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 Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 7:13 am
The land of Firebrand, people of fire and hate, keep to themselves in the harsh lands of desert and slowly forming savanna. Near Jikrae and Amelia Firebrand lays waiting, the flame of war lust awaiting a sufficient spark. Ruled by the harsh Ember, those belonging to Firebrand worship and live in only the way he deems they should.
Ember hates freewill.Quote: BasicsEmber's land is like an African savanna, lions and elephants being the main animals of interest. Ember's people living in the land called Firebrand have a large city made out of fire-baked mud bricks(Like this kinda). The city is called Hearth and is the only one in Firebrand. Everyone lives in Hearth, the population is somewhere around 100. Hearth is not exactly a beautiful place as it is an imposing one, and perhaps the most well-lit city in the world. Torches burn along every wall, fountains are filled not with pristine geysering water but with a steadily burning flame, never being allowed to go out under pain of death. All buildings are built with some sort of flame burning beside it or off of it. CultureThe important things would be that they're an extremely disciplined people that follow a strict religious order put forth by Ember, whom are named by numbers(#43, #12, etc). They dress a lot like the Persians did, layers of flowing clothes with masks over their faces and stuff(those guys in the movie 300, kinda). Their skin is a deep obsidian black, and they worship fire intensely. They are self-sufficient in most areas, and in areas in which they are not sufficient they merely avoid. Not a lot of metal ore, so they use strong wood and wicker and stuff like that. What they do have in plentiful supply is flammable pitch and incense, but good luck getting some sort of trade agreement for such things. MilitaryTheir main military advantage are Elephants, which they have tamed in great number and base their whole military around, really. They place boxes on the backs of the elephants filled with archers shooting flaming arrows. They have waves of footsoldiers with spears that are formidable not because of their weaponry but because of their frenzied manner when they get into combat. Different from a normal soldier, they depend totally on their own sheer willpower and fanatical commitment as their only real protection. Lastly, Ember has devoted much to the technology of catapults, shooting flaming ammunition many yards and smashing into things with horrible consequences for everything nearby. The CultThe people of Firebrand, as has been said a few times, are extremely fanatical in their doings and believe whole-heartedly that they are the only ones fit to live on the planet. They devote everything they have to Ember, never having real families or names. They are akin to robots, having little personality or freedom in anything they do. From birth, they are indoctrinated and molded into Ember's dream soldiers. The only feeling they have is hate, they barely feel pain, and only seldom talk. When they do talk, it is most assuredly to praise Ember and/or the land of Firebrand, or to badmouth all other living things. Really, they're something like a radical Islamic terrorist group kicked up more than a few notches.
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2007 7:15 am
50 years later... Quote:
Hearth of the land of Firebrand, home to the followers of Ember. A packed together town, laid out on a planned grid that left room for a great many more buildings of use to Ember and his plans. And while the back alleys of Hearth are safe and well-lit, if you do not share the ancestry of those about you they become quite the opposite. The flames seem to have minds of their own here in Hearth, they sense outsiders, hate them as much as their ultimate master does. A man from one of the lesser Exile’s gardens walks these streets in darkness and all about there are people watching him for a proper time to drain his dirty foreign blood upon the dusty ground. Should he falter in his step, look about him in confusion at how the numerous flames fail to light his path sufficiently, then his fate is sealed as all those before him.
Those not born of the flame’s master are not permitted to live once stepping foot in Hearth, so it is decreed by the flame.
Yet now no one walked the alleys and streets of the town. They kneeled in lines, all hundred of them dressed in their dark robes and masks, facing towards Ember himself. Ember stood with his arms crossed about his mighty chest, and when his flames seemed to flare so too did those of the town. This open space was cleared of the brush and high grass and all other manner of obstructions, it was made for these sort of addresses from their most worshipped master. With both their knees under them, their back straight and attentive, their eyes looking only to Ember.
To the right and left of the flaming monstrosity were men standing alone. They stood an equal distance from Ember in all respects, slightly behind and a bit off to the side. They wore dark red robes, a slight drooping crimson hood that was folded down about their neck, and their hands in black gloves. These were the High Priests of Ember, leaders of the cult behind only Ember himself. They endured great pain in attaining their position, sacrificed everything.
Their initiation ritual was simple, to literally bath themselves in flames. From head to toe they were badly burned, of course, but if they cried out in pain, screamed in agony during the ritual, then they failed. It was a simple procedure that left the cult with two hideously frightening individuals, their faces carrying forever the sign of their ultimate dedication to be one with the flame. They owned the envy of all those living in Firebrand.
The addressing grounds were silent, the hundred people in several long lines waited with no show of emotion upon their faces. Ember stood with his bloodshot eyes searching over them. This went on for many minutes before finally Ember spoke, his banshee voice carrying to all those assembled.
“The time is now.” Ember said, the people still not showing any reaction whatsoever aside from the eternal grimace of hate plastered upon their masked faces. “This day shall be the first on the road to the holocaust of the world.”
Then he turned about and left, the two high priests coming forth to take their place at the head of the unmoving mass. Though Ember had said little, to his people even that small bit told much. As they thought hateful thoughts, the High Priests of Ember went to their work.
“For Firebrand.” The priests said in unison.
“For Ember.” The mass of people answered in equal unison.
“For the Flame.”
“Death to all others.”
With that daily routine done, the high priests went about detailing the specifics of Ember’s plan to the people. It would take them many hours of labor… yet, really, there was much that mortals could not do. Ember would be forced to do much of that when he returned from his trip. Though he had spoken nothing of leaving to his people, they knew. They had a sixth sense for it by now, a deep understanding of their altogether hard-to-understand master. It was rather helpful for both the people of Firebrand and Ember himself.
And so as the people were released after several more hours of being addressed by the priests, Ember had already set out to find the artifacts he needed. The Wayward Light and the Prison Box. The Light was needed for obvious reasons, but Ember thought it would prove some trouble to ascertain, while the Prison Box seemed a bit more of an easier proposition even though Ember rarely listened for the screams of suffering(considering often times he was the maker of that suffering). Some things itched at him, though, and for that only the Craftsman would be able to tell him.
For the first time in fifty years, he reached into himself and pulled out the device given them at that first council. Without hesitation he twisted the wheel and waited in the desert that still existed. The Craftsman arrived just outside the procession, and so he fearlessly had to walk into the middle of it. He idly stepped over one of the kneeling cultists, the man knew better than to even shake in protest, just as the flames knew better than to not light for him. Ember may have been a warmonger but he was wildly intelligent, cunning, and respectful.
"Ember, my old friend." He said as he approached with his arms spread wide and his silvery beard glittering. He looked for all the world like he hadn't aged a day, in fact it even seemed as if there were flecks of black in his silvery beard. "What can I do for you?" He asked slowly as he approached. His movements seemed lighter than they had before, there was more of a spring in his step, it seemed.
"50 years you've had that amulet, I was beginning to think you'd thrown it away. Now, what's the issue?" He asked slowly. Ember turned upon the Craftman, behind all of his worshippers dispersed in an organized fashion with the High Priests leading them. They would be kept vigilant in his absence, as they always were, by the burning desire to complete the task set before them and do their part in the world’s takeover. It would be a glorious time, and even if they should die in it’s chaotic aftermath it would be a great thing to behold for the time they beheld it. Ember was a polar-opposite of Santa Claus, his followers hatefully deformed elves working on toys for a red, yellow, and orange Christmas.
“Welcome to Firebrand, Craftsman.” Ember said to him in his way. He felt almost… giddy, really. It was strange, he much preferred smoldering hate to it. “I have two questions.”
A pause drew out, long and unnecessary as always. Ember’s bloodshot eyes stared into the Craftsman’s silver ones. Ember thought of how much true ore this being had worked with, how many armies he could have created if it was his desire. Ember could scarcely understand how such a being, with so infinite a power, would use it in this way. To be, essentially, a baby sitter for fledgling gods. Ember knew better than to pity him, but he was intrigued by it all the same. He was an interesting thing, but Ember would give him a release from this divine daycare. In time, of course. Ember, lost in his own thought, nearly lost interest in the reason he had summoned the Craftsman in the first place.
“Who and where is this White Lady, and how can I acquire True Ore?” Ember put it bluntly, expecting that the Craftsman already knew much of his plans or at the very least would be able to piece it together now. The method of his invasion mattered little, in Ember’s view. If the Craftsman truly shunned it, perhaps he would reconsider and attempt a different approach. Perhaps. The Craftsman listened to Ember's questions quietly for a few moments, his spindly fingers traced his braided beard as he contemplated his questions. A part of him almost seemed to be considering not answering the questions.
"The answer to both of those lays down in my workshop." He said finally after a few moments of contemplative silence. "There are things there that some might consider unnatural. Perhaps even distasteful or even evil, yet I know that you above all others appreciate the necessity of somewhat less...conventional means in certain situations." He turned away.
"The True Ore you could get from enough of any substance. Though I would suggest iron ore to start with. You won't have any problems at all with this. Simply heat it until it glows white, then continue heating it until it glows blue and it stays blue. I can offer you a vessel to hold the raw materials, but you'll have to come with me, there I can also show you the white lady."
He smiled and extended his hand. "I know you despise any contact, but this is necessary. There is no other way to get to my home."
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2007 6:49 am
He looked at the hand for his normal period of contemplative unnecessary pause, thinking of his dislike for such contact. Ember was not the type to hate himself in any way, and that included his body. He loved it's fearsome appearance, it's awe-inspiring show of power. If he was a lesser man he might hate it, this shell of charred dead flesh and unfeeling flames. Might, foolishly of course, take out his dislike for it on himself instead of everyone around him. Obviously this was not the case, and so he went back to thinking of his favorite subject: the destruction of all the other exiles.
Finally he took the craftsman's hand, his flames only warming the other's comfortably enough to make notice of their presence. He thought it would be rather annoying if all of these forsaken exiles insisted upon touching him in some way. His flames would cease to be friendly quickly.
He merely waited, thinking of many different topics in even so short a period of time. One such unsavory topic was that of how he would go about crossing any bodies of water he came across when his armies marched. He dismissed the thought quickly, though he understood it's tactical merit for consideration. He would just have to burn that bridge when they came to it.
((Short but... what can ya do.))
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Posted: Thu Aug 16, 2007 12:55 pm
Most of the times in which the Craftsman had led another exile with him it had been accompanied by the sensation of the earth rushing below their moving feet. This time it was accompanied by the sensation of being crushed on all sides. It didn't hurt, exactly, but one felt encased the entire time. The solution to that riddle was clear. They were traveling underground.
When they stopped they were standing on a balcony that appeared to overlook a vast pit of nothingness. A great, dark subterranean plain stretched out underneath the mysterious balcony, what exactly lay there was unclear at this point. The Craftsman immediately led Ember away from the edge of the protruding lip of stone back into what appeared to be a massive cathedral embedded in the stone wall of this enormous underground cavern. The doors that barred their way shone like white mirrors even in this place with no light.
The Craftsman extended his hand, and the doors opened. Red light spilled from the growing fissure between the doors, and the pair walked into it. "This is my forge." Was the only explanation he offered.
Inside it was meticulously organized. The walls were lined with weapons made of both White and Black Ore. The white blades seemed to hum melodiously when they walked by, and the black weapons seemed to sullenly watch the newcomers. There was a massive round furnace at the far end of the room, and a large anvil in front of that. The Craftsman wasn't concerned by this, he was searching the walls, rifling through the many metallic objects that lined the walls.
Eventually, he re-emerged from the mass of metal, holding in his hand a black lantern with a faint glow. Upon being touched the glow seemed to become more insistent. "Here." He said, offering the heavy lantern to Ember. "This is what remains of the white Lady." He dropped the simple lantern into Ember's hand. "Go to the Library doors, and break the lantern open. Follow her." A grin spread slowly on his face. "Good Luck, Ember."
The Craftsman then extended his hand. Ember was forced violently back to the surface. Just as he had been standing before. The journey had taken no more than five minutes.
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Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2007 11:16 am
Barely having time to admire the Craftsman’s forge(the furnace, really) and to hate the hum of the white ore, Ember found himself outside of hearth now plus a lantern and an idea. Everything seemed rather obvious now. There was little grey area or any planning left to do, unless the acquisition of the torch somehow became complicated by the intervention of another exile or some other such annoyance. It was more than possible, the weaklings seemed to have little better to do than pester others. Ember hated bugs, annoying insects that buzz about the larger predator and flies which come to infest the decaying remains of a kill.
Ember never gave thought that perhaps these exile insects were the kind with large stingers or deadly bites.
Onward he marched, never looking back at the shrinking city of fire behind. He did not hate Hearth of course, the city embodied him and seemed a warm home. Those that laid within Hearth’s walls would not allow his home to come to any defilement, either. For they were taught to think as Ember and therefore believed it to be the best city in existence. Well worth dieing for, and die they just may in a short time come.
Firebrand disappeared behind and the tower of knowledge loomed to the front. Ember was more than thankful he did not have to risk actually entering the structure, doubtless there were already others within talking or reading of useless things. Ember much preferred the books that contained things he could bend to his will and make use of, rather than histories of times long ago or biographies of men long gone.
Walking ahead in his zombie-ish fashion, the tower continued to grow on the horizon.
((Stopped because I don’t really know if I’m supposed to start posting in The Library topic now or what…))
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