Board Thread:Lore Texts/@comment-27200931-20170601032527

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This is the tale of a king, which didn't have a heir, who wasn't very amused about his vassals being so eager to replace him after his death.

 In the palace of Karakun, royal seat of Timur Khan the Proud, king of the Rhúdel-men, the three most powerful warlords of the realm - Yerbolat, Serik and Aslan - drink in fake merriment, waiting for the pronouncement of their dying king.
 * 1) Written by Dragonovith
 * 2) title:Last Feast of Timur
 * 3) author:Rakhim the Poet
 * 4) types:rhun

"Where is this wine from? Certainly not from Rhúdel. From Dorwinion perhaps?" Asks Yerbolat Noyan, lord of Ariskala.

"Yes, it tastes like Dorwinion wine." - Says Serik Noyan, lord of Beybek.

"Elven piss, that is what it is." - Says Aslan Noyan, lord of Munbat.

Timur Khan, a king without heir, enters his majestic feast hall through the upper floor, which gives him a wide view of all the guests present in his carousal. The Khan, weakened by old age and sporting a deathly pallor on his face, arrives sitting on a chair with wheels on the sides, pushed by two of his golden bodyguards. Refusing help, he stands up from his wheeled chair an holds himself against the rail of the balcony, letting his colourful kaftan, ornamented with gleaming gold, fall to his feet.

The music stops and the slaves, which serve food and beverages, leave the scene. In the lower floor, the noble vassals of the Khan look up to their suzerain, which starts to address them:

"My good and loyal vassals, it is indeed a delight to have you all here tonight." - Says Timur Khan. "I hope the wine is to your liking, and the food as well."

"Wine so flavourful as this could have only been made by the able hands of your personal winemakers, my great king." - Said Yerbolat Noyan, lord of Ariskala.

"Oh, Yerbolat the Wise! It is a great pleasure to have you here in my palace. Now please, tell me, wiselord Yerbolat, the gold mines, which I personally granted you, are giving you a satisfactory profit? Are they effectively contributing to the treasury of Ariskala?" - Said Timur Khan.

Yerbolat Noyan says yes and, not feeling worthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

"My lips have never touched such stupendous wine, great king." - Says Serik Noyan, lord of Beybek.

"I am assured they did, humble Serik of Beybek! Certainly the five hundred slaves, which I gifted you in your marriage with Princess Anara, are giving you the necessary profits to acquire the best beverages that this world could offer." - Said Timur Khan.

Serik Noyan nods his head and, not feeling worthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

"Such marvellous wine, my throat shall never taste another beverage again, great king." - Says Aslan Noyan, lord of Munbat.

"My dear Aslan, always a bulwark of honesty! Your presence here is a beam of light which shines on our souls. Please, satisfy the curiosity of an old man. Are the wide steppes of Munbat, which I granted you last year, of your liking? Are the people of Munbat hard-working? Do they pay you their taxes at the end of each month?"

Aslan Noyan says yes and, not feeling worthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

Whispering to his bodyguards, Timur Khan gives an odd order, and is promptly lifted up and placed above the balcony's rail, where he stands up while being firmly held by his two guards. No one dares speak on the lower floor, the vassals only watch in awe and anxiousness.

Slowly, Yerbolat Noyan places his hand on the grip of his scimitar, crafted by a master smith of Harad; Serik Noyan holds firmly his dagger hidden under his kaftan; Aslan Noyan whisper something to his bodyguard, a famous champion warrior. Meanwhile the other vassals in the feast, all of them lords of mighty hosts and cities - yet weaker and not as prestigious as Yerbolat, Serik and Aslan - all grab their weapons stealthily.

"My vassals which I so well treated! Hear me now, for no living being in this palace has fair reason to complain about my ruling." - Says Timur Khan - "All what my eyes see now is a pack of hungry dogs, ready to fight in the mud for a dirty bone. In truth, I could let you all slay yourselves and bath my palace with your filthy blood, but no, if you all wait so eagerly for death, for my death, then that is what I shall give you! With wrath and fury, come and take it!"

Timur Khan opens his arms and throws himself from the balcony's rail. Right under the balcony there is an enormous pile of wine jars, at least that is what his vassals thought, because when the body of Timur falls into the pile of jars, they all instantly brake by the sheer strength of the impact, but instead of wine, what leaks from the jars is a sea of blue flames which, in a blink, swallows the majestic feast hall, and quickly spreads to the countless hallways and rooms of the palace.

The denizens of Karakun wake up with the loud noise of explosions, and they instantly shout with terror, for where there was once an imposing palace, the sitting of their king, now there is only an inferno of blue fire, which devours stone with an unquenchable hunger. When the sun rises up in the Uttermost East, the great palace is no more. Only a black stain of ashes in the ground is the witness of Timur Khan's wrath.  