[Game of the Gods] Playtest 1 (IC)

[Demring]

[Aleum, god of the biggest fish in the ocean.]

Small fishes are eaten by bigger ones. Big fishes are eaten by unspeakable creatures from the deep. And finally, the unspeakable creatures are hunted down and killed for sport by the harpoon-wielding inhabitants of Mountainfish Island.

These islanders call themselves "aleans", after their god. They are an adventurous people of the seas, with Mountainfish Island being their traditional home and the heart of their civilization. The name of this home is revealing: It goes back to one of the earliest mythical conceptions recorded by history, where the alean society is portrayed as the master of the entire marine ecosystem. A commonly used analogy is the head's position as master of the body. In other words, it's not about demanding taxes from all the little fishes, but about making sure everything runs smoothly. A lot of religious attention is payed to the issue of world administration. The most important holy book on the subject is the "Divine Instructions", a masterpiece of obscurantism, continually interpreted and reinterpreted by the swarming monks of Dorsalfin City, the alean capitol.

All through history, the islanders have referred to their island with names like "the biggest fish in the ocean" and "the mountain fish" as a matter of religion and nationalism. So when the building of relations with other cultures demanded a formal name, "Mountainfish" was the natural choice. — These same relations deteriorated quite a bit when it became known what nationalistic delusions the name implied. Aleans themselves are completely oblivious to such objections. Alean superiority is considered a no-brainer. However, as the noble master race they think they are, they try to be polite to their subjects, be they fishes or men. Fishes are very grateful. Men not so much: they can see through the empty gestures, and are actually quite violently offended.

The aleans consider the continental inland as a chaotic wilderness in desperate need of some professional taming. "One day", they say, "we'll subjugate even the darkest jungle of the continent." And they point to the holy books, which tells it straight: "In the final chapter of history, the whole of the world will have become completely and utterly aleanated!" — Because of this, together with alean successes around the world, militant apocalypse-mongering is gaining popular support. In fact, a majority of the people are now convinced that the final chapter of history is imminent. The "apocalyptocrats" are rising to power in Dorsalfin...

The aleans have a special talent for all things ocean-related. They have expert shipwrights and a remarkable diving bell technology. They've even established some small settlements in huge, air-filled caves only accessible from hundreds of meters beneath sea level. But the most impressive feat is that they've managed to domesticate sperm whales [picture (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f9/Sperm_whale1b.jpg)]. Not surprisingly, whale tamers and whale skippers are the most highly revered occupation in all of Alea.

Most whales are used for transportation. Passengers sit on top of the whale if travelling above surface level, and inside its mouth (which is filled with air) if travelling below the surface. But there are more uses for whale taming, like combat. There exists already a combat division of sperm whales trained to ram into enemy ships. But a promising new approach is currently being explored by a group of elite tamers: they have managed capture and tame Narwhals [picture (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5c/Narwhals_breach.jpg)]...

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu, God of Nature Primeval]

Take a look around you at nature, and what do you see? Nature does not concern herself with politics, or nations. Nature is untouched by the petty squabbles of mankind. Nature existed long before humans crawled from the slime, and will remain long after, reclaiming the world after the last great civilizations have fallen. Nature merely acts and the rest of the world must adjust to accommodate it... or fade from existence.

It is this philosophy, of nature's might unbridled, that inspires those who would spurn the niceties of 'civilized' life for the wilderness between nations. This land, called The Patchlands by the more 'intelligent' nations, is a maelstrom of different types of terrain patched together in a highly unlikely breach of geographical norms. Volcano-speckled jungles surround blistering salt deserts, while impossibly tall snowcapped mountains jut out of freezing-cold saltwater lakes only miles away.

However, though they may be highly dangerous and appear all but unlivable, The Patchlands are not without their own populace. No central nation or body of government controls the land, but dozens of tribes form a loose confederation, each living primarily in one or two different terrain types which they attempt to master. The tribes keep mostly to themselves, but in times of great stress, such as when a foreign nation attempts to commandeer some of the Patchlands for themselves, they have been known to band together. Furthermore, though they may seem warlike, the Patchlanders value peace highly; even wild animals do not turn on themselves, and neither do they, save in the most dire circumstances.

Though they possess little technology, and do not build fortified structures or even stable towns, the Patchlanders are well-versed in military tactics and highly cunning. Years of defending themselves from threats both animal and human have sharpened their senses to animal-like levels and given them the instincts of wild beasts. Rather than attacking directly, most of the tribes seize every advantage they have, setting traps and ambushes wherever possible and luring opponents into long, drawn-out battles while they quickly strike and disappear. Because of their ability to live off the land with little trouble, they can essentially lay siege to an invading army.

The population of the Patchlands is actually less than that of the other countries, but the Patchlanders make up for that by taking advantage of Nature's gifts. Many of the tribes specialize in training animals, and generations of experience have taught them that anything that cannot be made with what Nature herself provides is probably unnecessary anyway.

Though most of the Patchlanders are quite spiritual, they are not what one would call 'religious'. Rather than worshiping an imagined picture of a deity, they prefer to venerate the idea of said deity's influence on the world. This 'deity', of course, is Nature Herself. Yes, Ak-Chuu is male, and he is technically the manifestation of Nature, but they don't know that. Therefore, they stick with the traditional female view of Nature. Ak-Chuu doesn't really mind, though; it's all the same to him. XD

[WhiteKnight777]

The nameless god at at the celestial campfire, gazing at the two who had already spoken through the eyeholes of his mask. The god was always masked. It was his custom, and none knew what lay under it. In fact, no one could actually be certain he was even a he, though his voice, such as it was, seemed to indicate so, and he identified himself as such on the rare occasion when he chose to for some reason. His masks changed on a regular basis, seemingly on a whim. Today it was a particularly unusual one - in place of a face there was a void, studded with what might have been stars and what might have been other things entirely. So convincing was the effect that one felt if one reached out to touch it, one's had would have passed into entirely. His eyes gleamed out of the mask, glowing with a pure white radiance like two particularly bright stars. At last, after a moment of consideration, he began to speak. His voice, so faint that it was the barest whisper of wind, yet easily reaching the ears of all the others, weaved a tale, and the tale pulled from the void a fragment of the world.

The City of Stars, the City of Shadow. It had many names. What was known, at least to its inhabitants, was that it was ancient beyond reckoning, and it had been there long before men had come to inhabit it. Certainly, the architecture was at once alien and beautiful: Gleaming curves of alabaster and ebon stoned, spiraled minarets and domed roofs. Arches and curves predominated, slender, elegant, graceful lines. It had once been a metropolis, and was inhabited by far fewer than it might have supported, so that even the poorest citizen had a large and well-appointed home. And above it glimmered a thousand thousand points of light, for the city was buried deep beneath the earth, wreathed in perpetual twilight.

The citizens went about there business with quiet decorum. And there was much business to be done. The people were traders extrordinaire; their hidden networks of caravan trails spanned the world. Diplomats and merchants they appeared to be, but in the end they had only one true business: The search for knowledge. At the heart of the people, the core of their mentality was curiosity. Their god, if it could be called such, was less a deity and more a quest. They believed that within each person was the spark of divinity. They had been created not to serve, but to grow. It was their purpose to become closer to their god by improving themselves. The highest virtue was not only to learn and become wiser in oneself, but to increase the sum of the knowledge of the whole people.

Some spent their lives in quiet contemplation in hidden monestaries, spending their lives translating documents, meditating on the mysteries of the universe. Some served in the Council, the governing body elected by the lords of the Great Houses. Their politics were not as violent and fratricidal as one might have expected; the emphasis on consensus and the perfection of the race as a whole kept the importance of politics in perspective.

Fortunately, the city itself was built in such a way that it required little maintenance. The sewers led down into the heart of the mountain beneath which the city had been built, where it fertilized the hidden mushroom fields that, along with deep lakes and streams that provided fish, gave the city its sustenance.

The people, who gave themeselves the name "Adumbrans" when interacting with the outside world, were viewed with a mixture of suspicion and welcome in other lands. Suspicion, because they would not reveal their home to others, and much about them remained purposely mysterious. And welcome, because they brought rare and exotic goods from far parts of the world, trading them both for more trade goods and for more esoteric items such as knowledge. Books and scrolls they prized above all else. Keen observers noted that they seemed to have a never-ending hunger for knowledge.

Equal to their skill in knowledge was their skill in diplomacy. They had an almost legendary ability to mediate disputes, and the people as a whole were known for their almost excessive courtesy and even-tempered nature. They almost never showed negative emotion, and masked their feelings with exceeding skill. The most curious thing, however, was that they were not necessarily courtly - they merely had the ability to adapt to whatever the cultural norms of the locals happened to be.

Of course, they also had a somewhat shadowy side. It was not much talked of, but one occasionally heard back room whispers of assassins who wrapped themselves in shadow, thieves who stole into hidden vaults to retrieve fabulous treasures, all at the Adumbrans' command. They unfailingly dismissed this as either entirely false, or merely a case of some domestic or foreign enemy seeking to use a scapegoat for their own misdeeds. And nothing ever came of it. Their skills and goods were simply too valuable to turn away.

[Pomeroy]

[Demir, God of the Forge]

The stench of iron, sweat and open coal fires reeks over the land of Yiarn, the sound of iron beating against iron almost deafens the sound of thousands of heavily armoured solders marching, making the very ground shake. Everywhere you look you see scrap metal and the sickening brown of rust polluting this formerly green haven. This is no place to walk barefooted. Nor unarmoured.

The inhabitants of Yiarn, the Rauta, has since the discovery of iron, a long time ago, simply fallen in love with it. Their craftsmanship is beyond any comparison, because they use if for everything: houses, clothes, weapons, toys, etc.

The highly militaristic society of the Rauta is divided into three castes, the military on top, the crafters in the middle and the slaves and farmers at the bottom. The slaves and farmers makes the cloth for the undergarments and the padding of the armours and provides the food for the empire, more often by stealing and plundering it than by growing it. The crafters are the backbone in the Rauta society, creating anything and everything with their cunning knowledge of iron.

Every Rauta receives military training - except of course for the slaves - and are required to wear at least 10 kilos of well tended armour while awake. The punishment for not doing so is severe. The crafters usually have a two year minimum of military service, the farmers one year, and the military cast are counted as soldiers from when they turn 5 years old until they die, and receive military training their whole life.

The Rauta are not interested in pointless deities or foolish faiths, and frowns upon those who do. All that matters for them is precious iron.

The most prestigious event any Rauta can ever hope to experience is to put on one of the infamous Demir-armours, a full body armour weighing up to 500 kilos all in all, made completely out of iron and with at least 5 cm of armour at any given part of the body at one time. These iron monsters is the forefront of the Rauta military, slow as turtles, but strong enough to deliver a blow able to crush a tree, and clumsy enough to get hit by that same tree, without receiving any damage.

The hardships the Rauta experiences through their life make them unhumanly strong, but they are however also quite dumb, having no time for an academical education. Childishness in this harsh and strict environment is surprisingly prevalent. One example of this is when the Rauta captures animals to fit them with a suit of armour, ranging from dogs and cats, cows, elephants and even birds, and then let them free. This also makes the animals in the region extra strong and savage, and usually attacks humans on sight.

As the iron production goes forever on, and as the amounts of scrap metal and the rust from rotting iron increases the region of Yiarn grows larger and larger, polluting and destroying anything in its way.

The god Demir himself has never cared for his “worshippers” as such, but wishes to see them expand over the world, gaining more and more resources. Other races and civilizations beware, this will not end without clashes of metal against metal and open wounds in rusty waters.

[Demring]

[Round two.]

[Aleum, the amniotic sac (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amniotic_sac) of the mother of the world.]


Into the unknown (open)
Marcus was uncomfortable at sea. As a young aristocrat, he had been thoroughly schooled in almost everything, but he'd managed to skip sailing and whale driving classes entirely. Had it been anyone else, this would not have been tolerated. But Marcus had been the victim of a terribly traumatic experience as a child: The first time he travelled with a whale bus (to Tiny Shrimp Island, where his grandmother lived) he got sick and vomited — and not just anywhere, but into the whale's blowhole! The whale freaked out: First, it blew the vomit splat back in his face, then it violently shook off all passangers, hundreds of meters from the coast! Marcus couldn't swim, and was blinded by the acidic sickness in his face. He vomited some more, and cried for help. Then he blacked out. Upon awakening in his bed several hours later, he learned that he had been saved by his father.

Instantaneously, Marcus was a celebrity. Everyone in the empire now knows the story of seasick little Marcus and the indignant whale bus. They even use it in school to teach the little children to have respect for the whale's blowhole. Marcus gradually fell into an oily pit of shame, which he would struggle for years to get out from...

Years later, when reflecting on his life, Marcus finally surrendered to the acknowledgement that this pit of shame had provided the crucial nourishment to the seed of his current all-consuming fixation with exploration. Specifically, land exploration.

The aleans had one small colony on the continent, but it was full of rebellious natives, who violently refused to be enslaved, even when they were asked politely. Noone really cared for this colony. The only reason it was maintained at all was a few gold mines and cotton farms. Anyway, what Marcus wanted to do was go beyond "the Hand" (as the colony was called), and into the body of the only continental land mass of the earth. Such a want was unheard of in alean lands. The continent was seen as a savage and unclean place, full of distressing things like jungle birds screeching of pain and angst; a preposterious society of men wearing nothing but iron and sweat; oceans made up entirely of salt (no water); flesh-eating human stalker-scavengers, etc. In brief: It's a terrible, terrible place, a wilderness full of story material to scare the wits out of children with.

Marcus was convinced this account was almost entirely a work of fear-inspired fiction. He had read practically the entire national library, and had found very little to support the above narrative. In fact, several of the logbooks of the few earlier explorers suggested there was a humane side to the natives, both the forest humanoids and the city-dwelling "Rauta", as they apparently call themselves. Marcus had to know the truth. This was his quest. It was one of unparalleled importance: to lay the foundation for a new science he would call "anthropology"!

Aboard the "Speagle", Marcus had been hiding in the cabin, to vomit and reminisce in peace. It would probably not be long now before they got to the appointed pier of the jungle river. His small team of hirelings, who embarrasingly called themselves "The Friends of Death", could be heard carrying baggage up on the deck.

Marcus' stomach wrenched. This was not seasickness. What if his books were wrong! Now, they were in the middle of native land: How would they be greeted!?

Marcus took out the symbol of his quest, a sketch of the world map made by his father just weeks before he was lost in the accident with the monsterous octopuses. His father had no idea what the non-alean world looked like, so he had made the continent look like an egg, about to hatch maybe. Many years ago, Marcus tought it was realistic. Now, the laminated little drawing had become his most precious talisman. He took one last look before he went up on deck...

This is what it looks like:

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3001/2406921335_3d71c3ba25.jpg

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu, Heart of the Wild]

Into the Unknown (Open, continued from Demring)

As the ship docked and unloaded, a young child watched from above. This child, a boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen, was currently hidden in the crown of a tall tree on the edge of the forest. Twistbough was his name, of the Sharpleaf tribe, and he was currently watching with baited breath, fascinated by the strange foreigners who had just landed.

The Sharpleaf Forest - a large, dense forest of massive sharpleaf pines, and home of the Sharpleaf tribe - was the territory just bordering the colony that the Fish-People (for that was how the Patchlanders thought of them, as the two had never been truly introduced) had claimed years ago. As a result, they were more accustomed to the habits of the Fish-People than most of the other tribes, but it had been a while since the colony had sent out an emissary to 'politely' request that they move to a more remote location and allow their land to be taken, and Twistbough was too young to remember.

Twistbough considered running back to tell the rest of the tribe of the visitors that were arriving, but dismissed the idea. For one thing, he wasn't even supposed to be here. The Sharpleaf tribe was a very matriarchal one, and while the girls were off hunting and gathering, the boys like him were supposed to be learning how to sew, and cook, and tend to the injuries of the women.

Not that he objected, really; Twistbough was personally of the belief that such work was infinitely preferable to the sports and hunting of the girls. No, his only problem was that one of the women was due to give birth today, and they were supposed to take the opportunity to learn from the midhusband how to deliver babies... Yuck. Given that he was rather squeamish anyway, he'd decided long ago that he'd be better off spending the day in the woods, and risking whatever punishment awaited him when he got back.

So that left him with a new choice. He could either wait and watch, or reveal himself. From what he'd heard from his elders, the Fish-People were a little odd, but not necessarily bad or dangerous; they hadn't tried to attack the tribe, or anything, after all. But it was also supposedly better not to trust them too much; they were different, after all, and it was popular consensus that anyone who spent that much time with fish had to be a little odd. But on the other hand, Twistbough was young and reckless, and they didn't look too dangerous - they didn't even have hunting dogs with them.

As the boy tried to make up his mind, the sudden groaning of wood seized his attention. A loud crack soon followed, and before he could so much as flinch, the branch on which he was perched finally gave out, dropping both the boy and the tree limb smack-dab on top of one of the men as he disembarked from the ship.

[WhiteKnight777]

[The Nameless God, Lord of Silence, Shadow, and Secrets under Starlight]

The Starlight Conclave (Closed)
The thirteen members of the Starlight Conclave, the ruling body of the City of Shadows, sat around the table. Each of them sat in deep shadow, for the only illumination was a single vast orb that pulsed with a gentle light, filling the room with an illumination like that of a moonless night. Nevertheless, each member could identify each other member by voice alone. The council members occupied a unique position in the City's society. At once apart and intrinsic to its function, they were elected for life, and they spend their time either at the Council compound or in their family's estates. Though they did not participate in the city's normally byzantine political intrigue, they were intensely aware of it. This separation was a necessity; the Council had to act for the good of the City's people alone, and not for the interests of themselves or their families. This did not, however, produce a disconnect with the affairs of the city. The Council kept benevolent watch over the City as a whole, and kept just as close an eye on the world's major players.

Each of the Council members, as a symbol of their commitment to their office, gave up their old names, and were addressed only by Council title in all places, except in the extremely rare case when a Council member kept an extremely close confidant. Most of the Council never married or produced children; it was discouraged. This helped keep nepotism at arms length when it came to Council business

"I'm glad the matter among the Rauta was finished satisfactorily. You are to be commended for your work, Fornax." The speaker was Vulpus, the High Lady of the council. She nodded to Fornax, who bowed his head in gracious acceptance. She was a tall, elegant woman of indeterminate age, with honey blond hair and steely grey eyes. "To the next order of business. Cetus, you wished to report something from your jurisdiction."

Cetus was a thin, elderly man with deep azure eyes and swept-back grey hair. He nodded, speaking up in a surprisingly deep voice, given his slight frame. "Indeed. First I must give thanks to brother Eriandus, who first brought the matter to my attention." He nodded to a pretty young girl in a gown of sea-foam green, who smiled and thanked him in a soft voice. One or two of the others smiled in approval. Eriandus was new to her post, but already proving a good choice for her position.With this, Cetus continued. "It appears that the Aleum have begun inward expansion. As you know, we have had some limited interaction with them, but their habit of enslaving outsiders has made negotiations difficult. Until now, our strategy has been one of slow infiltration. Given their xenophobia, there seemed no rush, and patience is ever our preference." He nodded, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

"Given this shift in policy, I deemed it wise to investigate. It seems that the explorer is something of an abnormality among his people. From what I've gathered so far, it's possible his unusual behavior stems from either an inherent difference in his demeanor, a childhood trauma, or both. We're still not sure what his intentions are. However, I have managed to put an operative aboard his ship. He has orders to investigate, keep tabs on the expansion, and try to mitigate any possible damage. It is in our best interests that no one culture gain overall supremacy, and so far the Aleum's isolationist policies have been for the best. We all know that our overall goal is best served when we are left alone." Each of the others nodded sagely. "I will continue to update the council as soon as I myself receive more information. However, given the agent involved and what seems to be the nonstandard nature of this expedition, I believe we will be able to manage it, hopefully to our advantage."

Vulpus nodded as the others spoke quietly among themselves. "Thank you Cetus. I'm sure we're all confident that your agent will manage the situation handily. This doesn't seem to be a major concern at the moment, but it bears watching... Still, though it seems unlikely, perhaps broader cultural contact will mollify the Aleum's predilections towards slavery... it would greatly assist the Work if we had better access to their home island for our studies. And speaking of the work... Corax, I believe you had a report on some rather interesting ruins recently uncovered by a scouting team?"

[Pomeroy]

[Demir, Iron-Hammer Extended]

Demir stopped his crafting for the first time in aeons, the banging of the hammer seemed to echo in the air around him, and raised his head, looking around him at the world his people inhabited. A horrid, unnatural grin appeared on his face and fire seemed to burn in his eyes. “Potential” he whispered in a rasping, harsh voice. It was time the hammer stopped crafting and started crushing.


Looking Forward (flasher)
He could almost feel the cracking of the bones in the king’s jaw and neck through his gauntleted hands as he was strangling him up against the wall. The screams of the invasion – “genocide” would actually be a more fitting word he thought - outside were slowly dimming away as the last remaining enemy soldiers and civilians died or were enslaved. Field-General Ib thought it had all gone too fast, that the pleasure had been too short.

Three Rauta soldiers had died in the invasion, a small but undoubtedly avoidable loss, since he himself had executed them because they had raped civilians. They knew very well that only military personnel were allowed to be raped, even though this also was punishable. Mixing was strictly forbidden, everybody knew that.

It was a small and lightly defended patch of land they had conquered, but important none the less. Finally having a coastal line, if ever so small, could be important for further outside involvement. Even the Rauta could feel that something was happening, stirring in the world. Field-General Ib knew very well they had attacked an alean-friendly kingdom, and even though war at this moment was deemed unnecessary, it was the shortest and safest road to be able to communicate with the aleans. He just hoped the aleans were smart enough not to go to war over the destruction of this petty kingdom. He had his doubts.

The Wallers, soldiers equipped with huge iron walls, were already shoving gargantuan amounts of scrap metal towards the newly conquered land to be dumped in the nature, and especially out in the sea. The slaves would be ordered to make sure the largest iron pieces were planted deep into the ocean sand, sharp points upwards.

Into the Unknown (Demring’s open)
If Alexander had been alive long enough to react he would have thought for himself that it seemed “The Friends of Death” was a more fitting name for Marcus’ hirelings than previously believed. But he hadn’t thought he would be the first one to die, or that anyone would die as soon as they disembarked from the ship, for that sake. Being the largest and the strongest of them, the only one with real experience with a sword, and the hireling carrying the most baggage, this would be a considerable loss for Marcus’ and the others. But the simple fact is that Alexander didn’t live that long, hearing only two loud cracks, one from above and one from his neck.

Travelling Blindfolded (Open)
The march was fast as none of them were used to wearing less than 100 kilos of armor. Ier felt naked without his Demir-armor, partially embarrassed for leaving it at home, partially proud for being the leader of the small Rauta exploration team. He was hugely discomforted by the feeling of being watched all the time however. Sometimes, at the corner of his eyes, he thought he saw movement, but as he turned his head to look there was nothing. It didn’t seem the others noticed, and he didn’t want to alarm them in case it lowered their moral, but he made sure they always travelled in open areas, even if it meant making a detour.

He noticed he was gripping his hammer harder than necessary, and tried to stop without much success.

When they at last found a fitting hill with a large open area around they started yelling. Yelling their lunges out. Yelling till they tasted blood in their mouth. He had heard the inhabitants of this land were sneaky, but this would surely lure them out into the open.

[Demring]

[Round three.]

[Aleum, god of the deep sea monsters and the subconscious mind.]

Aleum spat into the fire. The fire was very much disturbed, but regained its balance after a couple of seconds. Aleum's dilated pupils swam across the faces of his opponent gods. Then he leaned back and immersed himself completely in the game world for the third time this night. His mind departed from the campfire altogether. To the annoyance of the others present, his body gave off low, moronic sounds of enjoyment while he was away.


Into the Unknown (public series)
Frederic, the red-headed one, had beaten the daylights out of the poor kid. He had been just about to finish up his regular punishment routine, when another of the Friends of Death shrieked that Alexander was dead. Frederic shrieked a little himself, and went into an unstoppable frenzy. The tiny native was lucky to be alive.

Marcus was trying his best to tend to the unfortunate primitive, who was ungrateful enough to repeatedly attempt to flee from the comfort of Marcus' cabin. Luckily, the pain kept him lying down on the table where he had been put. Marcus wrapped some bandage around the boy, and without further delay, went to work: He had a box full of trinkets ready, trinkets alledged to have a mersmerizing effect on the minds of savages. Marcus went through the entire pile, one by one. Glass beads, dolls, a wooden octopus, drawings of whales, complicated geometrical patterns: He showed all of these things and many more to the severely damaged little primitive, he even animated some of them with funny movements and noises! But incredibly, there was no amazement to be traced in the boy's eyes! Marcus scribbled in a furious pace with his right hand, while animating the wooden octopus with the other. His jaw was open, and he stared at the little kid, who was confused to find himself in the border area between fear, boredom and acute nausia (because of the stench of vomit filling the cabin).

Finally, Marcus closed his jaw, laid down his pen, and stood up to introduce himself. Twistbough had no idea, but Marcus had had an intense inner dialogue over the last half hour, which concluded that everything he had been taught as a child about the continent was completely worthless, and that the truth probably was closer to the diametrically opposite of this narrative. Ergo, the tree-climbing forest natives probably possess a greatness superior even to the aristocrats of the heights of Dorsalfin!

Marcus stood over the crippled boy with rank posture and outstreched right hand (trying to invite a handshake) when Frederic came barging in. The noble savage boy yelped and contorted his body in a ridiculously failed attempt to flee. "Uh," said Frederic "I have some disturbing news, sir". Marcus looked at Frederic with contempt. "Look at you, you imperialist pig-fish," he thought to himself, and was very pleased with this thought, thinking it must be the kind of thought that could plausibly come from the mindset of his newfound friend, lying broken on the table there, probably unable to think the thought himself right now... Frederic interrupted Marcus by dragging him out of the cabin by the arm, out to the pier, where Alexander lay, almost entirely undressed. Marcus, still in testing the foreign mindset, blurted out: "I see: you Friends of Death are not necessarily friends of the dead!" Frederic and the others disregarded him, and showed him what they'd found instead: A nondistinct notebook, observantly describing Marcus' behaviour, with great psychological accuracy! Marcus blushed as the sensitive aristocrat type he hated being, and mumbled incomprehensibly. Among the other items were a map, sketchy and hard to read. He pointed at dotted lines. "Are, are these tunnels!?" he said, startled. This continent was already delivering intrigue more than his poor academic's heart could handle!

Two of the men (Frederic and another) wanted to go back to civilization, and went with the ship. The two that stayed with Marcus agreed with his plan: To venture out into the forest, with the wounded boy on a stretch, seeking out the little boy's tribe. Marcus was confident that he, with his new, savage-idolizing mindset could reach a true understanding with the forest people. And they had some good cards on their hands: Not only had he helped the little kid, but he knew how to say "I'm sorry" in seven languages!

Upon entering the ocean later on, the ship with Frederic and the other Friend of Death would be completely obliterated by a scrapmetal catapult. Had the two remaining Friends of Death somehow been informed of this, they would have fled not only their mission, but their minds.

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu, Heart of the Earth]


Next up in the order of events, the personification of nature gazed deeply into the fire. He was not at all as one would expect; for one, he was male, not at all similar to the 'Mother Gaia' whom his people praised. For another, he looked like he could scarcely have been pushing twenty. Ak-Chuu's body aged and changed with the passing of the seasons, and right now, in spring, he was filled with the vitality of youth. Chewing thoughtfully on the end of a pipe, the primordial being channeled his will into the flame around which the gods sat, and it began to take shape, weaving images from smoke and light...



Into the Unknown (Open, Started by Demring)

A young woman, perhaps twenty-five years of age, silently stood guard over the fish-people they had captured. Though she wore no armor, the woman was powerfully built and held a dangerous-looking spear of sharpened, blackened wood. She glared daggers at the men, as if daring them to so much as flinch. Two more women, similar to the first in both appearance and temperament, also stood sentry over the Aleans, each bearing weapons of their own. Strangely, the tribesmen had apparantly decided against the use of any sort of cell or makeshift prison; Marcus and his men were merely bound tightly with some kind of tough, rope-like vines and tossed into a clearing. It was as if the women were showing off, almost, as if they were trying to intimidate the men by showing them how they didn't need anything but a pointed stick to keep them under lock and key.

Honestly, it had all been little more than a matter of wrong place, wrong time. When Twistbough hadn't returned, nobody had really been too worried; after all, it was more than likely that he'd simply wandered off to play hooky. However, when Marcus and his two companions had walked directly into an ambush by a Sharpleaf hunting party, the tribe had been forced to rethink that assumption.

Given that the hunting party had consisted of almost a dozen armed female hunters, each of whom was probably capable of breaking a wild boar's neck with her bare hands, capturing the men had been fairly easy. Communicating, though, had been difficult. One of the fish-people had shouted what amounted to apologies in several different dialects, but none of the women spoke so much as a word of Alean. Therefore, after a few moments of debate, they'd simply trussed up the men and stood most of their number guard, while the rest ran to fetch someone they referred to as the 'Mater'.

It took about an hour, but this 'Mater' finally arrived; a venerable-looking old woman dressed in robes of what looked like some kind of green silk covered in embroidered patterns of leaves and flowers. The kind of thing that would have cost an arm and a leg in most civilized countries, and here she was, wearing it during a trek through the forest like a pair of tennis shoes. Her face was lined with the marks of age, and her hair was thoroughly grayed, but she seemed to have no trouble with the tricky terrain, stepping effortlessly over twisting roots and hidden rocks.

The woman - the 'Mater', she must have been - carried herself with an air of dignity and strength, like some kind of nobility. Two of the hunter women made as if to accompany her as she approached the men, but she stopped them with a simple hand wave and a few short words in some foreign tongue. Coming to a stop in front of Marcus, she opened her mouth and spoke Alean in a voice that was surprisingly strong, given her advanced age. "Have anything to say for yourselves, then?"



Traveling Blindfolded (Open, started by Pomeroy)

The hollering had drawn attention, that was for certain, but nobody showed themselves... at first. They'd been keeping track of the intruders since the moment they'd entered the tunnel-laced hills that the Nightwatchers called their own, but chosen to remain silent, hoping that they would simply pass by overhead, as most did. The Nightwatcher tribe, as they referred to themselves, were not nearly as brash as many of the other tribes, and they knew the value of patience. In a way, they were similar to the Adumbrans; they valued secrecy above all, and used speed and planning to defeat far stronger foes. Therefore, when at last they did choose to act, they already had plenty of backup, a contingency plan, and an escape route or two already mapped out.

Finally, a single man climbed the hill and approached the men. Dressed in a loose tunic woven from spider silk - a much lower quality than the silkworm silk of the Sharpleaf tribe, but far more durable - the man bore no obvious weapons. Lurking behind the other nearby hills, though, three snipers crouched hidden, armed with bone crossbows loaded with poisonous quills.

Stepping forward, the man displayed no fear or apprehension, his face a mask. "Who are you?" He inquired of the men in his own tribal dialect. The Nightwatchers had never so much as heard of the Rauta, much less met them, and they were quite curious as to the origin of these strangers. "Why are you here?"

[WhiteKnight777]

[The Nameless God, Lord of Silence, Shadow, and Secrets under Starlight]

The nameless one sat, silently as Ak-Chuu recited his latest contribution to the tale. After a moment, He turned his masked face to the flame at the center of the camp, and at the center of it there began to grow a tendril of shadow, as if it were the antithesis of flame, giving out a cool antiradiance that drank in the light.


Into the Unknown (Demring's Open)


One of the men had been surprisingly stoic throughout the capture. He was tall, lean, and nondescript, seemingly just another member of the crew, though at times he moved with a curious grace and ease, even in the roughest seas. He had always performed his duties quietly and competently, and without complaint. But here, he looked up into the Mater's eyes, unafraid, and began to speak in her own tongue. His accent was stilted, as if he had learned the language not from a native speaker but from books, but he spoke it well enough. I suppose I come at last to the point where obfuscation servers no further purpose. My name is Atakor, and I am a servant of Adumbria. I have been traveling with this man and his crew in hopes of preventing this sort of disaster... unfortunately I was unable to reckon with our leader's... curious ill luck, shall we say. However, I can vouch for him that, despite being rather lacking in competence, not to mention social graces, he genuinely wishes to make peaceful contact with his people, though I cannot speak for the rest of the sea-folk. If you wish, I can serve as an interpreter to try to clear up this misunderstanding and facilitate better communication.

He ignored the looks of the other sailors as he spoke the "barbarian" tongue with remarkable fluency, and above all he showed a strange lack of fear. He had known this mission might result in death or worse, but he was prepared. And he was not incapable of defending himself, after all. Still, he knew if things went bad, he was almost certain to die, one way or the other.


The Starlight Conclave (Closed)


... And so our archaeological teams are continuing to investigate the sight. But of course its location in the far north means that the work will be seasonal by dint of the inhospitable climate. We're investigating the possibility of digging under the ice to create winter shelters for the teams, but the efficacy of such excavations has not been ascertained yet.

Corax was exceptionally tall and lean, with swept-back black hair and glittering black eyes. His face was somewhat pale, and his face was calm and still.And now I fear I have news of a less pleasant nature to report. Another of my scouting teams has found the remains of yet another Rauta Invasion. Some few of the council members muttered at this, and one or two narrowed their eyes in anger. Yes, I know how we all feel about this... and I know also that myself as well as some other council members feel that something must be done. Our High Lady has dispatched a diplomatic cadre the try to reason with them before we take any other steps... but I think we all know chances of the success of reason here are slim. If I may be so bold as to suggest.... I would recommend that each of us begin preparing for certain eventualities. You all know the procedure... make sure your best agents are back from the field, and begin briefing and cultural immersion protocols.

At this, Vulpus nodded As much as I do not wish it, wise Corax is correct... there is too much at stake here, and I fear that the Ruata simply will not listen to reason. Their expansionist policies threaten not only the world's stability, but our own Work. Steps must be taken. If diplomacy fails... we have our other methods.


Snowballs in Hell (Open)



The diplomatic mission, under a white flag of truce, emerged not far from the capital of the Ruata. They numbered around a dozen, not counting a few servants and liveried manservants. They approached the walls without fear, and without trepidation. They were taking their lives into their own hands, but they had their orders. Besides that, precautions had been taken, and even if the Ruata didn't know it, this was as much for their good as for the Adumbrians

[Pomeroy]

[Demir, god of all that is hardest]

As the calm hissing of the black dressed god stopped, a yell loud enough to make the other gods jump out of surprise came from Demir: “Stop playing with the fire! It is not a toy, but a tool!”


Traveling Blindfolded (public story)
Ier had never spoken to the Patchlanders before, but as a young soldier his guardian had told him stories of them, teaching him some of their tactics and some crucial words. He also knew that the Rauta language had similarities to the other nations, making it possible to understand some of what the others said, even if the sentence was broken and incomplete. As the weirdly dressed man approached him he motioned his soldiers to stand at ease, even if he didn’t. He knew they probably had ranged solders near by, and his two iron crossbow soldiers would most likely not stand a chance against them. Ranged combat had never been a Rauta speciality.

He understood what the weirdly dressed man meant, even if he didn’t understand what he said, and he replied, with great force in his voice: “Sof res leaders ek thir land, jor two, ør staade together ag kraf ei alliance teel ree evil Adumbrans ag Aleums! Førn ie, ag eredictateu thirl!”

Ier knew the Rauta was powerful, no doubt, but war from all sides would tire even them. And they knew they were needed by other too. And war was the only thing that would work now.

Snowballs in Hell (Knight’s open)
The sneaky Adumbrians were soon surrounded by heavily armored troops and wallers. Slowly they pressed onwards to them, using their share numbers to make sure none of them escaped. They were quite brutally put to the ground by the wallers, leaning on them until they fell. Tied with large chains they were transported to a dungeon underground with thick iron walls and no windows. The air was damp and it smelled foul.

The person who looked like he was in charge was put directly into the interrogation chamber. Two Demir-armored guards, the huge interrogator and the Adumbrian prisoner filled the room, leaving little space for movement. Even though it was apparent to anyone, the interrogator screamed: “Now is the time to talk, dirty rouge! Death is the punishment for not doing so!” He had already gone through the “interrogation” tools.

The city defences were doubled, just in case.

Unknown Arts (flasher)
It was harder than he had guessed, but he thought they would manage. The crafters at the inland lake looked small next to the colossus they were making and it made Jarn smile, happily over his glorious construction. A “ship” – though he doubted they could be called that - strong enough not to sink and transport a thousand soldiers, made of iron was not an easy feat to complete. If the test tomorrow was successful they had already acquired enough knowledge of this ridiculous sea travelling to start a massive production of these “ships”. Already he was thinking of names: “Sea Monster, Sea Giant, Sea Clad, Iron Colossus, Ironclad…” He liked Ironclad best.

Only one thing troubled him: what if someone came? What if the enemy sent soldiers? He was grateful for the heavy defence they had.

[Demring]

[Round four] [Aleum — a neuter name for a very masculine god]


Into the unknown (public series)
Marcus was flabbergasted to hear Atakor talking the savage tongue. He began rambling confusedly at first, but finally managed to compose a sentence, demanding to be told what Atakor had said to the old lady. With a smirk, the Mater actually complied! This took Atakor by surprise, and he was about to protest, but some extra threatening looks from the guard women changed his mind. The Mater carefully read the face of Atakor while telling Marcus what he had said, word for word. Marcus' jaw dropped. "Another infiltration by a foreign power!? Incredible!" He politely requested to speak with the Mater in private.

Marcus was escorted into the trees by heavy security. The Mater was taking him to a very well hidden tree house. When they arrived, foul-smelling tea was served. Marcus drank it with sincere gratitude, and ended up telling the Mater everything. Not only how he saw things from his newfound mindset, no: everyting. In fact, he felt like he relived his life. After many hours of listening, the Mater spoke, and strangely, her words were colored: "Your people offend me to no end, but you are a good man, and your visit is a blessing. Now, come, there's someone you should meet." She stood up and took Marcus by both hands. He was dizzy, and absolutely amazed by the colors that made him feel like he experienced sight for the first time. Unguarded now, the two of them went up on the roof of the tree house, where the Mater started singing the most beautiful song. It sounded like something singing birds would have sung if they had human vocalization organs. So much better than the whale song imitations of back home!

Marcus closed his eyes and laid down on the roof. He was very tired. "So, who is it we're going to see?" he mumbled sleepily. Then, a very noisy disturbance scared the wits out of him. Marcus almost rolled off the roof in disbelief when he opened his eyes to see a giant bird of the legends standing on a massive branch just meters away from him, looking at him with a condescending bird's smile. The colors of the world slowly faded, and Marcus was convinced that this was the end. It was not. He had merely fainted.

While he was unconscious, Marcus had made peace with death. He jumped out of the bed of straw, alert and focused like he hadn't been since he was a young man. With incredible energy, he interrogated the little boy who had been waiting by his bed for his recovery. Apparently, the Mater would like him to come to the next tree immediately.

The boy led him there. They both ran (the little boy because of fear, Marcus because of an excess of energy). Marcus couldn't recognize the place. It looked a lot more reworked than the completely untamed jungle he had been in before his lights went out.

The Mater was sitting on the floor with two elderly women and one elderly man. She smiled when she saw him, and said: "Marcus, I have excellent news: We have located one of the tunnels already! The map had a hidden code, but we cracked it, by cracking Atakor — physically." She sipped some foul-smelling tea and continued: "You know, we've been trying to uncover the shadow infrastructure of the Adumbrians for years. Their secrecy is an unacceptable advantage, and as you might know, there is major war in the brew. You came at the perfect time, Marcus! These two-faced opportunists of the night can be taught a lesson now, thanks to you!" The elderly gentleman stood up to greet Marcus with a strange gesture, and said: "We've started signaling with Blinking Towers, and even dispatched some messengers by Aves [the legendary giant birds] with copies of the map. Soon, all will be alerted to look for 'worms in the apple'. And you, young man, are welcome to stay with us, to offer your expertise as an unofficial ambassador of sorts. What say you?" Marcus' heart jumped out of his chest, but he recaptured it and restrained himself, then gave the most courteous acceptance he could manage. He overdid it, and an uncomfortable silence followed.

[Just so you don't think I've gone out on a godmodding rampage: I've gotten permission from Eurus to do at least some of what I've just narrated.]

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu - Makes Cthulhu cry like a schoolgirl]

Into the Unknown (Open, started by Demring)
The silence dragged on for several uncomfortable seconds before the old man (Whose name seemed to consist of a series of high-pitched twittering noises that Marcus was convinced his vocal cords could not possibly replicate) finally spoke up. "Excellent. We have enjoyed our solitude for many generations, but it is obvious now that we can no longer afford to isolate ourselves from the rest of the world."

The second woman, an elderly (perhaps even moreso than the Mater of the Silverleaf tribe) woman with black hair and deeply tanned skin named Zynn, spoke up next. "This is all well and good, but what exactly will we do once we do find these tunnels? We know next to nothing about the Adumbrans, and I, for one, will not send my people to needless deaths."

"How can you say such things?" The final member of the group, a younger (relatively speaking, of course; she was perhaps in her forties, from the looks of it) blonde by the name of Maia spoke up. "The Adumbrans scheme and plot as they expand their influence, hiding behind walls of deception. If we do not stop them soon, we will stand no chance! Three tribes have already failed to return our signal; for all we know, they may already be dead!"

An argument soon broke out amongst the four elders, who seemed to be quite divided on the prospect of war. The Silverleaf's Mater was in favor of making peaceful contact with confrontation as a last resort, while Maia insisted that a pre-emptive strike was the only choice. The male elder thought that they should try to keep their discovery as secret as possible, so they could turn the tables and spy on the Adumbrans without alerting them, while Zynn seemed to think that the whole thing was a fool's gambit and they should just let sleeping dogs lie. That was the problem with representative-based governments like this, it seemed...


Traveling Blindfolded (Open, started by Pomeroy)
The Rauta were in luck, it seemed. Of all the tribes, the Nightwatchers were easily the most cunning and deceitful; they made the majority of their livelihood stealing from the other tribes, and were rather paranoid because of it. They were always looking for a chance to expand their borders, as well, and the Adumbran's tunnel systems were, to them, a prize worth considerable risk to obtain.

The Rauta spokesman's speech had intrigued the Nightwatchers enough to get them invited into the labyrinthine network of caves, both natural and artificial, that served as the tribe's home. Communication was an issue, of course, but that was corrected easily enough with the help of a Chattersparrow (A very rare species of bird that somehow is capable of translating between languages, albeit in an annoyingly high-pitched, incredibly fast voice. Their 'song' consists of a stream of profanities in every possible language that would make the most hardened sailor blush).

Once they'd taken to talking, they'd hit it off quite nicely. Not all of the tribes of the Patchlands were as easygoing as the Sharpleaf, and the Nightwatchers happened to have a few allies who they believed would be happy to help them, whether out of fear, a hunger for glory, or just the love of battle. Their only request, apart from being guaranteed safety should the Rauta ever decide they needed to 'expand', was free reign over whatever tunnels that the Rauta didn't find iron or coal in, once they cleared out the Adumbrans, and protection if the other tribes decided to attempt revenge against the Nightwatchers for subverting the authority of the Elder Council and not even informing them.

Now the tribes were gathered, the leaders gathered in the heart of the Nightwatcher's caves. The Nightwatcher leader, a short, bald man with large eyes, perpetually dilated pupils, and disturbingly long fingernails, addressed the Rauta - or rather, the Chattersparrow, who translated in a jerky, twittering voice. "We have gathered our allies. Now, it is your turn to lead." Drumming his fingers on the smooth stone table, the man locked his gaze with the Rauta spokesman. "Our tunnels connect to a much larger network - we believe it to be a branch of caves once refined and used by the Adumbrans, but abandoned long ago because of their unfortunate tendency to flood during the rainy season. We have few soldiers, but what men we can provide are mighty warriors. We are versed in battle and know the lay of the land well, but none of us have experienced true war. We leave our men, therefore, in your hands. Do not make us regret this decision."

[WhiteKnight777]

[The Nameless God, Lord of Silence, Shadow, and Secrets under Starlight]

Wheels within Wheels (Flasher)
A city, far away from the one that lay beneath a sky of stars that were not set in the heavens. Yet darkness was ever present. In a dark, rank-smelling alley a few ragged piles of humanity sat about a fire, and in the darkness behind them, something moved. It might have been human; it might have been something else. It was hard to tell. But it had a mouth. And it smiled


Snowballs in Hell (Knight’s open)
In the cells, the leader of the delegation looked at the others. Then, suddenly, his face was split by a grin, and he sighed. Well my lads... It's too bad. I don't really think things are looking all that grand right now. But, after all, orders are orders. The others nodded, but as one, it seemed, they perked up their heads and looked to the door as a huge, brutish pair in armor entered with the clang of iron. The group looked up, unafraid, then the leader suddenly grinned 'bout damn time. What took you idiots so long? One of the armored figured removed its helm Sorry sir. Took us longer than anticipated to get over the wall. They doubled the security partrol... then we had to corner a couple of those armored cretins and get the iron off 'em... Even as he spoke, both of them were stripping off their armor and began handing out various small yet heavy packages strapped on their bodies. They made short work of the chains - the Ruata were masters of ironmongery, but the Adumbrians had long ago passed artful in the matter of opening locks. The captain looked around briefly, then spoke up in a clear voice.

All right my lads, we haven't much time. You know the plan: Use the No.3 powder anywhere it looks to cause a disturbance. We're cleared for Top-level sabotage tactics. The Ruata don't believe in mercy. Don't give 'em any. Deliver your payloads and get out if you can. This was their last chance, though they didn't know it. And if you get caught... you know what to do. Each of them nodded soberly, and some unconsciously touched with their tongue the tiny packed sewed in the interior of their mouths - a quick acting chemical that brought swift and relatively painless death. They moved swiftly and silently out of the fortress, and through the city. Mostly, they found quiet places where they could await nightfall. They did their best work in the dark.... but tonight, it would be more than forgefire that illuminated the city. As dusk fell, each of them spread out, leaving here and there small, parcels with burning wicks in strategic locations - armories, food storage points, public monuments.... and one by one they detonated. Some of them were caught, of course, but not all. And flames went up into the night, as if to greet the stars.

[Pomeroy]

[Demir, the one who does the hardest work of all]

A scream from the irondressed god, followed by a swing of the hammer targeted against the Nameless One - which all of the gods had to dodge (without much difficulty) - started his story:


Snowballs in Hell (Knight’s Open)
It was hotter than hell in the capital after the explotions, but he didn’t really care. The damn Adumbrans had sabotaged the city, people were dead, constructions were gone, important work and art had vanished. But he didn’t really care about that either. The reason he was crying – and Rautas are not seen crying often – was because they had killed off a large portion of the children. That was unacceptable, even for a Rauta.

Most of the Adumbrans were captured, or at least they think so. They were sneaky and some could have died in the explosions. Anyway they had never counted them when they first captured them, so who knew. But extensive measures were being put to life to make sure everybody in the capital were Rauta.

Very few soldiers were harmed or dead, as most of them never really entered the capital. There were setbacks all over no doubt, but nothing crippling. Retaliations were still more than possible!

Travelling Blindfolded (Public Story)
Ier was greatly impressed by the Patchlanders, and happy that they were willing to combine their forces. Even though it was only a few tribes their expertise was important for the task at hand. They knew they might be sanctioned by the other Patchlander tribes, as they went against their policy or agenda or whatever they called it, but they joined the Rauta none the less. Of course the Rauta had made it clear that they would defend them against both the Aleums and the other Patchlanders, and would not invade or otherwise interact with their terrain. This was a small cost to pay. Alliances were important, and anyone that joined them would be greatly rewarded, as long as it stayed that way and they did not disappoint them.

Ier was one of the chiefs leading the campaign. With blitz-tactics they roamed through the tunnels, wallers in front, followed by a couple of Patchlander crossbows, and in the rear some more wallers. They made sure no less than 50 solder were together at all times, when they came to a crossroad. Mixing rugged strength and deadly swiftness seemed like a perfect weapon against the Adumbran resistance they met in the tunnels. The Rauta had never fought as savagely, bravely or hard before, knowing that the Adumbrans had attacked their capital. Ier saw more than once fear in the eyes of the Patchlander’s as they watched the Rauta’s brutal efficiency.

They had already captured some solders and caravans, and knew by now that they sometimes had some kind of deadly poison hidden in their mouths. For some kind of reason they liked to kill themselves when captured, and information were hard to get from a corpse. But Ier already knew they had a lot of crucial information about the evil Adumbrans and their whereabouts. He was looking forward to crushing them completely, with a grin.

Collecting Sympathy (glimse)
Egil knew others had been dispatched, but he doubted they were in front of him, he had traveled fast. They were on their way to both the Aleums and the Patchlander tribes to deliver news of the Adumbran sabotage of their capital, to tell them what could happen to them as well. But more importantly to tell them of how the Adumbrans had targeted and killed civilian children also. That was an act no one could ignore.

[Demring]

[Round five] [Aleum, god of the Flood]


Glimpse
"Admiral, order your whale-callers to sound panic!" The elderly marine came running up from one of the deep caves, and into the open hall of the entrance. The admiral looked up from some bureaucratic paperwork nonsense with a cautious look on his face. His giant mustache brushed from one side to the other. "Admiral, the ground is on fire!" The admiral rose from his chair. "It's about to blow goddamnit!!" A large number of other marines now came pouring in from all arms of the cave, some scalded or burned. "Admiral, please, we need all the whales we can get!" The shouting old man was now right beside the admiral. He kneeled in front of him, as a show of desperate sincerity. The admiral harked and exclaimed: "Hey, eh, what's all the commotion?"

The best estimates, according to newspapers, suggest a total of 20 000 men was lost (by the collapse, the earthquake, the explosion and last but not least, the tsunami). And the volcano showed no sign of calming. It was the disaster of the millennium. Needless to say, the apocalyptocrats of Mountainfish Island were ecstatic.


Into the unknown (public)
Marcus had good reason to be fantastically pleased with his adventure. He'd come so far into the unknown, met so many strange people, exposed secret plots, jumped across (tiny) chasms, exchanged songs around campfires and many other things. He had been warmly welcomed into a strange, tree-dwelling society of savages, he'd even gotten his own treehouse, with his very own placard (http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2311/2391320095_f3d6456671.jpg)! And yesterday, he'd been invited to the natives' Grand War Council!

But then, when he arrived, he saw that Atakor was there as well! And not in chains, but in a comfortable kimono-like outfit! Marcus' world collapsed. He went into a fit and attempted to launch his entire arsenal of angry expressions simultaneously. That didn't work too well. Some of the Maters came and calmed him down. "Here, have some foul-smelling tea", they said. Marcus hesitated, and said: "I thought that rat-traitor had been physically broken! Now, he's sitting in on our War Council? What do you expect, is he going to give good advice for how to attack his homeland??" The Maters tried to drown his words with foul-smelling tea, and that's when Marcus suddenly understood. His eyelids widened while his pupils narrowed into a point. Light and sound both faded far down, while Marcus' instincts did what they were best at: Marcus fled, violently.

After sundown, he was still shivering from the realization. The cold didn't bother him. Neither did the lack of food. His grinding brain was heat enough, and his stomach could not compete with the brain for Marcus' attention: "Atakor was manipulated with foul-smelling tea, not physical torture! He probably got exactly the same treatment as I!!"...

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu, whose name does not sound like a sneeze]

Into the Unknown (Open, started by Demring)
The soft crunch of footsteps on leaves heralded a figure approaching Marcus; the Mater, clad in simple white robes. Appearing to be completely alone, she approached Marcus wordlessly, draping the blanket over him like a robe to keep out the cold. There was silence for several moments before she finally spoke up, and when she did, her voice was soft, as though muffled by the cold air. "I'm sorry. We should have told you before, but I thought it might upset you." The Mater shook her head with a dry snort of humorless laughter. "Obviously, that wasn't the wisest choice."

Drawing a pipe from a pocket somewhere, the Mater lit it and gave it a few puffs, sending small twisting spirals of multicolored smoke drifting throigh the air. "You must understand. We are sympathetic to you and your cause, but we cannot claim absolute loyalty to any one nation. Are the Adumbrans not people as well, the same as us?" Taking another puff from the pipe, the Mater blew out another cloud of color-shifting smoke, this one seeming to twist itself into the shape of a bird before dispersing. "I understand how you feel. Atakor decieved you, and betrayed your confidence. But you must remember; he was only following orders, the same as any of your Alean soldiers. We would be fools to reject the information and aid he could provide."

"I have seen the ravages of war firsthand, and I have no desire to see them again." The mater sighed, turning her gaze upward, to the heavens. "The Adumbrans cling to secrecy out of fear; fear of change and the outside world. The only way to make contact with them, it seems, is to drag them out of their tunnels. But isolation can only be sustained for so long, and I believe that it is in the best interests of all to establish relations sooner, rather than later."


Traveling Blindfolded (Open, started by Pomeroy)
It was terrible, simply terrible. The heat had come without warning, heating the walls to scalding temperatures. More than half of the hunting party had been killed by the initial heat and steam, and most of the rest had been trapped or died afterwards of burns. In retrospect, they probably should have guessed - it was unlikely, after all, that these tunnels had all been man-made - but by the time they'd realized the mistake, it had been too late.

Steam vents. The massive supervolcano that laid within the Continent had been dormant for many decades, and its steam vents had acted as the base for the massive network of tunnels that riddled the continent. But now, it seemed... The volcano had awoken. All of the tunnels had been flooded with steam, boiling water, toxic ash, or even magma. What effect (if any) this had on the Adumbrans was still unknown - perhaps the volcano's sudden awakening had even been their doing - but it had certainly put a damper on the 'search party' that had been attempting to find them.

Now, the few survivors were stuck underground, in a man-made offshoot of the main tunnels (perhaps originally used as some sort of storage chamber) that hadn't been affected. There were less than two dozen tribesmen left, from all the tribes combined, and none of them had any clue what to do. Extraordinarily bad luck, it seemed.

[WhiteKnight777]

[The Nameless God, Lord of Silence, Shadow, and Secrets under Starlight]

The Starlight Conclave (Closed)

At last, all of the reports were complete. Save one. Vulpus stood, her long robes of office rustling around her... The others knew what she was going to say before she said it. It was in the air, it was in the stone, and it was in the music of the stars. Despite all of our precautions... we all know what is coming. War. It is inevitable. I've received reports that our diplomatic corps' last effort has failed. The agent discussed at the last meeting was captured, and we must assume the information we seeded him with was recovered. she gave a small smile. As planned. The others nodded, and her piercing eyes turned to one particular figure seated around the table. The figure, a tall, broad man concealed and masked, rose in his turn.

the preparations have been made. Guerilla units have been deployed to all possible routes. All approaches and tunnels have been heavily traped, including smokepowder and liquid fire throwers, tunnel collapses, and various other... surprises. Though one could not see, the tone of his voice gave the impression of a chilling smile hidden beneath.
Everything has been arranged according the plans we have long had in waiting. We know war is inevitable. All routes lead to it. the only question now is where. Thus it falls to us to strike the first blows and ensure that the conflict occurs where we can control. The defenses of the city itself are being prepared as we speak. We have, as yet, only uncovered a modicum of the ancient's secrets, but those we have shall serve well in our efforts. We have also called in all of the inhabitants of the various hidden monestaries in preparation

The other lords all nodded. There was little to do now, but to wait for the invaders to arrive. In the meantime, our eyes are in all the shadows. and they are ever open.

[Pomeroy]

[Demir, the god who usually likes fire and heat, but not at the moment]



Travelling Blindfolded (Public Story)
"Blasted vulcano!" was ironically the last words of Ier, as he was swallowed by the liquid magma. If anyone had survived round him this would have been talked of many years from now, simply because it was some of the funniest words uttered in Rauta history, because the situation was so unbelivably fitting.

Only a fraction of soldiers survived this horrible event. None said anything faintly similar to what Ier said. "Aaaaaaaah!", "Eeeeeeeep!", "...!", or "ouch…" was the most common last words from the Rauta soldiers.

Two questions remained for the Rautas above ground that were unharmed: 1) What will happen with their army now? They had a lot of soldiers down there, and their army had been seriously reduced. What will happen with their relations with the patchlanders? Would they understand that this was just a coincidence, or would they blame the Rauta?

At least they had a lot of unprocessed information about the Adumbrans, which could lead to 1) a more planned and efficient second attack or/and 2) a fruitful trade of information with the other nations.

Eggs (Glimse)
“We are all from the same egg, but we crack it in different ways...” The iron caterpillar stood ready. With the newest technology they had constructed something that moved by itself, able to transport their heavily armored troops on land faster than earlier. It had carts with room for 12 soldiers that could be connected or disconnected from the “head”. The huge wheels made it possible to drive over most land, and the many iron spikes made sure that anything in its way were killed most horribly. [It kind of looked like this: http://www.toadhollowstudio.com/images/train_lrg.jpg] This would hopefully make up for some of the soldiers that died in the horrible volcano accident. “… and this will surely crack our enemies!”

[Demring]

[Round six] [Aleum]


A conversation overheard by a maid in Dorsalfin Palace (one-timer)

A: Good news, sir! We've given up the Continent!
B: Ooh, splendid! Splendid news! Do go on!
A: All continental colonies have met with overwhelming resistance. We've lost them all. The people are dead, the generals have lost all hope. There is a growing consensus that it's become plain impossible to get a handle on the Continent. In fact, the turmoil is affecting everything: The world is up in flames, with last weeks volcanic erution as an almost farcically explicit example.
B: How long!? Weeks, months? ...years?
A: The apocalypse?
B: Of course!! "It's the apocalypse, stupid!"
A: Well, the estimates of our military priests are notoriously unreliable...
B: Hey! A moment ago, I was about to suggest a promotion for you! Watch that tongue!
A: Um, the best estimates give us two months. By then, the Continent should be reduced to ashes, burning massgraves, rust and blood. Sir.
B: (mumbling) I... can't wait. Finally... in my day. I'm so lucky... (/mumbling) Uh, you're dismissed, colonel!

The maiden aborted her work, and went straight to a temple of Aleum, to offer him a gracious burst of religious insanity. A couple of swarming monks watched, approvingly.


Into the unknown (public)
Marcus sighed. "I guess you're right. No nation is an island, right? Well, except Mountainfish of course... Eh, you know what I mean. No nation is an island in the metaphysical sense..." The mater laughed and agreed (with the coarse voice of a long time smoker). Marcus continued: "And even though there has been so much betrayal and savagery from all sides, the world won't progress beyond this primitive level before someone forgives. Only high-mindedness can put an end to the spiral of violence and deception that we seem to be nested into." Marcus placed a cold hand on the warms ones of the mater. He looked at her, and said: "I was blind with confused hate. How on earth did you manage to salvage me from such darkness of unreason? I'm very grateful you came after me, mater. Thank you, and GOOD BYE!!" As he said those last words, he stabbed the mater in the stomach with his heavy machete. She didn't make any noise, but he did. He roared, to hide the fact that he was scared sh*tless. The mater seemed to die quite immediately, but he kept on stabbing for a little while, just to make sure he did it right.

Regaining his balance and some semblance of reason, Marcus cleaned the machete on the mater's silk, took her pouch of tea leaves and ran further into the jungle. He was immensely proud of his performance. He thought to himself that his experiences over the last few weeks had been an effective crash course in deception. Noone could be trusted. The world was an exceedingly hostile place, and Marcus had no choice but to learn how to manage in the jungle on his own. That was as far as he could plan ahead at this point.

He collected some nourishing fruits and made a crude treehouse to sleep in, then made himself a cup of foul-smelling tea. He needed to get some answers, real quick, and gambled that the "other world" might provide some.

[Eurus]

[Ak-Chuu, God of Nature's Fury]

Beginning of the End (Open)
The Patchlands were in an uproar. Marcus' murder of the Silverleaf Tribe's Mater had sparked first confusion, then fury. A temporary leader was quickly appointed, but the damage had already been done. War was imminent. Marcus himself had not been found, but the colony that the Aleans referred to as 'The Hand' had been crushed into flaming splinters within a day, and almost all the tribes - save the ones that had been mostly wiped out by the volcano, that is - had mobilized the entirety of their warriors. Ironically, the betrayal of the Aleans had brought the Patchlanders closer together; whatever voices may have opposed the war before were in agreement now, or at least silent.

Though the Patchlanders did not have the seafaring technology required to cross to Mountainfish Island - at least, not on a mass scale - they were ready and willing to defend the Continent with their lives. Almost everyone who could wield a weapon had joined the massive collective army, an army at least the size of that of any nation. Lancers rode atop massive fire ants the size of horses, archers wielded bows that could put arrows halfway through tree trunks, and countless warriors wielded all manner of weapons, forged or improvised. The various tribe elders spent many hours in deep meditation, calling on Mother Gaia for aid, while those who could not fight devoted their energy to producing weapons and medicines. War was certain.

[WhiteKnight777]

[The Nameless God, Lord of Silence, Shadow, and Secrets under Starlight]



On the defensive? (Open)

In the City, far beneath the earth, there was far more activity than was usual on its stately, quiet streets. War was come, and the long Work moved swiftly towards completion. Defenses were hastily assembled, ancient and arcane defense mechanisms put into place as the city prepared itself. Not to mention... other preparations. Tunnels opened in the rock and swallowed the quiet lines of people who slipped from their ancient homes with naught but light packs. No one saw them leave, for the City was far from prying eyes. Slowly, the city died a second death, a quiet exsanguination as the people flowed out from a thousand little wounds on ways long prepared. Whether this was the way that the first who had lived here had gone, they did not know, but when they had come hither, the tunnels were there. And at last their time had come.

Not all had left. In the darkness stood some few hundred swift-footed warriors, students and masters from the outlying monestaries garbed in grey and black that blended perfectly with the shadows in the rock. They were there to activate the last defenses and make sure that the invaders, who would undoubtedly come, would find naught but death here. That which could not be taken away was destroyed, and ancient crystal mechanisms glowed with deadly purpose in hidden chambers, bathing the faces of those few who stood to watch them in shades of green and purple and crimson. The tunnels were filled with death now - poison and arcing lightning, deadfalls and cave-ins and traps stranger and more arcane. The city might have been held long. But it served its purpose, and the residents knew that even this place would not hold for much longer. There was only one salvation possible, and it was only a slim chance: Downward.

And overhead, in the vast constellation of gems that mirrored those in the world above, a new star had appeared - red and baleful like a wicked eye, and it waxed strong - soon it would shine down on all the lands, the harbinger of the End.

[Pomeroy]

The Lack of Armor and Copetition(Glimse)

The citizens saw them coming, running, confused over who they were. They looked like Demir-soldiers, the proudest of the Rautas, but somehow they had no armor. And they ran in an incredible speed, waiving their arms and yelling. Uncertain how to act they quickly launched an attack against them, in case they were enemies, and the sky darkened with throwing axes.

They fell, vulnerable without their armor, and their message never got through: Lava was flowing towards the city. The Rautas should have understood something grave was happening, as no Rauta would remove his armor unless something of this scale was happening. Had they just doomed themselves?

At the same time in the Forum: Mr. Truls (nobody knew his first name), renowed as the wisest of the Rauta, was talkin to the Forum, his voice heavy and hoarse: "... the competion is upon us. We are facing a new problem, a new task at hand. We have never faced anything like it. This is a competion of survival, in which we are not ensured the winning prize. Not as we are now at least. Change, perhaps rapid, must take place for us to win, or to at all compete in this race of survival. Our race, our culture, our ideals might die before us in the following events, but our sons and daughters will live on, they will remember us and our bloodline will not perish, this must we make sure of! Brace yourselfs for this, for this competion is without doubt the end of one thing, and the start of another." His speach was met with mixed approval, some raised their voice in disbelief and anger, others in awe and grave enthusiasm. The gods however knew his words were more true than anything else that had been said for a long time in the land of the Rauta.

Beginning of the end (Open, started by Eurus)

They were swallowed by the horde of Patchlanders! A small troop of Rautas were just having lunch and telling each other dirty jokes around the tentfire, when suddenly they were surrounded by the Patchlanders. They came from nowhere! Without even being able to put up any resistance they were killed. It was unclear, for both the Patchlanders and the Rautas, if their deaths were intentional.