(IC) Lords of Creation: The Grateful and the Odious (LOC)

**Tychris1** · 2019-03-29, 09:45 PM (ISO 8601)

Chalice

Snapped out of their fugue by the strange alluring voice, Enkidan slowly roused, and let loose a mighty rupture of pent up caustic gases in the Golden Goddess’ face. Scratching at its sloshing stomach the creature rose its long falstaffian center and whipped its head to loom over Mamona in a dreary state of recognition.

“I know you....” It murmured before pawing at its loose coal eye and knocking it free in the process “You’re the statue I ate... And the coin that made my crown.” It leered its one glowing eye upon the beautiful Mamona, the menacing yet splendorous glow of The Shining Crown washing over her figure like a spotlight, and absentmindedly pawed at the ground around it for its lost eyeball. The Progenitor’s Palanquin obliged the half blind and half brained Deity with a subtle breeze that brought an intact violet iris to hand. Gripping it brutishly within its claw (For Enkidan assumed it had expertly found its coal eye) the Duke of Degeneracy crammed the violet iris into its open socket and blinked the flower repeatedly to adjust.

“But I sense more than that. You’re like me, m’lady. Cousins? Sisters? Something along those lines,” The creature admired its own murky reflection upon Mamona’s bust ”Of course I brought a gift. Many in fact. Why, look at these lovely sheets, or this shiny crown inside my head, and of course my company was greatly sought by Nemesis and his ilk. I advised them sagely, asked for naught but scraps, and heaped wonders in short time. You are in great luck for I am Enkidan of The Shining Court and I would be proud to count you and your lovely home amongst our glorious civilizations.”

The Palanquin opened its silken curtains fully to accomodate Mamona, extended its side, produced sacks full of perfumes, and bowls of hot cheese (Which Enkidan already started eating as it formed).

**Nefarion Xid** · 2019-03-29, 11:34 PM (ISO 8601)

Chalice

Delicately holding her hand to her lips, Mamona suppressed multiple consecutive shudders, and the urge to attempt to incinerate the creature. At least purging the air with flame would be an improvement. She instead steeled herself, resolved to do whatever it took to end the encounter and see the bloated creature off her plane.

"Why... why don't you just keep that one? You can just instruct my devils in how to make more." She gestured to the silk from a distance. The fabric was tempting, but unfortunately it smelled of cheese and bad decisions.

"And we'll just... let's not burden ourselves with familial labels. It. It is what it is."

**RolandDeschain** · 2019-03-30, 01:37 AM (ISO 8601)

Iseu - Enterprise

"You look like you ran quite fast, boy. Were you eager to come here or, did something happen out in the streets?"

Iseu whirled frantically to look behind him. Seeing nothing in the open doorway he slowly turned in a circle studying the shadows thrown by the many statues of the gods. Straighten he looks slightly upward, "I was merely enjoying the many sights and smells of this wondrous city. Forgive me if I've intruded...I am but a stranger in a strange land."

Without thinking his hand drifts to the mask tucked inside his shirt. "I am known as Iseu, son of Lord Hiru of the Settlers of Catan. We've come carrying cargoes from the far south. To whom do I have honor of speaking?"

Scardun The Younger - The Crags

The lean and hungry mongoose Craglord ran his tiny claws along the golden idol. True craftsmen were rare among the Clans of The Crag, but the statue was truly beautiful, "Talal, your craftsmanship will be rewarded handsomely."

The idol stood atop a low alter, a golden cat-woman standing astride an obsidian black sun. He turned and looked up at the rows of amphitheater rising up into the darkness of the cavern. The alter was lit by a singular beam of sunlight pouring through a hole high above that the builders had bored through to the outside. Mongoose lore and legend spoke of the Searing Cat - Chrylima, she who had lead them through their exodus and taught them to be cunning and lethal. She was a harsh goddess that rewarded perseverance of pain and discipline, with her divine protection.

In truth, he cared little...they could be the incoherent ramblings passed down from old wives, nothing more than dust and daydreams, but he knew that such things even if only symbolic had power, power to unify, and that which was unified was strong. Turning to Talal, "Now we need clerics, and doctrine."

Spoiler: AP Accounting

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Beginning AP = 6AP
Create Society(1AP) - The Clan of the Crags (1 AP + additional AP previously from The Succubus): A mongoose clan has settled among the crags. It is heavily focused on survival and resilience, living from day to day among the dangerous flora and fauna in the jungle. They live in woven basket-like nests that cling to the sides of the crags, connected by walkways and long lengths of creeper. Water often trickles down the sides of the crags, providing a clean, fresh supply of water. Mongooses have little time for fripperies and luxuries, instead valuing experience and sensation above material goods. The clan is ruled over by a Craglord, currently Scardun the Younger(III), along with a handful (pawful) of experienced fighters and assassins. There is sometimes a little disagreement about leadership of the clan but there is always space for a few more skulls to dangle below Scardun's nest.
Remaining AP = 6AP -1AP = 5AP

**BladeofObliviom** · 2019-03-30, 01:59 AM (ISO 8601)

[In Medias Res]

He awakened to the distant call of a clarion, though in the darkness he couldn't be certain if it was real or imagined. (Where am I?) might have been the first question from his lips, if he could speak here, but something in the gloom stopped him. He put his hand to his numbed face, to gain a sense of his features, but could not find it; no, his face could not find his hand.

"Poor bastard...", a voice whispered from the darkness, but he could not identify its direction. Elsewhere, a woman wailed. A susurrus of voices swallowed the void, blending together until they resembled the beating of hundreds upon thousands of wings, darkness replaced by a warped checkerboard of countless birds. Each dropped a single marble, black or white, before coming to land on some invisible perch in a pattern all around. The marbles rolled in, impossible to count even as they built up, first to the ankle, then to the waist. Something bit into his skull, a searing pain. He tried to lift his arms from the shoulder-deep cascade of ebon and ivory, but a third hand found its way there first: A crown carved of milky quartz and studded with black pearls, a dark veil rolling down over his eyes. The view was replaced with blackness as he struggled, the third hand unable to tear the offending object free on its own.

The chirps and jeers built up around him as he tried to keep his head above the still-falling marbles, legs kicking and grasping for any purchase as they continued to pile. He could not breathe, could not see. His struggles faded for just a moment before resuming with a final, desperate fervor.

The dream-magpies merely watched the prince drown underneath the weight of their decision. The marbles ceased rolling, and the court of magpies looked up to see a bloodied crown, veil torn free, held above the marbles in just one hand. It faded into dust, and the hand fell limp. The marbles receded, and the magpies claimed back their stones, leaving the battered body below, black veil wrapped about his eyes.

He awakened, clutching at the veil, tearing at it until it no longer covered his eyes. The magpies had flown away, the crown now ashes upon a marble-less emptiness. He could breathe again, see again, speak again. "Where am I?", he asked nothing and no one. No answer came. No memory, no clue, no answer to the riddle. He remembered suddenly why he had come here, but not where here was. A dream, most assuredly, but a projection of what?

He clutched the mask. It felt powerful, comforting. Protective. A part of himself. Was that why the magpies had left? The crown was gone, but the void whispered that he was the Prince. A contradiction, senseless yet sensible-feeling. He awakened to the distant call of a clarion.

Spoiler: AP Actions (11/16)

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5AP - Create Utility Artifact: The Prince's Veil. Associated Action: Curse (must be associated with thievery or crime)

The Prince's Veil more closely resembles a conventional mask than a veil, with eyeholes torn through thick blackcloth, but always fits the face perfectly, never slips or otherwise allows its owners identity to be unwittingly revealed, and perhaps most strangely it molds the wearer's appearance to the eye of the beholder. The wearer always appears to be an attractive male of whichever race would seem least out of place, though the details can vary from individual viewer to viewer even in the same place. All of these benefits pale, however, in comparison to the Veil's true power: Facilitating impossible acts of thievery.

Illusion (Masks): (5/10)

**TheDarkDM** · 2019-03-30, 02:30 AM (ISO 8601)

Nemesis

Alone in his shining bastion, Nemesis sat restless. Beyond the tall windows of the throne room, a crystal dome glowed with the captured light of Ilianthos, illuminating the strawing gardens that awaited their eventual master. Radiating in a circle from his great throne were further platforms, daises awaiting his Shining Court. All was bright, polished to a mirror sheen, awash in the cold perfection of Nemesis's ambition. And empty. So Nemesis mulled over the problem, casting his will across the astral sea in search of some remedy. And in the creation of one of his children, he found his solution.

The Panopticon of Ouroboros had formed for one purpose, that the serpent god might observe and shape the course of mortal events. The lenses at the center of that ringed land could breach the planar boundary as easily as Nemesis might shape iron, and called out to be used. At the peak of the Adamant Palace, Nemesis reached out his hand, and the domed roof above his head twisted in response. Bright and shining orbs of innumerable colors burst free from the polished metal, circling each other in a ceaseless dance, sometimes growing so close as to be inextricably bound, other times seeming almost to flee their fellows' touch. On such orb drew Nemesis's eye, for through the Panopticon he sensed the souls of his Giants milling there devoid of purpose. The Palace shifted to his whims, silvery gates emerging from nothing in its depths, and through them rang out the melodies of the Iron God. Every soul he had touched heard the call, and were compelled to answer. Soon he would have his servants, and they a heaven worthy of their stature.

Spoiler: AP

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Free AP = 3
Free PAP = 1
Spent AP = 30

2 AP - Create Bridge, The Adamant Orrery (Nobility (Sovereignty))
The domed ceiling of Nemesis's throne room is linked to the divine artifice of Ouroboros, drawing on the visions of the Panopticon to project a model of the planar spheres. Through them, the gods seated in the chamber gain a general understanding of the state of each world, and may also will themselves or their servants into the ringed world of the chain serpent.

1 PAP - Blessing, Giant Souls (Order Sphere 2/10)
The souls of every Titan that has died or will die is called to the underlevels of the Adamant Palace. There they serve Nemesis eternally, refining the crafts that defined them in life to spiritual perfection.

Domain Progress:
Craft (Metalworking) - 10/10 Complete
Life (Giants) - 10/10 Complete
Corruption (Ambition) - 10/10 Complete
Nobility (Sovereignty) - 6/10

**Razade** · 2019-03-30, 02:15 PM (ISO 8601)

The Deserts of Chyron: A Magpie

Two Gods had stumbled into the Necropolis, dreaming. But the Dreamer was aware of others, elsewhere, lost to their own fancies. Some would probably never wake...fodder for the Dreamer...others however were only just now waking, the echoes of powers pulled from Creation. Yet more Gods slumbered, but one was just now waking. From the Necropolis, a Gloam traveled for they saw in the writings they must be present.

From the void, that dream did and the clarion grew louder. The magpies had left but in the furious heat of an ancient desert a single sparrow was on wing with a rainbow bead clutched in its tiny claws. "You've awoken." it chirped as it settled on the thorn of a mighty cactus shriveled under the heat of a dead god's fury. The little thing dropped its bead upon the sands, opalescent colors swirling in the light. "Hurry, hurry, you must find shade. The deserts are no place to wander!"

The Town of Isshu: Akebono-Iro, Wano

Isshu was a mountain town, a fringe state on the borders of untamed wilderness and what the Derro saw as the start of their borders. Or what had been their borders. Now with the wars finished, the Derro had begun to speak of expansion. They couldn’t expand to the East, the Caracan were there. They had no desire to forsake that friendship. But the North and west? Well.

The Lords of Ume and Tsubaki held Akebono-Iro and the mountains that swept into the distance held their attentions. Isshu had formed up as a mining town and where there were mines there were factories. The Kamo had begun almost as soon as the last battle for Wano was finished. Practitioners of Spellsong and the techniques learned from the Catlfolk and Wave Singers, the Kamo were quick to follow where and what they could to increase the wealth and power of Wano itself.

Their workshops sat often in the center of towns like this and they were easy to recognize. Heavy leathers to keep them from metal spatterings and wrought iron masks of their patron deity. The Spider Tinker had a shrine in each of the Kamo’s workshops along with other various industrious little gods. Each Kamo worked on their own tasks, each jigsawing them in with others.

In Isshu, where it was easy to find veins of Elemental power, the Kamo had converged. With Spellsong and offerings to the little gods, the Kamo bounded Elemental Fire into iron, Elemental Water into linens, they bound Elemental Air into cloth and into wood to make it lighter. They infused Elemental Earth into fresh stone to make mighty walls. The Kamo called these acts Kaiseki, the Kai a Derro word for the little gods. Items made in this way, to the Derro, were slightly more than just what they were before. Blades forged in this manner were granted names unique to them, walls were inscribed various seals and inscriptions, clothing were only to be worn when at religious ceremonies. Anything else would, in the Kamo’s words, disgrace the little gods who had given a bit of their power to the item.

Wah: Caracan Lands - Jeluhale’

The wars had diminished the number of Derro entering Caracan lands though it wasn’t to last. Wah had been known by another name before the wars. Before Wano was formed, she’d been known as Redwood takes Wing. With Wano however, many Derro had left behind their tribal names. Sought to take names that were more in line with their neighbors. Speak around the bonfires were that this would help stave off their new friends from seeking to spread their own cultures in their holy land.

Wah cared little for such things but had been quick to take a new name, a new life, out from under her former tribe and brutal chief. She’d met with various Kamo and built her new home. One with wheels that could travel the roads the Derro had begun. A wagon that could carry cardamom and za’vat, her guitar and dog. The wagon was drawn by Ebonox, sturdy beasts of burden that dwelt in the Ebonwood. Ebonwood lanterns lit her home at night and marked her as a traveler in her homelands. But she wasn’t there now.

Now she was in Jeluhale’, a place she’d fallen quite in love with when she had been sent as another person so long ago. Now she was Wah, unrecognized behind the stylized dog mask of white porcelain that the Kamo had made for her. They knew her by the sound of her music and her long dark gray robes. The Derro had come to like the heavy linen robes the Kamo had devised, long sleeves and thick layers kept them warm in the twilight of their homes. Some said that the mountain states were even more fond of these robes, a particular style known as hen’fei being passed down between parent and child where stories were woven into their fabrics with each successive layer.

Her robes were not like this, she enjoyed things simple like the Valley States Derro. It kept them grounded. This trip, her third in two months, bore more than just spices and za’vat however. This trip she carried blueprints for the Caracan lords. Ships that were swift, wagons that could travel long distances and barrels to age elemental infused draughts. She’d hope to return with more inventions, more creations by the Catfolk. More songs, more stories for that was what Wah enjoyed the most.

Before her small fire she would sing. She’d tell tales of the various little gods of her home to Caracan children. Bawdy tales of Derro Lords and their various liasons with the lesser folk. She’d whisper rumors of vagrants and vagabonds to scare and delight and if any asked….she would take out her Book of Ancestors and regal any with the Ur’Wen. She wasn’t alone in these tasks. More wagons loaded with goods had started to flow into Caracan lands. They’d met on the roads, Wah and her fellow traders. Suzume they’d called each other, a Derro word for migrating birds. That’s what they were, in effect.

The Oceans of Ever-Night

Nomads were not the only worry one might hold in the lands where the light of the Tree did not reach. On these ice shelves and even beneath the waves, in deep volcanic rifts and silt mired currents, the Elementals also grew old and mighty as they fed from the latent elemental energies of a sea as black as void. These beasts were known as Soaks, for their elemental powers pervaded the world at large. They were more violent than their lesser forms and warred with Nomads when they grew closer to their icy dwellings. Some were as large as iceburgs though size was little indication on these ancient creatures. This made them dangerous, for many were just as large as their Fleck cousins. It was only in the Oceans of Ever-Night that they could form, the lighted world was much too developed for these beasts for form. If Dreams were what gave the Elementals life than surely such monstrosities were born from a darker dream. The Ever-Night Oceans twisted what was once beautiful into destruction and wrath. Flecks and Splotches may well be the best of their element, gentle breezes and warming flames, but the Soaks were the fury of their elemental forms made manifest. Bonfires, the drowning riptides, cataclysmic storms and much worse. To be sure, if there were storms within the Oceans of Ever-Night, they were merely Soaks on the prowl.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Create Advanced Concept (2AP) - Elemental Forging: The Derro, now that they can mine and forge their own metals, have developed a particular methodology of casting Elemental substances. These substances can be forged in with or mixed into other metals and natural materials to form crude polymers. This process is highly ritualized by the Derro, who view it as using the power of the First World itself to strengthen their crafts. [Death (Animism) 8/10)]

Create Organization (1AP) - The Kamo: The network of workshops and craftsman of the Derro have formed a large organization within Derro Society. Warriors who have proved their mettle may join the Kamo, the premier network of guilds within Derro Society. Part priest, part tradesman, the Kamo and their various workshops are as much temple as they are places of construction. [Death (Animism) 9/10)]

Create Organization (1AP) - The Suzume: The Suzume are what once were the traveling Warriors of the Derro. The Suzume now serve as the go betweens, liaisons and traders between the Derro and other cultures. Tasked in the knowledge of other cultures, combat and the Ur’Wen, the Suzume may well be seen as warrior monks outside of Derro lands. Within Derro Lands, the Suzume are known as storytellers and those who keep the Ur’Wen’s words alive. Poets, Philosophers, Skalds, the Suzume stand just below the Noble Houses in standing to the Derro. [Death (Animism) 10/10)]

Create Monstrous Subrace (1AP) - Soaks: Soaks are the oldest of Elementals, appearing as giant firestorms, vast ice shelves and torrential storms of snow and lightning. Soaks are the worst of their element and their temperament shows this destructive desire. Soaks, despite being the oldest of Elementals, have lost most of their primitive minds. All they desire is death and to spread their element. [??? (Nightmares) 2/10]

**LordArgon** · 2019-03-30, 04:54 PM (ISO 8601)

Saug Science

For the Saug, food was both an art and a science. Glittering beetles and ripe fruits filled the market stalls in Mefaun's main market. The color and flavor of each item had been carefully bred into existence by the Republic's food sellers. Various breeders and orchards spend countless years trying to create the next new craze in the Saug cuisine. Chefs spend hours upon hours trying to create the most flavorful of dishes to serve their customers. In search of new ingredients, Saug Merchants have begun to head out to the Free Cities, Catan, and beyond.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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AP: 5 + 4
Create Mundane Concept: Cooking. While heating something over a fire is quite common, the Saug have taken it to the next level. From stone ovens to frying pans, the Saug have advanced cooking to a fine art. [Protection(Hospitality)10/10] Domain Gained.
Create Advanced Concept Selective Breeding. The Saug have begun cross-pollinating and crossbreeding to enhance both the appearance and flavor of their foods. Chaos(Deformation)10/10 Domain Gained.
5 Domains Gained, Sololond Ascends
New AP: 9 - 3 = 6 AP

**RolandDeschain** · 2019-03-30, 06:57 PM (ISO 8601)

Halfling Tribes - Dasos Dilitirios

Hunt's Alone was ancient beyond telling, perhaps the oldest mortal thing in the world. Generations of halflings had known only his rule, most suspected that he was not, in fact, mortal. Legends within the Halfling Tribes held that Hunts-Alone was born while the Gods walked The First Land often explaining that he was born of a great blast from The Champions horn.

Halflings were common in many lands and societies of the First World, but the Halfling Tribes that remained in their harsh ancestral homes upon the First Land were hardy and rugged. They adhered to their traditional ways; ways that some would see as primitive or savage, despite their intrinsic sense of honor and close familial bonds. Rulership of the Halfling Tribes had never been questioned, Hunts-Alone was the most virtuous, courageous, and self-sacrificing. As such it was his lead the tribes followed. He had commanded them throughout their fights against goblinkind. He had hidden them away safely from the slavers and the vicious beasts of the land. Though his authority was absolute, his rule was benign, the lose band of Halfling Tribes enjoyed a level of freedom that would surely be envied by others around the world. Theirs was truly a society based upon the necessity of mutual need. They were bound together by the level of interdependence necessary to survive their inhospitable environs.

Constant skirmishes with the goblin clans and the halflings of the Queia Kingdom had left the Halfling Tribes weakened, their numbers vastly reduced. So it was that Hunts Alone had led them north to shores of The First Land, away from continued conflict. There they found the Ill Wood, Dasos Dilitirios, a beautiful forest of soaring red woods and luminous sugar pines. The rich loamy earth was divinely fertile for it was god-touched, and beneath the soaring canopies Dasos Dilitirios was draped in a multitude of flowering plants a riot of vivid colors and scents. Hunts Alone had led his people here, hoping they would be able to make defense against their constantly warring and encroaching neighbors to the south. Alas, though the Ill Wood proved to be possessed of a latent toxicity that killed many of the halflings that had survived the long journey. It seemed every plant, vine, root, and tree ran with poison in its veins. The very air they breathed within the Ill Wood would weaken and kill slowly and insidiously.

But Hunts Alone would not be deterred. No, the land and forest would be his people's defenders. He led the Tribes to the rocky northern shore, then followed the coastline for a fortnight. There, pinned between the northern sea and the Ill Wood, he encamped. Here he told his people they would find refuge, and for a time they did. Food was scarce. Most of their days were spent fishing and foraging the shoreline to keep the Tribes fed. They were exposed at times to terrible storms that ravage the northern shore. Hunts Alone called upon all the able-bodied to help him clear coastal trails to the east and west so that their hunters would have access to the hunting grounds beyond the boundaries of the Ill Wood. To the hunting parties he preached the utmost caution...they could not allow themselves to be tracked back to this haven. If their enemies found them here, pinned along the coast, that would surely be the extinction of his people.

The Halfling Tribes would have been extinct already if it were not for their powerful allies. The Champion had gifted them with those that would watch over them and protect them, for wherever they went the The Spirit Guardians followed and kept them safe. These spirits of their fallen ancestors whose mission was once to protect their souls in death could be, at extraordinary need, called upon to guard them in life. Though Hunts Alone could not command them, he alone among his people could speak to them and beseech their aid. Thus the ancient hero was both temporal and spiritual leader of The Tribes.

There they lived for a time, huddled upon the shores of The First Land with Dasos Dilitirios protecting their back and Hunts Alone tending their needs. Simple homes of stone and driftwood built around the native seaside caves were where they dwelt while Hunts Alone contemplated their future. Time passed, his people hardened in the hostile climes, and though their settlements were scattered along the coast they came to call Hunts Alone's lodge and clan buildings Hardhold.

Hunts Alone had always known that a terrible doom lay upon he and his people. The Champion was gone, long dead and forgotten. He had lived when Caerox strode The First Land. He had witnessed with his own eyes when the noble god had marched off to fight The Goblin Goddess, never to return. He had carried this terrible secret for years untold. Was not Caerox after all The Champion of The Doomed? The great warrior clad in ancient and battered armor of his creation had treated with Hunts Alone on that fateful day, and entrusted him with the care of the Tribes. At their parting he had gifted the halfling hero an item of his own crafting - thing much treasured, but hidden from all. It was his secret, and as his years played out, he knew it was a secret he had to pass on. The Champions breath that stirred in his chest granted him unnaturally long life, but not immortality. This he knew.

The people named him Sire, both an honorific and crude jest, for he still lay with the women of the tribe and had sired a number of children beyond counting. Despite this he had no true son, none at least raised as his own, to pass along the secret to nor the keys to leadership of the tribe and pact with the ancestral Spirit Guardians. Another generation passed, and still Hunts Alone guarded his secret but the signs were becoming clear to all. His once thick, jet-black beard began trending toward grey, then white, and the worry lines around his eyes deepened, and deepened again.

In his troubled sleep the Spirit Guardians began to speak to him and show him strange images....rats, scurrying through root entwined subterranean tunnels. He would wake with a start, not knowing what to make of the little creatures of his visions. They behaved oddly, often standing, often speaking, gathering and building. Such a thing was surpassing strange and alien to him. When the cave floor of his lean-to longhouse caved in, however, he began to suspect that something indeed was afoot. Yet another secret he guarded from his people, as he explored the man-sized warren of caves that had suddenly opened up under his very bed. To his amazement, there was light, heat, water and warmth in the tunnels beneath the Ill Wood. The air was not toxic, the plant life was not aggressive and viciously poisonous. There were great caverns, where lights and food were plentiful.

After months of spelunking, he knew it was time...time to lead one last time, lead his people to truth and prosperity, but not his time. He called a great summoning of the Halfling Tribes, and supped with the clan leaders. When the meager meal of fish, clams and seaweed was finished, he retreated to his private chambers and reemerged with a wooden chest that he placed upon the table. Throwing back the lid, the longhouse suddenly stirred with Spirit Guardians as generations of fallen ancestral halfling warriors came to bear witness. He reached into the chest and pulled out a great ivory horn, "This is the Horn of Valor, carved from some great, legendary beast slain by The Champion. The life that I have led among you was a gift from he whose hand crafted it. His breath stirs still in my lungs!"

Taking a deep drink and steadying himself he looked out at the heavily bearded assembled men, then continued, "Beyond this room, in my very chambers, a new land awaits. A land of peace and prosperity. A place for us to live, love, and thrive. It is surely an act of divine providence, of what godly being I do not know. Perhaps, it is that The Champion's will still haunts this world."

And now to it, "I will sound this horn with what godly breath remains, and pass the mantle of leadership on to a new hero. One will be raised that can commune with the Spirit Guardians....and he will lead you, to new lands and new lives. Gather your families and belongings for you will be leaving as soon as all are gathered. With that I bid you farewll, and call upon your new Sire to step forward."

He inhaled deeply and sounded a godly blast from the Horn of Valor, passing from the world as he did so. The assembled clan heads turned frantically searching from bearded face to bearded face, waiting for something....anything to happen. As generations before them Hunts Alone was all they had ever known, and not one face knew of whom he spoke. None stepped forward. Long moments passed, then the door slammed open violently, revealing the huntress known by them as Moves With Dawn. She strode purposefully the length of the longhouse. Gathered up the Horn and stuck it back in its chest. Moving to the door of Hunts Alone chambers she paused, "Gather the clans! It is time for us to go."

They stared at each other awe-struck for a moment, then she repeated, "GO!". And go they did, with great alacrity and singular focus.

Spoiler: AP Accounting

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Beginning AP = 5AP + 5AP + 1PAP[rollover]

Bless(1AP) - The Sounding Horn: Leadership of the Halfling Tribes lies with he or she that breathes The Champions breath. They can also speak with the halfling Spirit Guardians. There can be only one.

Raise Hero(2AP -1AP Discount):Moves With Dawn is raised to Hero and leader of the Halfling Tribes.

The Halfling Tribes have descended into the Tanglenest beneath Dasos Dilitirios to build a new life, mining Looloodi's diamonds, and befriending the rats?
*Note: I lay no claim to the Horn of Valor artifact, but merely act as momentary caretaker, passing it along to the next person willing to claim part of the story of the Halfling Tribes.
Remaining AP = 10AP -1AP -1AP = 8AP +1 PAP

**The Succubus** · 2019-03-30, 09:04 PM (ISO 8601)

The Great Rat (featuring Fortress of Moss)

A Rat's Tale

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by Draken

[Tanglenest]
The Baron's Lesson

Who, pray tell, first knew the history of the world?
Was it halfling, firstborn?
Was it goblin, l'enfant terrible?
Was it kobold, the hard workers?
Was it mer, the favorite child?
Was it caracan, canny explorers?
Was it man, abandoned on the crib?
Was it giant, proud and strong?
Maybe. Just maybe.
A bunch of rats first heard the tale from ten thousand mouthless voices.

"In the beginning the world was empty. A lifeless, godless sea with no land. This changed with A Single Stone, it pulled up the First Land from beneath the waves, and with it came The Fortress of Moss in its haunted halls. The Stone carried in the primeval elements. The Moss carried in life and death."

"In their wake, in their land, grew the gods. First was Tafeita, for the world of rock was vicious and in need of reprieve. Second was Janika, who reveled in what her older sister reviled, and taught the land to thrive on death and enjoy the killing, where originally it was dispassionate in its savagery. The elementals storms and crumbling land roused an odious witch beneath the waves by the name of Eniym, and she filled its shores with life much like herself before taking to the skies as fish do and infecting them with her languor. Next was Looloodi, who is here even now."

Dunsmuir slaps one of Ilianthos' nearby roots.

"She was not born on this island, she is a child of the first land, lest she forget. Born in the deep halls from which she crawled like any other rock. A shiny one, for sure and as round as any primate would enjoy. But she was fickle even then, and lifted this little island off the coast in disgust of her elders, and here she set root. But lets not dwell on shallow matters and move onto Marah, she came from above. Like rain, like a great ice rock onto a world so small and so bereft. The waters beyond the First Land were stagnant then, but she let them live, so giving she was. And Chryon came next, a loud piece of first flame, charring and cracking the First Land."

"I am not certain on this next, my sources are faulty on matters beyond this realm. But signs say the birds came around this time. Don't hold me on that, however. They really didn't do anything for this world."

"And there was also Sololond at the same time, a grievous thing, hiding not in the darkness beneath nor in the darkness above, but in the darkness beyond. Let us not speak of it further."

"Caerox and Selima were next. He came from the halls and called the halflings into being. The first people of the first land. She was a wisp, almost a presence. And coursed the world beneath before fleeing into the wastes above and growing appalled at the works of her brethren. A protector particularly unsuited for the Preserver's work, how fate conspires for worlds to break."

"Then... Came you."

The Mosspeakers listened intently as Dunsmuir spoke. History was something that they found fascinating, as glimpses of the past often told one about the present. Their teacher was looking at them, expectantly.

One of them spoke.

"We don't know much about our early history. We remember the tunnels, of living in fear of predators, of the unknown, trapped between the light of the roots and the darkness deep beneath the earth. Yet there were tales that someone, or something watched over us. Lucky escapes, unexpected food in times of famine, sicknesses that healed over night."

The mosspeaker went silent for a moment, as though discussing something uncomfortable. How do you describe a mind going from instinct to awareness of *everything*; the soft glow of the roots of Ilianthos, the cool of the stone beneath the paw, the taste of the water that flow through stone and soil?

"Sentience. It is a difficult burden. Perhaps it would be simpler to have never known yourselves. Yet for good or for ill, the day The Wandering Rat met the goddess Nasguine your world forever changed."

"The first Crowned Rat made mention of the time after he had awakened. He spoke of his brief visit to the Fortress of Moss and of his return to Tangelnest. The rats developed quickly after that, language and new ideas spread quickly among us. We were still primitive then but learned at a great pace. The Crowned Rat spoke of a dream he'd had, a voice calm and strong, instructing him to go forth and learn of the world and to teach us when he returned." The Mosspeaker brightened a little as it thought. "Much like you are doing today."

Dunsmuir nodded, small beads of tar and oil dripping from its rodent shaped snout. "The Time of Water and Fire. Speak to me of it."

At the mention of it, the Mosspeakers fell silent. Even though it had been several generations ago, the memories and stories were taught to every newborn pup. It had been age of great joy for the rats....and great horror.

"The Time of Water and Fire began with the travels of the Wandering Rat, he who would later become the first Crowned Rat. It had been chance, or the whims of the being that watched over us, that he met one of the Mer on the shores of the island beneath Ilianthos. The Mer would later be known as Ambassador Tamesis and would become a close friend to the rats, acting as a bridge between the two peoples. It always made the first Crowned Rat happy, his thoughts drifting into fond memory as he spoke of the city beneath the waves, of its peoples and temples and the strange magics that they chose to share with the rats. We are unsure why but there has never been a Mosspeaker that has mastered the art of Songspell. It is a mystery to us."

Dunsmuir listened as the Mosspeaker told its story. If the moss knew why, it was not telling at this time.

"The Mer and Rats became close friends after the Wandering Rat's return to Tanglenest. Following the creation of the Shining Palace and the reshaping of Tanglenest by the Chorus of the Rats, the tunnels were wide enough to welcome our friends from the ocean and those that have the Blessing of Tanglenest can even wander the tunnels themselves without coming to peril. The Wandering Rat that became the first Crowned Rat ruled us wisely for many years before he lay down for the last sleep. Perhaps part of him still wanders in the places beyond this world."

The oily teacher looked searchingly amongst its students. "You have taken my lessons to heart and you keep well the history of your people....yet you are not telling the whole story." A note of sternness crept into Dunsmuir's voice. "Speak of that which you do not wish to."

A shudder ran around the circle of Mosspeakers and it seemed as though the glowing lights of the Great Tree dimmed as the oldest of the Mosspeakers began to talk. "Legend tells of a calamity that rose from the earth and rock. Flames like questing fingers ravaged the tunnels and chambers of our home. The very stone quaked and trembled, as though some colossal being trod upon the roof of the world. Tunnels collapsed and crushed mothers and pups. Fire scorched and blackened, burning families alive in their homes."

The Mosspeaker's voice was now almost a whisper and it began to tremble. "Something was created in the darkness. Something terrible." Words failed the old rat and were now little more than squeaks and chitters.

Dunsmuir spoke. "There will come a time in the future when you will be ready for that lesson but it is not this day. It was shortly after the Time of Fire that the moss began to grow throughout Tanglenest and the Fortress took its first students from among the rats. You have achieved much in the care and prosperity of your kind."

Relieved at the change in topic, the old Mosspeaker spoke up again. "You speak truly teacher but not everyone agreed. Many rats were led away by the Scarred One. Even to this day, we do not know what became of them."

"Perhaps one day we will."

Spoiler: AP Expenditure:

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Blessing of Tanglenest (1 AP): A great honour bestowed by the Crowned Rat on non-rats that have shown themselves to be true and loyal friends of Tanglenest. It allows them to find their way through the twisting maze-like passage of Tanglenest to the rat's homes of the Shining Palace, Caverns Reach and the Mosslands.

**neriractor** · 2019-03-30, 09:21 PM (ISO 8601)

Of Echoes unheard

The halflings were to survive through hardship, and so they did. Devils were the servants of Mamona's will, they excelled as well. As did the angels make for an interesting order.

Most who were birthed with such a purpose achieved it (just poor form not to do it) and so many Echoes accomplished their single-minded repeating of words and sound, in playful mockery of their divine brother (and a veritable increase in his work), most of them indeed which is a relief given their monstrous numbers.

Yet, what interests us today is that tiny minority and what comes with unfulfilled purpose.

We should start, then, by knowing why there were so few and why we didn't care about them before. No one can claim an expertise in echoes, such is the nature of a being who is scarcely known as such, and is mostly classified as phenomena by those free enough from life and death struggles to have the luxury of classifying, few as they were.

They are, as almost everything, divine will made manifest. Special only by a few distinguishing traits including their driving purpose, as simple as it was unique. They are the universe trying to bring peers, sisters actually to Daghir, but unable or unwilling to accomplish true companionship for a god, it brought companionship through emulation to his act, to his mimicry.

And so the echoes, simple as they are have a clear purpose, one of repetition, in which they rejoice letting the world know through faint laughs shared amongst each other. But the echoes we speak of weren't just devoid of words which they prefer, for they aren't picky and sounds of animals or weather can do in a pinch, and in fact does for most. But none should suffer lack of sound, yet some did.

What would you do, had a bottle or a jar repeated your words back to you from no discernable source? Drop it perhaps? Many broke that way, releasing the poor thing to be classified as a phenomena just as most things that affected this world's inhabitants. But some didn't and superstitious lots like the god abandoned bulk of the sentient races tend to shy from such things and take steps to avoid them: Buried with the dead, thrown into the wilderness and forgotten or to the sea (particularly Mer).

They suffered, silent as their environment, repeating words of centuries past, begging with simple minds for purpose accomplished, few pleas were answered.

Eventually they'll grow sort of used, or as much as one can be with the lack of realization, their minds exerted limits placed by no one growing into themselves in an effort to ignore the dreaded silence, and coming to understand it more and more as they did. They threw their voice, singing sounds they never heard and learning a language each their own giving meaning to their own words and with such meaning releasing themselves, if not completely, from such purpose. Isolated, each of this echoes is their own save for a strange attachment to their prison, a will beyond their kin and a closer imitation of Daghir, be it his swirling shape of random debris or mastery of the word, but they are still deep down, nothing that can't be classified as terrible phenomena, as much as any sentient can.

Spoiler: AP

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-3 AP Create sub-race (echoes-> Gennies): The true sisters of Daghir, or so they'll claim. They are a varied bunch, Ranging from catastrophic titans of Stormy debris, and lovers of isolation that stick to their prisons until disturbed. The results of age-old silence, as wide-spread as their cousins if not as numerous. This are the masters of the words beyond divinity, with might uncontained by anything but will and a tendency for mischievous (when not outright malevolent) practices, woe be to him that disturbs a container out of place and is found displeasing. [Resolution (conflict) 5/10]

**Razade** · 2019-03-31, 07:22 AM (ISO 8601)

Steam that Greets the Morning, Ramona Bittermoss, A Witch: Dead...and maybe not Dead

Steam that Greets the Morning remained on guard. It was sweet words and offerings that brought them here, but the idea of a warm cup of coffee with some cream warmed its incorporeal form. "This one will take coffee, please." Politeness was unbecoming of a chief but...they were no longer a chief. They were...dead...but perhaps more than that they were something beyond that. Death had a way of changing one's mind on a great many things and the savageness that was so easy for a Derro...seemed to amount to little here in the land of the unworthy dead. Had they been unworthy? Were they being punished...the Bones of the Earth were built for that, or so the legends went. Perhaps a new track was needed. One without violence. Or at least only the promise of violent held back beyond a wall of...not kindness. A Derro could never be kind. Practicality? Yes. A Derro could well be practical. They even offered a smirk to Ramona, a warrior who had shown their worth. If ever they could return to the lands of the living...they would set the Derro to finding more of Ramona's people. The Derro and the Haflings would be friends forever, if they had even a single utterance on the matter.

"This one thanks you as well. We could ask little more than for a warm cup of something to drink, at least without knowing you. In this one's lands, it is custom that those who drink and eat under the roof of another are granted immunity to any unkindess. This one knows this is not the place to honor such, but this one asks that you consider respecting Guest-Rights. We seek no trouble with you. We call ourselves Steam that Greets the Morning. In another life, this one was chief of chiefs. Had this one not fallen to the Bones of the Earth they may well have ruled over their people. It means little now, this one seeks to rule no one. Only to return home so they may see their people one final time. To tell them, to tell them to look for these Haflings. For in them, Steam that Greets the Morning has found more than a friend. But a companion of like mind."

Steam that Greets the Morning offers a nod to Ramona. "This one hopes they can tell their people of your own. It would be an honor above honors, knowing our peoples might one day join together before a bonfire and share a bowl of haash."

**Draken** · 2019-03-31, 10:10 AM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by RolandDeschain

Iseu - Enterprise

"You look like you ran quite fast, boy. Were you eager to come here or, did something happen out in the streets?"

Iseu whirled frantically to look behind him. Seeing nothing in the open doorway he slowly turned in a circle studying the shadows thrown by the many statues of the gods. Straighten he looks slightly upward, "I was merely enjoying the many sights and smells of this wondrous city. Forgive me if I've intruded...I am but a stranger in a strange land."

Without thinking his hand drifts to the mask tucked inside his shirt. "I am known as Iseu, son of Lord Hiru of the Settlers of Catan. We've come carrying cargoes from the far south. To whom do I have honor of speaking?"

"Ho, ho. A young explorer and merchant. Welcome, Iseu, son of Hiru of Catan. Your people have been good to me and mine. We will soon launch the first of what shall surely be many great vessels we learned of from the caracan. As for me..."

The pool bubbles and out of the center rises a tower of oil in the rough shape of nothing with a pair of tentacles to the sides as if arms and a hump to the front as if a head.

"I am Vanderbilt, Leader of Black Gold, Lord of Enterprise. Are you here to join us?"

Originally Posted by neriractor

Ramona Bittermoss: DeadThe glove prodded another inquisitive look at her own limbs, they were a little less see through, whatever consolation that may be. She stood unaware that it was made for a dragon or that such a thing now existed in a world she may not see until it rotted, her eyes only vacillating to look at her companion and the strange colorful garden.

It was so that Ramona was startled by a woman that she already knew was there, she stammered a few words of question without answer: "Gnome? Genasi? What?

Were there really so many things in the world? Were genasi a name for goblins or kobolds? She needed to know how offended to be.

She didn't really get time to feel before she turned to kindness for the given hospitality "Sure, thanks" she didn't really wonder what coffee as she waited for the brew, turning to Steam That Greets the Morning with a whisper and a giggle while she poured it. "tallest halfling I have seen"

Originally Posted by Razade

Steam that Greets the Morning, Ramona Bittermoss, A Witch: Dead...and maybe not Dead

Steam that Greets the Morning remained on guard. It was sweet words and offerings that brought them here, but the idea of a warm cup of coffee with some cream warmed its incorporeal form. "This one will take coffee, please." Politeness was unbecoming of a chief but...they were no longer a chief. They were...dead...but perhaps more than that they were something beyond that. Death had a way of changing one's mind on a great many things and the savageness that was so easy for a Derro...seemed to amount to little here in the land of the unworthy dead. Had they been unworthy? Were they being punished...the Bones of the Earth were built for that, or so the legends went. Perhaps a new track was needed. One without violence. Or at least only the promise of violent held back beyond a wall of...not kindness. A Derro could never be kind. Practicality? Yes. A Derro could well be practical. They even offered a smirk to Ramona, a warrior who had shown their worth. If ever they could return to the lands of the living...they would set the Derro to finding more of Ramona's people. The Derro and the Haflings would be friends forever, if they had even a single utterance on the matter.

"This one thanks you as well. We could ask little more than for a warm cup of something to drink, at least without knowing you. In this one's lands, it is custom that those who drink and eat under the roof of another are granted immunity to any unkindess. This one knows this is not the place to honor such, but this one asks that you consider respecting Guest-Rights. We seek no trouble with you. We call ourselves Steam that Greets the Morning. In another life, this one was chief of chiefs. Had this one not fallen to the Bones of the Earth they may well have ruled over their people. It means little now, this one seeks to rule no one. Only to return home so they may see their people one final time. To tell them, to tell them to look for these Haflings. For in them, Steam that Greets the Morning has found more than a friend. But a companion of like mind."

Steam that Greets the Morning offers a nod to Ramona. "This one hopes they can tell their people of your own. It would be an honor above honors, knowing our peoples might one day join together before a bonfire and share a bowl of haash."

The witch hovers into her house for a few minutes before returning with a pair of cups of that same invisible material, full of dark, steaming liquid.

"That is a wonderful tradition, Steam that Greets the Morning! Consider it adopted."

"As for you, little one. A gnome is... About your stature, maybe a hair shorter. Metallic skin. Significantly more magic in them. Likes to build things. Also likes to explode goblins, almost as much as goblins like to explode goblins. A genasi... Looks like your companion, but with some form of overt elemental trait on their hair, and a nasty streak of personality, so clearly he is not one."

"And dear me, introductions. I was Klashanna."

What was that.

Ramona and Steam that Greets the Morning know what she said, what entered their ears, but the word that their brains understood was something else, in something else's not-voice.

"And you want to go back home, you said? Leave Necropolis... Hmm... You should probably go to Gates then. The Presences don't like to talk, and the rest of us can't leave, so Gates is the only real option you have. It should be close to the waterfall."

She takes a sip of her coffee.

Spoiler: AP

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5+5 Ap (rollover)

10 AP.

**Tychris1** · 2019-04-01, 01:09 AM (ISO 8601)

Chalice

“Of course m’lady,” Enkidan chortled “Whatever you say.” Looking about with a ****-eating grin upon its face Enkidan scratched lazily at the folds beneath congealing between its gut and thigh. Cramming a small meteorite of molten cheese into its mouth the reptilian aberration gurgled the food briefly before sloppily wiping its face. Scratching its skull Enkidan mumbled to itself briefly before leaning back, flopping partially out of its palanquin, and gunking an unfortunate Devil directly (but safely) into its fist. Pulling the creature close it continued its gargled mumblings of silken treasure before nearly forgetting the importance of the devil and attempting to eat its head. Stopping itself in the last second with ever such bigly tact befitting the Duke of Lethargy it puckered its razor like smorgasbord maw into a kiss upon the unfortunate victims forehead.

Releasing the Devil Enkidan steadily crept back fully into its palanquin to address Mamona. “Tell me, my Queen,” It stated soberly “Do you wish for my gift? It was in your image when first I saw it afterall. I assume I owe it to you for making it or atleast telling someone else to make it.” It spoke the last few words almost reverentially and oddly self praisingly at times. Cricking its neck Enkidan ripped its resplendent crown clean from its head and held the golden glowing artifact for Mamona to admire. “Nemesis offered it to me not long ago. I was taken by its wonder. Think on it. We’ll have much time to discuss such matters anyway as I am just as taken by your realm. Far better suited for me than Akkraul.”

It reclined upon its rapidly increasing pile of papasan chairs and looked the Fiery Goddess dead in with the eye with its violet iris.

Spoiler: AP

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+5 AP and +1 PAP for Rollover.

5/20 AP
1/1 PAP

**GSisco** · 2019-04-01, 07:22 AM (ISO 8601)

Reaper-Of-Souls: First Dungeon

Laughs-Without-Mirth had done little on the way to the first dungeon except complain. The only reason he had come along this far is because he wanted to see what this Reaper-Of-Souls had to offer. Probably nothing. He would not make that mistake again. He would get his revenge against Janika. He would take any advantage to accomplish that.

His remaining clan followed the strange goblin down into the dungeon, some of them falling into traps even after they had been pointed out. "Leave them," Laughs-Without-Mirth told his clan. "They will get out on their own or they don't deserve to live.

Finally they arrived in a grand chamber with a pedestal. In the rear of the chamber was a kobold. It sat patiently and silently, watching the strange goblin that had gathered them. Reaper-Of-Souls reached the pedestal and turned to face the crowd.

"Long have I dwelt in these halls with no companionship but my lord and this Kobold. We have no force to defend it or grow it's influence. All we have is power. You have been banished and cursed by your lord. Thrown out like peasants, unworthy to even bother killing." The clan did not like this. They began to growl and grumble between themselves. "What I offer you is a home. A place to grow strong and live out your lives. I offer you power. A way to turn your curse into your greatest blessing. If you serve me, I shall give you a portion of my power and in return you will use it to grow my influence. Together, we shall grow until no one can stand against us. Even your banisher Janika will be helpless before us. I shall lead us to rule this land."

"We don't need you to lead us. We have the Great Khan." An orc shouted. The others shouted agreement.

"Perhaps a demonstration of my power is needed. Kobolds, it is time for you to earn your name." The kobold slowly slunk forward until he was standing next to the pedestal as well. "Pact with me and I shall bestow upon you a piece of my power." There was no response except a fearful stare. 'Do you swear to serve me and use your power to further my goals only second to our lord Nasigune should she be found? Do you swear to go out an spread the story of our lord and recruit others to our cause? Do you swear to take the weak under your wing and make them strong in service to our cause as we have done for you?"

To each of these the kobold nodded quickly before kneeling. "Then rise my servant. Rise and claim your name. From this point on you shall be known as Paladin."

Reaper-Of-Souls laid a hand on the head of the kobold and a bright light lit the room. When they could see again, the orcs saw the kobolds looked stronger, taller, more confident. He radiated power and all of them felt a little stronger and less tired as they got closer to him. It was clear he was more powerful than he had been before.

"Now, whoever is willing to strike up a bargain with me, kneel before your new lord." It took a few moments but most knelt. The remainder were, to the shock of most, allowed to leave. "Good. We have work to do."

Spoiler: AP

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Actions:
Create Mythic Concept: Pact Magic: When the great forces need agents to do theor work, they loan pieces of their power out to those willing to serve. Whether they make their deals with devils, gods, or dragons, when mortals engage in pact making, they become powerful clerics, pladins, or warlocks. (Examples are not all inclusive) - Power (Patronage) 4/10

Remaining AP 6

**mystic1110** · 2019-04-01, 09:06 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Spoilers

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Originally Posted by Razade

The Oceans of Ever-Night

Nomads were not the only worry one might hold in the lands where the light of the Tree did not reach. On these ice shelves and even beneath the waves, in deep volcanic rifts and silt mired currents, the Elementals also grew old and mighty as they fed from the latent elemental energies of a sea as black as void. These beasts were known as Soaks, for their elemental powers pervaded the world at large. They were more violent than their lesser forms and warred with Nomads when they grew closer to their icy dwellings. Some were as large as iceburgs though size was little indication on these ancient creatures. This made them dangerous, for many were just as large as their Fleck cousins. It was only in the Oceans of Ever-Night that they could form, the lighted world was much too developed for these beasts for form. If Dreams were what gave the Elementals life than surely such monstrosities were born from a darker dream. The Ever-Night Oceans twisted what was once beautiful into destruction and wrath. Flecks and Splotches may well be the best of their element, gentle breezes and warming flames, but the Soaks were the fury of their elemental forms made manifest. Bonfires, the drowning riptides, cataclysmic storms and much worse. To be sure, if there were storms within the Oceans of Ever-Night, they were merely Soaks on the prowl.

Spoiler: AP Actions

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Create Advanced Concept (2AP) - Elemental Forging: The Derro, now that they can mine and forge their own metals, have developed a particular methodology of casting Elemental substances. These substances can be forged in with or mixed into other metals and natural materials to form crude polymers. This process is highly ritualized by the Derro, who view it as using the power of the First World itself to strengthen their crafts. [Death (Animism) 8/10)]

Create Organization (1AP) - The Kamo: The network of workshops and craftsman of the Derro have formed a large organization within Derro Society. Warriors who have proved their mettle may join the Kamo, the premier network of guilds within Derro Society. Part priest, part tradesman, the Kamo and their various workshops are as much temple as they are places of construction. [Death (Animism) 9/10)]

Create Organization (1AP) - The Suzume: The Suzume are what once were the traveling Warriors of the Derro. The Suzume now serve as the go betweens, liaisons and traders between the Derro and other cultures. Tasked in the knowledge of other cultures, combat and the Ur’Wen, the Suzume may well be seen as warrior monks outside of Derro lands. Within Derro Lands, the Suzume are known as storytellers and those who keep the Ur’Wen’s words alive. Poets, Philosophers, Skalds, the Suzume stand just below the Noble Houses in standing to the Derro. [Death (Animism) 10/10)]

Create Monstrous Subrace (1AP) - Soaks: Soaks are the oldest of Elementals, appearing as giant firestorms, vast ice shelves and torrential storms of snow and lightning. Soaks are the worst of their element and their temperament shows this destructive desire. Soaks, despite being the oldest of Elementals, have lost most of their primitive minds. All they desire is death and to spread their element. [??? (Nightmares) 2/10]

On the Ever-Night

It was Ral Ibn-Rawi, the famous Rakshasa scholar who correctly supposed the existence and location of the Ever-Night. The Brahmin, the highest caste of the Raj, were devoted teachers, philosophers and priests. Ral Ibn-Rawi, specialized in the study of the Dawnfly. By carefully charting its course over the skies of the Raj, and from the reports from slaves and servants brought from all over the world he recognized that the great Dawnfly did not fly in a straight line. It flew on the slightest of curves, about only one degree north. Using this information and using the mathematics developed by the astrologists to plot their angles, he was able to suppose that the material world was actually a globe instead of a flat surface. The Dawnfly did not fly off the map and underneath but instead flew around this orb. He developed methods of representing this spherical world on a flat surface, and once the world was made flat superpositioning the Dawnfly's route on it made it appear as if the Dawnfly flew in a Sine wave over the map. The Sine wave was not constant season by season, meaning that year over year the Sine wave shifted by a couple of Raj Miles.

Where the Dawnfly flew overhead was summer and day. However, by acknowledging that the world was Spherical Ral Ibn-Rawi also had to suppose that the known map of the world was but a tiny portion of the globe, no more than about a tenth of the sphere. There was a vast ocean out there - a thought that elevated Ral Ibn-Rawi's religious beliefs, as the sages taught - the ocean was holy and it was the land that was blasphemy. And what more proof was needed than to say that the ocean took up such a majority of the world? Indeed it was holy. However, after more study, Ral Ibn-Rawi was also forced to admit the cruel realities of this vast ocean. While the Dawnfly's alternating path would and should bring warmth and light to each part of the globe, it did so relatively slowly. Everything outside the Sine Wave, that did not also feel the light of Ilanthos, would be a dark frozen expanse. The Dawnfly's route would not just melt the ice in its path and all around as summer came with its approach, but the oncoming heat of the Dawnfly would shift the currents of the frozen ocean, unused to the sudden temperature change and force the supposed vast icy continents to migrate to outside that Sine Wave.

Ral Ibn-Rawi also thought more on the subject and thought of the Clouds. It was well known at this point that the cloud were mostly made of Water Vapor and when such water would freeze it would turn into ice and snow down upon the land or ocean. However, it was also known that some clouds had whole forests, trails of mushrooms coming off them, growing on them. Such clouds were made of more than just water, although it was yet unknown to the thinkers of the Raj that made such clouds so solid. Some god's blessing perhaps? But the Raj, being creatures of below the waves had no Gods for the sky. Regardless, Ral Ibn-Rawi thought more on the subject and supposed, correctly, that clouds would move around the sky, however languidly and filled with torpor, but move nonetheless, and if such solid cloud ventured far from the warmth of Ilanthos, and far from the warmth of the Sine Wave of the Dawnfly it would begin to freeze. As it froze it would become a flying chunk of icy and would crash into the dark ocean of Ever Night, creating a huge wave. The Cloud's mushroom frozen would crystallize, and form the base of such frozen continents, just like a snowflake forms around a germ, the iceberg lands of Ever Night would from around these fallen clouds.

Ral Ibn-Rawi's suppositions were mostly correct, although they would leave, understandably a lot of details out. For example, how was he to know of the inhabitants of Ever-Night? Soaks and Hermits? How was he to know what lived on the clouds? Those clouds that ventured into overnight would have disgraced and exiled Lichen Liches and their followers, and while those mortals would freeze (statues of frozen fungal angels and the huddled forms of other mortals in the last throes of hypothermia) the Liches themselves would survive. They would live in their darkened monasteries as they watch their beloved Whisky freeze into hard impenetrable mirrors, and yet those amber portals were still portals to Heaven, and perhaps a Hermit or a Soak would stand over one and wonder if it could break through. Regardless, these Liches would stand guard over Night, just more dangerous denizens of darkness.

But, back to the Raj and Ral Ibn-Rawi, who's tome, On Ever-Night, was eventually banned by the priests of Marah, as they said that it contained the Heresy that the Ocean's natural state was of darkness and frozen cold. There was debate in the temple though on whether their was granduer in Rawi's vision and calculations? The book would go from periods of being banned and unbanned depending on who was in charge and popularity of whichever Prince, Yogi, Guru or Sect. It was almost as if the books own existence followed its own Sine wave much like the flight of the Dawnfly itself.

Spoiler: AP bookeeping

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9 AP

2 AP - Create Land - The Ice Continents of Ever Night. Formed from frozen and Fallen Slime Clouds. They contain abandoned monasteries and frozen and impenetrable (?!) portals of Whiskey. They are in perpetual Darkness. Total land mass of all these Icebergs together is about equal to Asia. They however are broken into many icy islands.

7 AP

**neriractor** · 2019-04-01, 09:17 PM (ISO 8601)

Ramona Bittermoss: dead.

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by Razade

Steam that Greets the Morning, Ramona Bittermoss, A Witch: Dead...and maybe not Dead

Steam that Greets the Morning remained on guard. It was sweet words and offerings that brought them here, but the idea of a warm cup of coffee with some cream warmed its incorporeal form. "This one will take coffee, please." Politeness was unbecoming of a chief but...they were no longer a chief. They were...dead...but perhaps more than that they were something beyond that. Death had a way of changing one's mind on a great many things and the savageness that was so easy for a Derro...seemed to amount to little here in the land of the unworthy dead. Had they been unworthy? Were they being punished...the Bones of the Earth were built for that, or so the legends went. Perhaps a new track was needed. One without violence. Or at least only the promise of violent held back beyond a wall of...not kindness. A Derro could never be kind. Practicality? Yes. A Derro could well be practical. They even offered a smirk to Ramona, a warrior who had shown their worth. If ever they could return to the lands of the living...they would set the Derro to finding more of Ramona's people. The Derro and the Haflings would be friends forever, if they had even a single utterance on the matter.

"This one thanks you as well. We could ask little more than for a warm cup of something to drink, at least without knowing you. In this one's lands, it is custom that those who drink and eat under the roof of another are granted immunity to any unkindess. This one knows this is not the place to honor such, but this one asks that you consider respecting Guest-Rights. We seek no trouble with you. We call ourselves Steam that Greets the Morning. In another life, this one was chief of chiefs. Had this one not fallen to the Bones of the Earth they may well have ruled over their people. It means little now, this one seeks to rule no one. Only to return home so they may see their people one final time. To tell them, to tell them to look for these Haflings. For in them, Steam that Greets the Morning has found more than a friend. But a companion of like mind."

Steam that Greets the Morning offers a nod to Ramona. "This one hopes they can tell their people of your own. It would be an honor above honors, knowing our peoples might one day join together before a bonfire and share a bowl of haash."

Originally Posted by Draken

The witch hovers into her house for a few minutes before returning with a pair of cups of that same invisible material, full of dark, steaming liquid.

"That is a wonderful tradition, Steam that Greets the Morning! Consider it adopted."

"As for you, little one. A gnome is... About your stature, maybe a hair shorter. Metallic skin. Significantly more magic in them. Likes to build things. Also likes to explode goblins, almost as much as goblins like to explode goblins. A genasi... Looks like your companion, but with some form of overt elemental trait on their hair, and a nasty streak of personality, so clearly he is not one."

"And dear me, introductions. I was Klashanna."

What was that.

Ramona and Steam that Greets the Morning know what she said, what entered their ears, but the word that their brains understood was something else, in something else's not-voice.

"And you want to go back home, you said? Leave Necropolis... Hmm... You should probably go to Gates then. The Presences don't like to talk, and the rest of us can't leave, so Gates is the only real option you have. It should be close to the waterfall."

She takes a sip of her coffee.

Spoiler: AP

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5+5 Ap (rollover)

10 AP.

The halfling beamed (turning to hide a blush that could not be) at the high praise she was receiving of her... Guide? the huntress had little experience with a grander theology and death looked nothing like this in their legend. But she was starting to catch on if maybe not to their unlife, then at least to the wrongness of her entire situation, it was quite evident after all that Steam that Greets The Morning was not exactly happy about his stay, and seemed lost if not as much as her.

She took the cup before replying and nodded with interest as she described the strange creatures she was unlikely to ever familiarize herself with, even though she took a pointed note of asking what exploding was later "Ramona Bittermoss" she replied, only blinking a couple of times at the slight disturbance of words, perhaps too enraptured by the luxury good she was enjoying for the first time.

After enjoying the coffee she shared a more tempered smile with Steam That Greets The Morning "That'll be great! specially if Haash is as good as this" pointing at the cofee. She kept the talk brief, though it was clear she enjoyed speaking of her people, perhaps a hint of home-sickness after a treck far longer that she knew "We live near the sea, hunting and fishing for sustenance and occasionaly fending off the Nobbei that come from the blasted desert to the west. We have a chief like you, two in fact, a sage who teaches of the gods, chooses where we move and hunt, lives with us. Then the sacred envoy, he rides a flying beast and comes every moon to speak with the sage, and lead our greatest warriors to respite in the mountains..."

She didn't really have time to overextend either, the witch spoke and several details got her attention, and she was not shy with her questions (not unpolite either though) "Thank you. Necropolis is the name of this place then? Why can't you leave?" perhaps a bit unpolite dead may be a sore subject for her.

**Nefarion Xid** · 2019-04-01, 10:37 PM (ISO 8601)

Chalice

The unctuous creature was a lot to take in. It certainly didn't make a good first impression, but Mamona was shrewd enough to know it made a better friend than enemy. Probably. She continued to regard Enkidan from a safe distance. Her retinue of servants watched from an even safer distance, well out of grabbing range.

"Why don't we see to your accommodations first? Something permanent. You've arrived on a bed of irises. It's hardly befitting a deity of your stature to conduct business on my front lawn."

**RolandDeschain** · 2019-04-01, 10:58 PM (ISO 8601)

Kyklos Omorfias - Catan

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by ChaoticHarmony

Seeds in the Air: Over Kapet

Many of the Verdant Seeds that the Beautious Bloom had spread from the Tree of Light, still found themselves aloft in the air, the wind spreading them far from the Isle of Ilianthos. While some have already taken purchase in the nearby Caldera, others fly to much further lands. Many fly towards the east, towards the unknown, others go towards the west, dropping across the First Land and waiting to sprout, a few making it beyond even its shores.

A few travel south, where a dozen suddenly drop just within sight of the great city of Katep. Together they sprout, a perfect circle of trees in an otherwise bare plain. As the fully grown Verdants step from their trees, they look around their new home, and are gladdened. Both for the gentle majesty their surroundings already own, and for the wonderfully blank canvas that they shall get to paint with their beauty.

Alter Land(1): Kyklos Omorfias
This perfect circle of large trees is the first home of Verdants on Catan. As such, it holds special significance to the Verdants. Being within the circle of trees, one can almost feel a deeper connection to Nature and Life in general. Each tree blooms a radically different blossom than its neighbors, and their fruits are considered a delicacy.[Verdant(Culture)]

North of the burgeoning city of Kapet, in a bend of the placid Siba River, the circle of trees seemingly sprouted over night, growing and maturing with such rapidity they were surely god-touched. As such they garnered much attention from the locals, and young Lord Aeru grew distraught at the comings and goings on his land. Aeru had recently inherited his father's lands and estate as well as his seat within the Conclave. Being the nearest holdings to Kapet, Aeru spent a majority of his time there, leaving the management of his farms and tenants to his mother Li'ia. As word trickled in, and the rumors grew, he was moved to investigate for himself.

He traveled alone, reaching the great bend in the river by mid-morning. The ring of trees was clearly evident from the road. He dismounted and led his horse by its reins. Sure enough, he encountered a handful of common folk making their way toward the mysterious grove across the fields....his fields.

Though the Siba was normally placid and predictable, it would a times overflow its banks if the winter melt from the mountains combined with too much spring rain. As a result the nearby lands were not farmed, left to the grasses and reeds. Crossing the fields, he walked into the tall native grasses along the rivers bank, and down what had become a well-beaten path. As he drew near, he could see that the trees did seem to glow with a soft inner light and they bore blooms of varying hues.

Standing at the edge of the grove, he craned his neck upward to appreciate the soaring height of the trees and their astounding beauty. As he lowered his gaze he noted the exotic fruits that hung heavy from the branches, and the growing assemblage of sight-seers gathering....on his land. There were perhaps a dozen caracan Settlers picnicking on blankets just beyond the shade of the lustrous trees. Nearby were four halfling huddled and speaking in hushed tones as they motioned emphatically at the grove. Two kobolds squatting on their haunches with their eyes closed appeared to be praying...all of this on his land. The young noble stood and pondered the trees. A group of humans and mer emerged from the riverside trail to stand adjacent to him. The mer were quiet and reserved as was their nature, but one of the humans presumably visiting Kapet from the far city of Enterprise approached him, clapped him on the shoulder and whistled loudly, "Damnedest thing I've ever seen! Heard the sprung up nearly overnight too."

For a moment he considered demanding everyone of these trespasser get off of his land, but instead he heaved a great sigh and walked toward the trees. There was an audible murmur from the onlookers as he walked deliberately past them, beneath the canopy of the trees and into the heart of the grove. Almost immediately his concerns were swept away, and all he could contemplate was the astounding beauty of the trees, "How could I have ever thought that this....belonged to me. This land and all that grows upon it is not mine to possess." Wait...what? Where had that thought come from?

That's when he saw....her. The unearthly vision that stepped from a silvery tree that appeared as a flowering maple yet was weighed down with golden clusters of grape-like fruits. She strode across the heart of the grove, her copper skin draped in a raiment of ephemeral vines and blossoms that left little to the imagination. Her hair was the color of wheat straw, but fell like silk across her slender shoulders and down her back. Young Aeru stood dumbstruck, staring into the bewitching creature's violet-hued eyes, and knew....he had to have her.

Iseu - Enterprise

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by Draken

"Ho, ho. A young explorer and merchant. Welcome, Iseu, son of Hiru of Catan. Your people have been good to me and mine. We will soon launch the first of what shall surely be many great vessels we learned of from the caracan. As for me..."

The pool bubbles and out of the center rises a tower of oil in the rough shape of nothing with a pair of tentacles to the sides as if arms and a hump to the front as if a head.

"I am Vanderbilt, Leader of Black Gold, Lord of Enterprise. Are you here to join us?"

Iseu smiled broadly at the welcoming words, then watched in amazement as the central pool animated into a tentacled oily figured. Struggling to maintain any hint of composure, "My...my apologies Lord Vanderbilt, t'was not my intent to barge in like this. I was merely seeking refuge from some....confusion in the streets." Pushing down any thought of recent, disturbing events, he bowed low, "You do me honor, and words are too kind by half. The good people of Enterprise have proven valued business partners for my father and, in truth, all of the Settlers. We've learned much and more, and if the activity in your shipyards is any indicator, your fleet will be the envy of many. I must confess, you do have me at a loss. What mean you when you say 'join us'?"

Unconsciously and unbidden his hand moved slowly to the mask beneath his shirt.

Molran - Mefaun

The lands of Molran were known to the Settler merchant captains that made their trade run from Kapet to Enterprise, but those intrepid would-be-explorers that had made landfall there had only ever reported dismal swamps. Consul Damu, however, had recently taken up the great challenge of funding the Settler fleet to map out the lands, known and unknown, of the southern hemisphere. So it was that Commodore Vojku, of the famed raids upon the goblin pirates of Simbani, had traversed the straits separating Molran and Catan. To his surprise, the lead catamaran of his little fleet spotted a city where the swamps of Molran met the northern jungles.

He had ordered the ships anchored, and insisted upon leading the landing party. Pushing up on the shore they were greeted by an amphibian looking people hauling goods upon the flat backs of some great turtle. No one knew their mission more than Vojku - trade partners and possible allies - so he retrieved the Derro spices, fine textiles of Enterprise, as well as numerous luxury items from Kapet and offered them up to the Saug. As plainly as he could, he made known to them that he would travel to their city and meet their leaders.

**BladeofObliviom** · 2019-04-02, 03:57 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler

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Originally Posted by Razade

The Deserts of Chyron: A Magpie

Two Gods had stumbled into the Necropolis, dreaming. But the Dreamer was aware of others, elsewhere, lost to their own fancies. Some would probably never wake...fodder for the Dreamer...others however were only just now waking, the echoes of powers pulled from Creation. Yet more Gods slumbered, but one was just now waking. From the Necropolis, a Gloam traveled for they saw in the writings they must be present.

From the void, that dream did and the clarion grew louder. The magpies had left but in the furious heat of an ancient desert a single sparrow was on wing with a rainbow bead clutched in its tiny claws. "You've awoken." it chirped as it settled on the thorn of a mighty cactus shriveled under the heat of a dead god's fury. The little thing dropped its bead upon the sands, opalescent colors swirling in the light. "Hurry, hurry, you must find shade. The deserts are no place to wander!"

The Deserts of Chryon: A Magpie

The man paused, as if he'd never seen a sparrow speak before. The bead dropped only to disappear in midair: Snatched away by the third hand. He was only dimly aware of his reflexes, even as his fingers fondled the marble.

"Have I? I'll confess I've never encountered a sparrow that speaks before, outside the realm of dreams. Is the naked sky here so frightening, even to one of your kind?", he wondered aloud, glancing to the heavens and placing a hand to his veiled brow, cursory protection from the brightness of Chyron's gaze. "I suppose it is a little bright." The heat didn't bother him much. Was that strange? He had a sense that it was, somehow.

"Perhaps I can do something about that...", he mused aloud before reaching out and grasping at something, up in the skies above. He pulled, and something tore from the sky, a curious rush of sensation as the heat peeled from its surroundings. A sudden chill struck and the sky became muted, the man's breath misting as he held something in one hand, face the very image of some impossible triumph. With a stroke of inspiration, he passed the intangible quantity to his third hand where the opalescent bead was held, and put the stolen heat and light inside. He admired the bauble he'd altered a moment, before looking back up at the sparrow.

"Is that better? I think I might have overdone it, just a tad."

Spoiler: AP Actions (13/16)

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Alter Land (2AP, counter Chryonic Desert, sorta) - Create The Cold Place, an impossible region within the Chryonic Desert where Prince of Magpies has stolen the heat and light, and sequestered it in a tiny glass ball. The Cold Place is, as its name implies, extremely cold; enough so that snow might fall if it were not located in a desert. The Cold Place does not warm during the daytime and does not cool at night, remaining at a steady temperature: It rejects Chryon's rules entirely. The Cold Place is much colder than its surroundings and the air is much denser, so the local air currents form a massive updraft around the cold place, exciting the weather in the area and making it very easy to fly over, should such a thing be desirable.

The little glass marble contains, in essence, a stolen piece of Chryon's Will and the existence of The Cold Place is at least in part dependent on the stolen heat remaining contained in the marble, making it in some sense a divine artifact. However, it has no particular powers and serves as little more than a pretty bauble, a tiny sun encased in glass.

Curse (Prince's Veil Charge) - An unintended consequence of the Theft that created The Cold Place, the winds of the Chryonic Desert have been excited, and sandstorms have greatly increased in frequency, intensity, and range; the greatest of them now reach as far north as the lands of the Thirty Tribes.

Trickery(Thieves): (2/10)

**Razade** · 2019-04-02, 05:04 AM (ISO 8601)

A Flight of Wagons: Kapet

The Suzume were a constant sight in Caracan lands as trade began to flow however none had seen such a large fleet of trading wagons. At least not this far into Caracan lands, the Suzume more eager to keep to the edges of Caracan society. Nor had any Caracan seen a Derro Noble at their head. In truth...only Jelu and a select few had ever seen a Derro Noble anywhere. The Derro Nobility, like the chiefs of the past, were expected to remain on holy ground though as the division between the priests of the Ur'Wen and the Nobility widened...new jobs were required.

The large fleet pressed forward, trading as they went, until they reached Kapet where further unusual actions began. The Derro wagons encircled and began a festival. Candies of elemental tastes and textures were brought forth, song and dance were enjoined and even the typical haash and bread was strange. Sweet fermented milks of dark yellow hues colored by anatto seed and sweet breads baked with vanilla, cream and rich flour were present to any brave enough to join in with the celebration around the wagon camp. The Derro even took off their masks, save for the Noble, who instead moved to find the Matron Mothers or whoever else passed for the local leadership.

The Derro Noble still kept their savage grace but the Derro had surely progressed greatly with the aid of the Caracan and the Mer. Long robes of fur lined silks in dark greens and tans covered their form and the quickly ubiquitous masks the Derro had fashioned covered their face. Unlike the Suzume who bore the masks of dog and wolf and fox, the Noble wore a mask of pure white, powerful antlers of Flame Iron sweeping back that cast a glimmering of light no matter how dark the world became. Other elemental jewelry littered their fingers and even the clasps of their robes shone with Elemental Water, making even the simple iron they were sparkle and gleam like glass. Three other Derro stood at the Noble's back, obviously warriors by their ebonwood spears and unmasked faces. These warriors carried with them large crates and of course portions of the fair food.

The Bay of Three Homes: Wano and the Mer

The Derro had found a great love in the ships of the Caracan and the many shipyards that dotted the shores of Wano were alive with many an Ebonwood clipper or junk to ply the waves. The first task was to set up trading posts for the Mer to congregate. The many bays that made the maritime boarder of Wano was home to many islands but the three largest would suffice for this mission. Known as the Three Homes, these islands were owned by the Imperial Family though they were loaned to the various nobles for the purpose of further relations with the Mer.

Vast bridges and towers were built upon the large islands, canals were dug so there would always be a way to travel with water for the Mer and even many of the homes and guest buildings were built with deep pools. A temple to the Sisters was even erected on the central of the Three Homes and messengers were sent through the various means in which the Derro could contact the Mer in their offical capacities.

When the Mer arraived, however they arraived, a small delegation awaited on the Three Home's shores with the usual haash and bread but other fine tasting things as well. The Derro knew the Mer to like strong flavors and would be nothing short of accommodating.

The Deserts of Fallen Chyron: A Magpie and a Sparrow

"The sky is frightening, when naked or not." The sparrow chirpped loudly, a flutter of wings as it moved its perch to a higher thorn. "Storms move across the lands, casting devestation in their wake. You are on the First Lands and they are ancient. The bones of an ancient beneath and the dreams of another above. All about, the ruins of a people that came before your kind. Blasted and devestated. New gods make war here now but these wars are just new wars. Old wars raged here, and their gods have gone. You'd be wise to be afraid but also poorer. There's beauty in being frightened."

With another flap the sparrow took to wing as the vast thermals erupted about them. "A splended trick, what else can you do? All the other new gods do is make misery. You seal it away. Are you a hero? Were you born to bring the world right? Or simply line your pockets? What will you do now? Where will you go? A Giant of Flame rules the North on islands that blech the molten lifeblood of the very world into the sky. To the south a Goddess of Water dwells beneath the waves, her peoples singing the songs that make the mountains move. Far stranger things to the west, tigers that breath water. The East is a cold place this time of year and the oceans run solid like steel. Only darkness can be found there, only monsters, only misery and nightmares. Beneath the world is safe. There is knowledge to be found in the tomb of the ancients. Or will you go elsewhere? Beyond this veil? Oh Hero, mighty and brave. Perhaps you will find what you seek on the Engraved Plains, here on these lands and at its heart where Stones speak and dreams are made clear."

With its great flight done, the sparrow instead seeks to perch upon the god's shoulder. "There is also a tree. A tree so radiant that it warms the very world. Ilthanos they call it, born of a enslaved goddess whose sisters have done nothing to break her chains. It rests on an island all its own where the blood of nature breeds life. You will have to brave the Caldera then, a worse place you have never seen. The sky is not the only thing that fightens so. There are horrors enough on the lands to make a mortal man weep with dread. But you, you are no mortal man. Oh Hero, you would be a god. If only you could steal that. How mighty would you be?"

**ChaoticHarmony** · 2019-04-02, 09:51 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Previously

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North of the burgeoning city of Kapet, in a bend of the placid Siba River, the circle of trees seemingly sprouted over night, growing and maturing with such rapidity they were surely god-touched. As such they garnered much attention from the locals, and young Lord Aeru grew distraught at the comings and goings on his land. Aeru had recently inherited his father's lands and estate as well as his seat within the Conclave. Being the nearest holdings to Kapet, Aeru spent a majority of his time there, leaving the management of his farms and tenants to his mother Li'ia. As word trickled in, and the rumors grew, he was moved to investigate for himself.

He traveled alone, reaching the great bend in the river by mid-morning. The ring of trees was clearly evident from the road. He dismounted and led his horse by its reins. Sure enough, he encountered a handful of common folk making their way toward the mysterious grove across the fields....his fields.

Though the Siba was normally placid and predictable, it would a times overflow its banks if the winter melt from the mountains combined with too much spring rain. As a result the nearby lands were not farmed, left to the grasses and reeds. Crossing the fields, he walked into the tall native grasses along the rivers bank, and down what had become a well-beaten path. As he drew near, he could see that the trees did seem to glow with a soft inner light and they bore blooms of varying hues.

Standing at the edge of the grove, he craned his neck upward to appreciate the soaring height of the trees and their astounding beauty. As he lowered his gaze he noted the exotic fruits that hung heavy from the branches, and the growing assemblage of sight-seers gathering....on his land. There were perhaps a dozen caracan Settlers picnicking on blankets just beyond the shade of the lustrous trees. Nearby were four halfling huddled and speaking in hushed tones as they motioned emphatically at the grove. Two kobolds squatting on their haunches with their eyes closed appeared to be praying...all of this on his land. The young noble stood and pondered the trees. A group of humans and mer emerged from the riverside trail to stand adjacent to him. The mer were quiet and reserved as was their nature, but one of the humans presumably visiting Kapet from the far city of Enterprise approached him, clapped him on the shoulder and whistled loudly, "Damnedest thing I've ever seen! Heard the sprung up nearly overnight too."

For a moment he considered demanding everyone of these trespasser get off of his land, but instead he heaved a great sigh and walked toward the trees. There was an audible murmur from the onlookers as he walked deliberately past them, beneath the canopy of the trees and into the heart of the grove. Almost immediately his concerns were swept away, and all he could contemplate was the astounding beauty of the trees, "How could I have ever thought that this....belonged to me. This land and all that grows upon it is not mine to possess." Wait...what? Where had that thought come from?

That's when he saw....her. The unearthly vision that stepped from a silvery tree that appeared as a flowering maple yet was weighed down with golden clusters of grape-like fruits. She strode across the heart of the grove, her copper skin draped in a raiment of ephemeral vines and blossoms that left little to the imagination. Her hair was the color of wheat straw, but fell like silk across her slender shoulders and down her back. Young Aeru stood dumbstruck, staring into the bewitching creature's violet-hued eyes, and knew....he had to have her.

Zinni steps from her silvery tree with a small smile of content on her face. It has not been very long since she and her sisters have bloomed in this place, and already they have had so many visitors. So many curious eyes wanting to see their new home, apparently it is uncommon for trees to simply grow overnight in this land. No matter, it has given them a chance to learn about the grand City that lies just out of sight from their roots, and the many cultures of the people before them.

Zinni takes a deep, satisfied breath before scanning the grove for Mandra, her sister of the red needle pine that sits a few trees over. Zinni smiles at the individuals who have come to their grove as her sight passes over them. She spots a pair of children, one met one halfling, playing under the branches of Hycin's tree, an ivory colored oak bearing bright pink fruit that resembles pears. A couple of kobolds knelt in prayer beneath the shade of Tul's tree, a peaceful willow with dark blue bark, strung with darker blue peaches. There was a group of halfings who almost seem to be conspiring by the pale pink birch that was Prim's tree. Heavy green apples, each easily the size of those halflings' heads, dangled precariously above them. And next to them....

"HELLO!" A bright orange face of a woman suddenly appears upside down right in front of the caracan lord. Crying out in surprise, Aeru stumbles backward, barely catching himself on a low hanging vine dangling nearby (Was that there when I arrived?) Childish giggling can be heard in front of him. "Mandra! There you are! You shouldn't be scaring new guests like that." There she was, the object of his new found affections, gracefully strolling over towards them. "I'm sorry Zinni! But he was staring so hard, I thought he was changing to stone! I did it to save his Life!" So Zinni was her name. Another woman, the one who so drastically surprised him, drops down from the branches above, a wide smile crossing her bright orange face. Mandra stands just a couple inches shorter than the one called Zinni, every inch of her exposed skin a luminescent orange that contrasts greatly with the long braid of jet black hair cascading down her down her neck towards her chest. She is dressed just as scantily as the lovely Zinni, but unlike the swirling patterns of green accentuating her body, Mandra's vines appear to be soft brown and jagged, like the roots of freshly pulled ginger.

Vinni gives the orange girl a stern look, but her eyes are clearly smiling. "You know very well that one cannot be faulted for being stunned at the beauty of the grove. Now Mandra, if you would please go around and speak with people? I believe a couple of our guests may be ready and willing to learn." "Gladly Zinni! I'll see you later!" Mandra looks back at the staggered Caracan, gives a knowing wink and sticks out her surprisingly pink tongue at him, before getting swatted on her rear by Zinni and dashing off towards the praying Kobolds. "Please forgive my sibling, she is one of the more lively of our bunch. Welcome to our home! I'm sure you are weary from your travels, would you like anything to eat?" Zinni bows slightly as she speaks to Aeru, out of respect for his station or out of general respect, he can not tell. Her voice sounds musical and light, and her smile stays warm and soft.

Spoiler: AP Usage

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Started with 6/16 AP 0/1 PAP

Rollover +4 AP +1 PAP

Ended with 10/16 AP 1/1 PAP

**mystic1110** · 2019-04-02, 10:31 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by RolandDeschain

Turu - Alamut

The training was difficult for him so he could only imagine how it must have been for those.....less gifted. In truth, the physical test were mostly demanding because of the psychological stress of literally trying to be in three places at once. He learned how to cordon off parts of his consciousness to great affect. He focused purely on mastery of the Shadow Arts and had learned early on that his lich masters would suffer no fools nor weaknesses. The art of disguise was nearly worthless to him, and as such his focus would drift, often resulting in harsh punishments. He learned to accept without complaint the rigid discipline by coming to realize that if he mastered the methods of disguise he would be forever able to detect them in others. More than one of his fellow students fell victim to the very poisons they were learning, and much to his dismay he discovered that his unique compost form did not render him immune to all poisons. There were a number that seemed particularly toxic to certain biological types...the fumes of the ground up deathshead mushrooms would make him horribly ill for days at a time; suffering from nearly paralyzing headaches.

Weapons training and stealth were the areas that fascinating him the most. To his surprise he discovered that his mongoose brethren surpassed him in nearly every way when it came to stealth and subtly. Try as he might, he could never maintain the level of focus to keep his three distinct bodies hidden. Being the first detected nearly every time, lead him to adapt to the weapons training quickly....he would often find himself(ves) surrounded and attacked on all sides. Mastery of the quarterstaff have proven most helpful and was something he took to naturally. His skill was unparalleled among his peers, and he could best all but the Masters and Liches IF he was allowed to focus purely on his true self and not maintain focus elsewhere.. The dagger and chain proved more difficult however, and to his chagrin none of his mongooses personas stood at the head of their respective classes due to his divided concentration. Perhaps that was for the best though, he did not want to stand out.

At the end of his first year, the number of mongoose initiates had dropped to just fourteen. When it came time for the sparring and choosing by the older students, it was before all - singular matches against older students with masters, liches, and pupils in attendance. No split consciousness on this day. He excelled, and as planned. Each of his three selves was chosen - one for each style, Centipede, Antlion, and Wasp. His challenge now was to live as three, completely separated from himself. The classes did not sleep, eat, study, nor spar together. He was excited and terrified all at once. Gathering his things he did not notice the ancient lich that had come to stand directly before him, and as he straighten, he startled...nearly toppling over backwards. He couldn't help it, his other selves flinched, one near the door, and one sitting lotus-style against the far wall.

The croaking voice that spoke through rotting vocal chords said only, "I see you Turu." Had he a heart, it would have been pounding in his chest, as he watched the Shadow Art Lich glide silently away.

The Tutelage of Turu

The Lich shambled away from Turu. Ah, th' laddie thooght he coods rockit heem. Hawhaw, mair th' rockit than he shoods hae bin. Part ay th' trainin' was tae realize 'at ye coods nae troost yer ain min' - only troost th' instructions tae be given. Only troost th' mark. Hoo else coods ye kill if ye did nae gie everythin' ay yerself tae death itself? E'en troost? Tae troost anythin' but death, tae troost yer ain min' was tae troost life. An' life, ah 'at coldhearted huir, she was as untrustworthy as anythin' else. Only death was solid.

And on and on the Lich's thoughts went, for he knew the wee lad's sec . . . . Hawhaw wee lads' secrets. He would see if Turu could survive the trainings in the three professions. Antlion were, of course, the masters of all manner of traps, wasps were taught in the secrets of all poisons, and centipedes excelled in the various weapon skills. He doubted that Turu would be able to pass the final tests. The final test was for the trainees to ventures farther into the mists of Alamut.

You see there was a reason that none of the trainees were as good as the masters or the graduated assassins. Even the best of the students weren't as quick, weren't as adept in combat in the dark, weren't as comfortable with deadly poisons. That was because for the final test each third year was taken to the edge of the cloud upon which Alamut half rested on and was told to trust in death and step forward into the mist. For those that did believe in death, instead of plunging to the ground below, they would step onto the mist and upon walking further would find themselves in a strange faraway forest. They could turn back and see the dim light of Ilanthos so they knew that they were still on the First World, but the light was so far away that they knew they had traversed miles and miles. They were in a strange forest and if they inspected the ground they would see that the grass and trees grew directly from brass. They were in the search of an egg.

That's what the masters told them. They were to find an egg, crack it and drink its contents, and find their way back. What they didn't know was what these eggs belonged too. In truth, this was the Forest of Turrim Autem, and not only did they have to avoid the Gear God's servants but they were in search of the eggs of the Slaadi, strangely colored frog like humanoids. The Slaadi were dangerous - quick - leeping and hopping faster than any of them could react. They were extremely poisonous and could spit such poison and acid faster than any of their shurikens or arrows. Only the best of the students would be able to sneak through this strange forest, avoid the Sentinels and the Slaadi themselves, steal an eggs from a Brood Mother, crack it and drink it, and as the eggs changed them from the inside, poisoning them, they had to do it all in reverse and step on the mist towards Alamut. Few were good enough.

And Turu would have to find three eggs.

Ah, an' th' eggs waur marvels, the Lich though. Wi' a bevvy ay their yolk ye coods see in th' mirk, nae poison coods tooch ye an' ye waur as fest as onie puddock coods react. The Lich mused at the thought of if Turu somehow managed to survive his training and make it to the final test, and if Turu would be able to find three such eggs and come back. What would he become? Whit woods he become, the Lich thought.

Spoiler: AP Bookeeping

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7 AP

1 AP Alter Land - The Fortress of Alamut. Home of Mongoose Assassins and Exiled Liches who teach the Shadow Arts. It is located in the Crags, and is half on the top of a misty mountain and half on the solid Mist.

1 AP the mists near Alamut can lead one to and back from the Forest on the Top Cog of Turrim Autem

1 AP Bless - those that eat a Slaadi's egg become immune from poison, can see in the dark, and have all around otherworldly reflexes and endurance. Oddly the eggs juices do not make them stronger - almost as if eating the egg is meant to create perfect assassins.

4 AP

**bc56** · 2019-04-02, 12:20 PM (ISO 8601)

SUMMUS - PAVING A NEW ROAD

Summus walked on, towards its destination. As it moved, it crushed everything in its path, trees and plants flattened by its titanic footfalls. Nothing would stop its advance.
Until it heard a tiny voice shout "Stop!"
Summus stepped back and bent down to look at the sound. A halfling was pinned beneath a fallen tree in its path. Summus reached down and removed the offending plant, then scooped the halfling up. "ARE YOU HURT, LITTLE ONE?" The halfling nodded, whimpering in pain and fear. Both his legs were badly broken. "I KNOW PEOPLE WITH THE ABILITY TO HEAL YOU. COME WITH ME." Summus set off, redoubling its pace. As it moved, the stone beneath the earth rose to meet it's footfalls, forming a solid path through the rough ground of the First Land.

Turrim Autem - the Plague of Frogs

The first expedition to the top layer of Turrim Autem in order to cut wood was a massive failure. The logging party was attacked by a pack of Slaadi, and although there were no deaths, the woodcutting machine was damaged beyond repair, and a new one needed to be built. The Remade gathered together, preparing weapons for a second expedition.
The systems of the tower recognized this, and determined that there was indeed a threat to the continued existence of the Remade. Next to the production line for Iron Janitors, a new set of devices came online, smelting and hammering away. Soon, new creations, made of bronze and wielding blades of obsidian were stepping off the assembly line and traveling to protect the tower and its inhabitants.

Turrim Autem - What do you do with an assassin?

The mongoose squirmed in the Janitor's iron grip. The chamber was pitch-dark, the only light came from the metal creature's unblinking eye. Standing in front of him, angrily, was a female kobold. "Who are you, and what are you doing on my tower?" She asked yet again. She was incredibly patient. The mongoose was getting hungry and sleepy, but the kobold hadn't stopped for a rest or a bite to eat yet, and showed no signs of needing to anytime soon. The interrogation hadn't turned violent yet either. It had just been a lot of sitting and staring between the prisoner and the questioner.
Time passed. The mongoose fell asleep and awoke again to find the kobold still there, writing something on a piece of pressed seaweed. Later that day, more seaweed was brought in, and the writing continued. Water was brought in for the mongoose to drink. Finally, a new question was asked. "What do you eat?"
The mongoose hesitantly replied, "Meat."
"Roddl!" the kobold cried out of the door of the room, "Have someone go catch some fish for our guest." She turns back to the mongoose again. "It'll be here shortly. Put him down." The last comment was addressed to the Iron Janitor, which obeyed. "I am going to let you go, but not without price." She passes the mongoose a medallion, a gear with a pattern of a droplet of water caught between two points artfully engraved on its surface. "Take this back to your people. Tell them of Tenebreon, King of Caverns, Designer in Darkness, God of Gears. Tell them of the mercy his followers showed to you, and of the power of his sacred art. Tell them how to find their way here, so that if they wish to learn from us, they can." A kobold entered with a small platter of fish. "Now take your meal and go, I will show you to the surface."

Spoiler: AP actions:

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Start: 1/20.
Rollover: +5
Create Advanced Concept: Surgery [Knowledge (open source) 5/10] (Artifact Charge)
There are some injuries to great for herbs and remedies to heal. In order to repair these, one must learn the art of stitching flesh and setting bone. It's a crude science, still in its infancy.

Alter Land: The Great Boulevard [Society (cities) 3/10] Summus's path traces a long highway of earth beaten smooth, and later stone conjured from beneath the ground to form a more solid road. It stretches from just east of the Engraved Plains, near the homeland of the Thirty Tribes, to the lands of the Scholars of Stone, and makes travel and trade between those areas much easier.

Create Monstrous Life: Bronze Guardians [Society (cities) 4/10]
Whereas Iron Janitors have a domestic role, Bronze Guardians are optimized for combat. They appear as disks of bronze, their limbs and eyestalks extending from their flat sides. They wield slender obsidian blades suited for close-quarters combat, and when not standing to fight, they move by rolling along their outer rim. There are exactly half as many Bronze Guardians as Iron Janitors, with 32 stationed in ea

Teach Advanced Concept: Clockwork to the Clan of the Crags. [Knowledge (open source) 6/10]
Their contact with Turrim Autem does not leave the mongooses unchanged. Slowly but surely, the knowledge of Tenebreon and his mechanical wonders begins to seep into the Clan of the Crags.

**Nefarion Xid** · 2019-04-02, 04:14 PM (ISO 8601)

The Fountainhead & Fountainshoulders

It was probably Mamona’s idea of a prank. There was never quite a clear delineation between what she found amusing and what was just naked self indulgence. The fountain was a bit of both, but the sages who knew the gods best would guess that such an act leaned in the direction of the former -- a monument to vanity, yes, but a jest that would have her giggling for centuries.

There was a quiet place well within the heart of goblin territory, a combe set in a rocky hill. Green feet had scant touched the earth here, spare to venture in after desperate and bewildered game far off the trail. Deer knew better than to elude their hunters here; there was no exit to the narrow vale and the cliffs, though short, were too precarious to climb.

Though, such it was that an orc huntress did encounter the blessed place. Stalking the doe that had been sent to guide her here, the young woman soon realized she walked upon holy ground. Thoughts of her quarry fled her mind and her mother’s horn bow her slipped from her fingers.

Carved from pale granite, the image of the goddess could not have been pulled from the stone in a sculptor's lifetime, not with simple bronze chisels. Mamona, horned, naked and glorious knelt at the far end of a shallow pool. The huntress knew the visage and shape of the Queen of Lust. Such things came from distant lands, but coins and statuettes exalting the bounteous one did find their way into orc hands through plunder. The horns made it obvious, of course, but no other goddess was portrayed quite so generously. Mamona’s fat lips were parted in a demure, self satisfied grin as she bathed beneath a miraculous waterfall in the cliff side. Water fed by unseen and inexplicable pressure gushed from the rock to spill over her hair and shoulders before cascading down her front and back in thick, glistening rivulets.

Wild grapes grew here. The vines too seemed to spill off the rocks and sagged nearly to the pool, burdened and pendulous with red berries grown to the size of ripe tomatoes. Beneath the rippling, crystal water, a small fortune to gold coins and jewelry were scattered across the smooth stone, eagerly awaiting to be possessed.

Spoiler: Actions

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0 AP Bless (Artifact Charge, Week 7) - The effects of the holy fountain become obvious after any interaction. Any mortal humanoid creature who drinks from or bathes in the fountain, or eats the grapes here is blessed with great beauty, at least Mamona’s standards of beauty. Orcish women retain their athletic, sinewy physiques, but develop (overly) generous curves and soft faces with delicate feminine features. Both sexes grow luxurious, thick hair and and experience an increase to their fertility and libidos. Men become more slender and androgynous by orcish standards, though much more appealing to other humanoid races. Orcish women who accept Mamona’s blessing also reliably give birth to noble orcish children, instead of simple goblins.

Goblins are better (or worse) affected, becoming not only dangerously voluptuous and fertile, but amorous as well. Standard goblin litters swell from six to nine or more. Given unrestricted access to the fountain, goblins will become less bellicose as they grow preoccupied with their lustful indulgences, but their population will also swell to worrying numbers within a few generations.

There is also enough gold in the pool to jump-start one orcish woman’s political or military ambitions.

**mystic1110** · 2019-04-02, 07:35 PM (ISO 8601)

A Dole of Bixi

Evolution, actual evolution is a slow and languid concept. Strangely, evolution propagated by the languid goddess of the storms was a more vigorous concept.

They have always been there among the coral and the shores of the first world. The Derro had prized their carapace as a symbol of longevity, the Mer had prized them as symbols of Fortune. The Raj had always viewed them as delicacies, and the Caracan sometimes adopted them as pets, to remind them of the sea when their sailing days were behind them.

Turtles were not ever-present nor were they rare. They just were. And perhaps the storms of Eniym were more . . . lets us say Waxen . . . but the currents reacted to the storms as a younger lover learns from their elder, and the migrations of the turtles changed. The current took them to the largely uninhabited island that stood between Ilanthos and the Tower of Turrim Autem. There they discovered, amid the turbulent ocean and the devastating fire of the sky above a shockingly clear and pristine estuary. The estuary appeared throughout the northern-most end of the island as a complex series of salt-water ponds connected by the thin streams.

There the turtles migrated up the Estuary and there began to build their nests. Perhaps there was a certain algae in those waters, some slime, or some even a rain of heavily liquor, whatever it was, the turtles that lived there grew larger. Their Carapaces grew to be the size of small houses, their leathery skin grew as tough as stone. Their toothless mouths grew fangs. And they learned to speak, a strange and slow language that sounded like the rumbling of time itself.

The Bixi were peaceful and reclusive - if a mer would venture up to the Dole, they would most likely hide. The Raj was not even aware of them. They were a mild people that, when not swimming in their lakes would sleep in mud and moss huts, to keep cool during the time the Dawnfly was overhead. If there was one strange thing about their race as of yet - although who the gods could tell what they would become, after all, who saw mongooses become the killers that they are now? - it was their worship of Eniym.

Most races didn't pray to her, let alone know her, and if they did know her, either in her aspect of the Fish or in later legends as the Witch, who prayed to the Fish Witch or the Witch of Fishes? Perhaps desperate lovers, or the bitterest of enemies? And yet, to the Bixi, both aspects of Eniym, that is - the Flying and White Turtle were their two prime goddesses. They saw her in her forms as the balance of nature - the communion of nature with itself and with others. And from this, they had their ideal that they too would live together with nature.

But nature, in this world, and any other, is not peaceful, they would come to learn - and what would the Bixi do when they do learn that to live with such violent nature is to find the violent nature in themselves?

And perhaps that was Eniym's intent. Perhaps not.

Spoiler: AP Bookeeping

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4 AP
2 AP Create Sapient Life - The Bixi. They are for all intents and purposes just really big turtles - they are not like Chinese Bixi which are turtle shelled dragons. The Bixi are large and they are tough - but they are extremely peaceful and are currently just . . . being well spoke turtles in their salt-water lakes.
1 Alter Land - The Dole, which means Group of Turtles is what the Large complex of salt-water lakes on the top of the island between Ilanthos and Turirim Autem 1 AP

**Draken** · 2019-04-02, 07:37 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by RolandDeschain

Iseu - Enterprise

Iseu smiled broadly at the welcoming words, then watched in amazement as the central pool animated into a tentacled oily figured. Struggling to maintain any hint of composure, "My...my apologies Lord Vanderbilt, t'was not my intent to barge in like this. I was merely seeking refuge from some....confusion in the streets." Pushing down any thought of recent, disturbing events, he bowed low, "You do me honor, and words are too kind by half. The good people of Enterprise have proven valued business partners for my father and, in truth, all of the Settlers. We've learned much and more, and if the activity in your shipyards is any indicator, your fleet will be the envy of many. I must confess, you do have me at a loss. What mean you when you say 'join us'?"

Unconsciously and unbidden his hand moved slowly to the mask beneath his shirt.

"Black Gold, of course. Most of those visitors I receive from the outside are applicants to our numbers. Well, there is the occasional immigrant and thus far three ill informed assassins."

"And confusion in the streets is it? Tell me what happened Iseu. Any trouble in the streets of Enterprise is my business."

--------

[Armada and the Protectorate]

The Free Cities are not a unified nation. Far from it, the island of humanity is split into a number of major city states and the petty realms that serve as a buffer between their territories. The self-styled kings of these small domains are, by all accounts, not very different from the feudal lords of Catan, besides the part where they lack any higher central authority granting them their right to rule. Most are indeed mere warlords in constant conflict with their neighbours, half are functionally impossible to tell from groups of bandits. Most of the larger cities hire out these gangs of soldiers as mercenaries for whatever conflicts might arise between them. Except one, the northern coastal city of Armada.

Armada is notable among the Free Cities for three reasons. First, the larger number of orcs it counts among its citizens, and by a similar measure, the large number of goblins it counts among its populace. Second, for boasting one of the largest and most well trained armies of the Free Cities. And third, for the ancient pact it made with the Raj.

Indeed, it was sixteen generations ago that the warlord of Armada made the deal with the Raj that earned him the title of Empyrean Protector, originally simplified to Skylord and in more recent days shortened to Emperor, for indeed, thanks to this contract with the rakshasa, Armada and its ruler controls the largest territory among the Free Cities, as much of the Protectorate is under the nominal control of the Imperial Family of Armada, who swear their fealty to the Emperor (or Empress, it really depends on the generation) and to the Rajahs.

But fealty is a quaint thing, and the Exalted Protectors of the Dry Realms, as they like to be referred to, do little more for the capital and the Raj than pay a tithe of produce and slaves as their agreements dictate, and these noble men and women have for a long time now done little more than enjoy the fruits of their serf's labors while leaving all matters of economy and state to Black Gold, reserving only whatever modicum of legislative power is afforded them by the capital and rakshasa to sate their own lusts.

For their part, almost everyone involved is happy with the arrangement. Not because it is good for them, that is certain, but because the men and women of Black Gold have established an interesting setup to keep the passions of the people under control. The Rakshasa caste system helped this to some extent.

The first and largest caste of the Protectorate are the serfs. These men and women of human, halfling and goblin origins are ill-educated and mostly lead lives of farming within specific plots of land that have been managed for generations. Serfs are encouraged to worship specific aspects of the Sororitas and Mamona, mostly those that lead to their population growing, as Black Gold drafts any extraneous members of the caste to receive the higher learning that will make them prized slaves by the Rakshasa (in keeping with their agreements), or in rare cases, worthwhile new members.

The second caste would be equivalent to the common populace of Armada, known as villeins, and are the proper citizens of the protectorate who need not worry about being issued to the Sea Tigers as chattel, these people are craftsmen and bureaucrats, and tasked with maintaining the daily operations of the Protectorate as well as the livelihood of those above them. Contrary to their meaningful degree of capability, it is even more rare for them to join Black Gold than for serfs, as the villeins hold deep seated prejudices towards the foreign administrators, for a variety of reasons, but mostly for how much power and wealth they hold without taking on the risks of being a citizen.

The citizens are the third caste, and they are citizens not of the Protectorate, but of Armada. These are the members of the populace who have joined the military and in so doing obtained a variety of rights, ranging from subsidiary ownership of plots of land and the accompanying serfs to positions of power in the settlements of the protectorate. Citizens hardly ever exercise any of the authority they have earned, however, most deferring these responsibilities to Black Gold agents, as they must train in the arts of warfare and maintain the public safety of the Protectorate and the capitol. Citizens never join Black Gold, and indeed, most would consider doing so treason against the empire, as Enterprise's administrators are a known but unsolvable problem, agents of a foreign power and servants of a dark master from depths different from their own.

Last, and certainly least in numbers, are the Exalted Protectors of the Dry Realms, or the Imperial Dukes of the Protectorate of Armada, or the High Honorable Families of Mamona's Noblest Lineage or whatever they call themselves these days. The various branches of the imperial family that for better or worse comprise the nominal governing body of the Protectorate. It would be remiss to call all of them indulgent, pointless decorations, but even the best of the lot do mostly employ Black Gold to run their country while they work alongside the citizenry in suppressing local threats of many kinds, rebellions, monsters, tribals, you name it. The worst of the lot, of course, exist primarily to harass and exploit the villeins, guaranteeing that that level of Protectorate society endures the foreign authority of Black Gold if only so they don't have to deal with the much nastier local authority of the nobility.

Black Gold's presence in the Protectorate, for its part, while regarded as foreigners and thus not exactly part of the social ladder, are mostly drawn from local stock. Serfs and villeins of notable skill and unusual disposition (or from families that have long since become integral parts of Black Gold). They are recognizable, as always by the small flasks they carry around their necks, which hum with the voice of a small piece of the Oil Baron Vanderbilt. A grim reminder to all in the Protectorate of what these men and women truly serve... Besides themselves.

**Toxic Mind** · 2019-04-02, 09:46 PM (ISO 8601)

Originally Posted by Draken

"Why, queen Adira, this is my home. And the moss is not gone. Give it a decade or two and it will grow back in. But worry not, it will grow only as fast as grass then. Your soldiers will die of boredom if you send them to face it."

"But yes, I suppose I do want something from the mer. All of my kind want something from the living. We want to be there when your lives flicker, so we can take for our own what is left after the empyrean gods have had their due. But quid pro quo, we are more than willing to pay in advance with our knowledge and let you bloom to your limits before we take our payment."

"I myself am fond of the arts. I cannot weave sorcery into my voice as you do, but you will find few orchestras of my knowledge and skill anywhere in the world."

"Perhaps then you would like to join us in the city? It is the teachings of Marah that all who come in peace and friendship are to be given respect and taught what the Mer have learned." Adira moves closer, away from her retinue. "I have noticed a sickness among my people of late, and I suspect a divine hand in it - great sloth pervades them. Perhaps you are that solution; for who would be slothful if they knew their story would be remembered forever in the High Archivist's very own body?" Adira smiles, a strange gesture given the sharpness of teeth, but likely no stranger to Carnegie than his own form, and clearly without malice. "Those Mer that wish their knowledge and stories to be remembered may offer their bodies to you after they die, and in turn that knowledge is available to us, through you. A mutually beneficial agreement, wouldn't you say?"

A Journey Across the Sea

It had been arduous, as any journey across the sea was, particularly one made by so many Raj. The infighting and politics, arrangements for transport, stopping along the way and making camp were enough to break a lesser mind. It was why he had chosen so many, for he knew that his mind was not lesser, and could handle such things. Even as he invited rivals, allies, and Rakshasha lesser and greater, he maneuvered. It was, all in all, a massive undertaking worthy of his skill. More importantly, it made the dreams stop, his mind too busy with the preparations to even see them. He was grateful for this; the dreams he had were horrific in the extreme. If he were weaker, he might have put enough stock in them to call off the whole venture, but he was not weak. In the nightmares, he saw the oceans burn with unnatural fire, then freeze solid. He saw armies of every race tearing down the glories of the Raj and he saw the Rakshahsa lording over all races of the world. This last one might have brought him joy, but they were pale imitations of true Rakshasha strength; disgustingly bloated creatures, incapable of anything more than giving orders. He knew they would soon be torn down by those they claimed to master. It was this last one that woke him in a cold sweat, seemingly impossible in the water yet present all the same. Every time, across the room, staring at him with her strange, piercing purple eyes, was his Mer servant, his first servant. His mind would not let him call her a slave, because he knew, somehow, that the label was wrong. He had checked the magics himself, seen that they worked, and yet something told him that she stayed because it was her choice and not his compulsion.

But the journey. It was fraught with peril. Many slaves were lost to the great ocean predators, and even to raids by strange creatures from above - small runty things that screeched in ear-piercing voices, and what seemed their larger kin, far fiercer in battle, though still little match in single combat for a Rakshasha warrior. Even smaller furry creatures that used strange poisons, to which the Rakshasha were largely inured, given their algae composition, but which took the lives of many other slaves. Every night one of the camps was attacked, and had to be fiercely defended from predatory creatures. Still, he had planned well, and soon enough the train found themselves on the borders of Mer land. They had seen various Mer villages, outposts and settlements beyond the true borders, settlers and frontiersmer, but this they knew was the true border by two things. First was the stories of the Mer told in their temples, which said that Marah had given the Mer all the land upon which the Coral grew like trees, which the Raj delegation could clearly see. The second, possibly more obvious, was the massive army that awaited them at the border. Ranks of Mer soldiers and warriors, armed with bone spears, tridents, javelins, daggers and some even leading sea predators. There were even those that carried no weapons, instead holding musical instruments of many varieties.

Leading the army was a Female Mer, dressed in finely tailored predator-hide armor and carrying two wicked looking daggers. She wore a helm of coral embossed with silver and seemed to be accompanied by two small furry creatures which capered around her like children. She stood, looking at the Raj with her arms crossed upon her chest, clearly waiting for them to make the first move.

Spoiler: AP

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AP: 13/16 PAP: 1/1
-1PAP: Contribution to Hearthome in the Resplendent Realms
-1AP: Counter Curse: Life, Remembered and Chronicled - Enkidan's curse holds no sway over Mer who know their history will be forever remembered in the High Archivist of the Mer (Carnegie). They push themselves even harder to be the best they can, knowing that their stories and lives will be spoken of, good and bad. (Assuming Carnegie accepts the bargain. If not, new arrangements will be made)

AP: 12/16
Life (Nourishment): 7/10

**bc56** · 2019-04-03, 12:13 AM (ISO 8601)

SUMMUS - A LESSON IN OPEN SOURCERY

Summus and the wounded halfling arrived, just hours after they met, at the capital city of the Scholars of Stone. The militia rallied ineffectively against the titanic invader. Summus said to them, "STOP! I BRING A MESSAGE FROM OUR LORD AND MASTER TENEBREON, AND I HAVE BROUGHT A PERSON IN NEED OF MEDICAL ASSISTANCE." When Summus had demonstrated its peaceful intent (mainly by not stepping on anyone), the Scholars came out to take the halfling (Summus realized it did not know his name later). Then Summus delivered its message. "TENEBREON SEES YOUR WORK AND FINDS IT GOOD. HOWEVER, HE HAS SEEN YOU STOCKPILING KNOWLEDGE WHICH COULD BE USED TO HELP OTHERS. YOU MUST REPENT AND TURN FROM YOUR GREEDY WAYS. SHARE YOUR DESIGNS WITH THE WORLD, AND SEEK MORE PEOPLE TO GIVE THEM TO. TENEBREON COMMANDS US TO BE THE LIGHT OF PROGRESS IN A DANGEROUS WORLD." Not a soul in the city could not hear the construct's voice. The scholars took to heart what Summus had said, and began drafting new plans. They were not the only ones planning.

Explorers 1 - Bixi Island

There was a lot to be said for Turrim Autem. It had everything an inventor might need, metal, stone, wood, and more. But to Grovle, it was boring. A life of routine was not interesting to him. He'd tried hunting Slaadi and catching Mongooses on the top floor, but he wanted something more, to get out into the wide world.
When some of the other Remade had begun talking about organizing exploration parties to see what was in their vicinity, he had been one of the first to sign up. They had sailed due west, using the great tree which they remembered from their time with the Scholars of Stone as a landmark. Then they came across the island. It was rough, and untamed, and pockmarked with saltwater lakes. Right now, the party was camped at the edge of one of these lakes. The other members were in their tents, studying, taking notes, and resting, while Grovle was on watch duty. It was a quiet night, and the stars were out en masse. Grovle looked out over the lake and wondered what might happen tomorrow. This whole island was so peaceful, and it was rather nice to be working at a relaxed pace relative to the bustle of Turrim Autem.

Explorers 2 - Catan

The first expeditionary party launched by the Scholars of Stone traveled south. The first land they reached was crawling with Goblins. Remembering their previous battles with goblins, they decided to sail around that island, simply labeling it "Here there be Goblins" on their map. They went southwest from there, until they reached a new island. They went ashore every so often to study the native flora and fauna, but mainly sailed the perimeter of the island. When they reached its southeast tip, they continued around it, heading into a secure bay.
Taren was half asleep in the sun at the prow of the ship. The halfling was barely more than an apprentice, with tawny hair and skin tanned from a life farming before joining the Scholars to study. As he was closing his eyes to sleep, he saw something which caused him to bolt upright. He rubbed his eyes, and the vision was still there. He shouted, "Hey, look at that! It's a city!" All hands were suddenly alert, and excitedly bringing the ship about. And the Scholars of Stone sailed, cheering, towards the harbor of the city of Kapet.

Explorers 3 - But what if we went... underwater

A curious thing about Remade is that despite looking like normal members of their races, they need to neither eat, drink, nor breathe. So it was that a curious-looking party of kobolds and halflings made their way across the seafloor from Turrim Autem outwards. They too traveled west, but they stuck to the deeps, riding upon palanquins carried by Reavers modified for that purpose. Their bags were full of samples of sea life. As they went onwards, they were increasingly sure that they were not the first to pass this way. Bones left behind as if a carcass was butchered then eaten, a chunk of stone or bone which could be a knife, etcetera. It wasn't until they found an intact sharkbone spear that they knew they were close to a breakthrough. Now they had split up into search parties of two, each taking a Reaver with them for protection.
The kobold Remades Moggla and Hankie were husband and wife in their first life, and remained so. They and the Reaver following them were pushing their way though a kelp forest westward, away from where the palanquins had been parked. They were determined to stick near one another; if they were going to make the next big discovery, they wanted to make it together.

Explorers 4 - Tree Island

The Scholars of Stone had attempted to explore the Isle of Illanthos once before, but the dense jungles had made it too difficult to complete the work. Now at the head of his hand-picked party of explorers, Yolo was crawling his way through the growth. They had left their ship at the southern end of the island, but had brought enough food and water for 3 weeks with them, carried in 6 barrels by a trio of Reavers following at the very end of their group. Yolo was a veteran of Wraith Night, the time when the forces of evil had risen up against the Scholars, and he was becoming an old kobold. He wanted to finish his life of adventure with one last hurrah, and he and his followers were determined to reach the Tree of Light and possibly to climb it. Obsidian machete in one hand and bow strapped to his back, the wizened explorer pressed onward, his teammates shortly behind.

**Razade** · 2019-04-03, 01:45 AM (ISO 8601)

Life in Wano

She'd been born after the wars. Her father, her mothers, had spoken of those times. A time when fighting was all there was for the Derro and how the ancestors had ushered in new forms of combat. Everything was still a fight, a testament to survival, a desire to live when the harsh skies rained their ooze or the vagrants were especially cunning and took away a child. Those fights were less now, but the fight to eat was still strong.

They hadn't farmed much, her parents had said, but even now they battled the dirt and the weather to bring new life from the soil. There were the chili plants she was harvesting even now, the pungent aroma of the pods and spicy flavors of their flowers strong in her nose. Beyond were the terraced rice fields where ducks roosted. They were fighting too, those ducks, eating insects and fighting to make new baby ducks that would eventually eat new insects when the farm was hers. Her four brothers were tending the bean plants, almost out of season, on the next hill over.

Her parents had always made Za'Vat, that hadn't changed. That battle still raged. Against time, against harmful elements within the mash, with the spices they couldn't find or couldn't afford or simply couldn't use in that season. Za'Vat, her parents had said, changed its flavors like a tree changed the color of its leaves. That the Za'Vat of another tribe was as different as a new day's light. But now...with farms of other families so nearby, they could share ideas and recipes. They could bring more of the rich elemental infused soils to grow more unique blends of herbs.

She'd stayed up late one night when her family hosted a meeting with the other farmers, after the drink and the food and music had died down. Heard them talk about the strange new Ulgouts that were coming into their markets. The ocean states were making them with fish! Of all things, fish! Crab and prawn and clam as well, dicing and grinding them down and pressing the liquid. The Ulgout was too salty, the adults had said, on its own but the Za'Vat was something else. It no longer tasted of Za'Vat at all, but the ocean and of sea spray and the richness of a fatty fish roasted over a flame. It would change cooking, it would change Za'Vat, it would change the Derro. A new battle would have to begin. Not of spear and blood, but of recipes.

She'd stolen back to bed that night, worried for her parents were worried. But unlike them she knew what she had to do. Create a Za'Vat for her farm and her family's friends farms. To compete in this new war. The old tastes of Za'Vat would need to be improved and so as night fell once more she stole into her family's cellar with a small lamp and rough paper. She couldn't write, only the rich and lucky learned that, but she knew the symbols for the spices. They were on the jugs that held them. That would make things easy enough.

There was Cindersnap chilies, the favored chili of her family's Za'Vat. They were fermented with the elemental Fires and the intensity of their heat was prized as the best in all the chilies grown in their state. Cardamom was a favorite of hers, her family mixed it into their haash with cinnamon and clove though only for special occasion. Those other flavors might do well as well. There was Starlight Anise, another fermented item dredged in Earth and Air. It tasted of fennel and of licorice root but something more, something that made your teeth buzz. Her brothers hated it but she had found holding a pod between her teeth kept her alert and wakeful during early work hours.

But what she was really looking for was something that would encompass the flavors of the forests and hills her state was known for. Pine forests, to be exact, as they grew up into the mountain states. They had reisns from these pines, some even made them into syrups, but Za'Vat would never do as a sweet. They had other dishes for that. Za'Vat was for meals you could eat at morning or at evening. The taste had to be broad and complex. What she wanted were the Rimepods. Originally pepper, Rimepods were cultivated with soil infused with elemental Water and Air. This caused the fruits of the trees to grow icy on the inside but never melt. The ice, when placed in the mouth, would make one's tongue and teeth numb. Her grandmother had used it to dull the heat of their Ulgout as she grew older. Could she not do the same? An Ulgout that allowed people to enjoy hotter Za'Vats and Ulgouts as well? A companion to the traditional tastes and flavors. Not a replacement. Could it not be used to compliment this ocean Ulgout as well? Why fight directly when you could piggy back on someone else's success?

It'd be a year before this new Ma La'Vat would be made. Another year until one young girl, born a poor farmer, was noticed by the Kamo and taken away.

**mystic1110** · 2019-04-03, 10:17 AM (ISO 8601)

Spoiler: Previously

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Originally Posted by Toxic Mind

A Journey Across the Sea

It had been arduous, as any journey across the sea was, particularly one made by so many Raj. The infighting and politics, arrangements for transport, stopping along the way and making camp were enough to break a lesser mind. It was why he had chosen so many, for he knew that his mind was not lesser, and could handle such things. Even as he invited rivals, allies, and Rakshasha lesser and greater, he maneuvered. It was, all in all, a massive undertaking worthy of his skill. More importantly, it made the dreams stop, his mind too busy with the preparations to even see them. He was grateful for this; the dreams he had were horrific in the extreme. If he were weaker, he might have put enough stock in them to call off the whole venture, but he was not weak. In the nightmares, he saw the oceans burn with unnatural fire, then freeze solid. He saw armies of every race tearing down the glories of the Raj and he saw the Rakshasa lording over all races of the world. This last one might have brought him joy, but they were pale imitations of true Rakshasha strength; disgustingly bloated creatures, incapable of anything more than giving orders. He knew they would soon be torn down by those they claimed to master. It was this last one that woke him in a cold sweat, seemingly impossible in the water yet present all the same. Every time, across the room, staring at him with her strange, piercing purple eyes, was his Mer servant, his first servant. His mind would not let him call her a slave, because he knew, somehow, that the label was wrong. He had checked the magics himself, seen that they worked, and yet something told him that she stayed because it was her choice and not his compulsion.

But the journey. It was fraught with peril. Many slaves were lost to the great ocean predators, and even to raids by strange creatures from above - small runty things that screeched in ear-piercing voices, and what seemed their larger kin, far fiercer in battle, though still little match in single combat for a Rakshasha warrior. Even smaller furry creatures that used strange poisons, to which the Rakshasha were largely inured, given their algae composition, but which took the lives of many other slaves. Every night one of the camps was attacked, and had to be fiercely defended from predatory creatures. Still, he had planned well, and soon enough the train found themselves on the borders of Mer land. They had seen various Mer villages, outposts and settlements beyond the true borders, settlers and frontiersmer, but this they knew was the true border by two things. First was the stories of the Mer told in their temples, which said that Marah had given the Mer all the land upon which the Coral grew like trees, which the Raj delegation could clearly see. The second, possibly more obvious, was the massive army that awaited them at the border. Ranks of Mer soldiers and warriors, armed with bone spears, tridents, javelins, daggers and some even leading sea predators. There were even those that carried no weapons, instead holding musical instruments of many varieties.

Leading the army was a Female Mer, dressed in finely tailored predator-hide armor and carrying two wicked looking daggers. She wore a helm of coral embossed with silver and seemed to be accompanied by two small furry creatures which capered around her like children. She stood, looking at the Raj with her arms crossed upon her chest, clearly waiting for them to make the first move.

Spoiler: AP

Show

AP: 13/16 PAP: 1/1
-1PAP: Contribution to Hearthome in the Resplendent Realms
-2AP: Counter Curse: Life, Remembered and Chronicled - Enkidan's curse holds no sway over Mer who know their history will be forever remembered in the High Archivist of the Mer (Carnegie). They push themselves even harder to be the best they can, knowing that their stories and lives will be spoken of, good and bad. (Assuming Carnegie accepts the bargain. If not, new arrangements will be made)

AP: 11/16
Life (Nourishment): 8/10

The Conference

The Rakshasa observed the assembled Mer and was impressed. Obviously, they did not match the glories of the various Rakshasa armies fully dressed and assembled, but there was something to be said about a single nation working towards a common purpose. The Rajah's of the Raj, the oldest of his people each maintained a private army - there was no army of the Raj, only the armies its various powers. Nonetheless, even in his admiration of their precision, he cruelly noted their cowardice. Of course, none of them could bear the might of the Raj, or himself, alone. They band together, not prideful enough of their own individual power. There had to be a way to marry these two concepts - the individualism of the Raj and the coordination of the Mer.

In his thoughts, he didn't note the irony that should have accompanied thinking of the Raj as the exemplar of individualism. It depended on one's luck more than anything. The luck of what race you were born into, where, when, how. . . His mysterious Mer slave smirked, although he tried to put it out of his mind. He didn't question his luck and thus didn't question the allure of individualism.

The road had been arduous but here he was, and in fact, this type of greeting, the whole host of an empire to greet him, was exactly what he expected of his stature and would have been insulted for anything less. He signaled the Working Drowned to make camp and he pointed to two other Rakasha. One was of the Theravada Sect and was dressed in a white robe and Dastar. His orange fur and black stripes striking against the white. The other was of the Kalam Sect, the sect that he himself had pledged allegiance to, and that Rakshasa wore a green suit and turban and was bejeweled in all his finery. He of course had no graven images of the gods upon him.

With these two other princes, lesser to him of course, but useful allies, a high ranking human servant of the Kalam (for the Theravada did not hold humans to high esteem), the Therevada's own favorite mer slave (dressed in red - it was rumored that she was his lover, but he did not trust this rumor - the Rakshasa he knew struck him as a Celibate. Nonetheless, she held certain power in that Therevada's court as if she was the head concubine), and his own . . . special . . . mer slave, broke off from the camp to approach the Army. His small band walked up to the halfway point and stopped, he looked at the Army and then deliberately walked alone past the halfway point to show off his personal pride and power and then stopped halfway to halfway to await for the Mer to send their own delegation.

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