"Lost Continent: Flight From Muurdaan" (BeckonCall's FNB!)

[Beckoncall]

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Current Players are: Elendithas (Aymaran/Reptiles), HeyitsJwon (Human/Attolians), KamiKhazy (Ratkin/Clans), Prince Vaethorion (High Elves), Spiralerrant (Minotaurs/Tyren). Enemy Standoo (st. Victoria) @Tori_98 (Reuben), General Deth Glitch (tba)


This initial post is "preface" before the expedition sets sail for, much less arrives, in the "new world."


You may also introduce yourself to the other faction leaders, as the first time you ever meet is but a week before the expedition begins -- you've all been moved in cramped caravans and baggage trains to "Port Cestus", a dirty and sprawling city that seems to have thrown itself up (literally and metaphorically) around a Muurdaan Naval base. Security is high, but you and your people are treated decently and are left surprisingly unmolested, even Deth's penal colonists are allowed to shuffle about a tarped courtyard, heavily watched and forbidden to wander, but largely unantagonized. The populations are compartmentalized, and it quickly becomes obvious that the larger city is not supposed to be aware of your undertaking. you as leaders will enjoy well-appointed quarters and a Murdaanian Delegate is available to answer questions and field requests should you wish to do so. (in the context of the game, materials (hopefully everything you'll need) will be procured and loaded on-ship for you by your secondaries and city officials, though if you are curious about lore or clues or just want to dialog with the representative of those who financed your expedition, you may do so. If you wish to commune with other leaders before the expedition you may do so, albeit briefly, at this stage. There is much to do before the ships can set sail, new friendships, alliances and emnity may be sown -- but will have to steep during the voyage...

 

[Beckoncall]

For all players, a wax-sealed letter with golden trim is slipped under each of your doors -- bearing the seal of one of the high houses of Muurdaan -- only the underlords or their direct agents have these seals. The letters are all identical, and read:


"Willing Taskmaster of the Empire,


There is a matter of some discretion required of one of the would-be leaders of the new jewel in the crown of the Eternal Empire -- by responding to this missive, you are demonstrating your particular willingness as an agent of your Lords, and it is a matter of some discretion. Haste is a factor, so the first personage of a mind to comply will likely be given the task, most grave. The Underlords are not fools, and know where your loyalties lie, and where they do not. Do not consider this undertaking if honor for the Lords is not in your blood. Failure will be costly for all involved.


Most Respectfully,


-F"


(There is an address of an office on the Naval base below the stylized Signature, a flourishing script that appears as if almost written in a... clawed hand?)


Upon reading this, please post what you will do with the letter. If you wish to go to the office, post as such -- if more than one player posts they are going within a close window, they may arrive together. Otherwise one will be told they have arrived after the other and will be RP'ed as such.

 

[Beckoncall]

FOR MAEDER DRATIC:


After a final check of cargo inventory is run by muurdaan officials, One of your Country-men, Haakon ("Who's breath stinks of killing"), comes to you with his own run of the cargo manifests. Half of the pot-able water for the voyage is mismarked -- it's barrels of BEER and even some wine. Additionally, a few boxes marked basic tools and construction materials actually contain a non-assembled, but likely perfectly functional BALLISTA. You don't have the talents to tell for sure, but you are smart enough to deduct that somebody (likely a criminal or criminals in your retinue) has been able to counterfeit official Muurdain shipping labels... even wilder than that, they've been able to move undetected on the base to actually get those labels swapped on containers of very specific commodities. Given Underlord Beauracracy, it is unlikely the cargo will be checked again... but there is still the matter of what to do, if anything -- (it is worth noting that there is not enough water for your entire group to make the voyage -- I will list below choices you may make, or you may come up with your own solution...


1) Screw it! A ship full of drunken prisoners?! It'll be good for morale!


2) Plan to trade some of the beer or wine under the table for water, either before or during the voyage with one of the other factions


3) My countrymen and laborers will have plenty of beer and some water, water alone for the criminals.


4) These Shenanigans will get us all hung before we even set sail... (report the infraction)


Or like I said, RP your own solution or your version of one of the above. If you do not address the situation it will likely resolve itself... though perhaps not as you'd like.

 

[Leusis]

Belanor slowly stepped close to the door of his room, bending over to pick up the message. Upon close inspection he could easily tell from who it came, one of the Underlords, and the writing its self seemed strange in some way, as if written by a clawed hand. This was most interesting for Belanor, and of course, he wished to do nothing less than figure out what this task was, even if he had no intention of actually doing anything for the Underlords.


Stepping out from his room with the message in hand he would slowly begin making his way to the office. Purposely attempting to arrive late he would do so, just in time to see the first of the individual invited enter the office. Deciding this to be a perfect chance to discover information not meant for his ears Belanor would turn down another hallway. Making sure that there was nobody around to see him he would then climb out a window. Using his impressive elvish agility he would climb the sides of the building with relative ease, making his way towards one of the offices windows. It was then that he would look for any opening the window already had, such as a crack or pre-existing hole for him to listen through while remaining undetected.

 

[Beckoncall]

(awesome, Leusis -- Totally jazzed to have a player in you) -- what you seek to do is easily achievable for you. should somebody else take up the task, you will be privy to all that happens...

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Maeder Dratic

​

"A letter?" He stifled a laugh 'The Underlords are not fools, and know where your loyalties lie' he read and then immediately held it over a candle burning in the corner to light the room, as he watched the scroll burn away he said "You know where my loyalties lie and yet you still send me this letter?" As he was enjoying the flames and thinking of his home and the Summer, primarily the celebration for Dracos. How he missed those wonderful festivities, as fire engulfed the ships of the dead and much drink was drunk. He was sitting, staring into the enticing flames when Haakon enters quite suddenly, ripping him from his day dream. With a sigh Maeder looks over, "Yes brother?" he questions, wondering why the darker gods felt the need to interrupt his reverie.


"Well I thought I might need to tell you, half the waters been turned to beer and most the rest into wine. If there was still enough water for all then I would feel no need to assail you with such findings but there isn't." He said "I assume we must get rid of it and trade it for water?" as he said this he looked a little down heartened, but Haakon not only respected Maeder but also respected his judgement, the man who could win any battle suddenered to save his people, as far as Haakon was concerned Maeder only did it so he wouldn't have to lose so many men and would have no doubt won, even if Maeder's victory was unlikely at best.


"What we must do, as far as those 'Underlordlings' give a damn, is tell the bastards so they can blame us, take away the beer and leave barely enough water for the journey." Then he smiled at Haakon, he trusted Haakon, "But we have no master save Dracos, so I say we trade away the wine, watered down drink is of no use to us, and enjoy the beer. I am sure those pointy tree folk would appreciate some wine, or perhaps the loyal fella, but his loyalties may run too deep, despite being sent along with us into hell." He looked at Haaken fondly, remembering how they fought side by side against the dreaded lord they are now forced to serve. "See if you can contact the elves and, while your at it, ask around about that Trajen bloke"

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex @Leusis @General Deth Glitch


General Deth (Maeder Dratic, leader of a faction of human exiles and criminals, just to clear perhaps initial confusion) has made moves that could effect you.


Namely for Icerex: One of the wild-men warriors, possibly just barbarians maybe zealots of some dragon god -- named Haakon, Seeks to make introduction between his leader and your countenance. Haakon invites you to come to the quarters of his boss, he is a crude man, but respectful and you can tell in his attitude he does not wish to cause embarassment or disfavor for his friend and leader, though he is far from a refined emissary.


For Leusis: A trusted clerk (one of Maedr's skilled workers that he obviously feels he can trust) has come to you with an offer of wine in exchange for... of all things, some of the water barrels in your ships hold. The clerk brings a sample of the vintage and it is clear as day to your agents that this man has no idea what he's holding in his hands. This is a Pre-Courritian Gahg-ahgley -- one of the few human vintages an elf would deign to savor. Even if the wine does not appeal, the value of a few casks of it is undeniable, and would make great tribute, barter, or sale to those who could appreciate it.


It will be up to Leusis and General Deth to come to an agreement on what the terms of the trade will be. For goodwill between factions? with the expectation of some favor owed to one party or the other? Looking forward to seeing it emerge in the thread.


NOTE: It is worth noting that Leusis' character is presently indisposed, so any exchange is expected to happen after he returns from spying on the Imperial Agent and whomever, if anyone, answers the call.

 

[Leusis]

@General Deth Glitch


Approached by the clerk Belanor would listen carefully to the offer that has been sent his way. Taking a taste from the sample the answer was simple, he would indeed trade his water for such an expensive wine. However, he knew perfectly that there was only one reason a man would trade such a valuable thing for something as simple as water, and that would be the fact that they do not have enough water for the journey. Knowing such a thing Belanor would focus his eyes on the clerk, speaking simply "I shall give you one barrel of water for every two barrels of wine I recieve, as well as this I am only willing to trade a total of four barrels of water to your people". Knowing that this amount of water would only last, even if rationed carefully for four to five days at max, limiting Belanor's loss while giving him much to gain. This also limited the amount of aid he was truely giving these humans to a depressing degree, only giving them enough water to finish their journey and perhaps have a days rations remaining when they made land fall.


This of course would make survival much harder for the human in the first week and possibly eliminate some of the competition for resources and land. As well as this, Belanor knew that Maeder had no choice but to accept, for if he did not, his people wouldn't even survive to see the new land that awaited them all.


(This post takes place after Belanor listens to the conversation in the office, just to make sure that the timeline isn't all weird)

 

[Icerex]

Marcus Trajan:





The clatter of iron-shod hooves on cobblestone broke through the afternoon air, causing various denizens of the street to dash out of the way as a horse-drawn carriage traveled down the packed thoroughfare of Port Cestus. The carriage was painted a dark red, with the black eagle of the Corvus emblazoned on the side panels in lacquered metal. It eventually rolled to a stop in front of an official-looking building down by the shipyard, 'The Office of Imperial Commerce and Trade,' a broad wooden sign on the front of the building proudly proclaimed. The scent of rotting fish, tar and sea salt hung thick on the air as the door to the carriage was pushed open, a coated figure stepping down onto the dusty ground. The man looked around, pushing a gold-trimmed letter into one of the inside pockets of his coat. Dark of hair, with sharp green eyes and a hard set to his mouth, the man was clearly military. He was dressed in a fitted dark red coat and black breeches, a short-sword hanging at his side. Black leather riding boots and metal-backed gauntlets held under his arm completed the outfit.


Marcus tapped the back of his gauntlets in the palm of his hand, surveying the scene before him. He seemed to be the first to arrive, or at least the first to arrive by carriage, who new what other ingrates where being sent along on the 'expedition.' He took a step towards the building, intending to meet with his benefactor, he grimaced slightly at the thought, but was stopped by a scruffy-looking man with a message. The man seemed to be an emissary from one of the other, dare he say it, commanders, and was requesting a meeting of sorts between himself and Marcus. Marcus nodded at the man, telling him that he had urgent business with the Office, and would be more than happy to meet with the man after he had finished. If that was to late of a time, Marcus said, the man was more than welcome to make his own way down to the office, from where they could have a nice chat. Marcus dismissed the man with a tight fake smile, then turned away with a grimace, walking up and opening the heavy wooden door of the building.


@General Deth Glitch

 

[Beckoncall]

@General Deth Glitch @Leusis


The clerk is at first visibly down-trodden, then outright offended.


(True or not, the clerk is not privy to whether the situation for water is desperate, only that the way the wine was obtained might be suspect.)


"In my province, some folk told me some pretty harsh things about the Wood Elves -- I had resolved to reserve such judgements for m'self. I'll tell the boss about your 'offer', but I am reasonably certain you can't be the only interested party, sir. Most respectfully I wish you a good day."


The clerk bows, in an almost laughable parody attempting a line with elvish custom with his flourish. Clearly this was meant to impress you, or at least demonstrate a lack of complete ignorance of your ways. Such as the attempt was, that is.


Maeder's Advisors: Your countrymen,the only folk let in with full confidence the particulars of the situation, have this to say:


"The elves give us a choice to thirst with wine or thirst with just enough water for us to be miserable. To hell's with them, we say -- we'd not suffer the indignity of that type of "aid"... We'd rather take triple shifts watching a throng of murderers drunk to the gills then bear our throats to those tree-climbers. It'll be hardship, but beats the hardship and dishonor THEY propose!" ... Another chimes in "We are brawlers, we are rough folk, and it's not like many of us hasn't been drunk the morning of a fight in any case -- If we must that grapey-piss, let our breaths stink of it, let the Dragon herself light our breath from it should needs must!"


(if the matter carries forward I leave it to you two how it proceeds) -- The General still has other prospectives to trade with, and it may also still be possible if need is dire enough, to pour out the barrels and have them discretely refilled from one of the more secluded wells near their settlers quarters.


You could go with one of your advisors ideas, or you could continue to negotiate, or try something else entirely, Deth. Your countrymen are already negatively disposed towards the elves in light of this development, that they would take some kind of delight in their suffering on their voyage. Consider what you do carefully. Discovery of the mislabeling could be embarrassing at the very least, and there is still the issue of the water problem.


DIPLOMATIC SHIFT: Maeder's advisers, (some countrymen with full confidence to know the full reality of the situation) suggest these alternatives to what they perceive as an insult to Maeder, and their part in the settlement. It might be days or weeks after landfall when the rumor would get out, but once spread there would be little love to come of it from the people loyal to Maeder, that is, if the situation as it stands does not evolve...

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex @Leusis


The door is opened for Marcus, and a lady page with full diplomatic regalia ushers the Tactician in... The person he was here to see wasn't a lowly page. The face of the Empires agents could often be soft, but you knew from War College and what exposure you had to Muurdaan culture -- that the faces of decision makers were stern, or worse.


"I will let the Fetch know that you've arrived, Tactician -- He has told me to expect you." she pauses as if remembering the first time she met her overseer.


"You may find the presence of his Stewardship... disconcerting at first. I find it is easiest to listen to his voice, and think less of his... countenance."


After a brief pause, witnessed by Belanor as he resolves to exit and scale to the window, Marcus is lead up to an office on the second story of the building. down the hall from the door he is lead to, an eerie green light can be seen emanating under the door. From the up on the stairway he briefly catches a glimpse of a metal crate filled with what seems to be a mish-mash of black, pitted armor. The page steps away with a curtsey, and the door opens on it own...


The Fetch, as they are so called, looks nothing more than a heap of black and brown robes, his face ensconced in the shadow of a hood. A loose sleeve pulls back revealing a hand with fingers twice as long as a man's, the skin pulled so taut over it that it might seem his fingerbones might burst from their tips. Despite seeing so little of the Fetch, you can tell he? she? it? is horribly distracted... as if concentrating on something very far away, a sharp mind horribly contorted with the confusion of some unseen undertaking...


...It speaks with the voice of an Angel. Beautiful, sonorous, compelling and even disarming. From the window Belanor has a much different view -- from just the right angle, and for only a moment, Belanor sees beneath the hood, as the eyes of an elf see in ranges hidden to men. The Face beneath the hood is a patchwork of what seems to be the skin of what could be many people... knitted together with silver stitches. A baleful glow shines dimly behind lidless eyes. It is hideous.


"Ahhh... Marcus -- so glad you have finally arrived. I should have made a finer welcome for you Marcus, but in the excitement of these final preparations I had forgotten we hadn't actually met." His clawed hand ushers you to an ornate chair at his equally ornate desk, before pulling it back into it's robe, like a snake.


"There is a matter of some sensitivity that I must ask of you, Marcus... You see, "beings" such as myself would not normally be able to cross the barrier into the new world. Not normally. And yet, I have been ordered, perhaps from close, perhaps from afar, to monitor the colonies progress for my masters, your masters as well. Which leads us to my quandry."


Pulling a cloth cover from an object on the table, the fetch turns your attention to a black crystal, bound with wrought iron covered in dull spikes, barely the size of a fat strawberry -- you still can sense it's power.


The sonorous voice continues: "This is a Kolifax, Marcus. It is a prison for extra-planar beings... like myself. It's merest presence so close to me fills me with such dread and agony that I can barely focus... so you must forgive me yet again if I am less than sparkling company. As I said, one such as I could never normally travel to the new world. But in this prison, I may be carried -- in your protection, past the barrier so I might do as I must... as we must, Mar-cus."


"You see that what I ask is far less pleasant for me than it is for you. I only ask that after the proper rites are performed, you take the Kolifax into your possession and shatter it someplace close, yet locked away from the colony. You will of course garner great favor with me, and the Underlord I serve -- Marcus. But I have more to offer than mere praise and gladhanding..." (He produces a steel box with some bizarre puzzle for a lock, which spins open with a wave of his hand.) -- The box is full of sparkling jewels of various colors, glowing with inner lights.


"I call these the Tears of Divinity, though they have gone by many names" (it pauses) "The Mage Royalty of the lost continent unlocked a means to make them, and for a time traded some of them with our Empire. We have reason to believe they may be the first stepping stones on the path to some unknown magic they unlocked that spelled their undoing, ages ago. They might be of some significance in the new world -- laid in the foundation of a building, socketed in a weapon, placed in a site held sacred or expended in some endeavor of fierce intent... they grant power in the new world, though exactly how we cannot guess right now..."


"The Underlords have decreed that each faction receive one of these gems to aid them in the new world... we shall perhaps profit from studying how they are used... but help me with this small matter Marcus... and you shall have two... That, and the grace of your patrons-- which, come winter may be very valuable indeed. Consider this, my offer -- but consider refusal doubly carefully. I know you are a man of the... people... Mar-cus... but I am sure there is little doubt who it is you truly serve, and you shall be rewarded accordingly." (The box showing the spectacular jewels snaps shut, and you realize you had been starting at them since the box opened.)


The fetch twists in it's chair, covering the Kolifax once again with the cloth. For a moment it cocks it's head and turns to the window... but quickly lowers it's head as if distracted by some pain, and instead of turning around simply gestures to the curtain-rod, which violently drops a heavy layer of exotic fabric over the window... Belanor was unseen, but would not be party to what would come after that moment...

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex @Leusis


If you would like to make a "lore" check to determine if your character knows anything particular about "Fetches" you may roll 1d20. The modifier for Leusis is -3 (for intentionally being insulated from the Underlords) and +2 for Icerex because The reasons the Fetch serve the Underlords are likely to be under the purview of his education at the War College...

 

[Leusis]

Belanor watched carefully and listened doubly so, trying to make sense of every last word this, thing spoke. The two most shocking things to come from his spying was firstly, the appearance of the creature that would apparently be watching over the several factions. It was grotesque to the greatest degree, a monster forged of what seemed to be many men or women. Shuttering at the sight of this being alone, but Belanor remained still, unwavering in he pursuit to know all which was supposed to be hidden from him.


The second most shocking occurrence was that of the jewels, the name of which Belanor committed to memory, knowing he would attempt to learn all he could about them. The power they possessed could not be denied, as even Belanor, a very disciplined warrior and hunter had his gaze drawn to them like a moth to a flame. His focus on the kewels themselves almost broke his concentration towards the conversation at hand, but luckily before his focus was completely broken the jewels were hidden once more.


It was however at this point that the creature looked towards the window, causing Belanor to move from view very quickly, only moments before the curtains shut. Releasing a mental sigh he would quickly climb down from the building, making very sure that nobody would witness his descent. Now, having obtained this new information he proceeded back to his room, where he would be greeted by a clerk.


(The end of this post is where my second post took place.)


[dice]16946[/dice]

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Maeder Dratic

​

"Aye, I know your views and I do not disagree. But I will have it known, that while I like to think of you and treat you as brothers and near equals, you are below me, even if just to maintain order so these aggressive tones are not helpful, you will have a whole world to be angry with soon." Then he smiled, a reassuring smile, he didn't want to upset his friends and hardly could afford their dissent. "I agree, better to be drunk then thirst to these elves. Once the water runs low then we open the fancy grape water, hell even ration it to the convict if we run low, sure some of them may be cold blooded killers but some of them are just like us, we just got a better deal. Two damn barrels of water that calms your soul just for one of unclean elven piss water? Aye, to be damned with them but not here, not now. We are still prisoners here, prisoners with certain... advantages but prisoners non the less, until we arrive in this distant world of theirs. THEN we MIGHT look to showing those pointy ears a thing or two, alright?" He didn't actually have immediate plans to take revenge of these actions of the elves, however he knew what was just and, indeed, what his men wanted to hear, but that didnt make it right, now all he has to do is hope all that wine makes them forget so that this new colony doesn't become a war zone, at least not before he has the forces to win against those clearly untrustworthy elves. He took a deep breath "So we shall drink up and be merry while the rest all drown in true sorry, that of months of sobriety at sea!" He smiled, not for a reason but because he just felt tired and would rather not look grumpy "I saw we make merry and then enjoy these fine bed provided to us, a little to soft for my liking!" this brought a laugh. "If this Trajan fellow deigns to meet us, let him, if not there shall be plenty of time for that once we reach this distant land" Then one of Maeder's men started telling a tale, one of when he and Maeder was trapped alone behind a Muurdaan legion with only a few men and how they fought their way to freedom, killing so many more then they lost and making their way back in time for evening supper that night.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis


Of specifics regarding fetches you know little, but the older winterborn remember songs of history, even events far from the living memory of men of the day. Two tales are told of the Fetch, one of elves, and one of men.


The first song tells the tale of how the Fetch came to join the accursed "Eternal Empire" as these walking mayflies call themselves -- In the early wars of their expansion, the Muurdaan penned tales of when their minions came against a large and powerful empire, rich in gold and thick jungles. This land was known as Mictlan, though there are no more of them now. On first encounter Mictlan vowed never to take an oath of fealty to Muurdaan, and in the ensuing decades, perhaps over a century, countless wars were fought to wear them down. The Mictlan, facing their extinction, trapped powerful extra-planar beings and bound them to servitude. For a time the tide of the war turned (it is thought the fetch army killed several Underlords themselves), but it was already too late. In the last battles of their war -- the Muurdaan briefly broke the bindings the Mictlan held over the Fetch. It was said many of them killed themselves where they stood, clawing at the skin inside their robes. But a few of them offered to change sides, turning on Mictlan and their "kinfolk" alike -- if after the war the Underlords would somehow help them return home. They have been slaves of the Underlords ever since.


The second tale tells of a distant and until the time of this tale unrelated community of Wood Elves, who's people joined yours after being shattered by the Underlords. A Fetch was sent to communicate with them after they refused to allow agent after agent, force after force, to leave their woods alive. At the end, A fetch arrived to deliver the ultimatum: Submit to the Underlords, or be exterminated. The reply was swift, and it was a hail of arrows so thick the creatures robes were festooned with shots, pinning him to the ground in an "archer's thicket" (a name reserved for targets so riddled with arrows, so quickly, the corpses are unable to fall, propped up on it's missiles.) It didn't die. It was rooted to the spot, but it did not die. It crooked it's finger, and unleashed the Imperial lap dogs. Many Fetch had died in martial combat with humans in the Mictlan wars, perhaps hundreds of them, or more. But that was the sole encounter any you'd call kin would tell true -- could the fetch have become more enduring, or the last of them be somehow harder to kill? Perhaps the history of men as they would write it is false. One must wonder.

 

[Beckoncall]

I believe after Maeder meets Marcus, (or does not) -- the last of the loose ends should be tied, and the voyage will begin. There may or may not be events or choices to make during the voyage, after which the settlers will make landfall. The "Preface" is almost over...

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @Icerex @General Deth Glitch


Here is a suggestion, let me know if anybody accepts or rejects it as a good mechanic to keep things moving... at the end of each post, you throw 3d20. This would allow me to have rolls on hand if say, your character had to avoid a trap, or spots something hidden. How you react and relate your action will still be yours to choose and relate in your post, but I will be able to state as a result of the roll if you are able to take action or notice something. I in no way intend to take agency away from any player (and if you ever feel I do, PM me and we can work it out) -- but this gives me something that I can go on without staggering the action while people throw buckets of dice for non-monumental stuff. Sound like an Okay convention? If anyone objects we can just see how we do without the convention and maybe address the issue later *IF* the game gets bogged down. I threw some dice behind the curtain to see if Belanor would be detected by the fetch, but it would have been even better to have a roll on hand that Leusis made in that instance. Let me know how you guys feel about that convention.

 

[Icerex]

Marcus Trajan:


Marcus sat in his chair, studying the- being, listening as he put forth his plans to cross the vast ocean and settle in the new land. So, magic was part of why the Empire had not yet colonized the mysterious continent.


[dice]16963[/dice]

 

[Leusis]

Belanor chuckled quietly as the man bowed to him, a custom the wood elves didn't even practice except in rare situations. How foolish were these humans, refusing the only offer they would likely get, but to hell with them. In all honesty Belanor felt that the fewer humans on the new continent the better. The only people going across the ocean that he even thought he could get along with were the minotaur, as they were the only ones who could possibly relate to his people. After all, they may be beasts but they were opressed even worse than his own people, and this was something Belanor felt they could bond over.


Waving for one of his Winterborn to come closer he would speak firmly "Send two barrels of water to the minotaurs before we leave the port. And be sure that those barbarian humans witness the transaction". This action was for one simple reason, to piss off the humans and make them understand fully the circumstances of their relationship. Knowing the minotaur though Belanor could only assume those two barrels would barely last a day due to their huge size. But luckily for him, this gesture would likely buy him some favor with a very powerful faction, but also make the humans even more agressive for quite some time, though luckily he cared little for this.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex


You strain your mental faculties... surely anybody with the flimsiest grasp of Muurdain Military history knows the Fetch have for centuries been the fear-inspiring heralds of the Underlords. At the moment, you are far better remembering the childish grab-assing you partook in when you decided in your immaturity to coast the course this was covered. You had a lot to be proud of, it went to your head. You'd since learned from such mistakes.


The Fetch never accompanied the Underlords prior to the first wars of Imperial Expansion. But that doesn't tell you anything. Something-something about "The savage cultures" and wars to end the practice of human sacrifice in Oxtlotl. Something-something about a river of blood? But you do remember one bit, a fragment you cited in a treatise... for partial credit. As you watch the figure obscured under the cowl, it comes back to you, like a reminder...


"They were aliens in every sense of the word, and the world would not have them. They hid under the skins of men so that they might be disguised, and they hid that under robes of deception to hide even deeper still. For a fetch to be seen by the world, is to have the world reject it. No sun, no star, no eye of any god could fall upon them and let them live. They took to their husks, and wept."


...In the new gloom, come over the room from the drawn curtains blocking out the light, you can see the dull glow of the pained eyes within the robe. It gestures to you, almost beseechingly, while at the same time it's back straightens in it's chair... Animals do this when they wish to appear bigger to other predators -- you cannot help thinking. The splendid, angelic voice addresses you once again, as if to shoo away the pregnant pause in your conversation.


"Where was I? Ohhhh, Yes... Tomorrow the ships will be set to sail. Neither of us has time to tarry. I know you see the value and importance of Order in this world. There are concerns of security, oversight, guidance -- all the things... the people... you so adore so desperately need, even when they rail against it -- like a baby who cries when their boil is lanced... I do not cry or reel from pain, but I, like your people -- require YOUR security, oversight, and guidance for the establishment of order. If you can agree, the Kolifax will be in your possession on the morrow, on a chair you would wear about your neck... what say you, Marcus, beings of ambition need powerful friends -- I think we can both see the value of this... partnership."

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex @Leusis @SpiralErrant


A commotion is heard outside the administrative offices of the Naval base, cargo managers arguing with longshoremen, they bickering too with a quartermaster, in turn berating the cargo managers to sign something so they can wash their hands of whatever morass they're making. Snippets of the conversation reach the ears of all your agents (Excepting the Tyren, for this fuss is actually about them) interpretations of the situation reach your advisors, who ask of you to make of it what you will...


"It says "LIVESTOCK" -- that's ALL it says. The Patron won't approve financing of another ship. See these seals?! Not gonna happen."


"This is ridiculous. There is clearly license and issue, customs and ex-migration forms... Sure, there is livestock here, sheep, goats, cows -- but there is NO WAY any sane officiant would bequeath a ship to be piloted by cattle!! This is insane!"


"Good Sirs -- I have protocols to adhere to, and there is no way I am winding up in a gibbet for defying direct imperial orders. Put a captain-hat on a sheep, make a goat the first mate. I wash my hands of it. This is madness, and I'm not getting flogged. Sign the release, The carts are coming, YOU can sort it out."


"Does it at least say which of the other ships the livestock go to? Look here -- there's a special designation for around TEN of these animals. So they're either military, or somehow magical. LEAVE THEM ON THE DOCKS, and either the Corvus will see them and grab 'em, or the mulch-sniffing pixies will. Problem solved."


"This is preposterous! You can't do that, I'll inform the magistrate!"


"Bottom of the bay with you, AND BOTTOM OF THE BAY WITH YOUR BUMBLING MAGISTRATE -- these ships are gone TOMMOROW -- by the time the magistrate gives a hot fart for any of this these ships and everything in quarantine will be gone for good. Die in a fire, spit-shine -- my shift was over four hours ago. I'm going to the paymaster and I'll be drinking to your displeasure."


Three hours later, Orm's "people" arrive in Port Cestus. Black, salty rain and wind fall on the tiny caravan, half the water torn for a roaring ocean. Windows slam almost in unison to hold out the weather just as their carts turn onto main street.


"Better the rain than a hail of baneful eyes, eh Baumong?" One Tyren snorts to another.


The gates of the fort open before the Tyren -- at least they were expected. A torch-bearing page in a leather cape and hood runs up to the caravan, holding his cowl to his head with one hand to keep it from coming off in the deepening cold and rain.


The page gets within 4 feet of Orm before he squints to see the hulking minotaur... minotaurs, stoically herding their animals through the gate.


He drops the torch and runs. The next person the Tyren see is the Quartermaster, his face twisting into first shock, then confusion, then the strangest expression akin to enlightenment, before his natural scowl reasserts itself.


"You all stand on the docks. The boats leave tomorrow. Somebody will claim you. I wash my hands of this."


The Tyren usher their wagons forward, the herd does not mind the weather, or the road. The warriors stand at the edge of the dock and marvel at the sea, not even wondering so much as if their leader has a retort.


Shul, who was walking behind Orm as he often has to shield himself from wind, turns to Orm as he walks towards the docks.


"Did YOU see the SIZE of that chicken?!" he stammers, popping another strange mushroom into his mouth and smacking his lips together.


"These folk are strange. How's a chicken gonna wash his hands?!"


And the rain poured down.

 

[Icerex]

Marcus Trajan:


The sharp patter of rain on glass wove its way through Marcus' subconscious, a small part of his mind automatically factoring in what a heavy downpour would do to his soldiers arrival time. Hopefully not much, if his First Spear Jundar Pella wasn't being completely ham-strung by those new tribunes they had just got. Most where good men, if young and inexperienced, and Marcus thought he could turn them into something more than the over-privileged aristocrats they would have turned out to be in any normal Muurdaanin legion. These thoughts flashed across the recesses of his mind, while most of his attention was focused on the daunting decision before him. Not much of a decision really, as he hadn't a choice but to accept the- creature's offer, no other recourse was left to him that would still leave him in his current position. Or alive, if he judged the atmosphere surrounding the offer correctly. He suppressed a shudder as the remembrance of the creatures eyes came unbidden to his mind. Yes, no choice at all really.


Marcus stood, gripping his leather gauntlets in one hand, if only to hide the tension he felt.


"Your grace," he judged that to be an adequate way of addressal. "It is my sworn duty to serve the Underlords, in all manners. You can expect my full cooperation in this endeavor, no matter the obstacles. Now, if you would excuse me, I have some matters to attend to before the morrow." He saluted, closed fist to chest. "Pro honore et victoria!"





~





Jundar Pella:


"All right you crow-bitten vermin-" The pouring rain did little to stifle Jundar's sharp bellow, the grunts and curses of marching legionaries seeming to encourage him. "-get your thrice damned corpses moving! You want to be stuck out here all night!" He ended in a screaming howl, the symbol of his office, a short staff of twisted dried vine, coming down on the back of a particularly unfortunate soldier, causing the man to curse darkly and redouble his efforts in moving a piece of siege equipment. They always had the unfortunate habit of becoming stuck fast in mud. First Spear Jundar Pella was not a cruel man, but the legion was a cruel mistress, and she required hard men. He peered through the heavy rain, jogging along at the front of the marching column, guiding them along as they tramped through the muddy outskirts of the city. "Move you bastards, move!" They eventually arrived at the dockyards, drenched and splattered in mud. Thankfully the roads closer towards the center of the city were paved with cobble stones, making the going much easier. There seemed to be some sort of commotion going on at the water front and Jundar motioned for a small squad of legionaries to follow as he marched through the pouring rain to investigate.


As he got closer to the hulking figures, (he knew almost immediately they weren't human by their gait) he could make out the muttering of deep voices and the bleating of livestock. "Oi!" He called, cupping hands around his mouth to be heard over the deluge. "You lot, what in the bloody-blazes are you doing milling about like sheep-brained louts! This is the staging area for the Tenth Invictus!" He slowed to a jog as he reached the group. By the gods they're big brutes, he thought to himself, seeing the Minotaurs. He stopped in front of a group of the creatures, a few of them seemingly to be eating mushrooms of all things. "Now, who's responsible for this fuck-up."


@SpiralErrant

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @Icerex @General Deth Glitch


(Going to give some time for the most recent encounters to play out, and then the voyage will begin but for now, a final plot-point...)


The Commodore's page personally delivers a lacquered box to each of your quarters. With it, a gold-trimmed letter of a familiar sort. Inside is a familiar clawed script, but seems heavy and rushed of hand.


"Agents of the Eternal Empire,


The Underlords are generous. In addition to the outfitting and transport of your people - It has been deemed fitting to grace your endeavor with a special gift to help ensure your success is this new endeavor. We offer each lord a choice of one of the only treasures garnered from the lost continent - Magical Jewels known as 'Tears of Divinity' -- these stones bear mysterious powers that may only truly be unlocked on the lost continent. Their power may be unlocked when placed in the foundation of a building, or imbued on a weapon or instrument, worn on the body or perhaps even sacrificed at a critical moment - little more is known, but should you unlock their secrets may it be to your gain. If nothing else keep them as boons for your bravery, and a reminder of the excellence that is the Eternal Empire."


Enclosed in this box are 8 polished discs and a note on the Stationary of the Commodore of Port Cestus:


"Place the desired talisman in the box and dispatch it to the hall of the Commodore. Appropriate parcel will be placed in ship's quarters. Delivery assured by order of the Black Diplomat, Glory to the Eternal Empire"


The discs, or "talismans" are all different:


There is a talisman of red iron with a rune of flame,


there is a quartzl talisman with a rune of air,


a Lapis talisman with a rune of water,


and an Amber one with rune of earth.


A glass talisman with a rune of stars,


and a slate talisman with a rune of bones.


Finally at the bottom is a jade talisman with a rune of a tree,


and lastly one of amethyst bearing a rune of blood.


NOTE: The dispatch of the box is your final move before slumber to wake on the day of your voyage. When all Talismans are dispatched (unless somebody is far delayed) The voyage will begin and soon after that, landfall.


PS: Yes, I know the minotaurs didn't get sleeping quarters or an invitation to get a special gem (and Marcus gets to pick two!) Racism sucks -- But who's going to tell them? How or why would it even come up?

 

[SpiralErrant]

What a day to do this on. Orm bristled under the heavy downpour, as his hooves kicked up a fresh spray of mud. All this much and water was going to knot up his fur something fierce, and they hadn't even gotten on the boat yet. The rest of the caravan walked on unperturbed, so as the chief at their head Orm had to stifle his grumbling. The black bull had to channel that irritability into something and so he picked up a brisk pace as his tail swished from side to side, a habit he'd picked up since becoming chief. He did it whenever his nerves were up. Which was often.


Finally they got to the fort. Or was it port. Whatever it was called, Orm was sure it was the right place. It stuck out like a sore thumb with its high grey walls and imposing stonework. A far cry from the usual backwater villages the caravan usually visited.


The gates slowly swung open with a groan and Orm took the chance to calm himself one last time. This was it... the beginning. The caravan made their way inside, cart axels creaking and livestock bleating. They were quickly approached by a human in a funny hat. Thinking this was someone sent to meet them about the journey, Orm made sure to straighten up to his full height in order to make a serious impression as he stepped towards the agent. Then the human ran away.


Typical.


At least a second one showed up to take their place. This one was dressed even fancier than the last. He stood up to the collected Tyren with a lot more confidence than a lot of hornless usually did. At least, when they weren't backed up by a mob. Orm nodded along with the little one as he spoke at them, pretending to understand half of what the man said before he left without another word.


Shul wasn't being much help but Orm had to give a snort at the chicken line. Though he quickly realised that the shaman may not have been making a joke about human fashion and had just been eating too many mushrooms.


"What were they talking about?" Orm asked.


"They said we had to go to the boats where someone would claim us." The smaller minotaur sneered the word as he nestled deeper into his hood and over sized cloak. (By small that meant he was only 6'7")


"They must mean there are guides there waiting to show us the way." Orm pondered. Humans always made things sound unnecessarily aggressive so he doubted they meant there were actual slavers still active in this part of the world. There hadn't been for many Tyren generations. "Come on, we move out and see if we can get some shelter for the herds." Orm signalled for their procession to follow him as they made their way to the water.


All the way there he clutched at the papers under his ragged armour. Orm had been given them by the under-one when they'd made the deal to make this trip. They'd said the papers would serve as proof of identity. He supposed it made sense in an untrusting sort of way, something about under-text always sat poorly with Orm. Like the way it danced all over the place.


They got to the boats and the place was swarming with more humans than Orm had ever seen in one place. He was sure he even saw some elves running about the place! They didn't look as different as people said. Maybe if they'd stayed still he'd have gotten it. All this was a distraction anyway, he had to find their ships and shelter.


Then yet another voice started screaming at them. Honestly, why couldn't the hornless ever speak calmly?


"Now, who's responsiblefor this fuck-up."





"What's he saying?" Orm asked, leaning down to Shul's ear.


"He's asking who is here to sex them up." The pale furred bull said plainly. It seemed his knowledge of human slang had steered him wrong on this occasion.


"What?!" Orm gawped in surprise. Well he was having none of that! He'd put this one straight himself, stepping up to the human and his gang, blocking them from trying to have their way with any of the Tyren women present.


"Tyren... look for ship." Orm's voice boomed over the din. "Owed boats... was given by unders to go cross water."


( @Icerex @Leusis)

 

[Icerex]

Jundar Pella:


Jundar stared up at the hulking figure, rain rolling down his cheeks. "You bloody lot are colonists?" He swept his gaze over the churning horde of bedraggled Minotaurs and their belongings, a note of disbelief tinging his words. He noted that they didn't seem to posses any form of shelter, nor did it seem they had been assigned any form of housing to pass the night in before they set sail. "Well, colonists or no, you'd better get indoors, the weather here can be quite rough at times." He turned to one of his companions, a young man named Cato. "Cato, go tell centurion Hadrian that the 4th through 7th cohorts are to double up for the night, now move." He said the last with a wave of his arm, turning back to face the Minotaur. "Right, since it's pretty flaming clear that the pen-pushers fucked up with the logistics here, why don't you lot take quarters in those two barracks there." He pointed to a pair of squat, wide slate-tiled buildings to the far left of the group. "My men won't mind sleeping a little cramped tonight, and it sure beats camping out in this storm." A gust of wind howled down out of the night as if to punctuate his words, sending rain slashing almost horizontally.


"AND SOMEONE GET THOSE BLOODY ANIMALS OFF THE DOCKS!"


He bellowed at a group of Corvus legionaries, waving wildly at a huddled group of miserable-looking cows, pigs and sheep. "Gods above, heads will roll for this one."


@SpiralErrant





Marcus Trajan:


The dim firelight caught the polished face of the amethyst, sending rays of purple light to dance on the ceiling and walls. Marcus did not notice however, eyes unfocused and distant as he absently thumbed the stone. Two, he had been told to choose two. Thoughts whirled through his head, ideas and plans, some only fragments of such. He sighed, shaking his head as he placed the carved amethyst and quartz gems in the gilded box. He closed the lid and fastened the clasp, signaling for a waiting courier to take the significant package.


When the man left, Marcus leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the carved wooden armrest. There would be no sleep for him this night. Thunder crashed outside, rattling the windows as he stared into the fire.


@Beckoncall