The ironic shit? Every man enjoys bio chio bu one unless married alrdy. Then again, having a wedding band will only mean the wife having a legit IOU to use against you. So married men, you've been warned. For me, I just feel that it's an issue of creativity misplaced. Any private gym pulling this off won't unplug Mt Vesuvius itself, I'm sure of that. (Link)
So why am I doing this stupid/pointless post? Because once people went back on their word, you won't give a **** unless you happen to be the one swindled. Especially when it comes to $$$. Especially when you get the death sentence after accidentally stepping on another unrelated person's toes. Therefore, I decided to channel my unworthy anger to something much more constructive.
P.S: Must be the haze, man...
Dark Arrow
NE
230 Summer
Slarvea…
a land harbouring many memories. Then again, the same can be said for many
other places. It’s already summer, but the wind is nevertheless balmy. Guess
that’s why I prefer spending my summers here and not anywhere else.
“Well,
‘tis been a year since we met, old friend.”
They say
the only gift better than a smile is a nice bottle of wine, I’m pretty sure
Markawhelv will agree. They say the finest wine comes from the northern fiefs
of Teutonia, I find it a travesty of logic to see nobody mentioning milk wine.
There’s a common Kalaran saying: Ordinary folks have ordinary tastes,
extraordinary ones are those deemed exotic.
If a
genius ain’t exotic, I don’t know who else qualifies. Uncorking my wineskin, I
flash a smile towards my kolaresh.
Whatever happening countless years ago now seem like events taken place
yesterday, I blame the sweet and sour taste belonging to my milk wine.
)0(
NE
200 Summer
“What do
you mean by that?!”
Damn, I
really hate people shouting in my ear. Why always me?
“No reinforcements,
we’re screwed.”
The look
on Tomas Daniev’s face is totally priceless, I bet no handsome sum could ever
rival this. Maybe I should use a better word than “screwed”.
“Markawhelv!”
barked Daniev in anger, his tone reminding me of some rabid mutt prepared to
snap my fingers off, “The Tribe of Stream has gone back on their oath sworn!”
Wait,
did I hear another story being told? Surely Markawhelv isn’t some cretin
capable of buying some half assed contract sealed.
“The
Tribe of Stream have never promised us anything,” replied my friend, his flaxen
beard stroked thoughtfully, “They merely assured us of providing any help they
can spare.”
“And
they have plenty.”
All eyes
are onto me, it definitely feels good to be noticed. If there’s anything I hate
most, it would be assuming that invisible man. At least getting attention via
acting stupid is a far better alternative.
“You
better elaborate, dog!”
Okay,
Daniev is really pissed off right now. I’m a Sudhlit, not a dog for fuck’s
sake!
“Hold
your ire, Tomas!”
Great, I
got a belated saviour. Apparently, I can swear off drinks and bitches
temporarily due to excessive force suffered.
“There’s
no point shaking a worthless cur. I’ve just returned from the zoning.”
“What’s
your report then, good Teryav?”
“Lost
nine men out of every ten. Try counting it with ten fingers, Provum Markawhelv!”
Okay, so
even the fiercest veteran available got himself nearly fucked. Moral of the
story? Might is stronger than Magic, that is provided people believed in the
latter. Nuva Teryav must be blessed with a damned strong wife.
)0(
“What?
You mad?”
Yes, I’m
really barking mad. Which part of Markawhelv’s orders do you not understand?
Tapping my foot impatiently while seated on a low couch must have upped the
temperature here. One has to give Slarveans some major credit though. ‘Tis one
matter to live your life in a tent, quite another to build empty forts in case
invasion says aye. If this is something only savages are able to do, then I
daren’t try imagining how many idiots have lived and died in comfort. At least
it feels nice sitting on something draped with bear pelts. Those beasts are
greatly revered in Slarvea although it seems like a paradox to see them hunted
due to that. Maybe there’s really a savage untamed living within even the most
intelligent person.
“I am
not mad, my dear Palus Irov. I see that your face have gone purple. Eaten
something unclean last night? I told you not to eat that half cooked cony.”
Okay,
it’s been confirmed. I should have thrown that cony leg straight into the fire.
“Look,
I’m not interested in playing games with a barking mad Sudhlit mongrel. All I
want is this: Any plans in mind? I’d have fed you to the wilds had not our Kammand ordering us not to do it.”
Indeed
Provum Markawhelv knows Tristan Ajax well, but not well enough. You can only
affirm whatever the other person wants you to know. That’s why winners in every
conflict are the finest swindlers.
“When you
lend s sheep to a stranger, why makes you do so?”
Seeing Palus
Irov gaping like a moron must have been the most satisfying moment ever, some
things are indeed meant to be priceless. Slarvs don’t easily loan their cattle
or flock to any stranger unless the borrower is willing to swear an oath. While
there are rumours of individuals gutted alive due to their sheer audacity, at
least I’m not that crazy. Either that or…
“Tristan
Ajax is a thief and liar. He has no honour!”
I don’t
know who has the balls to address my full name, but at least he’s correct. I am
a thief and liar, so throw me into jail then.
“Are you
what they say?”
Well,
blow me down. How old is that lad? Fifteen? Sixteen? Definitely nowhere older
than that. I’m gonna have fun with this.
“What’s
your name, boshev?”
“Aran,”
proclaimed the golden blond proudly, “Aran, son of Alisev.”
“Firstborn?”
“No, sier. Nextborn.”
Well,
that explains why he’s so scrawny then. I should introduce him to dear Bellnox.
She’s gotta be the finest entertainer of men and I actually spent a night with
her before going north. Sadly, that also means I’ll have to abduct him down
south. The Slarvs basically loathe their Kalaran half-bred siblings with a
passion, hence a no-go territory.
“Why not
follow me since you’re so interested to know what I’ll be doing?”
Oh, I
see tension and Slarvean fire here. Walking on knife’s edge has always been my
specialty, I wouldn’t be standing straight and alive if opinions really matter
most.
“Aran,
son of Alisev. I know what you desire. Task yourself as my arms bearer and you
shall be duly rewarded with truth and honesty. Not by my will but through an
oath willing sworn.”
)0(
Present
day
‘Tis a battle
swift and brutal, I spoke to myself. Aran claimed that I saved his sister from
getting raped, whoever she or the horny gang was anyway. If only I could recall
how a hero manage to save a damsel in distress.
“You are no son of mine! My son
is dead when this family’s servant wench seduced him to be poor!”
No son
of my father? Well, that bloody old man was right apart from making Marges sound
like a paid servant. Servant wench, yes. Getting paid? A bloody hell no. The
moment my family employed scoundrels to do their dirty job was the night where
I claimed my first kill.
“No… please… sadeh… talk! I talk!
Just don’t kill me!”
Sadeh?
Sorry, a sadeh doesn’t castrate his fellow males, let alone gutting them and
leaving the dying for the condors.
“This is an abomination! Kish, what
have you done to my name?”
That old
scoundrel was right after all. His name is none of my business because it has
never been this way all the while. Fuck Babin Sinh.
Heroes are not
birthed from craven swine, but through mundane men. From now on, your name is
no longer Kish.
Such was
Leon’s final words before he bequeathed Fail-not unto me, so much for a dead
man departing in peace. Guess that’s why I hate being a heroic figure.
“Well,
time to go,” there was no mirth present in me as I got up, a finely cut stone
made of topaz answering my smile with a twinkle, “Finished half the milk wine,
the rest belongs to you.”
As the
whitish brew watered Provum Markawhelv’s final destination, a refreshing summer
breeze brings me back to that moment where the wind of war prevailed alongside
with victory…
"Blow the horn,
Aran. But only after I fired the arrow.”
“I don’t know what
you’re planning, but who else can I trust?”
“Shut the fuck up,
boshev. I will be aiming for anyone under the enemy’s banner, sound it straightaway
after I released my bow.”
‘Tis a portrait of
chaos, the main force was the first to strike. In war, assault comes before
attrition. Yet, no one has the right to decide the numbers deployed. Then
another horn was sounded, its owner neither me nor Markawhelv, let alone belonging
to Aran.
It was Palus Irov
announcing the advent of victory, the second army returning from a bountiful
raid on the camp fortified by our foes. Only a battle won, but at least both
Teutonia and the Kalaran Empire got their noses bloodied. The War of Chieftains
had just started.
)0(
Background
notes
Kolaresh: Slarvean
term for comrade. Deemed offensive for any foreigner to use it.
Boshev: Slarvean term
for any individual, male or female, below the age of seventeen, which is the
adult age for every Slarvean.
Sier: Address of
respect used for any man of senior age.
Sadeh: Sudhlit
address of respect for any person born in a high ranking clan. Used within
first or second person perspective.
Additional
notes
The Sudhlits basically
named their clans according to the patriarch’s name. Every Sudhlit is only entitled
his/her first name. Concept of last name is literally unheard of.
Sinh is
quintessentially the last name for every clan patriarch, its use being a symbol
pointing to the head status.
Kish is a real
person’s name. Or rather, it’s an Israelite name. The father of Saul, first king
of Israel, was actually called Kish.
The War of Chieftains was a complicated conflict involving first the various Chieftains vying to be the Plains Lord due to the incumbent passing away abruptly without a will. Claims based on both deed and name were disputed by each other, hence resulting in a full blown war. At the same time, an alliance of Teutonia and the Kalaran Empire decided to march against Slarvea for reasons unknown. The alliance itself was something unseen and unheard of even till the current era. The war was finally resolved via mutual truce forged, but not before millions perished and a painstaking period of political wrangling.
)0(
