Post by Ser Mehran S'Disraeli on Nov 22, 2008 13:13:20 GMT -5
I always knew this day would come. It's been a long road for me, being leader of this Society, and I've been wearied by it for sometime. I have looked to step down, but I was always afraid the power vacuum would suck the Society into a whirlpool of failure. I would never abandon my responsibilities, and that has forced me to wait for my replacement to present herself. The Harem of Irye is historically a matriarchy, always led by a female, since the days of Tujal the Gold.
And now I gaze into the golden eyes of my Worthy Challenger. That's the title given to anyone who decides they wear large enough trousers to attempt to defeat the current Khan. They go through many tests and battles, of wit and will, and weapons as well. Her features are familiar; she has come into the Harem under my reign as Khan, and I have met with her many times. The insults she feeds me are salt in my open wounds--she does have quite the way with words, though this one is normally quiet.
My chosen weapon for battle is the bow and arrow, and this seems to please her. She is talented with the combination as well, and though I use a dagger at my side, she remains only with the bent yew and fletched shaft. The heads of the arrows are dulled. When they impact, they will still leave telling bruises, to keep our battle honest, but they will not break skin. It's a rather ingenious system.
I'll spare you the not-so-gory details of our fight. She wins. I take a stupid step to the left and managed to land myself right in front of her loosed shaft. The dull head pelts me in the chest, right between my breasts, and I am "dead." She has bested me in my favorite weapon, and that is no easy feat. "Well done, Worthy Challenger," I say, laying my bow across my forehead in the universal sign of defeat. It was a perfect shot, and she manages not to look too proud.
Next will be our battle of wits. We shall see who knows more about what. I smile and take my place on my beaded pillow on the floor in front of the raised dais I have erected here in Ravenwood for this tournament. Eldrin barely allowed it, except that I needed a way to give up my leadership, and he presides over the matches to make sure everything stays well. "Please sit, Worthy Challenger," I say, formally beginning the War of Wit.
All the stages have been set down for two hundred years, and we are both simply players of this game. She will likely win; I have no love for the sport or its cause, and this causes me to be less than concerned for the victory. But I will still be sharp; this will be no easy victory for my adversary.
And now I gaze into the golden eyes of my Worthy Challenger. That's the title given to anyone who decides they wear large enough trousers to attempt to defeat the current Khan. They go through many tests and battles, of wit and will, and weapons as well. Her features are familiar; she has come into the Harem under my reign as Khan, and I have met with her many times. The insults she feeds me are salt in my open wounds--she does have quite the way with words, though this one is normally quiet.
My chosen weapon for battle is the bow and arrow, and this seems to please her. She is talented with the combination as well, and though I use a dagger at my side, she remains only with the bent yew and fletched shaft. The heads of the arrows are dulled. When they impact, they will still leave telling bruises, to keep our battle honest, but they will not break skin. It's a rather ingenious system.
I'll spare you the not-so-gory details of our fight. She wins. I take a stupid step to the left and managed to land myself right in front of her loosed shaft. The dull head pelts me in the chest, right between my breasts, and I am "dead." She has bested me in my favorite weapon, and that is no easy feat. "Well done, Worthy Challenger," I say, laying my bow across my forehead in the universal sign of defeat. It was a perfect shot, and she manages not to look too proud.
Next will be our battle of wits. We shall see who knows more about what. I smile and take my place on my beaded pillow on the floor in front of the raised dais I have erected here in Ravenwood for this tournament. Eldrin barely allowed it, except that I needed a way to give up my leadership, and he presides over the matches to make sure everything stays well. "Please sit, Worthy Challenger," I say, formally beginning the War of Wit.
All the stages have been set down for two hundred years, and we are both simply players of this game. She will likely win; I have no love for the sport or its cause, and this causes me to be less than concerned for the victory. But I will still be sharp; this will be no easy victory for my adversary.