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

[Prince Vaethorion]

@Elendithas @Beckoncall


A very Tall High Elf spearman on watch with violet eyes and silver hair named "A'maelamin" blew an elven whistle (in a pitch that Elves and a few other creatures can only hear) to alert the other High Elves of an approaching vessel.


"My Lord Captain, there approaches a vessel of what seems to be of Driconyl (the Elven name for Aymaran)" A'maelamin chirped in High Elvin.


The surreal, graphic scene of brutes hunting for Tiger sharks was a sober sight for the highly disciplined High Elves. Many of the High Elves witnessing the spectacle thought the same thing, that these creatures were a potential threat to them. As a consequence, without even a touch of fear, many of the Elves tightened the grip on their weapons and instinctively prepared themselves for hostility.


The veracity and raw power of the Aymaran are well known in Elvin lore. This was recounted by the War Mage. Not all Elves however recalled the long history of the Elves and Driconyl. This was a story that was forgotten by many with the exception of better students of Elvin history.


In brief, in a time very, very long ago before the history of humans even existed, an Elf and a Dwarf were traversing a swamp near an ancient temple. On their route, they were attacked by a group of hunting Troglodytes (a historic enemy of the Aymaran). The Elf and Dwarf were surely dead meat (literally), if not for the arrival of a fierce Driconyl whom with spear slew four Troglodytes and caused the rest to flee. The Driconyl who could not speak any known language other than their own took the Elf and Dwarf back to his people. This began a relationship that lasted some time. The Elf taught the Driconyl leaders how to speak Elven, and later some common. This was an important advancement for the Driconyl. The Dwarves gifted the Croc-Folk with the technology of the Dwarven Axe and the technology for better weapons. Thus goes the lore.


This story although interesting, was not much comfort to those High Elves seeing a crocodile man crush a Tiger Shark to death while attempting to eat it.


That said, the High Elves felt confident, that their superior speed, martial prowess and very sharp weapons could slay such creatures if need be. The Prince knew of the Aymaran race, of their kinship with his Sylvan ancestors, but did not care for such primitive brutality. "What kind of colony is this to be?" he commented discretely to his second in command. "exile criminals, Minotaurs, Aymaran, Muurdan lap dogs..., Is this another cruel joke made by the vile Muurdan? Perhaps this is all a test of some sort? Nonetheless, we have work to do and we have a mission to accomplish." The Prince said in resignation.


The Prince turned to the linguist. "I will need you to help me communicate with these beast and to do so in a manner that does not belie my contempt."


The linguist nodded tacitly, "Yes, my Lord Captain, that is my job, to make you seem far more tolerant than you actually are.".


The Prince paused for a second detecting a backhanded compliment, or perhaps an insult, no matter.


"As long as these creatures have plenty of meat to eat we shall get along fine. The moment the food runs out, we will ALL be on their menu if we allow". The Prince said to his people. "Keep this is mind and note where their vitals are and remember that their eyes are the most vulnerable spot. If one tries to eat you, use your speed and skill to strike at their eyes. Their underbellies are soft and there are points between their armor that an arrow, spear or sword can penetrate. I think it goes without saying that do NOT let them get too close to you in a fight, or the upper hand in water or you will be their lunch! they are slower than us, but much stronger. Do NOT act like prey and they will not treat us like prey." The Prince said firmly. "On a positive note, these animals will eat our enemies alive". the Prince said confidently.


Despite the Prince's innate prejudice against such abdominal creatures, he reminded himself of their joint history in ancient lore and of the fact they both fought the Muurdan. "We will do our best to get along with them, and all the other foul creatures on this horrid, cursed world." The Prince ordered his commanders. "Lets use these beasts to our and the colony's advantage. They are colonist like us for better or worse. Lets offer them the knowledge and skill to build a dock for the ship, if in return they would keep tiger sharks at bay and lend some of their brute strength to rapidly complete the task of building two docks (presuming there is enough material to do so or one dock with a vessel on each side).


The Prince took out a special silk purse from under his cloak, and took a pinch of a prized flower, crushed and sniffed it. The effects of exhilaration were immediate. The Prince seemed far more focused now, and ready to take on the New world with gusto.


Orders


* instruct High Elves how to kill Croc-men if High Elves are attacked (likely by hungry brutes) eyes, and soft under bellies are weakness


* Order linguist to speak to the Amayran and establish rapport


* Initiate contact with Amayran, make offer to help with know how to build a dock for their ship in return for keeping Tiger Sharks at bay and for lending man power to build docks rapidly (and perhaps port). Their abilities to swim well, and their strength are well suited for aiding in building under water.


* A port would ultimately require boulders to be moved and sunk in ocean to build sea wall. (this is the next more ambitious project, but would help insure the safety of ships in bad weather)


* maintain alert, and continue with other orders laid out as needed.


Elves join healers guild. Allow up to three Skilled medics to work at guild in 8 hour shifts each.

 

[Elendithas]

@Prince Vaethorion @Beckoncall


Baez was certainly a worthy example of a human, though still quite a lot smaller than himself. Regardless, it was nice to know that the humans hadn't only sent their brutes to this new world, but a few of their chosen as well. Then Goq-quet started to talk about all these entrails lying around and how apparently the humans didn't use them for food. "What? There must be enough of these innards around to fill our stomachs for days. Get some of the Cunnings to gather up what isn't in barrels or buckets, and make sure they're watched." Tocxhol replied. It was nice to be recieving gifts this early from the humans, though whether it was because they were afraid or respectful hadn't quite been discovered yet. Tocxhol and Goq-quet begun to make their way back to the boat when all of the sudden a swishing white robe approached. Tocxhol had to cover his eye for a moment so he didn't just lose it. Damned elves and their bright colors. Once the elf begun to speak however, he started to move his hand. At least the swishing had stopped, but now the thing was talking in such a high-pitched and smooth voice that it may as well have started up again. "Deal with the elf." Tocxhol interrupted as he turned and continued on his path to the ship, yelling "CUNNINGS!" to get their attention. Bastards may as well have been eating their own snot this whole time.


Goq-quet on the other hand was handling the voice and attire of the elf in a completely normal way for diplomatic purposes. "Forgive Tocxhol, he doesn't spend much time among the fairer races of the world." He said in elven, starting the talks off with a compliment. The way he spoke was in as deep a tone as any other time, but his elven were highly refined and his voice as smooth as any elf. A product of the enhancements made to his voice. Listening again to what the linguist had to say Goq-quet replied "As knowledgable as your people are, we know well how to build a simple dock. Our engineer is quite good at her job. Though, we could come to another agreement. We will help you with the docks if in turn you help us in gathering food. Nothing ridiculous of course, simply enough to justify the physical power our people possess being in your service for a time. What do you say?". Goq-quet was standing with surprisingly good posture in the presence of the elf, mimicing their own way of standing to the best of his ability. In said position, he must have stood at double the height of the elf, making things a bit odd, though he was standing a fair distance away so he wouldn't have to look directly down to meet his eyes.


Back at the ship, Tocxhol was organizing a crew of five cunnings and one of the scarred to go gather the chum lying on the beach. They were unloading empty barrels and crates from the ship to fill, each Aymaran carrying four, one in each hand and one under each arm. Aside from the Cunnings occasionally starting to eat from the piles and the scarred barking orders to stop at them, the run went smoothly, and they went several times, filling as many crates and barrels as they could with the stuff. Tocxhol, meanwhile, was looking at the map they had retrieved from the Exiles, noting a possible swamp a fair distance away. There was also a river, however close it may have been to the ongoing battles as he were told. That actually made it an even better position in his mind, though it may be best to discuss potential sites with the rest of the chosen. Deciding without any of their input has gotten him into trouble before. Nothing they couldn't handle of course, but enough to more or less permanently affect the way the clan lived. Council on his mind, tocxhol went about gathering his advisors. With Goq-quet busy though, he would have to weigh in later. Great One knows how long his "diplomacy" usually takes. Setting up a makeshift circle of chairs, or rather triangle given who all was there, Tocxhol placed the map in-between them all. Every chosen understood common even if they couldn't speak it, so the markings weren't trouble. "The way I see it, we can set up at the swamp or the river. The river is closer to battles these colonists have been fighting. That's the only real reason I see to even have a discussion about this." Tocxhol stated as he looked about to his advisors, Teqti, and Quetankha.


Summary:

• Goq-quet discussing labor terms with high-elf linguist.
  
• 5 Cunnings, 1 scarred gathering "stinking chum" from beach
  
• Tocxhol consulting advisors on where to set camp, temporary or permanent.
  

 

[Beckoncall]

@Heyitsjiwon :


"THE SECOND OVERTURE OF DIPLOMATS":


Sir Lothar turned to his Linguist and nodded – It was time. The elves would not stay their hands for long. The Sundered King would make this mission on foot, his linguist carried a basket of coins and other valuables, and behind them, The lady Phaedra, a farmer and singer by trade, carried a basket of food offerings.





The sun is rising... the first light is cutting through the night's grey clouds, and seeming to tear through the forest ahead... casting dappled light into the wood that was so impenetrable to the eyes only hours before...





The stalling of the Tyren behind them was at an end... SIr Lothar was free to proceed... the way into the wood is visible... but nonetheless foreboding as they stood at the very front of the colony's fortifications across the river…





Exile convicts, arriving from the Martketplatz, were settling into vigil, looking at them incredulously… a lone knight, a man of letters, and a farmgirl going to meet the gnolls? The Attolians were mad, that was the exile consensus.





Lothar moved forward towards the forest with confidence, and his companions in tow. The mood was somber. Without a doubt, everyone was concerned. Death was a very real possibility for this envoy if fortune did not smile upon them today.


"Phaedra, dear, could you sing us a little ballad? Tis a dreary mood to be going on a nature walk!" Lothar joked





the group, with courage, climbs the slight grade that separates the riverside from the wood... they pick their way through the path of least resistance, the area of the woods border that was pulverized by the Tyren Shaman's rock, at the end of the previous fighting.





And Phaedra sang.... a somber tone, but one lilted with hope... the song seemed to echo in the wood, and the sound of running paws seemed to head away from Lothar's company...


Sentries, likely far in the wood, had been alerted....





The linguist turned his feet in the ground beneath him... "Well, they know we are hear at least, eh m'lord?" He let go a nervous laugh.





"Ahh, well. It seems that our hosts know that we have arrived. Perhaps, we should be proper guests and wait at the entrance until they're ready to receive us." Lothar once again joked. He intended to simply wait near the outskirts with the group. There was no need to make it difficult for the gnolls to find them or be suspicious of their movements.





Time passed... the woods got a little brighter... Phaedra kept singing, to keep the spirit up... in the fortifications behind, they see some of the convicts too, are soothed by the music... however,


the overall atmosphere is that they are still going to their deaths…





More time passes, but you get the feeling you are being watched... from well beyond the range of your senses, you are being observed.





Far to the south, somewhere unplaceable, can be heard distant howls and fighting in the wood.


The first light has meant the resumption of hostilities between the gnolls and the masked ones....


More time passes... Lothar can't be sure, but his observers may have settled in to watch him…





"It appears that the battle is not yet over." Lothar commented. Without a doubt, the gnolls will be on edge and suspicious of all. Obviously, not the most opportune time to attempt this envoy, but there was no better time if the gnolls were to be saved. Thus, he continued to slowly walk towards the forest, intending to enter just a bit deeper with the group.





The Tyren and elves on the other side of the river look quizzically at the group... they are wondering, no doubt, why nothing has happened yet.





Lothar's entry, his steel-shod boots snapping wood with every step... cast noise deep into the forest ahead...just at the limit of his vision... he can see the shadow of a gnoll.... watching... it retreats, but slowly.





"Hello!" Lothar says. "Anyone speak Common?"





To the northwest, and northeast, similar sentries move back...


There is a baying yip from the Northwest... it is echoed in the northeast... but no further reply is forthcoming...





He can no longer see your observers, but they are no doubt still watching.


not far ahead of their position, is the place where Belanor's elves had first slain the gnolls nights before… The bodies are gone, but blood trails and drag marks are evident in the brush…





A chorus of howls sounds far to the southeast... it would seem some minor skirmish has been won by the gnolls...





The observer to the southeast, cast in shadow, can be seen settling in to watch them...





"It appears that our hosts are currently too busy." Lothar said. "Perhaps, it might be better to leave our gifts for them, and continue waiting at the entrance once more." Lothar indicated to Phaedra that she should leave the basket at a clearing. While she did so, Lothar took the effort to take a piece of bread from the basket and eat it slowly.





little can be divined of their vigilant monitor, not color nor equipment... using its superior senses to mind their moves out of human sight...





Lothar continued to eat -- This was to show the gnolls that the food was not poisoned. Once he finished the bread, he looked at the group and indicated that they should walk back a bit to allow the gnolls to safely reach the basket. The gifts were placed... and the sentry watches Sir Lothar intently. As they begin to move back to the river... a low growl issues from a different direction as the sentry they see...





"Grrrrrrrrrr...." whatever the gnolls want, they are not enthused at the prospect of them going back to the river, now that they had already set foot in Gnollish wood…





"Well then. It appears that they desire us to stay." Lothar stated as he stopped. He looked at the linguist and said "I don't imagine that you know how to speak their language, would you?"





The linguist sort of shrugs... "Without hearing some of their own diction I can barely begin to IMAGINE what they'd understand... I know some early era druidic sign-language, and a mite bit of Koblodo-Gnollic Posturing... what should I be attempting to convey?” He twisted his monocle reflexively over his eye, blinking under the pressure to remember obscure lore…





"What we're doing right now, waiting and wanting to talk." Lothar said. He then decided to take a seat on a rather comfortable looking rock as they would continue to wait for the gnolls to initiate some form of communication or contact.





The linguist looks ridiculous... intermittently shifting between strange hand gesticulations, and a kind of crouching movement that places his hands and weight behind him... it seems to be presenting an ability to move forward, but with restraint....





"GrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"


The Gnolls don’t seem to like this at ALL.





Phaedra remarks that she can hear the movement in the southeast coming closer...it is possible one of the sentries has gone to alert whatever forces were fighting deeper in the wood.





"Well then. It appears that they don't appreciate it. You may stop." Lothar told the linguist.


"Say Phaedra, while we wait, Know any other good songs?" Lothar asked.





More yipping from the north, and the east...





Phaedra thinks, and then she begins to sing a canyon hymnal... rock country-folk use a kind of yodeling dirge to sing to other workers across rough terrain... when she starts... the yipping quickly stops. Deep to the east, a deep yodeling howl responds.





Lesser howls break out all around their position... giving away the trace of more sentries than you previously thought.





"Well then... looks like that song is stirring the m a bit." Lothar said. "Hope they like it."


Phaedra stops, and the howling in the wood stops... deep to the east again, the gnoll this time seems to be trying to mimic the song... or at least a note or two of it.


Phaedra looks to Lothar, wondering if she should continue.





"Seems like they're just having a bit of fun. Why not? Better than just sitting here in silence. no?" Lothar replied.





The Linguist pipes up... "Gnolls, as a species, respect strength most over all, at least commonly... I am afraid that if our actions are not seen as decisive, very soon... we'll essentially be provoking them to attack, sir." The linguist was very worried indeed… he had to remember that while Sir Lothar was a Knight and Warrior of some expectation, A noble cavalryman seldom has the attitude or knowledge necessary to the survival of an infantry-man… Up on his horse, Lothar need only know where his enemy was… for the footman, life was often more complicated, and dangerous, than that… he would be mindful to be counsel as well as translator…





Phaedra continues to sing... and the scattered chorus of howls returns... the sound scattered about the forest, just as the new morning light is scattered through the canopy… but something is wrong. The howls, in aggregate, are closer still…





"Ahh, now that's something I wish I knew earlier before we started this." Lothar replied. "Very well... let's see if they'll let us slowly walk forward since they're not wanting us to walk back."





The linguist can see that a number of gnolls had been coming closer to the southeast... but as Lothar steps forward they begin to move back... even lothar can see the disturbance in the brush... though it is minimal. The linguist wondered, were those gnolls to have charged them had they not taken a step forward? He gulped. It was at this moment the good Linguist began to contemplate that he might actually die this morning.





"Well, if that's not a sign for us to follow, then I'm not quite sure what is." Lothar said. As he looked around to see if gnolls in any other direction were moving back as well.





Phaedra looked physically and palpably frightened... it seems obvious to her those gnolls were going to pounce when they got close enough. It becomes harder for her to sing... but the strongest howl continues to be mirrored in the east, then scattered elsewhere as if in reply…





The gnolls in the east were steadfast... but Lothar felt if he advanced they'd retreat... the Gnolls to the North however, did not look like they might move at all – eyes and weapons shined behind bough and brush there where they looked... Thusly distracted, when Lothar turned, the ones in the southeast were already gone from sight....he'd have to advance to even see if they were still there.





Phaedra looked like she was going to break for a moment, but the Linguist calms her. This woman was known to be brave, she was chosen for her willful spirit for this mission among the workers of the Attolians – but she was no fighter. If her singing meant peace, or even at this point survival… he would sing. She must.





"The strongest voice is to the east. Is it not? I imagine that's their alpha male and the person that we want to speak with." Lothar began to slowly walk. "Do not fear Phaedra. A lady is prettiest when she smiles. Tears do not belong on the face of a woman." As he came over to hand her a handkerchief.





Phaedra is heartened by sir lothar's chivalry and apparent lack of fear...


"I sing for Lord Caelis and the grace and hospitality at the heart of Attolian pride" she whispers to herself... "Gods please let this not be my time."





But as he expects... the gnolls to the east yield the pass as they approach...





With that done, Lothar urged the group to continue heading east to the sound of the strongest howling. It did not take long for Lothar and his company to come to the edge of a clearing... in the center of the clearing were two baskets just as Sir Lothar's group had brought...





Sir Lothar's hairs on his sword-hand raised... there was a VERY strong presence here... out of sight, but CLOSE. Almost at once, all signs of gnolls around them vanished... The Linguist was sure they'd circled behind them... but just as suddenly they seemed waved away.





Lothar looked at Phaedra and indicated that they should go ahead slowly and check the baskets. After all, it was rude to reject a gift if this was one. As he walked, he allowed his eyes to continually scan the forest line.





They searched intently, but still no sign of gnolls... only the forboding cloud of presence that seemed to descend in their absence…





In the basket... heads of masked ones... and skulls. They are human skulls mostly, though some with slight sylvan bone structure, Lothar could imagine. He imagined they may be older trophies taken from dead masked ones, or the bones taken from masked ones themselves.





"The heads of the masked ones." Lothar said. "War trophies...”





"I am thinking in comparison to this, our offerings will not make an impression" sighed the linguist.





"Aye, these are quite the gifts." Lothar nodded.





Just then... something akin to language half-snarled from the east... “eeyou nari ahchah klah? Eeyou Tvin wost makken Sun?” The voice was like the words of an ancient play, funneled through a long snout, lazy tongue, and a mountain of anger…





Lothar has no idea what is being said, but the Linguist is straining to find meaning...





Phaedra, is terrified. she sits holding her knees with the baskets you've brought, turning her head away from the gristly discovery in the baskets, and the even more gristly sound seeming to come from almost above them, deeper in the wood...





Just Then, The linguist seems to have an ephiphany...


"2nd dynastic pre canonic common.... centuries old dialect, but unmistakable."





"So they are, indeed, from the old world... were you able to ascertain any meaning?" Lothar asked.





"I'm trying..." He clears his throat and tries his best to mimic sir Lothar's voice and countenance.... he's translating what Lothar just said... it sounds NOTHING like the growling you hear... but it still evokes a reply...





FLYING over the wood to the east, an almost GIANT, JET-BLACK hulking form FALLS into the clearing... landing on all fours... it is BARELY recognizable as a gnoll... When it lands, Phaedra almost bounced from her sitting position, and Lothar’s Linguist is thrown instantly to the ground. A ring of dust and dirt rises from where the beast fell before them… Only Lothar remained aloft. The creature, crouched as it was – was eye to eye with the armored knight. It’s eyes shone like amber fire…





(Oh shi!) Was Sir Lothar’s reaction to its arrival… he had the weight of his armor, and the natural reflex to brace learned from a thousand charges to thank for even being still on his feet..





It is easily the largest specimen the Attolian ever heard tell of, much less seen.... covered in some kind of plated-mail... but what could move like that under such weight of armor? Its back plates were rowed with scythe-like blades... and so too his arms end in what would appear to be the fore-claws of mantises.... all about elsewhere, almost seeming at random, thick, spiky, hair-like filaments stuck out from the black armor…





The thing was entirely covered in the chitanous armor of some hideous type of bug... Something of size that every aspect suggested hostility and predation…





The creature standing before him looked less like a Gnoll than a furry insect, crossed with an iron-maiden bristling with spikes.





The linguist translates his growl... as he skulks an even distance from the baskets in the clearing.





"I am Walks-in-Cull..." the Linguist translates.





His furry claws curl near the ground, the fingers seeming to be pulling for a reply... covering his hands are the heads of hideous insects... it seems his entire armor is a trophy to the defeat of some hideous predatory creature. Clearly enraged, the beast is nonetheless restrained – It looks at Lothar as if he’d perhaps expected to meet someone else… but the fact that he was still standing and likewise heavily armored gave him pause.





Phaedra wept softly... she wondered if bravery even mattered now…





"Phaedra, fear is the poison of the mind. Be strong." Lothar said. He then continued "Hail! Walks-in-Cull"





It sniffs at sir Lothar... he can't tell, but it seemed to be evaluating the quality of your armor... something you at least have in common. It likewise eyes the weapons Sir Lothar had brought to bear… Lothar would never know, but the beast scanned intently for a quiver – or a bow… if he did not have one, then who stood before him?





"I am Sir Lothar Wolff."





The creature snorts incredulously.... and barks in return...


"You greet me as somebody who does not tear the flesh of my people... this is a mistake."





"Is that so." Lothar replied "To be frank, I find greetings to be rather... boring."





The giant gnoll glances asconce at the south, to the place so many masked ones had been found felled… then seemed to be tilting its head to examine his sword... it listens.





"To the point, I came here to be granted audience with the leader of the gnolls. I am sure you are aware that we are foreigners to this land, but what we also know of is your current conflict with the masked ones to the south... and the long, painful history that you have with them." Lothar continued.





It sniffs in the direction of the baskets they’d brought... and in the direction of Phaedra... a low, displeased growl emanates... with perhaps a tinge of contemptuous disappointment. This seemed not to be one of the aggressors in the attack… it’s eyes narrowed… there would be little vengeance for the souls of his brothers in the slaughter of this man-thing…





The Gnoll halts as the Linguist translates...





"You know of our conflict... and you know of the type of gifts we appreciate....", he gestured to the basket of heads between them and waved contemptuously at the offerings Sir Lothar had for tribute… he lowers his head to the ground and with a single puff, blows the food basket over... spilling its contents in a line behind Phaedra... it’s breath smells like iron, it’s gruesome bug-mask drips with bloody froth and issues from its rasping jaws – where seen, his pulse is nearly visible on his gum-line… when he speaks, his aggression runs his mouth white and red, his fangs flashing, his gums bleeding…





"My great great grandfather said that the folk of the old world were fools, that the only wisdom was to turn our back on them... but I wonder perhaps if he would see the truth of that... in this meeting..."





Sir Lothar gestured to the scattered food and shiny baubles --


"Yes, these are yours. A gift from my people. We seek to make a cooperative agreement with your people. We know little of the... evil that resides in these lands, but we know it lives and thrives. Yet, your people have braved generations here, and against the malicious masked men to the south. I seek to have us both help each other so that we may prosper in these lands and for our children."





The Gnoll continues to take the vision of the three of them in... to him, it seems perhaps that you are the living embodiment of a lie you tell to children... It is obvious that while he was taught the language of the old world, he clearly never expected to see an old-worlder... in fact, the linguist muses that common is likely the language they use to speak only with their enemy... lest it serve no purpose but as a dead language to know…





"We have men who can help your people in their generations of war for survival. If you are willing to see an agreement to come to fruition. Ultimately, we do not seek to fight with you and your people."





The gnoll seems to half laugh... then consider a response...





"I propose THIS.... old-worlder...." The beasts lip curled… it’s black fur bristled as slowly blinked at Lothar, continually summing him up…





"Take your paltry crumbs and your specks of shining metal... you have taken from my people blood, and we shall see that debt repaid... take OUR gifts instead... and...."





The creature licked the froth from his lips before continuing:





"Leave the girl. Surely, a small price to pay for the lives of my kin you so brazenly stolen."





Phaedra is HORRIFIED.


Sir Lothar retorted. "And what of the blood of your children and the future of your kin? Will YOU pay for the price of their lives by allowing this war to continue? Will YOU pay the price for allowing more of your kin to die? I offer YOU a path to peace for your people, a duty that YOU have as a leader."





"Man-fool....." it pauses...."I shall be perhaps the last being any of your folk will see two years hence, before you are swept from this world like the fleas you are... And my folk will not have to lift a paw to see that happen... it is pre-determined. You already know in the back of your mind.... My people will survive... your fate is sealed just like the same foolish humans who blustered to my ancestors. The same threats and promises. You… to me, are little more than a comical villain in my culture’s fairy tales – arrogant louts that existed only as a footnote to make my predecessors seem wiser. I am already considering the last conversation that I will have with the last of your people... when the culling time comes..."





Sir Lothar retorted again: "Survive? What is it to survive? To cower inside your cave? I offer you the opportunity for you people to be liberated from the torment that your people have suffered for so long. Will you cast it aside that simply? Will you not fight for your kin to prosper?"





"I think mayhap that helm will serve as a gauntlet of mine, on that day the soul is ripped from your fleshy bones, screaming." scoffing, it then considers his words...





"You offer and end to our war, and to break the cycle of the culling?" It laughs as it says this.





"We know of the culling. We will not sit like cattle, waiting to be slaughtered. Will you?" Lothar was on unsteady ground – but if the creature respected strength, Sir Lothar felt the best he could show his adversary was his lack of fear, and his purity of intent… questioning the beast’s bravery was a brazen move – but it was the best way to get a warrior’s answer from a warrior, he felt…





The giant gnoll was clearly driven near-mad with the questioning of his steel against his foes:





"I am WALKS IN CULL!"


"DO YOU THINK I FEAR IT!?"





It takes deep breaths of Lothar, who sweats in his armor... as if his smell might reveal some secret...





"I do not ask if YOU fear it. I ask if you can fight, or have the balls to do so that your people will no longer hide in a cave for generations to come." Lothars’ hand rested on his hilt – his pointed reason akin to a duel all its own with the creature…





"I am the only thing within range of the loudest howl that can walk in the days of the cull without the stink of divines to protect him." It growled… "the ONLY thing. Not a beetle, or a bear, or a giant can stand the cull. I am the gate that slams shut at the way to my people."





"Simply walk.” Lothar mused – “Yet, you do not speak of fighting the cull. Will you not be Fights The Cull?"





"I was taught as a child that I may one day hear this bluster. I shall sit atop one of your crooked houses and watch the last of your people bravely stand... what do you think of that – we shall see what name you will be worthy of on that day, steel-fool – and it will not be flattering." The beast blew it’s hot breath out into the clearing… it’s body seemed to rise and fall with it’s respiration.





If this talk was a duel, then Lothar would make a Lunge, to see where it might lead their battle of wills -- "I say that you are coward for not wanting more for your people."





Just then... a ragged howl sounds from the north... and all, even walks in cull, must respond... A twinkle seems to light in the creature’s eye, as if it had made up his mind to kill and devour Lothar – if not where he stood, then at another time…





"It seems... our time grows short, steel-fool, but I will say this... I will grudgingly respect your decision not to surrender a member of your pack... this gives you more credit than any of the wind you blow through my pelt... I will also say... that if this war is ended, and the cull is stopped, on that day I will drag your bloody corpse to a dunghill, which shall be thy grave... and there I will bite off your most ungracious head."








"Take your piss and vegetables. We do not want them. Take OUR gifts, for they actually have value.... your people OWE the gnolls... 4 times the baskets of heads and skulls... put the stink of killing behind your breath.... your empty words disgust me. Bring us this payment and we may talk again.... but one way or another.... even on the day of the cull, I shall return to settle OUR debt, steel-fool."





He holds his great claw ahead of him as if to size it against your helmet, before bounding off into the wood...





Phaedra fought to her feet and she and the Linguist steadied each other as the very ground shook as the weight of “Walks-in-Cull” throws itself to the edge of the clearing....

 

[Beckoncall]

Caelis presents his hypothesis about the blackbirds.


A trickle of blood ran from tiny holes at the top of the spire in the center of the fountain... it pooled at the base of it before similarly "cooking off" the bottom of the basin... "You have spoken the words, and spoken them rightly enough. I am well pleased... you and I should seek to understand each other. Take this... A small circular puddle of crimson flowed from the center spire... and ran along the base of the basin to below where Caelis was in attendance... Then, the puddle rose into a ruby-colored ball of ichor, which coalesced into an amulet or a chain of red iron --


"The wounder of the wearer of this charm will in turn harm themselves as well. Be more enduring than your enemy with respect to his blows, and he shall bring himself low as well as he'd attempt to make ends for you. Like all my boons, be sure you tend to it so that it's power remains pure."


(Caelis gets "Amulet of Backlash")


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


"You can do this, Cassandra -- leave the tent, and seek the spirit." -- Cassandra had meditated all morning -- she cleared her mind and had ritually blinded her all-seeing eye so that she would not be so viscerally haunted by the terror of her former vision... if she did not feel ready... she at least felt ready to try.


Opening the tent-flap, she expected to see the congregating assembly of the colony's soldiers ramping up for their aggressions to come.


She did not.


Everywhere she looked outside the tent, there were the black shadows of the dead. They lay all about the hills where the Tyren seemed to walk unfazed. They stood in THOUSANDS in boulder field, confused with limbs slack... and everywhere else she saw the psychic debris of thousands of souls who ran for their lives, and failed... Cassandra closed the tent flap, lay on her side... and shivered... Caelis would have to find her this way -- she lacked the resolve to even muster a whimper...

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

@Beckoncall @Elendithas


The High Elven linguist conveyed the Amayran counter proposal to the Prince. "Labor for Croc food my Captain, that is their counter proposal." The Prince thought of this for a moment and replied "Did you emphasize that this was an Elven Crafted dock, not just any dock?" The Prince asked with mild annoyance. "it was implied, that this was understood, my lord, they stated that they have an engineer that can build their own dock if need be." The Prince seemed amused at this idea. The Prince quipped, "Yes, the whole world marvels at croc people craftmanship" The prince said with dripping sarcasm. Never mind, I overlooked the idea that in my own appreciation of fine Elven craftelfenship, that less developed races might not have the appreciation for the same. This is fine. It's in our own interest and in the interest of the colony to keep the Driconyl well fed. Additionally, their great strength and natural proclivity towards water will be a great asset in this endeavor. Tell them that their proposal is satisfactory and well met."





The Prince being done with the linguist, politely nodded to him as a sign that he was dismissed and made a slight sign with his left hand. On command, a High Elf swordmaster aide de camp was by his side. "Yes, my Lord Captain!", the aide said with a crisp salute. The Prince lazily said "Find the spearman and Archers with the most experience at fishing and tell them to slay the poor sharks from the safety of the skiffs. Additionally, see to it that the Inventor and said fisherman devise nets and fishing lines to catch fish. The sharks must be here because there are fish to eat. Find out what fish the sharks are eating, and have them capture it in nets or with fishing lines.


Additionally, If the tamer has not left yet, inform her, to keep a look out for a source of meat to feed hungry crocodile people.That is all for now." With a polite nod the Prince sent the Aide de camp on his way.





The Prince was thinking that he hated to kill animals, but the sharks were a threat to his desire to swim leisurely in the ocean and a means to placate a greater threat,... gigantic, hungry crocodile people. The fish were eaten by some elves, but they were not typical of a High Elf diet and most definitely not the diet of Nobles and High born, so harvesting fish was a acceptable compromise to gain the benefits of Amayran labor and furthering the colony's interest, but not in competition with a preferred High Elven food source.


The need to establish as stable source of food and water for the High Elves remained a priority and time was of the essence...


Orders:


*Have linguist assent to arrangement with Amayran


*Order archers and spearman with the most fishing experience to slay sharks to offer as food and to do so safely.


* Have inventor alter/add to his plans to create shark barrier (barrier might be unnecessary with Amayran laborers and the Elves actively killing sharks) , but make nets and fishing lines instead with woven plant life, and excess rope. Have Elves catch fish.


* If the Tamer/huntress has not left, Prince request she look for large game to feed hungry crocodile people.

 

[Beckoncall]

"THE WHITE HYDRA OF COMMANDS":


@Prince Vaethorion :


@Elendithas:


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


“Mantling Nets – The answer is clear.” – The inventor referred of course to the reams and reams of web-like and wiry rope that humans had a tendency to drape all over their ships. The absence of elven agility and surety of foot made such devices essential to the (oft-inebriated) human sailor, but was little more than a relatively unneeded safety measure for the highborn, especially now the craft had come to rest. They staked down a fence in the shallows they could snake out and around the present area of dock-work, and found they had all they needed with plenty to spare… though the shape of the nets at the end of the endeavor would be suspect at best. Later, when Aymarans brought their labor on – the nets would serve the secondary purpose of keeping the brutes where they needed to be instead of randomly striking out at sharks, or each other (when they suspected their neighbors might be sharks) – Brutes understood barriers. There was a near religious experience on the part of the brutes when they saw the power of the magical barrier their lord had seemingly violated. It was seen as a great portent by those clever enough to remember the thought more than a day later… But in short, this problem had a ready solution… Nogoth, confident in her solution… returned to the deck of the Magic Arrow to lazily overwatch the construction and with far more fierce concentration mentally wrestle with some kind of puzzle-device.





@Elendithas @General Deth Glitch:


*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".


The Captain’s orders were thorough and pointed – she would not waste time in their execution. The initial layout and placement of the nets and dock-posts was a minor challenge – but the brutes that stood idly by to help with the heavy lifting did more than their share of keeping sharks away as the nets went up and after they were in place. The exiles were glad as glad to see the nets go up as the Highborn, as it kept the Aymaran’s away from their fishing skiffs, and if nothing else the work area began to repel the sharks with their noise, minimizing the area of shallows the Tiger sharks would cruise. Since fishing over the shark-holes was considerably more difficult and somewhat dangerous – the Exiles quickly saw the silver lining.


The foundations and beach-side of the docks were constructed exclusively of the white lumber the elves had brought with them from home. The engineer surely thought these timbers might be missed inside of a highborn home – but believed in her own heart in what her leader meant that this world was in need of some beauty. By the time the “beachwalk” ends of the docks were complete – many exiles had stopped work just to remark on how lovely the previously helter-skelter beach settlement was becoming. The Aymarans had happily scooped up much of their garbage – and the highborn had built a sea-walk of shining ivory wood? “Here come the neighborhood” some of the convicts were purported to say – but overall, it was seen as “Dracos’ blessing” – whatever that meant.





(Morale and health of exiles improves due to sanitation and quality of life!)


@SpiralErrant


Once the beach-runs were finished however, the engineer resigned to using more practical materials to subject to the stresses of salt and sea… It was a great comfort however, that some of Maeder’s exiles INSISTED they could take all the wood they needed from the eastern-most wreck – that they had purchased it fairly “For two barrels of water.” It seemed a strange way to put it, but perhaps this was a human euphemism for “cheap”… The Aymaran wasted no time smashing great pieces of the ship into movable parts where high elves cut them to shape so Aymarans could take to the water to lay them, after that refining their work. The Dock was going up REMARKABLY fast – an Aymaran could bear a load far heavier than a highborn dreamed, and even when they LOOKED at the limits of exhaustion there was little perceivable change in their level of effort… It became apparent that pain didn’t matter to these creatures… It was splendid to see them move the weight for highborn hands – but there was a creeping malaise to never seeing one tire… that was, until nightfall. A cold wind and colder water seemed to take the Vinegar right out of the Aymaran… at least comparatively to their efforts during the day. “Cold Blood” one of the Swordmasters was purported to say – Fighting an Aymaran in the hot Summer is a nightmare envisioned. Fighting Ayamaran in a hard Winter? Let’s just say we’d repay the favor by doing the heavy lifting for THEM, then.” Some of the exiles watched merrily as the dismal wreck on the east shore was slowly being ripped to pieces and turned into what really was shaping up to be a lovely and sturdy edifice… It would much later be learned that “Two barrels of water” meant a return on an insult made back in the old world – and many of the wood elves, springborn in particular, would feel slighted. (minor relations reductions between Wood Elves vs. Exiles, Highborn, and Aymaran.)


*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".


This task would prove more colorful than most. While indeed the market had a wide variety of edible fungi, root vegetables, and waterplants – it seemed like the entire vegetarian diet of the colony had been curated by the wood elves… without the wood elves contributions, this colony would seemingly subsist on little more than meat and derivative animal proteins like milk and cheese. It did not speak well to the culture of the colonists in the new world so far – but to the Highborn it brought relative comfort in seeing the guiding hand of the elvish already at work here…


Beyond that – Gathering was a less spectacular prospect than first hoped, they later reported that more specific parameters for where they should forage would help… but beyond finding many of the water-plants the wood elves already seemed to gather for the colony, The best the gatherers could come up with was “Dohvamon” – a survival ration made of edible grass-meal. Prohibitively labor-intensive without economies of scale, High elves have beaten starvation eating Dohvamon… but few if anyone truly LIKED the stuff. It kept, it was readily available with the presence of certain grass species… and the nutritive value of much of the grass, especially in the area of the great redwoods, was massive. The gatherers assured their officers that the quality of Dohvamon would almost be palatable… almost… Though an enterprising gatherer wondered, after seeing Tyren at market – would find the stuff far more appealing…





(High elves gain resources: Edible Cat-tail, Dohvamon (if processed))


@General Death Glitch


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


These men were already hard at work under the direction of the engineer… with so many elves running about, it was obvious there was not enough labor to make the docks – if the Aymaran hadn’t so readily stepped in. When the builders looked at the work detail, they saw the Captain had spread their numbers way too thin in light of the size of their task – but with the Croc-men… they were coming out ahead. They used their labor instead to perfect the awful misalignment of virtually any task done by the Aymaran, and while not doing that, to beautify the construction with Burn-runes, carvings, railings and light stems. The Exiles were amazed as they saw the beach even further change shape.


After a time, it began to become apparent that SOME of the exiles were getting worried. Elves could read the hearts of men easily when they had little skill or desire to hide them, It was becoming clear that the Exiles saw the beach as THEIR home – that while perhaps the entire colony used it, it was their claim above the rest. The high elves would have to address these tensions before they presented themselves unavoidable.


*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.


Awful. Awful. Awful. This “Marketplatz”, as the colonists so far called it, was little more than an extension of the ruins that spread seemingly endlessly to the west. At the top of the sandslope the exiles had built downright appalling houses – many were thought to be unsafe, much less attractive. The only thing in the entire area that seemed the slightest bit inviting to anything walking on two legs was an Inn, that while still under construction looked like it was up and operating… the establishment’s name was “Donkey Rat’s” – as if it was some kind of human whimsicality that inferred a disgusting rodent was the owner of the establishment. The menu consisted almost exclusively of heaps of butchered animal with only a seemingly recent thought given to even including any vegetable matter in the fare at all. Why did it entice at all? They only had two drinks to serve – awful beer, and some of the best wine ever offered in human lands… This particular vintage enjoyed most commonly by the Muurdaan Elite, the Highborn history books often say that the peace between the Highborn and Eternal empire was written in blood, but signed in wine. The highborn stopped here for a time with the gatherers during their market procurement, and enjoyed a bottle… that was given to them without glasses. The Exiles had no liking for the wine, and no appreciation for it. They were willing to part with it to the high elves for a pittance, something that almost made the highborn feel guilty. They clearly knew not what they had… and how much could they possess to throw it around so!?





The drink was needed, because no place in the ‘Platz was found to be, by what a highborn would call appealing… only one house on the west side of the ‘platz was even found to be worth restoring… the base of a manor-house south of an unsightly Attolian Guard-tower… the ground floor itself, once examined, seemed to have the entirety of its floors done of mosaics of water, earth, and nature scenes… a couple of rooms had a more urban theme, but the craft was still appreciable, which was saying something by hands of men… and at worst if they decided to take the structures such works could be hidden with floor-coverings. At the end of the detail, it was decided that Highborn tents and Pavilions would be erected in the southwest most area of the ‘Platz. It was close enough to the manor-ruin should they choose to rebuild it, and by the cliffs it was relatively free of disgusting human masonry wreckage. The west side was also home to the only freestanding structure that seemed to be virtually intact… it looked like a medium sized temple or marble bank… the type of structure that is almost attractive but always falls just short of being. Signed of examination and attempted entry were evident – but it stood firm… and for who knows how long. Further dedicated operations would be necessary – but the High elves wondered why the rest of the colonists seemed to walk around like this place did not exist… Were it to be opened, it would doubtless be of great utility.


Overall though, the ‘Platz was an eyesore… for three reasons above all, despite being in every way a RUIN – on the west side a hastily built Attolian watchtower was a complete eyesore. It’s necessity was established, considering conditions deeper in the ruins, but it was ugly as what men would call “sin.” Secondly, and more appalling – was an Attolian construction crane that towered over everything else in the ‘Platz. It was obstreperous and offensive to the elven eye, despite it’s obvious utility and application. It seemed the Attolians were already hard at work creating disgusting little houses from the ruins of disgusting little houses. Lovely.


@heyitsjwon


But these two concerns PALED to what was seemingly presented by the third… in the North section of the ‘Platz… a mysterious fountain squatted ominously. It was reported that Caelis, the lord of the Attolians, had been throwing birds into the fountain seemingly as part of some misbegotten blood-rite. The intelligence officer could not be sure without the scrying of a mage, but to him it STANK of blood magic… and blood magic stank of DARK ELVES. The intelligence officer did not quantify what this would mean to the highborn – that was for their leader to decide… but “Sereg'wethrin” was displeased to find it, and further displeased to see it being used, and by folk of influence no less. Caelis seemed an unlikely pawn of a Dark Elf… but seldom did pawns know that they were such. News of this must reach the ear of the leader, he thought… and cancelled the rest of the detail to report.





* Tactician, "Bring five of your best swordsmen, five skilled spearman, five archers and accompany me to the war council meeting"


“Ama handasse Marenven”, her blonde locks shining by morning light, crested the slope out of the depression and into the ‘Platz with her task force. Word was that the council had already met, but that forces were still garrisoned at a crossing in case negotiations failed and there was a mobilization. There would likely still be leaders there, and if her leader wanted this colony protected – those folk would have her arm and the full measure of her calculus. A warm wind beat against the group as they crested the clifftop, and Ama’s golden hair splayed in the wind like the rays of an angry star. Her absurdly heavy, but perfectly balanced sword rocked in it’s scabbard as she pressed her thumb on the gleaming ruby at the base of the hilt. The enemies of the colony would be butchered, if need be – and it was her goal to make sure that there was not only victory, but one worthy of pageantry. With more care to speed than noise, the taskforce moved out and would soon be at the Tyren camp…


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


Amandil was as busy as any other of the highborn – so many tasks, this leader! So many! The litanies of the nets came after prayers for understanding between the races, the graces of five different powers for seeing them safe across the sea and for their wisdom and grace on the undertaking to come… and on and on… it seemed every elf had a task and Amandil had to grace them all. If the powers would shine upon each endeavor, it would be worth it… but by nightfall, the Cleric was PAINED… they would seek council with the Highlord as soon as they seemed able and attempt to explain that he no longer had a throng of clergy to grace his every move… he would be tireless in the scope of any endeavor, but it was rapidly becoming clear that he could not be tireless in EVERY endeavor.


(Cleric needs rest and/or connection to a holy place to draw mana)


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


There were traces of dark magic here and there – on the wind, as detected, but also fading signatures on many of the exiles themselves. Nothing to speak of the content of their souls, per se – but that dark magic had influenced them, but was ebbing. It did not take long to discover, with the forming of the healer’s guild – that this was because the Exiles had brought with them a Were-rat plague… but the wood elves, exiles, and attolians had pooled expertise to overcome it. This however was disconcerting for a deeper reason. After discussion with the intelligence officer – it was confirmed that Red Cathexis had used the infection of such magical plagues as tools of assassination in the past… and that the existence of the were-plague might be solid evidence that the royal assassin not only knew where Vaethorion was headed, but that she may have planned to have him slain by poisoning the entirely of the colonists with the were-plague before his arrival.


It was possible that a focus of dark magic might have been used in the endeavor – and if there was, and the mage had reason to believe there might be such an item somewhere between the ‘Platz and the beach – that it should be contained or destroyed.


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


Lindar walked the full range of Highborn influence… he played music first in an attempt to soothe the aggressions of the Aymaran brutes – only to find that the sounds instead riled them further… He rapidly found place playing music for the Exiles, distracting and cooling the ire of those that saw the High elves as possible claimants to their “Turf” – he later ended the day playing songs at the Inn – as High Elves went, he was one you might say “less above” the rustic pleasures of the humans – and he took great pride and happiness in whipping an assortment of grim convicts into almost laughably high spirits – bawdy songs, they liked – and Lindar knew them all. Ones the Exiles knew familiar, and ones that calmed their hearts… once he had gained their attention, he captured them with raucous and salacious ballads the likes of which they’d never heard. It was a good time. Were he to keep this spot on his rotation, this Inn might actually be someplace to be, rather than to just take a drink or choke down animal flesh… Between sets, he played familiar songs of home to the Highborn work details… things that would remind them of home, and give them hope of old comforts.


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


With meat not the most welcome aspect of the high elven diet, and the work of the procurers (gatherers) successful in the marketplace… this detail rapidly lost it’s priority. The Tamer noted that there were birds to hunt in small numbers, but game here was unnaturally scarce. The locals had tell that supposedly there may have been some sort of event that scared all the animals away, though they were slowly returning… The tamer had little to show for her efforts.


* 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."


The Drillmaster did so – a schedule of training was well enough – though it would take labor away from all other tasks going forward, it made sense to keep the edge of the Highborn keen. They were too few to have the luxury of peaceful hands, he thought… that’s what he always thought…. Always.


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


None volunteered… none could with good conscience! There was so much to do that in the days that came the Highborn would be run near ragged – and with little comfort to look forward to. They lost no pride, nor fighting spirit, but they were young for elves, and had seldom if ever made due with so little. This had an impact on their spirits.


(Highborn Morale reduced slightly)

 

[Leusis]

Having listened to Orm's plans at the end of the council Belanor would silently nod, planning to stay in the camp with the Way Watchers until the Attolians time was up. Exiting the tent Belanor would simply walk the camp, eventually visiting the old Tyren that had once taught him bits and pieces of their language. It was here he intended to help them with their daily chores once again, his elven dexterity allowing him to complete tasks they usually struggled with. Using this time to listen and learn even more of their language he would eventually leave, moving on to help even more Tyren with their work in any meaningful way he could. The reason for this was simple enough, he thought if he was going to have his elites hanging around their camp day and night they might as well get some kind of help for letting that happen.


Eventually however, Belanor would be forced away from his work by one of the Way Watchers, telling him that High Elves had been spotted coming towards the camp. Shaking his head in disappointment Belanor wasn't glad the obnoxious cousins of his race were coming to this new continent to act just as pompous as they did in the old. "I will greet them first" he spoke, signaling for the elf who had brought him this news to return to his position. Exiting the camp he would proceed towards the detachment of elven forces that were coming to the river. Greeting them as they came to the top of a small hill he stood before them in his chitin platemail, recently cleaned as he thought the high elves would probably just laugh and sip expensive wine as they passed him if he looked dirty. After all, his racial cousins were known very well among every race for their superiority complex and love of a fancy setting.


"I welcome you to this new land" he spoke in perfect high elvish, his mind wondering as he thought of any reason these people had to be wearing full armor and be rushing to what could be a war zone very soon. The high elves were never known for being protective of anybody who wasn't their own kin, not even wood elves. So why in all hell would they be rushing to the aid of a community they had just arrived in? "Tell me, is your leader still residing on the beach among the Exiles and Attolians?" he questioned simply, waiting for a response and then journeying to wherever they tell him he is.


- Belanor helps Tyren throughout the camp with their daily chores.


- Belanor greets the high elves that were sent to the bridge and asks where their leader is.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis took the amulet. It was a rather useful artifact, but the nature of this... being seened rather ominous seeing how it required sacrifice and the blood magic that occur in front of his eyes. Futher interactions with the fountain would require caution. Still, for now, he could ask 2 questions. He thought of them for a moment until he realized that a new faction had arrived. High elves, they were unmistakeable with their outlandish regalia. It would be a good idea to at least meet them. This, he asked the spirit of thr fountain to wait for a moment as he left to find Dr. Fleming and Nicolas.


Once Caelis found the men, he asked Dr. Fleming to meet with these High Elves. Afterall, he was currently the face of the Attolians with his recent work on the were rats. Caelis them asked Nicolas to meet him at the fountain because he wanted someone with magical abilities to at least be present in the converstation. Caelis then looked for his engineer and indicated that he should take a good look at the temple to try and gain entrence once again with a team of his choosing. With new factions arriving, space in the Platz was shrinking, so claiming land was a concern. With that settled, Caelis returned to the fountain where Nicolas waited


Caelis approached and asked, "My first question is what is the cull that is to occur 2 years from now?" His second question would require more time and may ask deeper about the subject.


Summary:


The Engineer is taking his select team of 5 skilled workers and 10 unskilled workers to attempt to crack open the temple once and for all. They have the benefit of 2 soldiers to oversee and protect the men of anything comes up.


Caelis asks his first question with Nicolas present.


@Prince Vaethorion


Dr. Flemming is off to meet the High Elves as the Attolian Ambassador.


---


Lothar and his company slowly walked back towards the Tyrem encampment not because they had to, but rather they could not summon the energy to walk quickly after encountering Walks In Cull. It would take a while, but so far it seemed the the sentries from before were letting them go through the forest without any hassle. Lothar planned to report back to the council in detail and how he had not secured a talk, but rather thr gnolls wanted 8 baskets filled with the heads of the masked ones as pay back for the gnoll losses and casualties. Only after then would they consider talking. He also planned to go check up on Lady Cassandra as she seemed to be horrorfied by her vision. How traumatizing could they have been to reduce her to like that? Because she needed some spiritual or magical hell to help shake off her fear.


Summary:


@Leusis @SpiralErrant


Lothar is returning from the meeting in order to deliever good and bad news.


Lothar plans to also check up on Lady Cassandra.

 

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant :


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)


The Tyren work detail was glad to have reason to leave the camp – in times like this the natural propensity was to stay close, to become an indomitable group like their herds, ever an eye out for predators and the protection of the sick or elderly… but every day it seemed more soldiers were milling around the camp – And the loss of the Elder Crafter weighed heavy on everyone’s mind. Shul had said that the statue here was a good portent – something that brought well-being. Each Tyren was proud to be chosen for this task, and if it had any chance of bringing succor to the beleaguered group it was worth their most strenuous efforts.


The Skilled workers had brought a winch, the type the Tyren generally only used when large wagons or heavy obstacles that might block the caravan. It took some wood and some setting up, but when finished, they tied chain and rope about the exposed parts of the Idol – criss-crossing the torso, then fixing the arms and neck together – testing the tolerances of the idol (which were quite resilient, they found) before the four of them began pulling the idol free of it’s strange little grotto that was growing around it. The Tyren were not much a people for any specific god, but they recognized many spirits in addition to their ancestors. There was little doubt even at first glance that a spirit resided In this monument – and the Shaman of the 3rd circle had declared that it could be of help to the Tyren, and that it should be protected in Harun’taran… Foosdor and his bonded apprentice both appreciated the craftsmanship of the stonework, however weathered it might seem… a strong stone monument might be a symbol that wasn’t just something to protect, but a symbol that could protect Harun’Taran itself… or at least this is what they mused as they endlessly pulled at the winch while the laborers dug it free…


….All around the statue, the mud seems to slough off of the monument… and it is not long before it is rising slowly from the pit. At a tipping point, the statue ceases to rise and instead tips out of the mud-pool and with the laborers lifting behind and the builders still puling, it tears another part of the side of the hill away… The laborers lose their balance and falter after their load, and they and the statue are partly washed out of the cavity as the cistern of muddy water pours out into the level grass – Washing the statue almost clean on its previously mud-caked back…


Something Happens! (click for musical accompaniment)


The Tyren laborers are for a moment forced to avert their gaze, as a great green light emanates from where the bottom of the pool once was… The Builders gape in awe at what they find to have been laying under the feet of the statue… It is none other than a tear of divinity – a green one akin to what the wood elves were thought to have had… if perhaps a bit smaller. Covering their eyes, the Tyren laborers pawed the ground for the stone until one covered it with their hand… it’s shining dimmed, but only to it’s familiar and nonetheless great resplendence… Foosdor ran with the treasure back to the Camp, where Uumush was waiting almost as if expecting it… where he would show it to the Great Chieftain.


Additional Tyren, now more excited about the find – aided the work team in quickly pulling the statue into Harun’taras… A log-pole was hastily posted deep into the earth, and the Tyren detail and bystanders alike pulled the statue upright against it. It wasn’t a proper foundation for a statue of this sort, but now she stood. Facing south – towards the barrier… a light rain began to fall almost immediately, washing the dirt and debris off of the once-buried Idol like tears… And as the Beleaguered Tyren of the camp began to gather around it to investigate, Shul among them coming to see the spectacle – the poppy symbol on his hand began to glow.


Almost at once, and in sight of EVERYONE, the head of the statue lifts it’s chin, half seeming to peer skyward, and half as if embracing the rain that rapidly cleans it down to the bare sandstone surface. The Waywatchers, normally ever vigilant – are likewise drawn into the spectacle, and a mild sense of natural order and wellbeing seems to emanate from the monument.


Uumush arrives behind Orm – if he has an opinion about all this, he has remained mum. Bruul shouts to the Warriors not to lapse in their vigil, but when he gets within a stone’s throw of the statue Orm recognizes the grim pleasure on Bruul’s face that he’s seldom seen when not in relation to magic of great Utility.


It is with most of the elves and Tyren in attendance that the statue lays its blessing :


Orm Gains “Greater Endurance!” (note as blessing)


Shul and Bruul Shamans gain “Lesser Regenration!”(note as blessing)


(Uumush does NOT...?)





As the last of the rain falls, the morning clouds part over the statue, and shine a telling light upon it. It is then the statue is seen to grow ears more akin to that of a wood elf… and if that were not enough, at either side of the statue’s head a small sapling begins to grow… Reaching a full five feet above the statue's already vaunted height, it is now crowned seemingly with verdant horns akin to a Tyren maid.


If the elves are moved in any way by this, they do not show it… if it is of any significance to the Autumn Lord, he will say so. Not so much this sentiment amid the Tyren… It is seldom anything of this kind is seen by the eyes of the non-shaman – Expressions on the Tyren Townspeople are as varied as the Tyren themselves, but one thought seems to burn or gleam in the eyes of many… Does this mean Harun’taran now has its own Spirit?


Much more, is it one that can be seen to act by the eye of the common townsfolk not privy to the circle of shamans?!


Not long after that, almost everyone about the camp has mustered to some extent to see what is going on… the Exiles and Attolians arriving later to see what all the fuss is only note the new presence of the statue, but nothing that surprises…


“Here we is, digging in for a war with whatever may pour out of that wood… and what are the Tyren and Woodfolk doing? Topiary. Topiary and stonecarving? Strange ways indeed this wild lot prepare for war.” seems to be the sentiment of the human rank and file...


Shul and the Shamans can feel the strength of the spirit emanating from the statue… but neither Orm, nor the rest of his kin, sense it so viscerally any longer. He does know that this new robustness has not faded however… the memory of the blessing itself quickly becomes elusive… then leaves him… but the new power in his sinews does not. His attention is drawn to the new Tear the Settlement has seemed to attain – and Shul… shul has never had a manure-eating grin on his face this large in all of his born days Orm had known him…


….For at the foot of the statute, Little white stalks topped with pods seemed to grow from between it’s toes and snake up the ankles of the monument…


(Tyren gain resource: Sugar-Milk Poppy)


(If you have not already, make note of the green treasure!)


@Heyitsjiwon :


Cassandra that night finally sleeps well – forgetfulness of the nightmare, the vision, and even the spirit falls upon her like an Anvil… but when she awakes she is refreshed, and in higher spirts than even before the voyage…

 

[Beckoncall]

THE HEALER'S GUILD HAS FORMED!


GUILD MEMBERS: Attolians, Highborn, Tyren.


ATTOLIANS PRESENTLY LEAD THE GUILD WITH MOST WORKERS!


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


(+2 INFLUENCE!)


RUNNERS UP:


High Elves join healers guild. Allow up to three Skilled medics to work at guild in 8 hour shifts each.


(+1 INFLUENCE!)


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


(+1 INFLUENCE!)


If additional factions decide to join, keep in mind that the dominant power and total influence may shift -- the current status of any guild will always be in the overview thread.


RESULTS:


The Guild commandeers one of the sturdier buildings restored by the Attolians in proximity to the crane (northeast 'Platz) In the days to come various walking maladies and nuisance conditions rife throughout the exiles receive proper diagnosis and treatement. The average Exile worker is healthier, and the average Exile fighter may be a bit tougher too!


High Elves in the days to come learn a good deal about Tyren Herbal Remedies, and effective -- though crude, field medicine. High Elf Medics Stabilize fallen with minor bonus!


The Tyren learn quickly that their standards of care and preventative medicine are far behind their neighbors in many ways -- mostly in part because their nomadic lifestyle does not normally allow such luxuries as hospitalization and convalescence... While none would know for a great time to come... Tyren average lifespan increases by a few years.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Elendithas @Prince Vaethorion :

• Goq-quet discussing labor terms with high-elf linguist.
  

Arrangements were made – Advance of Aymaran Labor for the construction of the dock (easy work) in return for devoted Highborn energy towards catching sea-life (sharks and/or fish) for now, and providing game and large-animal meat when it can be found – although preliminary scouting seemed to suggest a relatively low density of hunting fare in the locale… unless one counted enemies in the forest. At present without any game to offer, Goq-quet found the terms somewhat attractive, but proposed as well That high elves render slain enemies to the Aymaran as part of the hunting bargain. Perhaps this idea would press their soft elven sensibilities – but it hardly made any sense for elves to just leave the slain on any battlefield when there are hungry Aymarans that would appreciate it. The proposal was generated, it was up to the elves to Attain such food resources so they might be rendered to the Aymaran by proxy. In any case, it would not take too long for the Aymaran to do their part... and the Highborn would be in their debt... for MEAT.


HIGH ELVES MUST GAIN ACCESS TO PROTEIN FOOD SOURCE TO UPHOLD BARGAIN!

• 5 Cunnings, 1 scarred gathering "stinking chum" from beach
  

It was amazing – so much fragrant meat just laying all over the beach, and hardly any of it seemed to be claimed… what’s more, with Elven and Exile fishing proceeding apace, this source of food seemed highly renewable… and the Exile folk rather than challenging Aymarans for these spoils, seemed to THANK THEM for taking it away! The cunnings could not understand this – though the Scarred had a pretty good idea that what Aymarans found palatable, or even digestible, varied greatly between their races. Rotten flesh seemed to spread disease and illness among warm-bloods if eaten – while Aymarans found carrion positively heavenly… Naturally aged meat was often more tender, and smelled inviting… It would make sense for the great scarred TzaTza to even pity the warmbloods... if TzaTza had any pity to begin with – which of course he did not.





Crate after crate of Chum, from newest to ripest, sandy or slick, was packed indiscriminately and hoisted back aboard their vessel. The mere presence of the aromatic crates made the brutes visibly happier and more docile to control. After a brief time in the hold, further decomposition of the edibles would unleash not just a heady odor but an outright HEAT from the roiling slurry of fish-guts… further making an inviting environment for a ship that was by the end of their voyage almost too confining to entertain staying on. The Aymaran would still need to find a place to settle quickly – but for now the Brutes were pacified with their salty savories…


(Brute Morale Temporarily Extremely High!)

• Tocxhol consulting advisors on where to set camp, temporary or permanent.
  

Tocxhol, the Largest, Held his court as he would had he a temple to hold it in – his advisors sat before and below him, and he pressed them for their thoughts and plans as he exalted in a great meal they could have none of until the matter was settled, or at least advanced to his satisfaction.





His advisors, one by one – would discuss prospective settling areas.





Goq-quet was first to speak, on the idea of the northern swamp – The locals discovering it had dubbed it the “Onlyday Swamp” – on the pretense that at night it was an extremely aggressive predatory ecosystem. How much of that was weakling warmblood fear and how much of it was actual territorial danger was hard to say – The home Jungles of Aymara are considered “Deathlands” by many warmbloods, even the Muurdaan – because not knowing the threats and wildlife in the swamp is often and quickly lethal to the weak… but that raises the point that this swamp is on a Continent no-one living in the old world today knows anything about – The Swamp might be an ideal home in the long term – but thorough examination and challenge to the environment would have be performed before the Aymarans could suppose to be masters of “The Onlyday”…





Next was Quetankha’s turn to speak – about the river. True, the river would normally be a suitable place to make settlement – but the spring thaws of meltwater presently make the current in places along the river somewhat hazardous even to an Aymaran – in later season it might be possible to put work into yoking, channeling, and even damming the river to slow it so that it might be perfectly habitable year-round. At present the rapids in the south would threaten to cast careless Aymaran off the cliffs into the Ocean… by careless that is to say every single brute in the Congregate. It is extremely inviting the idea that the Aymaran could lay in wait by the river for hostile or unwelcome humanoids to supplement the Aymaran diet -- The idea might be worth revising in the summer, a few weeks hence.





Lastly, Engineer Teqti was to speak – with his own idea… the Aymarans should take over the Sewers under the Marketplatz. When prodded as to why by his contemporaries, he was quick to give a throaty, almost gloating ululation enumerating the idea’s advantages – for one, it seemed to have a ready food supply of large rodents... if care was taken to not interfere with areas Exiles already hunted them their presence might not even upset surface food supply – rats breed quickly… especially when settlements thrive. Secondly, The Sewers were insulated from the elements better than other proposed locations – and until they knew how harsh the winters could be it might be at best exhausting or at worst costly – to learn the hard way how harsh the cold might get. Additionally, The sewer tunnels had a few deep flood-pits found already by exiles, and there might likely be many more – the water and land terrain would suit the Aymaran VERY well indeed. There was supposed concern about indigenous occupants in the sewers – but Teqti believed based on the numbers and nature of the encounter that the “Imps” of the sewers actually live deeper under the ruins to the west – and merely range under the Marketplatz, for reasons that are currently unclear. They are purported so far not to be hostile – which likely means they are weak… it should be a small matter for Aymarans to teach the Imps, should the need arise, that there is a new border to respect there. Teqti also noted that with a modest amount of wealth and the voyage’s resources, he could see about building a great furnace in a central location in the sewers – if successful, it might be able to make at least a portion of the Sewers very comfortable to Aymarans and their young… even perhaps in winter… His final observation was that if the Aymaran settled below the other colonists, the other colonists would be a barrier to direct threats to Aymarans – Not to confuse this with hiding, but if an attack on the colony did happen – it would be great to know the Aymarans would not likely be caught surprised – if anything they could storm from a tactically advantageous point, or all over the ‘Platz at once, if it was so desired… On the same note, if the great Tocxhol one day decided that everyone else in the colony should be devoured, a similar stratagem could be employed…

 

[Elendithas]

Goq-quet stood in awe at how the prince didn't even acknowledge the fact he were speaking his own tongue. Apparently everything he had heard about the high elves were true, despite previous encounters with them in the past. Perhaps actual diplomats of the high elven variety were less blatantly racist, or not at all even. Those weren't the ones Goq-quet were dealing with it seemed. Despite the horrible impression he gave Goq-quet of his people, he went along if only for the fact that his clan would be getting more food out of it and it wasn't exactly a lot of work for them. After the stunningly odd encounter with what was supposed to be a leader, he made his way to the ship where the council lie in wait where he presented his advice.


Tocxhol sat, contemplating his actions whilst the others sat in wait. It was all sound advice, though Teqti's suggestion showed why she was in fact at a position which best uses the brain. In the sewers they would have access to a plentiful food source, a relatively disease-free location in comparison to their normal environment, and access to just about anywhere they would need to be in the 'Platz. The major downside, however, was the limit of foes they would be facing. The imps may prove to be a force worthy of attacking, but from what he had heard of imps, they were small, weak, and more stealthy than he would like. Hardly the type of foe an Aymaran would consider worthy. "We will take to the sewers for the time being. The swamp will be our first long-term goal." He said as he stood, signalling that they were all free to gorge themselves on the stinking chum brought aboard not too long ago. And that's exactly what they did. A feast of some sort occurred below deck in what would only truly be described as a disgusting mess to any other race. This went on for some time before Tocxhol once again began barking out orders. "Teqti!" He called out over the feast. "To the sewers!" Tocxhol commanded as he grabbed Goq-quet from the chum he were downing. They needed a translator after all, were they to convey their meaning to the humans.


Tocxhol and his chosen, excluding Quetankha, hopped off the edge of the ship and begun their trek up the beach. Arriving at the ruins, and later the 'Platz, he came upon the sight of a whole community in work. This would be annoying to live underneath, but hopefully there was enough rock between them that they wouldn't have to actually hear what was going on up there, unless of course the screams of death came down one of the sewer entrances. A number of things above ground brought his interest to them, namely the huge temple, or what he thought was one, that seemed largely untouched and had a number of tiny apes trying to pry it open. That would be something to look at later, but for now they had to find a suitably large entrance to the sewer system for a whole clan of Aymaran to fit through. The pipes weren't large enough, and most of the holes into it were sized for humans, or similarly sized things he supposed. Making an entrance was always an option, but that would probably upset the humans... though he didn't really care. Tocxhol went to the nearest covered hole, lifted the hatch, and begun to pound away at the surrounding stone, knocking it down into the depths of the sewage system. It might take some time for him to clear the whole way down, but in the end there would be a suitably sized hole for an Aymaran to fit through down to their new temporary, perhaps permanent, home. Teqti figured she could probably have devised something to do that in a much less violent and more organized fashion, but it would have taken longer.


@Heyitsjiwon


Meanwhile, Goq-quet took it upon himself to go and find whoever happened to be in charge of the Attolians. It would be best to inform them of their intentions to live beneath them, and of course to establish diplomatic relations for future purposes. Where better to start than to question the locals? Goq-quet figured this was a sound course of action, and thus approached the nearest Attolian that looked like they weren't a total coward. "Have you any idea where your leader may be at present?" Goq-quet asked in perfect common.


Back at the ship, Quetankha was busy tearing into some fresh rotting organs. A fantastic haul this was, but something wasn't quite right, he though as he looked up. BRUTES! The damned brutes were eating this stuff faster than everyone else put together. "BRUTES!" He shouted. "Back in the hold!" Quetankha ordered as he grabbed a crate full of chum and tossed it into the hold, grabbing some of the brutes afterward and tossing them into the hole he put the crate in. He bore no hatred towards the brutes, though he made no attempt to hide the fact he viewed them as little more than slaves. Also he wanted to save some of the chum they had for when they were in their new home.


Summary:

• Tocxhol, Teqti, and Goq-quet going to 'Platz to scope out sewers
  
• Goq-quet trying to find and make contact with Attolian leader
  
• Tocxhol making sizable entrance to sewers
  
• Quetankha trying to keep brutes from eating all the chum
  

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

@Beckoncall


The Prince standing on the dock in the light of day still wrinkled his nose at the smell. The chum was removed by the Amayran which was a welcome development, but much of the stench still remained. The rickety hovels that made a small shanty town would eventually need to be demolished, or would be anyway due to a strong storm surge.


Having a life span of a thousand years allowed High Elves to be a patient folk, but not patient enough to live in substandard conditions for very long. The Prince would have to remedy the poor living conditions or the morale of his people would continue to sink lower.


The Prince as always was very proud of his people. If only the world was full of High Elves he thought to himself for a moment, but then realized this might be boring and make the High Elves less special.


@Elendithas


The docks were beautiful and an instant improvement. The barrier that the Inventor devised was ingenious and efficient. The hard work and strength of the Amayran race was impressive to say the least. The Prince was reminded to not let his haughtiness blind him to the reality that each animal, each race, every being had it's strengths. It will be the pooling of these strengths that will make this colony successful he thought. When the Linguist was asked how the negotiations were conducted with the Amaryan (the Prince assumed they spoke Common tongue), the Prince learned that one of the Amayran spoke High Elvin well. This left a good impression on the Prince, and he rebuked the Linguist for not telling him this important detail earlier. The Prince also learned that the Almaryan representative had confused the linguist for the Prince. Perhaps their High Elven was not as good as he had been led to believe.


The effects of the barriers on the brutes were not lost on the Prince. He turned to his engineer who was still basking in her latest project and was still lovingly making small adjustments, carving decorative ruins and designs to make her work (the dock) perfect.


"Arwen en amin Aglar" (my Lady Glorious), the Prince said in a soft voice he reserved for beautiful women. "Your craftelfenship on the docks is splendid as always. Such exquisiteness, however, the complete perfecting of the embellishments on it needs to wait." High Elves did not like to be disturbed while making art and Aglar gave him a look. The Prince not wanting to annoy his engineer, said "Don't rush (High Elves did not like being rushed), pace yourself, but when you are ready I have some additional tasks for you."


The Engineer being a practical person, understood there was more pressing matters at hand, so she listened. The Prince commanded, "Assemble a team of 2 skilled craftselves (carpenters) and 12 archers. That will be your crew until you hear otherwise. I will spare additional labor as needed. Here are the tasks at hand. first, We need to construct a fence/barricade around the pavilion near Markplatz. Sharpened sticks, thorn bushes, whatever materials are available. Does not need to be perfect, but something that will improve the defenses from Gnolls, skeletons, hungry brutes or whatever else."


Order: Engineer to assemble a team of 2 craftelves (carpenters) and 10 archers to construct barricade around tent pavilion.

The Prince instructs his best merchant "Harma-Neled" (treasure tree) to bring the "Dohvamon" to the Market. Harma-Neled is a very thin, very tall high elf (7'0), with close together eyes that shifted to and fro when he spoke. He spoke in the drone of an auctioneer, even when making basic conversation. "Bring the Dohvamon to the market one time, one time, bring the Dohvamon..., yes, going to bring the Dohvamon...", as if random unseen people were bidding. The Prince found this a bit disconcerting, but Harma-Neled was a very, very successful merchant who was convinced that the New world was going to be a trade bonanza (the Prince might have had some influence in this belief). The Prince trying not to be distracted by the bidding occurring in his Merchant's mind, said calmly "see if the Bull people are interested in purchasing this grass or trading it for something else like Cheese. If so look into cultivating it in bulk, speak to the growers and begin processing it. If they are interested in it. Take 12 archers and one skilled grower, have them process it into a commodity."


* Order 2 skilled farmer, 10 archers to process Dohavamon for food and trade


* Order have one skilled Merchant bring grass to trade


The Prince still needed his carts or some kind of conveyance to bring supplies up the hill from the docks, so he turns to his inventor. "we need a means of getting the supplies up the hill from the beach." The inventor a stunning female High Elf Nogoth suggests a pulley system with baskets.

*Order: Assign Inventor, 1 skilled spearman, and 10 Archers to build pulley system to convey trade goods and supplies, up and down the beach.


The Prince was not a happy elf upon hearing the news of the Marketplazt and it's status. Why are humans so gross he asked himself. This is why humans and pigs live so closely together he thought. They both like sties. The situation would have to improve for his Elves to be happy. The Prince would also need in coming days to form a scouting party to scout out the ruins and clear them en masse if need be. The Prince called upon his skilled masons and those experienced in renovation to restore the house on the West side of the house. The Prince called his skilled Mason and restorer over. "Take ten archers and put them to work restoring the house."


Order: Assign 2 skilled spearman and 10 archers to restore house


The War mage informed the Prince of the possible threat against his life by using the Wererat plague. The Prince did not even seem surprised. The Prince said scornfully. "My enemies are cowards. They use their petty spells, and evil ways to get to me. They fear to confront me directly, less I slay them like the rats they are." The War Mage, was concerned, and realized that he must redouble his efforts to defend the Prince and the colony from dark magic. I will go look into the fountain where there is blood magic being performed."


.


Order: War mage goes to investigate fountain

 

[SpiralErrant]

Dealing with the divine.

​

And life just kept on throwing fruit at Orm's head! As if dealing with rabid dogs demanding a bloody debt that would shame the toll that Chief Thunder-Hoof placed over his head, now he had folks bringing home living statues and beings of ethereal power! This whole land was proving to be an infuriatingly complicated place. The whole caravan was gathering around it now and looking on in wonder as the depiction of a formerly hornless female sprouted herself some branched horns that mimicked those of a young Tyren maid and pushed them to fetishistic levels. 'Well damn... good thing there aren't any yearlings around.'


Orm couldn't say he understood this properly, not as the shaman might but it was clear to see all the magic that was at play here. That mark on Shul's hand glowed like a beacon and the implications made Orm's skin crawl.


"We need to get that thing off of you. That thing's branded you like damn cattle!" He demanded of the smaller Tyren.


"I'm telling you, Orm, I think this thing can help us." Shul protested. "Its terms aren't even bad and we've entered into pacts with spirits before, it's just the way things are. You just don't see it like we do." Shul seemed certain that he had a handle on this still.


"While we were passing through their territory! Short term deals nothing more, you lot told me that. We don't bind ourselves too them for long. Even I know that a spirits are too wild to be trusted for long. This one's got you hopped up on poppies, trying to lure you in."


"'Cept we aint moving on from this turf, right? That's what you said." Shul kind of had him there. "This spirit lives in the lands that we're making Hrun'taras, neither side goin' nowhere, we gotta live together one way or another and don't you tell me we can't use friends these days."


Damn. That one left Orm struggling for words. That all... made sense. But what would it mean for them? A permanent spirit pact, a RELIGION? Tyren didn't do that, that wasn't their way. Orm hadn't seen it the night he unveiled his little flag but he'd messed with the natural order a lot more than he'd first anticipated. He'd hoped to change just a little bit, for survival. Be a moderate kind of minotaur and keep the elders and the young happy in the middle ground, he didn't think he'd be opening the flood gates! At least they had the green gem to show for it. The amber one, now long faded, had been a great boon to the group so hopefully this one would do the same. Orm had to admit he was pretty excited about that development, his brain cranking away with possible ideas. It was as if all these goings on were fueling him instead of wearing him down, like he was a young bull again. Unless that was this spirit's doing as well...


At least Ummush seemed to share his thoughts on the matter. Probably. Maybe. It was hard to tell. He didn't look pleased anyway! "Our third ring seems to have already made up his mind on the matter." Orm grumbled, turning to the elder shaman. "I don't know what this is about, but I don't like this thing getting free reign around here and messing with my head." As a blood-touched Orm's life had been one made up of routines designed to enforce iron willed self control. Repetitive tasks, mantras, meditation, years of practice and hard work to claim control of the blood thirsty shadow at his back. The idea of someone, anyone, coming in and casting all that aside made his stomachs turn. It was half the reason he hated those smoke fueled meetings he had to take with the circles.


"I want you and Bruul on this. I want as many eyes and views here, between all three of you we need as much knowledge as we can grab on it before anything gets decided on this thing." It was rare for Orm to speak so firmly to his old mentor but his blood was up and it was clear he had his chief horns on.


Ummush and Bruul are being put onto investigating the spirit statue to learn all they can.

Rough diplomacy

​

It seemed Hrun'taras was getting more crowded all the time as everyone wanted in on a piece of the action across the river. Orm must have been away from the coast for longer than he thought as even more colonists had arrived, seemingly overnight. Now they had even more elves on their hands. These ones were supposed to be different to Belanor and his folk though how they were so different besides their taste in clothing but he could work out the little details later. For now they'd offered greeting and were already leaping to the aid of the wounded caravan so that was a good start. Orm and those with knowledge of the common gave them their own little greeting. If these ones were anything like their current elven friends then they'd be more than welcome in Hrun'taras.


As for the news that the human had to bring... well it wasn't totally unsurprising. Gnolls were infamous for their single minded worship of strength and combat, everyone knew this wasn't going to be easy. Though the odd talk they reported back about how the gnoll had spoken of a 'cull' that was intriguing. A death that had swept over the forest and one that seemed to do so regularly. That would explain why the animals were so rare around these parts. Though it sounded a dreaded thing. Something they'd have to prepare for even after this was done. Was a third group the colonists didn't yet know of?


All these questions and more would have to wait though, they still had the very immediate and physical danger across the river keeping one eye on them. By the sounds of things the gnolls were the more dangerous of the two sides. Their warriors were stronger and better organised as well as their senses giving them an edge in the woods. Folk of fur and tail had a habit of that, they were as much a part of the land as they were the things they lived on it, staying closer to it than many other races. Molding it and themselves in kind. 'A little like that statue.' Orm pondered before shaking the thought from his head.


So the real question was: What to do about the gnolls? They could accept their demands. Give them the baskets of heads from a common foe but that had a whole other baggage to it. The dog folk might see that as the colonists admitting submission to them, the Tyren who'd been attacked might even think the same. After all it had been the gnolls that started this in their eyes, they knew next to nothing of some hidden mask folk in the trees. Even if they did give them over, their warleader had only given the word that he MIGHT talk with them again. A poor foundation for peace by the sounds of it. Whatever the others thought Orm believed they could all agree that this force of soldiers had been milling around idle for too long. The threat of attack had caused the seeds of settling they'd each sown to falter in their growth, a final decision had to be made.


To him it seemed unclear if the gnolls would even attack again, they were so preoccupied with their southern foe and sounded confident that this cull would take care of the colonists for them. Perhaps they didn't need to fear a second attack... but for the Tyren that was a bad risk to ask. So with Shul's help Orm made his position on the matter clear to all the leaders and generals that had gathered in his camp.


The Tyren would respect the positions taken by the other leaders as for the saftey of their own people, seeing as the minotuars themselves had the fewest fighters to commit to any future battle. But it was their firm belief that with all the numbers and varied skills they had assembled here they had the ability to take the fight back to the forest dwellers and if not destroy them then to declaw them with enough force to stop any future attacks. Until a final course was decided on his people would work on ways to improve things on this side of the river.

Back into motion

​

It was with that same thought in mind that Orm strode through his camp later that day. The other leaders would probably be talking and deciding with their people on how best to proceed later but for now Orm would prepare for either outcome. This stand off threatened to make them crumble under unseen stares, his people needed purpose again, they needed to feel as if they could control their new home and not be prisoners in it. One solution was easy enough, as he went straight for the craft wagons.


"You fellas said you were close to striking real iron last time? Well good cus you're going back for it and you'll get as much help as you need. Bring me iron and stone, as much as the wagons can carry. Hrun'taras wont get made with us sitting around like this, so let's show those who'd stop it what we're made of." They marshaled the craft wagons in their entirety along with some of the general laborers.


He also sent Rahg and some of the warriors along with them. The scarred up minotaur protested being sent away to the shearcliffs while their was possible fighting to be done until Orm put him in his place. "You are going with them, Rahg. No one goes off alone and no one gets caught in the open. And more than anything you keep your fighters in line, no mucking about. You keep the crafters safe and able to mine as good as they can cus it's us that metal will be sitting on after." Orm patted at his forearm to emphasize the point and Rahg suddenly understood the idea. The chief was talking about making some proper bull iron. Armour and the like. Now that was something the warriors could get behind!


Meanwhile people were still wandering about the new statue when they could. Things just felt nicer around it, especially in these grim times. Plus their was the whole fact that it was honest to goodness magic! Happening right in front of them, the kind of thing that the shaman got to deal in everyday and seemed to guard so jealously. For Anuc though there was something more practical that drew her to it.


"Actual sugar milk poppies. Can you wonder what we might be able to do with these? These things are like growing gold and they're sprouting up all around the thing." She was all full of glee like a yearling discovering sweet.


"I don't know... are you sure we should be messing with these? They could be magical too or holy to the spirit or maybe the shaman have claimed them already?!" Weome's tail was swishing everywhere. Her adventures in the swamp had been one thing but this was far out of her comfort zone. "Besides aren't poppy seeds too dangerous for healers to be using?"


"It's an old saying from somewhere. The only difference between poison and medicine is the amount you have. Or something like that." Anuc assured her. The stuff that had coated the gnoll arrows was proof of that. The same stuff that had calmed the wounded and grazed, ironically helping to heal their cuts better. Then there was poor Mirgrak but neither one wanted to speak of that right now. There was too much pain in it still. "Besides, the shaman work for what helps us all and just think of how impressed Shul will be when he hears about all the breakthrough's you're helping make."


That won Weome over! The two of them were both sure that between all the medical minds at the guild they'd be able to work something great out of the seeds of the sugar milk. Anuc could even put aside a spot to help grow her own crop. At this rate she'd need her own apprentice.


Fresh mining detail is sent out to Shearcliffs to double the iron effort. Including all craft wagon elders and their remaining apprentices (6 skilled 5 unskilled) Along with some of the general labor workers (2 skilled, 5 unskilled) and a warrior escort including Rahg (6 Fighters)


TYREN BRING SUGAR MILK POPPIES TO THE HEALERS GUILD AS A MEDICAL RECOURSE!


@Leusis


After some looking Orm managed to find Belanor, busy as usual. Shul had come with him in the usual role of translator. To think Orm had hoped to take some language lessons once the village was up and running. That seemed like a distant dream at this point.


"Uuh, the chief wants to talk to you... privately about a uh... what's the word... proposal he has."

 

[Leusis]

Hearing the words of the High Elf tactician Belanor would simply nod with a smile. "I and my kin welcome you to this new land, I am Belanor" he spoke before pausing and taking a bow "Lord of the Sylvan Elves, a pleasure". Waving for the military detatchment to follow him he would proceed back to the Tyren camp so that he could speak with any of the other leaders that were willing to hear him. Afterwards Belanor would simply go off and begin helping the Tyren again as after all, they have been the ones feeding the Way Watchers every so often as they watched over their camp, and this deserved compensation.


@SpiralErrant


Belanor turned from the meat he was helping cut as Orm approached with his translator close behind. The older bulls he was helping smiling and bidding him farewell as they heard what was wished of Belanor. ["I see"] he spoke roughly in the tyren language, trying to test out what he's learned over his visits to the Tyren. ["Lead, way"] his speech was similar to that of a small child that was trying to keep up with the adults, but not quite able to do so.


ORm lead the way back to his yurt, a solemn air hung around him like a smog. These next few words could decide a lot for them in the days to come. Hopefully for the better so long as luck and patience were on their side. The three sat down on the broad wooden folding chairs that were made for meals and meetings, Orm and Shul sitting across from Belanor. Though the elf lord's efforts at learning their dialect were appreciated Orm couldn't afford for misunderstandings so the role of his mouth would be going to Shul who spoke on in short bursts after each one Orm finished. The two of them had it down like an old habit by this point.


"He says thank you." Shul stated plainly. "You and yours have been of great help to ours since this journey first started. Without them he doubts we would have made it this far and... uh m-mourns that he hasn't been able to return the favor. Until now he thinks."


Orm seemed to go on for some time with Shul nodding along and adding his own annotations in their mother tongue as they went. When both seemed happy he began again. "Back in the old world our people... we had no home but we had land. Then kingdoms and empires came and none wanted us as theirs so they moved us in great numbers from the lands we tended for generations. It was not a war but it was not peace... and we died in it... slowly. So we came to these hills and we called them Hrun'taras. In the shared tongue to you this mean High Ground. And the chief here he says we will put down our wheels and say this is our land to guard. A final home that none can take from us so we can have it for each our days and the like."


"Now we don't know much of elves and their past but as we understand it, we think you and yours came here looking for the same thing. That's why you set your eyes on the distant woods, since you tend trees as we do grass and sheep." There was a quick exchange between the two bulls before Shul picked back up where he left off. "But it 'aint so easy, as you seen. Lots of those in those woods mean you harm between dogs, bad elves and now this odd cull we're learning of. And everybody grows umm... STAGNANT while we wait. We can't build any way for fear of attacks and both sides left to live in spots that they think of nothing but camps. We spent a lot of spring here already and wanting to be prepared for the colder months that threaten so much."


This was it. Orm swallowed back his nerves as the big pitched went down. "So we suggesting we learn from those further off. The humans are building bigger cities and sharing together in place of differences. That which they call Platz. The chief suggests the same here. You've helped us a ton and both of us seen we're stronger together. So he's inviting you Wee-woods here to Hrun'taras. Call it your home, grow out your trees or cut and move 'em here, however it works for you, we can work it out later he says. Point is together ours build houses and homes on these hills and in these valleys. Call it a land of elf and bull that both know and tended with their own hands. True alliance as yours call it. Hitch our wagons together and make a grand caravan, is how he puts it. Then when winter passes and we're stronger we can cross the river strong and numbered."


It was here that Orm leaned forward in his seat. He and Shul almost spoke in tandem at this point. "He says you once offered him an arrow as vow of friendship. So he offers this." Orm reached into his leather strappings and pulled out a bull iron knife. By hornless sizes it was more like a broad bladed short sword. "And if you choose to grow with us and make this eerr... forest platz? Then he offers this."


At that Orm opened his other clenched hand and presented the shining green jewel they had found with the statue.


Belanor followed Orm and Shul into the hut, calmly sitting down in front of them both. His expression was unreadable, especially by the Tyren due to their inability to spot minor changes in elven facial expressions. Listening to Shul translate for his chief Belanor easily understood this was of great importance, and thus his minimal understanding of the bulls language would not be enough. Taking in the information quickly and attempting to process it, he was surprised that Orm was willing to share his land and resources with Belanor's people. Even more surprising was the gifts he offered the elf lord, a bull iron dagger, easily the size of an elven longsword and a tear of divinity, one seemingly for the same use as the one Belanor recieved from the Muurdaan. Though it was noticeably smaller it still obviously held a great amount of power, something that could easily be used for great things if used by the Tree Kin.


Pondering on Orm's invitation for a few moments, Belanor would slowly lean forward in his chair. Reaching out with one hand he grabbed the noticeably heavy Tyren dagger in one hand and the tear in the other. Standing, Belanor would bow to thhe chief, it was at this point that he knew the Tyren to be true allies to his people. After all, seeing the power of a tear and handing it away so simply just to secure closer ties with a seperate faction was no easy thing to do. Considering the aid this object could have given Orm's people he must have put a tremendous amount of trust in Belanor and his kin. It is for these reasons that Belanor spoke his response "You will have I and my peoples aid so long as Hrun'taras. However if both our people are to live here, I wish for the name to show such a thing, I purpose the name be changed to (insert Tyren word for twin here) Kaar (Sylvan word for heads). If you find the change to the name acceptable I will go to gather my Forest Kin now so that we may begin the growth of the forest".


Orm and Shul both gave little cheers and happy snorts to themselves as Belanor took the gifts and gave his pledge of support. Then he went on and the two of them flustered a little.


"Whoahwhoahwhoah whaooah, slow down there." Shul spluttered as he stepped forward, Orm grunting over them. The little shaman quickly put his hand over the gem and Belanor's hand as if to keep him there. "This is good, this is all good but- but we can't just do it now. We can't just j- ambush people with it! We gotta play this SMART!"


Orm nodded along, waving his hands around in a calming manner. The two Tyren went on to explain that their people had never lived with those of another race before, and if they'd heard right then the elves hadn't done it much either! The average person of their groups well that would be a big change, they explained. Especially after the founding of the first ever Tyren settlement so recently. They had to be patient here and sell this to their people, especially with so many foreign soldiers around and the gnoll threat a very real and close thing.


They put forward their plan of waiting until clear action had been taken about the forest dwellers or the gnolls at least, seeing as they were closest. Once action was taken, whatever it might be come the time, they could do it then. Holding a feast here on the hills where the two worked together, they could announce it properly. "Maybe have a big ceremony, people see Orm handing you the jewel in front of everyone, you give a... a thingor something. We seal it like brotherhood when everyone's happy and then they all love it and we all cheer!" As Shul put it.


They went on to explain how there were many things to consider when it came to the making of this. The elves lived in their trees but there was no way the tyren could do the same, they'd need to gather lumber and stone to make more traditional houses. All things their combined craftsmen could work out come the time but something to think on until then too. Then there were the herds and the latrines and- well they thought Belanor got the idea. "The point is, we have to sow the seeds first so people aren't surprised. Get them used to the idea and liking it. You been helpin' with that already, walking our camp and yours helping out so much. Even the merchant and grocer are getting to know the city elfs you sent by name. So now we deal with the big threat and in mean time we send some of ours to your woods too. Get folk used to each other, then they aint sharin' their homes with strangers on our word, they sharin' it with these firends they made. Like proper neighbours, yeah?"


Belanor listened to Orm and Shul's concerns and they made perfect sense. Perhaps it was just in Belanor's nature to lead as he saw fit, not really worrying about what people thought so long as he knew it would help them. This was likely a problem of his, and being spoken to like this by Orm made Belanor realize he was being far too rash with his actions lately. Something that many elves didn't like due to their long lifespans making them able to sit around for years before actions are taken. "I understand" Belanor spoke to Orm, slowly stretching his hand out to give him his gem back "I will find something suitable to give you when we decide to make the announcement. For now I'll return to my people and try and sow the seeds of friendship, perhaps you could send a few of your people to the woods within the next few days to get them used to my kin".


With everything having been discussed with Orm, Belanor would take his leave, bidding the chief and his shaman farewell in the Tyren language before exiting the hut. Immediately heading out of camp he would begin his journey back to the central woods and gather his Winterborn, except for the twins as they were currently busy leading operations around the Tyren camp. "The Tyren will be sending a few of their kin here to aid us in any way possible. I'm sure this can be appreciated as they are strong and durable folk, able to do tasks with ease that we may struggle with. When they arrive I will allow them to do what they consider to be their trade, whether it be manual labor or engineering. It seems they are willing to aid us just as we have aided them, and I hope that you share my vision of a closer bond between our people. Not a relationship where we use them as we intend to do with the humans, but one of respect and friendship, so long as if we help them, they will do the same for us. After all, we need this type of kinship with the Tyren, as it seems the humans and even the high elves are forming some kind of alliance by the beach. If we wish to remain independent from the humans we will need our own allies, and I believe we have found that in the Tyren".


Looking to his advisors he noticed very little denial in the fact that the Tyren have been decent friends up to this point, though looks of disappointment were noticed. After all, the Sylvan Elves have never been known for their trusting nature and the eldest among the colonists have seen far too many friends turn into foe to count. "Now, I want you all to continue your work, and Anfel I wish for you to join this Healers Guild, learn what the other races have to offer but do not share the most important secrets of our medicine, as it is sacred and only to be shared among our own kin. Do give them what they want to know about our medicine so long as you do not think it should be kept from them. As for the gnolls, they wish for eight baskets of Mud Elf heads as recompense for the deaths of our people, luckily however I can assume that the other factions will do this themselves, and thus war will not be necessary unless the other factions fail to do so. Tell me of what actions you believe we should take, should we simply sit back and allow things to play out until they involve us or shall we simply take action ourselves to try and achieve peace with the dogs?".


- Talked with Tactician


- Spoke with Orm and Shul about joining the Sylvan and Tyren


- Inform council about certain things


- Send Anfel to join Healers Guild


(The conversation between Belanor and Orm was done through PM, I just so happen to be the one whos posting it)

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Lothar returned to the Tyren camp. It appeared that even more new colonists had arrived at the new world, and to his discomfort they weren't familiar faces. No, rather high elves and a tribe of... walking alligators were amongst the numbers now. Both likely had rough relations with humans in the past, so initial relations would already be difficult. Still, the new world was hostile and unfriendly. They would have to learn to get along with each other, or else. Lothar went ahead and greeted the newcomers as a representative of Attolia. Soon after he made it clear to the others what his stance on the matter was. To him, the gnolls were a known enemy that were rather predictable.


They had a good sense of the gnolls' numbers, formations, settlements and leadership. Thus, the gnolls would not be able to surprise the colonists easily. The masked men to the south, however, they were relatively unknown. How many of them there were, where they lived, how they lived, and who led them were all still a mystery. All they knew was of this one called the "Horned One". Thus, the masked men seemed to pose more of a threat as they seem to be somehow tied to the cull and the tree that rains bones. Something supernatural was at work, and the masked men were a part of it. Lothar wanted to figure out what was going on in these lands and how to prevent the cull that rendered Lady Cassandra incapable.


Therefore, Lothar believed that for now, the colonists should focus on the masked men and attempt to bring the gnolls to the table. After all, if the gnolls were not interested at all in diplomacy, then the Attolian envoy would have not made it out of the forest. Thus, the course seemed clear to Lothar as to what should be done going forward. It was just a matter of the other factions and what they thought.


Summary:


Lothar expresses his opinions on what should be done in regards to the gnolls and masked men


---


@Prince Vaethorion


Dr. Flemming walked to the high elves. It appeared that they were ready to receive him. When he finally met the leader of the High Elves he greeted "Hail, Lord Elf, I am Lord Flemming, a doctor in service of my liege Lord Wolff. First, I wish to welcome you to these new lands. Second, I wish to warn you and discuss of the dangers that we have so far encountered and seek amicable relations so that we may come to work together in pursuit of our goals. Now, I am sure that you have already heard of one of our most recent issues, were rats. It was certainly a concerning issue, but I assure you that the problem was dealt with due to my Lord's diligence and concern of the matter. If you have any other questions or concerns, then I will be more than willing to entertain them in my capacity as counsel to Lord Wolff."


Summary:


Dr. Flemming meets with the High Elf leadership


---


@Elendithas


Caelis' conversation with the spirit of the fountain was interrupted when one of the new colonists appeared to be seeking him as someone in the platz had directed his to Caelis. But, Caelis was not exactly ready to see what his new neighbors looked like, and was slightly taken back to have been greeted by what seemed to be a walking reptile. Still, manners were manners and he quickly collected himself and said. "Hail, and welcome to the new world. It appears that you have been seeking me. I am Lord Wolff, leader of this expedition of the Kingdom of Attolia. May I ask what it is that you wish to discuss?"

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

@Prince Vaethorion


Doctor Flemming looked at the drink and pipe offered to him, but politely declined the pipe. He clarified "I'm afraid that in the interest of a prolonged life, I avoid certain vices. Pardon me if I decline your kind gesture, but I am not privileged to enjoy the good health that elves are privy to." He then took a small sip of the wine before he continued "Lord Elf, I am sure that you are aware of the history of the Kingdom of Attolia and of the Empire. However, you must surely remember that the royal family of the two are quite distinct despite the two having a historically close relationship. I personally serve no man other than my liege. Lord Caelis Wolff, 17th in line to the throne of Attolia, in name, serves his Highness, the King. I assure you that no one here directly serves the Lords of the Eternal Empire. The Kingdom has certainly benefited from association with the Empire, but the Wolff family has seen little of this. They are a cadet branch of the Royal family after all who, to say bluntly, have been used to secure political alliances through marriages as you are aware. In fact, if I remember the Wolff lineage correctly, at one point Lord Wolff had an Elven ancestor. Without a doubt, that was likely a political marriage that the Wolff family had to partake in due to the will of the Attolian Royal Family and their ambitions in elven lands. "


"Thus, you ask where my Lord's allegiance lies with? In name, it is to the Royal Family, yes. But, as you said, we are alone in this new world. Our goals are Lord Caelis', and although I can not speak as to everything that he desires or seeks, I can tell you that he harbors no particular good will to the Eternal Empire and never has. After all, he is not the King of Attolia. He has his own ambitions separate of the alliance that the Empire has with the King." emphasizing the point that the Royal Family of Attolia is the one who has an alliance with the Empire. The Doctor then continued "In the end, Lord Wolff seeks what all good lords do, the best for his people. Thus, I can assure you that Lord Caelis has every intention of seeing a prosperous colony flourish here, and that is why I have followed him to these queer lands."


"Thus, being able to work together to this common goal is very welcome, Lord Elf. However, there are a few concerns... the Tyren seemed to have settled on their lands and have even started to name their camp. This raises some alarm as it seems that the Tyren consider themselves as separate from the colony, but as you said before... these new lands are dangerous. We will need to work together to overcome the challenges we will face in the near future. In regards to the actual dangers that we have encountered, I am sure that you're well versed on the matter of gnolls and the masked men to the east as there is much discussion of that around the platz, so there's no need to waste time on that. As of now, all we know of are two other species. One is a red humanoid race that we have occasionally encountered in the sewers and to the west, but they appear to be peaceful, for now. Where they live and how many of them exists are unknown. Then there's the matter of the... undead that we encountered to the west. They seem to reside in whatever shelters they can find in the ruins, and are numerous. I do not know much about magic, but there is something foul in the works. We only encountered them once when we sent a small military patrol into the ruins. Needless to say, they are far from friendly. As per the Cull, much is speculative. The only thing is certain is that in 2 years... the colony will see certain death if things continue as they are."


Dr. Flemming then ended by saying "Despite these dark prospects, we must do what we can to ensure the prosperity of this colony. Perhaps, the formation of a local, civil, government would help facilitate relations among all the colonists? What would you say to such a proposition to build a council of sorts that consists of our people that decides on mundane, civil matters of our aspiring colony?"


Summary:


Dr. Flemming replies


Proposes the formation of a civil governing body for the colony (Quest)

 

[Beckoncall]

Caelis approached the fountain and asked, "My first question is what is the cull that is to occur 2 years from now?" His second question would require more time and may ask deeper about the subject.





Nicholas looks pensively at the fountain while Caelis prepares to interact with it – he runs his eyes all over the object – “Definitely high artifice, Subtle sanguinary raiment and array – faint but distinct divine and arcane radiences… Blood Magic, certain clerical or divine conduit… if we had a priest, we could channel mana from this thing… I’d need a better look at the sewer underneath it to see if I could channel water through it, though… You said the thing is a sentient artifact? It has a spirit or presence Caelis?”


Caelis Knelt down to lay his head on the lip of the fountain, but nodded to Nicholas and bid him do the same. “What is the cull that is to occur 2 years from now?”


A slight vibration seemed to run through the stone… it did not whisper this time – instead it conducted it’s vibrations right onto the inner ears of Caelis and Nicholas, so that they heard the fountain speak without it making an audible sound.


“The Cull is a name given to the phenomenon by those local to this region, either still surviving or subsequently perished to it – it is likely you have discovered it largely strips the area of life, and had most recently occurred a short time before you and the other newcomers arrived. To be more specific, The Tartarus Prison was, and still is, a receptacle for all sorts of forgotten and undesirable divines… In the beginning, the Mage Kings only took entities that had already perished (pauses) after a fashion anyway, but after that they discovered how to free entities that either already embodied or occupied monuments or similar static fixtures or how to bind noncorporeal Titans and the like to said objects. I’d likely be put in that category…. But as the Mage Kings grew in power from the use of the Divines, so too did their capabilities to free increasingly more powerful, animated, and ambulatory banished divines to increase their powers even further… and if you look around I am sure you can see that the eventual weaponization of this magical discipline it would seem became their undoing… In some cases this was manifested in divine power loosed to create armies of clockwork soldiers…


(Nicholas’ jaw drops at the mention of this – he explains that he had heard rumors of the Tyren encountering these things in the hills, and if he could only study their worksmanship… just think of what they could learn, or build!) –


(The fountain continues) – “In other cases it was the creation of whole races, like perhaps the gods would, but simply for the purpose of making soldiers to fight for one Mage Kingdom or another – Much like the Zebani that live nearby… or the Anafracti, who fought for Pan during the last days of the Kingdoms…”


“But in the last stages, to Annihilate their enemies, some mage kings loosed things from Tartarus that even any foolish mortal should have agreed should remain bound forever… Beings or forces that gods created to unleash holy or unholy wrath, spread biblical plagues, even the forgotten instruments of the Armageddon of many an age – Creations created to end creations. The Cull was, and I suppose one could say to a certain extent still is, one such entity… and it has not given up it’s charge.”


The fountain grew silent, but before the men could lift their heads it added:


“I sense there are those in the colony that would in ignorance and fear see me destroyed, disenchanted, or banished simply out of fear or ignorance to my motivations and a hatred of sacred blood magic. If I am to answer your remaining two questions… I will need you reassurance that you will protect me, that my vessel is mine to inhabit… Lord… what I am seeking is your protection and I have only given my wisdom in exchange for your regard – you hopefully appreciate you are wiser with my counsel than without – vow you will protect me, and I can continue to reach for the answers you seek…. What say you?”


The Engineer is taking his select team of 5 skilled workers and 10 unskilled workers to attempt to crack open the temple once and for all. They have the benefit of 2 soldiers to oversee and protect the men of anything comes up.


“Fifteen men are not getting in here any time soon” – Remarked the engineer. “I’d need a mage to be 100% sure, but this thing looks GEASED. It’s obvious that whatever flattened the rest of the city and the ‘platz barely scratched this thing – to get in we’d need serious arcane, divine, or otherwise magical energy… if we knew more about the nature of the binding it might be easier to see what it would take, or if even there was something like a key, or password, or some other condition for entry… It’s possible the bonds have weakened over who knows how long – but we’d need more than a dozen or so guys with a good plan… A wish would work… we know any lords who have that kind of magic? The next best thing would be some kind of portal mage… Or maybe we could ask Nicholas what it would take to build some kind of dimension door or short-range teleport? I’ll tell Caelis I’m glad he sent me, though – It’s elegant how this thing is ensorcelled – somebody else could have wasted a lot of time and energy on this…”


The collection of skilled workers shook their heads and wrung their hands… they had only recently got to work, and were already rolling up all of their would-be plans… the same thing was on all of their minds, though…


“You going to tell Caelis that despite all that seeming to be the facts, that there seems to be a set of burnt-in footprints leading up to, and through, the front gate – that look very recent? Maybe Caelis should try to find out if one of the other factions has gotten in already – we don’t want there to be a conflict over this….”


The Engineer replied: “It’s my job the be the bearer of bad news. Take all the heart, men – this may simply be a job deferred – The Attolians don’t give up on an opportunity, and this here is likely a grand one. We just need better resources or ideas from command…”


Caelis would have his report.

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis looked up to see approaching elves. No doubt they were newcomers, and it was without doubt that they knew that the fountain was unique. The being of the fountain knew that they had intentions of destroying the vessel that bound him to this world. Caelis was not willing to let a potential asset to this colony from being destroyed too prematurely. He would see to it that it be protected for now. He rose from the fountain, while dismissing Nicolas to go as he pleased, no doubt to examine these clockwork soldiers he heard from the fountain. He walked over to the approaching elves and stated "Hail, noble elves. I am Lord Wolff, leader of the Attolian colonists here in the new world. I am sure that you are aware of this fountain and its unique feature. However, I request that you refrain from destroying it for it serves as a vessel of a being that knows much of this world. While, I do not know much of its capabilities and its intent. For now, it serves as an invaluable reference, and it will draw my ire if you were to rid of a great boon to this colony. If there are any concerns regarding the fountain, then I will be more than willing to hear them. But, unless it is apparent that the fountain wishes ill or is a malevolent being for the colony, then I will not tolerate anything that will harm the vessel."


@Prince Vaethorion


Summary:


Caelis stops talking with the fountain and stops the High Elves in their path to the fountain.


---


Nicholas went off at Caelis' command. He was more than excited to go explore the spire where the Tyren supposedly encountered these clockwork soldiers. He directed the engineer, architect, skilled laborers, and unskilled laborers to return to restoring their part of the platz and preparing boulder fields for farming. But, he had 3 soldiers to escort him. This left 5 soldiers to patrol the platz and 2 soldiers on the watchtower. With the Attolians hard at work in making the place habitable, Nicolas set off towards the Spire so that he could examine and analyze the clockwork soldiers that he heard so much about.


Summary:


Everyone returns to rebuilding the platz and preparing the fields.


Nicolas goes off towards the Spire with 3 soldiers to examine these clockwork soldiers.

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

@Heyitsjiwon @Beckoncall


The High Elven War Mage Shaalth Val'istar, in his long robe with arcane, elven runes on it, holding a long staff with a bladed crescent on it approached the potentially corrupted magical fountain. Accompanying the War Mage were five elite Swordmasters in full mithril plate with two handed swords drawn in front of them in a phalanx encompassing their commander. The High Elves could sense dark magic at work, even the Swordmasters whom were not as well versed in the arcane could sense the taint of blood magic. The Swordmasters behave initially in a protective manner, as the mortal stood in their path, but the War Mage with a small gesture waved them off indicating for them to stand down.


Shaalth greeted Lord Wolff cordially, and calmly in heavy accented, formal Common tongue. "Greetings Lord Wolff! Well met, I am Shaalth Val'istar, second in command to our Commander. You can put your mind at ease, my orders are to assess the fountain, not destroy it." the War Mage said matter of factually. The War Mage continued "My specialty is the arcane, and our concern is also the welfare of the colony. Looking upon you now, seeing your reaction, MY concern presently is the potential effects of that this fountain might be having on you Lord Wolff and others. Blood magic is not something to trifle with lightly." The War Mage said concernedly. "However, put your mind at rest, I do not trifle with these matters lightly myself and do not intend to do anything hasty." The War Mage states gently.


"Now if you please, I will only assess what this fountain is about and will inform you and my Lord what I discover. No further action at this time will be taken. Thank you for your understanding."


The War Mage then deftly in one motion, with the agility of an Elf side steps Lord Wolff bypassing him. The Swordmen follow suit flanking the War Mage in anon-hostile, but protective formation protecting the commander War Mage. The War Mage then proceeds to observe and take readings from the fountain and report his findings to Lord Wolff and the Prince. (assuming no further interference is met Lord Wolff)


Order: War Mage analyses Fountain and reports findings to his Commander

 

[Beckoncall]

@Prince Vaethorion


The Drillmaster was putting the militia through its paces. After consulting some of the other specialists, they were given some basic training on what to expect in combat with an Aymaran – “They have capacity to endure terrible trauma! Try to feint, evade, or block their initial sudden attack and then attempt to use speed against their bulk. Attempt to use their weight against them – to attempt to make any overwhelming attack from an Aymaran a kind of deadfall, and to never expect any single wound, no matter now extreme, to be all that it takes to fell one. Be also warned of their superior speed in water, and the likelihood of water being a feature of any Aymaran defense. Be told the cold weather and season make all but the most spirited Aymarans sluggish… and that it may be foolish to count for certain on elven magic alone winning the day for them – Aymaran armies are notorious to have spellbreakers – Elven mages would have to be protected from them, and a martial solution to their countermeasures would likely be needed. Above a certain level of sophistication, much of the least-armored parts of their bodies may be partially covered by plates – especially if the Aymaran are fully mobilized. Additionally, you can also count on an Aymaran brute’s almost offensive stupidity – never interrupt them when they are making a mistake, and never count on a battle turning against them to register to the brutes unless they are very well led. Well led brutes can almost function as you’d expect untrained soldiers… if you subtract the fear. As a final note – never expect the withering fire of elven archers to have the same effect on Aymaran as other beings… you must either rain them out from a distance, or hit and run. Even Mortally wounded Aymarans may need some time to realize they are actually dead if they have been slain by smaller wounds. Striking through the eyes towards the brainpan, through the mouth, or at the neck vertebrae through the front are the easiest places for a telling wound on an Aymaran. The underbelly is easier to penetrate than the dorsal ridge, but shields and armor may mitigate this substantially.”


When the militia was not drilling but instead invested in other tasks, it became apparent that the dock was finally complete – and in almost no time. The Aymaran, who had chafed under their confinement at sea were very spirited in exercising their brawn, and their burdens were buoyed by the water. Without the shipwreck to provide the materials, the dock would have been a crippling expense of resources – but now the grotesque wreckage was mostly gone… and in it’s place a structure far more attractive and useful.


DOUBLE-DOCK IS COMPLETE! (Highborn gain +2 Influence!)


Aymarans gain +1 Influence!


Exiles gain +1 Influence!


Bonus: Any faction listed above as having interests with the dock can leverage profits from overseas trade – they may gain bonus wealth or material when other factions or trade-ships load/unload ships. (MAKE NOTE OF THIS!)


* A port would ultimately require boulders to be moved and sunk in ocean to build sea wall. (this is the next more ambitious project, but would help insure the safety of ships in bad weather)


With the docks complete, the engineer mused that this might be a considerably more attainable goal – if the cooperation of the Aymarans could be maintained. The beach was dotted with some rather large collection of rocks, some quite huge, having fallen from the cliffs above in whatever massive action caused the creation of the sandslope… much of the rock was flaky and sedimentary, but in the quantities available it could make a fine port enclosure… if this project could actually be accomplished – and indeed it was an ambitious one, then perhaps it would not be the occasional rickety trading ship that might visit the colony, but larger and more numerous vessels, if they knew their craft, and investments, would be protected – the task would not be easy however… the Engineer imagined it’s benefit and durability would be congruent to the amount of labor and resources applied to the task – it might be an undertaking worthy of finding even more cooperation than simply the aymarans… but it would have twofold result… For one, the colony would have a port that almost outstripped what the colony could currently offer in trade goods (at least from what was on offer) – but it would have the added benefit of practically doubling the free space on the beach, and making said space more attractive, to boot. The Engineer drew up plans, and would submit them to the Price for hopeful approval and for his diplomacy and shrewdness to provide the resources he’d require…


In the meantime, what little time the militia had not scrambling in 4 directions at once – they put some downtime into fishing – it was relaxing, and enabled shifts to rest while still remaining productive in the endeavor of garnering a catch that hopefully would demonstrate the value and return for the Aymaran’s investment in doing labor for the Elves… For now, even with considerable catch coming in, it seemed not at all to slake the seemingly cavernous hunger of the Croc-men. The Brutes, as the more clever and fleet Aymarans seemed to call them, were definitely more docile since they began anticipating no shortage of meals… however it was hoped the elves could contrive a more efficient way of catching sharks if they intended to make it obvious their trade was fair…

 

[Beckoncall]

@Elendithas:

• Tocxhol, Teqti, and Goq-quet going to 'Platz to scope out sewers
  

“Shortage of foes, you say?” Goq-quet blinked his beady eyes at Tocxhol as Teqti hunched over a water-resistant hide he was fire-etching with spiked thimbles he held repeatedly over a torch. Tocxhol towered over both of them, steam issuing from his nostrils in the muggy sewer air. Tocxol absent-mindedly stuffed the last bits of the tail-end of a huge water-snake down his gullet with his fist, dragging the other half absent-mindedly in the sewage behind him. Before that it was a giant mole of some kind, who pounced on Goq-quet before the three of them turned on it and drove it fleeing, sadly in all likelyhood to die of it's wounds in some hidden lair after they lost it's trail. This area of the sewer could be interesting...


Here and there, sunlight shone through far-above grates and cracks of various sizes in the floor of the ‘platz. Their expedition was slow-going – and they had been having very poor luck with constant unintentional detours leading them back to where they’d been. It seemed where they had entered was a particularly isolated area of the sewer, with GREAT barriers of rubble blocking off most other areas around the ‘Platz… they knew where they were, but as of yet the sewer was not offering the freedom of movement it promised. However, the area was not absent of points of interest – at the southern-most point in this sewer section, a collapse revealed a natural cave system… one whole side of it seemed to be nothing less than the INSIDE of the great cliff face that rose above the ocean… but it descended precipitously into an almost lightless, smooth, and damp cavern system. Salt condensed from sea-water crashing far below seemed to cake on everything, giving the cavern a strange white patina. Here and there, Tocxhol could see and hear the skittering of cave creatures… bulbous glowing eyes, the sudden strike of a cave-fisher beast grabbing some unsuspecting subterranean denizen to a gristly death of chomping teeth and noisome suck… If Tocxhol wished to match viciousness with strange prey – this area might be a fine spot for that. In addition – Salt is not a bad trade good, in certain parts of the world… it might be mined here if the Croc-men saw merit in that endeavor… even if only to make noise to draw the beasts to make fight with them… Teqti continued to map… they might continually be finding themselves back where they’d been, but she would not miss any key details, nor lose their way.


Commodity found: Salt


Point of interest: Salt Cavern


Elsewhere, an area of the sewer was found that was surrounded by tunnels, but in fact was an area where storage and sewer-workers might once have been housed. Even Darker and considerably more cramped than the wide tunnels – this area was still within Tolerances for Aymaran to move about. Debris way in every chamber – all the forces of nature conspiring together to render anything once here both useless and unrecognizable. Here and there portcullis once blocked the perimeter entrances to this area – but all such gates had fallen, rotten, or long since disintegrated. In addition, it was virtually over-run with bats. Their Guano made the entirety of the floor within the enclosure slick and pungent – the fume rising from it in certain chambers even raised the life of Teqti’s flame with it’s gasses, which achieved the rarely seen phenomenon of making her seem nervous. The bats were everywhere – but quite mundane, and to hear Goq-quet tell it, quite tasty. If they put labor to the task, they could catch quite a few of these crunchy little mammals – though singular hunters might find them quite difficult to catch without great patience…


Potential Food Source! – Bats


Besides this, they found a vault of some kind – clearly predating the construction of the sewer – though how old this would make the structure no Aymaran on this voyage could guess… perhaps less likely they’d really care to know. Teqti remarked that it was obvious the sewer was built around this structure to hide it rather than demolish it, and that if the stonemasonry hadn’t fallen away from it on two sides it might never have been discovered… and perhaps that was the intention. The outside of the vault had bat-like gargoyles engraved at it’s corners, but besides that it was almost completely smooth and nondescript. The corner of a plaque however was spotted behind some of the crumbling brick – and Tocxhol, with one slap of his tail, smashed the obscuring rock away from it so that Goq-quet could tell him what it might mean.


The plaque was in Draconic – the language of Dragons was wildly popular in certain magical circles, so Goq-quet had sought to learn it early in his studies… Very hard to learn, and almost impossible for non-reptiles to speak, Draconic was a great means, quite fashionable over the ages, to allow lore-versed peers to leave record that would be inscrutable to all but a few, and likely akin in discipline. The plaque reads: “Here lies the entrance to the Oubliette of the Chiropteran Behemoth – the Crimson Bat. Once mount to Kyzzerzazz, Mage King of the early dynasties, Symbol of power for the Lunar armies, and finally a horror beyond control of mortals. Sleep eternally with the lasting sentiments of all the Subjects Majic of this great city-state. The price of loosing you on our enemies can no longer be justified. Ad Eternam.”


Point of Interest: Vault of Crimson Bat


Further behind a more solid section of brickwork – the seam of an entrance to the vault – an awesome obsidian gate, still lay almost completely hidden.


Teqti spoke: “The mess of the vermin makes this place a poor prospect to settle unless we really worked hard to take it back from the bats, and their droppings… Bats that get in our way could easily be made as dead as what’s buried in there.”


Goq-quet wondered if any treasure might be inside, or if any fossil inside could be potentially of value… They both scanned Tocxhol’s face for any sign of his thinking…So stoic was their leader at times this seemed to be as great a challenge as any Aymaran could hope to face…


Their leader ruminated… they had other tasks to accomplish – but he would share his ideas soon enough.


Quetankha hissed. The elves had certainly been doing their part bringing more sharkmeat to the ship for the Aymaran to eat – and the discarded fish-guts of the Exiles piled up, however gradually, almost daily… they were rapidly running out of the most fetid and aged tender gobbets of flesh they found when they first arrived. Quetankha’s eyes rolled back into their head as they slurped down a final handful… did he detect a hint of a whole dead seagull obviously poisoned by the rotten debris? He believed he did. The Brutes were DONE enjoying any more of this delicacy… he sought to guard what dwindling amount remained of this “Special reserve” for himself and the other Chosen. Perhaps he could convince Tocxhol of the merits of creating a vat of some kind with which to combine sun and time to renew their supply of said carrion. Besides… if properly displayed, it could additionally serve as a form of deterrent, given it’s offensive odor to lesser warmbloods, and perhaps as well if said vat was seasoned with the corpses of such humanoids to send an even clearer message…


Just then, he saw one of the cunning creeping towards the crate as he sought a sledge to seal it. “FOR CHOSEN!” he lashed out with speed, leaving numerous bleeding tooth-marks on his subordinate, that the cunning barely registered. The cunning spread his claws in a sign of submission and retreated from the area… there were plenty of dead sharks on deck, anyway…

 

[Beckoncall]

@SpiralErrant


Tyren:


Fresh mining detail is sent out to Shearcliffs to double the iron effort. Including all craft wagon elders and their remaining apprentices (6 skilled 5 unskilled) Along with some of the general labor workers (2 skilled, 5 unskilled) and a warrior escort including Rahg (6 Fighters)


This was no small endeavor. Two dozen Tyren had been ordered by the chief to make the rock give up it’s treasures, and that was no small amount of force to bring to bear. It turned out wise that Rahg and his warriors were in attendance, because when the detail reached shearcliffs it was apparent that Gnoll scouts, on high ledges, were sneaking about. At first the Tyren were sure this was a sneak attack from the higher elevation and an avenue of attack they did not anticipate – but after the Warriors managed to scale the craggy ledges to where the scouts were seen, it seemed more likely the Gnolls, seemingly knowing the land better than the Tyren could hope to at this point… were merely watching to make sure this avenue of approach was not used against them. Rahg and two of his warriors searched for where the scouts had gone, leaving the other warriors to cover the working Tyren as they prepared for the task at hand.


They made two Discoveries:


At the easternmost ridge of shearcliffs, from whence Rahg could see all of the settlement of Harun’Taras to the south, and down into the impenetrable wood to the east… there was an old, but seemingly sturdy rope and coil bridge that was anchored with crude Iron spikes on the Cliffside, spanning some 60 feet over the forest to a Tall, Dead Tree, where the Gnolls had obviously built an outpost. It was hard to tell how many Gnolls were present in the structure – but the side of their “treehouse” could hide up to a couple dozen. Rahg Didn’t like the idea of a path-structure being built into their claimed land… but in a moment of lucidity, Rahg saw – (with his good eye) the Elven bridge doing the very same thing in the lands below. He pawed the ground with his hoof to convey he would brook no aggression – but he would not escalate this confrontation until Orm could be informed. He posted two of the guards there with a horn to declare if the Gnolls did not like him wish to stay on their side of the bridge, and returned to the hunting detail…


Point of interest: Gnoll-Tree Bridge


The Craft workers had already begun to outdo themselves. Their greatest Oxen had pulled a great wagon of supplies to the old site they had broken through the rock into the mineral-flecked gravel… and the skilled Tyren had already started setting up a great scaffold to expand and reinforce the small support structure they previously had in place. Soon… the hole in the gravel “wall” of the shearcliff was wide enough for two minotaurs to stand shoulder to shoulder, and deep enough for six and soon more to be working there at once. Most of what they had found so far was loose rock and gravel – but for every gang of pick and shovel-blows a few nuggets of Iron could be shook from the chaff. The workers began to shovel all the loose rock out of the tunnel, where the iron separated naturally as it bounced down to the base of the cliff. A great pile of sandy gravel began to grow at the base of the scaffold… with a couple of the workers grabbing any crude ore and taking it to the wagon.


Glorduuk, One of the iron-crafters, looked thoughtfully at the growing pile of gravel… he remembered long, long ago back in the old world, the caravan had hired out some of its muscle to mine gravel like this for its own sake – they had no idea what the hornless would do with it, they thought it was just another bit of foolishness in a sea of almost anything else the hornless seemed to do for no perceivable reason – but the pay was good enough not to ask questions… though remarking on the growing pile of silty rock Glorduuk was wishing aloud that he HAD asked… because could they potentially be missing out on something of value here? The Old Tyren bellyached that the idea made his head sore, but none of the other crafters could guess either… perhaps some of the hornless here would have a clue, or perhaps it was just another hornless fool’s errand… it didn’t matter… the bed of the wagon already had a thin layer of precious iron ore in it, and it was starting to look like the Miners might even find a vein before long, if they got lucky…


@Heyitsjiwon


“WHAT IN THE FOURTEEN COURTS ARE THEY DOING UP THERE!?!” Caelis’ Geologist twisted his spyglass in and out of focus on the Tyren Worksite… his excitement interfering with his capacity to focus.


“THIS IS TERRIBLE! TERRIBLE!”


Tommen, still conducting exhaustive mapping and sampling of soil contents in the southernmost hills, stopped immediately what he was doing and ran break-neck towards the Staging area where all the different factions seemed to be milling about in and out of the Tyren Camp. Twice he dropped maps and instruments behind him… twice he did not even stop to pick them up. Only when his spectacles slid from his necklace did he stoop to grab them before barreling on, caking in sweat, to where everyone was gathered.


@Prince Vaethorion, @General Deth Glitch @Leusis


“STOP THE TYREN!” He yelled – the scene immediately drew wood and high elf, Attolian, exile, and Minotaur alike from the spectacle… A confused Tyren Warrior strode forward, clearly offended by Tommen’s mysterious display…


“YOU HAVE NO IDEA!” Tommen plead… The warrior was getting more angry with the passing moment. These were the ones who supposedly thought them animals. What he was getting on about wasn’t nearly as important to the warrior as soon making the bleating hornless stop yelling…


Tommen turned to the humans and elves that were gathered – he had clearly lost cache with the Minotaurs.


“THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND! SHEARCLIFF IS A GEOMANTIC SEDIMENTARY *FAULT!*” – it didn’t seem like many non-tyren could understand what he was getting on about either. Caelis appeared from the commotion, and with his arrival it seemed like the Tyren wasn’t going to smash this pest while his own lord watched… Belanor had an IDEA what this might mean, but The High-Elf Tactician was sure of it.


“I’LL EXPLAIN!!! EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK THERE IS EVIDENCE OF MASSIVE MAGICAL FORCES UNLEASHING DESTRUCTION ON THE LANDSCAPE, RIGHT?” Tommen finally started hyperventilating from yelling on the tail end of his run…


“SHEARCLIFF IS THE RESULT OF TWO OPPOSING FRONTS OF GRAVEL BEING SMASHED TOGETHER IN A SUDDEN JOLT OF NATURAL, OR FAR MORE LIKELY MAGICAL, GEOMANTIC FORCES – THE CLIFF IS BASICALLY A THICK *SHEET* OF COMPACTED GRAVEL SOLIDS, WITH LOOSE EARTH BEHIND IT… COUNTLESS *TONS* OF IT! IF THE TYREN JUST DIG INTO IT LIKE THEY ARE DOING – WITHOUT *SUPREME* ENGINEERING AND SUPPORT ARCHITECTURE… A *MONUMENTAL*... sheet..."


"a monumental... sheet of the cliff face just might slide off onto…” (pant pant)


“…onto…” (pant pant)


Belanor Interjected, putting an urgent point to what he now felt was becoming grandeloquent babble: “Slide off onto the Tyren miners – or onto Harun’Taras itself.”


Tommen caught his breath – “YES!!! EXACTLY!!! WE HAVE TO STOP THEM!!! LORD CAELIS OFFERED MY SERVICES SO THAT SOMETHING LIKE THIS MIGHT NOT HAPPEN, BUT ONLY TODAY COULD I HAVE PUT TOGETHER EXACTLY HOW DELICATE THE TASK OF MINING SHEARCLIFF IS!!!! WE HAVE TO STOP THEM! EVEN IF THE CLIFFSIDE DOESN’T COME LOOSE – Rainwater filtering through the cliffs is going to ERODE THAT TUNNEL AND FLOOD THE HILLS BELOW WITH GRAVEL!!!! SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING!!!!”


Tommen finally collapsed in the grass, as if he needed every last word expulsed violently before he could finally rest. The Attolian soldiers were already in the process of finding him water and shade before taking him to the river.


“somebody do something. Lord Caelis, please…”





The spectacle was over – but it seemed many in attendance looked to the cliffs to the west, fearful that another spectacle entirely might lay in store…

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @Heyitsjiwon (NOTE YOUR INFLUENCE IN THIS GUILD HAS CHANGED)


POWER IN THE HEALER'S GUILD SHIFTS!


ATTOLIANS USURPED BY WOOD ELVES AND TYREN! Power shifts!


GUILD MEMBERS: Wood Elves, Attolians, Highborn, Tyren.


LEADER: WOOD ELVES


Wood elves send Mage and Doctor Anfel to lead the Healer's guild!


(+2 INFLUENCE!)


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


(+1 INFLUENCE! Down from +2)


High Elves join healers guild. Allow up to three Skilled medics to work at guild in 8 hour shifts each.


(+1 INFLUENCE!)


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


THEY BRING SUGAR-MILK POPPY AS MEDICINAL COMMODITY!


(+1 INFLUENCE!)


If additional factions decide to join, keep in mind that the dominant power and total influence may shift -- the current status of any guild will always be in the overview thread.

 

[Beckoncall]

@Leusis @SpiralErrant:


Anfel Sighed. This makeshift “hospital” they called a healer’s guild seemed more to her a display of colony-wide ignorance of standard first aid and medical practice. Even the high born, militia field-medics as they were, had their medicines and techniques, to her, stinking of ignorance. While some clever solutions seemed to be within the grasp on the non-Sylvan (needs must she supposed) overall things could be much better… While Belanor had cautioned her not to give up anything the wood elves considered “Secrets” there was perhaps a VOLUME of simple healing knowledge she was frankly SHOCKED the other races did not possess… whether they were sewing wounds in a manner that virtually guaranteed scars, or demonstrating giant gaps in understanding on how to stabilize the fallen… she could perhaps understand why Belanor chose to send her here… Without her this guild was like a body without a head… at least the Attolians had done a good enough job keeping the environment clean… did they SCRUB all these surfaces? Had they no astringent disinfectants?


They didn’t… Anfel shivered… This might mean that practically EVERYTHING humans and Tyren touched was CRAWLING with filth. She knew the Highborn were clean too, but the same could not be said for their techniques…


This task would be insufferable… but she could not dispute the wisdom of Belanor’s decision… and if allowed to remain here long enough – all would soon enough know of the superiority of the ways of Wood Elf Medicine…


Just then she saw that Anuc had brought in the most recent supply of Ivory, nectar dripping poppies… after handling one… a tiny jolt of energy ran up her arm with the handling of one… these plants did not just have medicinal qualities… they were a source of magical power!


ALL MAY TAKE NOTE!


Sugar-Milk Poppy is a *MAGICAL* commodity. As such, it can provide a bonus to spellcasting in certain endeavors (usually ceremony, industry, or perhaps other ways) – when crafting or making something with sugar-milk poppy – you may get a bonus for mentioning you have access to it.


This in particular may effect enchanting items, crafting golems, summoning! Enterprising folk may find other applications for it as well…