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

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant


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


Umuush, who had been standing amid the herds to calm them, perhaps to calm himself, opened his eyes for the first time in hours. Maybe longer. Shul's stupor was something he'd tolerate as long as it was not a barrier to Orm's will -- but for now, the Chief wanted results. He would have them. The herd, parting like some biblical ocean, gave Ummush a clear line to Shul as he and Orm seemed on the tail end of some exchange with the humans. In what to anyone watching in the dark and rain could tell, Ummush was upon Shul in three strides, and with a giant hand basically palmed his head like a human sport-ball -- lifting him slightly off the ground as he did.


Shul's mind cleared as if it had been rung by a bell, wisps and phantoms of distracting spirits fleeing as if an end had come. The bellow of the chief rung clearer in Shul's ear as well -- and Ummush had obviously been angered. Shul turned and looked almost vertically to the head shaman and he put him down. It was hard to tell in the rain, but the smell was unmistakable. Ummush's eye for a moment ran with blood, and then he pointed to a stone building that almost teetered over the the innermost part of the fort, bristling with lighted windows. It was almost impossible to make out, but a crazy-quilt of stairs lead up the wall on the other side of the port grounds, to this building that perched on a higher level of the city above. Shul reflexively dove his hand into a sleeve in Orm's armor and retrieved the papers -- it was him that placed them there after all, once the necessarily preliminaries of reading them to Orm had been dealt with.


Shul strode one-directly to the wall where he imagined the base of the steps might be -- One of the warriors, Blakshuk, followed him instinctively.


"You're not sick or dying Shul -- herdsmen should not go alone, shaman or no shaman" ... he mumbled under his breath about gods and spirits not counting, and hurried after the Shaman. Blakshuk was nearly exhausted from watching human patrols and brigands ever since the reaching the outskirts of this province. Humans always thought the caravan was too dangerous to confront, but too dangerous not to watch... But Blakshuk and his brothers would not rest... if you relax, that is when they'll pounce. He felt that on the deepest level of his being. They left the exchange on the docks behind them...


Almost an hour later and they were still climbing a crazy-quilt of stairs. Often the path would fork and they would find themselves in a dead end or the door of some greater building. The Caravan had strolled up mountains in worse weather, but the narrow spaces, lit only briefly by peals of lightning, disoriented the pair as they climbed. Shul showed no signs of tiring, but Blakshuk felt his forced march. His gait hunched, the cleaver that dangled at his side now occasionally struck the cobblestones, occasionally sending sparks flying when it did down to the shrinking houses below...


Near the top the stairs snaked around a corner, taking them out of the lee of the wall -- the stairs ahead looked more like a waterfall. A batch of "Hornless", merchants and city-dwellers alike, stood stranded under eaves and overhangs at this point, waiting for the storm to abate before they could dream of proceeding. The Beastmen strode on, ever upward, their sure hooves obscured beneath a foot and more of water as they made the final turn onto "Commodore's Rest", Shul finally looked back at Blakshuk and he knew they must be nearing their destination. "Administrative Offices" swung another sign, the lamp light flashing over it as it did, as if it were an advertisement. They turned again. They walked through a gate marked "Office of the Diplomatic Attache' to Port Cestus" -- the word NEW had very recently been crudely carved into the wood, some kind of jeering defacement.


They would have knocked on the door, but it was already wide open. "The New Attache' wants it gone. All of it. Take this accursed trash outside. If the Fetch left anything behind he won't be back for it, and I promise you any refuse of that "thing" could only bring the foulest of fortune." -- Overly costumed attendants seemed to be moving crates of pitted metal armor and small containers of loose refuse and dropping it outside the building. If Shul thought anything of this, it did not supercede his Chief's instruction, nor would it do anything to calm Ummush's anger. They strode up the walk as they always did when travellers came the other way, and like they always did the travellers moved aside.


Just to the right of the Interior a page of some sort, stark white and soaking wet -- turns to the doorway as first Shul Eclipses then Blakshuk completely obliterates the light coming from the foyer. At first his look of sheer horror vanishes in an instant when he sees the clutch of soaking papers, seals and singe-stamps all over them. Relief comes over him like a wave. Looking further into the house he calls out "They're here! The Papers, ma'dam. The Papers are here."


His whole hand grabs Shul's smallest digit and he pulls them into a dining area, a lady hornless lounges like some sort of new royal, her feet up on a table lined with a variety of fancy eats. She beckons to two of the strangely attired servants, who come in from the hall and place crates down for the minotaurs to sit.


The lady is surprisingly accommodating. Whoever her boss was -- she seems almost deliriously happy to see him go, apparently also she has inherited his station. She welcomes the herdsmen to help themselves to whatever they like, the servants willing to jab the food with little needles lest they flatten a whole dish to grab a handful. Shul finds the company of the woman somewhat disarming -- only brave children seemed less intimidated than this woman was upon first meeting them. The woman seems to notice this into the conversation (shortly after pleasantries are dealt with and Shul is able to within the lines of what he thinks is human decorum, to press his business.)


"Ohhh, you don't frighten ME, gorgeous. I've had to deal with a fellow far more imposing than you for FAR too long." She sucks the tail of some strange crustacean while tilting her head to be fitted for some outragous looking hat.


"I see you are rushed so I will make this as straightfoward as I can. The Voyage begins in the morning but I will tell you the best I can do. Option one, you are met at the docks before first light by myself and my page -- and we attempt to gain you welcoming passage on one of the other ships -- if that works out, I will then and there write you Imperial scrip for the price of the booking of passage, and my PAGE (she waves languidly as the color runs out of his face anew) shall be sure that any supplies you were promised will be waiting to board with you. Option two you have probably guessed -- there is no way we can secure a ship in time for you to set sail on the morrow. You're held up one week, let me be frank maybe three, as my page is ground up in the gears of this bureaucracy


as we get this sorted." She winks as the page nearly faints, catching himself on the door-frame to the dining hall.


"I needn't pull your, or your chieftain's ear with how mistakes were made. Trust in me that those responsible SHALL be punished."


The page excuses himself hurriedly, likely from some sort of digestive distress.


The Hornless have only one stomach. Blakshuk laughed to himself. It's true, you know. He'd had occasion to check. All above his attention. Shul would let him eat, or he wouldn't. Shul would entertain or relay this offer, or he wouldn't. The chief and the High Shaman would be angered, or they wouldn't. Nothing moved in the corner of his eye, and he was at rest. Nothing merited thought at all. Blakshuk steadied his weary body by leaning on his cleaver, the floorboards screaming in reply. Nope. All is well.


(it is also worth noting that the case of an 'extra box' is no longer a mystery. Spiral may choose a Talisman and later perhaps receive a Tear of Divinity, if he so wishes, also note that Imperial Scrip is likely to be worthless in the new world, but legal tender regarding trade for goods with the old world... Having a line of credit for needful things when a supply ship comes could be very useful indeed.)

 

[Leusis]

Sitting by the window of his room Belanor held but a single candle in his left hand. With his right he slowly sifted through the different runes before eventually spotting one made of jade. The rune upon its surface was that of a tree, and knowing his people and their close relationship with nature. Holding the rune firmly for a moment he would gently place it into the box, ordering a Springborn who had been called in earlier to take it to its determined destination. The choice was not difficult for him, though sadly he felt as though he had made the wrong choice. After all, the rune he had chosen could easily be the weakest of them all and do nothing more than grow a bit of vegetation.


Standing from his seat by the window he would exit his room, stepping out into the rain. To him the constant splash of water against his skin was comfortable, despite all of the humans in this port sprinting just to get under something. Slowly walking over to one of the Springborn standing under a close by tree he would wave to him with his hand. "I want you to find out where the minotaur will be staying, and I want you to give them two barrels of water, get as many of our kin as you need to carry them there. Also, make sure those Dracos worshipping barbarians witness the transaction".


(Posting this since it seems my last post doing the same thing seemed to be ignored)

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @SpiralErrant


I caught it, but with the minotaurs just arriving it likely would have come up at first light, or spiral might have processed it. With everything going on, a couple of giant casks of water could easily be lost in the shuffle. As well, with the minotaurs not yet having a ship to speak of, there is scarcely a place for your agents to load them...


In any case, I wouldn't think anything got ignored as much as there is so much data flying invariably some things will be overlooked... such is the way of things in and out of games. It won't be the last time, I'm confident -- so if you think an action or gesture goes unacknowledged for sufficient period of time, PM me and/or any players pertinent -- leaders (and GMs) miss details from time to time. We can all help by keeping each other informed.


That being said, I must wonder what a minotaur chieftain would say when elves deliver two giant casks of water in a rainstorm... xD

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Maeder Dratic

​

The storm was lashing against the window, sure back home they didn't have storms quite like this, they had blizzards and frost droughts, when the water was frozen beyond easy reach for months but the weather was not as cold as home and the rooms were about as warm. Then a man came in and handed him some runes, said something about powerful objects and such and told him he had to pick one. "This man comes to interrupt our gathering to show us what we can have? All that power we 'could' have? There is three parties leaving, eight runes and we pick one? The others get more no doubt, that posh soldier especially. Well if we are to only have one then it is to be the one of flames!" His companions gave out varied cries of agreement as the man was sent on his way. Soon after shouting could be heard out of the window, faintly "get those bloody animals off the docks!" it sounded like. Waving the man to go and show his master Maeder's choice he then said to some of his men "Go down to the docks, see what this commotion is about and make sure it is of no threat to us or this new world, our new world." He said. He then grabbed a drink, for there had been some waiting for him in the room and drank as another giant of a man began his tale of wit and woe.

 

[Leusis]

(It seems I have overreacted when it comes to delivering the water barrels. Just assume that the barrels will be delivered just before we all leave. My bad guys)

 

[Beckoncall]

No harm no foul! Stated or unstated, relations between factions should always be taken into account by me. Even if the leaders don't blanche, the common people can never stop talking...

 

[SpiralErrant]

"-and my PAGE shall be sure that any supplies you were promised will be waiting to board with you."


What?! They were just willing to give them supplies? Shul didn't even think they'd be doing something like that. For weeks the caravan had been scrimping and saving every little bit they could in their usual supplies in preparation for the long journey. Their carts were stuffed with all their worldly belongings out in those rain slicked streets. Not that they wouldn't have been anyway, when you live the nomad life style taking everything you have with you everywhere just came with the territory. But to be just given something important, now that was something else. It was the rest of the offer that gave him pause.


They'd all come here hoping for their own boats that could carry them over to the wild lands where they could set up their own community. Now the Tyren were being given the options of throwing their lot in with some hornless - and risking putting themselves in debt or at risk from whatever plans the little ones put up - or being left behind. That didn't sound so bad, they'd have more control of their own actions that way. But they'd run the risk of all the good land being claimed by the time they got there and then they'd be right back where they started.


Shul started hungering for his snacks again. He wasn't used to facing these kind of decisions, this was something the chief was supposed to do, Shul was just the middle man. At least when he was dealing with spirits their desires and demands were simple things. Either way Shul looked at it, they were losing something and not gaining much in return. Except with one of those options... well maybe they could gain or lose a little less.


"We accept your offer." He nodded, eyes darting around the place like he had the jitters. "We will meet you on the docks tomorrow before the light." Yes, yes, he'd made the right choice. Maybe.

*****

​

They were just going to give them their rooms?! Orm wasn't even sure how to react to that, since when were humans the type to hand out friendly charity? Well he wasn't about to look a gift goat in the mouth. Orm gave some quiet (by Tyren standards) thanks to the shouty, sex wanting, human and ordered for the caravan to make for these houses they were offering. They could get their animals and tired out of the rain, hopefully to get some rest. There was little chance of attack so long as they all stuck together and the herdsmen would guard their animals like their own children. Now if only their shaman could have been so easy to herd. Orm wasn't sure where Shul had run off to, he was just glad someone had gone with him. Working around the eccentricities of the moon touched was just a part of everyday life in the caravan.


Something Orm would have to pitch in with as they made their way to these rooms. "You need any help there?" He whispered, offering an arm to Umuush. The old bull smelled of blood and strain. Not uncommon for him but there would not be a day where Orm would deny his old mentor a shoulder to lean on, even if he rarely took it. Umuush did so hate to be treated like he was elderly. At least that was what Orm thought. It was getting harder to tell what Umuush was thinking as he became more distant with each season.


The barracks was close enough and the Tyren quickly went about making themselves at home, most still keeping a suspicious eye on all the nearby humans. They weren't used to being so deep in hornless territory. Orm didn't get long to settle in as he was quickly approached by the first sensibly dressed people he'd seen in this place. A band of elves carrying a pair of barrels and loudly proclaiming that they were offering the caravan these casks of water as an act of friendship. Orm wasn't even surprised by how loud they were all being anymore though he wasn't sure why they all thought he was deaf.


He was still very surprised by how many free gifts they were getting tonight! Was this a trap? These hornless must have wanted something, his mind going through all the possible worst situations as he thanked the elves for this gesture, saying he would remember it happily. "Tyren remember this good." As he put it so eloquently in the common tongue.


That didn't stop him from giving the barrels over to Bruul for checking first. He simply nodded to the shaman. He knew what to do from there.


'Now where the hell did Shul get to? As if we didn't have enough to keep track of tonight.'





(@Leusis @Icerex )

 

[Beckoncall]

OKAY! I am giving a relatively fair span of time for @Icerex , @General Deth Glitch, @Leusis to make an offer of hospitality on board their ships -- as the situation of the Tyren rapidly becomes common knowledge after their arrival.


Bear in mind that it is not just a few dozen (sizeable) Tyren, but a substantial amount of livestock that would need to be housed.


As it stands, Maeder's ship is not only the most crowded, but also his prisoner population has to be kept for the time being compartmentalized. While I don't dismiss the possibility of some brilliant idea posed that would solve this problem, I don't think the Exiles are in the running -- the manure situation would lead to general mutiny and/or disease running rampant on the ship... at least as I see it.


The Corvic and Elven ships have approximately the same number of folk, but elves may be perfectly comfortable in far less space -- The legionaires can deal with most complexities this situation poses, but it is possible, even likely, that the 75 civilians on board cannot. Concerns of sanitation, disease, and quality of life are at issue here. I could go over them at length, but I'd prefer any decisions to be at your respective peril.


If the Tyren aren't snapped up in a few hours, despite best intentions the voyage will go on without them (I may create some contrivance to assure this) -- once the fate of the Tyren is clear, I can post the start of the voyage, each player will likely have to make a decision (or two?) along the voyage, then LANDFALL.


@SpiralErrant -- because at least 6 bereaucrats were certain they'd be hanged unless they found out where the fetch's last box of talismans was supposed to go, Orm is quickly (but Kurtly) given the box and missive to make a decision on the "Gift" presented in the "Tear of Divinity"... if the Tyren were suspicious about offers of hospitality and water, I'm DYING to see how they respond to offers of potentially priceless treasure. If you can, please send me your choice of Talisman (you can find it easily if you scroll up the posts and look for some "left justified" text, that looks kind of like a poem. Otherwise a Jewel will be assigned to you at random, or you may not get one at all. If you lack sufficient time, just PM me your choice as I'll make it part of the sendoff post. If you have sufficient time to put in a good post I'll respond to it in the sendoff.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Maeder Dratic

​

It was not long before the men who went to get some information on this new band of misfits returned with news, largely about the barrels of water from the elves and their anger at it. "I see, so they want to play at like that, ask these new beastfolk what they think of wine, or should they not have heard of it, fruity alcohol. If they like it then offer to trade, we need water they have water. Perhaps a cask of wine for two of water. However, if this offer does not seem apitizing to them, then offer a fair trade of two for two, I am sure they will prefer wine to water, but we have too many men think about what we 'prefer'." He smiled "I think that's a good deal, no? If you have any brighter ideas please tell me, I rely on your council dear brothers. The elves have already made friends of these beastfolk and we cant risk being alone in this new world, we cant let our ambitions fail before we have even left this desolate empire." He then stopped them, "Hang on, I wish to meet these folk for myself. Never have I had the honor of looking at such folk and I would like to gauge the honor and grace of their leader. I have heard they are much like us, so perhaps they will be strong allies in this new place"

@Leusis @SpiralErrant

 

[Beckoncall]

If the Tyren agree to trade (in reference to the post immediately above), it can be staged in the context of the departure from docks -- or spiral can PM me and I'll resolve it to his specifications. It's been a good while and nobody has had the chance to post about it, so it is possible, quite soon, the the Tyren will be left behind, at least for a time. We shall see...


@General Deth Glitch @SpiralErrant @Leusis @Icerex

 

[Beckoncall]

Give me a sec to read the PM before making any changes... it might be fine as it is. thanks for working with me.

 

[Icerex]

Jundar Pella:


Jundar's brow creased as he frowned, staring at the sheaf of papers held in one hand, the other rubbing his chin. "So," he spoke in a quiet tone, voice cold and icy. "You mean to tell me that somehow, despite the vast resources of the Department of Imperial Commerce, you still managed to fuck up. Fuck it up on such an immense scale, that it will effect the very state of readiness of the expedition." The short, balding man standing in front of Jundar, the head quartermaster for the Department, seemed to grow ever smaller with each passing word, looking as if he wanted to sink through the floorboards.


Jundar had awoken early that morning to be met with the news, picked up from some idle gossip from some of the sentries, that the Tyren had no ships ready, or even available, for them to set sail with the rest of the fleet. Needless to say, he was furious, if not so much with the thought of the Tyren stranded for a couple of days, but with the sheer incompetency of it all.


"WELL! WHAT HAVE YOU TO SAY FOR YOURSELF!" The man cringed, wringing his hands ferociously. "I, well, you see..... We didn't exactly expect for the Tyren to get here when they did, or at all. W-we didn't have the proper authorization to commission any extra ships." He looked up pleadingly at Jundar. "And I c-c-can't approve the departure of any more ships then what are listed on the manifest......." He trailed off at Jundar's steely look. He swallowed, tugging at the neck of his buttoned shirt. "I will not have my men deprived of Auxiliary support, even if it's from a bunch of Minotaurs." In Jundar's mind he had already started thinking of the Minotaurs as support troops, maybe as scouts or a form of cavalry. "Now, you will get the ships they need or else I'll-" He was cut short when the door to the building they had been talking in, a low ceilinged entrance room of one of the Departments' warehouses, banged open. In walked Marcus Trajan, Legate of the Corvus expedition.


"I got your message centurion, now what seems to be the problem here?" The question was aimed at the distressed-looking head quartermaster.


Marcus Trajan:


"W-well good sir, ah, my lord. I don't have the proper authorizations to procure any more ships, that has to be approved by the Commissionaire herself!" He ended in a strangled squeak, wringing his hands. "And even if I did have the authority, there's nary an Imperial ship left in these waters, only merchant craft and fishing boats!"


Marcus stared at the man, fingers drumming lightly on the pommel of his short-sword. He spoke in a calm voice, an authoritative tone to his words. "What do merchantmen normally carry quartermaster?" He continued on without waiting for an answer. "Cargo, good sir, cargo. And what are people but another form of cargo." The man shifted nervously, sweat beading on his brow. "You are to procure as many merchantmen as it takes to contain the Tyren and all of their belongings, and you will do it this very morning." The quartermaster gaped in shock.


"B-b-but your grace, I can not possibly do what you have asked! Why, the manpower needed alone will take hours to coordinate. Not to mention the merchants themselves, or the authorization notices!" Marcus waved a hand in dismissal. "You will have Corvus legionaries for manpower, as well as to handle the merchants. Any inconvenience for the merchants will be handsomely reimbursed in gold. As for the authorization...." He pulled out a heavy piece of folded parchment, handing it to the man. The quartermaster unfolded it and quickly scanned its contents, taking note of the official-looking wax seal and signatures.


It was fake of course, having been forged just a bit earlier. Marcus had had Jundar go and stall the man so he could quickly put together at least a moderately-official looking missive before it was time to sail. The offer of monetary compensation was real however, and the notice had letters of writ to Marcus's own bank accounts. Marcus was going to need those Tyren, he had the feeling that good auxiliaries, or allies for that manner, would be hard to come by in the new world. Those bloody elves, nor the ragged band of convicts, could be trusted. He coughed loudly, startling the small man, making him look up. "Well, get on with it man, we don't have all day!" Marcus ended with a firm bark, hoping to keep the man from examining the paper too closely, the wax was a bit on the messy side.....


The man scurried out of the room, shouting for his assistants. "You had better go with him Jundar, I have a feeling that those merchants won't like being evicted from their ships, even with compensation." Jundar nodded, turning on his heel to follow the man. "And take the 4th with you, they could use a bit of action." He was referring to the greenest of the cohorts, men newly recruited and untested. Jundar gave a smile, saluting and jogging off after the still-shouting quartermaster.


The Tyren would have their ship.


@SpiralErrant

 

[Beckoncall]

Finally, the day of the voyage is at hand.


The weather is warm in contrast of the recent storm, though a thick overcast remains over the port. Passengers and the more delicate or perishable items are being loaded aboard the ships, Three Large, if somewhat antiquated “Merchantmen” type ships; Three tall iron-shod masts each, with white sails hanging in the yard-arms. A skeleton crew of 15 could sail it, and carries somewhere short of 200 folk, depending how far you stretch your definition of comfort. Behind those three (and sometimes to the sides and front) would be the newly “Acquisitioned” Tyren Sloop; Its sails a wall of Yellow and Blue Bars, It was a smaller and lighter vessel, and barely housed all their animals and gear amicably, but it was faster and more maneuverable than the rest – an asset that might prove valuable in the days ahead.


The Diplomatic Attache’, newly promoted, is present for the sendoff with her attendants in full regalia, some of whom swiftly run the talisman-boxes hastily to the leaders quarters of each vessel. There are no teary sendoffs or flowery speeches lest the leaders of each ship intended to make them. Once the final bureaucracy and grunt-work is attended to, the Attache’ approaches Marcus directly, when she is confident there is little attention. It is then she presses the Kolifax into Marcus’ hand. You can’t remember when you have seen a woman more relieved, and when you take the thing and the chain attached, you have seldom seen one so thankful. She leans in to kiss Marcus on each cheek, a custom to bid farewell to Corvosean sailors, leaning close at the end of the gesture…


“Throw it in the ocean.” She whispers. “Since we may never to meet again, I shall pray that you did.” She then backs away, raises her rapier before her face, and swishes it down, gracefully, as would a duelist in farewell salute. The clouds from last night’s storm seem to part over the fort as Marcus tucks the thing away.


Maeder is pleasantly surprised to learn, cramped though be his ship, and dangerous be his crew – that there is apparently no shortage of sailing talent among criminals. Of the Elves, enough were talented by the measures of men and a handful even master sailors – they quickly set to modifying the rigging to make the ship a bit faster than then the other cargo vessels – though like anything constructed by the hands of men, nothing they would say was elegant or agile. Marcus’ men did what legionaires always do – they found a way or they made a way. Master sailors none, would-be sailors all. By trial and error the ship would go where it had to… with the help of some of the unskilled workers, a barely passable level of seamanship was learned and began to propagate.


The final rolls were called, and the ships set sail from Port Cestus, many wondered if they would ever see the Old World again – though only a subset of those among them might have minded. The wind abided and the charts showed a clear path – unless something dire were to occur, the voyage would not need to make any intermediate stops on the journey.


They would sail to where any map they’d seen or indeed any map made in centuries would abruptly end. Those corners of the map often said “Thar be dragons” or “The Barrier” – it was said any vessel set for the Barrier would suddenly sink to the bottom of the ocean, or burn, or disappear – the tales were countless but uniform. But on their charts were a series of coal-penned axis, uniting at a single point, with a circle. Holding course from that point, there was supposedly a weak area of the barrier… and beyond that, a new world…


@SpiralErrant @General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex

 

[Beckoncall]

During the voyage, unexpected events happen... (dice are rolled) events for each player are to follow...

 

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant @General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex


Early on in the voyage it becomes apparent that the Tyren are seriously lacking in sailing skills. Bruul, the second shaman is the only one of the caravan with any skill with sailing ships, long ago when he ran with mercenaries in his youth. When the wind is high, the sloop picks up vastly in speed -- and to remain on course they rectify this by sweeping the sloop around the formation to take the velocity off of the vessel. The constitution of a Tyren is strong, but without some form of help or counsel this will be stretched to the limit by the end of the voyage...


Orm did not really understand what was happening back on the docks when the little hornless ones insisted he pick a Talisman -- he chose the Amber with the Sign of earth, and dismissed the event as just another one of the myriad things hornless do with no perceptible reason for it. Upon finding the box again in his quarters however, he finds not a talisman inside but an obviously precious and magical jewel -- orange of hue, that glows dimly with an inner light. It seemed to sleep there in the box, and when the waves rose highest it seemed to "slumber" even further. Bruul, who scarcely had time to go below for a moment lest he fear the ship capsize, determined that if the stones strength was tied to earth, it was fair to assume the stone would sleep at sea. Shul did not know what to make of it, but told Orm the spirits that might be familiar with this magic were far away -- perhaps one could be found after they made landfall... Orm could not be certain if that was the truth of the matter, or if Shul was simply trying to hide his increasingly apparent sea sickness which had yet to abate. Uumush could not be bothered to see the trinket -- He was down in the hold, in some kind of trance that kept the livestock at peace.


The way Bruul looked at him, it was rapidly becoming apparent that they might need some help. Bruul would be too proud to ask for it, and too proud to admit his basic abilities of navigation might not be enough to see them through. Orm would have to think of something, or find somebody that could in order to keep the voyage safe for his caravan... (Edit: This event has been addressed in part by another player -- read further before posting a response to take into account other factions acting)

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex


The Corvus had hit a reef mid-voyage, as the course plotted takes them around “Chalice Rock” – the tip of an extinct volcano where giant mountains take their eons to rise from the bottom of the sea. While sailing over one of these “sea mountains” the boat scrapes over such rocks more than once, though the vigilance of the Legion keeps the ship from complete disaster…


The damage is not superficial, but the soldiers tireless bilging and carpentry at the site of the damage keeps the vessel seaworthy. An amount of lumber they brought for construction was used in the repairs however, and a minor amount of “Hard Tack” (non-perishable food) was waterlogged. In addition, some of the pitch they brought for torches and bond-making was likewise consumed…


On the gain side of things, Marcus was awarded two of the so-called "Tears of Divinity" -- The Air Jewel shone brightly when the winds blew high, as if daring him to call upon it. The light within the stone grew so bright at times that the box that held it had to be covered, as the light shone almost blindingly bright when the winds moved the ship it's fastest.


The "Blood" Jewel still, was the stranger of the two. A purple stone, it barely glowed at all -- instead it throbbed in time with Marcus' heartbeat when he held it. Upon first touching it all the veins in his hand and fingers rose to prominence, as if pulled towards the gem. When he first held it, his own blood seeped without wound through his skin, in a small pool around the device... Upon noticing this he recoiled, but before dropping the stone the small amount of blood permeated back into his hand and the gem resumed it's eerie throbbing. One could only wonder what either of them did -- though Jundar Pella remarked that the "Windstone" could be extremely useful just keeping the dark away on a windy night...

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis


The elves had the voyage well in hand. The hazards of Chalice Rock and the like were no obstacle to their ship, if they wanted to they could leave the formation behind and perhaps make landfall before the rest... Their sharp eyes and quick reflexes kept them at the crest of the wind, and they tacked ably when the wind was against them.


As a gain, your Winterborn herbalist has enabled the springborn to forage even at sea. Numerous times the ship passes through or by seaweed blooming or floating at the surface. The sea-plants harvested are hung and dried above deck, which coupled with the fish they easily catch has them eating well better than any of the "Food" the humans saw fit to send with them. When the elves make landfall, they will have a Surplus of "Food" -- picking only what they find most palatable among the foodstores. Perhaps they could trade it, silo it for lean times, or find some other purpose for it... (If the colony or the elves face a food shortage, remember this boon and make use of it!)


Of the Green Jewel -- any thought Belanor might have had about the stones weakness could be rightly dismissed. His winterborn could immediately feel it's power, the tree-singer especially. When Belanor first held it, the coiled bracer of ironvine he had kept long on his wrist sprouted a single, tiny leaf that twisted, as if by tropism to the relic. It's power seemed to grow in the presence of the elves -- and perhaps with the presence of the stone the power of the elves would grow as well...

 

[Leusis]

@SpiralErrant


It was decided by Belanor on the morning of the journey that he and his people would aid the Tyren, as he could only assume the two human factions would join forces. And if such a thing happened, even the might wood elves would require an alliance with a relatively strong force in case the humans began a conflict. Sending a Winterborn to the minotaur people as they were loading their supplies and animals onto their much smaller ship he would pass on Belanor's message of aid. Telling the Tyren that if they felt comfortable with it, the elves would take some of their animals onto their own ship, even feeding the animals from their own supplies. However, the wood elves refused to take more than they could fit comfortably on their boat, though this was likely still a sizeable relief if the Tyren decided to accept.


As for the voyage they could easily see the struggles of the Tyren, and do to Belanor's mild fondness for their lifestyle and similar history in the empire he decided he would aid them. After all, they seemed more receptive to the elves than any of the other factions, and in all honesty the elves didn't wish to have their relationship with the humans flourish. They would much prefer to make friends with a strong race who shares their views and history to some degree. It is with this understanding that Belanor ordered his men to sail closer to the Tyren, being extremely cautious about their approach. When close enough to board Belanor would order two of the winterborn to board with a mix of other elves. The objective was obvious, and that was to help sail the Tyren ship and add to their food supplies just as they did on their own boat. Of course, seeing as the elves had such good fortune with speed on their own boat, getting this smaller boat to move at the same rate likely wouldn't be much of an advantage. And as such the Tyren would likely lose all disadvatages, while gaining the advantages of the elves, making them capable of making landfall faster than the other factions.


Of course however, Belanor would personally come aboard the Tyren ship to speak with their leader. Assuring the Tyren knew they could have any land they wished, so long as they left whatever forests that were available to the elves. Hopefully the Tyren would understand and be thankful of the help they recieved, enough so that possibly good relations could slowly begin forming. However, knowing the wood elves this would take longer than the voyage to the new continent, as the elves are extremely wary of making friends with people outside of their own culture.


(Hopefully I'm not posting too quick considering you haven't finished Deth's post, but I assumed since this didn't involve anybody else that its alright. Also, waking up only like 4 hours after going to bed after a 10 hour shift is just fantastic lol)

 

[Beckoncall]

@General Deth Glitch


It was almost to be expected -- but a mutiny broke out on the ship. Criminals needed to help sail the ship waited until a critical moment and attempted to lock Maeder and many of his countrymen in their quarters at the front of the vessel. When they got below, however -- they did not receive the unmitigated support of the rest of the criminals below... and if many in the brig would have joined they could readily see it was to be on the losing side. A large, red faced Tundra Barbarian -- who is known as Baez, personally pulled the head and arms off of the ringleader... a pirate named Jarrod, to bring a quick end to the gambit. Between the goodwill and wine given to them at the start of the voyage, and the fact that the new world represented the farthest they could hope to be from a constable of Muurdaan, the call to seize the ship for piracy rang hollow. Sill, 14 conspirators remain now that Jarrod lies dead -- any by almost any naval law the punishment for mutiny is death. Maeder would have to reconcile this, in a manner he saw fit...


Of the gem, it was surely a boon from Lady Dracos... When the box's lid was lifted, the torches and lanterns nearby would burn brighter... the inner light coiled within it, as if daring him to direct it. To wield it... to *unleash* it. Maeder found himself admiring it more than perhaps he ought. It's lights danced in his eyes, visions of a sword with this gem in the pommel, or a crown with the jewel embedded, danced in his mind. If he thought the Muurdaan were fools before, as of now he was certain of it. It was when he first laid eyes on the Jewel that he himself in the depths of his own heart felt like he might become the Legend his people boasted him to be...

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @SpiralErrant


With the elves help, the Tyren can rapidly put an end to the sea-sickness -- and if desired potentially even make landfall before the others if they want to speed ahead with the elves, though by how much is questionable. The Tyren can likewise take up the elves offering of Kelp-cake and assorted fishes, but they will not have the same surplus as the elves have secured -- the appetite of a Tyren is great, and the appetite of bored Tyren warriors Idling during the voyage is twice-so. They would have some extra food to silo or market, but not much. It rapidly became clear that if Orm did not keep discipline, the warriors would begin looking longingly at some of the goats...


(I am assuming the Tyren will accept the assistance because the Tyren people desire it, but it may be rebuffed or negotiated by spiral if desired -- you may make use of the food help, sailing help, and even collude to see if your factions can break ahead of the rest of the voyage... I'll hear tell before rolling any dice behind the scenes)

 

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant @General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex


Lastly, an event happens to most of the ships at once (as a group, regardless of overall speed advantage the ships are, at this point in the voyage within at least sight range of each other at times in the fog)


When the voyage comes into the seas beyond their map, a rigid course must must be maintained to be sure the ships reach the lost continent at the supposed break in the barrier. Along this route the ships move through what appears to be a sea of... caviar? What first looks like a foam of dark-blue bubbles reveals itself to be some kind of mass-spawning for an unfamiliar form of sea-life, in the thick mist on this leg of the journey it is hard to tell how large this "slick" may be, but it is doubtless enormous. The Cargo ships glide over the substantial layer of dark and glassy eggs, a layer of scum accumulating on the front and sides as it glides through what seems to have been a colossal fish-orgy. The Tyren sloop, it's profile higher in the water and sharper of prow pushes the slick away from it as it passes through, however. In the mists the voyage slows for a time, enabling the ships to find each other in the dark -- though distant from one another and at times only the very tops of the sails can be seen in the fog.


Numerous times you see large marine creatures feeding deeply on this odd terrain feature -- mostly whales it would seem, but in the mists several times one cannot be so sure. On several occasions sailors try to point out some great luminescent light rising out of the water, and when the fog clears -- the strangest of the phenomenon becomes visible. A greenish luminescent orb -- the size of a canoe -- rises above the water nearly 30 feet on a jet-black stalk... it's full length adorned with a string of tiny bio-luminescent dots. Each time the tendril pierces the surface, a disturbance in the water nearby can be seen -- never where expected, and only ever for an instant, a whale-sized gulp of the caviar vanishes from the surface in a roiling boil of bubbles and turbulence. While first the phenomenon is only a catalyst for heightened vigilance and some anxiety among the more common folk... it starts to become apparent that between "feedings", the the light is moving close enough to the surface to occasionally be seen in the wake of the larger ships...


(this is an event, which may or may not be resolved without a response from one or more players -- resolve any earlier voyage events your faction may have before navigating this one)

 

[SpiralErrant]

The last night.

​

"You did what?!" Orm bellowed, stamping his hoof and cracking a floorboard in the process.


Shul cringed under his chief's glare. "It was a one time deal. If I didn't take it we could have been waiting weeks, maybe months for our own ships."


"The whole point of this was so we could claim our own land, on our own terms. Now you'd have us start the voyage as beggars." Orm's voice was a rumbling growl as he paced the small room where he and the three shaman had gathered.


"I thought it better now than get there later and be moved off all the territory the others claimed. Would you have us travel across the blue just to live as we do here already?" Shul was finding more of his backbone now as he looked to his peers for support. "And this way they give us special trading papers, worth at least two boats, to spend on what we want. And they give us fresh supplies."


Orm was quiet for a moment. He stopped in his pacing, his breath falling loud and heavy as he tried to calm his frayed nerves. His blood was rising and it took concentration to quell its cry without releasing the pressure the old fashioned way.


"No." He finally sighed. "No, you did well, Shul. We can make this work." Orm lowered himself down onto one of the beds as it groaned in protest. He'd been down to the docks, seen the mass of people that were all swarming out to sea. Their caravan seemed so tiny next to all of that.


They would need to attach themselves to another group if they wanted that same safety in numbers. They had to make real connections with other people this time around. Luckily for the Tyren it seemed everyone else was thinking something similar.


First those armed humans had gone and offered them rooms out of charity, something Orm had never known a human to do, much less when they were backed by armed friends. Then the normally reclusive elves rolled up with gifts of free water. Then even MORE humans had come along seeing if they wanted to trade for a fancy smelling drink! Orm had turned them away, he wanted to keep as much good food and drink handy for the herds and his people.


All the older Tyren were in agreement that this had been the strangest day ever. Orm gave out a huge yawn and just thanked the darkening sky it was over. He hadn't stopped all day and it was catching up with him.


Then there was a knock at the door and someone let in a manic looking human who was panting for breath. After some translation Shul told them he was here to offer them some jewels but could only give them one.


"What is this?" Orm blustered "Is this a dream? Was the world I knew just a lie?!" The three shaman had a good laugh at their chief's expense as he was hen pecked into choosing the amber one with the sign of earth.

*****


The first day (@Icerex )
​

The morning came far sooner than Orm would have liked as he was left standing on the docks among a throng of his people and their herds. Orm held his bull iron ax in one hand like a shepherd's staff as he waved everyone around so that they wouldn't get caught up in all the chaos. He'd found that looking as threatening as possible was the only real way to get things done around here. Bureaucrats feared very little in the way of physical harm it seemed, mostly just things on paper, but it was all Orm had to work with.


They wandered around the docks for what felt like hours, trying to convince someone to offer them passage. Not just on the other settler vessels but among the fishermen and merchants that littered the place. They weren't having much in the way of luck. Until some shabby office worker found them, hat in hand and pointed them towards some boat with brightly coloured covers, not unlike the Tyren caravans.


"So sorry for all the mix ups, Sir. Please accept this, courtesy of our Corvus friends."


Orm cocked his head at that one. "Coor... vuuss..." He mimicked among Shul's translations. They pointed him towards the ships that all the heavily armed humans were getting on. Among them he saw the shouty man who wanted to sex their women or something. So this was his doing? He must have been the Corvus they were speaking of. It was all too hectic to stop and speak to the man but Orm gave him a solemn nod as he watched them get on their boat.


"Shuuuul!" He called over his shoulder. "Come with me to find the fancy woman-lady! I want to make sure we get all she promised us before we go!" Orm wanted their fancy trading paper.

*****


Rough winds
​

"So this is good, right? We're the first Tyren to cross the great blue. What heroes we are." Orm quietly grumbled as he leaned over the side of the ship. He'd never been to sea before and now he'd decided that Tyren were never meant to have done so.


The ship did another harsh turn and Orm was forced to lean into it as the floor swerved around under his hooves. He was running empty, as were half the crew. Shul's herbs and remedies could only do so much as the world tossed and swayed around them every minute of every day. Orm was exhausted, he hadn't managed to relax for a moment as they struggled against the wild winds. (Have you ever seen a minotaur throw up? It's not great.) Bruul was doing the best he could but he was seriously limited by the lack of experience held by those he commanded. Thank the spirits for Ummush keeping all the herds placated down below.


The old warrior shaman was too proud to admit that he couldn't care for his caravan in this way but it was becoming clearer with each wild swerve of the sails. But Orm was the chief, it was his place to swallow his pride for the group and do what had to be done. As soon as they gained back on the formation he'd try to reach out to the other ships for assistance. Maybe the elves, they had offered a message of friendship the day they all left and their ship seemed to be having the time of its life. Orm had turned down their offer to take some of their livestock for the trip. The herdsmen would have never stood for it, to a Tyren their animals were worth more than gold.

*****


Horns and pointed ears (@Leusis )
​

As it turned out he didn't need to ask for help! The elves must have read Orm's mind because they were quick enough about sending some ships over, clear and plain about their intentions as they offered to show the Tyren travelers the ropes of sailing. Between the elves' quickness and the bulls' brute strength there was little they couldn't manage. They even brought extra food! If there was one way to a Tyren's heart it was through his stomachs. Of course Orm couldn't allow himself to be out done as he fell further into the debt of the other settlers and made sure the elves were given some shares of cheese for their troubles. Cheese being the fanciest dish the minotaur had to offer.


Soon enough the ship was running like clockwork, the extra hands weren't even a problem since the elves took up so little room. It was like having little pale skinned goats scampering all about the place, quite cute really. Though Orm never could quite lose the paranoia that he'd step on one's toes and break their foot by accident.


Then there was the day the elf leader came to visit. Luckily the language barrier and Shul's selective translation stopped them from finding out Orm mistook him for one of the elven women. Hornless all looked so similar, it was an easy mistake! The two of them sat down like proper diplomatic folk and talked over their hopes for the future colonies and the pasts of their people. With Shul's help. Orm was sure to be on his best behavior as they did, he was still hoping banking on improving their chances through forming strong bonds with the other groups. They seemed to want it too, after all they were all working with limited supplies in a foreign land. They were all in the same caravan, as the old Tyren saying went.


They had some shared customs. That would help matters, especially the shared experiences with the humans and the empire. It made the overt acts of friendship the elves were throwing around make a lot more sense. Though it made Orm even more skeptical of all those 'free' gifts the Corvus human had been throwing around. He'd have to talk to the others about it when he got the chance. At least the elf were being up front about it. Like when he gave an outright ultimatum about the land they claimed. Orm would have been lying if he said that didn't bristle him some, the whole point of this trip was to get away from people telling him where he could and could not go, especially when he hadn't even gotten there yet. But he held it in for the sake of peace.


Forests made little difference to the Tyren anyway, they were always full of predators and made it difficult to keep track of the herds. He made it clear to the elf that he agreed and that if this was the case the Tyren were claiming any mountain hill lands they found. With their intents out in the open he could wish the elf well and hoped their people could work together to keep a safe future.


It was clear that the two leaders were the tense sort who weren't used to dealing with those outside their own kind. That fine by Orm so long as they knew where they stood. It was his job to think the worst of everyone that wasn't his own. Let their people on the deck make friends and laugh. So long as they were free to do so he was doing his job right.

*****


The bored bull and the sea
​

The mountains had always been where the caravan hunkered down for winter and since they were going to be making a permanent home in the new land it made sense to do it in a similar place. That and his curiosity about the orange jewel he'd been given. His mystical council had put forward the theory that it was linked to the earth in some way (even Orm could have guessed that! Eventually) so he was planning to give it as much as it wanted. Maybe then he'd get to taste what magical power felt like himself. An immature part of him wondered if this was linked to the legendary birth kingdom. If ancient minotaurs had used crystals like this to make their realms.


Orm's daydreaming quickly got interrupted as Bruul loomed in his cabin doorway. "We've got ourselves a bit of a problem." The gruff bull intoned. He quickly dragged Orm from his hay pile and brought him up top. "You see what's going on here. They're walking on needles, waiting for land."


It didn't take much explaining for Orm to catch up. He'd seen how restless the warriors had been getting over their time at sea. Orm didn't know how they could be, he had the blood to contend with and he was still going to sleep each night in a daze. Stupid young bulls and their having everything to prove. Orm refused to believe he was ever like them... despite what everyone said... and his own memories... and the truth. Stupid kids. Tyren were not meant to be cooped up for so long. Everyone was feeling the onset of cabin fever and each of them were in need of entertainment and exercise. That didn't mean Orm wouldn't bring his hoof down though.


"Bring the warriors down bellow. I'll be waiting." He said simply to Bruul.


The shaman brought them down to the hold where they all found Orm sitting on one of the cargo crates cradling his bull iron ax. The young bulls lined up in front of their silent chief with Brull standing behind them in a dark corner. The atmosphere was set as each of them stood there like children waiting to be chastised. Because that's what was about to happen.


"So you're all feeling bored are you?" Orm said gravely, slowly rising to his feet. "Decided you're going to laze the days away and treat this boat like your very own shitter?!" Orm was walking up and down the line now, looking each of them in the eye and making sure they knew to feel low enough to not meet his glare. "You remember why are warrior is chose? You are not where you are now just because you can fight... you were chosen because you showed the fire, the passion, the discipline to put this tribe ahead of yourselves! And here you are, trying to eat them out of their stores on the high seas!" He bellowed at the group, continuing in his little speech until he knew each one felt appropriately ashamed. The respect given a Tyren warrior was not done so lightly and Orm would make damn sure they would remember that.


But he hadn't been so cruel as to shame them all in front of their peers. Nor would he be so mean spirited as to leave it at that. "But there is a way you can still test yourselves." And a way they could entertain the others on board.


Orm held out a handful of straws he'd taken from the pens. He'd dipped them in the various herbs and powders they had just to colour them. He explained to the assembled warriors that this was how he'd pair them up for the tournament. That peeked all their interest! He went on to tell them how each afternoon from now they would hold a single match in this very hold, they'd set up a ring and the warriors would face each other, one match a day. He stressed that part. That way things wouldn't get too rowdy and he could make it last, giving them something to look forward to. There would be no weapons, just a simple wrestling match, the first Tyren to knock his opponent on their back or push them out of the ring would be declared the winner.


That'd give whoever wasn't on shift a good show. Orm had been tempted to put it out on deck and give it a bigger audience, but he was a worrier and didn't trust this not to disrupt the workings of the ship. Or that one of this lot wouldn't get knocked overboard.


"The winner not only gets the pride of victory but should they show enough skill and will... they will earn their tribe name." Orm said smugly. Now he had them dancing to his tune. Each of the warriors was looking at him with wide eyes and whispering to each other about that.


A tribe name was something only reserved for a minotaur that had done a great deed in service of the caravans or had proven themselves to be of great skill. It was how Orm had earned the name Black-charger. It was something warriors were always chasing and something they could carry with them forever. Now they'd be fighting to prove who could set the best example among the caravan. "Bruul will referee when I am not able. Whichever one of us is there, our word on the fight is law. Now pick your straws." And the starting matches were chosen. "It begins tomorrow." Orm nodded to them.


That ought to spice things up around here.

*****


From the depths
​

The fog had crept up on them and now it seemed to be all there was. This was the closest their little sloop had been to the human ships since the start of the voyage. The last time they'd been within earshot of them Orm could have sworn he heard fighting coming from one of the ships but nothing came of it. He'd kept a double watch on the sentries that night. And he was keeping a full one on now.


No doubt everyone had seen the glowing by now. That same ominous light heralded the broiling waste that washed away the blue slime all around them. None of this sat well with Orm. He'd never seen anything like this strange slime that covered the water but he was certain it was evil. Especially when all these creatures kept rising from the depths. These weren't like any fish Orm had ever seen, they were monster. Tyren were not meant for the sea he decided. Again.


Still Orm stood out on the middle of the deck, walking around the edges and keeping his ax at the ready. "Spears! Spears at the ready." He called to the warriors. "Hold now, be ready. Keep them low until my word." He said, eyeing each of them sternly and leading by example as he lowered his ax head to the floor. He didn't keep anyone up top at the moment beside the crew they needed and those that could fight. Better to keep the herders safe below with the Shaman. Of the moon-touched's numbers only Bruul was present.


"Bruul. Be ready... just in case." He urged the shaman. Between the two of them they could help keep everyone's nerves in check. But there was still the command to be ready. Bruul knew what that meant... to have his magic ready to let fly... just in case.


"Stay calm and breath steady." Orm called to his warriors. "If a rabid blood-touched can do it then so can you! Is just another animal out there. So long as it leaves us alone we shall do the same." These defenses were just in case the worst happened, Orm would not start a fight on this demon's territory unless he had to. So far it seemed as if it was only interested in taking the blue filth.


His eyes never left the light. It was getting closer to those lager ships. 'Nothing there for you. Just move along.' Orm thought to himself and hoped his thoughts could make it true.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

At Sea

​

Maeder was watching the Tyren as they set off and was prepared to offer help, not just for improving relations but also out of respect for their powerful culture. Then he saw the elves board and was worried they were attempting to take the ship and its supplies for their own greed but then they left and the Tyren seemed happy. "Double faced bastards!" he muttered to himself since all he could think was that they were to be alone in this new world, friendless and alone The elves will no doubt poison them against us! he thought as their ship made a good way, holding itself in front of the legionary ship. Every day he made his presence known and reminded the convicts/sailors that good work here would garner great reward once they made landfall, perhaps even freedom. He knew he life was in their hands just as much as theirs was in his. Then as the sun grew tired and Dracos took up here watch of the sky he would gaze at the gem, its flickering beauty and tantalizing taste of power. His mind often considered if this was a gift from Dracos to free them of elven tyranny but he soon thought that perhaps it was designed to prove his devotion, perhaps this was all a test to see if he was worthy at her side, a true defender of life, as he thought he was. A church he thought And laid into the door, this gem. Dracos will surely reward us. But the thought of conquest was not quite vanished, perhaps the gem would find another use, only time would tell.


Then it happened, he knew it would, but he thought he would crush it before it succeded in anything. Locked in his room by the prisoners he had rewarded daily, using their extra wine as an incentive to work and prove their worth. He heard a commotion and as he smashed open the door with his axe, a valuable tool for door breaking, he saw one convict completely destroy another convict, one of those who were working that shift. "Whats your name friend?" He asked the man. "My name is Baez, lord." "Ok, Baez, why did you tear this man limb from limb?" "He wanted to mutany sir and that meant replacing kindness with brutality, he was not a fit lord, like yourself, lord."


Maeder smiled "I am not your lord Baez, no. You are my brother. ALL OF YOU! This man has proven his worth and loyalty, as have you all to an extent by not taking advantage of the opportunity presented to you by this corpse. Do you know of my faith Baez?" "Yes lord." "Are you willing to practice it and learn it?" "Yes lord" "Then don't call me lord, call me brother. You are a free man. You have proven your worth and I will have you all know this. This thing happened because She Who Watches, the Divine Dracos, saw fit to present this man with an opportunity to prove himself. She has pans for us all, but if she deems you unfit then just look at this man, what was his name?" "Jarrod, Lo-" "I have told you, you can call me Maeder or you can call me brother but you have no lord now, no lord but Dracos. To the rest of you, those who follow Dracos, and show respect and loyalty to myself and my brothers, will follow in the steps of brother Baez and those who see fit to prove themselves unworthy and dangerous to her infinite and nessisary plans will follow the way of Jarrod. Now Baez, unlock the doors of our brothers and help me punish Jarrods co-conspirators." He did so and they talked and discussed, eventually it was decided that they would be given reduced rations, nothing but water and would be punished more appropriately on land, should they survive that long.


Then the fog appeared, like a cast over them. This must be the edge of the barrier he thought as the winds picked up and water turned to foul devil spawn. "Keep us on course, we must not waver now. Baez, keep the convicts below in good spirit and be ready" He ordered his newest brother as the devils approached, then he saw something glowing off to the distance, it came and went with the fog but it was always there, sometimes the sea would clear around it, becoming once more water. "Brother, get Baez, tell him to get the best seamen and the convicts he finds most trustworthy and meed us on deck. That thing is not just a threat to us but to the entire colony. We will attempt to put ourselves between it and the other ships, better to face a warriors death then to watch as the rest die before us, we are not cowards!" He said the last part to stop objections, knowing they would do so, especially since at the front of this 'caravan' of sorts was the elves, they would reach danger first, and at the back were the loyal legionares, ready to protect the Muurdaan interests. However he knew this thing could pose a threat and hoped he could get himself and his crew between it and, at the very least, the Tyren (A peoples whose past he knew a little of and deeply respected) so that should only one faction cross this dire sea then it would be they. "Hopefully this beast will not assail us but if it should we shall fight for our Tyren brothers and provide them safe passage, better they then a ship full of cold blooded killers." As he said this his mind flashed back to the gem in his room. Was now the time it was needed, for fire could counter water and water is what we fear now he thought as he gingerly gripped the head of his axe. Soon Baez returned with what he had asked for "Men, keep us between that thing" He pointed off into the distance at the glowing demon "And the other ships, Dracos will reward us for our bravery and, should we succeed in saving their lives and slaying this foe of the lady dragon, some of you may find your rise to fame and fortune follow swiftly after. I dont want to risk our lives fighting it if it does not wish to fight but, should it try to attack any of the ships then it is our job to sail to their aid. Dracos does not kill off entire peoples, only the individuals who defy her and so would seek us to aid any who face such a horrific threat for she is busy fighting a greater battle in the heavens, can you not feel the energy of that battle on the storm?" He called as his ship made its way to cut the thing off from the rest of the ships, though should it strike the elves he did not know if his men would let him rally to their aid... nor if he wanted too, though he knew Dracos would will it.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Icerex @Leusis @SpiralErrant @General Deth Glitch


“His eyes never left the light. It was getting closer to those lager ships. 'Nothing there for you. Just move along.' Orm thought to himself and hoped his thoughts could make it true.”


The Tyren were just becoming aware of what many of their elvish aides had been aware of for miles. The constant banging, tapping, and nailing coming from the bottom of the Corvus cargo ship was creating an irresistible stimulus to whatever that misfit of the deep was…


One of the winterborn warriors, who remained after Belanor had made an audience of the Tyren Chieftain Smiled inwardly, he wondered if there wouldn’t be far fewer humans to contend with by the time they made landfall. His brother did not allow himself such cheer, but for a moment he secretly reveled at the spectacle of two hundred humans, half of them legionaires, screaming in their own blood as they raced to the bottom of the ocean in the bowels of some abomination. But it was not to be…


…The Chieftain had rallied Bruul and the other warriors onto the deck. If the Tyren were going to provoke this thing, Belanor would want the elves to end this engagement quickly and decisively. If that meant backing the Tyren aggression moments before this monster struck the humans, so be it. The winterborn are nothing as much as they are patient.


The last two times the light rose from the water, it had not skimmed the slime as it previously had. This change of behavior told Orm instinctively that these were “mock charges” – that a real attack was coming. With the aid of the elves they moved the sloop ever closer to the Corvus craft, closing the distance with the bulbous light as it moved beneath the water. Shul ran about the side of the ship where Bruul, Orm, and all of the warriors stood, spears raised as they and the ship leaned in the water. The elves had “kneeled” the ship somehow, so that it listed closer to the surface on the side the Tyren prepared their attack. The surface of the water sped beneath them, it was at once hypnotizing and disorienting. “Focus on Light!” Bruul snorted. The warriors suppressing their braying which to the elves sounded like wheezes or coughing fits. Nostrils flared, and for a moment, no-one moved.


The winterborn ran two fingers past his lips and grabbed an arrow from his quiver, such a small gesture went completely unnoticed to the Tyren, but every glade guard interpreted it and knocked an arrow into their bows and pointed it straight up at the sky. For a moment the light vanished beneath the waves, then came streaming up behind Marcus’ Merchantman.


“BWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-OOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” The beast ROARED as it began to break the surface, sounding like a 500-yard long Quintus Horn they used to wake whole cities in the West. The Tyren didn’t flinch, neither would they notice that the elves were already almost noiselessly loosing arrows straight up into the sky.


Terror should have engulfed the men at the deck of Marcus’ ship but instead a single shout of “Pilum!” rung out and a hail of javelins sailed over the back of the craft. Where they hit, they bent against the creature, the water battering the hafts against the thing as it surged through the water. “It would not be enough, Jundar grimaced. As its White, sightless eyes rose above the water and great armored slits slid up to cover them. Before they could do so, The fog parted making way for Maeder’s ship passing behind them, It’s armored keel SMASHING into the creatures eye just as the Tyren sloop pulled along-side the giant fish…


The Tyren thrust their spears into the broadside of the creature, but could not dream of penetrating it’s armored hide. As the sloop raced along-side it, a geyser of white blood from the massive wound on the far side of the fish’s head sprayed over the deck, Freezing the instant it hit the planks and contracting the wood so quickly boards shattered between their nail-pins. One of the Warriors was blasted by the spray – bellowing loud and long as it flung it’s weapon away and pawed madly at the bloody ICICLES that were spraying forth from a long vertical wound wending from right leg to breast. Shul dove for the wounded, his look of horror subsiding as he felt the glower of Orm upon him.


Maeder’s ship stopped dead against the creature’s bulk and spun 90 degrees as the creature ripped past it. Were the entire ship not already in a high state of alert after the mutiny, injuries could have been far more severe. Maeder could hear the tumbling of crates in the hold, and the screams of some of his workers as half of what was not nailed down on his ship became tumbling missiles. There may have been casualties.


The Fish had reared it’s full head out of the water now, charging the final distance to the Corvus ship It was much larger than first imagined. It’s jaws, almost as wide as the back of the Cargo-ship itself, were FULL of disgusting needle-like teeth thrice the length of a man. Hundreds of transparent, eyeless parasites clung to its fangs at the gumline, as if to swarm to the sound of the Behemoth’s roaring dinner-bell. Then a hail of arrows came down, right where the elves had lead their aim.


In a seemingly impossible concentration, the arrows fell full on into the maw or the creature, and all along it’s bulbous, Obsidian head. Water in its mouth frothed, then froze as it’s hideous blood made contact with the sea. Many of the arrows fell on the armored hide of the creature and bounced off harmlessly, but as the giant baleful glowing black tentacle rose above the creature right before it’s jaws would strike -- the last arrows still fell, many of them skewering the tendril straight through, and popping the smaller lights along the writhing thing like so many sick and glowing pustules. The creatures roar immediately converted to a screaming WAIL. The Tyren ignored it, The elves kneeled at the pain of it, and many of the legionaires and Mader’s Exiles alike fell to the deck cupping their ears and howling madly to drown it out.


In that moment, the bleeding and hideous tendril swung over the sloop barely more than 10 feet over the heads of the Tyren. Like a tremendous mace the Fishes Angler-horn struck the mainmast of the sloop, an audible cracking throwing splinters off the structure. In that moment, the Skiff-sized bio-luminescent ball hovered lazily, for just an instant, right above Bruul’s massive horns.


Bruul let loose a chambered punch that made the sound of the strike against the mast sound like the bleating of a baby calf. In the following instant the hideous sphere DETONATED – throwing a spray of glowing ichor away from the point of impact before the tentril POURED a deluge of the freezing excrement in a pool at the front of the deck – sending elf and Tyren both flying for cover… and then it was gone.


Bruul would later explain that he had been chambering punches for the entire voyage so far, as he had long since run out of things to calm his mind when he was not struggling with the sails. He admitted he had never managed to contain so many. Each, he said, was like stuffing a box that had already been filled. Bruul’s robes almost at once flooded with sweat, and his whole body shook with his exhalations. He leaned against the mainmast, spuriously justifying that “He needed to check its soundness.”


In the aftermath that followed, the waves fell silent and the ocean for a time became as quiet as a tomb. The only thing that could be heard in the dark was some screaming, and tears, as the wounded in the hold of Maeder's ship were brought up on deck, the women trying vainly to minister to the injured.


The wounded Minotaur, hideously scarred, would go on to win the Tyren tournament almost a week later.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Honour and Glory!

​

Maeder fell across the ship, falling nearly 6ft from where he stood just moments before the thing shot past. He didnt quite catch what had happened but he saw the thing go down next to the Tyren ship They must have wounded! He thought and hurriedly ordered those who had held their footing, being most of the seamen on the deck and that was about it, to prepare the ship to board with the Tyran. Once this was underway he followed Baez down, below decks, to the crew and convicts who wern't on deck when it happened. Needless to say tempers were high but no one really thought Maeder, or any man for that matter, could turn a ship by a right angle instantly, let alone do it on purpose. "Do we have any doctors, be you convict or a freeman, we need to tend to the wounded and then we will see if we can tend to the wounded of our allies." Then he had a thought, it was almost a rude thought considering it was about sentient folk, but he thought it to be true "For the latter do we have anyone trained in mending or healing beasts, any farmers or veterinarians, mainly those skilled in tending to and healing the injuries of large wounded beasts, such as horses and cows?" even saying it felt wrong but surely a human was different to tend to then a Minotaur was and the closes man would get to healing such things would be livestock, sadly. Then he added "Those who are able to get every last damn crate fixed to the floor, use rope or nails if you must. Now we work as one, convict and freeman, tend to the wounded and strap the world to the deck. This may not be the last of those things we face and I cant be sure the ship will hold against another impact, its not one our ships." That would have dealt more damage to the beast then the beast did to us he thought, knowing that Dracos was just testing them, watching them as they made their way to this new land, HER new land. As he made his way above deck someone shouted to him, he looked over, it was one of his brothers "Your head brother, your bleeding, get down their and get tended to like the rest!" he said. Maeder felt his brow, indeed there was a small rivulet of blood cascading down from his right side, dropping below his chin where he began to pool and stain his clothes. It was not life threatening, at least Maeder did not perceive it to be so, he had suffered much worse from the war. "Nay Brother. I have to attend to the matter of the Tyren, see what they need, how many are wounded and if they will need men replaced. We have men to spare and so I would rather they made it to this new world with us then we made it only to find ourselves trapped between the empire and elf 'pyre'. They are good men, likely the creation of one of Dracos allies, perhaps fated to aid us in this very endevour!" While he was preparing for this and ropes were being readied to be thrown over to the Tyren crew, Baez was toiling hard below deck, seeking to help and guide those working hard below to get everything back to how it was, bones and boxes to their right positions and binded still and strongly, had he known his new brother was injured he would not have let him leave the hold but the blood had not started running until he was headed back out.