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

Belanor, keeping his Glade Guard on his own shipped prepared for combat just as those on the Tyren did would fire his own arrows along side his kin. A large amount of their arrows flying true and striking the massive creature to do a sizeable amount of damage. It was then however that the true damage was done, the Tyren ships mast being struck by the creatures large tendril. "To the Tyren ship!" he spoke loudly to his crew, having them quickly approach from the opposite side that the barbaric humans did. Knowing well that if those Dracos loving men boarded the Tyren ship that there was a chance of problems, and thus he elected to board the ship along side four of his Forest Kin, with the powerful tree gem. It was when they boarded that they would immediately begin using their magic in an attempt to mend the mast of the ship, trying to meld the cracks of the wood together again, thus fixing all of the damage caused. However they did not just do it in a normal fashion, they also attempted to use the gem to speed the process, though only to a limited degree. They of course did not trust the gem enough to even try to use a fraction of its power yet, they needed to test it many times and different strengths to assure it was safe.


Immediately going to find Orm after the mast was fixed, Belanor decided now was an appropriate time to speak with him. Waiting for the massive bull to be left alone he approached, speaking simply "Hello, Orm" knowing well that speaking with him would be difficult considering his lack of skill in common speech. "We move ahead of others now, or we stay near humans, your choice" he spoke in the most simplistic way his several hundred year old elven mind would allow. It was when he recieved his answer that he and his Tree Kin would return to the elven ship, following the Tyren bulls orders to some degree, though still staying several hundred yards ahead of the human ships.
 


The Tyren


​

Maeder walked onto the ship and saw the elf walk to the Tyren "We move ahead of others now, or we stay near humans, your choice" Maeder was meant to be a diplomat, he was supposed to show himself as equal and kind to all but these elves were abhorrent. "Great Tyren leader, I want to know if you have taken losses. Have any of your people died, unlike these elves I care for more then just running away and trying to 'beat' our allies. If you have wounded or dead I want to help heal the wounded and replace the dead, not that they can truely be replaced. Dracos wishes to console you, if you have wounded I will attempt to heal them with my people should you want or need it and until they are fit and healthy again, I am willing to send across workers to take up the burdan and help you sail to this new world." Then he stared daggers at the elven lord "Feel free to leave us and sail to that new land before us. All it means is that if there are horrors and evils there then enjoy facing them alone and taking the losses. To survive this hell the empire has thrust upon us we need to work together, but you don't seem to understand that. "I am Maeder, I fought against the Muurdaan to free my people for as long as I can remember. I know of your people past and wish to assure you, there is nothing I want from you, the little I know of your people fills me with respect. Unlike the elves who tried to make my people die from thirst."
 
@General Deth Glitch @Leusis @SpiralErrant


(not advancing play because I think more people need to weigh in, but I had to throw some dice in light of Leusis' actions, note accordingly)


His forest kind did not look optimistic -- "Tree singing" was of little use on dead trees hacked and gutted by human hands. Belanor would not be deterred however, and with the Jewel in their possession they applied it's power to their craft...


Belanor held the gem in his hand and focused his intent to mend the mainmast. As he did, the gem pulsed, and strings of spores and tiny leaves seemed to float away from the gem and into the wind. As they did, the long-dead mastwood sprouted roots at it's base, growing in an instant to flow over and absorb the shod-iron that previously bolted it to the floor. Where the mast spread at the point of impact, a swirl of branches burst forth and spun around the damage, pulling the point together like a cast, and oozing a thick sap that joined the whole thing fast in place. The deluge of frozen blood on the deck had likewise done considerable damage, but at least the ship was no longer at risk of being crippled in the next high wind.


Belanor could not be certain he could perceive his use of the gem had any visible effect on it -- the jewel felt just as powerful as it did the moment before he loosed this fraction of it's power. Perhaps some small fragment of essence was lost, perhaps not. These things were unheard of by even his people, and until a moment ago, completely untested. More experimentation would be needed.
 
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@Leusis:


Anfel-evoravel-lohai-phaedraellian, Belanor's Musician and one of the Winterborn counsel sent to Advise Belanor -- stood at the prow of their rickety human conveyance. with one foot planted on the end of the jutting edge of wood at the front of the ship, and the other foot resting like a dancer on her heel -- she tilted her head into the wind to hear her charge's exchange with the outsiders. A tear formed in her eye, and as it fell she turned the wooden harp at her side to catch this token of emotion. The wood drank the droplet greedily, and she smiled a soft smile as she struck a soft and mournful tone with it.


Belanor the Autumn-born, Belanor the bringer of change, Belanor who’s foes are Falling Leaves, Belanor the shifter of colors, Belanor on Winter's way. How could she guide him?


As belanor returned, she matched step with his as he attended his duties on ship. Walking two steps behind him, silent at first, she quickly, languidly shifted her gait which put her two steps in front of Belanor, faster than the human eye might process the gesture, but only observed by the eyes of Belanor. She breathed a soft sigh and walked two steps ahead now, remaining out of his way, like a leaf that floated at the front of a puff of air…


“How many elven lives do you think the Exiles are worth, my lord? I plead you do not answer me now, meditate on this question carefully before you answer.”


“How. Many. Kindred. Lives?”


“That ship filled with Mayflies (an epithet elves used against beings with far shorter lifespans) – and many of them pitiful and unfortunate even by the standards of men… How many of our kin are you willing to lose in confrontation with them? Is the sum total in all of their feeble skulls equivalent to one scintilla of the art, the passion, the fury, the purity of expression in even one of our kinfolk? Who of us can be replaced? What is the loss to our race when held against the loss to theirs?”


“If you cannot stomach to work with the humans, then let us set off upon landfall and let them not even find where we make our homes… but this antagonism – you are no springborn! You are the hand that HOLDS the arrow, my lord – you are not the bow that looses it without thought of consequence.”


“Another thing for you to consider – We know the measure of man and find them wanting, but are you unable to see that that “Mayhe-dehr” (she rolled the word on her tounge, making it a parody of the elven word for “Mayfly shit”) creature’s enemies are our enemies as well?”


“You must look for the mother bear in the distance, not the bear cub in the foreground. Contempt for the humans? Of course… but ask yourself this – when the true human enemy rears it’s head, and the Muurdaahani come back to take what they perceive is due… would you rather elves die, or humans as our catspaws?”


“Think on this my advice, dear autumn-born and lord.


I, who hold your chin up to the stars,


I, who hold you fast to my heart, as the trunk holds the bough.


Hear my plea that not one of our elven kin should die that needn’t have to.”


Upon finishing her diatribe, she gracefully sprung through an open porthole and pulled herself up onto the deck, disappearing as quickly as she appeared. He could hear her footfalls as the ran back to the tip of the prow, and for the rest of the night could hear her mournful harp.


The Barrier would come soon… and beyond that, Landfall.
 
This man known as Maeder was starting to get on Belanor's nerves. Not only did he interupt a conversation that did not involve him, he also spoke in such an agressive way. Sighing slowly as the man finished his speech filled with piss and vinegar Belanor would look back at the man, his facial expression void of emotion unlike Maeder who attempted to stare daggers. "You seem very upset, and this makes you speak false truths. You blame us because we would not trade you our water at a fair price, even though it was your own fault that you didn't already have a proper supply of water. It is not my fault that I did not see your wine as an equivalent to water considering water is needed for survival, while wine is a luxury". Belanor thought his words sounded reasonable enough, though he highly doubted that this man could ever get over what Belanor could only view as racism. Looking to Orm he would simply nod, basically telling him to make his own decision on if he wanted to continue ahead or not.


Returning to his own ship Belanor slowly walked around the ship, easily hearing the steps of one of the winterborn behind him. Stepping in front of him he could tell it was Anfel, a beautiful woman, even by the standards of elves. Listening to her speak he would nod every so often, making sure she could tell he was listening closely to her every word. Belanor wasn't foolish, he knew she was right, however, actually getting himself to the point where he could use her advice and get along with the humans would be difficult. "I understand, I will heed your advice when we interact with the others from now on. We will stay with the other ships, though I still plan for us to stay ahead of the others by some distance, this way we will be the first allowed to claim land".
 
@General Deth Glitch :


Pain. Pain and Sorrow.


Pain for the cries of the Surgeon's bonesaw, of the unskilled workers, Tam lost his arm at the elbow, and Yaris a foot.


Weeping -- for the three skilled workers that died in the tumult, crushed by cargo as it slid in the hold. Of the lost, Sammason the glassblower, Haxye the appraiser, and Bannondari the Cooper. The Windows weep as they are given hasty burial at sea... at least in the case of Bannon and Sam. Haxye would be a more complicated matter -- as his body is presently smashed flush to the floor and back wall of the hold, behind at least seven tons of cargo, and at least 3 crates deep. Candles are placed in the back of the hold -- one of Maeder's countrymen holds a vigil to see that Haxye's soul finds the fiery light that shall lead him on to the next world... The exiles were most of the way through their journey, but had already lost 4 of their number. Maeder had only Draco to thank, and perhaps Jarrod -- in being her instrument in raising the alarm before the would-be disaster. Had the crash occurred while some slept, or lay prone or sitting the hold -- a full fifty men could have died horribly.


Cold comfort for the wives of Sammason and Haxye. Their weeping was the only sound to cut the silence for some of the days that remained at sea.
 
@General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex @SpiralErrant


Jundar Pella swung the back of his spear like a man possessed. Marcus had been in his quarters much of the time recently -- though Jundar was not sure if he was scrutinizing the charts for the voyage, their newfound mysterious treasure, or some other quiet pursuit. It was not for him to know.


"SCRAPE, LEGIONARIES! I'll not allow any of you to trapesing around with some mer-harlots beared upon you -- and neither will Marcus allow some Mer-whores' beard upon his ship! SCRAPE!"


He yelled and exhorted the legionaries in their task -- Marcus wanted discipline run high throughout the voyage so that there would be no lassitude when lives were at stake. With tools both fitting and improvised, the Corvus ship was cleaned from starboard to to stern -- many men hung with contrived harnesses to push the slime off of the craft into the waters below. When the task was complete, all was well -- It was true that an accident with the ropes had almost keel-hauled Scippiai, but naught for a few newly minted grey hairs the young man was fine. Hopefully now their ship would seem less of a floating buffet to the beasts of the abyss...


The Tyren ship had no such concerns -- the lighter craft, it's profile higher in the water, did not collect the film of mephitic sea slime their ship had. Similarly, the full dress of caviar-slime fell in sheets from the hull of the Exile's ship during their crash, after which it seemed not much of the eggs did adhere and so dried in the sun... Which only left the elven ship...


Whether in hours or days after passing through the fog and soup of sea-eggs... the eggs on the hull of the elven ship began to hatch, and almost all at once. Their yet-unhardened chitin allowing them to squeeze into every hole and crack in the ship's hull that they could find. Eloi, one of the springborn, was the first to see one of the tiny Euripatids crawl onto the deck. With tiny ovular claws and a tail seemingly stuck to it's back with it's own slime, she picked the little beastie up and turned it in her hand to examine it. As it shook it's birthing slime off of it, it looked like nothing so much as a sea-scorpion... which is exactly what it was. It's tail flung erect and tagged Eloi directly on the wrist, sending shooting pain throughout her body. Scant moments later the deck was AWASH with them... tiny, famished, and newly hatched sea-scorpions... they formed a sheet over large quantities of the deck, and had already begun to show up in small numbers EVERYWHERE below deck. The grace and agility of the elves quickly proved enough to protect them once their full response was organized -- but several of the springborn had already been stung before and during the counter-offensive. Faced by scores of stomping elves with flashing daggers in every hand -- the vast majority of the loathsome things scurried off the deck and into the ocean. But alone or in small numbers, they were EVERYWHERE you looked below. They were in every glove no matter where you folded them. They were in every boot you hadn't worn. They were in every quiver, and almost every bowl. Even to the elves it became exhausting simply at finding them... and they were always. always. always there.


Few elves slept soundly after that day while they remained on the ship. Only Anfel seemed immune to them, her musing harp luring the hatchlings occasionally from their hiding-places, where she would gently sweep them off deck, or if below -- quietly grind to death under the heel of her slipper.


Landfall was soon, but mayhap it could not come soon enough. By final count, a full 15 of the springborn had been poisoned. The elves herbalist was quick to administer remedy, but it made the afflicted tired, and exceedingly thirsty. It was hoped that all would fully recover some time after they arrived in the new world.
 
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Battle at sea

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"Steady... steady..." Orm growled to all those at his side as their ship slowly leaned towards the ever shifting light. The tension was killing him. The wheezing and braying of the other warriors filled his ears, feeling like a cloud of horseflies buzzing around his head while his own heartbeat pounded like a drum. The pressure was building in the back of Orm's skull as he watched the light float and dance. It was faking out on its charge, just like a smart predator should and yet it only served to entice Orm more. For a moment the bull clenched his eyes tightly shut and focused himself, fighting the urge to jump off the side and fight the beast with hoof and horn.


Orm got his wish soon enough as the sea erupted into a mountain of scales and teeth. The monster glowed all over with unnatural ooze and was making straight for the Corvus ship. It all became a blur to Orm from that point on as the collected ships and their warriors sprang into action, hurling spears and arrows at the creature as fast as they could. Orm and his boys let out a collected roar to try and match the monster as they took their chance and jabbed at it with their stake like spears, yet as hard as he tried to run the things flesh through he couldn't pierce its bizarre hide. Everything Orm could see just bounced harmlessly off its flanks, how were they going to manage this if they couldn't even wound the thing? Yet Orm couldn't be seen to be uncertain in front of his peers. There was nothing else for him to do but double his efforts and cheer on those around him.


He wasn't sure how it came about, if they did it on purpose or not but amid the mad scramble one of the other ships crashed into the fish's side. rocking it on the spot and causing it to scream out in pain. It wasn't the only one as its blood sprayed over the deck. Most of it was just in a light sprinkle and orm raised his large arm to block his eyes, only to see the blood clot over and freeze like ice, sending tingling pricks of pain up Orm's arm. He hurriedly brushed the frost off himself, feeling a panic threaten to come over him at this demon magic. Orm had only tasted a bit of this though as he turned to see one of his warriors splayed out on the deck, clawing at himself in agony as the ice had cut him open from leg to chest. Shul was readily on task but the youngest shaman was no warrior and he chaos raging around them was threatening to overwhelm him.


Orm didn't have time for a soft touch as he was at their side in a flash, grabbing the shaman's shoulder and bringing him to his senses. "Control yourself, Shul! You must be strong for him!"


The spirit speaker swallowed down his nerves and set himself to applying the healing solutions he had on hand to the would and trying his best to clean away the ever spreading ice. Orm shouted for two of the other warriors to retrain the thrashing of their pain mad comrade and to carry him down below.


Orm turned just in time to see the beast rise against them. Its deadly fluids were pouring from a flood of smaller gaping wounds inflicted by the projectiles of the others. Its glowing feeler was swing about as it thrashed around in desperation. This was it, they'd cornered the thing and now it would be at its most dangerous. Orm braced himself for whatever attack was about to come... he wasn't ready. The tendril swung around to their ship and crashed into the mast with a mountain of force, sending Orm and several other Tyren stumbling across the deck. Yet the power the fish was bringing against them was nothing compared to the thunderous blast Bruul was set to unleash.


While their foe struggle to untangle themselves from the ship Bruul let out a bellow of fury and brought his stored force to bare. The air rippled all arounf his arm and fist as he punched at the face between them. The globe of light burst like so much fruit, painting the deck in disgusting slime. Having learned their lesson the bulls and elves all scrambled to not get hit by whatever this stuff might do. Orm rushed to Bruul's side as the shaman slumped against the cracked mast, covered in sweat and panting up a storm.


"Never... held that many at once before. Think it went pretty well, eh?" The gruff bull laughed breathlessly.


The creature screamed and wailed until it slowly sank below the waves, left to retreat to the dark and bleed to death. The Tyren let out a great cheer at their apparent victory. They had won this night.


*****


After the storm
​



"I still say you need some rest." Orm chided Bruul like a stern parent at the shaman's stubbornness.


"I told you I'm fine." Bruul protested, despite how utterly worn out he looked. "I just... I just haven't had to push the charges that far before. It's like any other big release, just bigger. You've seen it, I just need to walk it off."


"And you're doing a hell of a lot of that right now, aren't you?" Orm quipped as he cocked his head the ragged figure that may as well have been glued to the mast.


"I'm just making sure it's in good condition! Besides there's those here hurting worse than me, how's Rahg doing?" The injured minotaur's cries of pain had been heard all throughout the ship as he'd bitten through the gag Shul had given him to bite down on.


"He'll live. Not sure his mood will recover any time soon but it could be worse."


A deckhand called over to the pair and let Orm know that the other ships were all wanting to send people over to help with repairs and talk of the fight.


"By the sky, how did we become so popular among the hornless?" Orm sighed, rubbing at his head. "Let them come aboard! Why turn down some hands when offered?" Maybe they would know something about how to fix all the broken bits around here. Orm doubted they'd try anything when they were all in battered states like this.


*****


Meeting of leaders


(@General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex )
​



Orm had to train his mental faculties to manage translating things for himself as Shul was rushed off his feet as it was. He couldn't even call on Bruul for backup as he'd finally managed to convince the hsman that there was work that needed doing down below. Hopefully the prideful old goat would take the chance to sneak himself a nap in between all the meaningless busywork Orm had set him.


The elf seemed to be asking if they'd move on ahead of the other ships in their ragtag convoy. It made sense, Orm supposed, between the elven hands and the light size of the Tyren ship they'd been running rings around the other vessels. Orm could certainly see the advantage of steaming ahead, it was even more tempting given that this whole thing started out looking like they'd be arriving a month late. Orm shuffled his hoof in thought, pondering on his answer until he was distracted by one of the freshly arrived humans.


A few of them had been ambling about he deck since they came over from the rougher looking ship, each of them being eyes suspiciously by the warriors present. Orm had no idea why it was rambling on so loudly but it sounded fancy, like the chicken dressed humans back from the port. Orm could cover some of the words himself, the dangerous ones mostly. As a blood-touched, Orm didn't get brought in to deal with the other races when things were going well. The man seemed to be bickering with the elf now and Orm wasn't sure which of them was angry with what or why. Yet for all their growling these humans were still helping out on the ship as the working Tyren waved them on to help clean up all the evil ice and slime. It seemed everyone wanted to make friends with the caravan these days.


That old phrase about being in the same wagon came to mind and Orm could see some reason in it. As well as a chance to gain a better foothold in the new world for his tribe. He'd already seen that the small Tyren tribe would need to seek support from the more numerous races, now those chances were handing themselves to him open handed.


"Tyren stay." Orm nodded to the elf. "Together... ships safe... fight strong." He managed to piece together. After all, it was only through the combined effort of all four parties that they managed to best the sea giant and he didn't savor the idea of fighting what else lived in the blue at half strength. That and this way he could build on the idea of the Tyren being a group the others wanted and needed around.


It was later that day that Orm got called over to their broken mast by one of the herdsmen. Only it wasn't broken anymore... in fact it looked healthy!


"Did Bruul do this, Chief?"


All Orm could think to say was: "Hmm... hmm..." Well at least having a tree around the place made the ship feel a bit more like home.


*****


Fight for your name
​



The braying cheers of the Tyren crowd could be heard across the entire convoy. After days of calm sailing Orm had moved the tournament bouts up to on deck where more people could enjoy the show. It had been full of twists and unexpected upsets. None more surprising than the winning streak set by the same warrior that had been so horribly wounded during the battle. That same Minotaur now stood before his caravan, fist raised as the final winner.


"What a display we've been treated to. Acts of strength and prowess so great that, I tell you now, all he fought may hold their heads high as proud Tyren warriors!" The crowd hollered and beat their hooves. "And finally we have our winner! A soul so spirited they fought their way back from death's path to show their worth!"


Orm made his way into the ring where Rahg, the winner, stood. "I thought hard on this and your deeds, lad." Orm said, his tone becoming more serious.


"You are among the first Tyren to ever cross the great blue. You withstood an evil cold the likes of which we've never seen." Indeed Rahg carried that massive scar and the cold burns that dotted his face and torso with ease, making him look a fierce brute even to his own people. "And you stood strong through all these struggles. So much so I can only think your spirit and body to be forged like bull-iron. So you'll have a name to show it..."


Orm gave a pause before clapping the stern looking warrior on the shoulder and turning him to the crowd. "I show you, Rahg Cold-iron! Named warrior and champion of the crossing!"


A great cheer went up from all over the deck as people chanted the new name, much to its owner's glee. Though he seemed even happier about the looks he was getting from some of the women spectating.


After things died down Orm went to find Shul. "Send a message to each of the other ships. We are celebrating our recent victories and their leaders and two of their own are invited to eat so we can thank them for all the help they've given. I would know these folk. I would learn of them proper."


It was a rare thing to invite strangers into the caravan's dealings like this but Orm was feeling confidant enough to push his luck.
 
@General Deth Glitch @Leusis @Icerex @SpiralErrant


The final weeks of the voyage draw to a close, and the would-be settler fleet is entering the reach-zone of its supplies. Resources for the most part were well brokered, and where they were not made to stretch (as in the case of the Tyren) resourcefulness had risen to need.


The ships came upon the Barrier… and it was a Barrier… A sheet of white light, that rippling like an aurora from east to west all along the horizon and stretching up into the heavens. The barrier appeared mere miles from the front of the leading craft, it’s strange glamour fooling even the elves that the ocean might go on forever. As the ships close on the barrier, the craft pass over the continental shelf – the deep blue below breaking starkly into a gleaming aqua and an almost sun-blinding white in the shallows miles ahead. Exactly where charted, a small tear, barely a mile wide, hung like a door in the Barrier’s impossibility. One by one the ships pass through, rendering the barrier invisible behind them – and the lost continent, the new world – is laid bare before the settlers.


With land finally visible on the horizon, two intermediate features are of note to the boats as they lurch the final distance to the rising line of brown topped with green in the furthest distance. Far to the west, a tiny island rises at a angle -- like a splinter, above the water around it. The black spear of rock is topped with white sand and patches of white and yellow vegetation. Atop that, a strange domed structure takes up the majority of its surface -- a broad foundation supporting a dome of greyish marble, with arch-like tunnels to on it's sides -- the whole structure seems the size of a castle, with the island only slightly larger than that. As the ships come closer on their way to the mainland the wind turns and with it brings a cacophony of howling dogs from the island. Echoing from inside that structure the baying and howling can barely be heard, but it is unmistakable. Those in authority quickly calm the nerves of their subordinates, but to pass closer to the island would doubtless be a far more disturbing experience.


The second notable feature lay just off the coast of the landing beach, a small seemingly quasi-tropical island resting just off the shallows nearest to the mainland -- the only such contour in the terrain of it's type with the exception of the "castle-dome" -- it looks somehow even more out of place. The region, for the most part, is temperate, if a little in the warmer range. The plants and animals of this other little island look unseasonable to the current clime -- Palms and jungle trees lay about in random patches around what appears to be a small caldera in the center of the terrain. An odd geyser of what appears to be steam routinely bursts from inside the cone, ejecting small amounts of rock and large amounts of water seeming to continually keep the surface of the island in a light rain... the sunlight is cut into an almost ever-present rainbow in the mist flung from the caldera, but the entire island itself may not be more than a mile or less in diameter east to west, and only a fraction of that distance wide. A flock of colorful birds of paradise flit from one copse of palms to the next, seemingly skimming the ejecta from the caldera for warmth or somehow sustenance.


The ascribed beach landing is the most suitable place visible for miles in either direction along the coast. In fact, with the exception of a roaring waterfall some distance to the east, high cliffs are the only feature along to coast that is perceptible, with only narrow beaches here and there along their foot. Where elsewhere those tiny beaches wind around impossibly craggy cliffs, the landing beach is on a slope slowly rising up almost the whole way up the cliffs, as if long ago this part of this wall came down all at once letting loose the sand and soil behind it. Hundreds of yards of sand sweep up the slope to finally take one into a depression only one or two hundred feet from the top of the cliffs, into a kind of valley which terminates a short walk inland in five small cul-de-sacs, the largest on the west which with weathered ramps in the rock giving relatively easy ingress off the beach and onto inland proper, with the other four east of it of progressively smaller size and cast in shadow.


From sea-level at the foot of the cliff the only other feature perceptible above are three GIGANTIC Coast-Redwood trees, reaching what might be assumed to be as much as 300 feet high (approx. 30 stories tall) from the TOP of the cliffs – and if the eyes do not deceive they are as wide as any residential-building most of the settlers might have seen anywhere in the Eternal Empire. Trees this Tall do indeed exist in the Old World in places, but nothing of this width have been spoke of outside of myth in the old world. The sight of them is at once awe inspiring and humbling at once, with many settlers staring slack jawed from the decks.


A relatively short distance from shore the azure blue of the continental shelf rises to a pearl-white shallows – the water less than 20 feet deep in places. Here and there on “The landing beach” a handful of deep blue holes color the underwater landscape, schools of tiger-sharks swirling above them on unseen eddies beneath the tranquil waters around them. With the exception of the Tyren Sloop, for the other ships to come any closer rather than anchor on the border of the shallows risks running aground and becoming stuck in the sandy shallows. Nothing gives stronger testament to this than the fact that the husks of two Muurdaanian Galleons, of style and design far antiquated, lie rotting and scuttled by time and weather scant distance from shore. One wreck lay the better part submerged on its side. The other, not far away is another almost buried on one side by accumulated sand, the deck leaning away from the continuing weight that leans against it, mastless and full of holes. These ships it would seem belie the fate of the previous failed attempt to establish a colony, though whatever secret as to why the wreckage keeps.


The settlers had arrived. They had only to drop anchor, go ashore – and the hearts of gods and mortals willing, they would find their new home…


(Please note there is also an important post about getting started in the out of character posts -- I @-linked everyone I believe, but if you didn't read that post yet MAKE SURE YOU DO before declaring additional actions on land! Good luck!)
 
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Landfall

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["Do you see this? Do you actually see this though?!"] Shul cheered as land finally came within sight. ["I never thought we'd see it again! I feel like a yearling in my first summer all over again."]


Orm snorted in disdain at the shaman's giddy reaction. ["Honestly, Shul, get a hold of yourself. We haven't been on the water that long."] The chief turned away from the side of the boat and made sure everyone wasn't getting distracted from their work. All while screaming in his own head. 'Oh thank the sky I didn't think I was ever going to get off this blasted thing!' Never again, Orm vowed he'd never do this again.


The caravan practically stampeded off the ship as everyone eagerly tried to get their hooves back on solid ground. It took Orm and some of the older bulls yelling and yanking people by the scruff of the neck to remind them to keep calm and not go nuts in case they hurt themselves or broke the elves that were on board. Of course the grumpier herders refused to get excited until their animals were safely off the ship, while younger folk made their own fun as they splashed in the shallow water and kicked up the sand, looking at all the shapes they could make in it. Orm had forgotten that none of them had really seen the coast before. The closest look they'd gotten was the stone port of the human city, normally their caravan had little reason to leave the forest and hill lands they normally traveled. Orm included. But he didn't have time to stop and enjoy the view, he had to look over everyone as they brought the animals and goods ashore, splashing their way through the water.


["Come on, everyone, the herds have been shut away down there just as long as you! Time to let the little ones stretch their legs."] Ummush had hardly come up for air since the voyage started. Orm had been grateful to have him keep the animals calm during it all, especially during the fight, but he worried about the old minotaur's health. It couldn't have been good for him to be down among those cramped conditions so long.


Everyone knew their tasks soon enough. Despite all the extra water this wasn't so different to a usual day for the caravan anymore. The collected Tyren gathered up into their usual teams according to whatever craft or role they had in the tribe, handling the herds or goods that they were usually in charge of. Some such teams had grown a bit since the settling party was formed but the extra hands were competent enough and the seasoned minotaurs knew their way well enough to guide them.


Orm's instructions were clear, they needed to get off the beach as soon as possible and up to the top of the cliffs where the herds could find good grazing. Once they had a lay of the land they could decide which way to head in order to set up a more permanent settlement. Having to pitch camp for a night or two wouldn't be anything new for the tribe. He wasn't sure what he'd do about the boat. It wasn't in any good kind of condition but it had been good enough to sail them the rest of the way and into the shallows. For now they'd leave it anchored where it was, maybe to come back for it later. With its bright blue and yellow striped sails the ship wouldn't be hard to spot, besides, they'd be setting up near the top for now by the looks of it and they could keep an eye on it from there. Hopefully the scouts would find some good paths to follow.

Going to try doing these little spoiler bits like we did in pillars when I make a potentially large number of actions just to keep things clear and easy to follow among all the farm animal themed flavoring that litters my posts!


Little note for it, speech that is in square brackets ["Like this."] represents when the Tyren are speaking in their native language.


Early actions for landfall:


The Tyren have anchored their sloop in the shallows and are making their way off the landing beach and up its slope to the mainland. The helping elves have been thanked for their help and left to their own devices. They can either come along with the caravan or wait for their own ship.


The Tyren unload their things, animals included, and are split into 10 teams of workers as they go about it. Those teams being made up of 1 Skilled worker leading a team of 4 unskilled workers. The remaining 6 skilled workers are spaced out around the caravan as general helping hands if anyone runs into trouble. They do not intend to travel far once they reach the top of the cliffs, once they find some good grazing ground Orm will order for them to setup camp for the day so they have a base of operations and everyone can recover from spending so long at sea.


The 3 shaman stick with the caravan. Orm has sent out 5 fighters as scouts to get a lay of the land and give them an idea of the land and which direction they will want to travel in. The remaining 5 fighters are staying to guard the caravan.
 


LAND AHOY!


​

As Maeder stepped of from the Tyren vessel, eventually followed by the men who had stepped in to help clear the frozen blood. He soon found his way below deck and stepped in to help attend to people injuries, working alongside the convicts to do as he could to keep as many men alive as possible and, in doing so, so gained yet more respect from the convicts.


"Land ho!" Screamed the convict who was standing atop the crows nest. Ever since they had come into sight of the silver barrier the leader of the 'exiles' had stood on deck in wonder as he admired the beauty and impossibility of what he could see. "This is surely a world set aside for us by Dracos" he mused in admiration as he gazed upon the tropical oasis in the bay. He saw the landing beach and immidately ordered the ship to set a course straight for it and when one man said "If we keep going lord, we will beach oursel' on the sands!" he just replied "You think we are planning to sail back in this thing?"


Once the ship was moderately beached on the coast he had the convicts climb down and great huge ropes were thrown down to them and they were ordered to haul it further inland so that there would be no chance of the ship being caught adrift. Baez once again took charge of the convicts and screamed "Haul, slack in. HAUL, slack in. haul, slack. HAUL, slack" and as he did the convicts, most of whom were indeed half drenched from getting into the shallow water, pulled on these great ropes as one, slowly dragging the ship onto the land. Soon only the sternmost sections of the ship were still in contact with the sea and the supplies were being lowered down to the beach, meanwhile some of the convicts had been tasked with safely removing the lower bow of the ship to give access directly from the beach to the lower deck. Once this was done the supplies began to be removed through the hole.


Maeder made it known that he intended to use the interior of the ship as base until more permanent solutions could be put into place. Once most of the cargo had been lowered onto the beach he gave orders to set about construction of a basic building to house it, using supplies they had and could find. One of the convicts, a man from more coastal regions of Muurdaan, reminded him where high tide was and so the location for the construction was set just above what clearly looked like the location of high-tide, not too far from the ship itself. The wood that had been cleared from the bow of the ship was soon used to make both a basic door to cover the hole it had made, and a walkway so that you could always access the beach without getting you feet wet, even in high tide. Maeder considered setting up walls to keep the convicts from escaping but then realised there was really nowhere for them to go and so left things like that in the longer term plan as he looked to the cliffs and the trees and already set about plans for resource gathering so that buildings could be made quickly. Once he could reliably gather stone or wood, he could begin work on his grand design, the church. He envisioned it would be the crown jewel of the settlement, rising above other structures, positioned near the cliff face so that it could been seen for miles around and would help guide people safely to this place.. now he just had to name it. History told him tales of 'Dracos' both the god and the city, one of the old kingdoms that followed Dracos named its capital after her in respect and reverance.. he hoped to do the same and create a new Kingdom in her honour.


Events of this are as follows, Ship is safely beached and now acts as the exiles base, resources are stored on the beach and the first 'building' has been made which is simple a bare scrap storehouse to keep the exiles resources dry whilst also freeing up space on their ship for more productive activities. Also plans are being made for a chruch and to name their settlement Dracos, also I plan on claiming the land close to the shore as my own, basically setting up base literally where I landed.
 
@General Deth Glitch:


Cannibal Murders?! – with all the criminals off the ship moving the cargo, crafting the front entrance to "The sea house", and constructing the makeshift warehouse, one of your countrymen makes a gristly discovery in the hold. 2 people… the remains of two bodies actually… are found behind a tunnel between two crates leading to a small maskshift chamber filled with blood and gnawed bones. Bare footprints and slipstains lay all about the tiny room, candles stained red with blood and black with waste still burn in one corner of the room. Amid the candles is a book of some kind, it’s cover and spine made from the furry skin of rats – the tails of which seem to be used as bookmarks for certain passages. Some skin of their two victims has been pulled over the first two pages, which seem to be made of much older and dessicated layers of skin. The eyes of rats and two human eyes of different colors are stitched into the spine and cover of the book – and your country-man SWEARS the eyes – all of them, looked towards him when he first entered this accursed sanctum. The eyes in the book look dead and milky now, but the candle-light plays strangely in this room. One thing is certain, Dracos is not the only religion that seems to has made it’s passage to the new world on this vessel… though little else is evident.


-2 prisoners- mark accordingly
 
@Leusis


"Euripatid, Euripatid, where did you go?"


In the first days of the Euripatid bloom, the most aggressive specimens were easily killed, or expelled, by the diligent wood-elves. This left a much smaller (but significant) population of more skittish and stealthy sea-scropions, who avoided direct confrontation with their hosts but were seemingly getting themselves into everything. The elves quickly adapted to this as well, and the population was further winnowed down -- apparently down to specimens that actively fled close proximity to the elves, and instead crawled in the smallest and darkest recesses of the ship... and fed on, it was occasionally surmised... other Euripatids. With only scant hours before landfall, it seemed like the problem might be resolving itself, if the elves were fortunate.


Of the 15 springborn bitten by the little beasties, all were capable of work more or less -- but were tired and poorer of spirit.
 
@SpiralErrant


For the first time in 12 years, Uumush looked like something approaching happy. “I was certain such sights would never be for these eyes, Orm. Yet here we are.” The look subsides as quickly as it came, Ummush wincing as he grasps for a spot on his side beneath his robes. “It falls to you, Orm – how we shall celebrate this occasion. Of the voyage, our strange new wealth and magic, and of the naming of Rahg – these great hands have much work ahead of them inscribing the tiny runes in the memories of our ancestors. Perhaps when I am done, I can appropriately perform a homecoming rite for the caravan. He yawns a yawn with no sound coming out of it, throwing his head back and exposing every tooth brightly against the dark insides of his rough and giant head: some silver, some gold, and many in the back were rotted black, but capped with shotglass sized thimbles of Bull-iron. While nothing formal had ended their conversation, Orm knew it to be over. Ummush pulled his nigh-everpresent hood down over his eyes and after Orm was assailed yet again for clarity of instruction by a herdsman the Chief noted that Ummush was already far away.


AND @General Deth Glitch


The Tyren started to lumber their way up the sand-slope with their animals, the exiles unloading across their path making a considerable traffic-snarl, until the Tyren Designated to assist in such matters volunteered to help the exiles move crates when the animals were not making their way – The Tyren could lift or push crates that several humans pulled along the ground. It had seemed the minor measures of kindness or familiarity between the peoples was bearing at least a bit of fruit. These hornless, while doing a poor job of hiding their uneasiness, were equally transparent in their good-will.
 
The First Forays:


@General Deth Glitch


After building the warehouse and unloading/modifying the ship, the convict settlers would be exhausted by sundown. Of the skilled and unskilled workers with pertinent skills volunteers stepped forward (and others who's jobs were known but were less stalwart were "encouraged" by peers.)


The men watched as the Tyren were slow to disembark their cramped and now-rickety ship, but once on the slopes it shone through their relative strength. The Minotaurs and their animals, with even some wagons in tow made a bee-line up the sand-slope, and the last of them were winding their way out of the west Cul-de-sac and onto the mainland proper. Since the Boss had stated the plan was to likely claim land close to the cliffside the scouting team started by exploring the depression at the part of the slope. Headre, the cartographer began to map the dimensions of the lowland slope starting with the modest semi-circle of the beach below. One of the unskilled workers, Bran, took measurements under the oversight of Bertre. Five of Maedre's countrymen walked the perimeter, the other ten sitting on the beach watching over the convicts and making sure all were more tired than they might still be desperate -- especially in light of the cursed shrine, a secret the countrymen would keep until Maeder or perhaps Dracos willed it be seen. Mostly buried deep in the sand, it nevertheless was barely visible in some places, if you were looking carefully like the scouts. At one time, long ago, a ramp of countless logs was built from the near-side of the depression down the length of the slope... a cracked, rotted, and mostly weathered away stair running alongside it in random patches. The ramp itself had fallen apart in places, but after the sand covered it, it remained flimsy but more or less intact. The wood was dry and pitted and soft, and it would take a great amount of labor to uncover it, but it was no doubt they'd discovered some means the first colonists made for transporting people and things more easily along the slope.


Upon examining the ouside of the depression where it joined the cliffs around it, here and there similar wood-artifacts were found. Most weathered beyond recognition, it would seem a Wooden pallisade, perhaps (when it still stood) was wide enough to surround the depression and deep enough perhaps to allow men to stand behind at the top. What hasn't worn to nothing or blown away is mostly piles of charcoal laying amid the rocks at the foot of the depression. There's a lot of it though, and it's fuel. Maeder would be notified. (Resource: Charcoal)


Of the Cul-de-sacs, the westmost and "Exit" to the depression was most open, and well lit. The other ones were cast in shadow from the walls of the cliff. All of the cul-de-sacs were ringed with vegetation, revealing that the land above must be very verdant indeed. When one stood before the cul-de-sacs to one's right the sky was considerably eclipsed by the Three Giant Redwoods, even though they must be a fair distance from the depression. Mud from rain had likewise deposited a fair amount of soil in the cul-de-sacs as well, erosion slowly turning the sandy pits into little gardens -- Gnarled and wild Pecan and Walnut trees strain from the ground and rocky walls to catch every bit of light falling into the center cul-de-sac. The floor of the rocky alcove awash with heaps of seeds and shells. (Resource: Nuts?)


In the far rightmost cul-de-sacs a different bounty is found -- here the crop is only gravestones. The two smallest alcoves in the depression are filled with graves, all seemingly weathered beyond recognition. A statue in the Muurdaain style, weathered almost beyond recognition, stands prominently in the back of one of the gravesites. Sand and mud having run over it for centuries, only the faintest details can be made out. At the back of the alcoves the gravestones are larger, but by the front the stones become smaller, more broken, and in the front there is only the faintest evidence of long-gone wooden markers.


In the center of the depression one of the skilled assayists finds evidence of building foundations here and there beneath the sands. Sound structures, seemingly long gone rest upon them, with evidence of more recent earlier colony-structures placed over them, they too almost weathered away to nothing.


It would take a lot of work and time to clear away the sand around these constructions, but if one did it is speculated that the layout of an earlier settlement might become clearer. The spots are marked on Headre's map and the scouts are called away from the sites just moments before Alef and Ktang suddenly vanish through the ground in a sandslide down a marble shaft and into a chamber below. Feet from the ceiling of what might be a far larger chamber, they quickly clamor back towards the only light in that claustrophobic darkness to be pulled up by ropes. The location it, was decided, would be covered with a plank and guarded by a country-man until Maeder knew what to make of it.


The depression searched and catalogued, the men finally climbed the rest of the way to the mainland proper. It was gorgeous. one or two miles of sandy and rocky territory dotteded the grassland until beyond that full and unadulterated grassland asserted itself. Patches of rocky ground could be seen to be in places actually cobblestone or brick laid of white stone, cracked apart and buried by ages of growth come over to claim it. Beyond the rolling plains to the north rose a collection of hills to the northwest, particularly high in one place, but for the most part just occluding further vision beyond the plain. The men nickname the grassland "Boulder Fields" -- as what would normally advertise itself as prime farmland is actually BOILING with great boulders of white stone and debris akin to the patches of cobblestone. Before tucking away the map of the depression to start anew, one of the workers comments... "Ey Headre... you daft or taking a piss? taking down his monocle he blinked just as incredulously as the others. The depression, the beach, the cul-de-sacs... they were the shape of a footprint... as if some Massive god or titan stepped out of the ocean and made a mark on the earth where it stepped up upon the cliffs. Headre had his assistant map the depression again.


To the West is the ruin of a MASSIVE city, only a few miles away from the depression. the outline-shells of countless houses lay on the relatively flat terrain, almost everything above the first story shorn away, as if all at once. The footprints of most of the houses were reasonably intact, what remains taking it's time to be lost to the ages. Deep within the center of the ruin is an area in an artificial valley of sorts, where structures below the ground level are seemingly more intact. A tower sheared off at the height of the rest of the ruin, and below that what might be marble villas or great halls of some kind.


All of this steals your attention from the far closer and more intact features before you just outside of the depression. just before the rocky territory gives way to the green of boulder fields, you see an area that might have been a square or Marketplatz of some kind. concentric circles of weathered paving stones run tighter and tighter until they reach a great Marble and Sandstone Fountain in the center... the empty fountain is easily 30 feet deep and far enough across to look more like a small arena than a fountain.


Only one other structure on the west side of the "Marketplaza" stands by the fountain, rising high above where the buildings in the west were uniformly cut or weathered down. It looks like a Temple or Government building of some kind, though weathering has done a fine job of hiding much more than that. Pillars line the front of the rectangular structure, with half of them cracked or fallen down before it. To the east, the boulder fields slowly run into a less fecund plain of short grasses, almost entirely eclipsed by the great trees overlooking the cliffs. It seems the shadows of the great redwoods deprives the pastures below of much sun -- stifling the growth of larger plants in the fields.


Further east beyond the great trees is a wide and roaring river cutting the prairies from a deep woods, rolling over slopes and more hilly terrain the forest to the east seems absolute even as it scales the mountains beyond. The river RAGES with spring meltwater from where it must eventually reach the mountains, but it can only be observed snaking far to the north as far as the broken hills, and terminates, as one would expect, at the cliffs -- to become the roaring waterfall the settlers saw on their approach to the beach. It was getting dark and the scouts did not wish to clamor down the sandslope by torchlight, the men descended to make their report.
 
@SpiralErrant


The Tyren and their herds lurched forward, always forward up the sand-slope to the sky. While the humans that bumped around in their patch stopped below, none of the caravan could resist getting just that much closer to the sky, and out of the restrictive enclosure of the depression. The new world spread out before them, at once empty and beautiful. Some kind of road or pathing lay beneath their feet in this area -- sometimes laid bare, sometimes exposed by the weight of their hooves as the clan and it's herds moved away from the cliffside.


One ornate stone structure lay mostly intact above the depression. Orm mused it was either a temple, or a bank -- he so seldom could tell the difference between such buildings made by the hornless... even after it was supposedly made clear. Built well, it would seem though -- for while it was showing signs of considerable wear a whole city to the west lay cut off at what would seem it's knees. just boxed outlines of bricks and stones where countless hornless must have lived. He turned to Shul, Who stood in the wind blowing off of the ruin, and said the spirits were silent. As they walked past the marble structure into the grasses beyond, they noticed some marble-pit, with spouts on a center-spire betraying it had once been a water source. Shul picked at his ear as he did when there were too many flies buzzing in it. "Spirit makes a home somewhere here though, Orm. Weak spirit, but very old. Old and PUSHY methink." He quickly put it out of his mind, and perhaps Orm would too. The fields ahead were fine and sunny grazing land -- pitted though it was with rocks and stones. Great pains would need to be taken if such land was to be farmed, but for the herd? It seemed ideal. Here and there in the boulder fields a strange type of vegetation they had never seen in the Old World grew on this prairie -- Single leaves that grew and turned, all day towards the sun and it moved east to west. The livestock seemed to adore the tender shoots of these plants, and quickly more than half of the fields were bare of them. The herdsmen spread out and kept the animals grouped, but free to roam.


Slightly lowland to the east were the scrubby fields that grew in the shadows of the colossal redwoods. Where the full breathe of nature lay in boulder field it seemed the better part of this lowland was dwarfed by the constant shifting of the tree's shadow taking light that would otherwise allow more to flourish. Then it occured to Orm... No birds here, like on that island -- at least, not many. The herdmen remarked similarly few if any rodents or other little beasts of the plains... and more to the fact nothing that would prey on them. Where animals were found, they were few and young it would seem to this area -- the herdmen whispered such, and Shul seemed to concur. Something not long ago had driven all the animals away -- and they were only now beginning to return. Some Warriors remarked that if hunting for sport or food was something they or the others meant to do, it would be slim pickings. Shul was confused by this -- and headed back to where he thought Ummush might still be trailing behind... something did not seem right to him.


Beyond the plains were some rolling hills that rose to meet a low hanging layer of clouds above -- terminating the view of the Tyren beyond. The hills were highest in the west in one area in particular, rolling in broken sets and valleys until they were split in half by a mighty river running east of the great redwoods. at the foot of the hills here and there seemed patches of new-growth forest, that could one day spread into the plains or the hills beyond. Past that river lay a dark and dense forest, and beyond that, high mountains. Though unseen, it was obvious the river was being fed by the mountain thaw -- Orm wondered if it could even be forded before the end of spring. The river ran north to south until it threw itself from the cliffs they themselves had come.


Had they just set foot in the lands of their ancestors? There was certainly no sign of them here -- But Orm wondered if this caravan would not be ancestors to distant generations of Tyren in this new land...
 
Word of the first scouts rapidly spreads throughout the entirety of the settlers -- Exiles talking to Corvus and Tyren speaking with elves, and all of the first onshore viewing the terrain from atop the depression. If further plans to scout are made, they can be made generally as previous or centering on more specific points of interest.
 


Getting a 'foot' hold


​



Maeder was surrounded by, and assailed by, reports of the landscape and all its many features. That ofcourse was after the... incident. The incident involving black magic. "Keep everyone away, find out what you can and then prepare one of the useless small boats" he said referring to the small rowing boats that seemed pointless to him, given time he would have a proper Dracosian longship built to explore this new place and then you beach a ship just to stop it floating a way and push in back to sea the next morning to continue your journey, no silly boats. "Once you have seen what you can, and locked these foul implements of the destructive ones, haul the bodies down and give them a true Dracos Funeral, give the men something to see, perhaps Dracos will reward our faith, even in light of this treason on her name." He said. They did so and then kept out, keeping the bodies wrapped up in a small section of the sail that was taken apart and stored on arrival.


Of all the reports, including the one about the whole area being shaped like a giants foot, the one about the deep hole in the rockside was the one he felt most interested in. While his mind was thinking about the pallisade and the possible use of one of this cul-de-sac's as a simple fort, his mouth was issuing orders to search the depression. "Make torches and take the hauling ropes. Move in groups and keep the ropes tied about you and tied fast onto the surface, make and anchor if you need to." A large interior space... his mind was filled with ideas, it could act as the ultimate defend-able keep, a mighty cathedral of stone, perhaps a grand storehouse for the entire colony, perhaps it could serve to house the convicts or possibly it was to be his arena, though the fountain also gave him impressions of that possibility. Part of him thought that it may end up being smaller then he hoped or just utterly useless for some other reason but he wanted it to be useful. A few men went about setting that up but it was ultimately expected that it wouldn't be until tomorrow that it was to actually be explored.


"Baez, make sure to help the other two factions off their ships and up the hill, the elves may be bastards and the others loyal to the forces of destruction but should we sow distrust then we this endeavour may already be over." He finished, knowing Baez knew full well what he meant by forces of destruction, apparently he had been reading the words of the Red Book every night and Maeder had been approached by him to answer some questions more then a few times. Sure, it would be unpopular but that's why he had Baez and the convicts worrying about that, rather then his countrymen and the other freemen. Quicker we get them off the beach the quicker I can calm my people and get everything under way he thought. In reality he just wanted the whole transition to be swift, getting the other factions away from his men was paramount to keeping the peace.


As the sun began to set (Feel free to have all the actions happen before this) Maeder and his countrymen hauled the dead into the row boat and put some of their new found charcoal in with it. On top of it all they put a torch coated with some of the oil for the laterns in the ship and then Baez cut in "Maeder, Lor-Brother, sorry, might I say the death rite?"


"Of course brother, it is every man's right to lay their brothers to rest and they were closer to you then they were my other brothers."


He looked a little shaky but, as two more of Maeders brother stood either side with torches lit and heads bowed, he stepped forward and loudly proclaimed to the moon above "Ave Dracos, protecter terram nostram et creator mundi Domini nostri et vita. Quacumque die invocavero te in sempiternum vigilent custodiam ducere vitam habeant animarum, ad quas expertus iterum de novo vitae gloriae tuae. Sciretur eorum iniurias et libera nos eorum igni. Ignosce illis temporibus exhibito fecimus victam et praeparavero vobis locum novum consilium ut serviamus tibi restituam." About halfway through, one the que of 'Sciretur oerum' the two men placed their burning torches against the unlit one sitting in the boat and then grabbed the stern of it with their free hand and pushed it out into the sea. Then as the boat drifted off, away from the possible salvation of the new men, men who knew them were asked if they had anything to say and step forward. The life of a convict meant you told little about yourself and so the stories reflected more of who the two men were aboard the ship rather then their lives before and how they had stood by their brothers the day of Jarrods mutiny and supported Baez among other tales. Once they had all finished Baez stood forward again, he was not close to these men but he wanted to speak for them all the same. "They travelled across this endless sea, hoping to find a new land, to find their salvation. One told me he dreamt of freedom in this new world and, as my brother has shown us all, we can all prove ourselves worthy of Dracos in time. Their ambitions were not only just, but also so close within their reach. This new world, our home now, was to be their salvation and the forces of darkness and destruction acted against them and snuffed their inner flame before they could see their ambitions through! We are strangers here but they arrived as corpses. Its our job to see their vision through and make this a world of freedom and allow us all to strive to be our best. Not one of us are without darkness in our souls but as I said earlier 'Sciretur eorum iniurias et libera nos eorum igni' or in common tongue. We light this fire to burn their wrong doings and free their glory. Hail Dracos and hope for her light to shine on this new world!" As he finished all were silent, those still clinging to their old beliefs stood far away or took shifts watching for danger but in that moment all felt equal. They all took a moment together as a colony and just stood in thought. Maeder couldnt be more pleased, not at their deaths of course but as a leader does he got over them quickly, for he hoped this moment, seeing their old cell mate so full of devotion, would bring them together and bond them, perhaps making this traitor stand stark against the backdrop of loyalty.


Then out of the silence one of Maeders longer toothed brothers, though all were relatively young, began to sing an old folk song about searching for hope and ending in death. After the first chorus most of Maeder men, other then himself and Baez joined in.




"The lord arose where the shadow flows


At Ocean’s silent brim;


Through the mouth of night as a ray of light


Where the shores are sheer and dim


He launched his bark like a silver spark


From the last and lonely sand;


Then on sunlit breath of day’s fiery death


He sailed from Dracos' land.


He threaded his path o’er the aftermath


Of the splendour of the Sun,


And wandered far past many a star


In his gleaming galleon.


On the gathering tide of darkness ride


The argosies of the sky,


And spangle the night with their sails of light


As the streaming star goes by.


Unheeding he dips past these twinkling ships,


By his wayward spirit whirled


On and endless quest through the darkling West


O’er the margin of the world;


And he fares in haste o’er the jeweled waste


And the dusk from whence he came


With his heart afire with bright desire


And his face in silver flame.


The Ship of the Moon from the East comes soon


From the Haven of the Sun,


Whose white gates gleam in the coming beam


Of the mighty silver one.


Lo! with bellying clouds as his vessel’s shrouds


He weighs anchor down in the dark,


And on shimmering oars leaves the blazing shores


In his argent-timbered bark.


Then the Lord fled from that Dracos dread


Beyond the dark earth’s pale,


Back under the rim of the Ocean dim,


And behind the world set sail;


And he heard the mirth of the folk of earth


And the falling of their tears,


As the world dropped back in a cloudy wrack


On its journey down the years.


Then he glimmering passed to the starless vast


As an isléd lamp at sea,


And beyond the ken of mortal men


Set his lonely errantry,


Tracking the Sun in his galleon


Through the pathless firmament,


Till his light grew old in abysses cold


And his eager flame was spent."




(Credit to J.R.R.Tolkien with some minor edits on that one)

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As he spoke his tune some of the men set off to retire or go about their duties, no one spoke aloud until it was over or it had left their earshot. Culture and legends run deeper then their warrior ways in, Maeders people but Muurdaan cared nothing for it and were going to snuff it all from the world. Maeder did not sing the 'Tale of the Traveling lord' with his brothers for it reminded him of happier memories that he wasn't ready to really face, though they assailed him as they sung. If a normal man felt as Maeder did after that their faces would been streaming with floods of tears but his tears were all dried up and as a single tiny diplet of water flowed down his cheep he just stared off, through the now invisible barrier, over the endless sea and all they way through the Muurdaan empire to his home and simpler times. His eyes glazed over. All but Baez left him alone and went to retire within the ship with most of the rest, either that or take up their shifts watching. Baez didn't move, didn't speak and didn't worry. He just stood and watched his fearless leader, his new brother and his mighty lord as he cried, inside, Baez knew his lord was crying inside. After some minutes had passed Baez too set off, nodding to his lord who didn't turn or face him, and smiling warmly as he left his friend, above all else he was his friend, to his past.


So plans to explore the cave thingy, funeral to respect the dead and a deep, moving moment for the exiles.. I think that covers everything in the post?
 
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@General Deth Glitch


It rapidly becomes evident that clearing this chamber is going to take a lot of work. While loose at the top, the sand is progressively more packed the deeper it goes. The skilled workers quickly get together and build a winch, with unskilled workers taking some of the sail fabric down to make bags to remove the sand with. While this goes on, convicts do the work of widening the hole to it's original size (the actual aperture once surface sand is cleared away is close to 6x6 feet.


Once the winch is set up, convicts filling bags below tie them onto the rope to be hauled up, where empty bags are replaced on the line.


"Wot you think Maeder wants to do with all 'esser 'ere sandbags, eh?" -- "Keep 'em! Maybe we make a barricade with em or something." (Substantial pile of sandbags created)


With many men working up until the funeral in the evening -- it becomes clear (with the chamber half empty) that it is a large grain or cargo silo. the tops of decanters and storage pots, some as high as a man, begin to show themselves through the top of the excavation. at one end of the chamber is a barred archway, but none can speculate what lies beyond.


After the funeral, the assembled host are somber and seemingly feeling their solidarity. Somewhat less uplifting however is the relatively slim rations suggested by the steward, especially after a day of such hard work. The steward is adamant however -- "You must understand this is ALL the food we have! If we are not careful, or do not find additional means of sustenance on scale large enough to feed all of us, things could get dire, quickly."


It was not likely anything they found in the excavation would be edible, if even it ever was...


Food Status: Strained


Morale change: Anxiety among skilled/unskilled workers
 

Striking new ground


(@Beckoncall )
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Only a few days had passed since they'd arrived at the unknown continent and Orm still wasn't sure how he actually felt about it. Being off that cramped wooden bucket had done him the world of good and he liked to think it was the same for the others, though some were stull grumbling about stiff joints and necks. The Tyren had easily fallen back into their old routines as they made their way across the landscape. Everywhere they went Orm could still hear the sea, this must have been what island living was really like. He didn't mind it, actually, the noise was nice and soothing and the coastal winds helped clear the cobwebs from his head in the morning. Orm decided that he now quite liked the sea, so long as it stayed where it was and minded its own business so that he didn't have to travel on it again.


Still he couldn't shake the worry that had taken up residence in the back of his head since this whole thing started, slowly creeping its way to the front of his thinking whenever Orm let his guard down. Before there were set paths, known roads. Orm may not have known what the next day would bring but he had a good idea of it. Now he was somewhere almost totally alien, full of huge bands of hornless and strange island castles full of brightly coloured animals he'd never seen. Any decision could lead them to disaster and cost so many of the few lives that had trusted him enough to travel this far... and they all lay on Orm. He was going to start losing his fur at this rate!


At least he could brag that he was the first Tyren chief in living memory to try something like this so no one could judge him if he failed miserably. Ummush seemed pleased at least. The old short horn had opened up more than Orm had seen him do in months. If only it hadn't been cut short by whatever it was that was plaguing him. Of course Orm knew what it was and that there was nothing he could do to help, he just didn't want to admit it. Hopefully he'd find a safe place where he could rest easy in the new home they'd set up for themselves. After their first night of grazing in the stone covered plain they'd packed up and moved on to the reported hills. From what the scouts had told Orm it sounded like exactly what he was looking for.


The ranging hills offered plenty of land that the sheep and goats liked while offering the herdsmen a high ground to spot danger and defend themselves from. As well as space to live comfortably as the caravan had spread itself over a clump of hilltops. Not the ones that pierced the clouds, obviously. They'd set up camp just a short walk away from the river that ran east of the redwoods so the animals and minotaurs alike could find an easy source of fresh water. Folks were already wondering what might be in the dense forest beyond the river's border and the mountain range beyond that but for this season at least it was no concern of Orm's. One step at a time he thought to himself. For now they'd send folk out gathering and the warriors could do some hunting on occasion as they beefed up their stores because a Tyren could never have too much food and Orm was determined to have his people live comfortably here. With plenty to eat and soft beds to sleep in (getting softer by the day what with it being spring, the sheep were getting an overdue sheering) as they made their own country. Soon Orm was going to see about building some proper houses as they pitched their claims. This would make a good spot, he thought.


But that was a business for the others to handle today! Rahg was in charge of the warriors today, leading a hunting party into the small forested clumps that scattered the hills. While Shul and Ummush were in charge of tending to the people back at the caravan. the two of them had been deep in discussion about what they'd seen at the redwoods on their way here. Orm wasn't sure about any of it really, he didn't see it as their problem. If he was one to guess then those trees may have already had an elf flag wrapped all the way around them. For today Orm had a mission.


He'd traveled with Bruul back to the rock covered scrub plains, a small box tucked under his arm.


["Are you sure about this?"] Bruul fretted as the two of them came to a stop and Orm knelt in the grass.


["I need to see if your theory was right. If this thing has any strength in it then it could prove a key to our future here."] Orm nodded. He opened the box he'd been given back at port and slowly brought the amber stone out into the air. Tentatively, almost afraid to touch it in case it burned.


The shaman had theorised that the stone was linked to the earth, that its glow would strengthen when the stuff was near, maybe do more. So far it seemed to be right as it was shining with a life it had never shown on board the ship. Now here they were, surrounded by plenty of little stones to experiment on. Orm felt himself blinking more as he gulped down his nerves. He'd brought Bruul along as he knew more about practical magics than any bull Orm knew. He could just have given it to him to handle in his capable hands.


... But they'd never seen anything like this. Any of them. And Orm was the chief here, wherever the caravan went it was up to him to take the first step. Duty weighed down on his shoulders like a sack of chains. But Orm knew this when he'd gone after the role. So here went nothing.


["Let's see what happens next..."] His voice was little more than a whisper as he reached out with the gem in hand and touched it against one of the larger stones.

The Tyren have laid claim to the hills and valleys near the bank of the mighty river running east of the great redwoods. They've set up their camp there as they normally would and the herdsmen are going about the business of tending their animals and storing their supplies. The sheep are also been shorn for wool (is that a thing I can do? Recourse: wool?)


Shul and Ummush are holding down the fort at the caravan camp. They continue to discuss the redwoods situation that was mentioned in the last Tyren GM post. (possibly, up to you, Beckoncall.)


Rahg Cold-Iron is leading a group of 2 other warriors in hunts in the patches of new-growth forest for more food and pelts.


Orm and Bruul have gone to the boulder fields to experiment with the amber earth stone and test its abilities.
 
It was finally here, the new continent in sight the spirits of even the previously stung Sprngborn were lifted. Luckily their illness was swiftly taken away by the skill of one of the Winterborn and all fifteen of them would live, though likely be of little use for the next few days. This of course would be a hit to the man power of the elves, but not so much so as to assume it would put them in far more danger than they already would be on this foreign land. Using all available elves however Belanor would order them to make landfall as quickly as possible, attempting to beach their ship before anyone else could.


Immediately starting to unload all of the cargo on the ship the elves would take the sick off the boat first, letting them rest on the beach. It was likely only a few minutes later that the humans and Tyren would land, allowing Belanor to use the elves he had sent over to the Tyren, speeding up the unloading process. However, elves, not being known for their physical strength were having a harder time at this than the other factions, though not by too much when compared to the humans. The first step to take after unloading all of the cargo was to immediately send a few Glade Guard to scout up the sandy hill and follow behind with all of the elves resources, attempting to make it to the same area as the Tyren. Belanor planned that if he could camp among the Tyren for the night he could make sure all of them would be safe, as the elves marksmanship and skill mixed with the toughness and strength of the Tyren would easily protect all the civilians if they came under attack in the night. One odd thing did happen however. As the elves were moving their resources up the hill, they were aided by the barbarians, something that vastly increased the speed at which they made it to the top of the cliffs.


Knowing of the great forest beyond the wide river Belanor decided that was where they would make their home once they were capable of crossing the river. But for now he would simply send his Forest Kin and a dozen Glade Guard towards the three massive Redwood trees in an attempt to use their magic to change the trees into structures capable of housing the entirety of his population. Essentially creating three massive towers where each dozen feet or so there would be a floor for his people to sleep on or conduct certain activities. Depending on when the trees were ready to be filled with Belanor's people he would immediately move them inside the trees.


However when night slowly began to creep over this new continent Belanor made a very important choice. Ordering about two dozen Springborn and half a dozen Glade Guard to proceed down to Maeder's camp with enough food for a filling dinner. This of course was comprised of mostly the fish they had caught and food they had brought along from the old continent. The leves even used the fires of the humans to cook it personally, many of the Springborn being rather skilled cooks compared to most of those the humans did or did not have. Once this was done however the elves would proceed back to their own camp. Before Belanor would slumber however he came to speak with Orm. "I wish to take the forest across the river, if you aid me in making it there I will aid you in any way possible to assure you make it to your desired landscape as well. Do we have a deal?" he questioned the large bull.


- Beach ship and unload supplies.


- Get to top of cliffs and set up camp with Tyren for the first night.


- Send all Tree Kin and a few Glade Guard to protect them as they use magic to shape giant redwoods into capable housing for colony.


- Give Maeder's camp a filling dinner because they helped the elves get to the top of the cliffs faster.


- Belanor speaks with Orm about them helping the elves get to the forest and helping the Tyren get to their desired location.
 
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@SpiralErrant "Of further scouting -- High, Low, and Home."


The Tyren headed into the hills beyond boulder-fields. The herdsmen and animals fanned out with a freedom Orm could scarcely remember on a lowlands in spring – in the mountains, in winter, sure the hornless far more readily yielded the fields to the Tyren, but this was something to celebrate. After boulder-field the tyren loped up and down over the hills and scouted further than before. To the north a good distance the hills seem to shear up to another wall of cliffs, as if the land beyond suddenly jumped and decided to stay aloft. West of these cliffs were more rolling and broken hills until one reached the “Sky Hill”, mooring the chain of hills that divided the “short ruins” by the Cliffside from what appeared to be a growing dampness of a swamp further north.


From the side of “Sky Hill” the Tyren could make out a feature that was obscured before. A spire of rock grew from halfway up the hill like a chimney on a winter yurt. Could it be a tower? An Obelisk? It was not likely a natural structure at all, but it would require closer scrutiny. Even when the warriors returned from their hunt there was little more to be said about what it actually was.


Even in the hills and by the river the absence of wildlife was again apparent here. The new spring nests of ground-breeding birds are here and there, but so rare that herdsmen, fearful of disturbing their new host spirits, run ragged trying to keep their animals away from where they might trample what is clearly a recovering population. Stronger sounds of wildlife could be heard perhaps over the roar of the meltwater river, deep in the wood – but how much of this was trick of noise and wishful thinking was unclear. From the highest hills overlooking the river the tyren could see the woods over the river to the northeast descend a steep decline, a deep forest, below sea-level even, looked as solid as a fruit-pit to the forest around it.


The Iron-makers of the clan mused that there might be suitable ore in the “Shear-cliffs” – but STARTING a mine was not something anyone in the caravan had been a part of for countless generations, perhaps not since the travelling lifestyle of the Tyren became the norm. The caravan traded for raw ore, or when they could traded the day-labor of bulls in iron mines for a share of the minerals they tended to bring forth where a vein was shown to them… but if the rocks held wealth it might require the counsel, or shudder perhaps guidance of the hornless.


The clan in as much as could be said, seemed joyous. The gifts heaped upon them when they began the voyage seemed to pale in comparison to the bounty laid before them… not a single sign of claim, not a single soul to give suspicious eye or attempt to move them. Shul’s face painted a less carefree picture, however… as he ran his hands along the clean break of the rocks, he seemed to be straining his ears to the cliffs, as if following the faintest of sounds…


Orm could see Shul as he vanished, quite surprisingly into the cliff-face. Be it trick of light, or of color – the cliff in this place hid a narrow passage. Perhaps any hornless could have found it easily, but the vison of the Tyren was different, and in almost any way most cared to think it, superior. Subtle hues can distract from subtle movements, it was said.


Shul could not move far into the crevice… while smaller by minotaur standards, his massive bulk would not allow it. He pulled some loose rock (and some not so loose) aside to give himself purchase, his ears almost quivering in pursuit of some noise. He craned his head into a low and uncomfortable position and pushed a bit farther with his hooves… as far as he dared, lest he surely become stuck. Then he saw it.


On the other end of the crevice was a long-forgotten heap of rigid fabrics and bones. It was hard to tell who these hornless were, as they all looked similar even when all the meat was on them. It was striking to him that despite the site having been exposed to the elements for a hundred years or more, much of their fabric and effects, however dilapidated, had yet to fully decompose. Shul was a speaker of spirits and no stranger to the dead and their treasures. He wondered what craftsmanship could keep a tunic recognizable of form whilst exposed to the elements for so long. Shul would have laughed to himself at the strange preoccupation of his mind as he continued to strain to find that which he sought, except the cliffs pressed hard on his lungs. His eyes focused on the pile, and he shut them… he found the source. The illusion of snow crawled from the ground to bury the bodies, a cascade of icicles forming beneath the empty eyeholes of the figure in the center of the mound… And his vision began.


…A lady, an elf frantically runs in the wild, in tow with her a score of the smallest infants of her group in a hand-held chain snapping behind her like a whip. Some so small they cry, but most are silent and of purpose even for seeming so tiny. Behind that, a horrible fight is taking place. Something grim and unmatched, A woman taking forever to lose against many. She orders the oldest child into the crevice, who have the rest of the young reeled like a fishing line within. Her quiver is empty. Her bowstring is broken. She demands no child leave their hiding place and plunges to the sound of the fighting.


The image is broken here, whatever sights or thoughts this spirit left – and it had indeed left, this was how it was with “Latent readings” – spirits pass on but they can leave a trace of their trauma, but whatever the exchange with their comrade that fought, it is smoke and dust to Shul. Something of sadness, of denial, and peace.


The rest of the traces are faint, but he collects them. The starvation, the endless heroic attempt to maintain the calm. In her weakness, the oldest leave the hiding place, and she knows they are gone almost right away, perhaps immediately. She pulls the cloths around them tightly now. The winter is cruel. She holds the door for each child as they go, and when the last is gone, she takes the door herself with her lover’s blades. The vision fades.


Shul attempted a sigh in his release of exertion and sympathy to the departed, but he was rapidly growing increasingly uncomfortable with the pressure on his chest. He could not reach them to see or know more, but the image of that pristine blanket, unmarred by time – woven with the image of three trees… stuck in his mind as it curled around the heap of tiny bones. He looked at the odd hump behind the single adult form, and realized her bones still lay on blades of some kind.


A Minotaur Warrior had finally decided Shul’s strangeness was enough, and sought to pull him free before the hunt. Shul was relieved for it.


HOME:


Where the Hilly pasture knelt between the Shear-cliff and the Roaring River, the majority of Tyren agreed this was the perfect place to settle. The herds would have all they needed. Mineral and Trees might be for the taking, if wisdom and river-current allowed. The Shear-cliff, mysterious and perhaps ominous as it was, offered geographic and weather protection… and with the river at a right angle to it, it provided anything a Tyren would want to make a defense… protection of the flanks and greater ease to force a direct confrontation. If the Warriors saw trouble coming, they would likely face it head-on, and with a downhill charge. Perhaps best of all it was both far enough away from the rest of the settlers for now, but close enough to make finding them not a hassle, which is what nomadic traders want most of all in a customer.


The hunt was enlightening, but brought little home in the way of game. A herd of some kind of plains-gazelle, if you could call it that – they were so few, were far too cautious and on edge for the warriors to easily catch. Ragh proclaimed that this was a dare from the spirits of the new land, and he exhorted his warriors to make a kill, and they did. It would be hardly worth the effort. It was too close to nightfall when they saw the milk-white hind amid one of the tiny hillfoot-forests. Ragh growled in longing to capture the creature, its ivory hide would make a fine Hero’s Loincloth, and draw much attention where needed come breedingtimes.


Such concerns were not for Orm… he was with Bruul in the Boulder-fields… though to what end it was never for a warrior to guess. The Work of shamans and chiefs too often got in the way of the games of warriors… best to think of the Hind. These “single-leaves” sure were tasty… getting harder to find, but tasty.
 
@Leusis


"A tale of beasts and bones"


The elves, proud in all ways, were indeed the first ship to hit the mainland. Keen to the eddies that stirred in the sharkpools, the elven sailors executed an maneuver that both inexorably beached the ship and indeed flung it halfway up the beach mostly obscured by rocks from the cliffs and the intervening shipwreck debris from where the humans would later land. Indeed, with minimal effort the ship would be near indistinguishable from the other wrecks once the sun had its way with it. Maeder and his Exiles would never see, nor know an elf was already there until the elves began unloading the ship… and so slim was their profile in this operation that most of his people seemed to forget a rearguard remained there hours after they truly had all their gear atop the cliffs. A few humans scurried about in the depression near the top of the slope… collecting charcoal and digging some kind of hole… By the time the elves had gotten this far, human labor shifted from getting all the cargo up to the cliffs (which was of significant help to the elves) to whatever inscrutable reason the humans needed a pile of sandbags. The springborn lowered their guard slightly… as it seemed impossible these lumber-foots could possibly be a threat. Eteel, one of the winterborn soldiers did no such thing. These beings could possibly be the worst humanity had to offer… hounds let off a chain in a boundless yard. There were rumors among the springborn that Maeder was having a funeral for the humans that were eaten during the voyage… Eteel dismissed this, preposterous scare-tales springborn always said about humans and their ilk. The humans did not look nearly so poorly fed to have gone cannibal, though a less familiar elf might not be so sure with how voraciously they accepted the elves offer of unappetizing Imperial food and leftover fish. Eteel, thrice versed in the body language of men and orcs, wrote a treatise for his bicentennial on how much the lesser races gave away regarding their intentions just by the positioning of their feet and hands… often without the humans themselves knowing. When the elves gave their grace he saw several harder men soften in their spirits. Eteel struggled to care about this, but ultimately failed. To him, a human was always dead of old age before his friendship had a chance to steep. Still, their demeanors were worth noting. In his cross through the depression to the mainland he noted a few humans here and there that were clearly wolves playing along with the sheep… but it was not his concern, hopefully it would never be.


The elves had assayed much of the land at the same time as the Tyren, though until camps were made there was little intermingling. The largest minotaurs stomped endlessly about, until tearing off for some kind of hunting excursion. The elves could not be sure why as of yet, but it was obvious to them some phenomenon, more likely mundane than magical – had purged the immediate vicinity, and possibly beyond, of almost all animal life while leaving the plants entirely intact. The Glade guard fruitlessly searched for scat, or tracks, but months if not years of weather promised the trail was cold as the stones they ran their hands over as they marched past boulder field. From some of the higher hills the elves could see beyond the river to even deeper, ancient woods to the northeast… An invitation and promise almost in league with what these towering redwoods presented. MaeKith, Matron of the Forest Folk mused that a standard or emblem should be designed, and woven on the finest of spidersilk – depicting the three trees as a symbol of their new nation and glorious birthright to new generations of elves. As the glade guard tapped the mud from their boots with the flats of their elvish blades, they waited expectantly for the folk to follow them to said redwoods… and the Kin could barely contain their joy and excitement. Improvisational song, the promise and dream of new and awesome art would find expression on that walk… at least, until they arrived.


The elves gave little notice to the ruins as they marched inland. The Grand-Redwoods were far more alluring to the eye. A pair of glade guards running sentry on that side of the column however remarked there were tracks just within the ruins that were not very old. A few shuffling trails that were as recent as last night, but more to the point signs of relatively discrete campmaking on the inside of house-husks on the periphery. Nothing anywhere approaching permanent settlement, but evidence of natives nonetheless. To learn anything more they would have abandoned their vigilance to the column, so instead they would report.


Anfel’s eyes danced and studied the rocks of boulder field, just as she danced amid the stones. Without doubt, she told belanor – that as one might expect, the city to their west was obliterated (perhaps in moments) by incredible magical forces. That which that was not disintegrated likely flew onto this prairie, where the rains slowly buried it. At the bottom of these layers of debris might even be objects even elves might value… but she would not pull Belanor’s ear with such musings. “This land has been wrought and wracked by magicks as powerful as any I witnessed when I walked among our so-called ‘High-kin’… and with them I walked through kingdoms unnamed of both dreams and nightmare.”


Belanor could tell that she and the herbalist were almost lost, so deeply were they in thought. They tasted the winds of magic to divine its flavor just as any fledgling race would smell the morning air. There was much hidden that remained unseen – great time and labor would need to be devoted if much of what was concrete to be learned could be revealed.


One of the more naïve springborn started a conversation as to whether humans, being so able at bearing loads, could make passable mounts were elves to raise them from birth. Eteel’s brother scowled at them. The Forest Kin left with their gladeguard detatchment to place themselves at the feet of the great trees. The rest of Belanor’s host languidly walked the territory in the direction the Tyren were settling, marking the changes in terrain. Ruins west, Hills north, swamp north of that… river east and then deeper woods, with the redwoods resting in the center of the arc surveying the shade-plains and boulder field. Beyond the woods – mountains… and also deeper woods. The guard made light sketches of the terrain, from the patterns of houses at the edge of the ruins, to prominent boulders in the prairie they walked.


When the elves came to rest well beyond the Tyren camp, and Belanor approached to make his audience – he was somewhat bemused that the elves, despite song and parade… were virtually if not totally unnoticed by the beast-folk. Many a herdsmen turns in alarm at the assembled elves on the nearby hills… a few concerned that their privacy, if not safety might be at risk. The elves read this well and took steps to accommodate, making their position known while becoming virtually invisible right afterward. When the herds forgot they were there, the Tyren seemed to, at least outwardly, shortly after. This “purity of nature” was enduring to them. Belanor seemed welcome when he entered their camp… though there was little doubt his appearance was unexpected.


Before nightfall and before this audience, one of the two gladeguards left to catalog and protect that which remained at the beach, came running – full bore, over the hills. On his heels were chimes that sounded to almost all the noise of wind, but the glade-guard knew these rang true as a mark of alert.


“Belanor… we have known for some time that the Euripatid have turned away from the cost of elven blood, to instead feed on their own in the bowels of that vessel.” The elf showed no signs of fatigue, but his exertion was obvious.


“There is only one Euripatid left, Autumn-Lord – and it is as high as a horse and twice as wide. It had retained its fear of elves, so Hadonai has cornered it in the deepest part of the hold. But it is ravenous, a threat to anyone on the beach, and while my fellow sentry and I feel confident we could slay it, Hadonai insisted I receive your word before facing danger – as the threat is contained. The wind from your mouth is the law, Autumn-Lord… what ho?”


By this time, the glade guard had successfully lead the full complement of kinfolk almost to the foot of the redwoods. Younger elves, and the less-blooded in the arts of slaughter would be absorbed in the fecundity of beauty manifest – but not these. To lose vigilance might be to vanish as did most every other animal to live on these fields. Their demeanor was neutral, surprise as far away as the moon above. None would die this day… and the price for elven blood was high… Very High.


The Glade guard laid eyes on it the same second the forest kin ceased their singing. The high grass did a good job of obscuring it, but now it was unmistakable…


The bones… the bones of thousands of animals… countless animals… the bones of likely almost every animal living nearby for miles, lay scattered around the base of one of the great trees. From birds, to the smallest rodents, to the largest beasts of the field… all their bones, stripped clean, lay as if rained from the top of the tree onto the ground below. The majority of the guard without pause swooped up the Forest folk and initiated a very tactical withdrawal to where the rest of the elves had camped in the hills bordering the boulder fields. A few of the glade guard remained to examine the “field of bones” – the other trees did not have such rings, but they spent little time beyond that with their study. A glade guard remarked that the number of canine skulls seemed disproportionate… another remarked that the bones had fallen in layers, strata that suggested this was something that happened in a season or cycle. Nothing but business-like, a glade guard shoved his arm shoulder deep into the patina of bones that lay almost flush with the ground, and pulled up the skull of a human. Not a word was spoken, but the guard all wondered the same thing… and that was how many, if any bones of elves would be found here if they dared to look. The remaining guard looked high into the impenetrable canopy of the redwood above them, and nearby gently clattered the leg-bone of an owl. Bloodless, marrowless, lifeless. They did not turn their backs on the tree as they moved away. Not until being far into boulder field did they even profess to run, to tell the Autumn-Lord and the Winterborn…
 
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@SpiralErrant


["Let's see what happens next..."] His voice was little more than a whisper as he reached out with the gem in hand and touched it against one of the larger stones.


The light inside the jewel seemed to pulse, but as Bruul and Orm stared at the gem resting on the boulder nothing seemed to happen. Orm pulled his hand back, and to his surprise pulled the better part of the huge piece of weathered masonry with it -- it floated there for a moment, Bruul instinctively throwing up some kind of protection charm for his chief -- but almost before Orm could process what had happened it fell back to the ground, rolling a short ways down the hill leaving a gaping pit of exposed grassroot and smaller stones, and the teeming of tiny mundane crawlers, as such things do when they are suddenly exposed to light.


The stone, now laying at the bottom of the hill, had far more identifying detail on the underside that laid buried than the part exposed to elements. It was not a natural boulder at all, but a large chunk of a building, perhaps a small fragment of a white-granite tower or minaret. Far more certain was the fact that with a subtle pull he had wrested from the earth something heavy enough to have remained in place for... a long time. Maybe even a very long time.


The jewel in his hand seemed to awaken after the transaction, it beat, semi-plaintively -- like the heart of a tiny animal pulled free of it's body. When Bruul and Orm returned to camp, he produced the gem once more to put it back in safekeeping. It still beat, but at a more relaxed cadence than before. Bruul watched Orm place the jewel back in it's container, wiping away a long rope of saliva that showed perhaps a bit of avarice. "Just pondering what such powers could do in the hands of a Shaman, Great Chieftain... if tiny hornless wizards want to break the loyalty of the Tyren herds, they will need to produce baubles far mightier than these!" He brayed a Minotaur's laugh that showed his sincerity. He shook the rope of spit stuck to his hand and flung it to the earth below him, stretching his full height in response to some far chatter in the camp.


"Elves are here, Chief. Not a messenger either -- though we'll both be damned to guess if it's a lord or a lady this time. I shall be careful not to offend."


Belanor had arrived, likely with more schemes of hurry and claim for the beastmen.
 
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Crossing

(@Leusis)​



To command the rock itself. Orm could still feel a tingle in his arm as he put the stone away to sleep again. Tyren had never been great builders and architects, sticking to crafting wagons and tents from wood and cloth. But with this they could literally shape the world! Make their caravan a new mine. Build castles and towns with ease. It could opened up so much if they could learn to use it right.


But Orm was getting ahead of himself. Right now he had an elf to see.


Bell was back and looking grim as ever. At least that's how he looked to Orm. Elf faces always looked small and puckered up at the best of times. Shul was quickly summoned to work his wordy stuff and repeated back the elf's words in ways Orm could understand better.


["What about the bones I found, Chief, do we tell them about those?"]


Ah... amidst everything that was going on Orm had almost forgotten about that. He scratched at his chin and decided on it. Seeing how the elves seemed to wander wherever they pleased and disappeared at will it didn't seem a push to think they'd find the bones eventually. And take news of them being hidden poorly.


Besides there was the kinder side of things. Orm may not have held huge stock in the spirits but the moon-touched were always preaching respect for them. Add to that the babes among them. They would deserve putting to rest and the elves would know of it better than a tyren would. Before that though they had Bell's haste to deal with.


Orm gave his answer to Shul to pass on. "He says he is willing to lend hands to help you pass but urges caution. The winter melts and the river rages fierce for it. Safer to wait until next season when it calms and cross then." Orm was a direct thinking minotaur so he assumed the elves meant to ford it.

Snacks!

​



["Come on yous, gather up the seeds and all."] The lead Minotaur called to his apprentices. He was still munching on one of those delicious single leaf plants. Sunwatchers, he called them.


["Just enough to start a patch, you know how it is. Chop chop now!] If he could grow some of this and the dark leaf he'd stand to make a killing. Haha!


Action:


- A skilled worer and their four unskilled labourers begin trying to harvest the single leaf plants to grow their own crop. They also plant some of the dark leaf that was brought along to grow more of that.
 
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