Clarenthia
Establishing Nation
- Joined
- May 4, 2010
- Messages
- 1,148
- Capital
- Alaghan
- Nick
- Jurzidentia
Rawalpindl Bazaar
The City of Andhkoy
Northern Peshawar
“So many bananas,” Shandar thought.
Shandar is a boy of only fifteen years – with facial hair only a fifteen-year-old boy could find any pride in. By no means had this been the first time he had visited the Rawalpindl Bazaar in the City of Andhkoy. In fact, he hadn’t known much of a world outside of Andhkoy. He had heard of the far away lands, even read about them, but some things can never be fully understood until they are seen.
“A journey is a dire calamity,” his father always told him, as his father’s father had repeated, and his father’s father’s father before him.
Shandar’s gaze gradually moved from the mound of bananas in front of him to the mosaic of blankets that hung over the booths to block the oppressive Jurzani sun. Most were a thin cloth, so the sun highlighted the rich shades of greens, blues, purples, yellows, and oranges. The reflection on the dirt ground made you feel as though you were in a world all your own.
However long you could find yourself in serenity, however, would quickly be ended by the not so gentle nudge of a man behind you, trying to navigate the narrow and estranged paths, haphazardly carved from the hundreds of shops.
And even if you somehow managed to dodge the patrons, the continuous and constantly yells and promises of cheap barter filled your ears. Often, the ring it would leave in your ear would follow you for miles – free advertising for the shopkeepers.
Today, however, a different sound hummed to Shandar. It wasn’t the sound of patrons desperately crafting their persuasions, nor the would-be customer expertly haggling the price down. It was the sound of anger, a roar – an oddity in a city that prides itself on serenity.
Shandar navigated outside the shopkeepers’ maze to find the streets packed shoulder to shoulder of marchers. Chants of “Free the People!” filled the air in perfect unison. The pride of the nation – the black, white, and green flag – bellowed in the wind as many of the people gathered waved the flag. It was such a display of patriotism, of love for the country that had guarded them all. Using his small frame to his advantage, Shandar weaved into the crowd and followed them in their patriotic glory.
The crowd soon marched into the public square of Andhkoy – a massive park in the center of the city. Shandar had never seen such a large gathering, thousands were packed and flags of varying sizes dotted the crowd. They were all fixated on the center and Shandar quickly scrambled to find a bench that he could stand on. Once he did, he immediately saw him.
Imran Haroon Farrukh, former Mayor, former Governor, present Delegate to the Chamber of the People – the most powerful man in Andhkoy and one of the key players in Peshawar. No one did not know his face. He stood in his traditional clothing, grey khet partug with a black vest and a Peshwari Cap. He had a powerful voice, amplified by a microphone.
“Our land, is the Land of God. Our people, are the People of God,” Farrukh proclaimed “He who does not defend our people from all threats is insulting not only our brotherhood, but God himself!”
Thunderous applause erupted from the crowds, as the waving of flags became even more frantic.
“Our president, has indeed fought for the freedom of our people,” Farrukh stated, seemingly reluctantly “But he has lost his way. Yesterday, Jurzani lives were taken from us by the vile, infidel Kadikistani. They killed our brothers in cold blood!”
The crowd’s booing and murmuring highlighted the tone of the Delegate.
“Our President then calls for peace! He calls for love! He calls for the protection of the Kadikistani!” Farrukh threw a document into the crowd, but Shandar could not make out what it was.
“He calls not for justice! Justice is a core of the Jurzani people and he has abandoned it in the name of fear! He has sold our land to the Saare, he has sold us to the Prometheists, he has bastardized our culture, he has welcomed aliens, he has betrayed our nation!”
“Farrukh! Farrukh! Farrukh!” the crowds chanted back.
“Now, now,” Farrukh half-heartedly attempted to calm the crowd “I commend our president. Faraj Khayrat has served this nation more than any other man, but his time is done. We cannot, we will not, accept peace when faced with murder. We need strength, not weakness. The prometheists are not fit to rule this country, but we are!”
The crowd immediately exploded into cheers from the Delegate’s words.
“You all humble me,” Farrukh continued “You have provided me with more blessings that I ever deserved. I will take you all with me to Alaghan. Together, we will show that when Jurzani blood is spilled, there is no compromise, no peace! There can be no peace until there is justice!”
The Delegate stopped speaking and Shandar quickly lost sight of him. In fact, he quickly lost sight of everything as the crowds continued to grow and move in closer.
“Wow,” the boy thought.
The City of Andhkoy
Northern Peshawar
“So many bananas,” Shandar thought.
Shandar is a boy of only fifteen years – with facial hair only a fifteen-year-old boy could find any pride in. By no means had this been the first time he had visited the Rawalpindl Bazaar in the City of Andhkoy. In fact, he hadn’t known much of a world outside of Andhkoy. He had heard of the far away lands, even read about them, but some things can never be fully understood until they are seen.
“A journey is a dire calamity,” his father always told him, as his father’s father had repeated, and his father’s father’s father before him.
Shandar’s gaze gradually moved from the mound of bananas in front of him to the mosaic of blankets that hung over the booths to block the oppressive Jurzani sun. Most were a thin cloth, so the sun highlighted the rich shades of greens, blues, purples, yellows, and oranges. The reflection on the dirt ground made you feel as though you were in a world all your own.
However long you could find yourself in serenity, however, would quickly be ended by the not so gentle nudge of a man behind you, trying to navigate the narrow and estranged paths, haphazardly carved from the hundreds of shops.
And even if you somehow managed to dodge the patrons, the continuous and constantly yells and promises of cheap barter filled your ears. Often, the ring it would leave in your ear would follow you for miles – free advertising for the shopkeepers.
Today, however, a different sound hummed to Shandar. It wasn’t the sound of patrons desperately crafting their persuasions, nor the would-be customer expertly haggling the price down. It was the sound of anger, a roar – an oddity in a city that prides itself on serenity.
Shandar navigated outside the shopkeepers’ maze to find the streets packed shoulder to shoulder of marchers. Chants of “Free the People!” filled the air in perfect unison. The pride of the nation – the black, white, and green flag – bellowed in the wind as many of the people gathered waved the flag. It was such a display of patriotism, of love for the country that had guarded them all. Using his small frame to his advantage, Shandar weaved into the crowd and followed them in their patriotic glory.
The crowd soon marched into the public square of Andhkoy – a massive park in the center of the city. Shandar had never seen such a large gathering, thousands were packed and flags of varying sizes dotted the crowd. They were all fixated on the center and Shandar quickly scrambled to find a bench that he could stand on. Once he did, he immediately saw him.
Imran Haroon Farrukh, former Mayor, former Governor, present Delegate to the Chamber of the People – the most powerful man in Andhkoy and one of the key players in Peshawar. No one did not know his face. He stood in his traditional clothing, grey khet partug with a black vest and a Peshwari Cap. He had a powerful voice, amplified by a microphone.
“Our land, is the Land of God. Our people, are the People of God,” Farrukh proclaimed “He who does not defend our people from all threats is insulting not only our brotherhood, but God himself!”
Thunderous applause erupted from the crowds, as the waving of flags became even more frantic.
“Our president, has indeed fought for the freedom of our people,” Farrukh stated, seemingly reluctantly “But he has lost his way. Yesterday, Jurzani lives were taken from us by the vile, infidel Kadikistani. They killed our brothers in cold blood!”
The crowd’s booing and murmuring highlighted the tone of the Delegate.
“Our President then calls for peace! He calls for love! He calls for the protection of the Kadikistani!” Farrukh threw a document into the crowd, but Shandar could not make out what it was.
“He calls not for justice! Justice is a core of the Jurzani people and he has abandoned it in the name of fear! He has sold our land to the Saare, he has sold us to the Prometheists, he has bastardized our culture, he has welcomed aliens, he has betrayed our nation!”
“Farrukh! Farrukh! Farrukh!” the crowds chanted back.
“Now, now,” Farrukh half-heartedly attempted to calm the crowd “I commend our president. Faraj Khayrat has served this nation more than any other man, but his time is done. We cannot, we will not, accept peace when faced with murder. We need strength, not weakness. The prometheists are not fit to rule this country, but we are!”
The crowd immediately exploded into cheers from the Delegate’s words.
“You all humble me,” Farrukh continued “You have provided me with more blessings that I ever deserved. I will take you all with me to Alaghan. Together, we will show that when Jurzani blood is spilled, there is no compromise, no peace! There can be no peace until there is justice!”
The Delegate stopped speaking and Shandar quickly lost sight of him. In fact, he quickly lost sight of everything as the crowds continued to grow and move in closer.
“Wow,” the boy thought.