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

[General Deth Glitch]

Maeder

​

A good deal of Maeders Countrymen stay at the fortification while Maeder makes his way to the meeting. More then prepared to help in the defence of the other factions and more then happy to join in an offensive attack. However he first heads to try to visit the Doctor, doctor flemming to find out if everything is in order with his men. Not realizing that he broke his curfew when trying to bring in re-reinforcements. It was while he was on route to meet with the doctor that someone mentioned a joint patrol to guard the.. well.. everything, mainly the Platz but still. He was more then happy with this idea but said it would have to be for them to choose if they wanted to do so, he would rotate some of his freemen, but the convicts would have to choose and would be informed that they would be under double the scrutiny if they abused such a position. Once he had met with the Doctor he would leave for the meeting or War Council, blissfully unaware that yet more ships had landed on his coast. Baez would have to deal with that.


It was fairly dark when Baez was informed of the new arrivals and the fact that all other heads of factions seemed to be attending a meeting and so he went with some men to protect him to meet with the fellow. He would use Maeders office on the ship, that had yet to be properly repurposed yet. Politely inviting them in and discussing politics with them, however he would have a couple skilled and an unskilled worker with him to advise him, for he was not a political man.

@Prince Vaethorion @Leusis @SpiralErrant @Heyitsjiwon

 

[SpiralErrant]

War Meeting!

@Leusis @General Deth Glitch @Heyitsjiwon
​

So the gathered representatives and their crews met up on the tyren hills and entered the tent Orm had set up for this meeting, far away from prying ears and positioned to have a good view of the the terrain across the river. The large tent had a circle of chairs and large rocks formed around its edges where each could sit and the bare dirt had been scratched at with sticks to make basic depictions of the river and the lands that flanked it on each side. Orm sat at the far end of the tent with Bruul and Shul beside him. One was to talk strategy, the other to help Orm with any words that would be needed. By the looks of things the others had already come prepared as each walked in with rough and ready clothing and armour.


Orm started things up, with shul providing translation as he went on more comfortably in his native tongue.


"The chief thanks you each for coming and for support shown. Most already know that opening talks with the gnolls of the forest failed last night and lead to an attack on Hrun'taras... and costing the lives of some of our people. Now the question is how to carry on and secure future safety." The smaller tyren said, addressing the gathering as formally as he was able.


Bruul took over from there in his more gruff way. He and Orm may have been tense after the prodding Bruul had given him earlier but the two had butted heads in the past and were old enough to put things aside for greater dealings. "Our caravan's faced gnolls some in the past. They're hunters by nature, real wolf and pack folk. If they sniff weakness in possible prey they'll pounce for it. Settled ones like these more than any other for them lacking a nomad's need to tread soft. Strength is what drives 'em, further than most. If we want to sleep through a night without listenin' for howls then we need to defang these dogs. Make 'em see we aren't prey to be hunted and hit 'em back hard enough to make sure the can't even if they want to."


Orm stepped back in with Shul's speech converting his words. "There's also the other clan in the woods. The masked folk. Our own folk met them once before when scouting the river where one of their warriors threw a spear their way. From what we saw last night it seems safe to say these ones and the gnolls are already fighting each other fierce and aim to pull us into it as well. So our meaning for this meeting is to pool all the knowledge our seperate folks have gathered on these two sides and plan on how best to act on it."


For their own share though the tyren seemed to have very little to share on their foes. What they could offer was that the gnolls and the masked folk had fought last night and done some damage to the forest itself, along with the destruction of some of the treeline thanks to Bruul, giving some clear space between the riverbank and the forest.


They could tell without a doubt that the gnolls dipped their arrows in poison. A sleeping or calming thing that could soften prey up for their fighters. Orm himself had seen a large formation of them up close last night, showing that some of them at least had both armour and shields, maybe not of a good make but a working one.


The mask folk on the other hand seemed to fight with cruder gear or at least the ones they'd found so far did, their armour mostly being leather and the bones of gnolls and other hornless. They also painted themselves in mud to mask their scent, as Rahg and his warriors had seen, making them harder for the tyren to sniff out. However the two tyren present last night had gotten a good whiff when Rahg had cut one open and its blood had smelled like that of an elf. They openly said they didn't know what to make of that and wondered if Belanor could shed some light. The fact that one tried to attack them all while alone made Bruul think that the masks were even more aggressive in their ways than the gnolls that lived closer.


Of casualties from the night's fighting there were three tyren. Both and elder and a youngster as well as the warrior who'd drawn fire away from the camp. Shul said a little charm at the mention of the fallen out of respect as Bruul seemed to bristle at the subject. Orm seemed unreadable by hornless standards but the sorrow was clear on his face to any who knew how to read his kind.


As for the other sides, they only knew of the one masked elf being slain by Rahg's blade and the handful of gnolls that had been killed by Bruul's gambit with the boulder. Along with the gnolls that had tried to attack the elves and humans that had crossed the bridge. (Afterall Orm and Rahg were still on the bridge when the fight went down, as far as they knew the two other parties had come in open peace when the gnolls attacked, as gnolls usually did in their experience). Besides all that there had been plenty of fighting between the natives as well as rocks and arrows being thrown into the gnoll lines but there was no way of telling what damage had been done, if any.

 

[General Deth Glitch]

War Council

​

Maeder walked into the meeting and was greeted warmly by the Tyren. All the Tyren seemed able to tell him was what he already knew. There were two forces, the fact one had elvish blood, or at least seemed to was most certainly odd but likely not the fault of any elves on their side. However Meader did think that it may be something they could use "If they are of your folk, perhaps some of your brothers who traveled to this new land long before your memories serve, could we perhaps use what you know about yourselves and your history against them?" Then he moved over to the crude battle-map, politely taking a stick. "From what me men an' I could tell, this area" he then marked it on the map "Seems to be avoided all around, no one seems to like it overly much. It seemed wholly undisturbed despite the fact that it seemed to be on their warpath, as though both sides made an effort to avoid it. On top of that, they aint 'alf bad at body removal. Even most of the dead were taken away with them, making it hard to gauge any real info about them or their numbers or, even, how big a dent we made." Then he marked two lines lightly in the earthen map. "I advice clearing the area between these lines of trees, allowing us to, hopefully, avoid a Gnoll ambush should we decide to push across the bridge, starting on clearing our side and then theirs." Then he felt the need to reiterate "As I said they are good at removing bodies so despite the search we did, we found some masked ones lying dead but chose to leave them, for we were deep in their land and hoped to stay hidden, but other then the very small number of dead Gnolls near the bridge we found non. Despite the impressive defense we managed we have no way of telling if the Gnolls are weak or just as strong as ever. Personally I vote to push the attack before either of our foes regather their wits and, potentially, call allies. We don't know if there are more Gnoll encampments and villages out there ready to help and we knew even less about the masked folks strength and numbers." he said.


Meanwhile Baez, still weak, was awaiting the two gentlemen in Maeders office. His breathing was far from steady and he needed some help getting to the office. He had sent word to Maeder and the warcouncil but did not know when it would arrive. On either side of him stood two convicts, both armed but among Baez's more trusted former companions.

 

[Beckoncall]

Dr. Flemming bid the soldiers to unbar the door and go after the were-matron… just as they opened the door, the hulking semi-bipedal rat pulled a rack of bars away from the wall near the corner of the basement. Hissing and spitting behind her, she quickly wriggled down into the sewers, the sound of shallow splashing leading away.


Steeling themselves, the Attolian soldiers mantled down into the sewer one by one and quickly set off in the direction of the noise halberds shouldered with torches raised. They moved quickly at first, there being only one direction to go, but as the water channel widened on a turn they began to slow down to listen for their quarry. Two soldiers climbed a ladder up to the lip of the water channel to scout from above with the other three moving down the channel to make sure she wouldn’t get past them. A collapsed sewer tunnel veered off to the left, and the channel forward lead to a giant grille almost rusted into one solid piece. A passage turned right, leading into a deep stepwell, at the bottom of which they could hear bars shaking. –Clank! Clang! Clank!- –Clank! Clang! Clank!-


They slowly descended the stepwell, seeing the soggy rat-tracks the matron left as she scurried down the spiral. Her attempts at getting lost in the sewers seemed frustrated below… and the tugging and clanking stopped for a moment before resuming more frantically.


At the bottom of the stepwell, layers of mold, fetid mushrooms, and fungus grew unchecked in the dank, moist oubliette below. A locked and rusted gate seemed the only way forward, and the Matron sagged against it, panting – before turning around to face her pursuers. She was quick, but not as quick as three of the soldiers. Dropping their torches about on the floor, one soldier hung back to hold two torches aloft to assure that darkness would not be the matron’s ally – the firebearer fell back a ways up the staircase, so that if the matron charged she would have to cross his flames to escape.


A Halberd swung above her head and another thrust past her as the were-matron dodged… The third soldier however, thrust true and pierced the already wounded and now fatigued were-rat at the center of its chest. It’s long yellow and jutting teeth bared as the matron’s wholly black eyes went full wide. Blood poured out of the creature in great gouts, and with force and volume enough to extinguish one of the dropped torches shedding light. The rest of the soldiers wasted no time running the beast through, and the torch-bearer too fell upon her and set her fur aflame. Not trusting that such a creature would die easily, they disemboweled it, piled some wood debris collected among the mold and the damp and meticulously built a fire under her. It took some work to get the sodden debris to burn, but once it got going it began to consume the matron utterly – the rotten wood quickly flooding the bottom of the stepwell with thick and greasy smoke. They quickly excused themselves, and picked their way slowly back to the tunnel where they could again return to the in…


At about this time – Jav, Tomaz, and the rest of the Attolian police squad saw they were almost to the Inn… the tension was palpable, a couple of the citizens they were escorting were particularly shifty… they kept looking back at them. They knew that when they reached the Inn this situation was going to shake out one way or another, and likely not neat and clean…


Just then all 8 of the exiles fell to their knees, onto their faces, or onto their backs. As if candles blown out all at once they were immediately thrown into a very deep slumber. At first the Attolians were incredulous, but with minor scrutiny it became obvious this was no ruse. Under close guard they sent one sentry to get aid in moving them at the Inn, only to find when they arrived there that the soldiers had slain the Primogenitor of the Were-plague… They would be taken to Dr. Flemming for observation – but it was believed highly likely that this gruesome threat to the colony had finally been overcome – and not a moment too soon!


@Leusis @General Deth Glitch


WERERAT THREAT ELIMINATED!


ATTOLIANS PRIMARY ACCOLADES: +3 INFLUENCE!


WOOD ELVES (HELPED WITH CURE): +1 INFLUENCE!


EXILES (UNCOVERED PLAGUE, TOME): +1 INFLUENCE!


(-1 unskilled worker for exiles: The matron rat!)





Although there is some friction relating to how suddenly the conspiracy was uncovered, and the means the cure was administered, a great many exiles slowly put aside their grudging attitude toward the Attolian interference, and in the days to come much prestige and approval comes to the direction of Dr. Flemming. He is asked (by exiles and Attolians alike) to open a clinic in the ‘Platz so people with health concerns or injuries might be able to seek help there… The Doctor would need effort and resources for such a thing, and he wondered if it was within possibility to bring together a healing community among all the colonists…


@General Deth Glitch :


There was also the matter of the vile tome of rat-magic -- what secrets might it hold, what threat could it pose, now that the Were-plague has been cured?

 

[SpiralErrant]

The bulls were all in agreement on that. The dogs had already shown they could reach into Hrun'taras and if the Tyren wished to stay then that would have to be countered quickly. If they could strike while the forest dwellers weakened each other then all the better.


Maeder's own mention of the cleared bodies wasn't wholly unexpected though Bruul was irked at it clouding their view of the matter. "I hear tale some gnoll clans eat their dead. See off the spirit, carry its strength." He grunted. Maybe that was something they could use, though the thought sat ill with him.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

The Platz

​

Doctor Flemming sighed a breath of relief as he saw the soldiers who chased after the were rat matron return without a hitch. The deed was done and while minimizing losses as much as possible. Granted some did not make it since they were far too into the process of turning, but considering the potential scale of the threat they were acceptable losses. Still, the mood in the inn was somber despite the success that they had accomplished. He tended to a few of the exiles who seemed to still feel ill, but he quickly excused himself from the inn once everyone was tended to. After all, his job was done. The rest just needed time to understand what had just happened and rest.


Once the Attolians left the inn, Dr. Flemming turned to the five soldiers who chased after the matron and said "You men should move on and head off to the Tyren camp. I'm sure that Lord Lothar is expecting you. Thank you all for your good work today. You have helped to stop an illness that could have led to the end of this entire colony. I will make sure that Lord Caelis hears of your valiant efforts." The men saluted before they began marching off towards the war council. Dr. Flemming turned to the patrolmen and his two body guards and said "Well done, gentlemen. Who knows what may have happened if that group left the settlement. For now, you are all dismissed, and may continue your patrols." With that, they went off on their way as well.


In the days to come, some cursed at him. They were convinced that some of their friends could have been saved and that their cure was a crude cleaver that indiscriminately killed the infected. But, for the most part, people came to thank him for his quick response to the potential epidemic. In fact, some of the men requested that he open up a clinic so that people with concerns can come to him. That way people who have early stages of a virulent illness could come to him and be quickly treated before it spread. It was a very attractive idea, but he was the only person that he knew of who could be called a proper doctor. They would need a lot of skilled manpower and resources to start up a clinic that could serve hundreds of people. He suspected that he could convince Caelis to help fund this project of his. Plus, there were numerous basements around the platz that could serve as the basis of the clinic if they couldn't get a proper building up any time soon. But, the issue remained, who else could help treat people? Dr. Flemming was still a part of Caelis' council, so he couldn't spend all his time at the clinic. Of the Attolians, he figured that only up to 5 of them could be considered competent enough to work at the clinic. He figured that he would have to ask around and see if there were others in the colony with medical knowledge who would like to work at this clinic. He retrieved some parchment and began to draft a letter.


Summary:


5 Soldiers march off to join Lothar at the Tyren Camp


7 Soldiers are now patrolling the area


Total Soldiers: 20


10 at Tyren Camp


3 in Watchtower


7 Patrolling the Platz


@SpiralErrant @General Deth Glitch @Leusis


Dr. Flemming drafts a letter to all the communities to see if they have any people skilled in medicine that they would like to contribute to open up a proper clinic in the colony


"Attolians are forming a healer's guild. They are contributing 5 skilled workers versed in medical knowledge to help form this organization."


---


Lothar sat in on the War Council and here were leaders and representatives of all the factions. He listened to what each had to say, but he found some... inconsistencies in what was said. What seemed to be stated was that there was an attempt at open conversation with these gnolls, but this attempt was met with hostility that led to the Tyren Camp being attacked. While Lothar knew that the intelligence of the gnolls were... questionable, he still did not believe that they were stupid enough to instigate another war while already at war with the masked men of the south. In addition, if the gnolls did desire to attack the Tyren camp and instigate a war, then why would they attempt to do so when there was an army ready to fight in front of the entrance to their homes? These gnolls, Lothar believed, were smarter than normal especially when one considers how they formed a functioning village. That was something that Lothar had never heard of as gnolls typically travelled in packs or large hordes. This was the first time that he had heard of a settled group of gnolls. This was also the first time that he heard of gnolls fighting in proper rank and file rather than as a rabble.


In the end, no matter what kind of gnolls these were, logic would dictate that the gnolls would launch a surprise attack suddenly and quickly before their target was prepared in an attempt to wipe them out before the colonists did something, but the gnolls did not do that. Rather, the group managed to make and cross a bridge unharassed. Any hostile force would have attacked right when they were crossing. Lothar was skeptical of what was being said by in the council because the words of the other factions did not make sense when the actions of the gnolls are considered. He believed that the gnolls were instigated to attack because of something that the Elves and Tyren did otherwise their actions would make no sense, and now... the rest of the colony was being dragged into a conflict where some of the colonists were likely the instigators. Lothar wanted to fight. It was what he was trained to do all his life, but when people were trying to mislead him or intentionally leave out certain information... well he didn't look upon that very fondly. Lothar continued to politely listen to what was said. After all, they had only arrived after the fight was over and had not seen any of the action.


However, as the council turned into discussing how to attack the gnolls, Lothar spoke up "Gentlemen, if I may intrude, the Attolians are more than willing to help defend against any aggression against the colony. However, I bear some grievances. I have heard that the first attempted peace talk consisted of numerous armed men. I am sorry, but if armed men showed up in front of my doorstep suddenly and in force... I would be ready for a fight. Would you not consider one more attempt at reaching a peaceful resolution? We Attolians were not a part of the fighting, so perhaps the gnolls will not draw their weapons at the first sight of us if we attempted without bearing arms and brought peace offerings."

 

[Leusis]

Sitting silently as the others spoke Belanor would slowly begin drawing on the crude map shaped from the dirt with his finger. In rather impressive detail creating two small settlements, a waterfall placed closely to one of them. Then drawing a straight line from the Tyren Camp to each of the Gnoll villages he would detail the exact distance between them from point A to point B. This gave the others in the tent the exit distance the gnoll villages were from their current location, as well as their locations.


Looking up at the human who had just began speaking Belanor would wait for him to cease. "I will give you 24 hours to prove peace can be achieved, send your men and gifts if you would like, but I will give you no protection once you cross into that forest. My men will stay where they are most needed, and that is protecting the Tyren from another possible skirmisher attack from across the river". Slowly looking back down at the villages he created on the dirt map he would slowly draw an X above each of them. "If you are attacked or return without peace, the gnolls will be wiped off the map entirely. I will not sit idle while Orm and his people are under the threat of another gnoll attack, so I suggest you hurry". His words were spoken as if he was giving an ultimmatum to a child, purposely meant to jab at the mans pride. After all, Belanor knew who this man represented, he knew that their leader was little more than the lap dog of the Muurdaan, and Belanor knew it well. His colors and armor were something commonly seen in the empires armies, and were commonly seen among the men who destroyed the civilizations of Belanor's kin. Its certain none of the Attolians here had anything to do with these actions as they had taken place well of a century before the current date. But that did not mean that Belanor did not hold a grudge against them for the actions of their ancestors.


- Give Attolians 24 hours to achieve peace or war will commence with the gnolls.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

As Lothar listened to the elf speak, he couldn't help but find some of what he said to be a bit amusing. In fact, if he wasn't used to dealing with people all the time, he might have even bursted out in laughter. The elf seemed like he was attempting to admonish or lecture him, but such was the haughty nature of elves. He had seen it before and this was nothing new. Still, there was a concerning factor. It appeared that the elves would act in the event that the Tyren were attacked, but not the Attolians. Pity. Lothar thought. The elves were steadfast in their resistance to the Empire during the pacification wars, which was admirable... however at some point one had to wonder at what cost? Was fighting for your right to rule worth more than the duty to your people and their lives?


Yes, the Attolians were among the armies that burned their forests to the ground. However, it was also the Attolians who sought to care for those who remained in the ashes. It was commonly known in the courts of Attolia that while many voices in the Empire demanded that the elves be reduced to slaves for their impetuous actions the Attolians petitioned for leniency. Still, this elf seemed to be focused on the fact that the Attolian colors flew amongst the flags during combat rather than when the Attolian colors flew above the caravans that came to help rebuild. It appeared that the gnolls would not be offered the same leniency that the elves were given and rather genocide was the only recourse that the elves saw fit.


Lothar couldn't change how people thought, but he found the words of the elf to be sanctimonious. There was one simple way to respond to such a person who demands something. Overwhelm them with courtesy, politeness, and reason that they would lose face if they were to completely disagree to a counteroffer. Once the elf finished speaking, Lothar replied politely in an even tone "Lord Elf, I assure you that no one here would consider sitting idly if this settlement were attacked. As we pledged to help defend the Tyren settlement from unwarranted aggression, that pledge is extended to your people as well. However, there is one aspect of the peace attempt that I should elaborate upon. It will not be a man that will broker peace. Neigh, rather, I intend to bring a woman, a representation of nurture and grace. Even the most simple minded savage would understand that there is no intention to fight if women are present. Thus, the simple act of conveying all of this back to the platz would take the better part of a day. Then there is the matter of having the representatives arriving here as well. Unfortunately, we are not gifted with the speed and grace of your people, and thus require more time to travel. Thus, I do take your suggestion to heart, but 24 hours is infeasible. 72 hours would be much more fitting. The first day to prepare and arrive at our destination, the second to initiate contact, build trust, and better understand their culture and language, and the third to discuss and settle terms for a peace agreement or at the very least a truce. Of course, if peace ends up not an option, then we must resort to other means. However, 3 days is not an exorbitant price to pay in order to pursuit peace. Would you not agree, Lord Elf?"


Lothar framed his last question intentionally. He understood that the elves considered months and years to be inconsequential amounts of time due to their long lives. Rather, they thought in terms of decades if not centuries. So, for an elf to nitpick over a few days would be quite alarming and highlight the Elf's war-hawkish nature and bloodthirst if the Elf did decide to do so. Besides, the life of an elf was very precious to them, and Lothar was rather surprised that the Elves were insisting on fighting a war that would put lives of their brethren at risk rather than avoid the conflict. The elves could easily walk away from the settlement and away from this mess. Afterall, it seemed that the gnolls had no interest beyond the forest. Otherwise, the Tyren would have been attacked or at least warned the moment they arrived here, but based on what Lothar had heard the only similar thing that the Tyren received were from the masked men when one threw a spear across the river. Thus, it seemed to Lothar that there were some ulterior motives among the elves to destroy every single gnoll village rather than simply defend the Tyren since elves rarely care for those of other races. Perhaps it was to claim the forest for themselves. Lothar could only suspect, but the last thing he wanted was to be dragged into a war that could have been prevented.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Prince Vaethorion @General Deth Glitch





Wordlessly, A white-wood skiff of the high elves silently glides to shore and almost as swiftly they plant their oars in unison and equidistantly - halting silently and immediately in the shallows. Moments after, another skiff, and another slides alongside it – as the elves coarse towards land they see the broad shallows punctured below the surface into the deep and by darkness seemingly bottomless “shark-holes” – because the profiles of the elven craft did not make much disturbance, the elves were able to see firsthand how full of tiger-sharks the deeps, and to a lesser extent the shallows were. There would be no dock-making by night – between dusk and dawn any person in the shallows was doubtless at risk if they were in the water outside of a craft… Upon making landfall and with a coincidental turn of the wind, the odor of stinking chum assaulted their nostrils. All along the beach it seemed were signs of where folk – likely already-arrived colonists, had gutted, cleaned, and hung sharks all along the beach – some kind of crude industry was being made of fishing them… and it was a mess. Rivulets of shark-blood ran from the sand from several presently unoccupied camps, eventually meeting the waves that lapped at the beach and made apparent yet another reason the sharks were so active near the shore.


The elves quickly examined the fishing camps – and saw crude barrels of some kind of fat over fires – from the heaps of rodent hair and other effects, it seemed the people here during the day use these metal-shod barrels of fat to flash-fry or at least quickly skin… capybaras? Capybara skulls and tails lay amid the piles of fur. The smell was sweet in a disgusting sort of way, the cold grease and the rotten blood made the youngest among the high-elves cough… pinning elegant veils anointed with oils and herbs to the open-faces of their helms, they proceeded to fan out…


They immediately found the ship-wreck of one of the previous colony craft – it was obvious it had only come to rest here months if not weeks ago – elsewhere on the beach much older wrecks could be seen further up the beach, as if pushed up towards the cliffs by ancient storms. Far on the other side of the beach was another wreck… but it showed many signs of occupation – laundry lines, strewn effects and garbage – a crude but sound fortification built out of supply crates, that blocked most of the way inland.


“Inform the… Captain that the wreck by our landing zone would make ready materials for a dock, should daylight make it safer from the sharks.”


The Swordsmen rapidly fanned out, Some taking points on the rocks about the beach as they swept and cleared… while this area seemed to be an area of normally high activity, it seemed at this time of night, and perhaps for some reason now more than normally, the area was deserted… plans were made to examine the seemingly occupied wreck, then go further inland through the barricade of crates.


The Engineer, still on deck, assessed the situation – the rudder under the vessel would become inextricably stuck if they attempted to move into the shallows – but the ready supply of sea-worthy waste-wood in the wrecks would promise by daylight, if a concerted effort was made, a dock could be run over the shallows between the “shark-holes” up to the sea-shelf, where their craft was presently anchored. It would delay the unloading of almost all of their supplies – but unless commanded otherwise the Engineer thought it a simple exchange to remain seaworthy. The Engineer noted the Sloop and Attolian craft – The colors of the lap-dogs of the Muurdaan were easily recognizable, they too had chosen to keep their crafts offshore – though without a dock harsh weather would punish them for doing so… The dock might not only be the civilized thing to do, but perhaps an early contribution to the colony as well… if what can be seen so far could be called a colony, that is.


“It’s too quiet on shore” One of the Swordmasters posed – “Wouldn’t it be typical if we go ashore and find most if not all of them already dead to disease, starvation, or infighting?”


“You heard our vaunted Captain, Erilidar – keep such musings on the deck of this ship and out of earshot of our new neighbors…” The fellow Swordmaster flashed the tiniest spark of a wry grin before returning to narrow-eyed composure “That is, if they are not all dead of disease, starvation, or infighting…” Erildar gave an almost imperceptible nod back. Gallows humor. What cursed place had fate brought them to this time?


Almost immediately after getting a lay of the land a lookout on the beached ship on the other end of the shore spotted them and called them out. Vaethorion and his Linguist were invited aboard the wreck that the “Exiles” seemed to think was a kind of club-house. A club house that stank of a recent sea-voyage… how quaint. Lead into the Captain’s stateroom Vaethorion is greeted by two tattooed criminals, each flanking what might be the largest hulk of a human either he or his Linguist had ever seen. Scars, the wrinkles of cold rather than the premature aging of humans wracked his features… Likely a Tundra-Barbarian… their leader was a tundra-barbarian? Giant teeth, like gaming dice spread along a tired grin of welcome that was more perfunctory than sincere. He bid them sit, and wait briefly – that their own interpreter “was coming.” Vaethorion almost instantly grew bored, but maintained decorum in the awkward silence. The linguist made quick work of translating his assistants many prison tattoos – One was a murderer by the looks of it, the freshest tattoo was of a red dragon crudely covering over the words “Mutineer” and “Never Loyal”… Just when Vaethorion thought that this awkward staring contest had gone on forever, “Baez” – the barbarian called himself – Produced a bottle of EXQUISITE old-world wine in an offer of hospitality… Vaethorion considered the gesture much as if he might have followed a dung beetle into a burrow and been offered the finest Crème’ Brule’. Rather than drink it from the filthy mugs offered, the Linguist, well equipped with most odds and ends for diplomacy and savior faire, produced a compact set of telescoping stem-ware… the kind high elven officers drink their own wine from during entrenchments… Baez snapped the glass neck off of the bottle and poured for the Elves, then an almost symbolic amount for himself. Baez furrowed his brow as if he had backed himself into a corner – he rose his glass and as the High Elves drank, he quickly passed his cup to one of his agents who drank the wine instead.


“Baez sometimes forgets he is priest of Dracos now. Priest cannot drink, even though I may offend. Rimak drinks my portion so you know we do not try to poison you.”


The uncomfortable silence returned, swooping down like a pall over the room. But the wine was very good… good wine made most things tolerable, Vaethorion remarked to himself.


A moment later, a few bedraggled and gasping persons fumbled their way into the room -- it seemed these emissaries had run, or perhaps tumbled, all the way down the cliffside to make this meeting. They explained that “Maeder”, their “Boss” – was indisposed, but they were here to assist in navigating the formalities of their being welcomed to the colony. At least these folk seemed like they could read – of the three, a weaver, a scribe, and of all things a Florist formed the “Delegation” to greet the High Elf leader and their faction… if this was a joke, it seemed a little too clever for these folks to be pulling it…


They did their best, and amicably so, however – Baez let on that the Exiles, or many of them at least, were adherents of a Far-West Dragon-cult… They adulated some real or imaginary entity they called “Dracos” – The command structure of the Exiles consisted of around a dozen West-folk who seemed to be infamous guerilla-murderers of Encroaching Muurdaani… banished here as part of a treaty brokered with the Eternal Empire. This at least was impressive -- Muurdaan never leave foes alive without reason. The rest were desperate poor, and thrown-away prisoners sent to serve their life (or death) sentences as grist for the mill in the new world. They were disgusting people, but they had heart… Vaethorion’s Linguist gave them that.


Vaethorion might have been even more impressed when he heard the florist address them in a passable dialect of high-elvish! It seemed this woman, “Aithche”, before horrible twist of poor fortune, learned plant-craft and arts at an Arboretum-school in Taesh-Sulthaar, one that in fact had been founded by one of Vaethorion’s most recently-born nieces. Not allowing this surprise to alter his outward affectation (not the least reason being his cover) – he nonetheless bid his Linguist to turn the communion in her direction – the woman, though plain, had a voice more pleasant to him than the scribe, or the weaver, or the boiling quarry of rocks Baez called a mouth – and he began to relax a bit more with his wine.


Plying with questions, Vaethorion pressed that his intentions were not hostile, and did his best to diplomatically put his hosts at ease so that they might get the best out of their audience… The scribe presented them with a crude map of much that had been explored thus far, with various scribblings that hinting at this and that all about – clockmen, idols, bones, places where wood elves and minotaurs lived in the woods and hills to the North. Lots of gossip, little of substance.


…There was mention of a plague of some kind recently overcome by the Exiles and Attolians working together… a Hero, “Doc Flemming” had supposedly lead the colonists to overcome “rat-men” – that was the most recent news. Also, that Maeder and other leaders were holding some kind of “War Council” in a camp in the northern hills – The enemies were supposedly wolf-people and… did Vaethorion hear that correctly? “Wolf… no DOG… Dog-men…” (blinking) Yes… she said “Elf rapists.” This was likely a horrible misapplication of the elven tongue, and the inflection left ambiguous whether they were rapist elves or some creatures that raped elves. Again, the talk became awkward. Vaethorion had little time for these commoners at this point anyway – if there was a gathering elsewhere where leaders and decision-makers were gathering, he should tarry no longer here. The linguist took the crude maps and manifests of goods (food?) that were available in “The ‘Platz” – the seeming central-market of the colony… and they excused themselves. They knew a rough layout of the land, and the names of several people of note… Apparently there was some grand feast at the top of the cliffs preceding a levy of volunteer troops to fight “the dogs” – If a fight was brewing somewhere in land, if the elves wanted any part of it they would have to show strong initiative it would seem…


…Were Vaethorion’s men already bound for bloodshed with less than an hour of land under their feet? The prince had many decisions to make… getting swept up in this fulminating conflict was merely one of them. Taking leave of the fetid club-house of the exiles, Vaethorion drained the last of his field-chalice before handing it back to the Linguist. His mage greeted him on the shore – the vanguard of the spearmen already landing to assess to start of the dock-building for morning…


The mage waved a runic arc in greeting to Vaethorion, his face pointed, consternated.


“I have no idea what we shall find inland… Captain… but the islands off the coast glow in poor omen… I have pulled at the ley-lines that criss-cross the inside of the barrier – and the island to the west is a beacon advertising an ancient danger… to the east – We may look by day but there may be a boat moored there – but what I can see clearly is necromancy. Not much, but the stink of corruption is unmistakable. Be wary, leader. There may be would-be enemies even among our would-be “friends”…

 

[SpiralErrant]

@Heyitsjiwon


Orm listened as the brightly dressed human rambled on for all to listen, Shul relaying the words in his ear as they went. This one seemed to spin talk like a spider did web, needing five words where any other could have used one. A poor sign in Orm's personal experience.


Though they at least shared a common wish to avoid fighting. Even if Orm doubted their motives. The elves and Dracosi had stood by his people and helped them since the beginning, even leaping to their aid and risky life and limb. Yet all he'd known of the Attolians was waffling words and insults as so many hornless had offered.


["We should still try."] Orm muttered to his advisors.


["You can't be serious?"] Bruul scoffed.


["I don't fully know what happened last night but I know it was a disaster from start to finish. I know none will listen to reason when blood runs wild, better than any here. For the soul of our people and our ancestors I must try."] Orm stamped his hoof as if to silence any argument the shaman might have before addressing the tent himself.


"We... want peace most." He managed to put together, looking at each hornless in turn. "Feel safe in... Home."


He motioned to Shul and asked him to take over in translation.


"The chief says he has not given up on peace. That he wants to go talk with the gnolls under the sun. But our young have been killed and could be again, so he'd use today as a chance to plan for the worst. We know gnolls well from experience and it is a slim chance we take." Shul then cocked his head and listened as Orm went into seemingly greater detail.


"And he doesn't trust you." He said bluntly, pointing at Lothar. "He says we've had your d-diplomacy and it was your leaders coming here. Telling our people where they should live for his ease and learn his language for his ease. That he called our shaman and our folk like animals when he thought they could not understand him. Oh yeah!" Shul perked up and seemed to go off script. "Yeah I heard about that! Yeah half the camp heard him AND understood him. I mean YOU'RE even throwing the word savage around like you already think that of the lot anyway." It was possible Shul had licked some frogs before this meeting. He kinda wished he had some now as he felt all these eyes on him. "So uh... yeah all... all signs say you're bad at this. He says he'll meet them as folk of fur and tail."


Oh no... that'd mean Shul would have to go! Well- well he'd done okay with the snakes right.

 

[Leusis]

Belanor listened to the Attolian man, he was more intelligent than he gave him credit for, but he was still a mayfly. He understood how to make a counter offer, and how to try and hide the fact he was attempting to push Belanor into a corner. Sadly for him however this was not Belanor's first conversation, in fact Belanor was likely an adult long before this individuals great great grandfather was born. "You'll have your three days, but if you are unable to accomplish peace I still have every intention of wiping out the gnolls, as well as the mud elves, or masked people as I've heard the people at the beach call them". Sitting and thinking of the Attolians, Belanor amused himself with the thought that this man truly thought anything he or his people ever did was truly peace. Not only did they destroy cultures, but they then forced their own upon what was once unique, calling it rebuilding. No doubt this man knew nothing of this, as such short lived races are generally ignorant of the fact many of the elves they conquered centuries ago are still alive. And yet the Attolians still question why wood elves have no trust or care for them. If only they could imagine somebody coming to their home, burning it down and then the arsonist telling them to get over it.

 

[Beckoncall]

@General Deth Glitch @Leusis @SpiralErrant @Heyitsjiwon


At the Inn, the "departure feast" sullied somewhat by the fact it might actually have been entirely a ruse to root out were-creatures, came to a close. Baez had left for some official capacity and Doctor Flemming had moved on as well. Shortly afterwards a couple of the workers were called down by Baez to welcome some more newcomers on the beach. These were exciting times... and not in the best of ways.


Nevertheless, 60 convicts volunteered to serve in the fight against the Gnolls. Maeder had raised the call, and along with his countrymen he would have additional support. More might have taken up arms, but it seemed many of those exposed that were not slain by the cure were instead greatly fatigued when the Matron was slain... some kind of connection to the curse had drained them with it's passing. Still others Insisted that some must hang back and defend the Depression, and the 'Platz, in Maeder's Absence... 20 convicts put forth the sentiment that they wished they could fight to earn their freedom, but the old, the young, and the weak in Maeder's camp needed their protection.


60 convicts stand ready to join Maeder's and will march for him against the Gnolls.


(Unless @General Deth Glitch /Maeder calls them away, 20 convicts join forces as patrolmen with the Attolians)


Still others express they are either afraid or think it is reckless to go out to fight the dog-men on their own ground -- They would like a fight, but in a dark wood? After so much excitement already? They would earn the favor of the boss some other way...

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Lothar nodded and replied "If peace is not an option, then war is our only option. But, I have no intention in seeing this attempt to broker peace fail, Lord Elf." Lothar turned to the leader of the Tyren and replied "Thank you for your support, Chief Orm. Although, I must express some concern as that is very much not like my brother. However, if that is indeed what you did hear, then I apologize on behalf of him. I am sure that he had good intentions after all we are meant to support each other in this new world. But, the way that it was conveyed seems to have been flawed as I can assure you that he had no intention of offending your people. Still, I do apologize for the earlier incident and hope that we can work together in the days to come. As for Cheif Orm's desire to partake in this 2nd attempt, I would not recommend that he not be present for the first contact. I do not want the gnolls to be any more agressive than they already are and seeing a combatant from last night would not help placate them. However, if we manage to begin speaking with the gnolls, then I would not be as concerned with the Chief participating and being present." as he finished, Lothar thought of Lady Cassandra. Perhaps she could try and see the fate of this attempt at peace? When he finished talking one of his soldiers whispered into his ear.


It appeared that 5 more Attolian soldiers had arrived and 60 convicts of the Exiles were en route as well. They had amassed a significant force here. But, more surprising was news of the were rats, which was incidently resolved decisively. Lothar turned to look at Maeder and then the leader of the elves. He then said out loud "Well, then gentlemen. It appears that the infestation back at the depression is now under control. I am sorry for the losses that your men saw in the treatment of the affected. Also, Lord Elf, thank you for your assistance. I hear that one of your people helped to create the cure for the plague. Your assistance is most certainly appeciated." He then looked at Orm again and said "My Lord has sent 5 additional soldiers to help protect this settlement. I hope, while you may not trust us now based on our words, that our commitment and actions will prove otherwise."


Summary:


Within a 72 hour time limit.


The Attolians will attempt to initiate peace talks with the gnolls once more. However, the 1st party will feature at least 1 woman and nothing that could be visibly threatening. The current tenative roster is (if everyone else agrees):


A woman (Lady Cassandra perhaps?)


The linguist


and two men bearing food and gifts


The plan is for the group to wait at the outskirts of the forest with their offerings for the gnolls until they show up.


Before this is attempted though, Lady Cassandra is asked if she could tell the future and if this attempt will be successful or if there's anything that could be done to improve their fate.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Heyitsjiwon :


AT THE WATCHTOWER:


“Di’yoo hear it THAT time?” The sentry said. This was the sixth time, and Dorian, first alarmed, then supportive, had since become annoyed with Blaze’s repeated insistence that somewhere down in the ruins a bell was ringing. It was windy up in the watchtower, but Dorian and Maison had shifted to the stance that Blaze was crying wolf… Everyone had heard that there were evil spirits in the ruins, it’s why they built the tower in the first place – but it was bad enough they had something to actually watch for, much unwelcome was the idea of jumping at every shadow – or at least having to sit a whole shift with Blaze insisting something was amiss…


“rrrrriiiiinnnngg!” Blaze saw his comrades had heard it that time. Small and tinny, like a little hand-held temple-bell…


“You ‘eard it that time! Tell me you dint!” – Blazes compatriots were silent, instead grabbing for their halberds that were racked behind them.


Far below, they could see what appeared to be two little lights in the ruins below… no… not lights, EYES… the kinds of eyes that dogs and cats have at night, when they reflect the light – the brazier-fire that shed light all around the tower shone down on whatever was down there, and the light was bouncing back at them from some misbegotten thing with nightvision... Blaze leaned over, and he saw a crimson-red – like a mural-devil red – hand hold up a bell and ring it again…


“rrrrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnnggggg!” the bell was swung like a fishing reel to make it’s noise, the gesture the strange three-fingered crimson paw made seemed to beckon them.


Dorian hadn’t seen the hand – but he dropped a torch in the space between the tower and where the eyes were, and shouted “Who goes there!?” – Blaze was speechless, but grabbed for his halberd as well… he had spent hours trying to get the ears of his compatriots that now that he had them words failed him… he stammered and blithered… “R-rred-red-man, govs.”


The torch fully lit the thing that crouched in the debris below… Showing a five-some-foot tall impish thing, that promptly stopped ringing the bell when the torch hit the ground. It looked at the light cast on itself confusedly… and put the bell away. The sentries prepared to raise the alarm, but they did not want to provoke the aggression of the creature, or scare it away, until they could gather more information about it… well, Dorian wanted to, oh HOW he wanted to, but his compatriots stayed his hand…


...The imp-thing, seemingly naked except for a cross of bandoliers about his torso – kneeled again where the torch fell, with similar alarm and incredulity as the sentries above looking down. It reached for the torch as if it expected it to vanish at the slightest touch, or for his center-claw to at least pass through it... it pulled it’s crimson claw/paw/whatever it was (It didn’t seem to have nails or talons or anything at the end of its digits) back away in surprise almost unconvinced it was an actual physical object. It moved its hand quickly through the fire, and pulled it back similarly alarmed when it found the flames to be hot…


Then, it sloooowly put the bell down – gently, while looking up at the sentries in the tower… it locked eyes with Blaze, and a mutual alarm, or excitement – seemed to charge the expression of both. Blaze could swear the thing down there was a sentry too – and that it was equally if not more alarmed to have seen something as he was.


After placing the bell down, the creature pushed it, cup down, a short distance towards the tower with one of its strange, triangular digits. Its eyes reflected in the fallen torch seemed to gleam like topazes… Then it GRABBED the torch and bound into the debris and rubble of the ruin.


Dorian rose the alarm… something happened, and they were going to report it. The description of the creature seemed similar to beings depicted in the sewer-paintings, the patrol-men seemed to think.


“And it WASN’T a skeleton?” Jav asked.


Tomaz swatted him on the back of his helm with the flat of his Halberd.


“Does it SOUND like they’s describing a skeleton to you!? OH, It’s friggin’ red wif’ a heart-shaped ‘ead cuz it’s got horns or it’s ears is pointy, it’s got three finders, and it’s got glowing eyes! MUST BE A SKELETON!” Tomaz gripped his forehead with his mailed gauntlet then pushed his helmet back down. “Jav, It’s a good thing you is a guard, and not a detective – or this colony would be in a heap of trouble.”


Jav shook off the derision of his partner and walked over to the bell laying in the road ahead of the tower. He poked it over with his gauntlet then picked it up – it was made of hammered copper, with crude glyphs of a dancing imp, leading a procession of what seemed to be stick figures… with ribcages… skeletons?


“Tomaz – check ‘dis! What if the thing weren’t a skeleton, but it thought WE was the skeletons!? Imagine that!”


Tomaz resisted the urge to ring Javs’ helmet with the flat of his halberd once more… his polearm was long enough to reach him from where he stood... that is until he saw the bell himself… He’d seen a similar ritual item in Chemish houses of worship – it was thought mindless spirits could be convinced to follow the living when called by the bells of the priesthood – The Chemish decoration and embossment was far more stylized, but he’d be damned if that wasn’t a spirit-herding bell… what to say in a report about this!?


/ \ _/ \


\ oo /


\ /


(the above is a crude stick-drawing blaze makes of the shape of the Imp's head)

 

[Beckoncall]

@Heyitsjiwon :


Lady Cassandra is asked if she could tell the future and if this attempt will be successful or if there's anything that could be done to improve their fate.


It is hours before word reaches back to the settlement and Lady Cassandra is addressed -- still more time before Lady Cassandra is brought to the outskirts of the Tyren Camp... She reluctantly explains that she must be near the site of the conflict to get the best reading "through the corners"... whatever that means. She feels a presence in boulder field, a spirit of some kind that is willing to aid her in her vision.


@SpiralErrant:


(It is then that Shul feels the presence in the field of stones as well, as he is sensitive to the landscape of spirits)


"Something old in the ground that has felt the past has given me a line to look beyond the veil" Cassandra says -- She sits in the southernmost hills of the Tyren-claimed range, and it is here that Caelis meets her to task her with the vision...


"A fleet has sunk. Powerful men in the Old World are afraid. Fewer ships this time, and not of conquering imperial blood. One of these ships, the dogs astride -- they can raid no more in the known lands, they seek new pastures where every arm is not raised against them for the bane of reputation..."


"...They and others land. Things go wrong. Titans walk among them -- sides are taken -- but the Gnolls will not. It may take ages or not at all, but a colony falters, it dies -- long before this the Gnoll have hidden in a cave deep in the wood. At the ends of some winters a horror comes -- the colony is washed clean, and only the Gnolls, forsaking the others and their titans, and sealed within their caves, are spared. They return many springs later, into the sun, and make houses once again on the surface beside the lake. At first, they are few and ever fearful -- but over time, returning to the caves to hide, the village on the surface grows... It is culled, but the Gnolls learn the cycle... the village grows."


"They meet some of the others they departed from on the beaches when they made the forest their home... what is left of them. They too live in the forest, but they are husks and puppets of the Titan they followed -- they too survived after a fashion, twisted by the pretender they made their savior, and then their god... The HORNED ONE."


"The Masked ones revel in the apocalypse that had befallen them and not the Gnoll. They first flirt with the Gnoll, and Tempt the Gnoll, then Siren Sing... Their shared past becomes history, then Myth, then fantasy -- only the standoff in the wood is real, and the Gnolls dare not wander far from the cave that hides them. Muddy ones cry If only the Gnolls would embrace their god of the wood. Some go, and flee homeward proclaiming the descendants of them they supposedly departed from are worse than their former would-be founders ever might have been. Witches... Woodsie-Witches and the Horned one both eat the flesh of kith and kin... their god is a Mouth, a Maw... They worship an abomination with no face -- and it HUNGERS."


"The cycle continues. Gnolls sleep underground when the masked ones dare not look for them -- when they return to the surface, they forever watch the border of their part of the wood, and the line has moved time and time again over the generations. The Masked have even burned the Gnoll village more times than the oldest Gnoll remembers, but the Gnoll always return from underground. The Masked ones cannot take the wood completely from the Gnoll -- the Gnoll from underground have long repelled the hardest push of the masked ones -- and when the Gnoll hide, so too do the masks in the bosom of their pretender god -- The Gnolls are kept from victory because they have no Titan, and the Masks are kept from victory because above ground, Hungry god or not -- there is, and always will be, a CULLING... The witches eat within, and another nightmare eats without... the TREE... By the VEILS! THE TREE!!! IT'S RAINING BONES!! FOR CENTURIES THE TREE IS RAINING BONES!!!!"


....And Cassandra snaps from her trance... she looks at the silhouette of the great redwoods to the south, and begins weeping in terror... she has seen something indescribable, something horrible in the eyes of an Oracle, who stocks and trades in both Dreams and Nightmares...


"TWO SPRINGS, CAELIS!!! BEFORE THE END OF TWO SPRINGS MORE BONES SHALL RAIN AT THE FOOT OF THAT TREEEEEEEE!!!!" Cassandra weeps hysterically, and after a time inconsolable faints even, but instead of sleeping soundly, she slumbers as a frightened child acusp an awakening in cold sweat...

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

The vision that Cassandra saw terrified Caelis. There were powers and beings on this continent that were beyond comprehension in the old world. He looked at Lothar who bore a similar look of bewilderment. This was the first time that Lady Cassandra had told of such an ominous vision that she herself was not able to bear the terror. For now, they saw to it that she would be taken to somewhere in the settlement where she could recover. Once they made sure that Lady Cassandra was in a more suitable place to rest. They walked back to the place where she had her vision. They looked at the large trees in the distance and for a few minutes they simply looked on in shock and confusion. As they slowly gathered their thoughts, the two began to speak


"The gnolls... it appears that they were part of an earlier colony." Caelis muttered.


Lothar replied "Aye, and the mud folks as well..."


"No, they have been corrupted by this... horned one. They are not the same as their ancestors once may have been."


"At least we now know that the gnolls are likely to at least know a little bit of common."


"Perhaps, but it is more urgent than ever that we find a way to cooperate with these gnolls. They know of the evil that resides in these lands and know how to survive. We have until the end of next spring to figure out everything."


"Yes, but it appears that Lady Cassandra will not be able to partake in the envoy tomorrow. We will need to bring another woman, but now we need someone to represent us instead of Lady Cassandra."


"I know, I...."


Lothar proceeded to cut him off and said "No, you will not be going on that peace talk. I will. The people listen to you, Caelis. You are their lord, and it is your duty to serve them by leading them not to risk your life."


Caelis nodded and said "I will trust you, brother. Let us lead our people to the prosperity that they deserve."


Lothar nodded and responded "For today, I will go back to the Tyren camp and inform the others of what Lady Cassandra saw. Tomorrow morn, I will bring one woman and the linguist with me. May whatever benevolent gods that reside here watch over us."


Caelis replied "I think we may have to involve ourselves in the matter of gods. I will go offer a sacrifice of some of our caught birds at the fountain. Perhaps that will be enough for the being of the fountain to begin remembering his past and what has transpired in these lands or at least tell us what being resides in the tree that produces a field of bones."


"Fortune, bless us for the days to come."


"And protect us from the horrors that we will face."


Summary:


Lothar is leading the peace envoy with a woman and the linguist in tow. Lothar and the woman will bring food and tokens to help ease tensions.


---


Caelis arrived back at the marketplatz as he planned to have some of the birds that the falconer has been catching to serve as a small sacrifice to the fountain. However, as soon as he arrive, Tomaz and Jav came up to him, saying that they had something urgent to report. They took several minutes to explain what had transpired until they finally handed him the bell. The timing was rather poor as the linguist was at the Tyren camp in order prepare for the peace envoy for tomorrow. There was not much to be done. However Tomaz made a comment stating that it appeared that the "imps" seemed to believe that the Attolians were apparitions and were shocked to discover that they were corporeal.


Caelis replied that for now there will be no action taken as the imps did not seem to be aggressive and in response that the Attolians will not exhibit any aggression unless attacked. Another war at the moment would be disastrous. Thus, until a proper envoy could be assembled, Caelis did not want to risk taking action in regards to the imps. With that, the guards were dismissed and told to carry on. He then continued on his way to the fountain. Among the patrols in the platz, it appeared that the Exiles provided some men, although of dubious traits, to help maintain the peace. For now, Caelis could not complain as they had done nothing wrong so far. He approached them and made some polite small talk. With the patrols now moving on, Caelis continued on his way to perform the sacrifice of the birds.


Summary:


Caelis is sacrificing some birds to the fountain in hopes that it would regain enough power to regain some of its memories and see if it could help the Attolians with some information or anything.

 

[SpiralErrant]

With the agreement that there would be one more try for peace or at least a truce the meeting seemed to slowly draw to a close. The only thing left to discuss was possible tactics in case violence proved to be their only option. Bruul took charge of that one for the tyren though with only limited knowledge of the other groups' forces he could only make some basic suggestions. Such as forming a flexible battle formation if it came to pitched battle with the more numerous humans making up a solid center while the minotaurs covered the flanks, using their charge to tackle enemies from the side and intercept possible threats while the elves did what they did best and covered the ranged warfare. Though from all he'd heard about these same troops being good scouts that could pass unseen the option to use ambush tactics was also on the table. Especially thanks to the foundation laid by the elves in finding where the gnolls made their homes. With good planning they might be able to launch their own counter raid.


This was all assuming things went arse up in a few days time of course.


It was hours after the meeting and Shul was taking the air when it hit him. A tingling thud that ran in from the edge of his senses. He'd already been on edge thanks to all these strangers wandering about the place, it had put his guard well up there. Something old was waking up and nearby. How had he not noticed something like this in all the days they'd been living here? He'd managed to sense much smaller spirits that lurked about the place! This couldn't have been by chance, not after all that had happened. Something had disturbed a spirit of the land from its slumber.


Well searching out these things was all part of his many jobs around here so Shul supposed it fell to him to see what was going on. Honestly, the whole caravan would probably fall apart without him around to notice these things. At least that was what he thought right now, allowing himself a little morale boost of pride. With all the confidence of a seasoned hand Shul went to the southernmost hills to investigate this new stirring.


Shul is headed to investigate the spirit stirring in the stone field.


@Beckoncall


"I think we should do it!" Anuc said firmly.


"I don't know... sharing food with them is one thing but herbs and supplies. It's tough enough getting the supplies for our own people and you've seen the hornless, they get sick and hurt easy as lambs." Weome snorted hesitantly.


The two of them had been back and forth on this issue since the word had reached them of the beach dwellers curing their plague and looking to make a gathering of healing arts the same way they had with the grocers. So far the two main herbalists (or growers as some tyren were want to call them) were divided on the matter. They were the main makers of curatives outside of the shaman circles, those three tended to save their tricks for nastier hurts and like everything else they did were loathe to share much of the trade.


Weome argued that they were hard pressed as it was and that spreading themselves across the other groups would leave them too hard worked to tend to their own people. While Anuc was quick to remind her that it was thanks to the elven help the other night that they managed to limit their casualties as far as they did, as well as helping the injured to heal as quickly as they were. The grocers had taken a lot of pressure off of the herdmen and this could potentially do the same for them. While Rhag - who was sharpening his sword nearby at the time - wanted to be kept well out of it. He wasn't in the business of making people feel better.


That was when Orm wandered in and got dragged into it, with Anuc going on another diatribe, this time aimed at her chief. "I mean think about it! If it weren't for them you might have lost your arm by now and they've clearly thought about using wildlife and roots that we never have. Then there's the humans who've got all these fancy resources that I can never afford at market all around them. Imagine what we could take away from that, the things we could cure."


"Yeah sounds nice." Orm shrugged.


"That's why we- wait you agree with me?" Anuc blinked at him.


"Yeah you make some good points. We're already trading a lot with them anyway, may as well take full advantage." They might be needing all the healing gear they could get soon anyway. He didn't notice Weome bemoaning what kind of nonsense her friend had dragged her into this time.


"Alright.. well... thanks, chief." Anuc perked up, her tail swishing happily at the thought of getting some higher up support. "Oh I talked all over you though, what had you stopping by?"


"Just looking for Ummush. You seen him?"


"He's down south again!" Rahg called over from where he was sat. "Now get out of here before my sister tries to bore us all to death again!"


Wait, sister? Well now that Orm saw them together he could see the resemblance. Then he felt very awkward. 'Oh come on. War's looming and I'm far too old to be getting like this.'


Tyren join The Healers Guild! They send Anuc and Weome the herbalists (2 Skilled workers)


Orm did indeed find Ummush sitting in the southern hills as he often did these days. He sat lower on the slopes so as to be looking down along the valleys rather than over the highlands and into the horizon. Orm always figured he saw more than that anyway, like maybe things were going on down there that interested the old bull more than the tension building up around the river. Ummush had never hinted at that kind of thing but he'd shown himself full of enough surprises over Orm's life that it seemed like a safe bet.


"You mind if I sit here?"


Ummush didn't say anything.


The two of them sat in the quiet for a moment, listening to the wind and the distant waterfalls crashing in their endless cycle until Orm worked up the courage to break it. "I feel like I'm leaning on you too much these days. I shouldn't... supposed to be the chief and all and supposed to be strong for all and... all." Orm felt his stomach go sour, he sounded like some mewling babe in arms. A small gutteral growl of frustration crept its way out from between his lips. "Did the chiefs before me ever doubt like this? It's like I can see so many roads spreading out in front of us and there's death down 'em all and the wind's calling me every which way till I can't trust my own sense."


That was this whole situation right there. Since it had happened Orm had been questioning himself. Had he been wrong to follow the lead of these others to go into the woods that night, or even in coming to the new land in the first place? Maybe his people just weren't meant to have a settled place to call their own as now that they tried it other folk seemed to hover around them more fiercely than ever before, clamoring for a share. Even if they did manage to make a go of it then what action would they have to take to protect it? Orm kept telling himself it would all be to protect his own that had suffered so much, that he didn't want them to become those that had chased them to this and the more he thought on it the more it felt like he was just trying to convince himself.


"I'm going to go with the humans across the river again. Were I in the gnolls' place I'd see anyone not returning while trying this as a total coward and put no trust in any of it. The Attolian may be trying to take charge of this whole thing but I'll not have my steps made for me and hide behind the hornless. Probably have to bring Shul and some others." It was funny how clear things could feel just by talking to the blank silence Ummush offered. A listening ear that somehow managed to bounce his thoughts back at him and letting Orm see them differently just by being there.


There was just one thing still bothering him. "Ummush, am I doing the right thing? Because the higher this rises the more blind I feel."


@Heyitsjiwon


Orm is making a party to meet with the Attolian peace group and cross with them to meet the gnolls.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Lothar gathered at the bridge with his small party, as they were ready to embark on this attempt to negotiate peace, Lothar saw the Tyren Chief approach with what appeared to be his addition to the peace talk. Lothar greeted them and said to Shul "Like mentioned earlier, I wish to establish contact with my group first so that the gnolls will understand that we mean no harm. Once talks actually begin, then I would not fear having the Chief and your people among us. However, if your envoy comes with us from the start, then... that is potentially putting both of us at more risk, which is something that you and I both want to avoid. Thus, please, allow us to enable the path to peace to be paved with minimal difficulties."


Lothar trusted that Orm would wait until the Attolians had made peaceful contact with the gnolls before entering the peace talks. He was the one who seemed most sincere in his desire to establish peace with the gnolls. With that settled, he looked at his envoy, a young seamstress and the linguist. He himself carried small trinkets, and coins in his hands, but made it visible to anyone looking. The young seamstress held a basket of some recently caught game and various other edibles that the Attolians thought that the gnolls would eat. Finally, the linguist held a simple, makeshift white flag. If the gnolls were from the old world, then they would surely understand what a white flag was symbolic of. He took a deep breath. Then said "Let us proceed." He then began to walk across the bridge with the envoy with the outskirts of the forest as their destination where they would wait for the gnolls to receive them.


Summary:


Lothar and his group goes on to walk towards the outskirts of the forest with their offerings. As per the Tyren delegation, it's up to them if they accept Lothar's request.

 

[Elendithas]

About a month ago, in a continent far, far away. (Cue derpy Star Wars intro music)


The coastal storms this time of year were a boon to his people, especially since they had just been 'recruited' to go to some supposedly dangerous new island way out into the ocean. And all for their word that they would do work when called upon. The Muurdaan were great conquerers, sure, but they were far too trusting these days. Or they figured they would just pound his people into the ground were they to not follow up on their end of the bargain. As far as Tocxhol was concerned, they would die trying to squeeze labor out of them. The clan was rather large for how young it was. Only made a year or so ago in the name of wanderlust. Or at least that's what he told everyone to start with. The real goal was something on a much grander scale.


"What sort of food do you think will be in this 'new world'?" Quetankha questioned from seemingly out of nowhere, walking slightly behind and to the side of Tocxhol. Tocxhol wasn't exactly in the mood for talking. The Muurdaan on his mind and an upcoming journey across the ocean weren't exactly the most soothing of thoughts. Not to mention there wouldn't be much of anything to do the whole time and there would be quite a lot of brutes in the hold. "We'll eat what we find." growled the hulking beast of a... beast. The way they spoke was almost too deep for a normal human to hear, making it sound like they were in fact just growling at each other, and thus added to the terror that most the civilians had when they noticed a pack of 60 giant bipedal reptiles storming the city. Or rather it looked like they were storming the city given the thunder-storm in the background and their brandishing of armor and weapons. There wasn't an especially long walk to the docks, but they certainly weren't the fastest of races. This meant plenty of time to hear people slamming and locking their doors as they went. "I don't understand humans. If they're threatened by us, why don't they just challenge us already!?" asked Quetankha. "Humans are a cowardly people. The only ones of any worth are their best. And they're hardly a match for a single Aymaran." stated Goq-quet, walking alongside Tocxhol. The pleasent thunder-storm was beginning to die down by the time they arrived at the docks and started to load their things onto the boat. In fact, they were already locking the brutes up and getting ready to set sail before the dockworkers even noticed they had commandeered the ship. "Hey! What d'you folk think yer doin'!" One of the foremen yelled as he ran up on the ship, only discovering what exactly had taken the ship after he was too far in to ignore them. Luckily enough Goq-quet was standing idly by the ramp onto the ship for when a dock-worker inevitably approached to tell them not to do whatever they were doing. "Be calm, human. We are here on behalf of the Muurdaan." he said in common as he produced a manifest with the exact details of the transaction to the foreman. The man were certainly not soothed by this statement as much as Goq-quet were hoping, but apparently it were enough to avoid any further action, as he made a very quick check of the thing and jogged back to his post.


"Set sail!" yelled Tocxhol from the deck of the ship as the few scarred he had begun to man the sails. The cunnings aboard were given the manual labor of rowing while Tocxhol and his chosen discussed their course of action for when land was inevitably reached. The bulk of the journey was surprisingly calm. Fighting among the brutes and cunnings was kept to a minimum, supplies lasted well enough, and overall morale didn't sink to the bottom of the barrel... as far as Tocxhol could tell that is. Boredom, however, was rapidly growing amongst everyone aboard, and with it restlessness. It wouldn't be long until fighting broke out just for the fun of it, and with the size of the combatants that could spell disaster for the human ship they were given. Fortune seemed to smile upon Tocxhol at the time, though, as land was spotted a short few days after the problem had arrisen.


Off the coast were a number of things. First of all a few islands which were in Tocxhol's opinion, completely pointless. Boats, however, were of importance, and upon the beach were plenty of them. Not quite the numbers he would consider dangerous, but a concerning amount nonetheless. It made sense that so many boats would land so closely to each other as well, what with the sheer cliffs on either side of the beach for miles. Hopefully they were those of previous colonists that had come earlier, but as far as Tocxhol knew they could just as easily be Muurdaanian. It would be a shame to have to muscle his way through a bunch of cowardly Muurdaan just to get to some semblance of a swamp, or anywhere with fresh water, really. "Take us to the shore. Goq-quet and I will be the first off." Tocxhol commanded, staring intently at the beach. Sure enough, they made landfall and hopped off the side of the ship. Goq-quet and Tocxhol took in their surroundings as they relished the feeling of ground beneath their feet. The time for appreciation would have to come later, however. First they had to make sure the place was at least somewhat safe, and what better way to do that than to follow the banners.


Summary:

• Calm, albeit boring, trip
  
• Boat makes landfall
  
• Tocxhol and Goq-quet make their way towards nearest signs of civilization
  

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

@Prince Vaethorion @General Deth Glitch @Beckoncall
Disembarking onto the beach went smoothly thought the Prince, despite the perilous Tiger sharks. The sight of the slovenly hovels, the smell of chum, the assorted rabble, the carcasses of large rodents, sharks was distasteful to the Prince to say the least. "Order and beauty is needed here" he mused to no one in particular. "Why do humans kill other living things so wantonly?" The Prince asked the Linguist rhetorically. The Prince had traveled over the known and unknown world and had seen just about everything, so these sights did not phase him. Regardless, the smells and signs made him a bit queasy.





"This beach needs to be cleaned up at some point, the docks and a port need to be constructed if this colony is to be successful." the Prince said to the engineer. "Begin, with the individual dock, lets make no assumptions about the wreckage. The docks are for the good of the colony at whole, but as humans are very possessive over refuse, lets tread lightly in what resources we cultivate and ask first. Once we determine that the wreck is abandoned, we can dismantle it for dock material. By the looks of it, blood shed could occur over a coconut husk here." The engineer nodded in assent, and immediately began the task of designing, the docks, to begin building once the sun was up.


"I believe we can create a safe area to work in the water, by using fish nets, sails, weaving sea plants to form a improvised barrier we should be able to keep sharks at bay. The chum can also be used to draw the sharks away." The Engineer noted.


"I suggest to post spearman and archers on skiffs to protect the builders" The tactician added.


"All good ideas" the Prince assented. "In time I'd like to see a proper port built here with stone breakers, but for now a dock or too would suffice, complete it as you see fit. Also make sure a guard is posted." The Prince ordered.


"Wait till the dock is built to bring all of the supplies ashore, see if any of the craftsman, can construct some carts to haul our supplies off the beach".


The Prince was pleasantly surprised at the reception they were given. He had imagined this day many nights on the voyage, but never imagined he would be drinking fine wine in a putrid smelling abandoned ship with convicts. He never thought, he would find a murdering, mutineer Tundra-Barbarian's hospitality so gracious. This new world is a wondrous, strange place he mused. The Prince noted that he must find out more about this Dracos religion.


As time stopped, even for a immortal elf. The Prince and linguist were relieved to meet the exile delegation. At least these colonist distrust the dreaded ones as much as we do he thought. How delightful to meet this Aithiche the florist that spoke their language, understood the value of beauty and even knew his niece. The downside being that she might be able to identify him and let his identity be known. The Prince would not worry about this. It was not his nature.


The Prince soaked up the new found knowledge about the new world and the colonist. There were many dangers, and potential hostiles to deal with. The knowledge that tree folk Elves were present was a comfort. Despite their differences, Elves were elves in his mind. Even if some Elves lived like squirrels in a tree, they were still elves and reminded High Elves of their primitive roots. Minotaurs, Vaethorion thought to himself. These are beastly entities that raided Elven villages besides their Orc allies. This is a brutish, unrefined race he thought. No matter, there was work to be done, lots of work and fighting as well. The Prince processed all he was told and ordered the linguist to document the information, so it could be passed on to the nobles and with discretion his people.


The Prince was determined to make haste with a host of soldiers and some nobles to go meet with the other leaders. He was prejudiced against beast like creatures of all sorts, especially Gnolls. How crude they are, how brutish he thought.


There was not much time to tarry the Prince thought. The wine was very good. The Prince must see how he could procure more. Upon leaving, the fresher air when not downwind of the chum felt good. There was much to do. The omen from the mage left him cold. Dark magic is at work. High Elves and the prince despised dark magic and those who wielded it.


As he thought this, the Prince begin to give out directives once the sun went up. He would not waste time getting to the meeting if possible to do so in time. Once back at the sight of his people's landing he issued orders.


*inventor devise a means to create a barrier from the sharks, so engineer's crew can work safely.


*Engineer, "Make building the dock a priority (wait till day), do so in the safest most efficient manner, use what resources and labor is needed. Do not endanger a single elf".


*Cooks, "Procure some vegetarian food from the market and set up an improvised mess tent to feed our people. Have skilled gatherers see what food resources are nearby".


*Builders, "Help build the docks, and build some carts and/or litters to carry supplies"


*Intelligence officer, "Once day time arrives, form an armed expedition, and scout out the Market Platz for suitable, temporary housing." Either find structures we could rehabilitate and/or set up some tents in a preferred location. Report back to myself at the meeting with what you find.


* Tactician, "Bring five of your best swordsmen, five skilled spearman, five archers and accompany me to the war council meeting (if still in progress)."


* Cleric " give the parties going out a benediction, stay vigilant and offer moral support"


* War Mage "Incant some protective spells, to protect ourselves from the dark magic at work".


* Bard "play some music for our people to keep them in high spirits".


* Tamer/hunter "take some neophyte hunters and see if you can find any food an elf can consume"


* Drill Master "start your exercises and begin training the troops today. One hour before breakfast and one hour before dinner. We will train more once settled. Also, manage the guard, defend the ship and perimeter with any swordsmen and militia you can spare."


* "who ever is the best at foraging, please step forward, we need a foraging party to gather some food".

 

[Beckoncall]

@Heyitsjiwon :


Caelis is sacrificing some birds to the fountain in hopes that it would regain enough power to regain some of its memories and see if it could help the Attolians with some information or anything.


Caelis stood at the fountain once again, he knelt down and reached into the small wooden cage that held a clutch of the fat redwood blackbirds, and one by one dropped them into the fountain. Almost immediately upon hitting the base of the fountain, the offerings seemed to vaporize – the feathers and bones seemed to vanish is a puff of smoke, leaving thick expanding circles of blood that quickly bubbled, boiled, and steamed away as if the bed of the fountain were white-hot… though Caelis could not feel the slightest change in ambient temperature.


Caelis sought to put his ear to the stone, but before he could, the voice addressed him… still a whisper, but audible from where he stood:


“Ahhhhhh… these fat little offerings will do perfectly… I was so far gone, so small was the shattered essence of me that I thought without a virgin I was beyond re-incorporation for sure… but these, these birds are special… fed on so many different essences… each one a banquet of so many carrion souls – you… Caelis… you know how to make an impression with a gift. More – Bring me as many as you can suffer to spare me – if you will not or cannot give me the blood of awakened souls (he means people, race irrelevant) then I do prefer to have more of these birds. Can you guess why? Tell me if you can guess – it would impress me, your deduction… or, since you’ve paid a price… you could ask me…”


A vine growing from a crack in the bottom of the fountain and snaking up the center spout-spire suddenly shakes, and SNAPS as a hairline crack at the base of the fountain seems to mend itself, cutting the vine and leading it to fall into the basin.


“I am at your mercy, and I suppose that would mean your service. I need offerings, you have questions. Let us do business… In this communion, I will field two of your questions – though I cannot promise to answer them until I know what they are… and depending their importance, I may need more… Sacrifice.”


There was a pause in the voice, which seemed to emanate a sense of being slightly pleased with itself.


“If you cannot guess why I favor these birds so, let it be known I shall grant a boon to the one who can answer the question satisfactorily… secrets of blood, they are answers I long to hear, even if I know them already.”





“But for now… ask your needful things – you have given me time, and I will try and give you wisdom… hopefully this will be the first of many, many exchanges…”


(Caelis may ply the fountain with two questions relating to the history of the area, or something else the fountain might know…)

 

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant :


Shul is headed to investigate the spirit stirring in the stone field.





Shul loped in the crisp evening air to the southern hills to see if the traces of this old awakening spirit could be found… and once found if the spirit could be contacted. Wet grass pulped under his hooves, little dandelion-like weeds seemed to pop up overnight in the wet mist of the hills… they left a kind of rising smokescreen behind him – wherever he stepped the little seed-heads of the dandelion-things exploded… carried upward and away in the wind behind him. It was like that will smaller spirits too – spirits of nature, spirits of element, even the most faint spirits of perhaps souls departed from here… but he passed them like he did the dandelion seeds – they rose up and away from him on the wind…


Ambiance of communion with the spirit: (click!)


It was at the foot of a small hill on boulder field – in the very area the Tyren had originally cleared, that the trail of spirit lead him. It was the Idol the Tyren had partially uncovered perhaps weeks ago now… In the time since, rain had seemingly washed away almost a fifth of the hill that was covering the figure, where the first Tyren saw only what might have been a head, and a hand, he could now see the crude and weathered monument of a humanoid woman… of race or heritage Shul could not guess. He was better at identifying different races than many Tyren, but the best he could determine was that this was the type of hornless that only had two breasts…great opulent ones, but Shul always wondered if the reason hornless were always so ornery was because their mothers never had enough teats to feed them…


…The elements seemed to be uncovering the statue of the woman at a steady pace – the Tyren had rolled a great block away from the hill to uncover the idol, and the pit that it left behind had filled with rainwater that seemed to slowly be washing the idol free. From the navel up he could see almost the full form of the figure, it’s arms bowed in front of it as if embracing something… the head, tilted down, in a motherly fashion… below the navel is looked as if bathing nude in a muddy pool… water lilies and flowers seemed to congregate around the idol where they did not anywhere else in boulder field, as if seeds from the river and forest found purchase in the soil around the Idol alone…


…A warm, nurturing presence was felt by Shul. He did not realize how heavy he had carried the loss of his fellow Tyren in the attack so heavily until a feeling of wellbeing washed over him, allowing him suddenly to feel as steadfast as he formerly imagined he was. For a moment he felt like he had when he was just a newborn whelp in the meadows the caravan wandered in his infancy… He was lulled with the strange comfort of a calf’s unsteady legs, which buckling sat him down before the pool and set to open his mind… and in the expanding nothingness of mind only a shaman of the third ring is accustomed, he found further forgotten memories of mother’s milk…


…As if to answer this image in his mind, a plant seemed to spontaneously burst forth from the Idol’s navel – Shul did not recognize the plant at first, but the smell was unmistakable… this was the stalk of the sugar-milk poppy – the extract of which nobles have spent fortunes, wasted whole lives chasing the dreams it’s milk produces… the stalk reached out, stretched, and matured in moments as if to seek the hand of the sitting shaman – by its full height it was maximally ripe, it’s great bulb dripping it’s intoxicating white milk onto the soil just within Shuls gob-smacked reach. “Don’t mind if I do,” Shul remarked… grabbing the bulb in his hand as if to shake it in greeting before pulling it off… “very nice to meet you, spirit.”


The sap in his hand smelled more wonderful to a connoisseur of mind-altering substances than the musk of the first love of his youth… when he had time and a more clear head for such dalliances carnal in lieu of spiritual. He placed the bulb in a black-stone bowl between his crossed legs, and flicked a stream of sparks from the fingernails of his index fingers as he struck them against each other… a simple shaman’s cantrip. The thick smoke that rose from the poppy rolled up Shul’s Torso as he breathed, curls of smoke seeming to climb up the shaman before he finally inhaled and drew the smoke like grasping ivies into his flaring nostrils…


….Bliss… it was here he finally made contact with the ancient and seemingly motherly fertility spirit that appeared to reside within the statue.


“As is so often the case, little shaman, the pleasure is in fact mine.” Sang the voice, or whispered, or nurtured… the very sound of the voice felt like the perpetual beginning of a laugh or sincere smile…


“You have my thanks and my blessings, little shaman – for your people’s uncovering me, when last I saw the sun I was housed high above one of the tallest buildings in that dust nearby that was a city… I stared the sun eye to eye and greeted it for the little ones, and heard their prayers that I would ever greet that sun again… I smiled upon their crops, and upon their newborns…”


A moment of somberness passes, if for just an instant, and Shul sees in his dreaming, wandering, euphoria a flash of light eclipsed by the statue high in the sky, and sees the idol, and all the rocks of boulder field… fly on some kind of blast-wave to be covered over this field, then buried by time, then slowly by rain be uncovered again. It is almost enough to rouse Shul ever-so-slightly from the enfolding arms of poppy-ecstasy, before he feels the spirit pull him subtly back into that gentle womb of comfort.


“You are probably learning, little shaman – that there are many ancient spirits in this place… and you may also be learning that for a realm of loose, forgotten, and fallen divines – this is a very scary neighborhood for little mortals to be dwelling… You can ponder those another time… you are with me now, and it is sufficient you treat with me alone at this time… It is so nice to see one of the wild children again…”


The voice seems to catch herself… “And just look at you! You have come so far, haven’t you? That’s so nice…” Shuls thoughts seem to sail about on the breeze that is the spirit’s voice. As a shaman, he had communed with hundreds of spirits – it could be thousands by now… but this was different… if he had a more spiritual experience than he was having now, he could not remember it, though the part of him that a shaman’s training demanded be lucid wondered if this was perhaps by design. If Shul had ever communed with a spirit this powerful, it was not so pleasantly inclined. When you lock horns with a spirit, they play tricks to inflate their auras sometimes… but Shul felt as if he was indeed in the presence of a divine. An Angel, A Goddess? Something else that mortals have no name for? He had seemingly lost the thread of the conversation briefly, and as if that was the desired end, the spirit began talking again…


“This land was brought to ruin by the misuse of divines, little shaman… the magical sciences that produced those gems given to your kin and so too your tiny peers…” (there was almost a stifled chuckle from the spirit as she tried to quantify the hornless as somehow smaller than he)


“Were but one facet of a new field of holy and magical science – Your chieftain, your shaman for fleeting moments wielded the powers of divines, for that is the power that the mage lords learned to harness… to encapsulate, just as you harness the power of my sweet and soporific poppy… It is a soothe to my heart to allow the smallest of my spirit to light on a mortal again… Were it only me, you Tyren would be soooo welcome in this realm…”


“But I am one of Legions, sadly – After the mage lords learned how to craft and harness the gems, little shaman – they unlocked the gates of… Tartarus… we shall call it Tartarus… you see, this place is where all the creations that prove too powerful, or displease the gods that made them, or whom the era of which has passed… you Tyren are so out of time, I feel – but if only you had strode creation during the age before the winnowing… this whole world would feel your home… I mourn for your little spirit, whose people have tread such a vast piece of this world for feet so little, to find the smallest acre you might feel at home… No, I dare not weep – the summer rains are coming and that shall be enough heavenly tears for the lot of you…”


“…Take me for example, in the wind age, a god ascendant made me a goddess of the fields, and his mortals made me also a goddess of the sun, and a goddess of love, and of rebirth, and… Like any divine, I proudly wore their mantles... and I had worn soo many. This was not here, little shaman – your gods, if you follow any did not smite that city there and throw this Idol here... let us say this happened ‘a thousand times a thousand years ago’… that will do, for now… do any mortals still remember the dragonewts? No? Then that is a suitable number… My creator was offended, or feared, or justifiably scornful that the mortals began to put me beside him… so I was cast into Tartarus – with the Collosal Snake of the Earth, and The Deyvas of the Black, and The Raven of the Underworld, and the Glyph of Om, and all the other misfits any ascendant divines through any and all the ages – ever – sought to put away… Until the Mage Kings and Queens, that is… they used the gems to open Tartarus… and like the gems they sought to bind, to use, to wield what they found there to making a better life for themselves… and for a while they did – until they took their titans up in arms against each other… The god that made me was score-fold more forgotten than a dragonewt when I was freed, but I am a monument – and when the continent became the playground of armies of fallen divines… My city, my people, my tiny kings and tiny queens… were scattered… like me, into this field.”


“…It’s so nice to see the sun again… if only I was facing the south, in time I might one day be able to look on the barrier… I can feel it’s light behind me, even through the rock, the soil, the ages... I am so glad it is there… one of my most beloved tiny ones had a tiny hand in how it was made… so selfless as his world died around them…”


Again the spirit pushes Shul back into his bliss where otherwise his delightful chemical venture might be disturbed –


“But the world has come back… life returns… nature returns… I return and…" the spirit seems to light on Shul's horns for a moment, and he sees in his dream the sullen form of his chieftain… "So much has returned to this wounded corner of a world.”


“I would bid thee, little shaman – to uncover my monument and see that it looks to the south -- at the barrier – but I will not. This land is full enough with strutting and weedling pretender gods – and like the grass, like sun, like love, my blessings are free.” Shul felt a warmth in his palm, and the rumor of his worldly faculties returning. He turned his hand over to examine it and saw that the milk that oozed upon it as he handled the pod had coalesced into the image of the sugar-milk poppy… like a mark, or sigil, or like a bright reflection of the dull holy symbols he’d seen in the dry and joyless temples of the hornless.


“Wash your hand in the rainwater here, or in any muddy water before the next full moon, and my sign… will leave your little mitt forever… keep it an hour longer than that, and it is no longer mine, but it is ours. Them that would see it as foe might better be your best of friends apart – Them that recognize it as friend will know you likewise such of mine. Little shaman, thank your people for uncovering me, either in my stead, or silently in your own way. Let people come to me, or let me be forgotten, I shall look upon the sun and the fields again for as long as I can – and revel in every moment I’ve stolen outside the confines of Tartarus…”


Then suddenly, he awoke after seeming hours had passed. It was after dawn, close to full sunrise – and he was sure Orm had some task for him to have attended or at least took to before now…


He wobbled to his feet, laughing to himself in an odd feeling of youth and refreshment… In his nostrils he swore he could smell the mane of Weome in her first rutting year, a scent he stole in his youth and felt so strangely remembering… and then, like so many things from dreams, he forgot it. In fact, the whole vision he just experienced seemed to begin slipping away – he turned over his palm, and remembering the poppy much of the communion flowed back to him… it would take his greatest discipline, and most driven vision quests to hold onto what he could, and recall what he could not.


…Orm strangely, would have a solid week of the best slumber, and dreams, he could ever remember having…


(Shul has gained a holy mark of fertility -- unless he chooses to relinquish it)

 

[Beckoncall]

@Elendithas :


· Boat makes landfall


· Tocxhol and Goq-quet make their way towards nearest signs of civilization





A strong wind blew behind the Aymaran vessel as it came upon the beach – at first little could be made out specifically… lots of movement… lots of white cloth whipping about… cloth with little elves in it… definitely smelled like elf. The clean kind, not the dirty kind. Tocxhol worked to remember the distinction. Different elves have very different tactics. Elves can also be deceptively dangerous – Did this make them worthy neighbors? Worthy adversaries? Worthy prey? Tocxhol revealed nothing in his expressionless visage. The huge crocodile man stood at the front of his craft and prepared to disembark with his servant… a different scent caught his attention…


Ship to the west stank of humans. The dirty kind, not the clean kind. The warlord and his interpreter squinted to take in what seemed to be going on around them. One of the shiny elves was telling all the other shiny elves what to do. Tocxhol found it distracting, then annoying, to see all the white cloth whipping about as the High Elves raced to and fro.


The air at least was welcoming… the salt air behind him was overtaken by the stink of rotting fish and burnt mammal-flesh… apparently a large amount of food was caught and/or processed on the beach. Inviting barrels of rendered fat burned on campfires… Goq-quet saw the drool pooling at the edge of his Warlord’s mouth, and asked if he should inquire about acquiring one of the vats of fat for a snack… but Tocxhol would not be distracted by meals… at least not yet. Once he had a lay of the land he could seek to gorge himself as befit his station.


They heard a splash behind them, and then another… brutes were jumping over the sides of the ship, and trying to catch the sharks as they sped about in the shallow water. Tocxhol FUMED silently, and Goq-quet barked a base-tone series of utterances to the Aymaran on the deck on the ship. “SECURE THE BRUTES OR THEY’RE GOING TO FILL THE ENTIRE SHALLOWS WITH BLOOD, AND WHEN THE SHARKS FRENZY THEY’LL BE HEADED TO THE BRUTES AND NOT AWAY! SCARRED GET IT DONE!”


The Brutes milling about above were put under more direct control, and ropes and skiffs were used to retrieve the already wayward brutes and pull them back aboard the ship. Adhoc, one of the bigger and stupider of the brutes, had to be lassoed by Aymarans standing on the ship’s forecastle, all while he slowly crushed one tiger-shark to death in his arms while at the same time doing a horrible job of trying to swallow another whole. The exile fishermen were disturbed by the spectacle, but seemed obviously not to want any trouble. They were just glad the brutes would stop scaring away all the fishes.


The high elves made full notice of the Aymarans, and Tocxhol could tell the High Elves were evaluating any threat his tribe posed… Goq-quet assessed the elves as they flitted about, and being more sensitive to minor details like facial expressions, explained to Tocxhol, that the High elves did not seem to fear them… They had shiny armor and fancy weapons. They must have arrived a day if not hours before them. They seemed to be organizing the construction of some kind of dock… pity it appeared the Aymaran craft had beached itself when it made landfall. Tocxhol was unmoved by this. If he needed the boat again, he would have the brutes move it.


With his forces restrained and the beach examined, Tocxhol and his interpreter began seeking a greater lay of the land. Interestingly, it seemed the leader of the elves had been met by a welcome delegation of one of the more early arriving settlers – seemingly a bunch of weedy humans, but many of them seemed tough by the regular flimsy measure of humans. Tocxhol was greeted in turn by this delegation, who introduced the Aymaran and his interpreter to what seemed to be the leader of the Exiles… a giant hulk of a man, it only made sense he’d be in charge… Tocxhol recognized him as a Tundra-Barbarian… He had killed one of these in the Arenas long ago, and it was a terrific fight. Both his jaw and his tail had been broken before he exploded the barbarian’s head like some kind of children’s party favor, with a rock he managed to scoop up in the fracas… good memories of a proper battle… Tundra Barbarians were what humans should be from an Aymaran perspective.


More surprising however, was when Goq-quet explained that this barbarian, “Baez” he was called – was NOT in fact the leader of the exiles… and if he wasn’t the biggest human among the exiles, perhaps there was another leader, somehow bigger than this one. Tocxhol smiled inwardly – he would have to meet this “Maeder, Boss of Exiles.” It might be interesting to lay eyes on a human that didn’t immediately raise thoughts of a meal.


Baez seemed strong, so the Aymarans listened to him, mostly. The others assembled, two convicts who seemingly wished they were somehow a threat, and three gibbering monkeys – one a pusher of papers, another who’s role neither Tocxhol nor Goq-quet could possibly determine, and what smelled like a female human that appeared, for no justifiable reason, to be there in the capacity of a florist. Goq-quet conceded he might have misunderstood a fair amount of what was said, but he didn’t think so. They gave the Aymarans maps, and basic information about how the colony had come so far. They said the colony had aggregated it’s food at the top of the cliffs, up the sand-slope, and there was seemingly a lot of meat. This was pleasing, at least.


The two Aymarans surveyed the depression above them, some kind of human slum growing out of the top of the cliff, where beyond lay some central location they called “PLATZ”…


With a maps in hand, and his interpreter possessed of what MIGHT be accurate information about the surrounding terrain… The warlord could make further decisions for his tribe… and perhaps, if he felt like it, attempt to parlay with the high elves on the beach… very militant these elves. If he tried, Tocxhol could even force his eyes to adjust to their swishy movements… they seemed to know the value of a life of brutality… he knew how a pale-skin warrior carried himself differently from a pale-skinned morsel, (it was one of the first things you learned in the sport-fighting pits)… and he did not seem to see any of these elves as morsel pale-skins… interesting… High Elves also had in common with the Aymaran the fact that both kept the Muurdaan at arms-length by being too deadly for the Eternal Empire to handle on their own turf... that was something perhaps that Aymarans could respect... or perhaps they were just a bunch of mincing would-be snacks. Tocxhol would have to make up his mind. For now he was two parts angry, two parts hungry, and one part curious -- which was about as inquisitive an Aymaran like him could ever expect to be.


Goq-quet had started scooping piles of rotting fish guts off of the sand and absent-mindedly devouring them. Either the humans didn’t like innards, or this was some kind of welcome offering. Goq-quet indicated that the piles of stinking organs in buckets were called “Chum” and the humans used it to fish with… but many of the piles of organs laying around might actually be offerings, a kind of 'free for all' they would never have seen in their native land. The exiles were telling them before where all the food could be found… maybe this is one of the things they were getting at.


(if desired, the Aymarans can choose to gather ‘Stinking Chum’ as a food source)


The Crocodile men had arrived. Let this new land’s creatures tremble, for it is the Aymarans themselves who may come for them now…

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis faced the fountain and said "A banquet of essences?" He pondered as to what that meant. He thought back to where the falconer had caught the bird. It was near the great redwoods... and close to the boneyard. Something was feeding on top of that accursed tree, a giant mouth as Lady Cassandra described. Was it the remains of these poor victims that fed these great trees that enabled them to grow so large? Thus, by proxy, the blackbirds that fed on the berries, seeds, and insects of the area, who are sustained by the remains in the boneyard, would be consuming the remains as well. It seemed like a reasonable assumption. Thus, Caelis began to present his hypothesis. "These birds are from the great redwoods to the east. Some... being has been feasted upon bodies and bodies for years there, gnolls, elves, humans. All types of remains are found there. The trees themselves and the native ecosystem are feasting on this banquet of "carrion", which enables them to all grow. These birds themselves like eat seeds and berries that are grown from the remains or perhaps the remains themselves. That is why each of these birds are a "banquet" as you say. That is my hypothesis."


As for the questions, he didn't ask quite yet. He wanted the being to speak more before he asked as every sentence that was spoken seemed to give off a bit of information. Caelis wanted to makes sure that he was asking the right questions, but that in itself needed knowledge. Thus, we waited to see if his guess as to why the fountain spirit was delighted by his offering.


Summary:


Caelis presents his hypothesis about the blackbirds.


---


Back at the Tyren camp, Lady Cassandra woke from her terror filled slumber in a fit. She was breathing heavily as she couldn't seem to calm down. The images of her vision filled her mind. She couldn't make sense of them. All she felt was dread and horror. She needed to understand why she saw this in her vision. She remembered how a spirit seemed to guide her in her vision. It seemed like it wanted her to see what had happened in these lands and what was to come. The future was grim, but why did this spirit want here to have this vision? Was it warning them? Did it want to help them to fight against this terror? She needed answers. She quickly stood and began hurrying to the boulder fields in search of the spirit that helped her have her vision.


Summary:


Lady Cassandra begins her search for the spirit that she felt earlier.

 

[SpiralErrant]

Orm watched anxiously from the base of the hills as he watched the small human party march their way across the tree bridge towards the gnoll camp. Any moment now he'd have to leap into that river or something when arrows flew out from the tree line and last night's events repeated themselves. The wagons were still arrayed around the back of the hills thanks to the attack and he was keeping his people far away from the range and sight of any ranged attack that might come their way... and he hated that this was the best he could do right now. All he could do was hope that this Lothar was as good as his word and actual talks could break out between the two sides instead of more bloodshed. Deep down Orm knew they couldn't afford to enter into some three sided war right now and all the combined voices of the other leaders had come together that they would hold back to start with in case their appearance rubbed salt in the gnolls' own wounds. So fine, he could swallow his pride and wait, at least they'd agree they'd come over and speak for themselves to get to the bottom of this once the way was cleared. Orm had to admit it made sense now that he was thinking with a rested head. A really well rested one actually, it was weird considering all the stress that was surrounding him. Maybe it was all the armed backup they had hanging around.


They were more reliable than Shul at least, who'd wandered home early in the morning all bleary eyed and rambling about a statue.


"It's alive, Orm, I'm telling you. Well not actually but- but it's a spirit in there and it's a good one. Like it knew stuff and it made the flowers grow and it was telling me.... ugh! It'll come back to me I just have to focus, I'll get there!" The little shaman had gone on in frustration.


If it was anyone else Orm would have waved them off as a drugged up fool. But he and Shul had grown up together and he'd known the third ring's craft enough to know the role strange plants played and that gathering up all the talk he heard in the moment could be a tricky thing. If only it had arrived at a better time. For now he'd humour his old friend if it helped him focus for the task ahead. "Fine I'll send some of the rock clearing crew to bring it back for you, Shul, they know where it is. Now go wash that gunk off yourself."


Shul looked down at his hand, remembering the poppy mark that had been left on him. A mark of a bond. Of a pact made. He still had time, he remembered that much, just a little water before the moon and he could be rid of it. But the feeling that spirit had given him, the knowledge it had let him glimpse that waved in a haze just beyond his sight and promises it made... or implied anyway had some potential to them. Power Shul could bring to Hrun'taras.


"I don't think I should."


A team of Tyren workers are sent to boulder field to retrieve the idol statue and bring it back to Hrun'taras. (2 skilled workers, 2 unskilled)