Merchant Prince is a gender-free title unique for Khimera Kingdoms.
Granted for dozen richest merchants at time, this title ensures hight respect and recognition of personal skills for the holder.
Indeed a Merchant Prince, or more commonly, a person appointed by one as their substitute, holds a chair in the Assembly de Ivora; the ruling organisation of the Kingdoms, making up one third of Assmebly representatives.
Due to requirements of holding the position, some of the title holders only bear the honorific year or two before being replaced by someone more successful, while others bear it from the moment of granting to the day they die or retire. Its neither uncommon for a merchant to gain the title, lose it and regain it later as their influence raises again, or that of other's reduces.
The following list contains current Merchant princes in order of years of holding the title (shown as number after the name) from one to hold it longest to the newest supplement. The order does not relate to the magnitude of each Prince's wealth in any way.
Serra Kesrian (36)
Serr Emrian (29)
Sere Kereliar (21)
Sere Esemier (19)
Serra Ionais (18)
Seri Yarasmir (9)
Sere Seralion (7)
Serra Emeya (6)
Seri Ramiar (4)
Sera Eraya (1)
Sere Keres (1)
Serr Kerlion (1)
Hämärän huone
Let me tell you a story...
sunnuntai 8. huhtikuuta 2012
keskiviikko 22. helmikuuta 2012
Song of the Weaver
My sad little bird
caged inside
Your body, your mind
Sing your songs of agony
Whisper your sorrows
only for me
Oh, I should not dream so.
My sorrow song
spun of silence
Teach my young one
off ways of the world
Teach of suffering
Teach of violence
Oh, will we ever be free to go?
Time; the mistress most cruel
What ever will we do
When our hands are too old to bear the tool?
Just concentrate on your work for now.
Sweet kiss of love
in midst of night
And breath that almost
isn't there
Deepest shadows come
before morning light
Oh, teach those silver lies for me.
Our needles straight
Our scissors sharp
Nothing cuts better
than our tool
Such a childish dreams
you have poor fool
Oh, what a grand dress it will be.
caged inside
Your body, your mind
Sing your songs of agony
Whisper your sorrows
only for me
Oh, I should not dream so.
My sorrow song
spun of silence
Teach my young one
off ways of the world
Teach of suffering
Teach of violence
Oh, will we ever be free to go?
Time; the mistress most cruel
What ever will we do
When our hands are too old to bear the tool?
Just concentrate on your work for now.
Sweet kiss of love
in midst of night
And breath that almost
isn't there
Deepest shadows come
before morning light
Oh, teach those silver lies for me.
Our needles straight
Our scissors sharp
Nothing cuts better
than our tool
Such a childish dreams
you have poor fool
Oh, what a grand dress it will be.
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