Queen Rácine
Moderator
Southron Queen of the Southrons Evil Alliance Commander
Sindohte Runyalos Wood Elf Healer Messenger[/color]
The past is taught by those who win, my darling. What matters is what hasn't been.
Posts: 95
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Post by Queen Rácine on May 3, 2006 20:25:16 GMT
Rácine entered the palace once again after a walk around the shores of the oasis. She was in the customary Harad clothes; richly dyed cloth of red and black draped across her body and some pieces coming up to wrap about her headand neck. She proceeded up the steps, the polished stone reflecting most of the heat away and the trees planted either side of the entrance offering shade. Rácine, however, would not be able to ponder in peace and tranquility about her next moves. She had to return to the hustle of the Palace, and she had to convey her thoughts to another person.
Warmaster Nothius forces were yet to be played into the war and the alliance meant that she could call upon his aid. However, whether the man had his own agenda and whether she could urge him to follow her own plans was beyond her. Along the harsly carved corridors, she listned to the echoing of her sandled feet against the floor. Of course she could persuade him . . .
She wanted Ithilien. Both of them would want it and it would avoid having to take undesirable path through Mordor in order for Rhun and Harad to meet. Ithilien was unused, such rare resources such as timber and farm land . . . it was be such a gift for the desert people to have.
Her thoughts were slipping through her head all the while as she neared her throne room. The room held two thrones; one for a king and queen. She wondered absently whether anyone would take the throne next to her then shook the thoughts at of her head. Her parent's efforts had failed to do that and still slightly bitter about those efforts she was determined to stay monarch. She sat down on the cushioned seat and let dreams and vision of success float across her mind.
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Warmaster Nothius
Easterling
Commander of the Armies of the East
Victory, or Death.
Posts: 13
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Post by Warmaster Nothius on May 4, 2006 2:44:05 GMT
Harad had summoned Rhûn, and Rhûn had sent its answer. The distinctive clanking of metal against stone echoed off the walls of the opulent limestone palace as Nothius strode along its grand hallways. He was dressed for war, the wardrobe that he had always preferred, fully encased in his iron scale armor, a long crimson cloak trailing behind him. His helmet he had shed, such an occasion required small concessions like that.
Nothius swept a hand across his forhead, it came away grimy and sweat stained. It was swelteringly hot under the suit of armor and full battle gear was hardly the garb of choice in the deep deserts of Haradwaith. Nothius shrugged off the sensation, years of training in the wilds of Rhûn had hardened him beyond such petty things as heat or cold.
But even as he pushed aside the inconvenience of the elements, he could do nothing to allay the nagging fears that had occupied the forefront of his thoughts for the better part of the day. Nothius was trained for war, for battle, to look into a man’s eyes and watch as, by your hand, his spirit bled away. But this was something different. He had searched long and hard for the proper word, and he had found only one…politics. These were things at which he was woefully inadequate, he had never been trained for these things.
He shifted uneasily and his step faltered, the two honor guards behind him halted immediately. A transparent curtain of some fine material lay before him, beyond it he could just make out the throne room where sat Rácine. Nothius hand strayed to his waist where his scimitar would normally rest, it’s absence troubled him, he felt almost naked without; but there was nothing for it. To walk into the presence of royalty in arms was as almost as good as a declaration of war. So again he cast off the nagging feeling and pushed away the curtain barrier.
Nothius walked slowly and deliberately towards the throne, he stopped at the raised dais that the throne sat upon and dropped to one knee. “Lady Rácine, Queen of the Harad, in the name of the East, I greet you.”
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Queen Rácine
Moderator
Southron Queen of the Southrons Evil Alliance Commander
Sindohte Runyalos Wood Elf Healer Messenger[/color]
The past is taught by those who win, my darling. What matters is what hasn't been.
Posts: 95
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Post by Queen Rácine on May 7, 2006 15:54:36 GMT
Rácine heard him before she saw him. The thin silk veil between them made his silhouette all the more formidable. Typical Easterling armour; sharp and harsh leaf plates, made a distict sound against the white walls. The silk parted and the silhouette fell away. Rácine had to admire the insistents of wearing full battle armour in Harad weather, even she failed to withstand the heat without the armour. However it wasn't one of those days and for a moment she was concerned one of her allies would die of dehydration.
Rácine watched him lower himself on one knee before rising from her throne with the quick bob of a curtsey. She beckoned him up with a wave of her hand. She remembered belatedly of the discourtesy she was showing by still having her head scarf on covering everything but her eyes. She refrained from tearing it off and unravelled it slowly while speaking. "Well met, my Lord Nothius. I welcome you heartily to my realm. I thank you for answering my call so quickly."
The scarf was off and she let it drape across her shoulders as she turned away and walked. Behind the thrones lay a room also draped in the same translucent silk. She often retired here with guests after she had greeted them formally from her throne. Her lady-in-waiting always awaited dutifully there. Rácine drew the silk curtain apart and turned to check Nothius had followed her. "Come, this room is much cooler," she told him. Rácine ordered her lady-in-waiting away with the request of water and fruits.
The room was predominately white and red. Cushions were there to lounge across and a low table made from Mumakil bones held maps and letters and lists and other things like that. The walls were decorated with drapes and the swords of each of the former monarchs of Harad.
She sat down herself and motioned for him to do so too.
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