Empire 6 - The Grand Conclave

[TheDarkDM]

The Grand Conclave

It did not take very long for the town Idengaakwelje to grow around the Sanctum of the Dolod, once connected to Nellen by the Twilight and now connected by the grace of the Guardians. The Sanctum itself was not especially large, but the importance and trade opportunities were too significant to be ignored. Diverted streams feed into a large pool in the structure before draining out to the Ungzuu river the settlement butts up against. These were not the floodplains so common in Ljung Ghrakka Saar, though the far side of the river was awash with rice paddies, raised vegetable beds, and irrigation channels, and farther still were fens and marshes ideal for grazing Inghu. Rather, the land was firm and well-packed, the soil being of a quality to resist erosion and well-situated to avoid flooding the town come monsoon season. Beyond the small moat-turned-canal that surrounds the town, homes and structures now straddling both sides of the protective barrier, fields of grain stretch out, broken only by the occasional copse of forest, irrigation network, and road along which thralls travel to bring their produce to market, even as Inghudhu coerce their yawning bloats of shovelsnout inghu along the river to be sold in town.

Outside the walls of the town, an enormous stretch of arable land has been cleared at ruinous expense, the livelihoods of the farmers vouchsafed by Truthseer coin. Where a season before grain had ripened in the sun, now the soil is hard-packed with the traffic of workmen and guards, as pavilions of silk are raised in the Kiswan sun. Radiating like the spokes of a wheel from a central tent as large as a banquet hall, these pavilions have been stocked with all the luxuries the years have made commonplace in the high courts of Ember. Barrels of Targiz Flower Wine abut jugs of Sikarian Pulque, while fruits and meats kept fresh through Eaudenite magic rest atop slabs of mystically-preserved ice. Still more of the soft blue canopies have been cordoned off behind layers of tapestries and decorative pelts, to provide a modicum of privacy should attendees wish to engage in more intimate conversation than in the conclave itself. Though the conclave would never be far from sight or mind. It looms in the central tent, a round table of newly-hewn wood still being dressed by Troll artisans. It is, perhaps, the largest table built by mortal hands since the False Dawn, and it will not long survive the end of the conclave. Still, it serves, as does the disparate collection of seats copied from realms near and far so that none would suffer the discomfort of an unfamiliar throne. These seats have been carefully arranged to ensure the least possible enmity among neighbors, and perhaps to encourage the blossoming of new friendships among strangers.

Though the Truthseer's encampment is fit to sleep a small army, the cleared ground continues for many paces still, ending at a palisade watched over by keen-eyed trolls. Tall clay cisterns of clean water rise up at regular intervals, marking where the travelling courts of dozens of monarchs would soon encamp. It is a marvelous sight, and becomes more marvelous still. Decorative plants from near and far find root in Kiswan soil, breaking the uniformity of the land with manicured gardens and shady groves of sweet-smelling trees. Paths are slowly worn to pleasant uniformity, and additional bivouacs found for the bodyguards likely to accompany the more cautious lords and ladies of the world. At last, after more than a year of labor, the Conclave Grounds are made ready, and the esteemed guests begin to arrive. Guided to their designated encampments, they are each warned to listen for the horn that will sound the first day of the Conclave proper.

[Lleban]

When Nefertiti arrives she, travels with Prince Ramses, of all her siblings, she felt the safest near his side. And Ramses of all people would appreciate someone to baby now that Rashidi is in faraway lands. The party arrived in a mid-sized caravan laden with camels and Nocturn horses. each member of the royal family was garbed in elaborate silks inlet with sunstones and rubies. Nefertiti carries a staff that acts partially as a facsimile of the beacon of Soba, but also as a walking stick, while Ramses carries his old recurve bow. Meanwhile, Calien of Wolfenhal is adorned with wears much more suitable for the warm climates of the southern lands, in addition to a royal sunstone signet ring.

As they began to make their way into the camp, Ramses began to pick on his little sister.

"Swindler watch out! This soil is rocky, it doesn't befit a fake empress to fall over."

Nefertiti pouted before sleeping in a very slow and measured tone, contrasted by her rapid swatting in his direction "Stop it, meanie, I can feel that much."

Losing a smug smile she whispered, "You'd catch me..."

An action followed by Ramses gently pulling her by the shoulder to avoid an elevated tree root.

Once they arrive the party, waits for the bell eagerly devouring the food provided.

[bc56]

These are not lands that the Veramondi would lightly travel, especially not stay long in. But the invitation of the Truthseers should not be denied. Still, precautions have been taken. The party carries with them their own food and water in a large wagon, enough to sustain them for a significant time. They will not touch anything offered them here, not after earlier betrayals. No important members of the priesthood are here, to avoid any chance of poisoning the faith. Nor will the blessed princess Vari be in attendance.
Queen Enavi, however, is here. The aging woman, with her earthy complexion and rocky hair shows her heritage well, half Ra, half Veramondi. She speaks with an advisor, a young man in the gaudy attire of a court bard, but he clearly has far more respect shown him. A Dream Speaker. "I know not what the Seers want here, but it is no doubt of import. Still, to remain here in the land of poisoners for so long... How long must we continue to wait?" "Patience, my Lady. The time will come. It is important to hear what they have to say." the Speaker's voice is passive, betraying none of his emotions.

[Aedilred]

The first impression anyone would have got on seeing Oniyellīs was one of size. Where others might lose weight as they reached old age, his huge fleshy torso rippled as he moved. A tall man in any circumstances, his bulk merely amplified his presence, giving him a truly monstrous stature.

He rode in a chariot chased with bronze and pulled by four spirited asses: on closer inspection it would be evident the vehicle was reinforced. Behind him came more chariots carrying other chieftains and members of the royal family, and behind that companies on foot: both warriors to guard the party, and other camp followers with the provisions, supplies and other baggage.

Those who had not known him in his youth, before age took its toll, might be forgiven for thinking that his daughters had inherited all their looks from their mother. But he had been a fine-featured man once, and the two beautiful young women riding in the chariot behind him would have been recognisable as his offspring to any who had known him then. One such was the king's cousin Ecimōnā, who, unlike her cousin, had become whip-thin with age, but still retained a formidable mien. Some further way back was the king's illegitimate daughter Erelma, attempting to stay out of sight of Queen Katja. Since her brother's disappearance and presumed death, and with the universal acceptance of the legitimate succession, it seemed any threat posed by the king's previous children had abated and Katja was happy enough to ignore her, but drawing the queen's ire was never wise in any case.

Not quite the whole royal family was here. Although the trolls could hardly be trusted, the Truthseers could, and to miss this opportunity being hosted so close to home was unthinkable - but some insurance was still necessary. So Itūla had stayed behind to act as regent in the king's absence, together with her husband Prince Oda and the ever-reliable Prince Ochāmis. And those among the chiefs most likely to cause trouble were here. Further to them, Antitnila was absent, of course, and Emagula had long since been sent away - notwithstanding the family's hope to see her here. If Ivigamtā was here, she was keeping an uncharacteristically low profile, and Yazaburon - well, who knew?

As they reached their designated encampment the king eased himself out of his chariot with some difficulty, as the others began to establish themselves. A portion of the wagons continued on towards the Truthseer compound, in accordance with the Henanda custom of sharing one's food with one's hosts. Meanwhile the banozhisyi made their way over to the water cistern as a matter of some urgency to check it for contamination. Clear instructions had been given to all attendees about what to drink and what not. In due course, guards would be posted around the water supplies to prevent any repeat of the events in Fei Dang.

Spoiler: Attendees

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Oniyellīs, king, in his 70s
Katja al-Jana, his wife
Princesses Irelija and Ibelunga, mid-late 20s, their daughters, both single and ready to mingle
Princess Ecimōnā, mid-70s, former hero
Erelma, the king's illegitimate daughter, in her 40s
Various others

[Nefarion Xid]

The sultan's party arrived amidst the procession the lion's share of far flung travelers. Between the Dannu, Uldra, Arrakhi, and Ash Elves, there were enough relations to make a court historian grin in a way that said he'd really enjoy the opportunity to bore you with the depths of his expertise. Rather than braving the blight invested archipelago by ship, Harun had insisted that the Tarandians take the long way to convene in the Vesparre and have a proper Ashirian escort to their final destination, and a warm reception by the Lim Dynasty along the way.

There was Jana, the sultan's mother and the immortal champion of her people. She was unmistakable from a distance, a beacon in every sense of the word, an angel made flesh with all the equipage of her faith. Near forty, the original Zahir had been put to stud some time ago. His sire was no less worthy of the title, a white stallion of six years with an overabundance of spirit that would have made him a liability for most riders. Like the rest of her party, she wore gauzy white and little else to deal with the disagreeable climate. The traditional Ashirian way to deal with the heat was to avoid it, traveling only at night and waiting out the worst of the day beneath breathable tents. The sun was no trouble for her, but the humidity left her hair unmanageable.

The sultan was similarly conspicuous. He bore a strong resemblance to his father, though the golden eyes and the warmth that bled from his skin were inherited from his mother. He was her first born as an immortal. The effects of his own resurrection were less obvious. Now like his father, he had the eyes of a man who had seen too much. Unlike the old wizard, he had not yet the wisdom to sort such things and his mind remained troubled. He usually chafed in the rainments of his station, but today he wore the gold crown that held Noxpelios over his kefiyeh.

Harun's twins looked more like their mother, a shade less bronze, more olive. Azra had come by auburn hair, though no one could say if that was the fault of her mother, or Zidan's grandmother whom had the privilege only of being the beautiful daughter of a herdsman. She rode nearest her father and looked to him often as if every slight movement might reveal some secret of what it was to be a sultan.

Salem rode with the Bahith, forty handpicked elite from their ranks. Mostly women. The Ashir took it as a honest compliment to say that women were better both at deceit and revenge. Those who seek what lies in shadow needed both the hatred to slit a throat, and the conviction of purpose to wash their hands clean after. Each carried a compact horn bow and wore a black lace mask pinned inside heir hoods to obscure their faces beneath painted eyes. It was unusual to see the sultan's spies in uniform, but their job here was less subtle than their typical role. They only needed to serve as expert archers if someone threatened their sultan.

Bringing up the rear was the sultan's personal retinue -- 120 veteran riders, all of whom had earned some distinction in the Ashir's ceaseless conquests. As Harun and his immediate family continued on into the heart of things, the small army began to make their camp on the outskirts.

Spoiler: ASH Character Cheat Sheet

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Sultan Harun il Jana - Zidan's son. Assassinated. Later resurrected by Amira-Mak.
Jana Al-Zamira - Ashir champion and living saint. Resurrected in round 6. Harun's mother.
Amira Azra il Roka - Harun's eldest daughter and next in line to be sultana.
Amir Salem il Roka - Azra's twin brother and commander of the Bahith-al-Zael, the sultanate's brutally efficient intelligent agency

[Frostwander]

Despite the relatively small distance separating them, it has been many years since representative of the Confluence attended an multi-kingdom event with their Kiswan neighbors. A decade of plague and threats of blight have prevented all but the most crucial of travel and trade. Embassies and communication with vassals have been maintained, but now with the Truthseers' invitation the opportunity for the leaders to once again mingle with their peers in person cannot be passed up.

The delegation arrives in a colorful show of variety typical within the Vygra lands. Nearly thirty individuals, ra and human, enter the Conclave grounds. Most are mounted on horses, a recent acquisition of creature and technique both from the lands of Sikar. Several aurochs serve to carry the majority of the burden of supplies. The centerpiece of the procession, though, is the massive elephant led by a skilled mahout. Vividly woven blankets cover it's sides, with a broad saddle atop its back is piled with cushions, amongst which ride Matji Bulandi and two other ra. Once the group has been led to their encampment, the three dismount via a rope ladder tied into the saddle, and begin making their introductions to the other foreign contingents while the remainder of the caravan make camp and settle in.

Bulandi visits first with the Veramondi and Bannanda leaders (each of the other envoys will be met in turn as well). The matji is pleased to meet and speak with Queen Enavi, her aunt, as well as with King Oniyellīs. Accompanying her for these reunions are the pair of young Bora, clearly similar in stature and familial resemblance. Both are possessed of dark skin, earthy brown hair pulled back in lock braids, shoulders and heads studded in glittering crystals of lapis and jade in match to their eyes. These are Kamali and Nepira, Bulandi's daughters and grand-nieces to the Veramondi queen, whom they greet with much enthusiasm - family visits have been few and far between over the last years. They constantly speak with each other when not actively involved in the conversation, and give the impression of great eagerness barely restrained.

The matji and her family are also attended by Fulji Sanu-ai, a young man of the Tamago Isles with tattooed palms. Dressed in woven wraps adorned with seashells and pink feathers, he gives off a calm and easy mood as he converses steadily, contrasting Bulandi's energetic daughters. Utttlannn of the Fffolkkk walks with them as well. The tortoise woman's flesh and shell are a patternless motley of greys and browns, and she wears only a harness of woven kelp and a necklace of carved soapstones. She speaks slowly and deliberately when addressed, and the remainder of the time is content to listen and observe.

Spoiler: Confluence Attendees

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Matji Bulandi - Ahra, late 30s
Fulji Sanu-ai - Human Tamago islander, mid 20s
Utttlannn - Fffolkkk adult, Trials of Iron competitor
Kamali and Nepira - Boras, late teens, Matji Bulandi's daughters
Two dozen assorted escorts and assistants, ra and human

Spoiler: Kamali and Nepira inspirations

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Kamali

Nepira

[Torv]

After disembarking from Reminiscence the curious and important folk of the Smiaurskotor travels the last distance in canoes. Despite decades of proselytizing throughout the isles the upper echelons remain predominantly Ugglos. Being creatures of the night many are asleep as Idengaakwelje comes within earshot, save those stoic enough to abandon the soft starlight for searing daylight.
Rousing their companions awake the disjointed group of gray humanoids takes in the lush scene before them, craning their heads around in sickening angels and perking their pointy ears while they dock near the Truthseers’ encampment. Gazing out over them a few humans from Varai-Lades does much the same, marking the recent winds of change transforming the guilds.

Setting foot on land after many months at sea Balvodur sways before finding her stride. Having worked closely with the Scrim over the past few years she wears the rough spun tunica of Glaondi Yejon, finding no practical reason to wear anything else. Along her shoulders runs thin raised lines, hinting at a greater work before disappearing under the tunica.
Nearby Vinolygur paces forward, draped in the finest furs from Thun, while sweating profusely. Bearing the weight of the unity between two peoples at his shoulders two pyroemeralds engraved in Styinn pierces his ears, hanging just behind his cheekbones.

Being led to their designated encampment the both begin chattering, staying a few steps ahead of the others, friends after their long journey.
“Ages spent on the most beautiful vessel and you still have not found an ounce of aesthetic sense.”
“Months to get used to the heat and you still sweat like the ocean is too small, no wonder you shunned the Smiajor-guild.”
“If decades of work in a cave of beauty makes you blind to your own lack of it, I am glad to have abandoned it.”
Continuing their banter the entourage behind them begins making preparations for the night, waiting for the conclave to begin in earnest. Too many of them has lost a friend or relative to the blight cults’ festering influence. Many pray to hear answers here, finding none in the murals of old or new.

Spoiler: SMI Characters

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Ugglo age: 12: Maturity, 45: Die, 60+: Practically immortal
Balvodur ”Bal”, 22, Oceanforge smith, Smiajor-guild leader
Vinolygur, 33, Ruler, Single
Various others

[Epinephrine_Syn]

There was a whole host of Night Elven nobles showing up to this gargantuan event. Many of whom were from different factions, and a few from the royal family. All of them were ornate and decked in the finest silks and jewelery money could buy, and even those nobles who couldn't ride for sticks brought their glorious Ashiran horses to the party. Joy in particular was here but... she was separated from the rest. Flying around the event from above and peering down it with a scowling smirk, squinting warily at everyone who arrived on the doorstep.


---------------------
Sluuurrrpppp

"You're not excited to meet your probable husband, Zeslu? Or worried you'll miss home? You're staying in these lands for real this time."

"Sort of, but it's like my missing mother. I love her, I guess? But they're just singular people. Mom, for all her status and glory, may as well be a stupid peasant. Trust me, the visions of the great mother change things."

"Besides, I've met the hubbie to be, just not lived with him for a while. And from what I understand he's taken the milk too, so he understands what's really important."

----------------------------
What's this now?

Some aspiring merchants set up shop and a tent within the gathering to sell embroidered blue robes to the Truthseers. Having studied their garb extensively and gotten extravagant Sapphires to sell. It's a work of love, and a work of get-me-some-of-that-cash.

One little girl in the back weaves special little icons, and especially had admired the Truthseers that her parents were selling to. She scoffs at their greed, she wants to join them for real. And yet, she's nervous. So, so damn nervous. Even having studied them from afar, it's awkward to try to broach the topic to the sisterhood.

----------------------------

Swooping down from the sky atop a feathered beast, Joy comes down about fifty yards out from Ramses and Nefertiti as they and theirs ate dinner. It'd be impolite and intimidating to just crash land on the table and proclaim her presence. But this was important. Today, she had to be diplomatic. Today, Joy had to avoid her usual brand of bombastic recklessness and not stampede through the procession like a rampaging Worm.

But girl, was this not easy for her.

Despite the difficulty, she trots her way over, dismounting the pet and giving it a long stroke down its feathered mane with her own feather laced hand, turning to the food and briefly twitching her left hand which was about to reach out to swipe some from the table. Manners. Civility. Impulse control. You can do this, joy.

"He-er, Ah, A Shala Elem. This is a pleasant affair, so I will try to be brief, so as to let the festivities resume." She wipes the hair out of her face that had gotten there from her circling over the entire gathering multiple times. "I'm certain you know by now, but big sis ha-, our Empress, has gone missing. I know that the True Dawn in general, and your segment specifically, and that crow you've locked up across the continent precisely, have had bad blood with my mother."

She never stopped smiling (and has she ever been seen in public without a cheeky grin?), but for a little while her lips seemed to twitch downwards. The genuine, socially awkward cheer was back in a blink, though. "I would like to ask as to your involvement. Or grievances. Or demands. Or, should you have none of those, the information you do have."

[Aedilred]

Oniyellīs rose to greet Bulandi with some apparent difficulty, the muscles in his arms and shoulders briefly visible as he hauled his vast bulk out of his chair. Despite his age and weight, there was a power in him yet.

"My lady Matji, a pleasure to see you. I hope your journey was as uneventful as mine. I fear we may not have many more such meetings in store so we must take these opportunities as they arise."

---

As the shadow of the Hydran flying creatures passed across the sky, the Limdimon princesses had to resist the instinct to cower.

"What is that? Some kind of monster?" Irelija asked.

"Blightspawn coming to attack the Truthseers?" Ibelunga suggested. "They don't seem to be shooting at it."

"Maybe it's a crow prince come to carry me off and make me his princess," Irelija said. "It'd be about time."

"It's the Night Elves," said Ecimōnā, walking over with the aid of a cane. "They tame monsters. That thing's called a fimurgh, and it's half-bird, half-fish. They also have worms the size of kapoks which they ride around."

"You're having us on."

"No, Sikar's just that sort of place. It's not the creatures that are strange, it's the Sikarans. If we found a giant worm in Kiswa, we'd kill it on sight. In Sikar they show off by taming it, feeding it half their livestock, and riding the thing around. Although come to think of it, I can't blame them for taking the chance to ride a giant worm; opportunities like that don't come along every day." She winked lasciviously, and the princesses recoiled in embarrassment, whether at the sentiment itself or hearing it from the mouth of such an ancient relative.

"Oh, don't give me all that," she said, cackling, and slapped at Irelija's buttocks with her cane. "I heard about you and your crow prince fantasies. Be careful what you wish for."

"Father always said not to trust anything that talks and flies," Ibelunga said.

"It was true for the Shadows, it's true for the Night Elves, and it's especially true for crows," Ecimōnā said, now jabbing at Irelija's exposed stomach with the end of her cane. "There's no harm in having your fun with them, but don't ever let them take you anywhere. Remember, I was at Highnest when-"

"-Yes, we know, auntie," Irelija said, eager to head off a long story about her past deeds. "I was only joking. It's just so boring. After what happened with Itūla-" -"Slut-" -"none of the men at home will come near us."

Ecimōnā whacked Ibelunga with her cane without so much as a glance in her direction, and waved with her other hand in the direction of the camp at large. "Well here's your chance, girls. A whole camp full of men from all over; half of them probably haven't even heard of your father, let alone are afraid of him. Just don't tangle with anyone too far below your station."

The two set off into the camp more widely, and only as they approached the Alodite camp did Ibelunga realise that her sister had led them straight to where the fimurgh had landed.

"I just wanted to see what it's like up close," she said, as they reached it. "It doesn't look like a fish to me."

"Is that Uncle Ramses?" Ibelunga asked, paying more attention to the personnel than the creatures. "And that would mean..." she silently made an attempt at identifying the other various major dignitaries present, apart from the strange Night Elf at the centre of it. The two princesses hovered uncertainly, not sure whether it would be ruder at this point to interrupt or to leave without making their presence known.

[Rolepgeek]

Though it was the Truthseers who had prepared the Conclave proper, the influence of their hosts was undeniable. This was, after all, the heart of Troll Country, and though the Children had found their places of worship broken and their faith twisted by the infectious madness of the Hyena so badly that to attempt proper communion had become tragically impossible, still these lands remained the seat of power for their Prophet and Matriarch, and where she strode, that lingering, lying laughter was quieted - for a time.

And here, so near the Sanctum about which almost all communication in the continent spiraled, she feared not her rivals. All the same, this was a time of war, the event an important one - and so her siblings, the quite literal Royal Guard, made up much of the bulk of her host - and their children, for some.

But outside the Truthseer's Grand Conclave would be a somewhat more private affair - to be held in the Sanctum itself, afore the announcement of the Conclave proper. The Dolod were no keepers of secrets, of course, but this privacy was not one that need be kept from them, nor any others beyond the day at hand, for it was a Conclave for the Children of the Great Mother themselves, and those Usuukhusaa deemed likely to bear counsel worth hearing from on that subject.

"How many do you think will show?"
"I wish that I knew. The Sworn, I hope at the very least. Representatives of the northern temples, if we are fortunate."
Dora-Mak - the oldest of Usuukhusaa's confidantes, paused. They both knew all of this already, but Dora-Mak also knew that it eased her kin-wife's nerves to be able to speak it aloud, and so she asked.
"And what of the elder Regents?"
"I doubt either of them have time or inclination. I extended the offer to one of the Magi of the north who has been blessed by the Mother's touch, all the same."
"Is this...troubling? You seem unsettled."
"My dreams have been...disquieting, and the Isle of the Phoenix has grown more and more distant to me. I must needs speak with the Queens of the Delta."

Karapyx was not a necessity for her visions, it was true - but the jewel had always been a useful focus, and without it, her forays into the depths of the lost homelands of the Anbroch had met with difficulties the High Queen did not care to dwell on.

The room itself was largely open, though the Queen had taken care to ensure only those she permitted entry would be allowed it - excepting the Dolod, of course. The gentle flow of the pool she rested in, half-submerged, the breeze, and the hypnotic chattering of Dolod the only sounds as they waited. A beautifully painted pitcher, bearing images of dark, mosquito-like creatures being fought back by the assembled folk of Kiswa, rested on a small table to one side, on the sturdy stone floor of the chamber, while a larger amphora sat in a holder near the pool proper. Both were full of the Milk of the Great Mother. The Truthseers had furnished this smaller event with the same drinks they had assembled for the greater conclave, and a bowl of clear, clean water rested on a small pedestal by the entrance - in case the Sultan deigned to join them.

---

There were many other polities at least as deserving of attention as those who could contribute in matters of spiritual import, however. It was in these matters that Ubuukhanya's mother thought she could use the practice, and though her uncles and aunts were present as reminders of the High Queen's power more than protection, given the nature of this event, others from her family she knew could help prevent her from making any egregious social errors....

[bc56]

Queen Enavi is glad to see her niece and grand-nieces again. It has been too long. While the group spend a little time catching up, the Veramondi queen gives them an invitation to a dinner in the Veramondi camp. Similar invitations go out to every party believed to be trustworthy, with special attention paid to those from far-away continents. Chances to engage with the best and brightest of other lands have been scarce in this time of plague and shattered communication.

Even in untrusted territory, the Veramondi are welcoming and gracious hosts. The large colorful tent where the meal is to take place is flanked by guards who will gently and politely turn away emissaries from the Delta Queendom, the Lim Dynasty, and Lungho Saar. Other diplomats are welcome to attend. The gathering is intended to be small, only a few nobles, diplomats, and their bodyguards should they desire them. Enavi is seated at the head of a simple table, resplendent in royal robes of purple, pink, and orange. At her right hand is the unknown Dream Speaker. He holds a lyre and softly plays as guests begin to enter. At the same time, servants are arriving with pitchers of rice wine and fermented cacao. They pass by the Speaker, and he takes a sip from each before the servants may continue.

The hope is that it will not be long before the Truthseers reveal why they have gathered everyone here. But a little merriment will not be unwelcome in the meantime.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sanctum

The Ashirian delegation was delayed some time at the threshold. True to rumor, they stripped of any outwear that would have collected dirt on their journey, set their sandals in a neat row, and then attended to their ritualized ablutions -- the hands first, then their faces, their jewelry, their feet, and their hands once more with special attention paid to picking beneath the nails. When that was done, they dotted themselves with a tincture of orange blossom oil and returned cleaned jewelry where it belonged. Evil spirits were repulsed by the sweet scent, they claimed. In truth, orange blossom oil was good for irritated skin and masking body odor, but it was the frequent handwashing that had spared the Ashir from the worst of the plagues born on "unclean air".

Such things could be eschewed in foreign lands, foreigners being at least as clean as horses, but here they were Usuukhusaa's honored guests, so they could at least demonstrate that such hospitality was well received, and not dishonor the sanctum with soiled cloaks. Still, Salem took the measure of one of the dhraan guards in the antechamber, silently daring him to ask the prince to disarm. It was a brief staring contest and Salem relented even before his father could scold him with a whisper. He shrugged before removing the curved bronze daggers tucked into his sash, the fire-hardened pin from his hair, a delicate obsidian razor from the hem of his tunic, and a suspiciously weighty gold ring. What was dangerous about the last item, he did not say. Likely, he just enjoyed the notion that the guard would be pondering to the end of his days how the Bahith could kill someone with just a ring, or if it somehow concealed a lethal poison.

"My son Salem, commander of the Bahith-al-Zael. And my daughter Azra, who will be sultana... should I again ride in the twilit plains with our ancestors," Harun said, giving the guards a shallow bow. He may have looked younger than anticipated, but the sultan himself needed no introduction. "I think they are expected. Anything Usuukhusaa has to say to me will be heard by them."

Passing into the inner chamber on bare feet, the trio looked for someone important to say the a shala to.

[Rolepgeek]

Sanctum

There was only a moment's hesitation before the guard waved them through, dipping their maw close to their chest in respect for the foreign royalty before stepping back and letting themselves sink into an alcoved pool which seemed designed for just that purpose.

Upon entering the main inner chamber of the Sanctum, the Ashirian royals would immediately notice the large ivory-toned figure of their host as she lounged in the large circular pool. Beside her, a squat woman with graying hair and a fuzz so fine and pale upon her cheeks and chin it was nearly invisible, letting her feet rest in the water. The building had in it's original purpose been designed to allow Dolod and Dhraan to speak as equals comfortably, and though few shared the Dolod's unique features, the consideration given there lent itself well to almost all races. So it was that when Usuukhusaa noticed her guests and rose, water streaming down her pale flanks and torso on which not a spot of green remained, her eyes were nearly level with their own. The Prophet-Queen's own weapon, a long dagger which the Ashir might see more fit to call a scimitar, was strapped to her chest, framed by finery and strapped very securely within it's sheath by several braids of sturdy leather cord laced together in an intricate knotwork design. No Child of the Great Mother was ever without their weapon if it be at all possible - but that did not forbid politeness.

"A shala elem, ashab; may the lion's winds find your family in good health, your herds plentiful, and your horses strong and swift. But then knowing the Ashir, these things will never be in doubt, eh?"

Both Salem and Harun were likely to hear the forced levity in her words. Only Harun, though, was likely to know how unusual that was in the Queen. Though her face was essentially unreadable, when one had the gift of tongues and saw someone as their dream-self so often, it mattered little.

[mystic1110]

Aste sincerely regrets that she could not take a pilgrimage to her beloved Kiswa, where she learned the truth of the Mother, and to genuflect in the holy land of her faith, but she had declared a Khipha against the Blight near her homeland and it would not do to leave a Khipha half finished. She intended to see it through. Instead, she sends her younger-brother Malv. Malv, born of Nyct and Laughing-Wolf later in life around the time of the Nightmare City, worshiped his older sister. His sister, to Malv, was perfect in every way. She was mysterious, powerful, headstrong, exciting and most importantly, she and mother did not get along. That is not to say that Malv did not love his mother, but Nyct was a hard woman to love, and so it was not unusual for the younger man to transfer his feelings that should have belonged to the Odds-Mistress towards his older sister who both comforted him and believed in it.

Aste had forbidden Malv to drink the Milk until he came of age. She had wanted her brother to come by the true faith of the Children through her own reasoning and the undisputed facts of the Guardian. Malv was, at his core, not a believer. In this he took after his mother, and thought of the faiths as useful tools – each true and not true – existing for their own purpose. But he believed in the Children of the Great Mother as the correct faith since it was his sister’s faith. He had no reservations drinking the Milk when it the time would come.

When Aste asked Malv to represent her at the Sanctum in Kiswa he was of two minds. He was furious that he was being sent away from the battles that his sister and father were fighting against the blight. In a way, Malv, born in the midst of an attack by a God of the Blight, felt strongly, perhaps stronger, against the cancerous creatures than even most Children. He wanted to fight besides his father and sister and prove himself as a champion of the common people. On the other hand, he was excited and proud to represent his sister in the most holy places of her faith, his faith in a way, and also curious about replicating his sister’s famed journey into Kiswa.

Eventually, after much arguing with his sister, it was actually his Mother’s word that sent him towards the conclave. Nyct was always odd around Aste, who was equally uneasy around the Odds-Mistress. Malv once his father about why this was, but Laughing-Wolf shook his head sadly and said that the Ancestors were cruel. Regardless, Nyct agreed with Aste to send Malv far away from the present danger, and his family’s minds made up Malv bent to their whim.

Malv tried to journey much like his sister first journeyed to Kiswa, through Sikar and then across the bounding mountains. Unlike his sister, he was not alone and traveled with Goliath Pilgrims that Aste had converted. Together, they arrived weary and exhausted at the doors of the Sanctum.

The Goliath’s were never able to master the Kiswan tongues. Aste was able to speak the language after years spent in the continent and immersed in the Dwarven courts. Malv’s own lessons used some of the best tutors that could be purchased in Kursaal, but something about the languages of the far continent made them slide off the Goliath mind like water on wax. He tried his best, but it would have to be either the Trustseers or the Dolod to truly bridge the people – or, if the Sikarians were so inclined Malv was perfectly able to speak the language of the Horse Lords.

Regardless of how or who translated, the boy speaks towards the Prophet-Queen, coming forward and extending his hands to his side palms up in the way of the Targiz.

Greetings your holiness. I come before you in my Sister’s stead – she is engaged in a Khipha and she will not turn from that task until the Blight is put to rest. She sends fine Targiz Flower Wine as apology and invites you to come witness the Laughing Games and bear witness to what comes of those that she catches colluding with the powers of the Blight.

[Nefarion Xid]

Sanctum

"When there are no goats and no horses in the Sikar, our ways and our people are already long forgotten. If my children's children live in a stone house among rows of stone houses, then they are not of the Ashir. Be at peace, Queen Usuukhusaa. May your rivers never run dry."

Harun and his children turned out their palms and gave a bow, more or less unison, before settling down on provided pillows. People should be comfortable in order to speak their minds, so the Ashir found tables and benches to be a bit insulting. They had little use for anything that couldn't reliably be flung over the back of a camel.

"You will find this humorous. I have heard in my travels that some believe the Ashir cannot swim, and that we would sink and drown. As if there are no pools across the whole of the desert. The ocean holds no allure for us, but swimming in the waters of an oases at dawn after a long night of training is one of the great pleasures in life. Ah. It helps if you imagine my mother has been throwing rocks at your head. Small rocks. Still."

[TheDarkDM]

The Gathering

As delegations from across Ember begin to settle into their spacious encampments, a single low note of some strange horn echoes out from the central pavilion. Emerging from the shadows is a procession familiar to some but alien to most, a trio of ancient Truthseers shrouded in robes of navy blue and moving in uncanny unison. Behind the crones trails an entourage of more vital sisters of the order, the space near them a susurrus of voices from every corner of the globe. Stopping before the sanctums of each attendant ruler in turn, the crones raise withered hands in greeting.

"You have shown great wisdom in heeding this call, and it shall not be forgotten. When all are gathered, and the sun sinks towards the horizon, we shall convene to share truths that have eluded many, and share secrets held close by some. The rise of the New Kingdoms is nearing an ending - we must speak now of enduring, and of a final victory against the Enemy."

The Bazaar

A little girl hunches in the shadows of a tent, weaving idols from straw. Though crude, they have the innocence of a child's fancy, and her focus on the task is so great she is blind to the new shadow entering the tent. It is a slight sigh minutes later that draws the little girl from her reverie, to find a cyan-veiled woman of the Henanda standing over her.

"You have a gift."

The smile is clear through her gauzy veil, and clearer still in the timbre of her voice.

[Torv]

Merriment

Even in untrusted territory, the Veramondi are welcoming and gracious hosts. The large colorful tent where the meal is to take place is flanked by guards who will gently and politely turn away emissaries from the Delta Queendom, the Lim Dynasty, and Lungho Saar. Other diplomats are welcome to attend. The gathering is intended to be small, only a few nobles, diplomats, and their bodyguards should they desire them. Enavi is seated at the head of a simple table, resplendent in royal robes of purple, pink, and orange. At her right hand is the unknown Dream Speaker. He holds a lyre and softly plays as guests begin to enter. At the same time, servants are arriving with pitchers of rice wine and fermented cacao. They pass by the Speaker, and he takes a sip from each before the servants may continue.

The hope is that it will not be long before the Truthseers reveal why they have gathered everyone here. But a little merriment will not be unwelcome in the meantime.

Living during the same time as the southerners had its benefits. Vinolygur found himself with ample time to stroll around the increasingly busy conclave, before sunset. People were still arriving from far and wide, setting up their camps but one tent stood out to him, brimming with colour.
Approaching it with a few guards in tow he tries his best to ignore (they never were far behind after the unfortunate circumstances of his predecessors’ abdications) Vinolygur lowers his head in a bow befitting of his stature before greeting the guards in a butchered Kiswan, not really clear what, or which, languages it is. Something the Truthseers are quick to remedy, translating it besides Vinolygur’s best efforts to pronounce something legible.
“Excuse me, I am Storhusbandi Vinolygur of the Smiaurskotor from the Daezirn Isles. Never before have I seen such bold color varieties in fabricated objects. Would you mind letting me in to learn how such wonders are made while we wait for the sun to set?”

[Silent_Interim]

The Scrim delegation, such as it is, arrives with a minimum of pomp and ceremony. Thunspeaker Atir arrives alone, in silver and emerald finery, apparently having trusted to secrecy and their own skills for security through their travels. As they walk along, they pause for a moment, resting their gaze on the Sanctum of the Dolod. They tap each of their shoulders and then their chest before continuing, a three-pointed gesture of warding against evil.

Though the Truthseers have most considerately prepared a space for the Thunspeaker to rest, they decline its use, instead circulating through the grounds, mostly in contemplation silent except for heavy footfalls, but occasionally pausing to eat or to speak to others in attendance.

[TheDarkDM]

The Conclave

Day passes into dusk, and once more the strange horn sounds its plaintive clarion into the sky. Sisters of the Truthseers descend from the central pavilion clutching pale candles, a dissipating constellation of stars that descends to the encampments of the powerful to escort them to the great table. There, the crones await beneath flickering lights that transform the cool gloom into the blaze of midday, banishing all shadows to the night outside. They stand separate from the great table, beneath a shrouded awning that smells of strange and eldritch incense. Eventually, all the participants have taken their places, and the crones speak.

"We gather tonight to confront a terrible truth. Whatever rivalries divide the powers of the world, whatever ambitions drive you, whatever hopes sustain you, all are threatened by the power of the Blight. In life, Artavazd was a petulant and spiteful man possessed of unassailable authority. Now, he is something more, but it is too much to hope that his nature has done aught but fester. We have seen some fall to the seductive power offered by the darkness, but in coming here you assert your knowledge it is an illusion. Whatever power the Blight offers, it is what Artavazd doles out in return for total obedience."

The night outside seems to grow colder, and as the trees rustle in the breeze a group of Truthseers steps forward to unfurl an enormous parchment over the table. It is brittle and stained with the ages, gouged in places by fire, but still the detail of the map has been remarkably preserved. A large island, proud and isolated on the sea, its outlying hills and beaches dotted with towns and rising to an enormous mesa where stretches a city of incomparable size.

"Here we have the last surviving map of Nemoikriosus. Of our home. As you have grown into your power many of you have derived knowledge of the Old Kingdom, of its doom, and of how it stands now. All here must be brought into the fold, for the secrecy that served us in the past now casts shadows where the Enemy's influence might fester. But be warned - our earlier secrecy was not merely borne of mistrust. You have all seen the power that arises with belief, the supernal motive force of a peoples' dreams. So long as the truth of the False Dawn remained a mystery, we were able to starve the Blight of this most precious power. Artavazd's announcement crippled his unsuspecting servants in the Dream Speakers, but in that sacrifice he seized a victory. A generation that once lived in ignorance now knows his name. And the more the people know of him, the more some will fear him. The mad might even revere him. The confidences you carry from this war council must be tightly-kept, lest the people come to believe ever more in the threat of Artavazd, and so grant him power."

The crones pause for a breath, before sinking into low benches beneath them.

"On our honor, we shall ensure that every word spoken here is the truth. Please, Regents, share the revelations of the Blessed Isle."

[BladeofObliviom]

The Conclave

The Noctrix Amira-Mak of Danneta-Yvaon had come here at great expense despite the danger. Like all the Regents, she naturally seemed to draw eyes, and when she spoke all ears heard her words and comprehended her meaning - whether they would like to or not. She did not need to stand to make it clear she was speaking first - a sort of ethereal magnetism drew attention to her as she inhaled. She was pale even by the standards of Danneta-Yvaon, almost unassuming in build except that such a word slipped off of her like the rain. Her hair was raven and fell to her waist, and her eyes emerald, contrasting with the blazing star of white held upon her brow by a circlet of stone. She clasped her hands before her as she spoke.

"My mother, Pina, was the first since the Phoenix's Passing that awakened the New Kingdoms to set foot upon the shores of the Blessed Isle, and to meet its Guardian, the Great Spirit of Life. From there she looked out from the Blue Star upon the whole of Ember from above, except for one place where e'en Life did not look. There is a realm above ourselves, the Firmament, where our belief rises to and power returns. A bit of that spirit exists in all of us, and we dance our reciprocal dances unknowing. She returned from the Blessed Isle entrusted with the Jewel Acinais that now rests upon my brow, her Wisdom a guide to the North Wind that nurtures all peoples. But four winds there are, four hands invested by the collection of all life that endures in the world, four powers. In Nemoikriosus, all four were bound to one, and when One was unworthy of this Trust, he turned to selfish magic to force the four to serve him alone. The Sisters sought not to repeat this mistake."

She couldn't help but glance to the two who had misplaced the symbols of power that they had been entrusted with, but said nothing.

"But those of us who were deemed worthy and bear the crystals do so with the blessing of all that lives - conscious or no."

[Nefarion Xid]

"I will live forever in my father's shadow, but the Ashir know how to appreciate shade! Zidan sought the Blessed Isle and the Garden of Life. He returned with the ruby Noxpelios and later with fruit."

Harun had remained seated, but now stretched an arm high overhead as if he were plucking an orange. Radiance seeped through his skin as if the sun was in his breast, then crept upwards though his blood, finally pooling in his hand as an orb that paled the surrounding torchlight. A clenching fist brought the power down again where it suffused through his sinews, leaving every inch of exposed skin bathed in tangible, invigorating warmth. The ruby on his crown twinkled in sympathy. Little doubt this was the son of a saint and the sirocco. Having returned from death himself, he likely would have been regarded as a saint in his own right if only the dawn priests could take credit for his resurrection.

"Artavazd was a peerless sorcerer yes, but a greedy and petulant child who grasped at things he did not earn and could never truly possess. With one hand he would seize Life, and with the other Death. Denied the power of the Four Winds by the Sisters, Life eluded him. Death though, he dragged to this world. But Death, the Wyrm, would suffer no master. The resulting fury was the doom of the Old Kingdoms and of the Nemoi. Thankfully, a hero was able reverse the existing magical wards around Nemoikriosus, turning them inward, sealing the Wyrm within and preventing further devastation. You know this hero as Alexios the Undying.

Alchemy, High Sorcery, these are festering tumors to our world. The Blight are attracted to these things like flies. My father believed the stinking wound left on the world in Artavazd's hubris is what first attracted the Blight. Perhaps their source or their progenitor lies at the heart of Nemoikriosus."

[Epinephrine_Syn]

The girl looks up at the older woman, clad in cyan, and her heart immediately skips a beat. A trick? This… She takes one moment to peek around the corner to check that yes, both her parents are elsewhere. Refocusing back on the woman and standing to give a deep bow with a wide smile, putting her tools down on the nearby table, she smiles wide.



”Thank you. I’m, honored. I… I’m just a humble admirer.” The girl does her best to appear formal and bear humility, but she’s having to keep her feet still at what this could possibly mean. “You can have it, no charge or anything.” Her eyes dart to the doorway again out to her parents who are working hard, and feels a little guilty. But only a little. It’s not as if they’re literally beggars who would die on the streets should this not go splendidly, and some things are more important than money.


_---------------
(I'll put in more stuff to the main post, just wanted to get that down and printed before I forget incase turn end comes before irl stuff finished up)

[Zayuz]

Iorwerth had turned his back on the regency and adopted their nemesis, the young commander of Ruin, Merlyn. Under his protection they had caused little stir, but it was still far from a popular stance for him to have taken on the international stage. With conquest after conquest, claiming cities and subjects far beyond the Night Kingdom's natural borders, his controversial practices had undoubtedly been effective if nothing else. Yet now, when regents were invited to speak, he strides forward, a still-young half-elf with armor-like scales across his body that scintillate with light reflected, and great curved horns upon his head.

"I am Iorwerth Nahaar, former regent of the West Wind. I held the sacred Mesiron in my hands, but while my realm was engulfed in bloody war I knew that I could not afford to devote myself to the role as it deserved. In the absence of this great responsibility I have won my battles and rallied the south to my banner, but while our lands are safe from men, we would be fools to think them safe from this monster and his blightspawn. Regent or not, the Night Kingdom will throw everything against this menace when the time comes; you have my word."

[Lleban]

"But what is the Wyrm, based on what you're saying Harun it's the Wyrm, but we know that's not true. Is the Wyrm implicity bad, or merely its followers? "

Nefertiti knew she'd get a biased retelling, but it was worth an exchange of notes.

[BladeofObliviom]

"The Wyrm is destruction.", Amira replied simply. "It is not evil and does not act of malice as Artavazd does, but its nature is destruction. It cannot be destroyed or fully tamed, nor should it be: It is a natural part of the world, as the wildfire or flood or monsoon. But it has no need of mortal servants to fulfill its role. We are Children of Life, and our nature is to endure against the flame, not to give ourselves to it. There is no need for some 'balance of Life and Death.' To serve the Wyrm is to throw oneself and your babes into a wildfire, a defiance of nature. Choosing to escape the flames instead is natural and not wrong. The Wyrm's followers are to be pitied, but we should not allow them to drag us into the flames as well."

[Rolepgeek]

The Conclave

"Though knowledge might seed fear in the common folk, I find more commonly that it is ignorance which allows it to blossom, honored sisters - but that is not a choice which may be unmade and so deferring to such judgment here might be deemed the more pertinent of our options."

Though Usuukhusaa was short for a troll - especially one of such high standing - still her bulky form loomed, even seated. Her scales were of a hue to match that sacrament of her faith that sat in a bowl on the table before her, golden eyes shot through with green that gleamed like stars, a keen reminder of the absent emerald jewel that should have rested between her eyes - and of her ties to the great being that labored to rid the northern peninsula of Blight.

"But there is yet hope. When the Ruinous Emperor sought to command the Phoenix and Wyrm, and his folly tore a hole in the Firmament, wrenching the Trespasser from its home and into ours, the World Soul took notice - and to combat this blighted intruder, this...infection, it gave birth unto the Great Mother and her siblings - Storm Bird, Golden Flame, and Father of Rivers. The Guardians of our world. And though the Golden Star of Sikar was felled by trickery, and the Green Star of Kiswa by pride, they are returned, wizened by their mistakes and buoyed by the love of their Children as the Great Mother has been for so long; and their nature is that of purifying fire and cleansing rain.

"And it is through them that our disparate realms might be connected as once they were - their Sanctums giving shelter to those who walk the Dreams of the Guardians as the Mother's Children might, bearing messages as Artavazd's pawns once did, under the watchful and loving gaze of the Guardians where once glared only the hungry eyes of a failed tyrant."

---

The Sanctum

Usuukhusaa's laugh was genuine now, if subdued, and like all Dhraan, rather deep and guttural.
"Grhah! Perhaps they think their own fears of the water are shared by all peoples - I know many in Kiswa fear even shallow waters for what may lurk within, and so never even try. But common folk will believe many a rumor about what they do not know - I have heard it claimed that in other lands, they believe dhraan will turn to stone at the merest touch of sunlight as though we were merely moving statues."

The Queen allows her arms to rest on the edge of the pool, her wife watching quietly as the Goliath boy entered. Dora-Mak was not gifted in the same manner as the Regent of the East Wind, for whom languages were blessedly easy to understand - though not as easily spoken without tutelage.

"Greetings to you as well, child. May the flash of thunder find your family in good health, their fields bountiful, and their coffers overflowing."

Usuukhusaa waved for the boy to join them, and sit.

"I fear I will have no more time than your sister to attend such a spectacle - but I do have a nephew who I believe would be more than happy to return with you and partake in my place.
But I do not think I was granted your name - if you are Aste's brother, are you...Malv, then? Wist would be too young still, I think."

[SOSDarkPhoenix]

"I am Aneirin, current regent of the West Wind. As was stated, the Wyrm is not 'evil' any more than a storm or a flood is. These things cause destruction and death, but are not evil." Stepping forward is another half-elf, with radiant golden eyes, jagged horns that sweep back over his hair, and elaborate crimson and gold armour on his body."Yet it is not a force to be let loose upon the world either. The Wyrm is dangerous. It is death, and it is what all those with beating hearts should strive to abate, and to live. The Wyrm cannot be destroyed any more than the Phoenix, nor can they truly be controlled, as Artavazd learned in his hubris. It is all we can do to devote our time to keeping Death in check, and stopping the creeping sickness of the Blight.

Aneirin pauses, looking briefly over to Iorwerth before returning his gaze to the crowd. "The Blight is a sickness. A parasite. An infection. Whatever you choose to call it, it is a perversion of nature and life that twists everything in its path into cursed parodies of what they once were. In Mamut, twisted whales and a gargantuan leviathan emerged from the seas. A blighted dragon flew at the head of hordes of mindless thralls corrupted by ingesting cursed flowers, and the ancient holy city of the Trinity of Light was controlled by dark puppeteers that could command blighted shapes with the fell influence of the Blight's dark heart. Most recently of all, the Targiz 'god', Petalhead, has fallen prey to the grip of the Trespasser. While Petalhead brought nightmare and chaos to Mamut for generations, with his new power, he corrupted the entire city of Kursaal, and even blighted one of the holy celestials of our faith. Blight turns good into bad, and the bad into worse. It must be stopped."

[Silent_Interim]

The Thunspeaker regards each of the Regents in turn as they speak, drumming stony fingers on the back of their throne. Unlike many others, they remain standing, one hand on the seat of power, in deference to the body of the Thunspeaker who sits eternally in the original, far away in Mamut. Eventually, sensing a pause in the proceedings, they raise their voice in a terrible grinding.

"These are pretty words indeed. A worthy tale. A foul foe, and us, its enemies. A fable well kept. But I did not come here to be lectured on the importance of a task that we are already committed to, one and all. I know more than most the price paid by the Dream Speakers, and I have spent these last ten years labouring to save them from themselves. That this once nameless and seemingly endless foe has both name and origin matters little to me. If there are not solutions to be found in this Conclave, then this is mere idle chatter, and I can ill spare the time for idle chatter as I prepare to usher in a new age for both my own people and those you dismiss as mere pawns."

[Tychris1]

"For the King."

They spoke in unison. The final words they would utter to one another. Their duty had no following steps. Stalking the grounds of the River Kingdoms territory, the three agents positioned themselves, and when the sun had finally set they knew their lives had too. The Dhraanish sentries were grizzled veterans of many a war. Battling forces of Blight both monstrous and familiar, foes turned fanatical friends, and yet stranger things. But never had they witnessed the touch of the Wyrm, whispered in far cast Bel-Dan Isles, and now diving past their snouts as two banshee clouds of malice. Distracted by the pair of feral four-legged Vulture-beasts none noticed a simple furtive Elf thrall unfurl their shambles of attire to reveal a damaged tattered banner they zealously floated. Rushing forward they took a single embedded torch and mounted the brandished item upon it. Twirling fabric singing as it snuffs the flames in one final act now held aloft a stones throw from the great table. The monsters for all their squaller are swiftly crushed or beaten off without fight as the hulking-scaled guards brought their massive thews to bear. However, the Elf had taken their own life by then, ramming their chest through the stolen wood, propping themself and the fluttering message in their terminal moments.

Spoiler: The Herald of Ruin

Show

The Wyrm is wounded! Your tepid Phoenix awaits! Artavazd has done poison trick. Merlyn burn poison of Foe and then KILL Artavazd. Your foolish pride will not stop his fated destruction! Hide from Wyrm if you wish or stand by fire.

[Frostwander]

Veramondi Dinner (pre-conclave)
The Vygra enjoy the time spent with their Veramondi family, and are glad to attend the dinner there as well. Kamali and Nepira spend some time chasing each other around the camp prior to the food's arrival, but settle somewhat once their mother calls them to table. They sit on either side of the matji - mostly to keep them past arms' reach of each other while eating in the presence of dignitaries - and maintain polite manners broken only occasionally by poorly stifled giggles.

At Vinolygur's arrival, Sanu-ai detaches himself from the gathering to greet the newcomer. Sanu-ai has studied the scripts and tales of the archipelago and heard of the Ugglo people, but has never seen one face-to-face until now. The dark-skinned man folds his arms one over the other as he bows gently from the waist, relying on the Truthseer present to translate his greeting more than his own mastery of the Daezirn speech. "Good evening. I am Sanu-ai, fulji of the Vygra Confluence of Kiswa. I would be glad to discuss with you such things as you see here. You have come a long way, and I am happy to see your interest and wonder at the good works of our lands."


Guardian Sanctum (pre-conclave)
Matji Varsha accepts the invitation of the troll queen to attend a more private conference than that of the Truthseers' primary topic. While her children and Sanu-ai continued their visitations with the Veramondi and other delegates, the Ahra walks to the Guardian Sanctum with significantly less presentation than their initial arrival. Her stride is stately, with perhaps a touch more seeming solemnity added by matching her pace to the plodding step of the shorter-legged fffolkkk who accompanied her.

Both take advantage of wash basin provided, though with rather less ceremony than the Ashir. Bulandi simply rinses her hands, which are quickly dried by the subtle breeze that shifts around her. Utttlannn immerses her arms as deep as she can in the bowl, then brings a double-palmful of water over the top of her head and allowing it to run down her neck and within her shell. She shivers slightly in appreciation of the coolness, allowing her thick leathery skin to soak in the moisture with satisfaction.

Inside, both disarm of their staves, and greet the Dhraanish queen. Bulandi bows in the Vygra custom, hands spread to both sides, while Utttlannn cranes her neck forward and down, chin nearly touching the center of her shelled torso. "Queen Usuukhusaa, we thank you for your invitation. We are glad to join here, and lend ear to your words." The Ashir then receive similar gestures of greeting. "A shala elem, Sultan Harun il Jana. I am Matji Bulandi, of the Vygra Confluence. This is Utttlannn Ironshell, one of our finest warriors. I am pleased to have this opportunity to meet you in person here in the lands of our friends."