Post by vladikus on Mar 8, 2012 1:18:35 GMT -5
I spur my horse past ruins
ruins move a traveler's heart
the old parapets high and low
the ancient graves great and small
the shuddering shadow of a tumbleweed
the steady sound of giant trees
but what I lament are the common bones
unnamed in the records of immortals
-Han Shan (Cold Mountain, trans. by Red Pine)
I emerge from the deep recesses of my mountain cavern and step past a threshold of sunlight. My eyes adjust slowly to the inundation of light.
The birds call from lush branches and the deep green forest marks the beginning of summer. This was the time I had promised myself that I would no longer dwell in my mountain, but that I too would make a mark and a beginning.
As my beard has grown long and white, as my joints ache and I must have my staff to walk with, I become aware of my mortality and decide that there is no reason to live a sedentary and unremarkable existence. But as I am one being, though powerful, I need assistance, and as I have no funds, the undistinguished, undervalued, and green warrior Jiro has been appointed as my general. There is an old Bakemono proverb: "Let other feet test cold waters before you decide to swim."
I am in my 212th year of life and keep this record. My age changes with the new year, as does the age of all my people. My knowledge of the world is sparse and heard only through my people. I cam to this station in life through the study of magic with old master, Rysyiko, but he has ascended to higher mountains, and so my fellow mountain dwellers expected me to take his place.
I hear that the humans are prosperous in these times; if prosperity equates to brigand lairs, sprawling cities, and being a nuisance in general, then
the humans must be flourishing in these propitious times only because there are plenty of their own kind to pickpocket! Apparently the dwarves
have been doing well too: from my perch, I see smoke rising from their mines. Pashaw! Abscesses upon this land. I do not believe that my people own this land, nor anyone else, but I could certainly run it better. I look upon all this and ask myself why the Bakemono people cannot also be prosperous? In my dreams or as I meditate in deep cavern niche, a recurring memory erupts in my mind of Rysyiko: he tells me that my hand was made to hold a scepter.
I love these cold mountain walls of my stronghold, but I am not limited by them.
The records of the 212th year of Anadom the Bakemono Sorcerer
212, summer:
My conquest begins. At the summit of my mountain stronghold, where even in summer the windows blow viciously cold, Jiro steps to my side to survey the surrounding territory. I can see a farm in the northeast and, past it, a bridgand lair, a coal mine to the northwest, and a gold stream to the far west. After talking with Jiro, we agree that the farm to the northeast will be the first place to attack. I notice that when I talk to Jiro, he is quiet and always meets my eyes with his own blank stare. Sometimes I feel the need to hit him with my staff and bring him back to reality. We divided the available forces, and he has set off for the farm.
212, mid summer: A group of spearman were sitting around a farm to the northeast, but Jiro reports that his small spearman and archers easily dispatched them. Then I, being a creature of amibiton, ordered Jiro to capture the brigand lair. Apparently, the surrounding land has been made aware of emergence, for not a single brigand was to be found in the camp. Just a smoldering fire. They probably soiled their barbarian garments when they saw that my forces had left the mountain stronghold. Ha! I continued east and found the coastline. It has been long since I viewed the water. Jiro, he is such a romantic! I wish he would stick to the task of expansion and not linger on the coastline and contemplate the vast ocean! I myself wandered out of the stronghold, to the foot of the mountain and headed southward. The fresh air nearly choked me to death. Nothing but forests, jungles, monkies, and boars. As much a nuisance as the humans!
212, late summer. A Bakemono general came to offer his services for 56 gold! I spit in his face, and he left my mountan. My condecension assures that my forces do not know how pitiful our resources are at the moment. One must be a good showman in order to be a great leader. Jiro found a gallows to the northeast, not of much interest to me (I wish he would quit wasting messengers to send me utterly useless information)--but then another messanger came shortly after to relay that he had found a coastal village. A wide grin spread across my face upon hearing this good news; not only this, but it appears to be undefended! This seems rather odd to me. I wonder about Jiro's judgments sometimes. He is a bit of a astrologist at times (if you catch my drift).
212, autumn. The gumption of that Bakemono general, to return again this month and offer himself again for 53 gold! Ah, but it is only one of those endearing qualities of the Bakemono: persistence and a willingness to serve (but not to be screwed over). But myself
being Bakemono and persistent as well, I spit in his face again, and he stomped back down the mountain! As the leaves begin to turn, I look out the stronghold and notice that our recently acquired farm has been taken by some force. All around my stronghold are groups of boars laying waste to the land. Damn pests! Jiro easily took the coastal village, so I am calling him back to retake the farm and to handle all these damnable boars.
212, mid autumn. Jiro returns to the stronghold, but dallies in the woods on his way. I decided to venture out into that nauseating fresh air just to grab the farm, and what did I find? Boar tracks, everywhere! It looks as though there were about four romping around the farm. Well, I know what the Bakemono will have for breakfast in a month or two. Boar steaks! And if Jiro doesn't get back here and start doing his tasks in a timely manner, then I am going to demote him to my personal chef, so he can put that greatsword to use making me meals since he can't seem to employ it for any other reason.
212, late autumn. I can feel the chill in the air and wind. Can you believe my irritation when my stronghold was attacked by a band of brigands! And as soon as I did away with them (not hard for a sorcerer of my skill, really), Jiro shows up at the foot of the mountain. That dawdling imbecile!
I punted him down the mountain and told him to take care of those boars or to not come back. Then, as I turned to go back to my stronghold, I hear
that two deer have been spotted near the farm. I wish I would have had the money for that general! It is going to be a cold, despondent winter. And I don't need a seer to know that.
212, winter. Jiro might still be worth having around. I have a notion to dub him "Jiro the Slow, Slayer of Boars." Though, perhaps it is best that
he not know about this until the end of our campaign. The winter has come, I have 40 gold and 3 sacrifices. Yet I have heard tell that some
necromancer in this land has had an untimely death. Good riddance! There's enough human creatures walking around without some honking undead-raising child-birthday-party-trick-casting wizard going around reanimating buffoons of his own kind. Jiro moves slowly through the snow to try and catch two dear. I watch from the mountain, and it makes me blush from embarassment. Somehow, as I ruminated on my mountain throne, I had imagined something more... climactic. But when I write the history of my victory, this shall not even be a footnote in the legends and legacy of my name! However, I hope the local historians take note of the title I gave Jiro for generations to come.
213, mid winter. Another year passes, and I have only begun! My teeth chatter, the snow falls off the mountain, and Jiro has killed two deer.
I don't care about deer, but I just want it to be warm again! I try to write, but my hands are so numb that it is futile.
213, late winter. It seems that it's just one thing after another. Some renegade Bakemono have appeared in the southwest. I cannot waste all this time when I need to be expanding! I have determined, since they are such a pitiful force, to let Jiro explore freely, and I can defend myself perfectly well. The greatest issue as the end of winter spring approaches is that Jiro has lost quite a few troops in his recent battles. In fact, he is only accompanied by 3 archers, 4 spearmen, and 5 sho.
213, spring. Spring has finally arrived, and the limacine Jiro has draggled his way through the hills to a watchtower. But he has not the forces (or so he says) to overtake the watch tower. I care not for the watchtower, and I have no fear of the humans ever leaving it. They enjoy lazing about, whining, and wining (the drunks!). Thus, they accomplish nothing and just camp out in the tower all day. I decided to start trying to buy sacrifices since I currently have very little in the way of resources. Little good it does me without a place from which to trade, but I do not want to forget. As I grow older, I notice that I have lapses in memory.
213, mid spring. Jiro wanders, and he tells me he has found swampland and crocodiles as well as a forest full of giant moose. This month has been very
uneventful.
213, late spring. I feel that my quest has only started, and already the humans have come to harass me. A group of horsemen has appeared in the northwest; they wave a blue standard high in the air. Their High Lord staggers on his horse from a chest wound; there are 6 of them, and Jiro is just out of reach. I can hear the laughter of the renegade Bakemono in the southeast forests. It haunts me. I sort of miss Jiro now, but I did not attain my position by heredity, but by ingenuity. I have determined to buy 10 swordsmen and to lead the force myself. A few will remain behind in hopes that the renegade Bakemono do not notice my exit. I trust in my magic, especially my Thunderhead spell, taught to me by the venerable Rysyiko, that calls down lightning on my enemies as well as my knowledge of spells to spread plagues and pain among enemy ranks. I have called Jiro's army to a nearby plain to finish the task if my conquest is cut short.
213, summer. Well, if I am here writing this, I assume you know the outcome of the battle. Yet, it was not without substantial loss of forces. The day would have been lost without the knowledge of magic that I have, but I believe that this early skirmish is an ill omen. Such human forces usually do not wander off without their lords knowing the way they went. But I returned to a mountain stronghold greeted by cheers and chanting. There will be rituals and feasting tonight; all while Jiro scours the land to find more places of sacrifice and to find out who it is that carries the blue banner, now bloodstained and torn in the scorching plain, so boldly into my domain.
ruins move a traveler's heart
the old parapets high and low
the ancient graves great and small
the shuddering shadow of a tumbleweed
the steady sound of giant trees
but what I lament are the common bones
unnamed in the records of immortals
-Han Shan (Cold Mountain, trans. by Red Pine)
I emerge from the deep recesses of my mountain cavern and step past a threshold of sunlight. My eyes adjust slowly to the inundation of light.
The birds call from lush branches and the deep green forest marks the beginning of summer. This was the time I had promised myself that I would no longer dwell in my mountain, but that I too would make a mark and a beginning.
As my beard has grown long and white, as my joints ache and I must have my staff to walk with, I become aware of my mortality and decide that there is no reason to live a sedentary and unremarkable existence. But as I am one being, though powerful, I need assistance, and as I have no funds, the undistinguished, undervalued, and green warrior Jiro has been appointed as my general. There is an old Bakemono proverb: "Let other feet test cold waters before you decide to swim."
I am in my 212th year of life and keep this record. My age changes with the new year, as does the age of all my people. My knowledge of the world is sparse and heard only through my people. I cam to this station in life through the study of magic with old master, Rysyiko, but he has ascended to higher mountains, and so my fellow mountain dwellers expected me to take his place.
I hear that the humans are prosperous in these times; if prosperity equates to brigand lairs, sprawling cities, and being a nuisance in general, then
the humans must be flourishing in these propitious times only because there are plenty of their own kind to pickpocket! Apparently the dwarves
have been doing well too: from my perch, I see smoke rising from their mines. Pashaw! Abscesses upon this land. I do not believe that my people own this land, nor anyone else, but I could certainly run it better. I look upon all this and ask myself why the Bakemono people cannot also be prosperous? In my dreams or as I meditate in deep cavern niche, a recurring memory erupts in my mind of Rysyiko: he tells me that my hand was made to hold a scepter.
I love these cold mountain walls of my stronghold, but I am not limited by them.
The records of the 212th year of Anadom the Bakemono Sorcerer
212, summer:
My conquest begins. At the summit of my mountain stronghold, where even in summer the windows blow viciously cold, Jiro steps to my side to survey the surrounding territory. I can see a farm in the northeast and, past it, a bridgand lair, a coal mine to the northwest, and a gold stream to the far west. After talking with Jiro, we agree that the farm to the northeast will be the first place to attack. I notice that when I talk to Jiro, he is quiet and always meets my eyes with his own blank stare. Sometimes I feel the need to hit him with my staff and bring him back to reality. We divided the available forces, and he has set off for the farm.
212, mid summer: A group of spearman were sitting around a farm to the northeast, but Jiro reports that his small spearman and archers easily dispatched them. Then I, being a creature of amibiton, ordered Jiro to capture the brigand lair. Apparently, the surrounding land has been made aware of emergence, for not a single brigand was to be found in the camp. Just a smoldering fire. They probably soiled their barbarian garments when they saw that my forces had left the mountain stronghold. Ha! I continued east and found the coastline. It has been long since I viewed the water. Jiro, he is such a romantic! I wish he would stick to the task of expansion and not linger on the coastline and contemplate the vast ocean! I myself wandered out of the stronghold, to the foot of the mountain and headed southward. The fresh air nearly choked me to death. Nothing but forests, jungles, monkies, and boars. As much a nuisance as the humans!
212, late summer. A Bakemono general came to offer his services for 56 gold! I spit in his face, and he left my mountan. My condecension assures that my forces do not know how pitiful our resources are at the moment. One must be a good showman in order to be a great leader. Jiro found a gallows to the northeast, not of much interest to me (I wish he would quit wasting messengers to send me utterly useless information)--but then another messanger came shortly after to relay that he had found a coastal village. A wide grin spread across my face upon hearing this good news; not only this, but it appears to be undefended! This seems rather odd to me. I wonder about Jiro's judgments sometimes. He is a bit of a astrologist at times (if you catch my drift).
212, autumn. The gumption of that Bakemono general, to return again this month and offer himself again for 53 gold! Ah, but it is only one of those endearing qualities of the Bakemono: persistence and a willingness to serve (but not to be screwed over). But myself
being Bakemono and persistent as well, I spit in his face again, and he stomped back down the mountain! As the leaves begin to turn, I look out the stronghold and notice that our recently acquired farm has been taken by some force. All around my stronghold are groups of boars laying waste to the land. Damn pests! Jiro easily took the coastal village, so I am calling him back to retake the farm and to handle all these damnable boars.
212, mid autumn. Jiro returns to the stronghold, but dallies in the woods on his way. I decided to venture out into that nauseating fresh air just to grab the farm, and what did I find? Boar tracks, everywhere! It looks as though there were about four romping around the farm. Well, I know what the Bakemono will have for breakfast in a month or two. Boar steaks! And if Jiro doesn't get back here and start doing his tasks in a timely manner, then I am going to demote him to my personal chef, so he can put that greatsword to use making me meals since he can't seem to employ it for any other reason.
212, late autumn. I can feel the chill in the air and wind. Can you believe my irritation when my stronghold was attacked by a band of brigands! And as soon as I did away with them (not hard for a sorcerer of my skill, really), Jiro shows up at the foot of the mountain. That dawdling imbecile!
I punted him down the mountain and told him to take care of those boars or to not come back. Then, as I turned to go back to my stronghold, I hear
that two deer have been spotted near the farm. I wish I would have had the money for that general! It is going to be a cold, despondent winter. And I don't need a seer to know that.
212, winter. Jiro might still be worth having around. I have a notion to dub him "Jiro the Slow, Slayer of Boars." Though, perhaps it is best that
he not know about this until the end of our campaign. The winter has come, I have 40 gold and 3 sacrifices. Yet I have heard tell that some
necromancer in this land has had an untimely death. Good riddance! There's enough human creatures walking around without some honking undead-raising child-birthday-party-trick-casting wizard going around reanimating buffoons of his own kind. Jiro moves slowly through the snow to try and catch two dear. I watch from the mountain, and it makes me blush from embarassment. Somehow, as I ruminated on my mountain throne, I had imagined something more... climactic. But when I write the history of my victory, this shall not even be a footnote in the legends and legacy of my name! However, I hope the local historians take note of the title I gave Jiro for generations to come.
213, mid winter. Another year passes, and I have only begun! My teeth chatter, the snow falls off the mountain, and Jiro has killed two deer.
I don't care about deer, but I just want it to be warm again! I try to write, but my hands are so numb that it is futile.
213, late winter. It seems that it's just one thing after another. Some renegade Bakemono have appeared in the southwest. I cannot waste all this time when I need to be expanding! I have determined, since they are such a pitiful force, to let Jiro explore freely, and I can defend myself perfectly well. The greatest issue as the end of winter spring approaches is that Jiro has lost quite a few troops in his recent battles. In fact, he is only accompanied by 3 archers, 4 spearmen, and 5 sho.
213, spring. Spring has finally arrived, and the limacine Jiro has draggled his way through the hills to a watchtower. But he has not the forces (or so he says) to overtake the watch tower. I care not for the watchtower, and I have no fear of the humans ever leaving it. They enjoy lazing about, whining, and wining (the drunks!). Thus, they accomplish nothing and just camp out in the tower all day. I decided to start trying to buy sacrifices since I currently have very little in the way of resources. Little good it does me without a place from which to trade, but I do not want to forget. As I grow older, I notice that I have lapses in memory.
213, mid spring. Jiro wanders, and he tells me he has found swampland and crocodiles as well as a forest full of giant moose. This month has been very
uneventful.
213, late spring. I feel that my quest has only started, and already the humans have come to harass me. A group of horsemen has appeared in the northwest; they wave a blue standard high in the air. Their High Lord staggers on his horse from a chest wound; there are 6 of them, and Jiro is just out of reach. I can hear the laughter of the renegade Bakemono in the southeast forests. It haunts me. I sort of miss Jiro now, but I did not attain my position by heredity, but by ingenuity. I have determined to buy 10 swordsmen and to lead the force myself. A few will remain behind in hopes that the renegade Bakemono do not notice my exit. I trust in my magic, especially my Thunderhead spell, taught to me by the venerable Rysyiko, that calls down lightning on my enemies as well as my knowledge of spells to spread plagues and pain among enemy ranks. I have called Jiro's army to a nearby plain to finish the task if my conquest is cut short.
213, summer. Well, if I am here writing this, I assume you know the outcome of the battle. Yet, it was not without substantial loss of forces. The day would have been lost without the knowledge of magic that I have, but I believe that this early skirmish is an ill omen. Such human forces usually do not wander off without their lords knowing the way they went. But I returned to a mountain stronghold greeted by cheers and chanting. There will be rituals and feasting tonight; all while Jiro scours the land to find more places of sacrifice and to find out who it is that carries the blue banner, now bloodstained and torn in the scorching plain, so boldly into my domain.