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

[Beckoncall]

RIDER AND THE GREEN GODDESS:

Heyitsjiwon

Caelis' rider arrived just as the initial party of reverends planned to commune with her began their offererings... offerings come none too soon. The statue was circled and enrobed in all manner of bright ivies, flowers, bushes and other flora. Recent additions of idol sized amber jewlelry anointed the idols forehead and decked her fingers, offerings from faithful in the market.

"I know why you have come, rider-- and I will tell you what I know-- the horned one, as he is now called, was first known as "Wraupos" -- a minor spirit of hospitality, revelry, and as I am, fertility-- the pantokrator of his age was angered to learn that wraupos, in the absence of his gods attention-- had proclaimed himself a god of lust and appetites... for his hubris, the pantokrator cast him into Tartarus, but he was freed in the Mage wars to resume his delusions of true divinity... knowing his name will not give you power over him, as it would a true fiend -- a trick he has used before-- but it will get his attention...

Beyond this, you CAN remind him of his true role in the eternal pantheons... he is given great power where he is not welcome, but if bidden to come, and his appetites appealed to, he can do no harm whilst so indulged.

Lastly, though truthfully a minor emissary of true gods, he is the agent of a high god of a bygone age... agents of a pantokrator of his type CANNOT be killed by mortals. Even using the instruments of gods. His fate is readable, but begs its own riddle -- it is said that "the horned one" may only die "by his own hand" -- but this is surely written as his fate.

Ply the horned one with the hospitality for a god, but remind him of that which he is not-- in ways you cannot understand, it shall blunt the awe of his presence. Kill him swiftly. For to welcome him will before long give him dominion, rather than staying his hand.

The sundered king rider and horse felt a refreshing breeze which blew as a strong wind behind him as he returned to the battlefield...

 

[Beckoncall]

Meetings of minds to mind the malevolent maw:

The mages quickly huddled after the riders quick return from the green goddess. Each in attendance had something to say:

Bruul: Not being able to KILL something is not the same as not being able to WOUND something. The horned one should be able to repelled (at what cost?), but unless you can ensure his destined fate, he will return again.

Cassandra: Great holy power or great unholy power will have the best impact on a godling of this type -- to somehow manage a great assault of BOTH would not only be painful, but could inspire fear in the demon. Also, the thing bears a Torc, but in his HAND -- as this band of twisted metal is meant to be a neck ornament. He may be obligated to carry it as part of his godly mantle, but does not want to use it in the way it was intended.

Nateema: This thing is a creature most emblematic of teeth, and by extension of it's horns, bone -- She is confident that in a fight she could stay it's hand (immobilize it) anywhere from a couple of seconds or longer even if given a source of power sufficient to tap, or if other mages channelled their power to support her. This could only be done once, and would have to count -- because the rage it would inspire in the demon would almost guarantee her death.

Andrei: It's hautiness and exploded perception of itself basically means to him that it's a sucker. It will parley because it probably can't resist being an ass when people address it, and if we parley, we buy time. It's likely able to eat us out of house and home as well -- but on first meeting it probably can't resist hospitality -- who knows how much it can eat, but if we put a dent in it's hunger, we've basically put a dent in it's power. Andrei also would like to express that while he has no intention of going near it, ever, unless MAYBE after it's somehow killed -- He knows hubris and illusions go hand in hand... you can't have a better target for an illusion than somebody who rigidly demands or expects what they see in the world.

 

[Beckoncall]

KamiKahzy :

Daisy and the morose morse:

Daisy had been at the process for days, now. Tapping to the Zebani -- who eventually began tapping back. After a while the tapping ceased, and a series of hums began to reply instead. Switching to a series of tuning forks and assorted metal scrap, she began to vibrate similar tones back through the hastily constructed wall that now covered an area in the extreme northeast of the burrows. finally,
though Daisy was by no means near stopping -- the bricks began to fold outward into the chamber they sealed.

Inside was a single red Zebani -- a "Grav Roc-built" as they seemed to call themselves -- though this one seemed to have had an arm snapped off at the elbow and various cracks ranging from a hairline spiderweb of white lines that seemed to disilluminate it's left eye to a deep but flush white inclusion where it was seemingly almost shattered at the waist.

Once the small red arm pulled (or more seemed to wave) the bricks away from the hole, the thing peered at daisy from short range, then dove down into it's own vault. In the distance, Daisy could now hear pummelling -- some of the vibrations she had mistaken for communication. Something, not far away, was being pounded, ceaselessly.

Daisy poked her head through the small opening and saw the damaged grav tilting it's head so it's one good eye could see her. It addressed her in common:

"Nothing you are saying makes any sense, though you are getting quite skilled at repeating to us that WE should go away."

"Roc-Heet-built suggested your frail body should be shaken until it ceases to move -- but I am thinking you are just as curious as I would be if I knew my neighbors never stopped pounding something. We had assumed we were operating at frequencies that would not damage or even be perceptible to your little meat-vibration interpreters... but I've come to ask if we're causing a disturbance. Because if we are -- you're going to have to move. The pummelling cannot stop. Ever. If you'd like to come in and see, I'm hoping you'll understand. I find your nonsensical humming whimsical, but the Heet-Built are not so amused."

The Zebani began to comb a small pile of rubble it assumed (rightly) that Daisy would have no difficulty descending upon, before speaking again.

"You have zebani invitation runes in your dwellings above. we can sense them. pity we are on permanent assignment."

A harsh and low shaking tone emanated from deeper in the chamber, from behind a group of wrought-stone pillars....

"Heet-Built says do not attempt to cease the pummeling or you will be on permanent assignment as well." The Roc-built turned it's head almost incredulously and vibrated back into the chamber.

"The Heet-built will not harm you, as I'm sure you're not here to stop the pummelling. I'm sure you're not here for anything of the things you've been saying for the past few days"

The Zebani cocked it's head to the other side as if to wink, but in having only one eye -- it simply managed a blink.

"We're not really prepared to entertain guests, which is why the Roc-Heet-built saw fit to close the hole."

The zebani paused again.

"Well, aside from that which we entertain already."

The Broken Zebani thew up it's one hand and seemed to shrug. The violent pounding in the center of the chamber continued, ceaselessly.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

There are few times in his life that Caelis had felt true fear, the fear that made one stop in his steps and simply stare in awe. This was one such moment as few a few seconds he simply looked at the approaching behemoth. It was a godling manifest in all its gruesome glory. ROWS of teeth brazenly studded his great maw. What sort of being was this? It looked like a foul creation of some sick, carnal demon. Caelis' wits was quickly restored to him as nearby screams forced him to turn his attention. The center line was now battered with the combat and now the trees that were thrown as them. Caelis quickly began to order to for the wounded to be taken away while he thought about the options.

The other faction leaders quickly met and spoke. Caelis had also sent one of his Sundered Kings to the Green Goddess and he came back with useful information.This Wraupos could not be killed by mortals. No, he had to be killed by his own hand... whatever that meant. Thus, ideas began to form. They had to somehow have the foul being kill itself. How could this be done? Caelis clearly remembered the interrogation of the Mud Elves that the Attolians had conducted with the Highborn. The prisoners mentioned that they should see what happens if we ask Wraupos to kill itself. Regardless, this was something that they would not want to ideally do... However, Caelis then looked at the being again.

The teeth... what if the answer was in his teeth? Cassandra had scryed the bone weapons that the Mud Elves used and found that they were the teeth of the Horned One himself. Perhaps, he could be killed by his own teeth? It made sense. The teeth were strong enough to kill an Aymaran and they would begin to slowly decompose once their user died. Perhaps, this Wraupos knows and enchanted the teeth to decompose. It made sense to Caelis. However, the other suggested other plans, which seemed equally attractive as well. It appeared that they would try to bring the Pretender to parley and perhaps invite it to a feast as a guest of honor where they might try to drug and poison the being. Caelis suspected that with its hunger, the Horned One would not be able to refuse an offer of drugs. Then came the most appealing part of the plan. While the beast feasted, the Ratkin would use their bone star to try and force the beast to eat itself and hopefully its insatiable hunger would force him to keep eating himself. However, Caelis thought that at the same time that everyone could jump on the false god with the teeth weapons to make sure. Things seemed to make sense. However, one thing was certain, they needed to buy time through parley.

Caelis once again looked at Cassandra and said "You are our best bet at bringing that self proclaimed god to parley. Would you speak on our behalf?" Cassandra looked at Caelis with her ruby eyes that looked to shine and burn in the sunlight and gave a confident nod. Caelis smiled slightly and then looked down in shame. He was sending this young girl to stop a raging godling... but she was the best choice. He looked back up and said "I will assign you Sir Tristan and 10 Halberdiers as your escort and honor guard. If we're going to make this trick work then it has to be convincing. We must appear to be respecting the spirit and offer it a temporary cease in hostilities and a feast in his honor."

He then turned to the rest of his men and began giving his orders:

1. Evacuation of the wounded and brought to receive treatment (Reminder: I allowed for 1 unit of opium to be made available to the Healers Guild at the very beginning of the battle)
2. The Collection of Teeth Weapons dropped in the recent battle and any that are still good from the last battle
3. The Preparations of the Feast. (The Attolians make their surplus food available for this and 1 unit of opium)
4. The Retrieval of all the tears from the Platz just in case things go wrong (Mine and the Victorians if they agree)

He ordered for the teeth weapons to be distributed to all and not just Attolian soldiers. They would need to rely on speed and surprise to make sure that this plan works. The rest who did not have the teeth weapons would be ready to fight off the Mud Elves at any moment.

 

[Beckoncall]

...There was no time to count the fallen. Many were taken away by the support teams, ratkin pups mainly supported by other healing crews. Opium was administered. Tyren, covered in blood and unmoving, were hauled at the back of the train of casualties. Aymarans, however injured -- could not be convinced to leave the field. They saw the preparations for the feast and they would not be excluded. They would survive their grievous wounds, or die eating -- as one supposed was natural for an Aymaran. There would be time to count the dead and the living at the end of this crossroads in the infant colony's brief history.

When it was discovered Orm was swinging his axe with a dislocated arm and a score of wounds, It took Bruul's strongest implorations for Orm to stop his bellowing breaths... for Orm understood nothing, not Bruul's words, barely hearing their tone -- in his red rage and his own madness he thought the cessation of slaughter insane. Then Shuul administered the Opium... and that was that. Orm would not die today, and he had given enough this battle -- from what could be seen, perhaps all of Harun'Taras had given too much... to lose Orm could not be allowed. The highborn too took their wounded as one would rush treasure to the vault of the healer's guild, treated in the field and then littered to triage and a flurry of industry at the healer's guild.

While Price Vaethorion and His Archmage were still bound to their ritual, They had taken as much risk as could be afforded with their ritual, subjecting themselves to blistering energies and no small measure of pain to allow the Highborn cleric to leave their summoning circle and save whom they could... his wages in lives won from death yet to be determined -- but for those assembled at the guild the high cleric was a sight to see... a wish come true.

...There was even less time to prepare the feast. All the food of the market, and the Attolian stores were spread out on hastily placed planks, resting upon barrels for stability, piled high with everything from bloody birds to tropical melons, all the rapidly slaughtered livestock, edible plants of all sorts, Presentation was lax -- the hope being the sheer volume and variability would sing it's invitation. The whole pile was slathered in honey, and between all the fecundity the colonist found on the land, piles of bread and massive casks of Attolian Beer, and other fennec beverage and treats, sowed throughout the banquet. Atop that the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field lay slaughtered and burned for the temptation of the horned one.

The battle line held where it stood -- but gathered tooth weaponry surreptitiously amid the guise of searching for wounded. The Fennec scrounged a few barrels of gunpowder from the ruins of the Reinen... and placed them as redundant table legs close to what they perceived was the head of the table.

Cassandra called out to the mind of the beast that the arrival of the Horned one, a true god -- would be greeted as such to parley when he came upon the field of battle. She played to his arrogance, and cleverly reminded him of hospitalities that should be observed -- something the Horned One could not deny as was his nature. The small honor guard approached the horned one just as he crossed the Dammed river and then spoke with her finest charms and flair -- somehow defeating the fear and horror of standing even NEAR this horrid thing. From this close, she and the honor guard could see the Horned one had no eyes -- no face but the maw of a giant leech, the skin loosely clung at it's neck and around it's jaws -- as if it once had a face but it was no more -- only teeth and drool.

Sir Tristan rested his hand on the pommel of his weapon just as he saw his soldiers were about to break in terror -- all knowing what it meant. They did not fear Sir Tristan more than the monster -- but his silent promise steadied their feet, if not the shaking of their legs. Only two Halbardiers stood totally firm -- Tomaz and Jav, Tomaz able to regain his composure only through wetting himself. If anyone noticed, nobody commented. The Horned one's pride, and greed, and the manipulations of all his baser natures bore fruit... after Cassandra plied him briefly for their parley, the things mouth looked down upon the honor guard -- and the Attolians assembled in turn stared into the abyss that was that mouth -- and pondered the preservation of their sanity.

The Horned one silenced cassandra with his own howling words, like a screetch deep within a tempest:

"A place of honor where I might eat in repose as I watch the final resistance of your flyspeck colony die paving way to even more gluttonous pleasures of your collective submission? OHHHHH.... YESSSSSS PLEAAASSSEEEE...."

The last word hung strangely in the air -- behind him, his warhost, hundreds strong -- swayed and bunched incredulously at words of civility from their savage god.

"TAKE YOUR PLACE, WARHOST -- I shall watch you when I am done dining... Take your place in front of what remains of their lines..."

And they did -- four ranks deep in a horse-shoe formation that faced the entire front, from the north flank of Harun'Taras, past the center line, to an especial concentration of troops on the south flank where the Highborn swordmasters and the Victorians stood... Neither the Mudelves, nor their god -- had failed to notice the trouble these elite posed.

The Horned one spoke again to Cassandra as he was lead to his seat of honor -- a great throne hastily hammered together out of transport crates.

"IN YOUR NEW EXISTENCE..." it's booming voice hissed.

...."THERE WILL BE NO NEED FOR YOUR THOSE WHO REMAIN TO BE MY PROPERTY TO HAVE AN ARMY -- SO I SHALL DINE, THEY SHALL BE SLAIN, AND THEN WE WILL DISCUSS TERMS..."

It's voice lowered to a hissing speaking simultaneously with a growl:

"Starting with the death of my wives -- I demand nine consorts from each of your leaders, Herald -- You alone... CASSANDRA... I can smell the witch on you -- I demand you be my bride, your first task not to fail me is to select that bevy of whores I demand from the finest of your peoples who survive the wrath of your immanent pillaging.... my host must be fed, it is enough I have stayed the slaughter for a... (examining the spread lustfully) ... light snack."

The battle line stood firm -- facing the mudelves, this wave more drunk and angry and heavy-thewed than those that came before. The cessation of hostilities was unsteady -- but the mudelves would not go without the word of the horned one, and only the Aymarans needed to be reeled in snapping and frothing at the prospect of another fight -- the men all along the line took their rest covetously and stole their breath back for what they expected would be a final battle if the whatever plan their leaders had did not go smoothly. The paymaster left the field with all the tals of the faith of the rich, if they all died they would all be counted.

The Horned one's "Throne" groaned and screamed under his weight, south of the battlefield -- behind the colony's lines, but the horned one had no fear. It quickly began to chug a giant cask empty over it's head with both hands, Grabbing great bowls of purplish soupy drink the fennec had placed, consuming them with equal greed and gluttony. As Nateema, the colony's champions, and leaders came to the feast table.. the horned one greeted them all mockingly.

"WATCH ME EAT. I WILL IT."

It belched with the sound of a whirlpool's vomit, and continued speaking:

"Behold your new god, and I am unslayable -- this turn of events must belie the fact that you know this, and also why I care not if I take my meal in the shadow of your hallowed lighthouse, that I myself will pull down and profane before throwing it like a Caber into the sea. It is wise you have not taken arms against me with my caged brothers and sisters -- for I shall collect them all when your wills are substantially broken, and I have relieved myself in your temples."

One by one, the Horned one picked up the massive planks, spilling almost as much food as he ate upon himself as he took the segments of table like crackers piled with toppings, eating them as well -- blended summarily in his hideous all-consuming mouth. Sniffing greedily, he found the casks of gunpowder, and mistaking them for spices, poured them down his throat.

Noticing this, Both highborn and Fennec archers prepared to light arrows... The hubris of the horned one wasted anything to notice. Not the tooth weapons, not the tense atmosphere... just gorging himself on what he saw as his due.
His bloated stomach stretched until his skin was taught, but the roaring and grumbling of his second stomach went on unabated. The Horned one lost itself in it's orgy of eating -- perhaps it was the opium and dream-soda blunting what little will and self control he possessed. The horned one ate his throne, and the casks that contained the beer, and pounced on the center of the table and raked his own flesh hideously scraping massive piles of beer-soaked food off his own body. If the Horned one noticed his wounding himself, he made no note of it.

Nateema knew it was time. Cassandra wove a spell that blinded him to anything but his appetites even further. The Horned one turned to Cassandra and said:

"YES -- egg on my desires -- by the end of this night you will know the very depths of my hungers, the breadth of my depravity will be lavished on you as my bride and toilet--"

Then the Horned one shut up.

Because his mouth was full.

Of his own arm.

Nateema had raised the bone tear and a grey anti-light dimmed the day air around it. The horned one tried to lift it's head up to somehow behold the specatacle that was Nateema's bone-spell -- but he found he could not --

--At least not before without biting down and swallowing his arm whole. His Torc, hanging like a bracelet from his food-filled claw, was the only thing that did not go down in one gulp -- it looked like a disgusting necklace, or shackle, really -- stuck in his neck. The skin on the horned one's neck Ripped away as in a drunken rage Beneath that skin it could be seen his neck and head concealed a worm... a festering parasite living in the body of a former form or avatar -- perhaps the cursed aspect of godling as judged by his pantokrator... which looked at it's own shoulder stump and shook with lust...

It ate it's other arm. The Worm stretched to full length to get both of it's legs inside it's mouth at the center of the table, it now joining the banquet as even itself became a coveted food offering. Bones snapped and it's spine ripped as the worm-neck/mouth began to swallow the entirety of it's own bulk like a python.

When at last it's wormy neck snapped from it's gnashed and devoured body, it snapped wildly at it's own tail until it gained grasp of what remained of itself -- a bloated maggot passing through it's own jaws.

Horror and retching was universal to those in presence... but the bloated worm as it's teeth passed over it's body became a ball of blood and ruined food --

-- A ball which shrank and shrank until it's teeth alone burst above it's vanishing bulk like a strange party favor of it's own doom.

All along the battle-line the mud-elves clutched their chests, their hearts, their heads... worms swarmed beneath their skin, leaving furrows and lesions of bloody wounds as the worms devoured their hosts in their own death throes. All along the colony's battle-line -- the mud elves fell on their own... only a handful survived the writhing death of their worms, nearly one in one-hundred groaning as if the end had come, and indeed, for the Horned one and his minions, it had. Far to the southeast a great green pillar of fire burst... The last of the witches, one might suppose, self destructing in the death of it's master.

It was over. The stink of death on the burning fields of the reinen was ubiquitous and all-consuming. Those not hardened by battle wretched and vomited for the sheer offense to sensibility.

There were the better part of a thousand dead laying in the field... The feast table smashed, seasoned all around with the hundreds of teeth of a now extinct godling... his massive second-wave army slain bloodlessly... by colonial hands, anyway...

Silence reigned for a moment, before the AYMARANS WENT INSANE EATING THE HIGH PILED DEAD.

Fennec with eyes as big as saucers could not believe what they had seen... until finally processing it THEY STARTED LAUGHING, and as if in reply, many colonists and warriors cheered. They had vanquished their foe... amazingly enough.

All but the Victorians who looked upon all the vast carnage as if the land was cursed.,,

....and all hearts turned to thoughts of the wounded.

The horned one had indeed died by his own hand.

and his other hand.

and his legs, and torso and own neck and mouth.

The horned one was no more -- and one could suppose the mud elf threat would die with him.

The colony had defeated it's first real peril to it's survival...

...But it would not be the last.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis watched the remains of this red feast. They had done it. They had killed a false god. However, the outcome of the battle was costly and there was much to organize. Caelis called for his men to begin securing the area. Another attack while they were this disorganized would be disastrous. Thus, he sent word to the other faction leaders. They must be hyper vigilant for any more threats, especially the gnolls who may take advantage of the chaos. He sent a squad of men to help secure the so called "river", which was now dammed. He also wished to send an expedition to the Mud Elf Settlement and secure the lands before the gnolls swooped in. Gods knew what may be in the settlement, but the forest land was crucial and an important and needed source of lumber, just in time for winter when they would need fuel for fires.

There was so much to do... bury the dead, and perhaps even collect the heads as a bargaining tool for the gnolls. He then watched the horizon and noticed a handful of surviving Mud Elves. The prisoners had to be secured and carefully this time. After all, the last bunch were fanatically devoted to the Horned One, but against their will. These Mud Elves may slowly be able to be integrated into the Colony in due time.

Then there was the question of the Reinen... well the able bodied should be allowed to retrieve what remains of their possessions and loved ones. But, it would be a difficult ordeal for them... and Caelis was sympathetic to their loss. However, he had faith in them. They were a hardy people and would rebound from such a tragedy. In the meantime, he offered the Reinen shelter in the Attolian Housing District if they so desired so that they can at least have some temporary shelter while they regroup and decide what to do.

He walked over to the body of the Horned One where Cassandra stood, simply watching the mess of blood.

---

Peisinoe walked the alleys of the Attolian Housing District with her sisters. They had been helping with the influx of injured, but as time passed the air grew chaotic as harsh screams, coarse yelling and painful wails filled the air. This cacophony of noises was deeply upsetting to her as they seemed to drill inside her head. Frustrated, Peisinoe let out her voice to combat the cacophony. Soon her sisters joined her and the enchanting voices of the Sirens began to emanate from the Attolian Housing District and permeated through the air.

---

Cassandra witnessed the self destruction of this Pretender. The sight was glorious as the titan ate himself to death and released his life blood into the world. While the others seemed perturbed by the blood, Cassandra simply felt calm. She approached the body of the Horned One and began digging through the corpse with her bare hands in search of the torc and anything else that may be magical and dangerous in the battlefield. Some things were better kept in the hands of those able to handle its power, and she intended to never allow anyone to mishandle magic. All magical items had to be brought to the Mages Guild to be examined further.

---

Tomaz breathed a deep sigh as his squad was ordered to go secure the newly dammed area and to search the region. It would be muddy and messy work, but he was just glad to have gotten away from the carnage and death. What he had seen was more than any man should see in his life. But, at least now... he was able to just get away from it all. As his wits came back to him, he looked down. Thank the gods that they were headed to near the water... he needed to take a wash. However, a stifled laugh could be heard to his right. Jav was simply looking at him, barely able to keep a straight face. Tomaz snubbed him and looked forward again trying to ignore him. Besides Jav, the squad was deathly silent. They were still processing what had occurred and it was only training and discipline that kept them marching forward. Still, to Tomaz that was good enough. After all, they wouldn't notice or mind him.



Summary:

Caelis sends Sir Bors, 10 Halberdiers/Constables, and 5 Sirens to the remains of the river to secure and search the area

He also sends Sir Tristan, 10 Halberdiers, and 5 Sirens as a part of a Colonial Expedition to secure the Mud Elf Settlement. He asks the Colonial Government members to join this expedition.

40 sirens (or the total that remains) sing soothing songs so calm the Colony and help especially the hectic Healer's guild.

Caelis tries to secure the body of the Horned One with Cassandra. The body of a titan? Dr. Fleming would likely leap at the opportunity to study it.

The remaining soldiers are sent to secure the remaining Mud Elves as prisoners of war and brought to the Healer's Guild for treatment for the heart damage... they will hopefully be integrated eventually. After all they were effectively forced to blindly follow the Horned One.

Cassandra begins inspecting the torc that the Horned One held and begin searching for any potentially magical/dangerous items to bring to the Mages Guild for closer inspection (There was that crazy crown that was actually a mind controlling monster... want to avoid that as much as possible)

The Reinen are invited to go back to the remains of their settlement and secure whatever possessions that they can find and bury their undead. (Especially those few barrels of gunpowder.... wouldn't want that to suddenly disappear). 20 Unskilled and 10 Skilled Workers are sent to assist them. The Attolian Housing District is open them if they need places to stay.

Any remaining able bodied Attolians are asked to help clean up the battlefield and collect the spoils of war

 

[Spacekitty]

<Under final edits, will post tomorrow evening>

Orders Summary:
1. the 6 hitmen and 6 Skilled Thugs from the Stealth Mission, along with an additional 2 trolls, 10 thugs, 10 Skilled Workers, 5 Amaryan Brutes, 1 Amaryan Scarred with Master Assassin Andrei to lead and assist. are sent to search (loot) and secure the Mud Elf Village, which is presumably now filled with corpses. I hope I'm right! (6 hitmen, 6 Skilled Thugs, 10 Thugs, 10 Skilled workers, 2 trolls, 5 brutes, 5 scarred).

2. Members of the Stealth team are urged to aid in securing the Mud Elf Village and Territories for colonial control Prince Vaethorion KamiKahzy SpiralErrant General Deth Glitch

3. The remaining Finecians not involved with killing the ants are to scavenge the battlefield for survivors, prisoners, and most importantly: LOOT!. (4 Thugs, 15 Skilled Workers, 1 Troll, Mr. Mallowthew to lead them (1 Capo))

4.. ANT TASK FORCE (Troops are fresh as having been delegated to handle the problem while the main battle was occurring): 2 Trolls, 15 Skilled Workers, 10 Thugs, 5 Amaryan Brutes, Mikkolete, Jonti (Illusionist) and (Fighter Capo) and Sontio (Fighter Capo)
ATTOLLIANS SEND: 1 Engineer, 5 Skilled Workers, 10 Unskilled, and 3 Augmented Stone Contructs

 

[Enemy Standoo]

Elien could not have been prouder of her fledgling chapter in the aftermath of the battle. Her cadre of knights, each trained in their own way but few if any had ever fought by each other's side. Yet when the they found themselves thrown into the crucible of battle they and their devout cohorts did not hesitate. Their training took over and their faith spurred them on as each became extensions of the same smooth running machine. While it all went on around her Elien stood beside her elite guard of armoured warriors as if they were in the eye of the hurricane. Each encounter on their piece of the battlefield playing out like a mummer's show for the chapter master to take in.

The enemy came at them in ragged and staggered waves, more a rabble than a savage fighting force. In the moments of quiet, as they came running, Elien would call and point to those around her and see the knights left in command do the same to their own units. These savage elfkin were met with almost leisurely levels of preparation. She saw Tarkus cave one's mask into shattered pieces with his hammer and the skull beneath followed suit. Haawe prowled the flanks of his squadron of devout, pick axes twirling in a bloodthirsty dance as he lashed into any that met his shield wall, pulling and sweeping at limbs and leaving them helpless as the maces of his black clad brethren descended upon them. Crofter and Domision became a deadly duo, the shield of one sending foes bouncing and staggering into the sword of another. All while the greatswords of their elven allies swept through the air with all the cold work ethic of garden shears and reaping much the same effect on any mud covered soul unfortunate enough to be caught in their wake.

The adversaries Elien herself would face were few in number. None were skilled or lucky enough to pierce the cover of her guard but some were unlucky enough or cursed to fall into the blows and parries that would feed them to the waiting blade of her claymore. Its blade so sharp and light in her muscular grip that in its first few swings she would have thought she had missed entirely if it weren't for the arcs of blood that followed her strikes. Indeed it was a glorious display for the chapter.

What followed was far from glorious. Elien could not dispute the plan that had been formed in order to deal with this Horned One. Sometimes the means of mortals were not enough to deal with infernal threats like this fallen demon, and the knights themselves could not hope to rival the power of the saints, even if they carried their blessing. Sometimes one had to look for more creative means to destroy supernatural threats. And listening to him talk was enough for anyone to wish death on this vile creature. What followed in his orgy of consumption and vice though would stay with Elien for the rest of her days. She was reminded of a story she once heard as a child of a greedy snake that went on to eat himself. The imagery the old tale had conjured did not do what she saw that day justice.

*****​

In the end they were victorious. The gory remains of the horned one were set before them and his warhost lay dead like a mass grave waiting to be dug. It didn't take long for the vultures to descend.

"Is this land cursed, Chapter Master?" Came the fearful voice of a squire as she went about the clearing of the wounded and the battlefield.

Elien could only give them one answer. "Yes... it is. The mages of this land toyed with things beyond their control and now we are left to clear the graveyard they made of this continent as their revenants run wild. Now look around you, acolyte, we stand victorious. First the undead swarm and now this profane deity. These are vile and dangerous things we face but one by one our chapter has stared them down and we stand victorious. It is not an easy task ahead of us, yet by the will of the saints were are called to it and by our own strength we have proven up to the challenge. This is our purpose and the duty of our order. This is the task that called to you when you joined our hallowed ranks and saints willing it is a challenge our entire chapter will rise to meet. Do not fear this place, my sister, it is the crucible that will forge you into the knight and scholar Victoria would have you become. Each of us will stand taller for it... time will show you that."

With the certainty of fanatics and the grim determination of tempered warriors the knights went about their duties. Devout and horsemen were sent into the woods to clear away any remnants of the fallen elves and whatever den of vice they once called their home. Others were sent to gather up the bodies of the fallen, their corpses and relics no doubt worth something to the ever hungry museum and library of the lighthouse.

Father Curoi was called from his meditations and with a detachment of monks at his back the high cleric went about aiding the healing process of the colony's wounded. Yet as his cassock clad brothers and sisters spread through the guild Curoi himself moved with strict purpose. For though the intentions of all healers are good his would not be without direction. The chapter itself had suffered no casualties, indeed the fighting on their edge of the battle had been so light that few among them had even broken a sweat, but that did not mean that he would not aim to serve the order first in all things.

The wounds it would take to bring a minotaur low are the kind that are beyond modern medicine. So it falls to faith and to me to build upon the foundation Tarkus and Elien have built. The old cleric mused to himself as he approached the stricken hill dwellers to offer his aid. Curoi's skills were fit for the worst wounded and these bulls would fit that description, and after them he would pay the rats and maybe even the lizards a visit. The order was slowly enlightening the souls of the Tyren and as for the Ratkin their relations with the order had been dark enough in the past that a healers humble touch could be a welcome balm.

*****
​

For now Elien would stand as warden over the grizzly remains of the horned one. Her bothers and sisters in arms flanking her like steel wings.

"Stay your hand for now, witch." She ordered to the red harlot Cassandra. "What becomes of this corpse will be decided by the council leaders. Your master's avarice will have to wait for now."

The Attolian lord had made his lust for power and the lengths to which he'd go to get it all too plain by wheeling and dealing with each dark deity they found in these lands and there was no way the order could trust such bloody power in the hands of this sorcerer or the true master she serves. If the fountain got its tendrils into the titan's body then there would be no stopping them. As far as Elien could tell it would take all their efforts to destroy or separate the pieces of this body to stop any possible regeneration or corruption from the horned one's remains. She could only hope that Father Ghol could tell her more.

"Just like the horned one itself, this creature is gorging itself on the blood spilled in the battle... but we can deny it the feast it has yet to take. Our own hallowed magics may be more inclined towards fighting the forces of undeath but these dark powers are cousins of a kind and before prayers of purity they are each unmade." The haggard looking cleric muttered away to himself as he and a retinue of brother monks scoured the bloody field among those that were gathering the dead and surrounding the disgusting remains of the fallen god.

With each day that passed the people of the colony became more complacent in the face of this consanguineous magic and any knight of the order could tell you that was when such threats were at their worst. The blood demon had already gorged itself on their watch in the past, if nothing else perhaps they could forestall its growth until the faith had truly spread.

Action Summary:

Troops are sent across the river to secure the mud elf territory.
3 Mounted knights (Skilled woodcraft, animal husbandry, linguist) 10 devout.

Mud elf bodies and wounded are cleared away and the battlefield scavenged for possible relics.
2 knights (Skilled jeweler, Metal worker) 20 Squires, 5 Devout.

Father Curoi and monks attend to the wounded and aid the healers guild. Curoi begins by focusing on the Tyren and Ratkin's worst wounded.
Curoi (High Cleric) 15 Monks.

Elien and a guard cordon off the Horned one's remains until it can be secured and a final decision reached for what to do with it and sanctify the bloody remains of the god and the battlefield.
5 Knights, 10 Devout, 20 monks, Elien (chapter master) Father Ghol (Minor cleric/mage)

 

[Beckoncall]

Heyitsjiwon Spacekitty

Fennec Pests -- or "How to deal with a real Ant-hole"

The taskforce formed by the fennec had planned for an invasion of the ant-hole and the destruction of the hideous centipede that apparently was tough enough to make them it's meal -- It was instead scaled back that the mission was a vigil against any ants that continued to undermine construction efforts to bury them once more, at least for the most part. The low level passage into the ant-nest was refilled with debris and the trolls stood around smashing the random and light exploratory warriors and workers that surfaced in the face of heightened activity. Fennec hurled their burning "Foxtail" concoctions down into the pit until two things were discovered --

One, the ants were far less active and aggressive once the cavern was flooded with smoke,

...and in a corner of that underground chamber, once it was burning brightly enough, the sharp eyes of the fennec saw a alcove off of the main chamber that seemed to be filled with crystal urns, which made their eyes shine with greed... but did not speak openly until much later of what they saw and who else might have seen it.

In the end, The Attolians showed up with an engineering team that had a solution for the now-undesired excavation that the fennec didn't have -- The Attolian expert brought knowledge and tools for something Attolians were culturally good at -- siege repairs. The hole way slathered with mortar locked in place with needles of dry straw to lock it in place -- and between these layers of slathered concrete were embedded bars of iron upon which specially prepared bricks (they had holes drilled through them so they could be slid onto the rebar to place without mortar to dry) and once the messy dig the fennec had crumsily pulled open was covered, it was re-slathered with makeshift cement and a "real" enduring treatment of brick-stone and mortar. The fennec were impressed that where the Attolians had repaired the entrance to the buried pyramid was now likely the strongest part of the structure.

In other good news -- the trolls had recieved their suits of full plate from workers of the Smiths guild. A troll so armored had little if anything to fear of all but a swarm of those ants -- so when the time came to deal with them, they were sure they would be far more prepared. It was sad that this armor did not arrive in time for the 2nd battle of Mudelf Aggression... but the new armor, though it forbid trolls to be able to work in it, certainly would help them kill in it, with much greater impunity.

ATTOLIANS GAIN +1 INFLUENCE FOR HELPING FENNEC AND ABATING THE THREAT OF THE GIANT ANTS UNTIL SUCH TIME AS IT CAN BE DEALT WITH.

 

[Beckoncall]

Everyone

"The Hatzburks have Hatz it" or "Angry raging godlings? NOPE NOPE NOPE."

There was one notable absence on the field of battle with the mudelves and their hideous god -- The Hatzburk Dwarves.

They had instead held a great council in the Inn of Donkey Rats -- and decided this colony was a suicide mission. Invoking an escape clause carefully woven into their charter -- they made plans to return t leave the lost continent, and return to the mainland and submit the tear of divinity back to the Muurdaan. They sought Empire -- not some backwater hallow that was obviously being rent between armies of undead, savages, and a winter of unknown severity that might annihilate them all.

Instead, they met leaders of the colony at the government building to explain their most respectful declination to join the colonist venture, but in there was not all bad news:

1) For honor and to contribute something by their coming, they offered to take 5 units of cargo from each faction and send a fast-vessel to arrive first of spring with all the proceeds of the shrewdest selling of those goods. If they could not help the colony build it's defense, they could help to build it's wealth.

2) It was to be shortly announced anyway, but the Hazburks did not travel to the colony alone. In the lowest deck of their ships, another faction had booked passage with them via Muurdain command -- THE ASHMEN. These first few days they remained below as the long sea voyage had sapped their strength, but now their elders had envoked the hearts of ascestral flame, and the ashmen, chanting their warsongs, would now be ready to join the colony. (The Hatzburks would be glad to see the strange passangers gone!)

--Lore: The Ashmen will require a lore check by players to see how much they know about them. Only the highborn have comprehensive information on them -- because the Ashmen were terror-troops and mercenaries used almost exclusively by the muurdain to clear the highborn out of many holdings in the eastlands in the era of highborn withdrawal to the holdfasts... the highborn are not impressed with how far ashman culture has advanced in so long a time, either. Other players only know that ashmen hail from some god-forsaken wasteland, and the only ones that have been seen or heard of are, you guessed it, infamous muurdain mercenaries to this very day.

Ashman player can now post!

 

[Beckoncall]

PLACEHOLDER FOR COMING EVENTS:

UPDATE GUILDS

COMING SOON!

*ASHMEN HAVE BEEN ONRAMPED!

 

[General Deth Glitch]

"Aye, fox. We shall seek to secure these lands." the Dwarf replied as his men walked away from the carnage. They would return to help clean the mess, but first they must work. Upon returning to the Hold and heralding the victory to those within, he ordered Dwarves to begin hauling the great slabs of stone. These workers were being flanked by Grimdr as they walked to where the mud elves crossed the river while other Dwarves were off helping the foxes and their allies in conquest. Once they arrived the armed among them crossed and stood vigil while the rest began work on securing the crossing, fortifying the far side and creating a location that could be defended. Grimdr was not going to let this childish notion that the river could continue being unsecured flourish any more. While work got underway, Grimdr returned to the colony to speak with some of the leaders. First he would tell the Fox-folk that he would aid them with their infestation as soon as his men were no longer protecting his current project, which he didn't really want to reveal yet. Then he would meet with the Highborn, to discuss with them future plans of colonial defence and how his kin would be more then willing to work to create both defences and siege weapons for the colony.

Some Dwarves were kept back to keep an eye on the cavefishers, while some other just kept on with their assigned tasks, such as crafting workstations and other such devices for when the Hold was further along in completion.

Actions:
-Begin securing the river crossing with stone fortifications
-Have 'Stealth Team' continue to conquer MudElf lands
-Inform Fennec of a desire to help them with their ant issue, to sort it once and for all
-Discuss with Highborn about future Dwarvern influence in defending the colony and helping in its security in any way
Prince Vaethorion Spacekitty
​

 

[Beckoncall]

"Red Sheets, Tears, and Agony."

The healing abilities of the colony were formidable:

The Victorian monks and Clerics, Cassandra's blood magic, Nateema's Bone singing, The surgury of Dr. Flemming, The Holy power of the Highborn High Clergy, Expert healers Weome and Anuc, as well as springborn and highborn field medics... opium, and other anethetics provided by the fennec further helped... as did the ministrations of the clean paws. In the aftermath of this battle -- most mortally wounded would recover, but some when taken from the field were already too fargone to save... and this would bring a somber tone to the healer's guild -- so many that could be saved... it made no lighter the business of them that could not. And many lives hung in the balance... Most notably Orm, Critically injured -- both of his eyes were blind and swollen with blood... his lower jaw was fractured vertically to the point where it could be separated. Desperate ministrations were being given to all the Tyren warriors -- who could arguably have made the greatest impact, but were left after their charge overwhelmed.

7 Highborn spearmen died of wounds at the forefront of battle. 3 were killed instantly on the field -- two of these being crushed by flying trees upon the arrival of the horned one, 3 died of persistant trauma and bleeding before extraction. 1 highborn later succumbed despite the best attempts at treatment -- magic and mettle alike. It was a hideous loss. Of the 13 other spearmen, not a single one was spared hospital -- but they would survive, and quickly regain their footing. Medicines were responded to, and the Highborn Clerical healing and ministrations of Victorian monks and the delicate work of Dr. Flemming proved lifesaving.

5 Highborn archers were wounded, struck by a flying tree -- but all of these highborn would see another day. Despite horrible crushing wounds, Nateema's bone magic and clerical energies from other factions saw them through the darkest moments where their outcome was uncertain.

No Swordmasters had perished. Not a scratch among them... but their hearts wept at the cost in highborn blood.

Highborn losses: 7 spearmen dead. 5 archers unable to fight until start of winter. no wounds to swordsmasters.

Of the Firebeards, Three Dwarven warriors lay dead -- buried completely by the foes they'd slain. Amid the rest of the firebeards, barely a scratch they'd mention. Those that were not taken to ground held firm and unstoppable... it was felt the elven line might have been crushed if the dwarves did not serve as a breaker. Of course there were injuries, but none that would amount to more than a scar and a story. But the loss of two of the fifteen was telling enough. Centuries of knowledge, priceless expertise, that was the price of every dwarf. While instrumental in the death of hundreds, and holding the line for the rest of the colony... it was sad to see any of their brethren fall, never to rise. When asked of their foes, few had much good to say about them. "They bleed easy." two warriors remarked. "You'll have to do more than twist your face up under a mask to scare a Firebeard. Seems most of them fall over in a high wind. They lose 800 today? Not a bad start, by Dracos!"

Firebeard Losses: 3 Dwarven Warriors. The rest are treated for superficial injuries and released.

Of the Attolians, They had more dead on the field surprisingly than the highborn that screened them. The most desperate of the mud-elves had gotten among them, and poison and savagry had taken their tolls. 10 Halbardiers died in the melee or were dashed by logs -- but at the end of the battle, no exile harbardier looked at an attolian as any different nor the reverse be false. Even with 10 halbardiers dead, 30 remained -- but only 10 would be fit to fight until winter... muscle spasms, nausea, and forced convelesence, despite the best medical help, bit into the Attolian line. (Exile constables absorbed into Attolian Halbardiers)

Attolian Losses: 10 dead halbardiers out of a unified 40, with only 10 capable of service until winter. (20 casualties resting) TWO stone constructs were destroyed, taking a brunt of force off of softer targets.

Ten kobolds just didn't make it back to the battle-line fighting the foe. 40 remained -- paying in blood to limit the impact of the mud-elf charge.
40 kobolds remain, treated and released, 10 dead.

On the south line -- not a single casualty. barely scratches... a lucky blow or two requiring a look after. But no Victorian did naught but SERVE in the infirmary -- of patients they had none.

Victorian injuries Negligible.

Ratkin injuries Negligible.

Of the fennec, there were a couple of rogue injuries, Siltswimmer was hit in the foot with a javelin, which after leaving the healer's guild jokingly refered to it as "his walking stick." Piper was stung by an errant buzz-bomb-bug and swelled up from what was likely determined to be an allergy aggrevating the poison... but the clerics saw him though. for weeks he looked like a swollen strawberry covered in fur, though. The only real casualty was one of their trolls, who gave far better than he got, but fell holding off overwhelming odds with the Tyren... Still, the stupid thing didn't realize it's skull was cleaved until it received field medicine... and surprisingly the brain trauma didn't seem to make a big difference in the Troll's life -- once it re-learned how to walk and talk.

Fennec lose service of one Troll until winter, but are otherwise unharmed, really.

On the north end, some hillfolk sustained injuries from missile fire, but they would recover. The faith of the Rich miraculously faced another battle virtually unscathed, but it was the Tyren Warriors and Aymaran that had taken the brunt of the enemy resistance off of the center. If Bruul was injured, he didn't show it -- but every other Tyren Warrior, including Orm, was under desperate and critical care. After a long questionable time -- much to the thanks to Nateema knitting his skull back together and cassandra taking the pressure off of his internal bleeding -- which would have otherwise blinded him permanently -- he survived, horribly wounded.

Hrull was dead and there wasn't a thing to be done about it. his body was found pretty much where it fell, hacked to peices. Warrior Cold-Iron had all of his teeth removed practically with a horizontal staff-swipe -- and a second blow that sent him sailing into a coma. He would awake, with another comrade, in the winter -- with a full set of bull-iron and silver teeth.

Tyren losses: 3 Warriors died as heroes, two others are laid up until winter. Orm himself is critically injured and Bruul assumes public command until Orm is capable of leaving his tent.

Aymaran casualties were hard to measure, but after the fighting stopped, they suspended contract with everyone and just ate the dead. Surely some would perish of their wounds, but by the time they were all glutted, fewer than five laid dead on the field, though it was unsure if the scarred ate some of their own dead. Plans to egg them on to forge ahead into mudelf territory were met with globbering roars, and fennec quickly and carefully divested the bodies they gorged on of valuables, at great risk to themselves, so that no appreciable amount of valuables would find themselves in a pile of steaming Croc-stool in the godforsaken part of the sewers they called home.

That was it. Scant losses some would say against 300 enemies -- not to mention the bloodless conquest of an additional 500 foes and their hideous pretender-godling.

But there were graves to fill. Enough for sadness. Enough for loss.

 

[Beckoncall]

Updating guilds

ARRIVAL OF SHIP IN OLD WORLD LEADING TO NEW MANPOWER BUDGETS?!

 

[Beckoncall]

Casualty report for Covert Operation:

Fennec: While all sustained injuries, only four required immediate care and were released. No effect from smoke inhalation, as they were able to keep low to the ground.
Tyren: The Tyrenborn fought capably and admirably -- above their own, and even their instructors expectations. Sadly elven lungs, even with tyren blood, were susceptible to the horrible smoke conditions in the ruins and only two are fit for continued duty for the immediate future.
Highborn: Sadly the countrymen took the brunt of the fighting -- holding the windows and then battling hand-to-hand enabling the rest of the group to mount even greater casualties. While the Spymaster is unsurprisingly unscathed, 8 countrymen died in the ruins or in treatment shortly after - the remaining 7 survive despite grevious wounds and smoke inhalation -- but will not be fit for duty until winter.
Ratkin: One dirty paw, "Curdlebite" was found almost beheaded in the ruin after the battle, leaning against a low wall frozen in what would appear a position where he was attempting to hold his practically severed head back in place. Needle and the five other dirty paws remain fit for duty.
Firebeards: All hale and hearty. Smoke inhalation?! HA!

Remaining fit for duty: 2 Skilled Finnican thugs, 6 Finnican hitmen, 2 Tyrenborn, Highborn Spymaster, 5 dirty paws, Needle (ratkin sniper), 3 dwarven rangers.

*Please let me know if the covert force as it stands in present strength is still considered fit to explore the mud-elf territory. I'll consider two votes a go.

 

[Beckoncall]

Loot Found on the field of the dead:

*TEETH OF THE HORNED ONE: Yet to be brought together into one group, mostly in the hands of victorians and attolians at this time. Full accounting of the teeth show 10 sword sized outer teeth, 20 dagger sized middle-loop teeth, and 40 smaller "stud" sized teeth.. all are impecabbly clean, harder than any natural ivory, and seemingly very sharp.

*TORC OF THE HORNED ONE: Highly magical, seems to have command powers. Made of entwined spirals of jade and platinum. Very, very old.

1. Bone Decanter filled with black, oily liquid.

2. Blood-soaked golden robes worn by the Mud-elf command

3. Mask made out of a mithril breastplate, could be used as either body or head protection.

4. Jewel-Encrusted tourmaline Spider helmet -- Chitin is green colored with eyes pink, seems to have grown naturally -- taken off one though muther during the house-to-house fighting.

5. 15 Amphorae (3 gallons each) of some kind of blood-wine.

6. 3 sacks of golden nails, elaborate torture instruments (silver), variety of demeaning restraints of very high quality (likely intended for captives)

7. Another "Boney Crown" -- The attolians, seeing it for what it is, quickly capture it and seal it in a box. It taps rhymically on the container, and promises "it will be good."

8. Pitted War-Garb of Underlord Touryan (long deceased) -- The wearer of this suit was the one who stopped Orm's charge, practically breaking the Tyren Chief's face with a spiked elbow. Barbed chains hang from one of the gauntlets (the other gauntlet is nowhere to be found), and the helmet has been hammered into a grotesque mask with several victims faces tanned and pulled over it's surface.

9. Black stone pyramid (obviously magical, but no indicator to it's use or function)

10. 5 pairs of goggles that make night look like day, and day look like night. Seem to whisper to the wearer...

11. 20 oak talismans... divined to enhance jumping ability (found among vanguard)

12. Human skull encrusted with scores of pink pearls

13. Ebony Ceremonial dagger that constantly drips blood of it's own accord

14. 10 barrels of pitch (presumably to burn your settlement)

15. 18 casks of wax (3 units) (held back with command group -- who knows what this was for!?)

16. A cloudy, glittery potion divined to be of "Supreme Healing"

17. 4 large, black sapphires (Taken off of the ruined battle standard)

18. Carved bone jewelry box (suitcase sized) utterly enrobed in rusty steel chains.

19. Long whip made of jointed Chrysoprase crystals (seen used to "motivate" troops)

20. Crystal ball with 7 strange lights moving within it...

21. A Gold Child's sarcophagus, seemingly was held central to the main battlegroup...

22. Jade drinking horn laden with various tiny jewels -- horn is empty.

23. Bloodstone General's war mask

24. Scepter with a human-sized fish skull atop it, with rough azurite chunks filling the eyes, needle-sharp teeth.

25. "Eagle-Eye Stone" -- taken from command group, looking down into this stone gives you a birds-eye-view of where you are standing.

26. Roughly 600 suits of serviceable Bone-armor -- if you don't mind the bones being mosly half-elf and gnoll.

*Many, Many, Tooth swords, already rapidly decaying into a rough paste.

*5 wealth in random crude jewelry, ivory bits, and semiprecious stones... the sum total of almost 800 warriors stripped of valuables.

27. A disgusting leathery sac of stillborn worms... presumably recently dead with the horned one -- these might have been thrust upon the colonists if you were defeated.

* approximately 800 heads (if these are desired to be harvested as they are considered gnoll currency)

This is a non definitive list, but merely everything that's been piled up that is not to difficult to find.

Reinen valuables and homes are a TOTAL LOSS. The survivors returning to the village find NOTHING of their belongings to scrounge up...

EXCEPT: One Earth Tear of Divinity, the only thing left intact in the blasted and god-forsaken gunpowder magazine that killed almost the entire military and princess charlotte when the mud-elves attacked. The body of the princess is curled around the box holding the tear, as if she might have been struggling with the latch when she and her forces were immolated.

 

[Beckoncall]

Heyitsjiwon Enemy Standoo :

"Clash of Blood and Faith"

While wounded are being hauled away and loot is being tallied -- the Victorians clash with the Attolians on more than one affair --

The Victorians insist that the body of the horned one be left alone until it can be properly dealt with, which includes the teeth -- Attolians have been actively gathering the teeth and between the two factions all of the teeth presumably have been found. Canonate Ghol stresses to Chapter Master Elien that the attolians should not be free to "taff around with" such potentially dangerous items... and a small spat begins to brew on the field, with more and more victorians and attolians facing off as time passes.

Second and even greater to this, The Victorians witness that Lady Cassandra is preparing to perform a blood-ritual of fantastic size and scope -- and the Victorians in general are deeply disturbed by this. Cassandra is confronted by several devout, with canonates on the way to implore her to stop.

DECISION POINT: Attolians and Victorians must navigate diplomatically (or otherwise) their clashing motives for gathering the teeth of the godling and the proceeding/prevention of the blood ritual!!!

 

[Beckoncall]

"A river of tears for the eighty-five" --

That was all that was left -- eighty five soot-covered, terrified, weeping and devastated Reinen... 75 regular folk, and 10 Obersteiners -- who one supposed were community leaders of a sort but at the moment just seemed to be leading the rest of their congregation in a festival of bawling. The loss of their village was total. practically 1 in 2 of their number had been slaughtered.

Presently moved to the attolian housing district, they seem utterly bereft and at a loss for direction... and otherwise in total shock.

ATTOLIANS GAIN +1 INFLUENCE!

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis sighed at the Chapter Master's unwavering position on Cassandra and the blood magic. While the Red Fountain was concerning... it had been a great friend so far to the Colony and prevented the Long Dead and the Hunger Ghosts from entering the Colony. Still, he had to admit... the Red Fountain could not be completely trusted. Without a doubt it had its own motives. However, the Order's willingness to categorize so quickly was simply alarming. Caelis approached the Victorian leader and said

"Hail Chapter Master, we seem to be in agreeance for the most part. I seek to have all magical items submitted to the Colonial Mages Guild for inspection before we do anything with them. After all, some of my men have already captured some beast that the Highborn found last time. This beast poses as a benign crown, but is actually a creature that controls its wearer. In regards to the body of the Horned One, I seek to secure it for study. Dr. Fleming is a master of anatomy and the study of the body of such a... creation would be a great boon to him. In fact, Dr. Fleming and my Chemist will be able to study the Horned One and perhaps derive some sort of potion based on the properties of the Horned One. Surely, the Victorians see the value of this knowledge? I will gladly invite the Victorian and any Colonial member to observe or even take part in the dissection and study of the Horned One."

---

Cassandra looked at the approaching Victorians and said "Blind Ones, do you not see that if the blood magic spilled here is not collected, then it will directly flow to the Red Fountain that you fear of so much? This ritual is to gather the magic in order to prevent the direct empowerment of the Red Fountain as ordered by my Lord and serves as a bargaining tool against the Red Fountain. Without doubt, the Red Fountain will resent my Lord for taking the magic, but my Lord is the one who I answer to. If you seek to empower the Red Fountain, then continue to stop me. Stop me from being able to fight for my own soul to be returned to me. However, know that you will run afoul of my Lord's intentions if you stop this spell."

---

Upon hearing word that the Reinen were left practically without any guidance or direction, Caelis knew that he had to take action. Upon his return to the Attolian District, he sought out the Oberst, the most pious and talented of the Reinen Volk. The Reinen for now had sought shelter in the District, but there had to be future guidance. They had yet to process everything and were likely in shock. It was at this moment that they needed help more than ever before they fell into despair. Once he had all the Reinen Oberst gathered, Caelis gently spoke "A great tragedy has befallen us all today, but none more than the Reinen. You have my condolences. As the most pious and skilled of the Reinen, it is now up to you ten to take the mantle and lead the Reinen. Now more than ever, you must be strong for your friends and family.

In honor of the late Prinzessin Charlotte, I wish to extend to you, and the Reinen, a place among the Attolians. We seek to build a community and value diligence and family much like the Reinen. We have fields that must be tilled and wheat that must be harvested. And, when the time comes, we must feast in honor and memory of those who have made the ultimate sacrifice for us. Then let us continue to expel the world of foul beasts much like how we fought to expel the witch. I will give your people 10,000 gold to help them settle and, as my seer had told me of the benevolent power of the Lord of Purity, will acknowledge the Lord Of Purity as a Nomarch. I give you my word that no one here will persecute your people for your belief. You are truly free among us to work, believe, and prosper." He then saw a small chest that one of the carried. He had heard that they had only recovered one thing from the ruins. "A church. I can help you build a proud, sturdy church befitting of your people, and may that single tear empower the church to protect what the Princess held so dear to her heart.

Even if you do not wish to accept my offer, then I still wish to extend a hand to help put the Princess and the brave defenders to rest. Any ruler who cared so dearly for her people... I cannot help but want to give my respect."

Summary:
Caelis explains to the Victorians what his intentions are with the body and the artifacts

Cassandra explains the situation to the Victorians about the blood and that the spell is an attempt to avoid empowering the Red Fountain and to empower her. The Attolians seek to get Cassandra's soul back from the Red Fountain.

Caelis offers the Reinen a place among the Attolians and emplores the Oberst to lead their people. He offers the Reinen housing (maybe even create a Reinen Sub-District if that tickles their fancy), 1 wealth to help them settle, and 1 influence to help try to convince them. Caelis also offers to help the Reinen build a church and use their tear to help empower the church. Regardless of their response, Caelis also offers to help with the burials/putting the bodies to rest, and to help clean up the ruins.

Enemy Standoo (reference added by beck to draw attention)

 

[Spacekitty]

The Winner Takes All

Despite the seemingly insurmountable odds, the colony had won the battle, coming out relatively unscathed and eliminating one of their major enemies. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of the Mud Elves lay dead, killed bloodlessly after defeating the infamous “Horned One”. Certainly a tactician looking at the numbers would mark this as a great victory worthy of a place in the history books. What few losses there were to be had paled in comparison to the extent of their victory achieved. And the gathered relics would certainly prove most useful to the development of the colony. Certainly when Mallowthew looked at the scene before him with his cold, analytic eyes he could not help but grin. To a Fennec like him, life could be traded with little remorse for the right gain. Value was measured in power and currency, few beings held value just from life. Finecians in general were not known to be wholly moral or sympathetic. And so the Finecians were generally celebratory, perky and energetic as per usual. They laughed at the bloodshed, the rather perverted show somehow caressing cheers from the colonial forces. They looked upon the battlefield with lust in their eyes, eyes flickering between the many riches that glittered within the blood and gore. Like hungry hounds they were set loose upon the field, and all could be certain every piece of loot would be picked clean within the hour. But there was yet more looting to be done. The Capos had a hunch the same thing that happened to the Mud Elves here had also happened to those back in their village. And if the looting was good here… it would be unimaginable there. And so a team was hastily thrown together and sent off to “secure” the Mud Elf village for the colony.

Most of the colony however did not seem to regard the victory in the same light as the Finecians. To them it was bittersweet, tragic even. The ever strong Tyren seemed weakened by the loss of three of their finest warriors and potentially their weaker. The Highborn of course did not take any sort of loss lightly as did the Dwarves and the Attollians and Exiles who suffered some of the worst losses were perhaps not in the most celebratory of moods. The Reinen certainly weren’t and the Victorians seemed too high strung for such things. However, the Finecians had promised the Exiles booze and celebration after the battle. And although the Finecians had no quarrels with breaking a promise, they dare not offend their greatest customers and employees! But throwing a straight out party seemed to be in rather… poor taste. And the Finecians did not need any more strikes against their reputation. But an event must be organized! But a toast rather than a party was in order, a bittersweet gathering to both celebrate victory and honor those who feel to achieve it. The Exiles, and any other combatant really who cared to attend would be invited to join them at Donkey Rats to a toast, drinks on the Fennec’s tab of course.




Some would regard the timely departure of the Hatzburk as an act of cowardice. Despicable and weak, proof that the newcomers would not have been hardy enough to endure the trials of this new world. Such a thing was commonly associated with lesser races; the actions of the normally stubbornly fearless Dwarves were shockingly uncharacteristic. Though perhaps given the circumstances even the hardy Dwarves had reached their limit. Still, it was certain they would lose face with their kin both here and abroad, regarded forever as cowards by many. Well, except for the Fennecs of course, who simply regarded them as smart and many enviously watched the lucky clan huddle back into the small colony ship. If given the opportunity, many would likely flee with them. The venture had thus far been relatively disastrous (of no fault of their own of course!) and far more dangerous than anyone could have accounted for. It was a miracle none of them had died yet (a new record!). But things were finally beginning to shape up for the foxes. If they played their cards right, they may yet turn a profit...

The Capos bid The Hatzburk Dwarves a farewell and thanked them for their offer of transporting cargo- which of course was earnestly accepted. They seemed to care not that the Dwarves were leaving so soon, rather they seemed quite pleased. Their eyes sparkled and spoke of plans one could only guess the nature of… Though one clever enough could take a guess at some deeper plan than turning a profit, for the Finecians had a rather interesting request. Rather than bringing their cargo to market, the requested the Dwarves to deliver the cargo to their associates in a private port of the Huitsi Archipelagos, citing the need to pay off incurred debts as the reason. It was a reasonable and innocent enough request, despite the Finecian’s reputation as being deceitful bastards. The cargo they had selected to send after much debate was as following; 2 Wealth, 1 unit of Amber, 1 stone statue contorted into figures of agony (the Dwarves are urged to be EXTREMELY careful with the fragile statues) and 1 unit of exotic new-world honey. Included in the one of the crates is a sealed records book written by Mallowthew detailing the exploits of the Finecian Trade Company so far and complete record of income, expenditure, production etc. Though it seems to be missing much mention of the spectacular failure and setback that any colonial member could tell you about and the success and opportunities are perhaps slightly exaggerated. Also included in the book was a coded record of the not so nice “adventures and exploits” (theft, swindling, relics, etc) the group had successfully undertaken and would perhaps be of special interest to their benefactors. These successes and the rising “opportunities” (illicit good sales, racketeering, gambling, future plans etc) of their main market were used as justification for a request of additional reinforcements to begin Phase 2 of their operation.




Orders Summary:
Team sent to loot and secure Mud Elf Village. (4 Trolls with plate armor and two-handed maces, 2 Skilled Finecians Thugs, 6 hitmen, 20 thugs, 10 Skilled Workers, lead by Master Assassin Andrei.)

Healers Guild is informed that the Finecians will continue to provide Anesthesia and Opiates to the Guild and will be looking into developing more materials to contribute.

The Hatzburk Dwarves are bid farewell and offer is accepted. 2 Wealth, 1 unit Amber, 1 stone statue (the Dwarves are urged to be EXTREMELY careful with the fragile statues) and 1 unit of exotic new-world honey are selected for transport. The Dwarves are asked to deliver the cargo to a private port of the Huitsi Archipelagos rather than bringing their cargo to market. Included in the one of the crates is a sealed records book written by Mallowthew detailing the exploits of the Finecian Trade Company so far and complete record of income, expenditure, production etc. Though the setback of their probation is woefully understated and opportunities and successes are slightly exaggerated.

The Finecians fulfill their promise to the Exiles and will be buying rounds at Donkey Rats for all who choose to attend the gathering. All combatant exiles will have their tabs payed and a forward put on the tabs of those too injured or otherwise not in attendance so they can buy themselves a good couple drinks later. Victory will be celebrated, and those lost remembered. Not so much a party as a bittersweet gathering to honor the effort and those lost making it. SPECIAL MISSION ACTIVATED. Combatants from the other factions are invited to attend and honor their own victory and losses. (Mr. Mallowthew and any free Fennecs will be in attendance)

To further celebrate and honor those lost, the Finecian craftsmen will set work on carving magnificent Amber statues for each faction whom suffered during the attack. A beautiful, life size red tinted amber statue of an Exile Halbardier with a small dragon curling around his feet for the Church of Dracos. A life size Elven spearmen standing strong against an unseen enemy for the Highborn. A mighty Tyren raising his axe and giving a warcry before a charge for the Tyren. A Dwarf in mithril armor for the Dwarves, a statue of a man who seems half Attollian soldier and half Exile Halbardier for the Attollians and a statue of Curdlebite for the Ratkin. A statue of the Reinen's fallen princess will be made for them. Statues will be built in sequential order and no set date for completion is set, as doing so many statues with magnificence cannot be rushed. Delivered as completed. (Amber, 10 Skilled Workers, Master Jeweler Capo to lead).

Guild created- see pms/document for details.

SPECIAL MISSION - see pms/document for details

Research on recovered weapons, attempting to reverse engineer them. (10 Skilled Workers, Capo Master Biologist to lead investigation due to intellectual prowess and Capo Sontio to ensure a timely schedule (2 capos))

Prince Vaethorion The Finecians send am ambassador to the Highborn to request aid. Details PMed.

 

[SpiralErrant]

This wasn't good. It should have been, it should have been a day for celebration. The caravan still stood after a battle that saw them horribly outnumbered and facing down a mad god spirit. But the losses were great to them, however small they were in the grand scheme of things. The Black-Charger caravan had been small by the standards of their people when they first came to this land, having seen so many part from them for not wanting to take the journey, and now it grew smaller still. In a time when minotaurs and their kind saw their numbers fade each winter. Three of their warriors had fallen in a deafening fray of blood and dirt never to rise... while Orm and their brothers of the iron lay half dead, clinging onto life. A heavy blow however this small town looked at it.

Bruul had been in a taciturn quiet since he'd returned from the healers tent. He'd seen battle before, even made a living from it! The battlefield was no stranger to him and he'd crawled through fire just as bad as that he'd seen below the hill. But that was back when he walked far from the paths of his people. It was a different thing when it was lads you knew getting cut to pieces and trampled on. Young bulls you'd known since they were young and helped train by your own hand. Even the little horned elves hadn't come through unscathed. If the tyren thought themselves a rare breed then those five were the treasures of these hills in for the hybrid blood they carried. If that was even how it worked... Bruul wasn't sure anymore.

"There's things we can do about this though, right?" Bruul was poked back to the present by Shul's voice. The youngest of their coven had been put on edge by the quiet ways of his elders as he desperately sought answers to what was happening. "There's something you're supposed to do if the chief's sick or... or hurt?"

They were in Orm's longhouse now, the three gathered around his sleeping mat in their tattered grey robes and iron plates. With the chieftain they had sworn to serve laid out before them. It had taken three of the larger minotaurs just to carry Orm inside after the worst of his wounds had been seen to. The rat mage and the elf cleric waved and chanted their spells over him, his skin and muscle proving too thick for some of the smaller arts of healing to work on. Even now the house was half full of soothing smoke as the shaman went about their work, giving him rest and soothing his pain when they could. His body was covered in cuts, fur chopped away in ragged pieces. His shoulder was bandaged and bound to remind the bones of where they should be. The smae was done to his jaw... it was likely Orm would not be able to speak properly for a whole season once he woke. And they'd thought the day he'd lost his horn had been the worst shape they'd seen him in.

"Normally it would go to the chieftess or a kin." Bruul grunted.

"But..." Shul faltered, probably thinking it was rude now to say that Orm had no family to pass his tasks to. His parents had left him when he was still a yearling, relinquishing their rights of parenthood and leaving the caravan soon after. He had no siblings or mate to speak of. He'd been raised by the shaman as they came and went. "But we're his family." Shul awkwardly finished.

"Then we will serve." Came Uumush's ragged words. He sat on the floor, an idle hand occasionally reaching to brush through Orm's fur. The first ring had been in a state of vigor since his days among the golden wood... now he looked closer to the walking corpse he had been for so long.

"Can a shaman do that? We're not supposed to rule is the the- well the rules." Shul gasped.

"For a time... until Orm is back." The old shaman nodded. "You must be our voice, not one but three." He said, nodding to Bruul.

There wasn't much choice in the matter. Someone had to do it and Bruul had served as a speaker for Orm often enough. At least he wouldn't be doing it on his own. "Alright. Orm had spoken with us about what needed doing before all THIS. I'll pass on his words, that's all. Get folk to work, they need to keep busy or they'll start to dwell."

So they did. Those that hadn't lost direct family. Those who huddled behind the golden glade while all hell broke loose within hearing distance were rallied by the shaman and the elders. Losses had been taken and the dead given their new burials, laid to rest with new roots that they'd planted in life, to never be moved in death. Still the sun ran across the sky and life, for them, went on to work the land they'd claimed. Teams were set up to clear away the debris that had smashed the earth when the Horned One arrived and to get a head start on clearing the river. The tyren may have still been new at working the land like this but they had watched the falls and the river enough to know that leaving it choked like that would lead to flooding in the coming seasons. It was while that went on that Bruul decided it was finally time to clear 'Dead Ent Bridge'. Something they'd toyed with getting around to but with the further end of the river being dried up from the damn this seemed the safest time to try now that the guarding mud-elves were feeding the crows. Especially since they had an ent living in the hills now. It just seemed rude to have one of the fella's species corpse's being used as architecture.

Meanwhile those of a more vengeful mindset went about collecting the heads and masks of their tormentors...
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was Minax the merchant who lead the charge into the platz dockside. The female minotaur had been slowly carving out her own niche in the hillsides since arriving in the new world. Her own success within the caravan had attracted her a young husband=mate of the warrior wagons, who she was still berating for wishing he'd been in the charge beside his chieftain... and breathed private sighs of selfish relief that the young idiot hadn't been taken from her in that battle. She'd seen profits in the twin-leaf crops that were now being turned into delicious grass cakes, though her proudest achievement so far was the purchase of the ancient wood and quartz crystals at an staggeringly low price. OH yes, she was queen of the merchants after that night!

It was she who brought the shaman news of the Hatzburk dwarves offer to take cargo back to the old world and Minax would be damned if she'd pass up the chance to be the first tyren to make a transcontinental trade deal. It was with the joint consent of the shaman rings that she was given the left over gems and rare metals of the mine to sell, along with some coin and a guard of her own to do their deals in the old world. The caravan still owed an old debt to the Spring-Path caravan for aid and gifts given in a time of need. This was actually a debt that the old chief Thunder-Hoof earned them but it was loan that Orm only built interest on. Times were hard back then. Not that they were easy now but there was success.

This way they could pay off their old debts, Minax could bring honour to her name and the Spring-Path could be payed off to the point of having their debt reversed. If this went right then their elders would be fools to pass up an offer to join them here in the hills!
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Weome had been crying again, as she so often did whenever larger emotions reared their heads. For someone so sensitive to such things the path of a healer was probably a poor choice, but she'd shed enough tears of joy seeing the young into the world and aiding the ill that she never doubted the choice of life she'd made. These last few days had been some of her toughest though. There was so little she could do. Hrull had been cut to pieces on that field, his face only recognisable thanks to how few the bulls were in number and those they could save were still hanging on by a thread.

What was worse was that her closest friend in the caravan had been hit so hard by it. Rahg Cold-Iron, Anuc's brother, had been knocked from the waking world and robbed of most of his teeth at that. Anuc, brave and forward, the unofficial leader of their little healers gang hadn't left his side. She'd hardly said a word, her eyes red from crying and her fur in a matted mess. Weome had wanted to cry then as well, but with all her self control she'd reigned in the urge. She wouldn't dare make a burden of herself when her friend was in such a state!

It was so strange to see them like that... Rahg, Orm and all the other warriors had always seemed so strong... unstoppable in their ways. She still remembered when Rahg had bested all the others in their wrestling contest on the boat over. He seemed like the strongest tyren Weome had ever seen. And Anuc had always been so brave, like she could never be cowed by anything. She'd climbed form the attic of the healers guild and out into a battlefield. She'd braved the arcane secrets of a sylvan tome! But sitting by her brother's half dead body... she was powerless. She looked broken.

Well she wouldn't be alone! It was in that moment that Weome had made up her mind, she found the springborn assistants and tree singers and she strode off in search of the rat shaman. Everyone had heard that they had found some magical healing elixir but only enough for one person. Weome would implore for them to share, demand they share if she had to! She'd put all her knowledge of herbs and plants to the test and they'd find a way to make more of it, to save all their injured! She could try at least, she was determined to do something!
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She wasn't the only one. There were those among the springborn who had felt a fire lit under them by the passing battle and the sight of the streams of wounded, let alone the mad titan that followed.

"I am tired of being protected!" Came the enraged cry of Afon, a she-elf who was the closest thing to an elder their number have. "We wander around these hills like children, relying on the tyren to help teach us the ways of our own people and to range the world beyond the glade while we huddle here. As if we wait for our parents to return to claim us! The elders left and we chose to stay yet how many of us have dared to pick up the bow or the tree song? How many of our arts will fade while we wait for a day we cannot explain?"

Elves were an emotional kind compared to other races, easily stirred to flights of great action when the mood took them... and the feeling of uselessness that Afon spoke of was a thorn in the side of some of their number. "But what more can we do? The winterborn and those that could teach us are gone and we lack the strength to work as the minotaurs do." Could they go to the hillfolk who lives with them? Those humans seemed so scattered, just trying to find their own identity and homes.

"We prove ourselves worthy of the mantle elves are born to." Afon declared. "The Nylor, these ancient relatives of ours were said to have appeared in this land before leaving, yes? Perhaps they left secrets in their wake, those that turned into the ways of our people. If we call on the aid of the elder minotaurs their strength and our sight could help us find a treasure that could help reclaim what we've lost. Surely it is worth a shot!"

She had a plan it seemed. One that could capture the imagination of her fellow springborn with the idea of exploring lost caves and vaults of a lost past. They presented their argument to the elder workers, tyren without set roles within the caravan but served as veteran day labourers that wandered through the paths of the caravan in the countless ways they could never predict as nomads, along with hiring themselves out to the settlements they passed. These jacks of all trades were their best bet to navigate the tombs of the Nylor and knowledgeable enough to keep an eye out for their stranger relics.

Now the springborn could only hope that this gamble didn't bite them back.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Spacekitty
It was in the coming days when things had calmed down that things started to get back to normal in the colonial council building. The castle of a structure still felt too big for its purpose to the more rustic minded tyren but they couldn't deny that they appreciated the head room for them and their horns.

What business brought minotaur and sylvan representatives there today was the matter of the indentured parole state of the Fennec, Hillfolk and Kobolds. The folk of Hrun'Taras have seen the good nature of these peoples they say. First in daily business and behavior and then in giving blood and even lives in defense of the colony. They may not have been able to put these things through themselves but the representatives of the hills put forward that Hrun'Taras would support making the Hillfolk and Kobolds fully fledged and free members of the colony, their current conduct and recent acts of bravery being a perfect example of what the colony needed in its citizens!

They doubted that the same could happen for the fennec company but none could deny the foxes had turned around their act since the incident with the slavers and they would have it known that Hrun'Taras would support working with them further on future public projects and proposed that a few years be taken from their probation count... assuming they hadn't earned their way out of it already!
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Words from the shaman
Heyitsjiwon Enemy Standoo
As per usual the humans were looking for ways to murder each other and posturing like alpha males, as if anything this skinny could seem threatening. Or power like magic could be held to moral standards... the users on the other hand... well you handled those bastards as they came. Bruul knew that all too well, speaking as one of those same bastards.

"If none of you are doing anything with that then can I take the horns... and the brain?" Bruul called, swaggering up to the bloated corpse of the horned one. "The head really. I just just need the whole head." He said it like a man asking for cabbages at the market. It didn't stop him getting some funny looks though. "I got plans for it..."

At the mage guild

"There's a gap in the shield!" Came Shul's call to the mages of the colony. "We've got an eye from the cull, we can see gaps or something in the tree's shield b-but we need sharper eyes to see it properly! Come on, with all the stuff we got from the battle we could have a chance to kill this thing before it wakes up! This whole guild is so we can work together right?"

(Shul presents the cull eye to the mage guild and beseeches all mages of the colony to help devise a way to break the cull's defenses)

Orders:
A scout force join colony forces in securing the mud elf village.
(2 tyrenborn, 10 mercenaries.)

Weome the healer, a skilled herbalist and the apprentice tree singers give their services to help work out the recipe of the healing potion.
(1 skilled tyren healer, 5 springborn)

Uumush scrys what magics or uses he can from the gathered loot of the battlefield.

The quality manure is put to use: 2 units mixed with the gem bushels, 2 units to the twin leaf crops, 2 units to the root vegetable garden, 2 units mixed into the roots of the glade stockade.

A work team begins clearing away the debris damn made by the horned one.
(3 skilled craftbulls, 10 unskilled tyren)

A second team has the task of trying to bring the dead ent body back to Hrun'Taras.
(3 skilled craftbulls, 5 unskilled tyren, 10 springborn)

The tyren send goods and a company of folk with the Hatzburk dwarves to trade and make sure their further foreign trading goes smoothly.
(1 unit electrum, 1 unit cut emeralds. 6 wealth. 2 skilled tyren of the merchant caravans. 2 warrior tyren. 10 mercenaries.)

An exploration party goes to search the Nylor vault at the beach for any useful materials they left behind. (4 Skilled tyren, 15 springborn)

 

[Beckoncall]

LOOT DIVIDED (and yet to be so):

Heyitsjiwon Prince Vaethorion General Deth Glitch SpiralErrant Enemy Standoo KamiKahzy Spacekitty

ATTOLIANS:

27. A disgusting leathery sac of stillborn worms... presumably recently dead with the horned one -- these might have been thrust upon the colonists if you were defeated.

14. 10 barrels of pitch (presumably to burn your settlement)

19. Long whip made of jointed Chrysoprase crystals (seen used to "motivate" troops)

6. 3 sacks of golden nails, elaborate torture instruments (silver), variety of demeaning restraints of very high quality (likely intended for captives)

21. A Gold Child's sarcophagus, seemingly was held central to the main battlegroup...


HIGHBORN:

22. Jade drinking horn laden with various tiny jewels -- horn is empty.

15. 18 casks of wax (3 units) (held back with command group -- who knows what this was for!?)

17. 4 large, black sapphires (Taken off of the ruined battle standard)

2. Blood-soaked golden robes worn by the Mud-elf command

25. "Eagle-Eye Stone" -- taken from command group, looking down into this stone gives you a birds-eye-view of where you are standing.




VICTORIANS:

24. Scepter with a human-sized fish skull atop it, with rough azurite chunks filling the eyes, needle-sharp teeth.

13. Ebony Ceremonial dagger that constantly drips blood of it's own accord

3. Mask made out of a mithril breastplate, could be used as either body or head protection.

8. Pitted War-Garb of Underlord Touryan (long deceased) -- The wearer of this suit was the one who stopped Orm's charge, practically breaking the Tyren Chief's face with a spiked elbow. Barbed chains hang from one of the gauntlets (the other gauntlet is nowhere to be found), and the helmet has been hammered into a grotesque mask with several victims faces tanned and pulled over it's surface.


RATKIN:

26. Roughly 600 suits of serviceable Bone-armor -- if you don't mind the bones being mosly half-elf

and gnoll.

1. Bone Decanter filled with black, oily liquid.

16. A cloudy, glittery potion divined to be of "Supreme Healing"

9. Black stone pyramid (obviously magical, but no indicator to it's use or function)



TYREN:

20. Crystal ball with 7 strange lights moving within it...

11. 20 oak talismans... divined to enhance jumping ability (found among vanguard)

18. Carved bone jewelry box (suitcase sized) utterly enrobed in rusty steel chains.

5. 15 Amphorae (3 gallons each) of some kind of blood-wine.




FIREBEARDS:

23. Bloodstone General's war mask

7. Another "Boney Crown" -- The attolians, seeing it for what it is, quickly capture it and seal it in a box. It taps rhymically on the container, and promises "it will be good."

10. 5 pairs of goggles that make night look like day, and day look like night. Seem to whisper to the wearer...

12. Human skull encrusted with scores of pink pearls

4. Jewel-Encrusted tourmaline Spider helmet -- Chitin is green colored with eyes pink, seems to have grown naturally -- taken off one though muther during the house-to-house fighting.



EVERYONE:

Approx. 1 WEALTH in loose jewels and charms from the fallen enemies

130 Mudelf heads (Gnoll currency)


LOOT FOR NOBODY (YET?):

Attolians and Victorians growing increasingly heated about teeth of the horned one -- all agree they should be kept together, but neither side can agree who should control them -- they are hidden away in the mage guild for now.

The Torc of the Horned one -- Belongs to colony as a whole unless determined otherwise, presently at mage guild -- seems to emanate a kind of command/control magic.


Feel free to mix and match! Trade! Have fun! - Beck

*Fennec were not cut in on any loot, until I am told otherwise... though rumor has it that there has been a short in the arm to their economy from loot they've taken from nearby ruins, so don't weep for them.

 

[Beckoncall]

General Deth Glitch :

"A sound of noisome suck" :

It started again. Truth be told it had been a week almost since it really stopped, rather than just moved around. One of the great tentacles of fisher mother had long been probing the earth around the strong-walled excavation of the firebeards. In no fewer than four places it could be said that "Fisher Mother" had encircled the entirety of the deep stairwell (going down from the top of the cliffs to the bottom) and seemed to curl around it's construction and pump it's muscles rhythmically. It was searching for a weak-point into the halls of the dwarfs. It might never find one -- but the occasional sprinkle of dust in the great stairwell seemed to suggest otherwise. To ignore something that was not a threat was one thing -- but to neglect a potential hazard to construction was not the dwarven way... and so it began to eat at them.

Dwarven morale falls slightly!

 

[Beckoncall]

"Hell and Graves beyond the River" --

Shortly after the wounded were counted and attended to, loot was gathered... and no sooner were the spoils of war counted than when the expeditionary force was sent to cautiously advance into the mud elf lands, check for resistance, and grab what might lay fallow before the Gnolls surely did.

The task force, like the defense force itself, consisted of agents of all of the factions -- the first step was crossing the dam which blocked the river -- The folk of Harun'Taras were already hard at work dissembling the barrier of fallen logs... knowing there would be flooding of the surrounding area if they did not. Nearby, Firebeard workers had taken the initiative of pulling several pallets of clean-hewn stone blocks -- dragged by teams of Windmaggots, and already putting their Rhunks to work pushing blocks of stone into place to make the start of some fortification for the opposite side of the river -- so far little more than a "U-wall" of 4x4 cubes four feet high, it was still impressive how much a dwarf could get done when nobody was watching, or helping them. Beyond the low wall was what remained of "the vale of purity" -- a blasted heath, now a bald section of the wood where the horned one had wrought his devastation. Exiles, Fennec, and other enterprising types gathered massive amounts of cherries that surely would not keep -- all the most luscious fruit had fallen straight from the trees in the force that had uprooted them. Many exiles worked like veritable machines both in the service of the colony gathering loot, and also in bringing the bushels of food back to market before the birds and rot would have them all -- you'd think they were high despite the bitterness following the battle, such work they did put in!

Market is swollen with supply of cherries! Fennec get 4 units of Cherries! (preserved fruit pads the modest winter food supply)

SHORTAGE OF WOOD AMELIORATED BY THE SLOW CLEARING OF THE DAM! Finally there is a surfeit of Lumber in the colony -- Morale will slowly improve!!!

Before turning south, the expedition explored the blasted heath... formerly known as the vales of purity, and before that the cursed wisp-wood. with the top inches of soil and grass pulled from the surface, the scope of the wisp-wood witches predations had become more clear -- dozens, if not hundreds of skeletons -- mostly gnolls, lay half buried in the soil, concentrated especially where the barrow of the wisp-wood-witch once stood. The barrow was no more, of course -- just another casualty of the horned one's destruction -- but instead, in it's place, with the removal of all else, there was a tranquil MANA POOL. Stripped of all other influence, the magic of this area coalesced around the former center of gravity for magic power in the region. The Highborn Spymaster, with some knowledge of these things, divined it to be a concentration of air and death mana in particular -- but it was astoundingly pure. With no horned one or witches to taint it, the pool was merely an untapped power source and potentially a very valuable site for the colony to exploit. Even the Victorians, suspect of anything found so easily not to be accursed, cast light wards of sanctification and found no unholy resistance. One thing was certain -- nowhere in the old world was there a pool so free of influence, every known point of power in the old world was the site of scores of ley-lines, tapped by hundreds if not thousands of source-users, and definitely aligned, warded, enchanted, protected, or otherwise bound to a power. This source was NAKED, of all of that -- at least until the colony decided to tap it.

MANA SOURCE IS FOUND -- "MANA POOL OF THE BLASTED HEATH"

Shortly after this ,the expedition turned south... and it reached the border of where the gnoll and mud-elf fighting was -- at one time at least, the fiercest. Almost as a line of demarcation the long-skeletonized bodies of mud-elf and gnoll alike formed a zig-zag scatterplot of mass graves... the result of decades of fighting at least, with no safety or truce to bury the dead. While the mud-elf bodies were picked clean of gear -- many of the gnoll mass-graves remained with pitted armor and weapons -- things the mud-elves were loath to take or use. Still, Salvage was possible, and it was performed.

One unit of wealth is found on gnoll bodies from trophies and embossments. 15 magical scimitars and 20 enchanted wood shields are picked from a unit of fallen elite gnolls.

The next spot, arrived at first by the covert action task force -- was the witches brewery. Here there was a pottery kiln of impressive size to make vessels for anger booze, and it would also seem -- buzz-bombs. Beneath the kiln was a heavily netted area made of mud-elf hair and some kind of resin that smelled of peppermint -- one assumed a kind of insect repellent. Enterprising fennec found the weaknesses in the nets, and revealed that beneath the kiln-forge of considerable size -- there was a MASSIVE underground hive of SCREAMING insects -- obviously the ammunition of said buzz-bombs. In the middle of the kiln was a giant corkscrew, which purpose was quickly divined by the dwarves. Gristly bits of shredded mud-elf or gnoll was send below ground to feed the insects without fear of a seal being broken to free them, and when a buzz-bomb was desired, the corkscrew was instead reversed drawing large numbers of insects into the clay vessel where it would rapidly be sealed as it was taken off of the screw. Simply put, the Pottery Kiln sat on top of an unguessably large hive of extremely pissed off stinging insects. The fennec were quick not to tarry there.

Next door to this massive kiln was of course the distillery of anger booze. Unguessable as to it's vintage -- weird, purple, sausage-like fruit were obviously a mainstay of the medium -- spikes and horns seemed to protrude from the bottom of each one, making them look like snails, or snakes. a vat of soupy blood-like viscous liquid was being skimmed by what could only be described as "oars" pulling the skin off of the top of the sludge for it to be shook and stirred to fortify the fruit juice. Most attractive of all were blocks of some kind of sparkling yeast -- which RAPIDLY fermented anything it was mixed with.

Expedition finds 6 units of "snake fruit", 4 units of "Diamond Yeast", 20! units of anger booze (in a supply chamber behind the brewery)

It was odd that these facilities seemed abandoned -- but a rapid search showed that however many mud-elves stationed at this location -- with the death of the horned one they had simultaneously and instantly lost their minds. Behind the facility a few mudelves could be seen to have conducted surgery on themselves to free the worms choking in their dying bodies -- and more evidence still that the majority of mud-elves had merely run south and jumped from the cliffs.

A few live, flourescent and putrescent worms did seem to be alive, hiding hither and thither in trees, or under objects around the brewery -- but their cold greenish glow gave them away. They were shot from trees and exterminated from the area -- though it was distrubing to think that this area of the wood could be full of worms that survived, at least for now -- the death of the horned one. The expedition would have to proceed with caution.

....Finally, after passing concentric rings of camps of dead mud-elves, the "mud-wood" was found -- hammocks and huts of daub -- looking every bit like spiderwebs and insect hives as much as dwellings for sentient folk, draped -- and indeed raped, the natural order of this part of the wood. Mud elves hung everywhere from their hammocks, many had dashed their heads open in a paroxism of mass hysteria. Everywhere there were mud-elves in the rings of defensive camps... "civilians" one might assume for their lack of ornamentation, nudity, and considerable weediness and relatively small masks relative to the warriors that were only previously encountered. Little of value could be found in any of these dwellings -- the entire area smelled of musk, unwashed intercourse, and untreated sewage with no place to go. The expedition was quick to put it behind them -- to reach the heart of the Horned one's Darkness...

...And find the heart they did. Thousands of naked mud elves and hundreds of warriors lay dead everywhere. Mass suicides, death from internal worm explosions, the biting and stabbing of one another in an orgy of death and suicide. The demise of the horned one shattered their sanity and connection to life. The Victorians knew that THIS land was cursed... and if it wasn't already sorely haunted it definitely would be if action was not taken.

Past a small collection of adobe-like mide daub houses -- seemingly only the very elite of mud-elf society were allowed to cram themselves into filthy houses (with not that much of value to boot) was a kind of great square, with three large structures -- something like two temple mounds (one a neatly built 3-tiered stepped pyramid, the other a massive clot of shit and mud that seemed to squat on the land and to sag upon itself -- each directly across from the other -- as if mirroring one another and showing a horrid contrast.

Something was immediately noticed as wrong -- in this, the city center of the mud-elves, now presumably all dead -- great swathes, most 8 to 10 feet wide, seemed to have been cleared of bodies -- rivers of clear ground where it seemed either no mudelf fell, or some kind of slug-foot had dragged all living matter up and away. It was as the expedition turned onto the main plaza ground between the east pillar and the north and south temples -- that the warriors of the colony saw it... A MASSIVE grey-scaled serpent, it's gruesome diamond-shaped head sucking up scores of bodies with each hydraulic undulation of it's body -- the sides of it's incredible mass (which must be measured in tons) was STRETCHED with the forced imprint of what must be hundreds of mud-elf bodies pressing intensely on the inside of it's body. Hands and heads could freely be seen as the serpent lazily coiled around buildings and trees, sweeping up throngs of the dead and pulling them into it's bulk. Eyes of cracked-ice blue rolled over with strange films every time it moved -- every time it vacuumed more and more of the deceased population into it's gullet. It was when the expedition came to a standstill that the thing -- almost as high as a horse and impossibly long -- turned it's head as if to notice, warn, and greet them all at the same time. It quickly vomited the last smorgasbord of carrion from it's throat and... seemingly painfully with it's fullness, coiled into a threatening tower of sinew and scale.

More mud elves, some in stages of digestion fell from it's toothless mouth as it coughed, trying to find it's voice that could project all the way to the other side of the plaza... the expedition almost in unison was horrified by the beast and thankful for the distance they still had on it -- though few harbored illusions of how fast a creature like this could move.

It spoke.

"I am the serpent of the undulating earth... former bound servant of the horned one, escapee from the purge at the end of the age of beasts. Once a gleeful garbage disposal, then weapon of the mage (HACK! COUGH! VOMIT!) kings and queens. Now I am deciding what I am now, with no Horned one to control me. I quite like my home -- it gesturing it's head to the elevated pillar on the east side of the plaza -- a spire of tortured rock rising above a pit or moat dug out below it of (from here) unguessable depth. Atop the spire was a hideous throne and what could be seen from here the sparkling hoard and throne of the horned one -- where one imagined he Tyrannically glowered from at his hideous and savage peoples.

In a swift motion the Serpents tail end seemed to move of it's own accord around the spire and pull the entire tremendous snake backwards and around it.

"Feel free to explore, little ones. I am not bound to protect anything but the throne of the horned one any longer -- and I am only eager for you to get your eyes full and leave so I can continue the process (hissing) of cleaning this area up a bit. I will sleep for some time when I am done -- so do not give yourselves a reason to fear me, and we shall be fine. Too much low hanging meat to bother with chasing you." It blurted the last part out lazily... fully coiled around the spire it looked as if the Horned one's throne and hoard rested on the coiled body of the snake alone, seemingly already entering some kind of deep sleep.

All were wise to stay away from the east side of the plaza. the most disgusting gurgling sound seemed to soon emanate from the massive titan-snake -- one wished it were a snoring, but if one listened, and it was hard not to -- it was monstrous digestion. The expedition wondered how long it might be safe to tarry here. Worms writhed and retreated everywhere, but keep eyes and swift weapons prevented any from capitalizing on a strike at the colonists.... night would fall soon however, and the expedition wondered if the worms would pose a larger problem, then.

All that remained was to search the "Temples" -- the mound of dirt and shit to the north, and the Squatting pyramid to the south. at the corers of the stepped structure there were graven heads of women ranging from beautiful to hideous, obviously the idols of the horned ones concubines, consorts, witches, and wives.

At the mouth -- or more descriptively "ass" of the temple-pile opposite, one could hear a massive labored breathing inside the piled structure, and if one strained ones hearing (or like highborn and fennec, had no need to) it could be heard deep inside the wailing of infants.

Out in the woods they could see worms forming masses just out of the range of missle-fire, or rolling into areas of hiding as quickly as they were revealed.

The expedition, if it was not to turn around right away, would have to decide what to do....

 

[Beckoncall]

Spacekitty

"The Fennecan wake" :



At Donkey Rats, a somber but festive party was thrown. Mr. Mallothew and the Fennec cancelled the tabs of the fallen in the second battle of mud-elf aggression as part of the ceremony.

Lindar played a song of mourning for lost drinking mates, and great fires were lit both inside and outside the Inn, despite sponsorship, a fair amount of money went back into market with the celebration of life and loss.

Mallowthew remained the master of ceremonies throughout, and Attolians, Firebeards, Fennec and Exiles in particular made up the center of the patronage.

The fires burned for the souls of the slain, and for the blessings of mighty dracos.

"Let false gods eat themselves, the dragon goddess sees them fallen. Fire alone rises when the battle is over, and that fire is in our hearts."

Before it got too late, merchants from market brought additional food that did not make it to the feast table of the cursed horned one...

...and special favors of the Fennec were supplied to those so inclined, sweet honies and fine smoke.

Tears had their place, but more and higher a place was pride and gladness at survival. Today was a day of legend...

...and by the morning that came after, so was it a party of legend.

A party could have been considered distasteful if done improperly, but Mallowthew's silver tongue disabused such notions. Repeated toasts to Orm, the wounded, and each of the fallen, as the lot became sotted, became less a treat of tears and more of hoots for glory...

When the sun finally rose, the fennec all withdrew, Mallowthew tipping heavily for the mess to be sorted with... and oh, there was a mess. Upturned kegs, purple-tinted vomit, and men of drowned and addled grief hanging from every chair and belfry.

Somehow it was managed... a celebration happened. Fennec Style -- which was something to grudgingly appreciate.

The music of sirens whetting their lips from singing at the healer's quarter, the shanty and chant of dwarves and men for dracos, the solemn and proud strains of attolia and the highborn.

Mallowthew knew his gift was delivered... and in calling his boys home hardly anything disappeared, even... and even a purse or two was left behind for they who were the poorer from the fight.

+2 INFLUENCE FENNEC!!!