper city, followed by most of his army. A few dozen legionnaires, under the command of [I]cadan[/I] Tshien Lo Dan, remain to escort the shackled slaves further south.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]Thousands of spectators from all over the Xaimani Empire line the roads around and beyond the Slave Gate. The cheers for the legionnaires are deafening, and the captives shuffle forward with shouts and taunts echoing in their ears: “Where are you from, barbarian? How many of your sisters and brothers escaped the net this time? Don’t worry, they’ll soon be here with you! What rock have you been hiding under, little whiteface, little onion? Did you think the Xaimani wouldn’t find you one day? They find everyone... Did Ii forget to paint you, or was it just not worth His trouble? We’ll put some color into you. Do you even understand a civilized language? Welcome to the heart of the world -- welcome to Tziwan!”[/FONT] [B][FONT=Verdana]THE PARTY LIMPS[/FONT][/B][FONT=Verdana] into the grand slave market, a mile-long strip of raised stone platforms where human wares of all ages, nations, and sexes stand for inspection of passers-by. Some of the slaves are wearing gilt and perfume, others nothing but their own filth. Terrible shrieks echo through the market as women are parted from their children or gray-clad men are beaten for some infraction. Almost as loud is the constant, raucous haggling beneath the slavers’ canopies, where chains and shackles hang in great, vine-like clusters from the rafters. Many of the stalls are guarded by burly, branded men wearing rough gray slaveclothes but also brandishing clubs and staves. The side streets are lined discreetly with wheeled bamboo cages of all sizes.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]A great square has been set up exclusively for the sale of the Northerners. Beneath the canopies on all sides of the square stand the Xaimani rich and noble, wearing radiantly colored silks and elaborate hair arrangements, carrying jeweled fans and weapons that appear to be both beautifully crafted and lethally efficient. Other robed men and women who appear to be priests and sorcerers stand among the nobles. Seated at a dais, surrounded by an impressive honor guard, is a thin-faced man whose pale gray robes are embroidered in gold and pearls with two shimmering, winged mythical beasts, their necks intertwined just below his high collar.[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]When the slaves have all mounted their blocks,[I] cadan[/I] Tshien Lo Dan ascends the dais and kneels before the official, holding out his short ceremonial spear with the point toward himself. “Exalted Chancellor Hun. On behalf of [I]qil-ayan[/I] Daiqao, I present to you these spoils of the great Northern campaign. If they do not please, my life stands forfeit.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The Imperial Chancellor takes the spear, turns it upright, and hands it back to the soldier. “Rise, [I]cadan[/I]. Your legion brings honor to the Emperor.” He turns to the assembled Xaimani nobility. “On behalf of the glorious and generous Emperor, his humble servant cedes the Imperial right to these spoils, and permits the Sword Path to open their sale to all the honored guests here present. All praise to the benevolent Emperor for his great generosity.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]“Praise and gratitude,” the nobles call back, clearly itching to approach the slaves. “The blessings of Heaven be upon him.”[/FONT] [FONT=Verdana]The Chancellor and [I]cadan[/I] descend from the dais. Tshien Lo Dan raises his spear and calls out in a ringing voice, “Let them be sold.”[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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