When the Rot came Ya-Shuur did not first perceive it as a Rot, but as a great shockwave that spread across the island and darkened it. It was the product of disharmony and would produce only disharmony, so much Ya-Shuur could sense. And then he could smell it and he saw how fruits on trees were suddenly decaying and rotting, becoming a source of poison and death rather than nutrition and life. This disturbed Ya-Shuur and he walked on, finding that not only fruits were affected by this Rot, but vegetables like carrots, and even the cocoa beans from which the sudi-shrib was made shrivelled up and died.
With the once beautiful bean in his hand, Ya-Shuur rose and looked back and forth from it hesitantly. His lips quivered ever so slightly and his hands shook, and then he let the rotten bean fall from his hand and he dragged his feet away. As he walked and the weight of what had occurred fell on him, his face grew relaxed and eyes blank. He took a deep breath, walked, and observed.
Fruits, vegetables, and seeds were rotting and dying. Their death meant that over the next few weeks many frugivores began to die off. Many of these were birds and small mammals, and some reptiles. The sudden complete destruction of their whole food source had a particularly drastic effect and the deterioration was swift and immediately noticeable, especially for someone as attuned to Be'r-Jaz as Ya-Shuur. The balance had been disrupted and a catastrophic fallout appeared imminent.
This state of affairs also affected the island's new inhabitants, the vall, since their diet consisted largely of animals dependent on creatures that were now swiftly perishing due to the eradication of their foodsource, and this meant that competition for food among the vall grew more desperate and disputes over food often broke out into violent hostilities. Some even took to raiding each other's camps to get at the scarce food.
There was something deeply unjust in all of this, Ya-Shuur thought. The longer he observed, the more certain he grew that this cloud that covered the island and brought imbalance and destruction, this stenchful Rot, was not a natural occurrence by any means. It seemed to him to be supernatural, a deliberate attempt to disturb the harmony he sought to protect. Someone was disrupting his duty, punishing the entire island for no clear or just reason. For the land itself had done no wrong, and neither had the fruits and vegetables and seeds, nor had the birds and other creatures that were now starving to death, and neither had the animals that depended on those. And though the vall had yet to fully understand justice and become part of the island's balance, Ya-Shuur had seen no great collective crime from them that justified such a vast collective punishment. And punishment without justice was null and void.
The Great Shepherd raised his herding stick. "I am the Land." He said simply, and brought it down. An imperceivable shockwave rippled across the island. And there was justice.
Ya-Shuur observes the effects of the Rot brought about by Shengshi. The island is suffering and so are its denizens, and Ya-Shuur perceives that this kind of vast and collective punishment is unjust. Punishment without justice is null and void, and so he dissipates the curse.
5/5 for Justice ✔ 5/5 for Animal Domestication ✔ 0/5 for Truth ✘ 0/5 for Retribution ✘ 0/5 for Law ✘
Weeks had passed since Abanoc and Mnemosyne started working towards restoring lost memories. Abanoc had been focusing more on it than on his task of monitoring Galbar and had to read the Archives every once in a while.
But it was not all fruitless effort. The two had made quick progress and could theoretically reconstruct corrupt memories like in Eurysthenes’ case. It was all done based on the memory of that day the two gods met, but Abanoc’s memory of what he saw was crystal clear and second only to the real thing.
“Master, I feel like we can reach our goal soon.”
“Unlikely. We have only just started to attain results.”
“But we already deciphered the way to do so. If we focus just a bit more we can dispel this corruption before we know it.”
“Do not exert yourself, Mnemosyne. Though what we work with is a reproduction of reality, it still bears the same dangers as the original. I expected this to be a long project, we have no need for haste.”
“And keep your siblings waiting? Don’t you want to heal their memories as soon as possible?”
“Yes, but not the cost of your health. Just as we work to dispel the fabricated the corruption, so could it harm yours or even my memory if we are careless.”
“I understand, but I insist that we accelerate our pace. We don’t need to be careless on our work, but neither do we need to be as slow as we are.”
Abanoc closed his eyes in thought. Indeed, they didn’t need to go at a snail’s pace, but Abanoc was hesitant since he was dealing with a still unknown force. “So be it.” He opened his eyes to look where the muse’s eyes would be. “Do not take unnecessary risks.”
Abanoc held his hands near the sides of her head. Joined in thought, the two saw the same blackness that had taken over Eurysthenes’ mind. With their shared efforts the edges of a corrupt memory had started to flicker, but wasn’t clear yet. Mnemosyne approached the blackness and pushed her hand through the partially restored memories and into the corrupt.
This was the method they had devised to break through the corruption. Mnemosyne would lay her hand upon or into the blackness and try to decipher what it once was then remake it. It wasn’t perfected yet, as seen by the flickering edges, but it was progress nonetheless.
This time, however, Mnemosyne pushed her whole forearm in it. She gasped from the strain, but didn’t back away from it.
“Mnemosyne, do not go too far in. You cannot handle this much yet.”
“I’ll be...fine. I just need to get used to it.” She kept her forearm inside the corrupt memories while adjusting to it. It was a few hours until she could maintain her concentration and work on rebuilding them. “I’ll now begin my work.” The muse announced.
It was almost unnoticeable due to how slow it was, but the blackness receded. It would be another set of hours until Mnemosyne’s hand became visible. She had just made more progress in a day than in the past weeks of work. It had also been exhausting for the muse do so much so quickly and was breathing hard from the strain.
“Good results. But we cannot maintain this pace forever. Otherwise you will break down.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think your sibling’s memory would be so difficult to interpret.” She said amid ragged breaths. Despite her state, however, she didn’t pull her arm out of the flickering memories.
“He is an enigma even for me. It is to be expected that his memories would be just as chaotic. Now, disconnect yourself from them. You have done more than enough for today.”
“I… Huh? What’s this?” The flickering memories began to stabilize and reveal their contents in clarity. They flooded into both the muse and Abanoc’s mind. The chaos of Eurysthenes’ mind was theirs just for a moment, but Mnemosyne couldn’t stand it in her exhausted state.
Sensing this, Abanoc tried to pull Mnemosyne’s consciousness back to the Observatory. Groaning as if in intense pain, her mask split open, revealing a mirror where the rest of her face would be. It shined in a bright light, blinding even Abanoc.
When his sight recovered Mnemosyne was passed out in his arms and her mask was back in place. But something else was now present in the Observatory. An amalgamation of what seemed to be particles of clay was piled up next to them. It moved on its own at random intervals and amounts and eventually began to raise off the ground and took a vaguely columnar shape.
“What is this…?” Abanoc looked at the entity in bewilderment.
The particles whipped wildly around the column until suddenly Abanoc was staring at a copy of himself, save for a glowing divine essence that only Abanoc’s deific eyes could discern. His copy stretched a crooked smile, tapping his chin with wonder in his newborn eyes. He slowly squinted, eyes too new and sensitive. The copy suddenly jerked, and with a heaving cough the particles blasted into a cloud of nothingness once more, only to be snapped back by an unseen force -- except now a copy of Mnemosyne stood in his place. With a slightly more delicate cough, she cleared her throat, “How,” The voice was an uncanny copy of Mnemosyne’s, “Well, this is an interesting turn of events, wouldn’t you say, Abanoc?””
Abanoc stared in silence at the shapeshifter, analysing its traits. “Capable of imitating the body’s frame, complexity and voice. Composed of Eurysthenes’ memories and mine and Mnemosyne’s powers. And...the influence of a third god…” He could sense that much, but not discern to which god that influence belonged to. “What are you?”
The copy looked around for a bit, as if analyzing the situation itself, “I...” It’s face changed to a new one, one of confused blinks and a widening smile of delight, “I am a god.” The rest of the body followed suit, taking the form of a rather plain and featureless humanoid.
“Composed from many sources and not as powerful as a true one, but a god you would seem to be.” Abanoc walked up the steps to lay Mnemosyne on his throne then walked back to ground level. “What is your name and power that you represent?”
“I like the sound of Yullian,” The godling suggested, changing to mimic the look of Abanoc once more, “Yes, Yullian will do just fine.” A copy of Abanoc’s voice assured. He held out a hand, “I am the patron of...” he held his palm open, “Organization, enlightenment, order.”
Abanoc felt something was amiss about the reply, but couldn’t tell for sure due to Yullian’s own divine essence. Not only that, he also felt annoyed for having his form and voice copied in such a way. “Pardon me if I mistrust your words. But regardless of that, What order do you intend to bring to Galbar?”
Yullian held up a finger, as if asking for silence. A strained expression overtook his face and he scowled, “Forget about Galbar for one moment -- something in this very area is out of order.” He wagged a finger, “When was the last time you organized?”
Abanoc narrowed his eyes in anticipation. “Not too long ago.”
“Show me--” Yullian cut themselves off, staring back at Abanoc’s squinted glare, “Oh!” The demigod slapped his own cheek, “I’m so sorry, you’re probably not very comfortable with me looking like... well you, huh?”
“I expect anyone to have a similar reaction to them being copied.”
“Of course,” Yullian rubbed their face, a shade of embarrassment plastered across their visage, “Please, what would you feel more comfortable looking at? Can’t very well get this place organized with this in the way.”
Abanoc sighed. “You have a base form, even if it is featureless. Assume it.”
“Anything for you,” Yullian grinned before suddenly erupting into a mess of particles. The slosh of divine pieces formed a neat pile on the floor, a mouth forming in the corner, “So how about you show me your previous organizations, I would very much love to get right to work!”
“Everything here is already where they should be. You altering anything is quite frankly unnecessary.”
“Oh...” The voice was sad, “I see.” The mess of particles began to slowly slug up the stairs with an almost miserable aura. With a final slap, the pile of Yullian flopped by the great mirror of the observatory. It huffed for a moment before a small tendril of particles suddenly whipped out, ever so slightly changing the position of the magical mirror.
“Ah-HA!” Yullian called out down the steps with renewed vigor, “I seem to have located what was out of order!”
Abanoc looked at the mirror and found that its trajectory had been altered. And as if that wasn’t enough the new reflection was now the underside of his own clothing! That could be enough to embarrass even one as calm as Abanoc, or it would if his divine body reflected human anatomy. “You! Not only do you waste my time, but you also interfere with my task of monitoring Galbar!” He showed the strongest display of emotion yet, a rage that wasn’t fit for his demeanor.
With a motion of his hands the mirror returned to its original place and pulled Yullian back to the ground level. “I tire of you. Begone from my domain, or I shall remove you myself.”
“Certainly,” The pile quickly responded, flopping off the edge of the observatory, only to fall back down upon it, landing on Abanoc’s head in a sloppy ‘poof’.
“Tsk!” He grabbed hold of Yullian, keeping his form together with his power, and tossed him through the entrance.
Taking a deep breath to calm down, Abanoc straightened himself up. “I must restrain Mnemosyne next time she attempts to be so greedy.” He walked towards his Archive and revised its contents. As it was directly connected to the information displayed on the mirror the brief moment of shame that had just occurred was recorded.
“As annoying as that was, it still pains me somewhat to undo this…” He said with a sigh as he erased that piece of information from the Archive.
The pile of particles whizzed for a brief moment before splattering all over the altar of the stone book.
The blue of Galbar’s sky peered down and the gentle lapping of waves could be heard in the distance. A gull called and swooped down, pecking at the fine grains, but each peck saw the clump force itself back to the pile. Finally the particles exploded into a mist only to slap back together in the shape of an elven man -- taking the image from the handy bundle of knowledge he was born with.
Yullian put his hands on his hips, “Well that wasn’t very fun at all--” He looked over at the now anxious gull, “--Well the mirror part was, of course.” He chuckled, “But to be just thrown out like that. Oh well, not like there was much to do up there anyways.” He paused, the gull simply staring at him.
“You’re rather boring, did you know that?”
The gull didn’t respond.
“Speak.”
The gull was silent.
Yullian rubbed his chin and flicked a finger at the bird, a jump of purple lightning suddenly zapping it, its eyes dilating, “Bings and bangs and bungs, why don’t you go scream at the top of your lungs?”
The gull went to call out, but the horrified screams of a woman erupted from its maw instead, startling both the bird and the surrounding wildlife. Yullian broke into a tearful laughter, “Go..” He said through a laugh, “Go on.. shoo.. go scream some more, that was great.”
The gull took off, eyes wide with horror as it continued its orchestra of blood curdling screams, instilling shocks of varied emotions among the unwary. Yullian saluted the midday heliopolis from his eyes as he watched it fly off, a gentle grin on his lips.
“It’s about time I find something really fun to do.”
Abanoc and Mnemosyne have been working for a while in restoring Eurysthenes’ memories based on Abanoc’s knowledge of their state and have just started to get results. Mnemosyne feels confident that they’ll reach a breakthrough soon and convinces Abanoc to speed up the process a bit, although he’s a bit reluctant about it.
They both get to work and this time Mnemosyne does the repairs more intensely, but she has a hard time at it. Several hours later they have good results and just as they’re about to call it a day Eurysthenes’ memories flood into their minds. Mnemosyne can’t handle the thought process and her mind overloads.
This results is a demigod being birthed, Yullian, formed from Eurysthenes’ chaos and pieces of Vakk’s evil and Abanoc’s knowledge. The demigod shapeshifts into Abanoc and Mnemosyne’s forms and pulls a prank on the god, which angered Abanoc and prompted him to remove Yullian from the Observatory. He then undid the prank.
Down on Galbar Yullian is attacked by a savage beast, but it gets put in its place and turned into a freak. The demigod then leaves the Stone Book to pull some more pranks in the form of an elf.
Abanoc starting MP: 18 No MP used
Abanoc starting FP: 15 No FP used
Yullian starting: 2MP 4FP
0mp spent (discounted) on making a single screaming gull
The 'Chosen' were already settling into their new home.
In truth, Valys wasn't particularly fond of the name. Yet the majority seemed content with it, and so it stood. Anyway, work was proceeding quickly under her leadership. The local area was scouted, so that they knew where water and forage could be found. Hunting parties were dispatched regularly, and so far had good fortune. There was no shortage of resources just yet.
The troubling part was the disputes.
Now that they were no longer constantly moving, the Vallamir could now get used to their surroundings, and therefore found more to complain about. And these complaints frequently resulted in the pettiest of quarrels. Someone was accused of eating more than their fair share of food. Two hunters felled the same animal at roughly the same time. A few complained about being given too much work. One Valla was having relations with another's lover. Nobody wanted to dig a latrine pit, and so there was usually resistance whenever she tried to assign someone.
And most turned to Valys to resolve these issues. She was expected to make compromises or take sides. But as trusted as Valys was, she was not Kalmar: they were loyal to her, but their loyalty was not unconditional, so even after she made her judgement, some still objected. It was frustrating. By all rights, the conflicting parties should have been able to resolve it amidst themselves. Yet when she had tried that, no resolutions came, and conflict only continued to fester. They had been given a common cause - to guard a holy site built by the god that created them - and yet they were still so divided. This would not do.
So instead of a completely hands-off or hands-on approach, she opted for a middle ground. Minor problems were dismissed, while severe problems fell to her to resolve. No, not just her. Taking sole responsibility for every decision was maddening. And so she found people who showed an aptitude for leadership or fair judgement, and delegated. There was a black-haired and bronze-eyed man by the name of Karlyn, who became her second-in-command. A blonde-haired woman by the name of Myla was tasked with overseeing security - watching the gate, patrolling the surrounding woods, and intervening should any disputes escalate into open conflict. A redheaded man by the name of Ewen was tasked with leading hunting and scouting parties, and it was he the hunters answered to when they went beyond the walls. And a brown-haired woman named Lena helped Valys decide upon and keep track of assignments.
And all of these leaders began to propose ideas of their own. Myla regularly trained her dedicated security force, ensuring that they possessed an aptitude for both the sling and the spear. Ewen drew crude dirt maps on the ground, planning out routes in advance, and sending out his hunters in shifts. Karlyn suggested they build crude shelters from sticks, branches, and leaves, so that they wouldn't all have to crowd in the temple - the courtyard had plenty of space, he argued, and their population would only grow over time, so why not prepare? And it was Lena who helped Valys decide which workers could be diverted to that task.
As the weeks went on, they began to feel less like a disorganized tribe, and more like a cohesive and efficient force. Everyone in the Order knew that they had Valys to thank for it, and the leaders she appointed.
Valys tries to settle into her role as leader, but there is unrest in the temple, and she soon realizes that she can't do everything on her own. She finds qualified individuals and begins to delegate or make up jobs, and we are introduced to new characters with their own skills and responsibilities. With their help, things begin to proceed a lot more smoothly.
Beginning Prestige: 2 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. Ending Prestige: 4
The sky cracked in half, a scarlet edge tearing it in two, an endless void on either side. The sound of music ripped through the battlefield -- the metallic shouts of the Warden and the intensity of the onslaught drowning out.
Clack.
Clack.
A dark gentleman dragging a mighty club stepped over the fallen soldiers, a disturbed eversmile twisted with rage on his face. Spiteful eyes of a giant stared down at the gentleman, a curse on their breath as they collapse under the weight of sleep. There was a brief pause, a small silence -- and then the club was hefted over the gentleman’s shoulder, the smile wrought into a deep frown. With gritted teeth, the club swung down and connected with the fallen beast, echoing a tremendous blast.
Gore showered all around as the gentleman tossed the club aside -- his companions staring at him in guilt and fright.
...
Yullian sat on a rock, the waves of the beach blasting all around her. In the form of a dreamer woman, she sat with her fingers pressed to her temples. The memories were vivid enough without the reinforcement of what knowledge Abanoc passed on. With a deep inhale, Yullian played the scene over in her head again, and again, and again.
“Such power,” She muttered as she watched the echoes clash with the nightmares in her mind’s eye. She forwarded her memory, a small shake of her head as Vakk was clubbed by K’nell, a small smile on her face. Pulling the memory back, and further back, she watched Vakk explode from their gateway to Savandam -- their sphere.
Yullian tapped her fingers off the rock as they thought. Abanoc had called her lacking after her creation, the seemings of a god but not a true one. She was lacking ‘power’ and ‘power’ meant fun, so therefore more power would mean more fun. What did the Gods of her memories have that she didn’t have? She rubbed her chin, thinking of the mustache of Kalmar, the wings of Li’Kalla, the many forms of Ashalla, the army of K’nell, the sphere of Vakk. There were many things, she figured.
“A person with as many ideas as me deserves more than the mediocre living as ‘half of a God’” Yullian said to a crawling crab, “How can I expect to have endless fun if I don’t have endless power? Better yet.” She stood up proud, fists on her hips, “How can I expect to keep Galbar interesting if from time to time I have to butt heads with the stiffer of the Gods. You know yours truly is clever -- insanely even, but...” She blinked at the crab, as if waiting for a reply.
She crossed her arms, “Then it is settled, I accept the task. I will keep Galbar interesting, and I will claim godhood to ensure it stays that way.”
The crab scurried under the sand and Yullian pouted, “Well we don’t have to get to work right away!” She called after it, “We can have some fun first!”
She rolled her eyes are the empty response, “Blast it all.” She stomped the sand right where the crab would likely be heading, forcing the crab to escape the sand in the opposite direction. A small smile formed on Yullian’s lips and she scooped the crab up in her hands, “You’re coming with me to claim Savandam, I need a little entertainment.” The crab waved its pinchers and she laughed at it, “I’ll think of something.”
“Kirron seems like an alright fellow,” Yullian said out loud to the terrified crab she was carrying as she walked across the tumbling ocean, shimmering blue in every direction. “Sure, a bit beefy in the head -- but he knows how to have the simple kinds of fun. It’s rustic!”
The crab didn’t dare (nor could it) disagree with its captor.
“Now Azura,” Yullian hummed, “Can’t say much about her uptightness, but those feathers are pretty. Maybe I should do feathers. Li’Kalla did feathers and it seemed to suit her just fine.” Slowly a cascade of feathers sprouted all over Yullian. They were white and flecked with blue but just as quickly as they appeared, Yullian dismissed them.
“A burden, really,” Yullian nodded, “At least for aesthetic purposes.” Tucking the crab under one arm, Yullian rubbed an itch off the tip of their nose, “Hey crab, who am I?”
With a wide grin, Yullian summoned a tiny flash of light in her hand, “Let there be light!” Yullian tossed the tiny sparkle away, and mimicked a disinterested face, “Alright, see ya.”
The crab’s eyes followed the sparkle and Yullian chuckled to themselves, “An impressions sort of crustacean are ya? Well try this one on for size.”
Yullian suddenly broke into a torrent of messy tears, “Why are you guys always fighting? You’re ruining my fucking garden. Can’t we all just get along?” Yullian wiped the tears from under one of her eyes as she started to laugh, “Pretty good, huh?”
The crab didn’t respond and Yullian frowned, “I’m giving you an exclusive show, the most you could do is clap-- or well, snap?”
There was a slight “click” as Yullian forced the crab’s pincers closed with a wide grin, “Close enough... but you’re on thin ice.”.
Yullian turned the dead crab over a few times, the poor creature having succumbed to starvation. The demigod bit their pygmy finger in thought, the angular face of an ape-man having replaced their former dreamer disguise.
“Well isn’t that just the way,” Yullian said in a gruff voice, “Next time I’ll try to move a little faster.”
He looked up at the encroaching coast of Dragon’s Foot, “We were so close too!”
Yullian reveals her implanted memories of Vakk and the like. She then decides it is high time she becomes a full god and takes off for Savandam, her supposed birthright.
Later we find her doing improv about the other gods and gets a dig or two in (not really). Then we flash to him later in his journey, having just arrived at Dragon’s Foot, their companion dead.
With a spear on his back and a conch at his belt, Pallamino had taken to a life of travel… and found it surprisingly anti-climatic.
Sure, every now and then he found some people, impressed them with his music, told them a few stories, and heard a few stories in return, but that only amounted to a small portion of his time. The rest was spent trudging through forests and swimming through streams. Sometimes the tribes he visited would pay him in food, but otherwise he had to fish or forage for his own meals.
Funny. He had taken to a life of travel in order to avoid hard, backbreaking labour. Turns out it brought even more of it.
Still, he couldn’t deny that there was a certain joy to it. People liked to listen to him play or sing, his skill was improving by the day, and he was beginning to develop something of a reputation. It was for these reasons that he did not turn back from his course… that, and the fact that it would be embarrassing to so quickly abandon a decision he committed himself to.
Another village came within sight, and the Selka musician smirked. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to fish for his own food tonight.
As Pallamino approached, he could hear the sounds of music coming from the village. First he heard the low beat of a drum, its sound carrying the greatest distance. As he got closer he could resolve a clicking of sticks and the shake of a rattle. The sound of a man’s voice singing was the next thing Pallamino heard. This was followed by the distant whistle of a flute, then the voice of a female singer and the plucked strings of a lyre.
Pallamino could see a crowd gathered near the beach, and the music seemed to be coming from within. As the distance narrowed, Pallamino could make out the words which were being sung. A young lady sung with a voice as sweet as a spring breeze,
“‘Never shall I leave you, Always I shall embrace you, No matter how far off, By this you will know my love.’”
A man’s voice took up the next verse, his baritone voice rich and smooth like fish oil.
“‘Show me how you’ll do this, Reach from across the abyss. Delphina, show me how, Far from land you’ll keep this vow.’”
The musical accompaniment ascended towards a climax as the woman sung again.
“‘I will open the deep, From which much water will weep, This is how I’ll love you, I made the seas to hug you.’”
The man and the woman sung in unison in the final verse.
“From where Delphina sings, Her love to us the waves brings. Her love won’t leave Kirron, Forever it will carry on.”
Then the music ended, and the crowd applauded. Pallamino got close enough to see a band of four selka surrounding by the crowd, holding musical instruments and bowing.
Their presence disappointed him somewhat. Pallamino was hardly the only Selka with musical talent, but he considered himself one of the best. And whenever he encountered someone who might be better, or was perceived to be better, then that usually entailed some sort of competition - people usually ended up preferring one musician over another. And with four already here… it was doubtful that the people of this tribe would care so much for a fifth.
Still, no harm in trying. As the applause died down, Pallamino pulled out his conch flute and began to play a soft, soothing tune - one that was intended to slowly turn heads instead of immediately grab everyone’s intention. There had to be build-up, after all.
One by one, the selka in the crowd noticed the new melody playing behind them, and turned around to look at the newcomer. The four musicians also noticed Pallamino, a look of confusion passing over their faces before they huddled together for a whispered conversation.
After a few moments, the quartet broke from their huddle. The percussionist picked up his drum and beat it which his sticks, the rhythm falling into time with Pallamino’s tune. A young girl raised her bone flute to her lips. She glanced over to the woman who had sung before, who gave the girl an encouraging nod. Then the girl blew into the flute and produced her own melody. Her tune harmonised with Pallamino’s notes, then she pushed forwards with the beat of the drum and brought her music to the fore.
Pallamino raised his eyebrows but remained undaunted. He slowly increased the tempo and force of the song, locking eyes with the four bards one by one. The drummer watched Pallamino closely, adapting his tempo to Pallamino’s. The young flautist’s tune faltered briefly at the changing music, but when Pallamino took a breath she dove into the gap. Her melody soared ahead as a lively dance, with the flautist stepping into a light jig in time with her tune.
Still, Pallamino did not relent. He continued to play, pouring more and more energy into his performance, sending a wink toward the audience. The audience’s attention was split between the two performers. The two singers, who were watching, gave each other a knowing look and an impressed nod.
Meanwhile, the flautist’s eyes betrayed some frustration. She picked up the energy of her dance, and she skipped around the crowd until she was on the same side of the crowd as Pallamino. She danced circles around Pallamino with all the intensity of her flute’s melody.
Again, Pallamino’s eyebrows rose. And then, he moved. Instead of allowing her to dance circles around him they were now circling each other. His music suffered, but only for an instant, before it returned to the same speed and force as his opponent.
As the two flautists danced around each other, the crowd began to clap in time with their music, instigated by the female singer. The steps of the dance fell into time with the clapping and were driven by it. The young girl looked into Pallamino’s eyes, and her dance increased in intricacy. Her movements were well rehearsed and flowed with the grace of the sea’s waves.
Pallamino, for his part, wasn’t as good a dancer, but still managed to put up a decent display. It was time to wrap this up, he decided. He launched into an energetic finish, concluding with one long note. Noticing the conclusion, the girl also held a long note with Pallamino, and cut off when he did. They then both turned to the crowd and bowed.
The crowd applauded and cheered. The other three musicians pushed their way through the crowd and approached Pallamino. The female singer with the lyre stepped forwards and spoke. “We haven’t heard a musician that talented since we left Hyummin. Let us introduce ourselves. I’m Hujaya,” she greeted, pointing to herself.
“I’m Pyouroff,” said the older percussionist.
“I’m Kaleo,” said the male singer.
“And I’m Sulingu,” said the young flautist. “It was fun playing with you,” she added with a bow.
“I’m Pallamino. The third,” he said, bowing in return. “Do the four of you travel together?”
“Yes,” Hujaya answered. “We are Stormbards, tasked by Delphina to do, well,” she gestured around herself, “this, and more.”
“More?” Pallamino questioned. “What else do you do?”
“We sing. We teach. And sometimes, we use some of our more…” Hujaya smiled as she tried to pick the right words, “unique talents to help people with tougher tasks.”
Pallamino could recognize an evasive answer when he saw it, but he was not here to pry into the business of strangers. “Well, I met Asha- Delphina, myself,” he said, his tone almost casual. “It was she who gave me this flute, actually.”
The eyes of the Stormbards widened in surprise. “You did?” asked Kaleo.
A short laugh came from Hujaya. “No wonder you’re such a good musician!”
Sulingu leant in closer and eyed the conch. She reached out a hand. “May I look?”
A brief glint of suspicion appeared in Pallamino’s eye, momentarily disturbing his air of nonchalance, but it was quickly gone. Instead he nodded, and reluctantly handed over the flute. Sulingu held it carefully and closely inspected it. “I thought it sounded different. I’ve never seen such a masterfully crafted instrument. It-” she looked at Pallamino and hesitated. “May I try it?” she asked sheepishly.
“Go ahead,” he nodded.
Sulingu lifted the conch to her lips and blew. It produced such a beautifully resonant note that she almost recoiled in surprise. Then she played a few more notes, covering up different patterns of holes. She then lowered the instrument and looked at it in awe. “The right sound comes so naturally from it.”
“I’d expect nothing less from an instrument made by Delphina,” Hujaya said.
Sulingu handed the conch flute back to Pallamino. “Thank you,” she said.
Pallamino took back the conch. He recalled his earlier decision not to pry, and promptly decided to metaphorically kick it into the sea. “What are these unique talents you mentioned?” he asked.
Hujaya glanced sideways at the other Stormbards with a grin on her face, then looked back to Pallamino. “I think we can show you. How about we catch you some lunch?”
“A free lunch isn’t something I can turn down,” Pallamino said with a smirk. “Were you taught by Arryn too?”
Hujaya’s brow furrowed. “Arryn?”
Pyouroff chimed in. “Oh, I’ve heard of him. Hunting god from down-beach.” He gestured southwards.
Hujaya shook her head. “No, Arryn didn’t teach this. It’s, well, you’ll see,” she said with a smile. She looked back at the other Stormbards. Kaleo had his hand shading his eyes from the sun as he scanned the sky. Sulingu and Pyouroff had picked up their instruments. Kaleo seemed to spot something. He tapped Hujaya on the shoulder and pointed up coast. Hujaya squinted in the direction of his finger, then nodded. She adjusted the strap of her lyre and gestured to Pallamino. “Come on.”
The group set out north along the beach, walking along the sand.
“Looks like a storm might be coming,” Pallamino observed, glancing out toward the sea, where the clouds grew heavier and the waves had become stronger.
Hujaya gave a knowing nod to the other Stormbards. “Indeed,” she said.
“Well, I hope it doesn’t interfere with whatever you’re about to do,” Pallamino said as he kept walking.
Hujaya and the others struggled to hide the grins which broke out on their faces, but they kept walking. After they had walked for some time, Pyouroff pointed to a rocky outcropping which rose behind the beach. “That should do.”
Hujaya nodded, and the Stormbards approached the rock. Sulingu went first, her light and nimble frame easily able to climb the rockface. The others followed behind, with Pallamino in the rear. When Pallamino pulled himself to the top, Pyouroff had already laid out his percussion and the others stood poised and ready to perform. They were inspecting the sky and horizon one more time.
Pallamino, meanwhile, only stood by awkwardly. If they were trying to find food, why were they looking at the sky, instead of the forest or the ocean? Perhaps the answer might be revealed in time. “So…” he began, but quickly trailed off.
Pyouroff seemed to come to a conclusion. “It looks promising to me. Shall we do the usual?”
Hujaya nodded. “Yes. Beat us in, Pyouroff.”
Pyouroff took a few moments to feel an internal pulse. Then he brought his stick down on his drum, a deep bass note sounding out. He struck then struck twice, followed by another double tap, then he hit the drum and slapped his sticks together with a click. At this cue Sulingu started playing her flute and Hujaya strummed her lyre as she started to sing, Pyouroff’s drum beat repeating.
“Come to me, squalls, come to me, Then happy I will be. Come to me, squalls, come to me, To one who loves the sea.
“I have been looking for long, So now I sing this song. Come to me, squalls, come to me, Then happy I will be.”
Hujaya repeated her words, with Kaleo joining in and forming a splendid harmony. What link music had to finding food, Pallamino did not have the faintest idea. At least the music was nice enough. He listened in silence and began to tap his foot to it.
The song stretched on long enough to start to become boring when there seemed to be a shift in the clouds. Two cloudy wisps broke from the coming storm and approached the musicians, the wind picking up around them. The Stormbards shared a look. Sulingu slipped her flute into her rope belt and quickly climbed down the rock while the others continued to play. Pallamino stopped tapping his foot, and his hand closed around the spear in its loop across his back, but he did not pull it free just yet.
Pyouroff spared Pallamino a glance. “That won’t work on these,” he said without skipping a beat of his drum. “You’d best be climbing down too.”
With a frown, Pallamino released his grip and then began to descend the rock, following Sulingu. The young girl stood on the ground, flute in her hand, looking nervously at the sky. “What is happening here, anyway?” he asked her.
“We’re calling squalls,” she answered, not taking her eyes off the sky.
“And what are those?”
“They’re…” she gestured vaguely, “You ever had weather that seemed a bit more nasty than normal?”
“I have,” Pallamino nodded.
“They’re that.”
Pallamino blinked. “Wait… your music can cause storms?” he asked in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s… a power Delphina has granted us.” There was a change in the music coming from on top of the rock. “Oh, that’s my cue!” She lifted her flute and played, a look of concentration on her face.
Hujaya walked over to the edge of the rock, strumming her lyre and vocalising open notes. Around her twisted cloud, wind and rain. She nodded to Sulingu, and Hujaya’s music grew softer as Sulingu’s tune took the lead. Sulingu danced forwards a few steps and did a pirouette. The twists of weather seemed to notice her and descended from the rock to circle around the dancing flautist. Once she was sure she had their attention Sulingu eased her performance back to a gentler and more sustainable pace.
The music from on top of the rock stopped and the remaining Stormbards climbed down. In this time when only Sulingu was playing, Pallamino felt the wind of the squalls blow past him. A sprinkle of rain splashed upon him. Sulingu gave the squall a stern look and she took a couple hops away from Pallamino, the squall following as if being pulled.
Soon the Stormbards had regrouped. Pyouroff shook a rattle rhythmically, Hujaya strummed some notes on her lyre and Sulingu was able to relax somewhat, although she kept playing her flute. Pallamino looked upon the small floating clouds with wonder. “How are you doing this?” he asked.
Kaleo answered, “We know how to talk to them. That’s the unique skill given us by Delphina.”
“Is it possible to learn this power?” he asked his second question.
“Yes. Hujaya was the first, and she passed it on to us.”
“How?” came the third question.
Kaleo looked to the other Stormbards, who were concentrating on the squalls. “We can discuss that after we catch some lunch.”
They approached the treeline with a lilting gait, the two squalls ebbing and flowing around them. Kaleo searched the trees as the other three Stormbards mainly focussed on their music. “Try to find some prey,” Kaleo said to Pallamino.
Pallamino offered a shrug in response. While Kaleo was peering at the trees, Pallamino set his gaze to the ground. He walked a fair distance away from the group, and then his eyes caught something. He waved to call them over. Kaleo walked over, and the others with the squalls slowly approached. “See something?” Kaleo asked.
“Tracks,” he nodded. “They could be recent, but I’m no expert.”
Kaleo squinted at the ground, then shrugged. “Worth a try. Lead the way.”
Pallamino offered another shrug. He had never been much of a hunter, but it was worth a shot… hopefully the music wouldn’t scare away the prey.
He followed the tracks into the woods, and they walked for some time. Already Pallamino was beginning to second-guess himself. Then, suddenly, there was a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned and pointed, just in time to see a rabbit dart out of a bush, take one look at them, and attempt to dash away as quickly as it could. It was not the animal he had been tracking, but it would do.
What happened next was a blur of sound and motion. Sulingu’s flute rose in volume. Hujaya strummed her lyre, then while singing a rising note she stretched out her arm towards one of the squalls and gracefully pivoted towards where the rabbit had run off to. The squall followed the motion. Pyouroff slammed a stick down hard on his drum, and with that beat the squall surged with a ferocious gust of wind. Branches, dirt and leaves were thrown into the air with almost explosive force, and the rabbit was also hurled by the gust. It rolled across the ground and lay motionless.
Pallamino, for his part, could only stare on in bewilderment. An intelligent, independent cloud, controlled by nothing more than music, had just effortly ended a creature’s life before his very eyes. Kaleo tapped Pallamino on the arm and nodded towards the rabbit. “Well go on.” Meanwhile the agitated squalls circled around them. Hujaya, Sulingu and Pyouroff were slowly easing the music back to its original lilt and calming the squalls down.
Reluctantly, Pallamino stepped forward to examine the rabbit more closely. Although it was silent and unmoving, its chest still rose and fell, which told Pallamino it was not yet dead. Arryn would certainly disapprove if it was left like that, he realized. With a frown he brought his spear up and then drove it down, the creature letting out one final squeak as its life was extinguished.
Pyouroff spared a look towards Pallamino. “It’s not a big meal for five. I’d look for dinner too before releasing them.”
Hujaya also glanced briefly towards Pallamino as she strummed her lyre. “Only if he’s up to it. This must be a bit of a shock for him.”
Pallamino glanced up from the rabbit, at the floating cloud of energy and moisture, and then at the Stormbards. He took a breath. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll find another.”
The Stormbards nodded, and once they were satisfied that the squalls had returned to their previous demeanour they continued to walk. It was Sulingu who saw, a little while later, a couple of magpies perched in a tree. With a dip in her tune and a few dancing steps sideways she sent the squalls rustling through the undergrowth and past the tree. The magpies sensed something amiss and took flight.
As they did, Pyouroff beat on his drum and Kaleo sang out. “Fly, squalls, fly, and take to the sky! Get that bird, my words you have heard!” The squalls rushed up through the canopy, overtook the birds and threw them to the ground with a violent downdraft. With a shrill phrase from Sulingu’s flute the squalls swept over the birds again before they could get back up, battering them some more. Kaleo stepped forwards, grabbed one of the magpies with his hand, then with a grimace he wrung the bird’s neck with his other hand. Pallamino followed his example and did the same.
The Stormbards took their time to calm the squalls as before. Once the squalls were no longer rustling the nearby trees with their gusts Hujaya said, “Is that enough food for you, Pyouroff?”
Pyouroff gave a slight huff and a tiny smirk. “Yes, I think that might just be enough to fill my belly.”
“Then let’s send them off.”
Hujaya’s lyre shifted its notes to produce a melancholic key, underscored by Sulingu’s flute. Hujaya then sung softly and sweetly.
“Sadly my song must now come to a close. I must now send my squalls to their repose. I end my song with a sweet lullaby, And I say to the storm spirits: goodbye.”
As the last note hung in the air, the wind stilled, and the squalls were gone. The Stormbards exhaled in relief, and they shook out their arms. “Let’s eat,” Hujaya said.
Pallamino frowned. “It might be best to cook it first,” he suggested. “Maybe there’s a fire back in the village?”
“Ah, yes, I think I did see a fire back there,” Hujaya answered, “Well, let’s go.”
The five musicians sat around the village’s communal fire, a beast captured and tamed from the wilds like Ippino had done for the Hyummin. The rabbit and two plucked magpies were skewered on sticks and roasting over the flames.
Hujaya turned her head to Pallamino. “So tell us a bit more about yourself. Where do you come from? And tell us about your meeting with Delphina.”
“I come from the Ubbo Tribe,” Pallamino answered. “I was resting on a beach, humming to myself, when she appeared. She gave me this instrument, and taught the rest of my tribe how to make instruments as well. Then we performed for her, and she was impressed.” He shrugged. “I decided to start travelling and share my music with the rest of the Selka.”
Hujaya and the other Stormbards nodded. “We come from the Hyummin tribes, up-beach. That was the home of Ippino, the Man Who Loved the Sea, who taught us about Delphina. One day she came and taught us about musical instruments and we performed for her, like your tribe did it seems.” A smile formed on Hujaya’s lips as she recalled the memory. “Several winters later, I was singing on Ippino’s beach when I was visited by Delphina. She was also impressed, gave me the talent with squalls, and dubbed me the first Stormbard. These three lived nearby. They were good musicians and willing, so I made them Stormbards too.”
“And how does one become a stormbard?” Pallamino asked.
Pyouroff pulled back the rabbit, poked at its skin, then put it back above the fire. “If she decides you’re worthy, you get to take an oath and then she teaches you.”
“We’ll teach him,” Hujaya corrected, “You’re all experienced enough to be able to teach.”
Pallamino raised his eyebrows. “So will you teach me, then?”
Hujaya threw up her hands. “Well, let’s not get carried away. We’ve known you for less than a day. As you’ve seen, this is not a skill to be shared lightly.” Hujaya turned over one of the magpies to cook its other side. “But you’re a very good musician. And you have Delphina’s favour.” She prodded at the fire with a stick, a thoughtful look on her face. “Tell you what, you can travel and perform with us, then some days later when we know each other better we can decide whether to make you a Stormbard.” She looked at the others and added, “If that’s okay with everyone.”
The gathered Stormbards nodded and spoke their assent. Hujaya looked back to Pallamino. “What do you say?”
Pallamino considered the offer, and then, after a moment, he nodded. “Sounds fair.”
Pallamino the Third has been living as a travelling musician. It’s not as glamorous as he first thought, but he can make a meagre living from it.
One day he comes across a village where the Stormbards are performing. Not keen on being upstaged, he starts a flute duel. Sulingu and Pallamino duke it out, with Pallamino being a better flautist but Sulingu being a better dancer.
In the end, everyone is impressed. Introductions are made.
Pallamino is invited by the Stormbards on a hunt. He witnesses the calling of some squalls, and sees them employed against small forest animals.
They chat over a fire. Pallamino wants to be a Stormbard. Hujaya says he can follow along for now.
Start: 4 Prestige Spent: 2 Prestige on Title ‘Minstrels’ Earned: 3 Prestige (major role with collab) End: 5 Prestige
Daethyrd sat absolutely still, watching the mighty beast as it swallowed a cow whole. He had been watching it now for a few days, trying to understand its behavior and habits as well as glean an understanding of its strengths and weaknesses. Eventually he decided that if he was going to gain its back he would need something to tie it up with so he could hold on, and so he gathered vines and made a sturdy rope and then he climbed a great clay spire and lay in wait for the beast.
When it passed below, he swung the vine rope and threw it at it, hoping to catch its tail. However he missed miserably and the great beast noticed him. It growled and then gave off a mighty roar, and it circled around the spire a few times, and then it kicked off into the air and dashed towards the vall. Daethyrs cursed and called for Gul-Tir. The molf erupted from some trees and flew towards his master, but the beast was already upon Daethyrd who swung his spear, realized that it was useless, and leapt from the spire. As he leapt the beast's powerful tail caught him on the shoulder and Daethyrd grunted in pain, his graceful leap turning into a mad descent. Luckily however his molf caught him, though Daethyrd winced in pain as the protrusions on its back cut him up.
Brandishing his sling in his undamaged arm, he placed a stone into it (gritting his teeth despite the pain) and he swung it as the molf dashed about in the air and struck the beast on the head. It simply bounced off and appeared to leave no damage whatsoever. The beast looked at the two for a few moments before turning away and dashing off. Adrenaline rushing through him, Daethyrd egged Gul-Tir on and the molf leapt after its first father.
The land rushed behind them as they accelerated after the powerful beast, and the rain whipped Daethyrd's face like never before. It felt like he was being pelted with thousands of sling stones. And then a putrid smell hit him and he gagged. By this time the beast had disappeared into the fog and rain, though his molf was still following its scent despite the terrible stench. The pain growing too great to bear, Daethyrd brought his molf earthward and crawled under a tree. He rubbed at his bottom and the back of his legs, which were cut up from landing on Gul-Tir, and then felt his tear-inducingly painful shoulder and realized that there was some kind of shard stuck in there. He closed his eyes and picked it out, and when he looked at it he saw that it was a small spike from the beast's tail.
Grunting, and glad that his shoulder was not broken, he lay back and closed his eyes. However, before he could settle into a healing sleep something stinking and putrid landed on his head and he gagged and thrashed to get it off. Even after he had gotten the black stuff off he could feel his skin reacting badly and he pulled himself up and into the rain so it could wash it all away. As he looked around he realized that the black stuff was everywhere on the ground where there had once been grass or fruits in the trees. A rabbit in the distance sniffed at some of it and Daethyrd saw it attempt to eat it, only for it to fall down dead maybe ten minutes after. A wild goat licked at the stuff and nibbled at it, but quickly spat it out and went off to find something better. Only worms and other creatures usually attracted to rot seemed to benefit from this whole affair, and Daethyrd saw the disgusting things everywhere he looked.
As he returned to camp to recover, Daethyrd noticed that the rot was everywhere, and everywhere there were dead animals. After a few days, they were dead, rotting, disease-ridden corpses that added to the stench. Normally the rain would have acted to cleanse things like this, but the enormous volume of rot only meant that the rain descended and mixed with it and made it all worse. Perhaps a week later, Daethyrd came across a small camp and asked its people for food and lodgings. A number of them stared at him and his molf, and then invited him to stay. "Rest a while," a woman with a waxen baby tied to her chest told him, "and we will wake you up when food is ready."
What woke him up was not food being ready, but the barking of Gul-Tir and attempts to tie his arms up. As he came to, he found that he was being carried towards a great fire and that Gul-Tir was struggling with maybe three hunters who were trying to put him down. Roaring and foiling the attempts to tie his arms up, Daethyrd scattered the strange people and ran at the hunters bare-handed. Two of them yelped in shock and dashed off, but the third turned on Daethyrd and stabbed at the vall's thigh. He grunted in pain as the spear pierced his flesh and buried itself deep, but then thwacked his opponent on the side of the head and sent him reeling. Then the battered vall leapt onto Gul-Tir and spurred him into the air. Daethyrd spared one look back, and found that the weird pale people of the camp were stood staring at him with glazed over and hungry eyes. It sent a shiver down his spine.
As they flew through the fog and rain and stench, his stomach growling and eyes heavy and very suddenly cold and dizzy, he wondered what had brought about this terrible rot. But no answer was forthcoming. Later in the day Gul-Tir hunted down a great reindeer and brought it to him. Daethyrd noticed immediately that the reindeer was very thin and had clearly already been half dead of starvation before Gul-Tir caught it. He opened it up and cleaned its innars, noticing that it had eaten some of the rot and that had already been eating at it from inside. He cleaned it out, ensuring none was left, and then both he and Gul-Tir dug into the raw meat.
Some days later they passed through the ruins of another camp and Daethyrd was shocked to find the remains of little children and women in it. Their corpses were maybe a week old. Searching the camp, he found that the camp's stores had been hurriedly emptied out. The camp had been a victim of a food raid. Given what Daethyrd had seen of the rot so far, this seemed hardly surprising. He stood over the corpses for a long time, a deep frown etched onto his face. Then he sighed and buried them all, and then he spoke the decree the Land had given to him and all the vall of middle Be'r-Jaz:
"The Land your Home, demands Justice. Honor the Land, Honor its creatures, Cultivate balance, Create harmony. Do not hurt and do not mistreat, Only with justice. Do not transgress. Do kindness to who do kindness, Withhold from who do not. Fulfill your duty, Shun who shun it. Take not another's due, Allot to each their due. Ask after the blood of kin, The price of blood is blood, The price of a hurt is a like hurt. And forgiveness is good."
He looked over the graves for a few moments and then turned and jumped onto Gul-Tir. "The price of blood is blood," he repeated, and the molf mewled slightly before setting off. When he arrived at his home camp things had changed. He found that a black-haired vall named Gildrik, one of the hunting pack leaders and a terrifying warrior, had now gained mastery over the people due to the food shortages. He allotted food arbitrarily and had a number of people from different camps, alongside people who opposed him generally, locked up in sturdy wooden cages. Some, who he decreed would die, were thrown into holes in the ground and weighed down with a rock, then the rain water filled up the hole and they perished.
All of this had come about due to the sudden lack of food, and Gildrik led great hunting packs - not five or ten individuals, but up to forty or fifty - on great raids of other camps and came back with more prisoners and food. Gildrik himself wore a great necklace with the fingers of all those he had bested in combat, and his hide armour was decorated with the ribs of his foes. When times grew very tough they brought some of the prisoners out and slaughtered them and ate them. When Daethyrd saw all this it made his stomach turn, and he expressed his anger and disapproval to Gildrik. The other warrior only laughed.
"What is this Daethyrd! I thought you of all people would approve of this. Isn't this what we always wanted? Hunting, fighting, the thrill of the chase, besting all who defy us, GLORY. My name and the names of my faithful and bloodied warriors are whispered by all middelvalls. They fear our coming when we come and they know that we are the masters. And in time even the southerners will be cowed by us, and the Queen-Mother will come to know her mistake and she will make us, not them, the honored ones!" But Daethyrd only shook his head. "You are killing and slaughtering our own people wantonly, this is not the way of the Land. We are warriors for the protection of the people, it is not our purpose to kill and slaughter just for the thrill of it. There is no glory in forsaking our duties." But Gildrik only scoffed. "I am not killing or slaughtering wantonly. We do what is necessary to survive. If we do not raid and take what we need with the strength of our arms, then another people will strike at us and humiliate and debase us, and they will steal our food and do to us as we have done to others. If we do not do what is necessary to maintain our strength, then we will fall by the wayside and be destroyed. These are terrible and shifting times, and it is just in such times that the fruit of glory awaits the glorious to pick it." Daethyrd's eyes narrowed and then a grin grew on his face. Seeing this, Gildrik also grinned. "See! I knew you would like it!" "So you go off with your men, you fall upon their camps, you best their warriors and slaughter their women and children, and you take any food they have, and whoever remains you take with you as prisoners?" He asked Gildrik. The black-haired middelvall nodded. "We don't take everyone who survives," Gildrik said, "but otherwise yes. You will be my right-hand man Daethyrd. We will raid further than ever before and everyone will know to fear us!" Daethyrd stood up and nodded, and he looked around at the gathered people and raised his spear. There were a few cheers at this display. Daethyrd grinned. "The price of blood is blood!" He roared, and his eyes flashed and he turned on Gildrik with sudden speed and fury, and before anyone knew what was happening the black-haired middelvall had a spear in his throat.
A shocked roar went up, hunters leapt towards Gildrik in the vain hope of saving him while others leapt at Daethyrd. The middelvall brandished a sharpened bone knife and shoved it into the eye of the closest warrior, before barely dodging a stab from a spear. Daethyrd gripped the offending weapon and threw its wielder over his shoulder before stabbing the helpless vall with his own weapon. There was a cold, wild gleam in Daethyrd's eyes, and he moved with a grace of form and calmness he had never felt before. Spears seemed to slip by him without doing any harm, and his knife or spear seemed to find the vulnerabilities of his enemies with great ease. It was all over in minutes, and when it was done he felt suddenly exhausted.
People were huddled against trees in their dens, staring in horror at the terrible scene and the one who had been responsible for it. Daethyrd looked with glazed eyes at the scene of the execution. Some thirty warr- murderers lay dead, their blood everywhere. He brought a blood hand to his face and breathed, and then he spoke in a calm, loud voice. "The price of a hurt is to undo it or suffer like it, and death which cannot be undone is paid with death. This is Justice." He looked around him sternly. "Know that the Land your god is a just and kind god, and know also that I am its executioner. And I will strike you down with great vengeance and furious punishment for your transgressions, and you will know the full glory of the Land only then when retribution is due and the hour has grown late."
And Daethyrd then walked into the darkness and stench of the night, leaving the people of Gildrik behind.
Daethyrd continues trying to gain Zer-Du's back but the beast bests and eludes him for the moment. Then the Rot arrives and Daethyrd travels around witnessing the terrible effect it has had on the island itself and on the vall in particular. Cannibalism, food raids, murder, and slavery have grown rife in middle Be'r-Jaz due to the food shortages, and in Daethyrd's home camp a tyrant named Gildrik has come to power. Daethyrd speaks with him and eventually executes him and his warriors before leaving the camp behind and continuing on his journey.
1 Prestige for each post in which a Hero plays at least a minor role; this should still be more than just an offhanded mention or a few lines of dialogue. The role must advance the story in a notable way. ✔
1 Prestige for a hero if they are the focus and the star of a post. ✔
1 Prestige to each hero involved, if the post was collaborated between two or more people. ✘
1 Prestige if the post follows a hero on a quest. ✔
5+ Prestige if a Hero completes a quest they pursued over three or more posts. If the Quest is completed in two posts, this is halved and rounded down to the nearest whole number. ✘
+3 Prestige to Daethyrd 6 Prestige in Total -2 Prestige to claim Title: Justice's Executioner 4 Prestige in Total
The great storm which was Ashalla rolled over the frozen north of Galbar. Winter-spirits burrowed into the ice to avoid the blizzard which scoured the ice sheet. Tendrils of fog curled through the endless plain of ice sculptures, feeling their myriad forms.
There were many varieties of trees and plants and even a few mushrooms. There were depictions of many beasts such as wolves, monkeys, bears, foxes, moose, penguins, seals, direwolves, griffons, trolls, ghouls, whales, molves, crows, alma, aquatic serpents, long-necked armoured flippered creatures, shark-like creatures with wings and legs, gemstone gardeners, vitasaurs, magpies, elk, goats, bilbies, tree-eaters, possums, and countless more. There were a few sculptures which depicted some specific creatures: a direwolf with only one eye; a sleek quadrupedal predator with a clubbed tail; a five-headed dragon; a collection of abstract curves collected into a vaguely humanoid form with two pole-arms; a whale with some kind of armour; a tyrannosaurus rex; a humanoid woman with antlers and hooves. There were multiple sculptures of a fine manor in various stages of disrepair. There were also sculptures of little huts, of Dreamers, of a Shengshese manor, of Hermes and Xiaoli and Arya and Laurien.
As Ashalla inspected the sculptures, learning about what land-dwelling creatures the winter-spirits had seen, she came across one ice sculpture much too large to have been made by the tiny winter-spirits. It was almost a hundred metres tall, and looked exactly like Chopstick Eyes. This meant someone else had been here, possibly Chopstick Eyes.
Casting her senses about, Ashalla detected another peculiar specimen. This was a winter-spirit, but rather than being the normal white and blue of ice, it was painted in red, green and gold. An eddy pulled the winter-spirit into the clouds which were Ashalla. A brief taste told her the colouring came from algae living on the surface of the icy being.
“What wonderful colours,” she burbled. The algae required the winter-spirit to acquire some salts beyond its normal diet of just water, but these were readily available in the ocean. Several other winter-spirits she could sense also had colourful markings.
She tasted the winter-spirit again, this time analysing the flavours more closely. She knew that if she looked hard enough, the signature of the artist would be present. Then she found it, faint as it was: residue of divine essence. Chopstick Eyes’ divine essence.
Now that her senses were attuned to faint traces of divine essence, she noticed trails in the ice. The statue had indeed been made by Chopstick Eyes, and that goddess’ trail (after considerable wandering) appeared to lead approximately north. But there was another set of trails which Ashalla noticed, heading due north. Three distinct essences mingled in this trail: one she recognised as Kalmar, another she could identify as Arae, and a third she could not identify but it had a stench of death about it similar to Katharsos.
Ashalla looked north. These gods had gone ahead to Azura and her vault. The clouds within Ashalla twisted into tight eddies. The wind changed, and Ashalla flew north.
The towering mountain at the top of the world rolled across the horizon and into view. Azurian constructs patrolled around the mountain, including two very large ones which mirrored what Ashalla had seen in the winter-spirits’ ice sculptures. Overhead flew Alma, although Ashalla’s presence diverted the flight paths of many of the birds. One of the Alma dove ahead of Ashalla and projected an image of a familiar whale.
“Hello there. What brings you...” the whale began to say again, only to be interrupted by a faint voice nearby wherever it was transmitting from.
“Oh thank goodness. It’s just Ashalla. You don’t need to stall this time Luis. Yes I’m sure, you don't need to frown like that. I can sense it even if she looks different. It’s a god thing,” Azura told her gigantic companion before drifting up into the view of the Alma, the goddess of wind currently in a Merfolk form which swam through the air as if it were water.
“Hay, hello!” she said once she was visible. “It’s lovely to see you again.” Azura was mostly smiling pleasantly but there was a hint of worry visible as she asked, “Is this a social visit?”
Ashalla rumbled briefly. The form did not look like Azura last time she met her, but the voice was the same, and this new form possessed numerous motifs which were similar to Azura’s original form. “Yes,” Ashalla answered. Ashalla continued to fly towards the Isle of Twilight, the message-delivering Alma being blown along with her.
The brief pang of worry slipped off of Azura’s face at the word “Excelent excelent. Please do come up,” she said via the wind swept Alma, “Oh, and Choppy is visiting as well. I’ll introduce you once you arrive if you have not met already.”
In the distance, a tiny figure attempted to leap onto a hammer-drake and missed.
“How convenient. I had been hoping to see her,” Ashalla said.
Ashalla soon reached the ring of mountains surrounding the north pole. Where before she had struggled to scale the steep slopes, as a cloud she easily flew over the obstacle. As she passed, wind and rain licked against the various constructs, tasting them, and a symphony of Verse accompanied her passing.
When Ashalla reached the polar spire, she wrapped around it. She noted that the trails of Kalmar, Arae and the death-touched deity did not descend into the Vault. Then the ascending winds driven by the Sky Bastion caught Ashalla, and she rode those winds up into the Blue. There she blossomed outwards, Ashalla’s form engulfing the floating fortress, tendrils of mist creeping through the corridors.
As she settled atop the castle in the sky, Luis, and one of the free floating temples which Choppy had been launching her hammerhead capture attempts from, drifted closer. The erratically designed structure, older than the continents of Galbar, was a ball of masonry, soil and foliage with no real top or bottom that drifted lazily through the air at the behest of Azura’s winds. Azura herself was found sitting on the wrong side of a parapet of a tall tower that currently jutted out horizontally from the floating structure.
“Hello Azura,” Ashalla greeted with a voice like a monsoon. “Hello… Choppy.” The name was said uncertainly.
“Hello Ashaaaaaaaaaa...” trailed off the scream in the distance as the god disappeared into a low speck, then inflated again into a silk chevron.
“Hello Ashalla! It’s so to see you again, though I would appreciate it if you ceased probing my home before-” Azura began before one of Ashalla’s tendrils of mist was met with a violent gust of wind trying to force it back out of the room it was invading, the rush of power accompanied by a great deal of swearing.
“Ah, too late. I see you have found my...” Azura paused momentarily, unsure as to how to properly describe the person she had once been given a second life.
“That you have found Cerule,” she concluded, her tone apologetic.
Ashalla did not push into the room she had been rejected from, but she did not withdraw from the rooms she had filled either. “Who is Cerule?” Ashalla asked.
“She’s who I was before I came to the Architects realm. Or a compressed version of her, anyway. Long story short, she made a deal with a being in the void known as Ludicium to find redemption after abandoning her home realm. The price of this redemption was death, and from her ashes I arose. Yet she feared death, as we all do, and so hid a part herself away inside my newborn mind rather than commit to the deal in full. There’s more, but I won't bother you with the details, tales of memories suppressed and the Watcher from the void, but in the end she and I have split apart and now both wield the power I was given here,” Azura explained.
There was a surprised pop followed by a long rumble as Ashalla processed this new information. “Interesting,” was her eventual conclusion.
Then a slit-like window on the section of the wall outside the room Ashalla had attempted to enter was violently expanded, the stone turned back to wind by a divine hand.
Out of this new window leaned Cerule. Her semi-avian Armonia body still wore the cloak of many colored feathers with which Azura had adorned it’s shoulders while she lived in it, but beneath this the old goddess had put on a scarlet robe. Arcane symbols relating to protection had been stitched into it with copper wire, mostly focused around the cuffs and hem of the outfit, however the runes of magic from a distant world lacked the ability to direct magical power in this land so far and different from their home plane.
“I’d appreciate it if your guests wouldn't make a mess of our work while you’re taking a break, Azura!” Cerule complained, waving a loosely sleeved hand fruitlessly at the mist enveloping the fortress with one hand.
“I go where I please,” asserted the mist with a peal of thunder.
“Same!” chipped a smaller figure, stuck outside one of the very same windows Cerule had temporarily evaporated. “Turns out hang-gliding is really, really easy in the Sphere of WindoooOOh OOoh shit I’m slipping ffff-” There was a scrabbling sound as a fresh drizzle wet the stone of the fortress and Chopstick scrabbled to keep her grip. Within a few seconds she had failed, and her face disappeared from the window.
“The sentiment is nice and all, and it could be said I’d be a hypocrite to complain,” Cerule complained while Azura dove down from her island perch after the falling Choppy. “But I’m trying to wrap my head around ‘zura’s experiments in here and having a consistent environment is kinda important for that. It's a lot harder trying to use this divine magic stuff than just watching I’ll tell you that. Especially when none of the old stuff works. Old dog, new tricks, etc.etc.”
There was a wet huff from Ashalla.
Cerule, having finished complaining, slumped against the frame of her new window rather than continue to bat fruitlessly at the invading mist. “Ah whatever, it can wait. Wasn't getting anywhere anyway. So, what brings you here, your wateryness?” she asked the stubborn fog floating outside.
“I came to speak of what you are doing with the souls,” Ashalla announced in a voice like crashing waves, audible to all present.
“Yeah? We get that a lot. Kalmar, Arae and Roog came by earlier asking the exact same thing,” Cerule responded as Azura and Choppy reappeared into her field of view, the former carrying the other. The fishy goddess approached the wall and carefully dismantled it further to form an entryway into which she landed and placed Choppy inside.
“I swear you're doing that on purpose,” Cerule murmured to Choppy, who stuck her tongue out as Azura dusted herself and turned to the misty goddess.
“Come on in, then, and I can show you around now that Cerule has put her work on hold,” she told Ashalla before heading into the magical laboratory. The clouds which were Ashalla billowed behind Azura. They stretched out to touch everything in the room.
“...So, you keeping busy?” said Chopstick Eyes, looking around into the merry fog and storm.
“Yes. I’ve been teaching selka about music and art, and I had just come from a lovely concert K’nell hosted for me. It was most wonderful,” Ashalla chimed. “I noticed a few winter-spirits which had been coloured with algae, and identified it as your handiwork. It is a beautiful addition.”
“Aww, thank you!” Chopstick made a heart-symbol with her hands. “You should show me your work some time. Who’s Selka? I might be able to pass on some tips and tricks myself, if he seems nice.”
“The selka are a sapient species who live on the south-east coast of Atokhekwoi. Their anatomy can be described as halfway between seals and dreamers,” after a moment, Ashalla decided to add, “who themselves are patterned after the common form adopted by many of the gods. It would appear that Kirron is their creator.”
“Oh, rock boy. He flattened me once,” said Choppy, who fully intended to return the favour… one day. “Where’s Atokhekwoi, is it a Sphere? I’ll pay ‘em a visit. Take some on tour to my water forest. It’s warm and sunny and amazing, apparently.”
“Atokhekwoi is the largest continent of Galbar,” Ashalla explained. “This water forest- do you refer to the one in the ocean west of Dragon’s Foot with the overgrown leviathan angler chained beneath it, or the lava-bearing growths in the boiling strait?”
“...The Saluran? Don’t be silly. Forests have leaves,” said Chopstick. “Glad to see you met my big fish, though. Ain’t she just a cutie?”
There was a huff, although Ashalla admitted, “It is a specimen of considerable power. The forest too is quite a well-made ecosystem.”
A soft ‘yaaay’ travelled down the corridor.
As the titanic and tiny god conversed, the two goddesses of the wind had engaged in a combination of hushed discussion and impromptu tidying of the large room they were all in. Helping them in this was Sun Jian, who had remained out of sight while Cerule mouthed off at the ocean goddess. His Armonia body was clad in a similar robe to Cerule, though it was unadorned by defunct runecraft.
“This is Sun Jian,” Azura eventually introduced the servant, “A mortal whose Soul Crystal has been enshrined within a construct known as an Armonia to gain life after death.”
The undead servant bobbed with a bow to greet the two guests. “A pleasure to make your acquaintances. It is especially good to be graced by your presence once more, mighty Ashalla. I have been aiding noble Azura with her quest ever since she plucked me from the sky pyres, sparing me from a second fiery death, and gave me an opportunity to be a part of this project.”
The clouds swallowed Sun Jian briefly, leaving him slightly damp. “That’s one use for the soul crystals.”
“There are a few others like him, and we intend to raise more. The work I do is for mortals, so it is only right that they play a part in shaping the way we surpass Katharsos’ vision of death,” Azura explained. “And this laboratory is where we have begun to chart our journey down that path.”
The laboratory itself was something of a mess, with a large array of experiments littering benches and tables, but could be split into two areas. The first, Azura and Cerule explained, was for researching ways to replace Katharsos’ pyres with a more ethical form of death and rebirth.
First there were two sets of jars or containers. The first contained soul ash in very small amounts, held back from escaping by their storage receptacles. The ash instead swirled and cycled within, restlessly seeking out new life yet unable to reach it. The ash, it was explained, was not sourced from the burned of the void souls, but instead had been formed raw by Divine power. The process was, Azura admitted, excessively inefficient at the moment and thus un-viable unless better means where found.
Another bench was littered with various materials: crystals, stone, metal, jars of fluid and gasses. All of these had had information inscribed into them, attempts to replicate the personality-housing abilities of souls. None had been particularly successful however.
Finally the largest section contained a number of enclosures for simple creatures, predominantly the Tonnikala equivalent of krill. There were also numerous soul crystals, utterly tiny and feather light ones, that had been harvested from other, now deceased specimens. The purpose of all this became clear once Azura performed a demonstration. First she picked up one of the tiny soul crystals. Then a flying krill egg was formed by her will. Finally the two were introduced to one another, the soul crystal regaining its incorporeal form which was pressed into the egg, ejecting the blank soul that had formed there already, which was whisked away to the pyres, already decaying as it went due to its utter lack of identity.
“Reincarnation,” Azura explained, “To live life after life after life, to accrue generations of knowledge and wisdom from all races and cultures of the world. It is, in effect, immortality without the risk of stagnation and also a way to walk in the shoes of all others.”
“Oooo,” said the shortest god in the room, trying not to fidget, or fiddle with the equipment.
There were a vast number of logistical and magical barriers in the way of actually implementing an automated reincarnation system, but the principle was there, demonstrated for all to see.
“Now a decision has not been made as to how exactly we will be going forwards. We have entered into a pact with the party that came with Kalmar earlier to postpone such a decision until a proper conference can be called with all the concerned gods. Including Katharsos himself,” Azura explained, her tone showing clear dislike at the prospect of meeting the god she had stolen from not so long ago.
Ashalla rumbled thoughtfully for a long time. “I see you have already made progress in determining how to avoid the collapse of the life cycle. This is good. There is still much to be done, but my estimates give at least a thousand years before there is any notable reduction in the soul ash concentration.”
“1000? I’ve done more with less,” Cerule casually gloated.
“But we’ll do it right this time,” Azura chided her reckless predecessor.
There was a pause, then Ashalla asked, “Did Kalmar suggest that this was beyond your power?”
“The hunter didn’t give predictions about the feasibility of my plans and we agreed to disagree on what to do should I fail. He was more interested in knowing that I was working on the issue and extracting concessions for his support in the matter.”
“And for party’s non interference,” Cerule added.
“That too. Mainly that to be honest. The specifics of cooperation need to be ironed out, likely at the same time as we decide on a course of action, but even the tacit agreement of support means I can safely assume they won't be meddling. The less I have to watch my back in this the better,” Azura explained.
“That is convenient for you,” Ashalla said. “Barring interference from other deities, I am confident in your ability as a god to achieve this task. As divines we command reality itself - do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Oh? Thank you! Your confidence means alot to me,” Azura responded, genuinely pleased at the external source of validation.
“Unfortunately we don't have the luxury of everyone being at least neutral in this,” Cerule said, directing attention to the other set of experiments in the room.
The second was newer, and dedicated to solving the little problem that Orvus had introduced to the vault. Several corrupted gems where held for examination by metal stands, while the culprits for their damaged state could be found nearby. A large glass tank held numerous Soul Fiends, the rotten husks of soul crystals given life by Orvus to destroy and multiply. The numerous beasts hacked and clawed at their enclosure or tried to eat a sealed entrance at the top of the tank, yet so far they had failed to escape. A pair of imp sized Armonia watched the bugs, standing on either side of the Soul Fiends enclosure atop the same bench. Their tank was placed upon numerous tentacles of Verse extending from their backs ready to lash out and recapture the beasts should they succeed at escaping.
Finally a number of krill soul crystals, all featuring various stages and intensities of corruption, were arrayed near the tank. Some had been partially dissected, or showed signs of the decay being healed.
“This corruption is the work of Orvus,” Azura explained, “he snuck into the vault when I was away and infested it with these awful creatures, that corrupt and decay the souls of the dead.”
“We have exterminated or captured most of them, or so we believe,” Sun Jian added, “but the monsters still managed to destroy or damage many of my fellow dead before we discovered the rot.”
The clouds studied Azura and Sun Jian for a few moments, before saying, “That is unfortunate for you. Although it appears to be something well within your capacity to handle.”
“I’d almost be insulted by how little power was used to do this if it wasn't so insidiously effective,” Cerule said.
“Only because I was too blind to discover it sooner,” Azura muttered bitterly. “Were it not for curious mortal minds...” she shuddered at the thought of a vault filled with nought but screaming splintered husks and swarms of Soul Fiends.
Cerule sympathetically patted her new self on the shoulder, while Sun Jian politely refrained from commenting on the Goddess’s gross negligence. There was a wet huff from Ashalla.
After pulling herself back together Azura asked, “Well, now you know what I have been/will be up to, but how about you? What plans do you have for the world?”
“I have been sharing with the mortal races the means to create beauty, with music, painting and other forms of art,” Ashalla answered.
The traces of guilt and regret were pushed completely off Azura’s face as she heard this, her eyes lighting up at the news. “That’s wonderful to hear! Which ones? Where? I’d love to go see and listen to what they have made some time.”
There were some distant, vaguely affirmative bangs and clatters from wherever Chopstick Eyes had wandered off to.
“The selka, on the eastern coast of Atokhekwoi, the largest continent,” Ashalla answered.
“That... doesn't narrow it down that much,” Azura said sheepishly.
"It's not like we have maps for her to point out where she means exactly," Cerule said, before snapping her fingers, "except we have the Blue! Hey Ashalla, wanna see the best thing about the sphere Azura made? All we need to do is go up."
“Yes, that seems like something good to see,” Ashalla answered.
"Alright alright," Cerule said as she strutted over to the window. Then she whistled a complicated little song. Powered by her divine power it echoed out and caught the attention of its intended target. From the skies a sky serpent came roaring, plunging down to them. Yet even that mighty beast was cowed by Ashalla’s presence, slowing before it hit the storm and instead gingerly slinking up to the window.
"Coming?" Cerule asked the gods and mortal within as she mounted the terror of the skies.
The Sky Serpent swam through the air, bearing its three passengers who clung to its back, one behind the other, with varying levels of intensity. Ashalla rose beside them as a colossal cumulonimbus, Chopstick a speck gliding on her updrafts with a bag of questionably obtained scientific apparatus.
Around them flitted all kinds of Tonnikala, making it appear as though they were in a surreal waterless sea. Many passed through the cloud which was Ashalla, and there was a burbling from her. “I am pleased to see you have taken inspiration from my sea life for your own ecosystem here.”
“The first was something of a coincidence,” Azura said, smiling softly at the memory of the tuna incident, “But the rest was definitely inspired by your work. And. Borrowed. Slightly,” she said, in reference to the ascension of the various northern sea life into the sky before adding, “Luis is particularly fond of the cetaceans you made.”
There was a burble in response. “Your own creative touch is also quite good.”
“It was an enjoyable indulgence. I intend to teach mortals how to summon them as Cerule did, along with the Armonia, but till then they make nice decoration and watch dogs for the Vault,” Azura explained.
There was a brief rumble. “I have also taught a few mortals how to call and control storm spirits using music. Perhaps there can be some collaboration there.”
“You have? Great minds think alike then it seems. I’m still thinking about how to deal with the power problem for living mortals, to project the songs up into the Blue and form the bodies of Armonia from the air. The dead can draw energy from the heat around them for power, the same power that rules them. Their soul crystal forms are designed with the intention of wielding that power however, while I fear that having living mortals draw from their own energy could be dangerous indeed. Regardless, I’d still love to trade arts. Perhaps once we have seen what Cerule wishes to show you?”
There was another contemplative rumble. “Yes, that would be beneficial.”
The serpent soared higher and higher, the sky bastion below falling away. And yet the Blue continued, far beyond the point that the air should have thinned and the lesser void should have claimed the breath from their lungs.
Below them Galbar fell away, yet so too did its horizons. Space shrank, bent and contorted till all the world was splayed out below them, a distant atlas of the planet the bickering gods had painted together.
"Good, isn’t it," Cerule said.
“I’ve heard of so many of those places,” Sun Jian said from where he clung to the sky serpent's back, “But to see them all laid out like that. Truly fascinating.”
“A most peculiar distortion, although one with utility,” Ashalla commented.
“It’s old. One of the first things I did,” Azura said, dismissing the marvel despite the pride clear in her tone.
“To warp space in such a way is a marvel,” Ashalla said.
“Thank you. You're too kind,” Azura replied.
Chopstick admired in silence all the places she had and had not visited on her early flights, but her gaze kept creeping back to the spiralling rainclouds of Ya-Shuur’s island.
"So where are these artistic selka?" Cerule said, "Because from up here they’re just a short drop away."
A strand of cirrus stretched out from Ashalla, and pointed along the south-eastern crux of Atokhekwoi. “I taught selka all along that coast about music.” Another strand stretched out, pointing to the large island just south-east of the continent. “I taught the Wuhdige tribe there about painting.”
Azura followed the strands with curious eyes. “I see. It has been quite some time since I last went to Atokhekwoi.” She’d been there chasing the Alma when they had discovered the Ihokhetlani there. She wondered how they were doing.
“Then we’ll have to pay it a visit in the future,” Cerule said.
”When we have the time or need,” Azura said. There was still so much to do after all.
“You need to get out and have fun more often ZuZu. Speaking of which,” Cerule clicked her heels again the sky serpent’s sides, turning its snout downwards.
“Oh no,” said Sun Jian as she realised her intent.
“Here comes the fun part. Race you there!” Cerule said, before sending her mount into a nosedive back down towards the Sky Bastion.
Ashalla descended after the serpent, but since her current form was so buoyant, there was no way she could fall faster than it. Her individual forms all had their limitations, and here one of those limitations was embarrassingly apparent.
As Cerule grew more distant, humiliation was replaced by determination. “I am the Goddess of Water. I have mastery over my own form,” Ashalla declared.
The vast cloud which was Ashalla’s form rapidly contracted and condensed into a single massive globule of water. As gravity took hold of the droplet, it elongated and froze into a slick, streamlined icicle. The great iceberg which was Ashalla plummeted down through the Blue, continually accelerating. It was not long before Ashalla was falling even faster than Cerule’s serpent.
“Holy crap that was fast!” Cerule shouted after the rapidly descending shard of ice. “Why are you so bad at that?” she then asked Azura. The fishy goddess just glared at her stone double.
Ashalla broke the sound barrier before falling past the Sky Bastion. Having reached the goal, Ashalla sublimated back into a great cloud, which billowed turbulently as it cancelled her velocity.
Several moments later the sky serpent caught up, diving deeply past the Bastion itself until it managed to pull up and join the goddess. A bright leaf-looking thing tumbled slowly down after them, cursing befuzzledly and wondering where her wind had gone.
”Skillfully done. You beat Cerule fair and square,” Azura commented as Sun Jian asked to be let off Cerule’s the wild ride in the background.
Ashalla puffed up pridefully. “Naturally,” she said.
Cerule grumbled perhaps a bit to bitterly over her loss, but Azura merely smiled. Their rapid return had drawn a lot of attention. Luis had left during their conversations inside the Bastion, but had now returned along with a school of whales. The other Undead had also rushed to one of the entrances to see what had caused a shard of ice to descend upon their home from the heavens.
“I think now might be an excellent time to trade songs, seeing as you appear to have attracted an audience,” Azura said, drifting up and away form Cerule’s mount.
Two orbs of lightning crackled into existence within Ashalla’s form and gazed across at the gathered mortals. “Yes, I think so too.”
The tone of Ashalla’s wind shifted and became more resonant. Her voice sang out melodious and sweet. “Come to me, squalls, come to me, and happy I will be.” Squalls flickered into existence. A choir of Ashalla’s voices chimed in, their melody directing the squalls to spiral and dance around, Ashalla’s own cloudy form leading their dance. There was no pre-set structure to the song. Rather, the music adapted and improvised with the temperament of the squalls.
Azura drifted over to the sky temple she had brought close when Ashalla arrived, swaying gently as she went while she picked up the improvisational rhythm of Ashalla’s song and matched something of her own to it. First she began humming a simple tune, and in response to it and the power fed to the song wind and verse spun together to form a small Armonia, holding a flute. The little one joined in her song and was soon joined by another, and then another. Other Armonia with other instruments were formed, forming a small orchestra. Then Azura formed a small conductor’s baton to direct her musicians and began to sing.
Her songs were more rigid and structured than Ashalla’s, and each called out to one of the beasts of the Blue, who joined in with their parts when conducted. Yet from small rigid structures a greater melody formed, weaving from one tune to the other, the singers reacting to each other and to the squalls till all were in harmony.
Once they had the rhythm Azura tossed aside the baton and became a voice in the crowd, the music having taken on a life of its own. The squalls danced along with the music of Azura’s orchestra, flitting about the Tonnikala and Armonia. Ashalla interjected with her own countermelodies, which lifted the squalls from idle motions to perform stunts of wind and rain.
Folding her kite behind her like the wing it was not, a certain godlet descended upon Ashalla’s drafts, timing her descent among the tumbling bundles of cloud and fog tossed by the squall choir, picked her mark among the giant banks of white, and landed feet-first on top of a cloud.
“I saw two flying fish today A girl and whale, out to play. I saw a lass without a face, And a funny floating place.
"I saw a cloud that spoke to me, It rained and cracked and sang in key. I saw some tunes in magic suits! They played on little floating flutes.
"I saw two flying fish today. Soon I'll be gone, but that's okay: I'll see more things on my way.”
Chopstick let herself fall off the cloud and disappeared into the hazy drizzle, teasing squalls with her kite on the way down until she found the perfect draft. As her solo ended so to did the music, each player slowly dropping away until silence reigned once more.
Then came the sound of clapping, a few lonely pairs of hands that was quickly joined by the other undead once they were encouraged to copy the alien custom. The resulting sound paled in comparison to the performance that had been given, but it was all that could be given. Ashalla burbled at the applause. Meanwhile the squalls dispersed, scattering across the Blue and the ice sheet.
There was a shout from below. “Ashalla!” called Chopstick Eyes, almost disappearing on the wind. “Have you seen Li’Kalla anywhere?”
The ball lightning which Ashalla was using as eyes turned to look at the little goddess. “No,” Ashalla replied with a voice like drizzling rain. “Last I heard, K’nell was seeking her fragments to restore her and had recovered one, although that was long ago.”
“Thank you,” said Chopstick Eyes, and swept into the horizon.
Ashalla watched Chopstick Eyes depart, then turned back to Azura. “That was a beautiful performance.”
“It was wonderful to be a part of. I feel like I learned a great deal on top of it being beautiful to hear,” Azura replied, drifting back down from the floating temple which had hosted her orchestra.
“Likewise,” Ashalla said with a voice like a refreshing breeze. “Although, we both have work to return to.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose we do,” Azura responded with a mix of sadness and determination.
“Damn right you do. It’s my turn to be on break,” Cerule interjected from where she sat among the Undead.
“It has been lovely to meet you again dear Ashalla. Please, don't hesitate to stop by again in the future if you come by our way again,” Azura said.
“Indeed. I look forward to our next performance together.”
This post was started before Tendlepog’s disappearance, and is thus set shortly before those events.
Ashalla inspects the work of the winter-spirits on the North Pole. She finds the giant statue and the coloured winter-spirits made by Choppy, and she enhances her divine-essence-detecting senses to ascertain the artist. She also sees the trail left by Kalmar, Roog and Arae, and follows north.
Ashalla is invited to the Sky Bastion by Azura. There she meets Choppy and Cerule. Azura explains Cerules’ pre-Universe origins. Choppy converses with Ashalla, who complements Choppy’s handiwork. Sun Jian and Luis also appear in this post.
Ashalla is shown the Armonia. Azura and Cerule gives a tour of their lab. They show the prototype projects for creating soul ash ab nihilio, creating artificial souls, and reincarnation. Ashalla gives Azura encouragement, saying that it is within the power of the gods to rewrite reality in this manner.
Azura speaks of the deal struck with Kalmar. Azura and Cerule show the work they have been doing to counter the damage caused by the Soul Fiends. Ashalla is asked about what she’s been up to, which is teaching selka about arts.
The party flies up through the Blue on a sky serpent. Ashalla complements Azura on the Tonnikala, and notes her own influence. From high in the Blue, they can see the whole world laid out flat beneath them, and they marvel at the sight. Ashalla points out where the aforementioned selka were, and Azura/Cerule makes plans to visit.
Cerule challenges Ashalla to a race back down. Ashalla can’t win as a cloud. So she claims mastery over Water and achieves her FINAL FORM (I honestly hadn’t expected such a light-hearted moment to be this moment, but there you go), which she uses to win the race.
In the presence of the mortals of the Sky Bastion, Ashalla and Azura put on a show, where Ashalla shows how to control squalls and Azura shows how to summon Armonia and Tonnikala. Chopstick Eyes caps the performance with a song.
Choppy asks Ashalla what she knows of Li’Kalla’s whereabouts. She shares her outdated information.
Ashalla Start: 8 MP & 8 FP Spent: 1 MP to gain Level 1 Detection. 5 MP to acquire the Water Cluster (with Oceans, Storms and Ice) 1 MP to acquire the ability Phase Change (Discounted from 3 MP by Oceans/Storms/Ice, Enhanced by Water Cluster) End: 1 MP & 8 FP Portfolios: 8/10 Colour 5/10 Music
Phase Change - “I am the Goddess of Water. I have mastery over my own form.” This ability allows Ashalla to rapidly shift between her water forms at will. Ashalla can also shift into hybrids of her water forms (e.g. big storm with flying ice shards and water pseudopods; water form with ice fists).
The ground shook under Yullian’s feet. He looked up, a great turtle that dwarfed the grassy hills of the countryside was meandering on great legs in the distance. It’s entire body was a silhouette of purple mist, shrouded in the fog of distance, but the outline was clear. Yullian’s eyes widened, a hollow wind swishing by him as he thought.
Slowly his pygmy legs stretched and his body grew lithe and athletic rather than bulky until an Olympian of a dreamer took form. With a monochrome smile, Yullian kicked off the ground, his great sprint a rash of incredible bounding leaps. As he gained speed, the hills each became single steps -- his plain form darting from crest to crest with little exhaustion.
Finally the mighty legs of the mountainous turtle broke from the fog of distance, their incredible scales and sea bottom color blanketing the horizon as Yullian grew closer and closer. Yullian’s grin grew cheshire and with one final leap, he bounded right onto the leg of the mighty creature.
Zhong Wang scanned the crisp rice paper before him. With a ginger pinch he moved the rice paper to the side, ancient characters scrawled down its length. His eyes flicked to the new paper -- Shengshi’s handwriting swooping and dashing expertly before him. He gulped, he was hearing the very demands of the flow in his head -- his eyes translating the edicts of a God.
The room he sat in still smelt of worked wood and staining oils now mixed with the complimenting smell of a fire that whispered in a stone pit. The chair he sat in looked more ornate than comfortable, with rolling grotesques smoothly marked into the wood, giving it the look of a tsunami of interwoven snakes -- and if not for the goose down stuff cushion on the seat and back, it may have been. The dreamers furs had been replaced with a simple solid black, white trimmed robe he had found in his dresser, completing the image of the scholar.
He tugged on his long, thin beard, kept in the Temüjin style, his black eyes flickering. A small wooden plate sat beside him, an untouched row of roasted vegetables sat cold next to a slice of poultry that save for a few pinches, was equally untouched. Even the wooden cup besides it found itself stained with undrunken wine, Zhong Wang’s mouth defiantly dry.
“Master Wang,” Nergui piped up from the entrance to the study, her hands were folded in her lap and head bowed in respect. Without looking up from the work of Shengshi, Wang let out an indicating grunt. Nergui looked up from her bow, the fire light catching her single blue eye and reflecting off her golden orange, “Wen Yang has said he has finished chronicling the acts of leadership in the style and biography of Elder Chagatai...”
Wang nodded, still not looking up, “Good... good...” His voice was distant.
“Master Wang, if I may?” Nergui stepped into the room, her eyes following the untouched food. She didn’t wait for Wang to answer before she leaned over him and pushed the plate closer to the man. He blinked, her arm coming between him and the rice paper. With a slightly gaped expression he looked over at her, his eyes bloodshot and strained.
“You need to eat,” Nergui insisted, the narrow nose of Temüjin’s clan giving her a demanding look.
Wang sat back in his chair, his arms dangling to his sides, alabaster brow furrowed, “I know what I need to do.” He snapped. Nergui raised her brows in surprise and Wang pinched the bridge of his brow, finally closing his eyes.
“I’m sorry, but there is a lot of work to be done,” Zhong Wang exhaled, “I’m equal parts giddy as I am... stressed, I suppose.”
“I didn’t-”
“You know,” Zhong Wang cut her off and pointed at the rice paper, folding one leg over the other as he leaned back, “According to the divine words of his Lordship Shengshi, you have breached your role as my apprentice in daring to demand an action of me.”
Nergui took a step back and turned her head to give him a sideways glance, “Do you intend to reprimand me?”
“If you were Li Jian, sure,” Zhong Wang quipped, “But you have a point,” He looked over to the food, “I suppose I got caught up in it all.”
“I’d say so,” Nergui nodded with an unamused face.
“I’m sorry, again,” Zhong Wang reiterated, “Thank you for your concern, Nergui. I appreciate it.”
“I wouldn’t do it otherwise,” She gave him a slanted smile, “I hope we will see you in the evening for supper.”
“Who’s cooking?” Zhong Wang turned to look at her as she started her exit. Nergui stopped and tapped her chin, “Wen Song.”
Wen Song could not quite wrap her head around the odd vegetable in her hand. It responded stubbornly to her kitchen knife, and no matter how long she boiled it, it didn’t turn to porridge. She picked one up, its dark green, leathery exterior taunting her with a grin-like sheen. She bit into it, the vegetable snapping satisfactorily between her teeth. Its flavour was mostly empty, but it had a delicious freshness to it, completed by a gentle bitterness in the background. She swallowed and hummed, looking back into the boiling pot where a few of the vegetables cousins defiantly refused to break apart. She muttered to herself as she added some handfuls of millet to the boiling water along with some sliced carrots and a handful of salt.
These ‘cucumbers’ made for a terrible porridge base, she proclaimed internally.
The door to the kitchen suddenly swung open. An athletic looking man entered, a huge sack hefted over his shoulder, putting a strained look on an otherwise pleasant face. A single red bar striped down from his forehead, splitting his face in two. Giving Song not much more than a nod, he thumped the sack onto a counter near her and clapped dust off his hands, “Couple of passing birds and some more vegetables from the garden... don’t ask me why they put them in the same sack.” He shook his head and put his hands on his hips, as if waiting for something.
“Oh, they did that again? I thought I’d told them to keep them separate!” Song huffed and pulled open the bag to fish the bloody birds out. “The blood makes the vegetables to bad! Now I gotta wash them all again… Ugh!” She put a carcass on the counter and stuck her hand into the sack again. “Oh, always leaving me with the nasty work… Anyway, thank you for bringing it in and--” She took a moment to properly scan the man. “Who are you?”
“Right! I don’t think we’ve actually met before,” The man started, his eyes glancing at the bag, “My name is Huang, oh!” He pushed the bag, the vegetables on the bottom threatening to shift the bag off the counter, “Maybe you’d like a little help with the preparation?”
“Huang?” Song repeated suspiciously. “The Wen family doesn’t have a Huang. What family are you from?”
Huang pursed his lips, guilty eyes glancing away from Song, “The Wen family does... have a Huang.” He muttered almost to himself, “It’s not something I’d like to really get into, especially if we are just meeting -- I don’t even know your name.”
Song’s hard eyes became a scowl and she tightened her hand around the kitchen knife in her hand. “No, the Wen family does -not- have a Huang. I would know because I am Wen Song, daughter of Wen Tian and Li Sima--” she pointed an accusing finger at Huang’s face. “-- and I have neither cousins, siblings, nieces, nephews, uncles nor aunts with that name.”
Huang’s guilty eyes shimmered back a teary frustration, “Of course you don’t.” He took a step forward, “My entire life has been a wash of hearing things like that.” He pointed his own finger, “But did you ever--” He huffed a frustrated breath, voice cracking, “Have you ever considered what happens to the baby that no wanted?” His face was red, “A mistake.” He bit the inside of his cheek, “K’nell adore the Chagatai clan for taking me in, but--” He shifted and began to turn away, waving a hand with a ‘bah’. “I don’t need this, I just deliver the vegetables.” Song’s finger faltered and she gasped. “Oh my gods, I’m so sorry, I didn’t--!” She looked side to side in search of something. “I got suspicious, I’m so sorry! Here, can I offer you some porridge? Please, I didn’t know you were adopted!”
Huang flinched at the word, turning back to Song, “It’s... it’s fine.” He let out a long sigh and checked his eye for a tear, “It’s a sensitive topic.” He mulled for a second, “But you know, it is nice to finally be able to say that out loud to someone from my birth family.” He gave a weak smile, “Maybe porridge would be a nice idea.”
Song scooped up some millet gruel into a clay bowl and offered it to Huang. In between the dull, gray grains floated a couple of sad whole cucumbers and a number of hard carrot slices.
“Say, Song?” Huang peered down at the bowl, gingerly taking it from the woman.
“Hmm?”
“A thousand thanks, and all that... but...” Huang cleared his throat, “This is for the Academy supper isn’t it? That’s what they told me the bag was for, at least. And I’m just thinking.” he put the bowl on the counter, “The Academy supper.” He reiterated, “Maybe you’d like a little extra help preparing for it all? I think have a few ideas for...” He poked a cucumber.
“Oh, that’s fine, I’m almost done,” Song insisted politely. “Please, have a spoonful.”
Huang dipped a spoon into the porridge and looked back up at his gullible host, her awaiting smile edging him on. With a squint in one of his eyes, Huang slurped -- and crunched -- all in one bite. He gulped, “Gods that’s ter..” He paused, “Tasty.” He pounded a fist to his chest to help him swallow, “I’ll need your recipe.”
“Really? Oh, that makes me so happy to hear! It’s really simple, really - water, millet, cucumbers and carrots. Oh, and salt. Lots and lots of salt.” She was about to dip her finger into the pot, then retracted it with a giggle. “Oh, silly me, no, that’s for the hardworking scholars.”
“Salt?” Huang looked up from his bowl, his tongue still awash with the overwhelming amount, “I didn’t even notice... it must’ve boiled out,” He frowned.
“Oh, really?” Song perked up and frowned into the boiling pot. “I was certain I’d… Oh, well, if you say so!” She walked over to a nearby sack, stuck her fist into it and pulled out a punch of salt. The white powdered drizzled onto the wooden floor like snow. She dropped it into the miserable porridge and stirred around. “There, that should be enough, I think!”
Huang leaned over her shoulder and appraised the boiling mess. With a flick of his finger, he launched a tiny sprinkle more, “Extra for a little luck, eh?” He winked.
“You’re pretty smart,” Song praised, then frowned and gently pushed him away. “Also a bit too close. I’m spoken for, I’ll have you know.”
“Oh no!,” Huang waved his hands, “I have no intentions on a family member. Just a man who knows his food, is all.” He hummed, a funny little smile coming to his face, “Well hold on now.” He rubbed his chin, “What man could have snagged such a prize as our resident master chef? Don’t tell me it’s Li Jian.” He held out a stopping palm, “You are too good for the likes of him!”
Song blushed a little and stifled a vain giggle. “W-well, if you must know, I am to be wed to the most handsome, dreamy, creamy (oh creamy!) man who ever walked this godly world--” She drew a breath and exhaled a sigh of adoration. She cupped her hands on her cheeks. “Urangtai.”
“Urangtai,” Huang said slowly, “Well that’s terrific.” He smiled wide, “When is the wedding!? I must attend!”
“Oh, it’s… Still being planned,” Song confessed with a huff. “My husband-to-be is just so busy and hardworking all the time… He just wants me (and our future forty children) to be happy. Oh, he’s just perfect, isn’t he?”
Before Huang could answer, an alabaster head poked in from the front entrance to the kitchen. Batbayaar looked between the two with a disinterested face before announcing in his deep voice, “Dinner time.” With a jump of his brows he nodded and slipped back out.
Huang closed his gaping mouth, still caught mid word, “Song, how about I help you bring out the food?”
The two busted out of the kitchen, arms completely full with steaming bowls and utensils. The dining room was still rather plain, with only a few decorations here and there on various shelves, and most of them taking the form of mini shrines to various gods of the Dreamers. The centerpiece was a long rectangle table carved out of a dark wood and polished to a shine. At the head, Zhong Wang sat with his hands placed in his lap, fingers entwined and a chatting Nergui relating some casual banter in his left ear, a curl on his lips. To his right, Wen Yang sat idling with a single copstick. Down the line was then Li Jian, Batbayaar, and Wen Taishen with a loop of empty chairs leading back to Nergui.
The first bowl was placed in front of Zhong Wang by a smiling Huang. The master looked up at the man as he placed the utensils down expertly. Wang squinted, Nergui growing quiet. Craning his head so he could get a full view of Huang he suddenly asked, “Who are you? You’re not Li Ying.”
“She was feeling ill today, so I took her delivery--” Huang started, his words interrupted by Song pointed an accusing finger at Wang.
“Master Wang, you’re being insensitive! This is Wen Huang, my long lost brother. He was raised by Chagatai’s family and later adopted into mine. He’s just doing his best, don’t call him out.”
Wang held up his hands for silence, a little too used to her outbursts, “Wen Song, please.” He shook his head, “Both of you, just finish your task and please sit.” He looked over at Huang, “I’m sorry, take a seat Wen Huang.”
“Wait,” Huang looked at Wang, “Finish or seat?”
Wang looked over at Nergui, the days work plastered on his face. Nergui cleared her throat and addressed Huang, “Finish your task and then sit.”
Huang smiled over at Song and the two completed their rounds diligently, a small chatter starting over the table once more. As the last two bowls were placed, Huang took a seat across from Li Jian, Song sitting beside him.
Li Jian looked up from his bowl, not having yet taken a bite. He pointed a spoon at Huang, “Chagatai’s family, eh?”
Huang nodded and Li Jian put his elbows on the table, folding his hands suspiciously, “Well I spent a lot of time with the Chagatai clan.”
“Did you?” Huang blinked, a nigh invisible blue sparkle flashing in the corner of his eye. Jian sneezed suddenly and nodded, “No, I didn’t.” He blinked at his own words, “I’m sorry, what I meant to say is absolutely not.” He looked down at his bowl with a slight wonder, “I’m trying to say, I’ve never met them.”
“Li Jim, what are you on about?” Nergui suddenly snapped.
“It’s Li Jian,” Jian corrected.
“That’s what I said, John,” She furrowed her brow, “Are you feeling alright?”
Jian scoffed and puffed up a little, “I feel like shit.” His shoulders drooped, “No wait. Really, I’m not fine.”
“Long Tim!” Wang narrowed his eyes, “Cursing at our dinner table? Really? I understand the day was long but...”
Wen Taishan reached out to pat Li Jian on the shoulder. “Jacob, are you alright? Would you like me to bring you something?”
Li Jian scurried the hand away, “I’m...” He huffed.
“Wen Taishan,” Zhong Wang cleared his throat, “Could you escort Limp Joe to his quarters, I fear work has tangled his mind and stomach.”
“You don’t understand!” Li Jian started, “I think that’s a great idea!”
Taishan nodded and took Li gently under the arm and tried to pick him up. Defeated, Li Jian hung his head and followed Taishan’s lead. As their voices became lower and lower, Taishan quietly said, “I’ll bring some hot tea and porridge to your room when you wake up, alright, Jonathan?” Then the door closed behind them.
Huang pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. Zhong Wang tucked a slant in his cheek as he watched the door close. As it clicked he looked down at the goop before him, “My friends.” He started, “May we pray our thanks to the Lord of the Harvest, Shengshi, and to our Elder Mothers and the God of Tendlepog.” He paused, “Now let us eat.”
It was almost instant. The first spoon slipped out of Nergui’s mouth and splattered across the table as she started to gag, Yan joining in with a retch of his own. Zhong Wang blinked wildly as water dripped out from the corners of his eyes, “S...saaaalt. So much...” He coughed, “Salt.”
Song blinked. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” She took her own spoon and shoved a tall heap of the glue-like gruel into her mouth. A second passed before she spat it back into her bowl and coughed. “BLEH! Gods, that’s terrible! Huang, you lied to me!”
“Well now hold on!” Huang scrunched his nose and held out a spoon of his own goop to her, “That’s a heavy word.” He jabbed the spoon and took a bite off of it, “Mine is fine.” He pushed the bowl towards her, “Go ahead.”
Song looked at him in disbelief and immediately take a spoonful of his gruel. A surprisingly sweet taste trickled down over her, clamping her mouth shut. She looked over at Huang, a gentle blue twinkle in one of his eyes as what may have been an objection forming turned into a happy little hum.
Huang turned to the others, “See?”
Zhong Wang looked as if he had gained a new wrinkle on his late thirty year old face as he stared at the scene before him. Nergui had a corner of her sleeve in her mouth as she attempted to rub the salt from her teeth, Yang was braving another taste with the tip of his tongue, and Huang sat patiently while Song hummed a happy tune, seemingly content with the food.
Zhong Wang threw his cloth napkin into his bowl and stood up, “I have work to do,” He announced, a disappointment in his voice. He looked at Song, but simply sighed before starting to leave. Nergui popped up and quickly trailed him, muffling something through her sleeve. Yang gave the remaining two a look before letting his spoon plop back into the bowl. With a gentle shake of his head he stood up to leave.
The door clicked and suddenly Song was released from her humming, with Huang bursting into a fitful giggle. Song looked around in utter confusion and then back down at her bowl.
“Wh-where did everyone go?! What happened?” She picked up a limp cucumber. “Oh, how could I have been so stupid… I added way too much… Urangtai’s gonna hate me.”
“I don’t see how that has to do with any of this,” Huang kicked his boots up to the table and leaned back in his chair. A content smile formed on his face as he tucked his arms behind his head.
“He’s going to hear all about this, and that’s going to make him doubt my cooking, and he’ll start eating other women’s cooking, and then he’ll have an affair and start a family with them, and--” She slumped down in her chair and slammed her forehead on the table. “I’m no good…”
“Aw, come now,” Huang comforted, “I mean for all we know, he already eats other women’s cooking. I bet this won’t change a thing.”
“W-... What?” Song whimpered heartbrokenly.
Huang gave a sympathetic pout and swung his legs off the table. Sitting up right he turned to Song, his face bearing the look of a sudden revelation, “You know, Song, I just thought of something.” His voice was uncharacteristically cheery for the conversation.
Song broke out of a quiet sob and looked up with teary eyes. “What?”
“I know of a way to ensure that Urangtai does indeed love you, and not only that, but how to ensure that he could never look at another woman let alone think of them above you,” Huang tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Oh my, you’d be absolutely smothered with his love, I’m sure of it.”
Song gasped and rocketed to her feet, all despair replaced with desperate joy. “Really?! How?!”
Huang held up a palm, “Song, what I’m about to tell you must remain a secret... for now at least. Do you think you can keep such a secret... from all?”
Song nodded fiercely.
“Well,” Huang leaned in conspiratorially, “I know of a God.” he paused, “Not one you’ve likely ever heard of, but one who is willing to personally help you win your lover over.”
Song’s eyes went wide. “R-really?” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “Who is it?”
“Yullian,” Huang said softly, looking over his shoulder almost for show before dropping to a complete whisper, his eyes flashing a sudden gold, “Me.”
Song slowly pulled away, seemingly trying to verify whether what she had heard actually had been said. “Huang, it’s-... It’s arrogant to call yourself a-...” She shuffled her feet sheepishly. “There… Is no Wen Huang, is there? You tricked me completely.”
“Oh no, no!” Yullian flashed a frown. He flicked his wrist and a long stemmed flower with curling pink pedals appeared in his hand. He tucked it into the stunned woman’s hair and nodded, “I didn’t trick you so much as you suddenly became my little partner in fun, and now that we did something I wanted to do, I think it is only fair we make sure my new friend’s husband is indeed her ‘yours truly’. Imagine that? All in one afternoon you’ve befriended a god and by the week is over you’ll be sleeping under the arms of your beloved, warm and cozy.”
Song looked down still. She twiddled her thumbs and looked up momentarily. “Can you really do that?”
“Lady, you’ll have to fight your way to the door -- between your forty bright eyed children and loving husband, you’ll be surprised to ever feel anything but completely devoted to,” Yullian gave a single nod.
Twinkles filled Song’s eyes and a stupid smile began to form on her lips. She nodded in a slow, dreaming manner and even blurted out a small giggle. “I really like the sound of that. Okay, what do you want me to do?”
“Well for now,” Yullian tapped his chin, “I’ll need you to simply relax, it must be jarring meeting a god so suddenly, let alone getting a wish granted just like that. So take the day off, soak in the sun, smile. If you run into Li Ying, tell her the weird bird is gone. Just really enjoy yourself.” Yullian gave a happy smile, “Oh and..” he wagged his finger and cleared his throat, “I forgot, after I do this for you and help you realize your wildest romantic fantasies with your beloved. AHEM.. Erm.. I’ll have just one itty bitty favor to ask of you in return, nothing big though.”
“Anything!” Song replied eagerly.
“Great!” Yullian silently clapped his hands, “Then I’ll visit you tonight after Heliopolis has set and then and there we can sort it all out. Enjoy your day... friend.” Yullian winked and left the room. Song stood still for a quiet moment. Making sure nobody was around first, she then skipped into the air and squealed silently to herself while victoriously throwing her arms in the air. She bounced around in circles, giggling triumphantly to herself.
She would get her love! She would win!
Yullian starting: 2MP 4FP
0mp (discount) spent on temporarily cursing Li Jian to have their name misspoken and reverse their vocal affirmatives.
0mp (discount) spent on temporarily cursing Wen Song to hum happily whenever she tried to speak.
Their faces, priceless. Ending: 2MP 4FP
Hermian Academy start: 0 +1 Minor role +1 Major role +1 Funtime with friends
End: 3 prestigios.
We open with Yullian finding the great dreamer city. We skip to the academy where an obsessed Zhong Wang is scouring the works of Shengshi. A concerned Nergui enters his study and insists that he eats and then after a brief confrontation and apology, Nergui invites him to have supper with her and the other apprentices, cooked by Wen Song.
Wen Song is cooking really bad porridge, her culinary skills more than lacking. A man by the name of Huang (Yullian) enters the kitchen and drops off a delivery of food for the pantry. Song declares she never met him before and he convinces her that he is a bastard of the Wen clan. Song buys it and she offers him the gruel. He upon finding out that it is extremely salty, suggests that it isn’t and without taste testing, Song believes him and adds MUCH more salt.
Casually she drops that she is madly inlove with Urangtai and then dinner is called. At dinner, Wang is too tired to even question Song’s explanation of who the hell Huang is and lets him join them for dinner. Li Jian is not buying it however, but before he could counter Yullian’s disguise, he is cursed and hilarity ensues. Eventually Jian is forced to leave the room, Yullian is safe once more.
A short grace by Wang and they dig into the gruel. Immediately they all start hacking at its saltiness and Song is upset. She claims that Huang lied to her, and in response Yullian has her try his own gruel, which curses her to hum happily as if it is just fine. Sick of this shit, Wang leaves for his study and is followed by his apprentices.
Yullian uncurses Song and she bawls her eyes out, worried that word of her failure will leak out and force Urangtai to leave her. Yullian reveals his godly nature and gets her to calm down, agreeing to not only make Urangtai fall madly in love with her, but to never have eyes for another woman ever. Song is pleased and then Yullian agrees to do it in return for a favor later on.
Ohannamauoi had been hard at work for a long time. After his creation he had headed east, afterall if the Ihokhetlani were in the west, and he was to protect them from threats, the most likely location for threats he did not know of, was east. At first it was relatively easy, there was nothing that could stand against him, he had taken to settling the Ahomauoi, in regions he had cleared to prevent more dangerous creatures from seizing control of the resources, competition limited to the lesser dangers. Ohannamauoi knew his purpose was to kill all that threatened mortal life, and he would start with the most threatening, the Ahomauoi could be controlled and were a limited danger to the mortals he knew of.
Then he had come across these strange lands filled with great beasts, they were of similar stature but not made of such strong stuff as Ohannamauoi. Especially as he had taken to bring some Ahomauoi of large size to fight with him, they made unruly and unintelligent soldiers but they were tough and hardy enough to be of use in combating and replacing these threats. In time he had made good clearance through the great numbers and replaced with Ahomauoi, their populations grew well in the plains west of the eastern mountains. Those times seemed to be long ago now, ten years ago that steady expansion came to an end.
Dark Red creatures had spilled forth from the mountain passes from the east, normally they were twice as long as they were tall, reaching heights of a little less than twice as tall as the blessed Divine Ohannakeloi was wide. They were deadly in the extreme, easily a match for Ahomauoi of similar size and greatly numerous. The Eldest among the Ahomauoi stood a much better chance against them, able to match size and greater strength against the creatures, although deadly they were. They seemed quite capable against the likes of the grand beasts of the reddish lands, they seemed less prepared for the Ahomauoi, and utterly surprised by Ohannamauoi. They greatly outnumbered the Ahomauoi in their normal course of action, but under his command the beasts had to fall back to organized amounts of the great Crabs, especially led by himself.
Initially he had tried to close the mountain passes, while at a time successful and allowed for some reprieve, soon more found a way around or moved the boulders he had cast down from the mountains to seal the passes. For the past ten years he had continued a war of sorts against them, occasionally leading forrays to the east to attempt to assault their numbers but they always seemed to have reserves. It was a trouble, he could win wherever he fought but still they came, he could not be in each location to fight them. Especially as he needed to keep moving in more Ahomauoi as they bred and grew to replace the high casualty near the mountains, he could not allow a successful breach and spread across the western plains, that would make it most difficult to locate and kill them as they were clearly a threat to mortals.
He had prayed to Ohannakeloi, but he knew it was not to be helped, it was his duty to kill threats, Ohannakeloi had his plans and claws full with his own preparations. He had been told that there were few mortals that prayed to Ohannakeloi beyond the mountains, Ohannamauoi knew that since the Ihokhetlani spread from the west, there was little danger to any important mortals as long as these beasts stayed in low enough numbers and sufficiently bottled. Reaper Spawn, Ohannakeloi had called them after he had surveyed the area before leaving to attend to a most Divine Relative, Ohannamauoi knew not what the name meant. It was of little importance, they must be slain as they were a threat, but Ohannamauoi knew not how.
He stopped from his musings, his small force of Ahomauoi stopped with him as they had been ordered to, there should have been more creatures around here than he could see. Ohannamauoi’s eye stalks scanned the plains looking for an explanation. And he saw why, a large pack of reaperspawn stalked the plains, small ones that were built for speed while two larger brought up the rear. They had grown bolder since their arrival, prompted by their extreme aggression and territory being challenged. The reaperspawn didn’t seem to notice Ohannamauoi and the Ahomauoi that were with him, however.
Ohannamauoi began to head towards them, the reaperspawn tended to be faster than him he had noticed, and as large as he was he was noticeable in the plains, that never quite seemed to properly deter them. The Ahomauoi followed, this group should not be much trouble, it was when they came in large numbers that issues developed, mostly as the reaperspawn tended to be smaller than most that followed Ohannamauoi, and the larger ones had never been greatly numerous.
The larger of the reaperspawn were the first to see Ohannamauoi issued warning sounds, a deep yet shrill noise that lingered in the air. This prompted the smaller ones to stop in their tracks, and locate the threat. As soon as the giant crab was located, the smaller one bolted at the crabs with bursts of speed. The two larger ones broke off from their smaller cousins and turned to flee in the opposite direction towards a hilly region, an entirely new display of reaction. Usually they all charged, and they all died.
Perhaps they were getting smarter, or less numerous. In either case they had to be dealt with, he ordered the Ahomauoi a new, “Attack the smaller ones, follow once they are dead.” He followed the large two of the spawn, hills were not such a terrible environment to fight in, although that did usually mean closer to the large masses that lurked beyond the mountains. In any case, Ohannamauoi chased the two larger spawn towards the hills, his Ahomauoi would follow close enough behind once the smaller ones were dealt with.
The hills seemed to twist at every turn, growing taller as he went after the two spawn. The air grew silent with anticipation as the world seemed to still. The stench of decay wafted through the hills, crushing everything under its pervasive presence. It was only when Ohannamauoi was far in winding turns that a scream echoed throughout the hills, far higher in pitch and carrying authority with it. That was when the hills exploded with reaper screams, and the sound of thunderous footsteps beginning to advance from all directions. It was an ambush.
A most fortuitous occurrence, the enemy had accepted the inevitable and had come to face him. Ohannamauoi stopped and stood his ground as they came to close upon him.
They came down from the hills, they came unseen holes, they came from behind and they came from the front. Hundreds of reaperspawn, all in varying sizes but one thing was the same, their red eyes hungered for death. They surrounded Ohannamauoi, snapping claws and teeth at his direction, but none dared approach, as if they were unsure of how to attack. Then another scream echoed over the hills, silencing all of them. From the front, cresting a hill was the largest Reaper ever seen, surrounded by a guard that rose to it’s shoulders. The Reaper mother had come.
“Are you their master? Their mother? Father? It does not matter in the end.” Ohannamauoi had no such confusion as to how to attack, the masses were not a great impediment for him. The small ones were the first, only a great many of them would be of the same mass as one of his claws alone. He stepped forward, his claws slapped the front wave of the horde as their numbers trapped many in place the speed and sheer mass of his claws broke bones and allowed free movement of things that were not meant to move so freely.
The giant Reaper did not respond, instead it approached as the spawn parted. Most of the smaller spawn fled behind their leader and as safe distance away. Even the guard began to part, leaving the two colossal creatures a space. The Reaper paced back and forth, its muscles tensed and posture readying for anything.
Ohannamauoi did not delay, he attacked. He charged forward intending to grapple the smaller creature, if he could get a hold of it, he was sure he could kill it. He gave little heed to the spawn, they seemed ready to wait for the outcome, or would at least hold off for now. He leaned into his charge as he neared the beast, his claws reached to grab it.
As soon as Ohannamauoi charged, the Reaper prepared itself, crouching down low. When the giant crab neared, the Reaper used its powerful legs to jump high over Ohannamauoi and attack from the top.
The Reaper landed fairly easily, the carapace of Ohannamauoi was large and the size difference made it more feasible to land and dig into it. While his armor was more akin to stone rather than many other more organic structures, the Reaper was still capable of harming him through it due to its own great ability although it was not easy. Ohannamauoi pushed himself off the ground with his left legs, only to fold them under himself as he went into a roll.
As Ohannamauoi began to roll, the reaper pushed off and landed upon the hillside, barely managing to prevent itself from being crushed under the immense weight of the crab. Before the dust and debris could even settle the reaper assaulted one of Ohannamauoi's legs. The Reaper ripped into the carapace but received a swift kick away from another leg for her trouble.
Ohannamauoi fully stood back up and once again faced towards the Reaper, charging very similarly to before. His opponent growled, a metallic smell filled the air as it hoisted itself up onto all limbs. With a powerful push, it leapt sideways at the last minute before Ohannamauoi could grab it. It wasted no time in strafing around the crab’s legs, slicing at the carapace legs with four arms, as it moved with the crab.
He tried to crush or kick the Reaper, which was not particularly successful, the Reaper was quick to dodge and move, flowing between his strikes. He switched tactics, stepping away from the Reaper, backing off and turning to face it. Whenever the Reaper moved to strike at his legs or otherwise avoid facing him claw to claw, he tried to refuse engagement.
The Reaper huffed in annoyance as it’s attacks did little damage as the crab became defensive. Then it became quiet, hate filled eyes scanning the crab with new intensity. It was looking for something, but to what, one could hardly be sure. It backed up, then with another mighty leap it jumped to get on the crab’s back.
Ohannamauoi’s claws reached out to catch the beast as he backed up to allow such an action, he had awaited such a mistake. There would be little enough capacity to dodge or use its advantage of speed when it was on a set trajectory. And the Reaper was caught by Ohannamauoi with a sickening crunch.
His grip was fairly solid on the main body of the beast, he squeezed tight to ensure it did not riggle free. He slammed it back into the ground, pinning it with both claws to the earth while trying to move his right forward leg into position to better pin the creature and free one of his claws to attack it. The Reaper let out a harrowing scream, sending the other reapers into a frenzy as they began to run at Ohannamauoi. Then as quickly as the scream came, the Reaper stopped and looked into the crab’s beady eyes with delight. Though the Reaper could escape, it could still attack. With two arms, it latched onto the front pincer and then bit down with it’s mouth of razor sharp teeth. After a moment of resistance, the teeth slipped into the Carapace and with it, decay.
Ohannamauoi lifted his leg, instead of pinning, smashing it down upon the limbs of the beast until he was satisfied some damage had been done. He ignored his injury as he picked up the beast and threw it into the horde once it was almost upon him. He retreated backwards, towards where his Ahomauoi should approach from as he kept his claws at the ready to fight and buy time against the masses pressing against him.
At the sight of the Reaper being thrown, the smaller reapers paused in their attack and instead surrounded the larger one. She got up, one of her horns was broken, and so two was one of her arms. She looked upon Ohannamauoi with malice before turning to limp away, her guard following her backwards. The host of the reapers followed, leaving behind countless dead and dying.
Ohannamauoi stopped moving backwards and slowly followed, killing the dying rather than pursuing the host. “I shall have to kill them another time, need something to make dealing with them easier, or some way.” Ohannamauoi mused as the Reaper and their spawn left the field of battle. It was finally vacated as Ohannamauoi ensured the death of anything that remained and then he left with his finally arriving host of Ahomauoi. The dead were left to elements and what survived in the area to prey upon their corpses.
A BATTLE OF TITANS OHANNAMAUOI THE CRAB OF ALL CRABS, BATTLES WITH THE REAPERSPAWN FOR YEARS, GAINING GROUND AND LOSING IT AS THE ENEMY PRESSES ON! ON AN ORDINARY DAY, THE BIG CRAB SPOTS A BAND OF REAPERSPAWN! THE SPAWN ATTACK BUT TWO BIG BOYS BREAK AWAY AND FLEE! THIS PROMPTS OHANNAMAUOI TO GO AFTER THEM INTO THE HILLS OF ATOK!
SURPRISE!
IT'S AN AMBUSH! THE REAPER MOTHER HAS COME AND ENGAGES OHANNAMAUOI IN A BATTLE THAT SHAKES THE VERY FOUNDATIONS OF THE EARTH! BY THE END OF IT ALL NEITHER IS THE VICTOR AND BOTH HAVE WOUNDS!
It had been three weeks since that fateful day upon the beach. Three, long weeks of waiting, of anger, confusion, and far too many questions. None of it had been easy, the lies were the hardest of all to spin, but she did so. She told Rowan that Orvus was desperately called away by something, one of his siblings most likely. He did not know when he would return, but entrusted Laurien to watch over them until Shengshi arrived. It was easy to explain that her sword had been given to protect the eye while Orvus and Arya were away. She also made mention of the powers that Orvus bestowed upon her to succeed in this task. Most importantly, she had her out, and that Orvus had told her to protect her people when Shengshi came to take them. The Eye had Arya and Orvus, those that went with Ohannakeloi had his protection, but these ones needed protection as well.
She had been convincing and most believed her, save for Rowan. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but Laurien knew the trust that had been between them, was badly broken. She shrugged it off and said her goodbyes when the time came. Lily and Ava did not understand why she had to go, and Laurien could hardly even look at them when she gave her reasons. They left crying.
As for the Eye itself, without Orvus around, rumors spread rampantly, of abandonment, and faith. Had their god abandoned them? Laurien knew the answer, and it was one she could never tell. As such, a new rumor was created by her little followers. When the River Lord came, he would take any who wanted luxury, and slowly this truth settled into the mortal hearts of the Nebulites. Many were swayed to join Polyastera, but those who thought it foolish and morally wrong generated a rift in the Nebulites. Rowan was chief among them, and became their voice. Those who were on Polyastera’s side, began to gather at the tree. Talks were had almost daily, and Laurien watched as the rift grew.
And then, Shengshi came at last.
A golden speck on the horizon quickly became the magnificent ship sailing on a constantly breaking and reforming river. It slowly descended down to the great branch, where it neatly landed on a small grove, crushing it utterly. The river beneath the ship became stairs up the side of the hull, and at the very top stood Shengshi, wearing a dark scowl. The scowl melted away after a moment, though, and was replaced with a forced smile.
“Be greeted, people of Orvus and--...” A few echoing sniffs sounded. “... Ohannakeloi! As promised, I have come to give you what it is that you crave!”
A large crowd began to gather before the stairs, as one after another the Nebulites stared in awe. Through the crowd, came Laurien wearing a simple green dress. She pushed through to the very front and then bowed, with many of the Nebulites following her cue. ”Greetings your lordship! Welcome to the Branch of the World Tree and, to the Eye of Desolation.” she said before standing back up.
The snake bowed back, albeit not as deeply. “Ah, Laurien - a pleasure to see you, as always. Yes, this is my first time sailing over this land… I do enjoy the jungle motif.” He hummed to himself. “So, would Polyastera please come forth?”
“Of course, Your Lordship,” came a voice like lavender and silk. The young woman with skin like strawberry milk and hair like Heliopolis itself stepped forth from between the masses, magnificent sparkles twinkling in between the luminous strands hanging from her head down to her hips. She curtesied and the snake wrinkled his nose.
“You called and I have come. Are all these gathered behind you determined to come along for one night of unparalleled luxury?”
“Firmly determined, Your Lordship,” Polyastera assured. Laurien smirked and crossed her arms. There would be no coming back from this. The moment Polly stepped on that ship, she would never go back to this life. It was what she desired, after all and Laurien had simply given her a subtle push.
The snake nodded slowly. “So be it. A word of caution, however - once this day has passed, you may not ever achieve this level of opulence and richness ever again. Are all of you prepared to live your lives knowing this?”
“Absolutely!” Polyastera swore almost before the snake had finished speaking. Shengshi winced a little and flattened his mouth.
“V-very well, then.” He cleared his throat. “Come aboard then, all those who wish, and experience the great wealth that is the fortune of Shengshi!”
Polyastera nearly sprinted up the stairs, followed by Pallason, Titanon, Philia and a horde of other Nebulites lusting for the snake’s promised treatment. Laurien watched her people go up the stairs, her hands now behind her back. She waited until the last straggler made their way up on board before she even began walking. Her heart began to beat faster as her thoughts turned to how she was going to explain Orvus’ disappearance to his Lordship. Would he ask more questions? Would he snoop in her mind for the truth? She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Whatever was going to happen, would happen and she needed some wine.
Immediately as her heel touched the deck, a crew of servants surrounded her, bowed, and promptly began to dress her in unfathomably soft silks. The servants employed ladders and chairs to reach high enough, one of them squirting a small cloud of lotus perfume onto her cheeks with an inclined head. A distance away, Laurien saw Polyastera wave to her, her body overtaken by ten small servants all massaging her every inch. Laurien could not help but smile at the sight, and waved back. She shivered at the softness of the silks and the smell of the lotus was delightful. The servant with the perfume bottle asked politely: “Would the Lady like a massage, as well?”
”No, but she would like a bath. And if at all possible, the same darlings who washed me so long ago.” Laurien purred.
“Of course, my Lady,” the servant replied with a smile and descended the ladder. The other Nebulites around were expressing their joy and pleasure through laughter, gasps and sighs. The palace gates swung open behind them to unleash a tide of robed Servants, the flanks carrying fragrant dishes in both hands that seemed to lure in the eyes of everyone aboard. The centre of the great wave came in the form of teams of six carrying huge pots. Between each team came tray bearers, their hands carrying a disk towering with cups. The Nebulites, now dressed in silks matching their colours, eyed the food ravenously. The snake snapped his fingers and the pots were lowered to the deck with thunderous bangs. He snapped them again and the lids atop the pots were pulled off. An overwhelming sour, intoxicating smell drowned out the scent of the meals.
Polyastera’s eyed flared open and she licked her lips. “What… Is that?”
Pallason gulped. “I have no idea, but I want it.”
”Wine my darlings, drink up.” Laurien mused, before having a cup filled for her. She took a drink and sighed as the flavor washed over her tongue. It was delicious.
Polyastera gasped and nearly ripped a winecup out of a frightened Servant’s hand. She downed it all in a single gulp. Then she froze. She stood still with the cup to her lips. After a moment, tears welled up in her eyes and she slowly lowered the cup with a shivering hand. The frightened servant sheepishly offered to refill it and she held it out with an empty expression on her face. Her friends gave her concerned looks and Philia asked worriedly:
“Polly, are you okay?”
Polyastera looked up at Laurien with eyes like ravenous wolves. A maddened grin crossed her lips and she had another drink of wine, downing this cup all at once, too. “I love this. I LOVE IT!”
”I knew you would.” Laurien whispered under her breath before smiling widely, ”Drink until your heart's content, then drink more!” she said, taking another sip of her wine.
Polyastera already looked tipsy. Her friends had delved into similar levels of decadence. The mood on deck quickly turned from wild joy to senseless debauchery, food and wine being inhaled like air. The mess on the floors, clothes, walls and everywhere in between disappeared as far as it appeared before Servant brooms, mops and rags. The snake found the sight to be surprising, and perhaps a little concerning. However, he had promised them the day, and the day, they would have. He turned and went up into his tower. There, he would wait until the next dawn.
Laurien, meanwhile, was being guided down to the bathhouse as before. There, she was greeted by the six young ladies who had washed her all those years ago. They hadn’t aged a day, still as beautiful and smiling as they were back then. Ke Ai, Gu Niang, Xiao Jie, Ai Qing, Mei Li and Hao Shuang - all their names flowed back to her mind.
“Welcome back, our Exalted Guest, Lady Laurien - may these Servants be of aid?”
”Yes, indeed… It’s been far too long.” Laurien said as she let her silken gown fall to the floor. ”It’s good to see you again, my friends.” Laurien said as she settled down into the water.
“It has indeed been far too long,” Ke Ai agreed. “Has our Exalted Guest been well over the past years?” The ladies surrounded her in the water and began to scrub her skin with arousingly textured towels. Ke Ai herself sat herself down by Laurien’s head and began to rub soaps and oils into her long hair. Mei Li momentarily left her post by Laurien’s left arm to fetch her a tall cup of wine.
Laurien closed her eyes as she reveled in the sensations. ”I’ve been fairly well, how about all of you?” Laurien cooed.
“Life here is perfect, my Lady,” Ke Ai assured and tugged out a knot of hair. “None of us want for anything, so life goes on in its merry way.” She paused. “It is quite a crowd you’ve brought along, isn’t it?”
”It is, but they wanted this, you know. Who knew that the story of my time here would have been so influential and they’ve taken to it already.” Laurien said, opening her eyes to take a sip of wine. She flashed a smile at Mei Li as she did.
“You humble us, my Lady,” Ke Ai giggled. “To think that you would tell stories about us that would inspire so many to visit. Did they seem to be enjoying themselves up there?”
”You, and his Lordship’s hospitality, was my inspiration, after all. But yes, they did seem to be enjoying themselves, if not just a bit too much. But can you blame them? His Holiness is a gift to this world, and he is very kind.” Laurien said, taking another sip as she sank lower into the water.
“His Lordship would no doubt be grateful to hear that,” Ke Ai assured. There then was a knock on the door. Ke Ai and the other girls looked up, then at one another with slight confusion. Hao Shuang stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in her uniform gi before shuffling swiftly over to the door. She opened it and exchanged whispering words with someone on the other side, but there came an undoubtable identification in the form of a familiar voice, “Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuurieeeeen!” Polyastera called from the other side of the door.
Laurien winced at the girls voice. Was she that gone already from just a few cups? Laurien sighed and pushed herself up and over to the door, caring not that she got water over everything. She folded her arms against her chest. ”Yes Polly?” Laurien said as she gestured for the door to be opened.
Outside was a small horde of Nebulites, lead by a messily dressed Polyastera. They all eyed Laurien with varying degrees of focus and collectively began to cheer and praise her. Polyastera let out a gross burp and clumsily wrapped her arms around Laurien’s back. “Yooo jus’ leftus, baaaabe… How could’oo…” The other Nebulites around stormed into the bathhouse, clothes flying everywhere. The six Servants in the bath began to simulate a cold sweat.
Laurien frowned at the sight, growing irritated that her bath had been ruined. She turned around and caught Polyastera by her shoulders. ”I needed a bath, a proper bath by these lovely servants. These are the same ones that washed me on my first stay here and now,” she looked at the mass of bodies in the tub, water overflowing. ”And now you can enjoy it as well. But first.” Laurien let go of Poly and moved her to the side gently. The tall Nebulite then clapped her hand and shouted, ”Behave yourselves in this tub, or I will throw you off this ship myself!” before turning back to Polly and holding out her hand, ”Come sit by me.”
The Nebulites drunkenly obeyed to the best of their abilities, some snailing their way back out of the tub to wait their turn, others making their way to the various chairs and benches around the room to relax with fruits, nuts, pastries and much, much more wine. In through the door came a number of additional servants dressed in the bathhouse gis, donning strained smiles hiding stressed frowns. Polly clung to Laurien’s arm like an anchor and struggled with walking as the tall heroine brought her to the tub.
“Issho hot in heeeere,” she complained. ”Well you are wearing clothes silly.” Laurien said as they stood at the edge of the tub. She flashed a sympathetic smile to Ke Ai and the other Servant girls before turning back to look at Polly.
“Oooooh,” Polyastera realised and tried to wiggle herself out of her cumbersome robes. She plucked fruitlessly at the knot holding together her waistband. A servant hurried over, undid the knot for her and gathered the robes in the span of less than half a minute. Polyastera grunted her appreciation and nearly collapsed into the water, thankfully landing on top of two other Nebulites and pushing them underwater instead. She gathered herself and let out a satisfied sigh at the water’s temperature at the same time as the two other Nebulites gasped for air. A wine cup entered Polyastera’s hand and while completely ignoring the complaints peppering her from the two, she leaned in against Laurien’s chest and sighed.
“I’m sho happy, babe… I wuv you…”
Laurien put an arm around Polly’s waist and pulled her closer. ”Aw, I love you too.” she said amused. ”Now, not to play mother, but sip dear, sip the wine. It’s better that way.”
“You’d make uh good mozzer,” Polly replied sluggishly and took another generous ‘sip’ of wine. “Y’know, Iwannanamemydaughter… Laurien… After yooooo.” She smiled stupidly, though there was a genuine sheen of affection in her eyes.
Laurien tilted her head in surprise as she looked Polly in the eyes. The little woman was surprisingly being genuine. It was enough to melt her heart a little. Laurien squeezed her tightly and said, ”Oh Polly, that’s far too kind. A little Laurien, how adorable she would be, and how spoiled.” Laurien flashed a giddy smile.
“Just like usssss!” Polly giggled and looked up with a smack of her lips. “We gonna have the biggest palace EVER, ‘n like a billions of servantsh!”
Ke Ai, who had sat herself down next to Laurien again and was doing her best to bathe her despite the crowdy pool, giggled politely. “It would be an honour,” she replied in a mandatory manner.
“Every day, every night - jusht like thish! Oh, wouldn’ that be amazhing, Lau-Lau?!”
”Yes dear one. It would be wonderful, beyond our wildest dreams.” Laurien said happily as she leaned into Polly, letting Ke Ai work on her neck and upper back. She took another sip of her wine before giving a small kiss upon Polly’s forehead.
Polyastera ducked up at the last second and made it a kiss on the lips instead. Drunkenly, she bit her lip playfully. “I--I reckon… I reckon I will neeeed… Shomeone to share my queenshize bed wiff.” He raised her cup into the air and shouted, “ANY VOLUNTEERSH?!”
The closest ones all shouted their willingness; from the back of the room, however, came a quiet, “what’d she say?!”
Laurien bit her lip after the kiss, before saying, ”I think you already know the answer to your question.” her voice echoing playfully.
“You make me sho happyyyy,” Polly whispered lovingly and took another gulp of wine. “When I am (urp!), am queen, Laurry --” she took another sip. “-- you will be my… My… Wossname…”
“Concubine?” Ke Ai offered helpfully.
“Whassat?” Polly asked with an inebriated frown.
“Essentially, it is another wife in addition to the one you have, my Lady,” Ke Ai said and gave the room a scan with a frown even she couldn’t hide. “... Though this servant reckons the concept of marriage is a little different to your kind.”
“Whass marridge, Laurry?” Polyastera asked.
”Hmm, true, you wouldn’t really know what marriage is. Take… Take Orvus and Rowan for an example. They are a married couple, a man and a woman, but it can be a man and man or a woman and a woman. They swear to be eachothers and no one else. I’ll explain in detail when you are sober.” Laurien said with a laugh.
“Pffffffffffffft,” Polyastera blurted out with some aggressive spittle. “Who’d wanna shtop at jussh one?! Marridge ish DUMB!” The others who had been listening raised their glasses and cheered along.
Laurien raised her eyebrow before snickering as she toasted. They were after her own heart, the little Nebulites. ”Love you who want to love, I say.” she whispered to Polly.
“Preciselicioush,” Polly replied and kissed Laurien again.
The bathhouse party had continued its debauchery. It was not the only one, as the Nebulites had made messes of the feast hall, the deck and a good chunk of the bedrooms. Heliopolis had even had the chance to rise before the celebrations truly ended. Littered almost like corpses, hungover Nebulites laid spread throughout the various rooms of the great ship. Nervous, traumatised servants diligently did their best to replace millenium old broken furniture and undo the various damages done to priceless paintings and artifacts. The bathhouse had eventually been evacuated after one who had had too much had thought the great tub was a vomit bucket. It would take months for the holy vessel to recover.
The guests, on the other hand, were extremely satisfied. The breakfast table, though attended by measly half of the guests and a measly quarters of those being able to eat, had a warm, chucklesome mood about it. Polly had her forehead on the tabletop, droning in agony as her fork blindly tried to stab at some eggs.
Laurien ate her fill, only stopping to when she noticed Polly. ”You know, eating helps dear.” she said digging into some bacon. Laurien was satisfied with how things had turned out but at the same time, was a bit disappointed. The Nebulites had done a very good job at destroying the place, and she felt pity towards the servants who would have to clean up after them. Though, it was their job…
“Dunwannaaaa…” Polyastera muttered to the floor. Her fork stabbed a tomato and the little fruit spat some wet seeds at her hair.
Laurien smirked. ”Suit yourself then, you won’t have another feast like this for many, many years. If at all.” she said looking over to where Cassie was talking and eating next to Pallason. Titanon lovingly nursed a terribly hungover Philia and slowly fed her some eggs from a spoon.
Polyastera droned some more. Over time, more and more Nebulites seemed to find their way to the breakfast table. The enthusiasm of yesterday had noticeably deflated, but weak smiles and ravenous eyes on most faces showed that, if they ever got such an opportunity again, they would likely kill to earn it. A Servant came to Polyastera and Laurien with a neatly folded and sealed piece of paper. The seal was of red wax, the stamp on it spelling out the two characters of Shengshi’s name.
“Our Esteemed Guests, Laurien and Polyastera - His Lordship requests an audience at Your earliest convenience.”
Polyastera grabbed at the air for the envelope and the Servant dutifully placed it into her hand before leaving with a bow. Polyastera handed it to Laurien and mumbled, “Could you read it, dear?”
”His Lordship requests an audience with the both of us.” Laurien said, placing the card on the table in front of her. She grabbed a towel and dabbed the corners of her mouth before placing it down as well. Then she stood up and said, ”Come, no use in keeping him waiting. You do have a deal to negotiate, after all.” Laurien outstretched her hand to Polly.
Reluctantly, Polyastera took it and wobbled to her feet. She pulled her messy robe back over her shoulder and followed Laurien towards the stairs up. On the way, Servants deftly cleaned them up and added necessary cosmetics to the best of their ability without directly obstructing the two. The trip up the tower was long, though, and by the time they reached the golden, dragon-flanked gates of Shengshi’s quarters, both of them looked almost presentable.
The doors swung open slowly, followed by the deep, oily voice saying, “Come in. I am on the veranda outside.” A few harp chords followed lazily.
The two entered the room, and it was much the same as it had been the last time she had been there. A simple plain, but it worked. She guided Polly through to the veranda wherein Laurien kowtowed to Shengshi, prompting Polyastera to do the same. ”Greetings your Lordship, it is good to see you again. I apologize for not coming to see you yesterday, but I required a bath and then it… well… I apologize.” Laurien said sincerely.
The snake took a while to answer, Polyastera looking up impatiently between the harp chords. Eventually, the snake said, “There is nothing to apologise for, my dear. Celebrations do have a habit of going overboard.”
”it is good to see you again, your lordship.” Laurien said happily.
“Likewise,” came a curt response. The snake turned away from his guzheng and smiled at the two. “I trust you enjoyed yourselves, then?”
“Oh, so much,” Polyastera insisted. “Regarding the deal--”
The snake held up a hand. “All in good time, young Polyastera. Laurien, did you, too, enjoy yourself?”
”Yes, it was delightful as always your Lordship. I am grateful that my people were able to enjoy this as I did.” she said putting a hand on Polly’s shoulder. ”Your Servants did an excellent job, every single one of them and for that I am thankful.”
“Yes, a job, they certainly did. They were diligent and deft, and did their job without so much as a complaint. Still, your people certainly took them by surprise.” He slithered over to the railing with his hands behind his back. “A few came to me in the night pleading for a break. In all the millennia the servants have existed, not once - not once - have they ever asked for a break.” He eyed Polyastera up and down there where she kowtowed. “... I must admit that I am a little less enthusiastic about leaving a group like you to govern yourselves in a kingdom of riches.”
Polyastera gaped and tried to stand up, but a look from Laurien kept her grounded. ”I will admit, they took me by surprise as well. I did not think they would… Revel with so much passion. But, they are new to this world. Can you blame them for wanting to live like this? Or- My father… I don’t think he really knew what he was creating when they were born, but I can assure you, your Lordship, give it time and they will adjust accordingly.” Laurien said, blinking.
“Your father, huh,” the snake thought out loud. He flicked his tongue at the air. “Where is he, if I may ask? I would like to speak to him - apologise for my earlier cold front towards him.”
”He apologizes for not being able to be here to meet with you, your Lordship. He is away, and did not tell me where he was going. So is Arya, unfortunately. She went back to Tendlepog to visit Hermes and Xiaoli.” Laurien said calmly, almost too calmly.
The snake furrowed his brow. “I see. That is a shame.” He gave Laurien a mysterious look and pursed his lips. “I suppose I will have to tell him next time, then. Now, yes, regarding these Nebulites’ free rule of a state on the Dragon’s Foot…” He gave Polyastera a patronising stare. The Nebulite caved a little, sheepishly looking for other things to lock her eyes on. “Will you vouch for them, then, Laurien?”
”Oh yes, I think they can build a wonderful home.” Laurien said, relieved to be changing the subject.
The snake’s eyes flicked between the two. “Young Polyastera. I will offer you a deal: I will take your people to the Taipang delta on the Dragon’s Foot. The land there is ripe and fertile; the water is fresh and clean; the fish and birds are plentiful - it will be a perfect home for your people.”
Polyastera gaped and beamed with eager euphoria between Laurien and the snake. “Oh, that sounds fantastic! How can I begin to--”
“Hold on, my dear,” the snake held up a hand. “I was not quite finished.”
Polyastera deflated and looked to Laurien for support. Laurien moved closer to Polyastera and hung her arms over the smaller girl’s shoulders, bending down to say, ”Patience, my love. A Queen needs such a skill, after all.” before standing back up and placing both of her hands on Polly’s shoulders. She gave her a small massage, before returning her gaze to Shengshi. ”Please continue, your Lordship. Polyastera is just a little excited over everything.”
“Yes, that much is evident,” the snake said plainly. “I have three demands - no more, no fewer. One of them will be completed today; another within ten years; a third will never truly be completed, but will be satisfied once a generation.” “What are His Lordships terms?” Polyastera asked with the most humble tone she could manage.
The snake raised one finger. “By dusk today, I demand that you remove any from the ship who are not committed to you and your cause.”
The snake raised a second finger. “By the tenth year, starting today, your will have constructed a temple to me, and it shall be the grandest building in your city, rivalled not even by your royal palace.”
Polyastera blinked. “W-within ten yea--”
“Within ten years,” the snake confirmed sternly and raised a third finger. “The royal family, starting today and continuing as long as there is a Nebulite kingdom upon the Dragon’s Foot, will take its firstborn to me upon the child’s fifteenth birthday. From that moment, the child shall live out its days in my service, or wherever else I choose to send it.”
He lowered the three fingers and eyed the two. “Are these demands reasonable?”
Laurien mulled it over, the only thing that truly bothered her was building the temple, but Ohannakeloi did bless the Nebulites with knowledge on masonry. They’d be able to do it, she was sure of it, no matter what. It would also be easy to get rid of those that were not fully committed. As for the last request… Well, Laurien wasn’t going to be the Queen, now was she?
”I find these terms acceptable, how about you Polyastera?” she asked.
“As do I,” Polyastera said as though she hadn’t truly fathomed the consequences of her actions.
”Then we accept these terms, your Lordship.” Laurien said, smiling warmly.
The snake nodded. “So be it.” He looked at Polyastera. “I will be expecting you to make due on the third promise fifteen years from now.”
Polyastera frowned, then blinked and laid her hand on her abdomen. The snake nodded. “Congratulations,” he said with a smile. “Now I would like you to start making good on the first promise.” He went back to his harp and started plucking at the strings. “You may begin.”
Laurien kowtowed again, after looking at Poly with a smile, she had no idea the Queen to be was with child. Laurien then said, ”It shall be done, your Lordship.”
Polyastera followed her gesture. “It shall be done, Your Lordship,” she echoed and together, the two went back inside and descended the tower. The first agenda on the list was clear.
Find those who were committed to the cause; Do away with the rest.
It’s been three weeks since Laurien told everyone on the Eye that Orvus left and she didn’t know when he would return. Tensions are high between the luxury nebs and the other nebs, but Shengshi finally arrives and the promised day of revelry beings. Laurien goes to the baths and meets her old friends from long ago. Poly and a whole bunch of other nebs show up however, and ruin the relaxing moment, but not entirely. Drunk Poly opens up to Laurien a bit and they end the night with a kiss
The next day they meet with Shengshi and strike a deal with him. NotEgypt has begun, for better or worse.
Laurien; +2 Prestige Starting +1 Prestige for Minor Role +1 Prestige for Major Role +1 Prestige for Jolly Collaboration = +5 Prestige Ending
Ashalla's senses were not fooling her. There quite clearly used to be a continent here, yet now there was nothing but open ocean. Swahhitteh churned to the west, the twin continents reduced to one. The sea bed creaked and hissed, Ehomakwoi still undertaking the task of redistributing the load of Galbar's landmasses. Ocean currents shifted erratically as the Abyss sought new paths through which to drive the sea's motions.
K'nell's power lay heavy here, infusing every cubic metre where Tendlepog once was, so there was no doubting who had done this. The exit of the continent had been smooth, with only weak waves rippling outwards rather than the devastating tsunamis which would have accompanied a violent exit. This had been planned, and K'nell must have been planning it for a long time.
Ashalla spread out across the space where Tendlepog had once been and meditated upon her last meeting with him. "It had been a farewell concert," she eventually concluded, a voice like a wistful breeze. "He did not want some dreams to end."
The night sky stretched out above her. Across the backdrop of purest black twinkled incandescent sparks and shined unchanging pinpricks of white. A smear of red painted part of the sky, and a great luminescent orb cast soft, cool light upon the sea. Yet among these old things was a new mark, a dusty green cloud spilled onto the firmament. Ashalla looked upon it and a feeling of peace came over her. It seemed to say, to some indescribable part of her soul, 'Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,' although she knew not what it meant. Tendlepog and all who lived upon it may be gone, but the God of Sleep had left this mark.
Yet there was another mark which Ashalla held more dear. "I will always cherish the memories."
A little wisp of light curled its way beneath the ocean waves, pulled along by the water currents. The dappled light from Heliopolis above faded as the wisp flowed deeper, sinking into the darkness of the Abyssal Rift. It continued to descend, the tiny shred of light barely able to spare any illumination for the distant stone walls of the chasm.
In the darkness time had no meaning, so after a meaningless period of time the wisp came to be greeted by a warm, incandescent light from below. The deep churning of the Abyss' currents buffeted the delicate wisp into an erratic path. It danced around tube worms and tickled against critters, yet it slowly made its way downwards until finally it sank to the floor of the Abyss. It settled like a feather, and as the wisp faded its light gently suffused throughout the magma.
The ocean sighed as the soft light faded. The water of the seas across Galbar drew back slightly, as if curling up to rest. Gentle waves lapped rhythmically at coastlines, like the soft breathing of a sleeper. For hours the ocean slept like this, yet with sleeping comes awakening, so eventually the ocean awoke. The water rose back up, like one who had gotten out of bed. The waves regained their usual liveliness, and the ocean continued its activity. After many more hours, though, the ocean had grown weary once more, and it ebbed off to sleep.
Thus began the cycle of sleep and awakening, of low tide and high tide. This was the gift of Sleep to the Ocean.
Ashalla wistfully reflects on Tendlepog's departure.
K'nell's gift of sleep finds its way to the Abyss. There tides are born.
A spray of blood splattered from the punch. Ming’s head snapped back, toppling the woman over and onto the ground with a limp thud. Her eyes watered as her hand quickly rose to cup her bleeding nose. She squirmed in pain, “Snap! Snap! Snap!”
“Get up!” Batbayaar held his fighting stance, feet and shoulders square and fists raise defensively.
“Snappin’ I think you broke it,” Ming swore, rolling to her side, her eyes closing in pain as she accidentally put the pressure on one of her bruised ribs. She was dressed in baggy shorts and a close fitting vest, same as Batbayaar. Her monochrome skin was blushed blue and black all over, with irritated scrapes on every joint. The unforgiving hardness of the tiled barracks courtyard showed no mercy every time she had collapsed to it.
“Hm?” Batbayaar lowered his fists and looked down at the bleeding woman, his mountain of a frame towering over her. The scholar rubbed his chin, “That’s enough training for today, then. Go get yourself fixed up.”
“That’s it?” Ming limped back up to her feet, “You break a woman’s nose and that’s all you have to say?” She held her nose, blood trickling from between her fingers.
“I broke a general’s nose,” Batbayaar corrected, “And I’ll do it again if you don’t learn to be more defensive. The Hermian martial arts is not about mindless assault, you should know this.” He folded his anvil-like hands over his lap, “Am I to be dismissed, General?”
“For the day,” Ming looked away from the man, shame in her glance.
“Then are we to spar again soon?” Batbayaar arched a brow.
“I’ll send word to the Academy,” Ming waved her free hand, dried blood caked on her palm. Batbayaar dipped his head silently, backing up until he was at a reasonable distance and then turning to walk out on the tiled road out of the courtyard.
A speckle of blood dripped to the tiles below and Ming sighed. With a certain walk between a disappointed gait and a limp, Ming meandered over to the largest building in the military quarter, the main barracks. The tall stone building was wider than it was deep and thankfully for Ming, it was the location of the only ‘hospital’ in the city. Of course the couple of dedicated medicine men and women that worked there were more attuned to setting bones and delivering babies, but ever since Ming had started the training program with her prospective soldiers, they had quickly adjusted to learning how to fix new, more unusual ailments.
Using her back, Ming pushed through the massive doors that barricaded the building from the training courtyard. With a loud slam, the doors closed behind her, cutting her hearing off from the grunts and warcries of the training soldiers and bringing a ring to her ears. The interior was cold, it was always cold. She’d wrap an arm around her if she could, but as it stood, she was stuck walking through the halls shivering madly while she held her bleeding nose -- not exactly the image of a grand general or promised warrior.
She hated that, and she had a feeling a few of her soldiers hated it too. Sure, someone could have challenged her to the generalship, and it was likely Batbayaar himself would have, if he wasn’t already chosen as a scholar for the Hermian Academy, but no one did. She was shorter, young, compact. She had a boyish figure, if not a toned one, but an unmatchingly large ambition and pool of confidence -- two things she thought would aid her in her new job, but as it stood (again) -- she found herself still lacking.
“Why did Wenbo even agree to this,” She wondered to herself, a question she had asked to herself every night since she was hired. It wasn’t ungrateful, she was very glad to have the position, but it still struck her as odd that it went through so easily.
She turned a corner, the hallway opening up into a large room that was a flood of sunlight, large shuttered windows painting the room in it. Empty beds lined the walls and a single woman stood by a cauldron, moving a paste along the inside of it with a large stick.
“Zhou,” Ming called out, the woman stopping and turning around.
“General Ming!” She tipped their head briefly before letting go of the turning stick and hurrying over, snatching a wad of cloth on the way. She pulled Ming’s hand away, the small general not resisting the aggressive treatment. Zhou furrowed their brow and frowned, dabbing the cloth under Ming’s nose, the general’s porcelain face covered in wadding blood.
“What in K’nell’s good name happened?” Zhou fussed as she held the strip of cloth tight under Ming’s nostrils.
“I was sparring with Batbayaar.”
“Batbayaar?” Zhour slanted her brow, “General if I may?”
“Speak freely,” Ming tilted her head, Zhou’s hand grabbing her jaw as she moved her patients face around, observing the wound.
“Don’t you think it would be wise to choose a... well a smaller opponent?”
Ming made a face that was quickly erased by Zhou’s prodding, “I will accept nothing but perfection, it is important that I know what I’m doing.”
“Hard to do much with a broken nose,” Zhou frowned and let go, putting Ming’s fingers over the gauzing cloth. Ming gulped as Zhou reached for two wooden pipes, each half a finger in diameter. “I have to realign, Batbayaar did a good one on you.”
“Should I sit?” Ming nasaled.
“I recommend it.”
Ming plopped down onto one of the beds, the sudden release from her legs causing a numbing buzz in her joints. Her back curved as she slouched, exhaustion leaking from her bones. Her strange reprise didn’t last long. Zhou put a firm hand on her shoulder and sat her up right.
“Now,” Zhou squinted, leaning in close, tongue bit in concentration, “Just.” She pulled the blood soaked cloth away, “Don’t move.” She slowly inserted one of the rods into Ming’s left nostril, “Slow breaths through your mouth... easy.” Ming’s heart began to pound in her chest, eyes scanning Zhou’s narrowing eyes for any sign of mercy.
“General Ming,” Zhou’s hand fell from the rod and rubbed against the jagged edge of the general’s nose.
“Speak freely.” Ming gulped.
“Do you see the splotches painted on the wall across from you?”
Ming tore her eyes away from the procedure, finding the charcoal drawn dots that covered the wall in all different sizes.
“How many do you think there are?”
“Well- SNAP! AH!”
A rough hand held Ming’s face still as she swore, Zhou wearing a scowl, but the left side of Ming’s nose pushed back into place correctly. Zhou wiped the blood that drizzled out from the nostril, holding a cloth to her nose after removing the rod. Tears welled in Ming’s eyes, not from much other than nasal irritation.
“Your other nostril,” Zhou started, causing a thump of anxiety in Ming’s chest. The doctor hummed as she turned Ming’s face away from her, “It looks like it will heal just fine. Expect some swelling and try not to touch it.”
Ming let out a slow relieved breath. For some reason, a doctor’s visit and bag of pain was harder to swallow for her than the much larger and much more numerous pouches of hurt delivered in a sparring session.
Zhou stepped away, leaving Ming to hold her bandage in place, “So what are your plans, General?” Zhou idled as she returned to her pot of paste.
“Training, get more recruits,” Ming shrugged, “But it is difficult, there are so many dreamers.”
“I can see how that would be an issue,” Zhou agreed, not looking from her paste.
“I do have an idea, an edict if you will I want to pass by Lord Wenbo.” Ming removed the cloth and looked at the saturation of red before putting it back on.
“Oh yeah?” Zhou looked over.
“I’m thinking I could create a temporary force,” Ming nodded slowly, cautious of her nose, “A rotation of citizens depending on the day of the week to supplement our full time soldiers. That way we are not overworking our dedicated and aren’t shorthanded when we need a little extra. It should keep our populace in shape, as well.”
Zhou let out a single snort of a laugh and Ming narrowed her eyes, “Something wrong?”
“I’m sorry, General,” She turned and bowed her head low, “I was just thinking what I would look like as a soldier.”
Ming hummed, drowning out Zhou’s plea to disregard her comment, “You raise a point, Zhou.”
“Oh?” Zhou looked up from her bow.
“We can’t possibly pull specialized citizens from their tasks for this,” Ming folded one arm over her chest, supporting her other elbow, “I’ll draft what jobs I feel we can pull from before I present it to Lord Wenbo.”
“General Ming?”
“Speak freely.”
“If it keeps you from Batbayaar’s fists for a few weeks, I would support it even if I didn’t think it was a clever idea.”
Ming smiled for the first time that day, “Thank you, Zhou.”
“General,” Zhou tilted her head.
Ming gets her ass kicked and then gets her ass fixed. Reveals a plan for a cycle system of conscription among lesser jobs to fight the lack of recruits and low population size.
Great peaks, snow capped and jagged as the maw of some vast beast, rose high into the heavens. Their mighty sides were blanketed in a dense hide of the richest, deepest green imaginable; pine trees and conifers so vast a dozen vallamir could not encircle the trunks even with their arms outstretched. Gentle cuts bore their way through the forests, hinting at rivers and streams beneath that rushed silver and shining in the crisp air of that most far northern refuge. At the coastline where emerald met sapphire strands of brilliant pale stretched aimlessly, invitingly, and with a promise of rest and bounty. It was truly a sight beyond imagining.
The chosen of Roog stood with gazes thrown across the horizon as, one by one, more reached the edifice of rock and stone that served as the plinth from which they could admire the beauty of nature set free. Some awoke with jovial laughter, others cried tears of joy, but most were silent; this was the homeland Great-Wolf had so promised them, before them now in all its splendor and majesty.
The presence of that great and powerful wolf, so black that the light of the world seemed to pool into his hide and disappear forever, enveloped them. Roog strode up between them, those warrior Cenekyn and the numerous tribesmen that had reached the summit as the migration continued below. His pelt licked at the rich air, flickering calmly in the wind as tongues of black fur bit at the fuel all around him. His eyes, bronze of cast and steely in their determination, surveyed the world before him; it had been long since he had set his eyes on this place and the trees had grown ever still. Beautiful.
“Great-Wolf,” came a feminine voice choked by a warrior spirit, “It is as you said; your words did not do it justice, Great-Wolf.”
Roog’s gaze did not falter, instead following the contours of the landscape with a deep and unrequited love. He knew exactly what she meant as they all peered over the edge of the world, his own memories having deceived him; it was even more beautiful than he remembered. Around him there were expressions of agreement, the sounds of hands clapping together or striking backs in excitement. Roog basked in it all as lizards basked in sunlight, bathing himself in the beauty of the viridian north. Each of his senses were awash with a symphony of pleasures, a reminder to that lupine heritage held deep within his heart that this was exactly where he belonged.
“Look!”
The cry gained the attention of all around and even Roog, lost in a trance, was pulled from his dreaming. Aesc, Cenekyn and closest companion to Emla, stood with his hand thrust forward and his index finger locked on a point far in the distance. Roog’s gaze followed his to see great clouds of steam billowing from creatures in the waves, whales so large Roog could think of only one creature larger. On the shores scattered an inumerable herd of elk, their otherworldly songs filling the air. The Valla smiled and cheers were given, the promise of plenty replete before them even as they gazed down at the world from the heavens.
“You gift us with such bounty, Great-Wolf, to offer us such a home,” came the voice of Emla, her eyes turning from the beautiful sight to that of the lupine deity at her side, “Our children’s children and forevermore will live by your kindness.”
Roog considered her words carefully as the Vallamir around him began to descend back down the mountainside, the migrating tribes visible along the slopes as thousands of the Valla moved through the valleys and crags that surrounded the great mountain that stood imposingly over their new homeland. At last he stood and followed them down the hill, his mind wandering all the while. Within a month camps had been raised throughout the rich valleys that stretched out beneath the shadow of the great mountain. Its name had rippled like a wildfire through the numerous camps and bivouacs that now dotted the landscape, visible either by their placement or the plumes of smoke that climbed into the sky from their campfires. The imposing, snow-capped peak had been named Dun Haen and though the original source of the name was now long lost through the tribes the name had stuck. It soon became common for each new brook and glen to be named, so ferocious were the appetites of the Valla to follow in the footsteps of their kinsmen. Afterall, had not the Man-Father of their kind urged them to speak their own names? Surely, then, they should name the lands that would be theirs.
Roog had watched with fascination as their dwellings rapidly increased in number. They were simple things, using the natural world around them more than their own considerable ingenuity. The immense fallen trees that dotted the landscape were carved into, numerous hovels chopped out with adzes and other chopping tools. Caves were lit and occupied, leaves laid as beds and fires kept burning for warmth. Some even built simple tents, draping hides over stacked branches as they had during the journey to the north. Their homes were chaotic and unique, each a reflection of their maker, and the camps were ever more numerous as the final edges of the migration reached the roots of Dun Haen and settled beneath its protective embrace.
Roog’s mind wandered ever since he had first looked across the valleys, slopes, and shores of the Valla’s new homeland. He had watched with ever growing anxiety at the race he had helped create and the lives that they would live and lose. Even so fresh upon Kalgrun they had formed families, tribes and communities; for them there was a future blossoming with hope and purpose. For the demigod of Demise, this was an all too poignant reminder of who and what he was. Roog was faced with the oppressive thoughts of his immortality, the unnaturalness of his life without end, and the awareness of a future without steady purpose.
Atop the jagged hills, dusted with the gentle frost of the crisp air of the night before, sat Roog. A tree of monumental proportions had set claim to the wind-beaten hillock, its roots digging deep and running far. The tremendous trunk climbed into the heavens from a foundation of fingers, branches spreading out wide high above the rocky ground. Its hide, bark as thick as a man’s arm, shone the color of sienna and rust. Beneath its thick boughs and shaded canopy, Roog watched and waited. He had been there since the work had set out, unable or perhaps unwilling to assist with the construction of hearths and homes. He was a creature of nature, of forests and of hills; where could such a thing belong in this endeavor?
Roog’s eyes shut as his whispered thoughts came back to draw him into the realm of imagination and dream. Contemplation took the Wolf God and his mind fell away, to thoughts of his life and accomplishments and his deeds to come. The gentle bite of the wind, the rustle of leaves and grass, the sound of birds in the heavens and of insects below; a symphony, a melody, and a dirge to the young wolf’s ears. Perhaps, the words flowed in Roog’s mind, this was all as it should be? The thoughts poured from the deepest recesses of Roog’s imagination, offering an answer to his innumerable questions and doubts. Perhaps this was all Roog had needed to do, that his path was at an end? What passed for a heart in the beast, a simple facsimile of flesh and flame, seemed to beat with purpose as black blood flowed through his veins.
Immolation, exhulation, and freedom sprung to the forefront of his mind. Roog’s eyes opened, serenely now, as he surveyed the landscape before him. Who could ask for a more perfect setting, for a last sight for which to come to an end? A flower, carried by the wind, gently flowed through the air past Roog’s vision and off into the distance, hugging the curves of the hill as it sailed down the slop before dropping out of view. Roog’s eyes widened and revelation dawned on the Great Wolf.
“The choice is mine.”
Roog’s eyes closed as he thought inwardly, feeling distinctly ever muscle, every sinew, and every tongue of flame. His body was bared for himself as his senses dove deep into his own form. The beating heart at his chest, unneeded for his life and but a pale image of the hearts that beat in the bodies of every creature, vast or small. It began to slow, the beats thumping as drums in his mind, a siren song welcoming home. The meat of that old, great wolf that gave his flesh to Roog showed its age, weakened every second the beat slowed. All the while the fires grew, began to consume. Pain hit Roog but he pressed on, letting the fires of his form consume himself. His eyes opened one last time, to be graced by that perfect vision, before the tinder caught and erupted in black, lightless flames. In that very last moment, Roog felt at peace.
High atop the hill, visible from camps dotting the valley, Great-Wolf set ablaze before collapsing to smoldering ash and sputtering flame.
In the end, there was darkness.
In all directions that deep and all encompassing oblivion stretched, invulnerable to perception and uncaring of time.
This void, so utterly thorough in its oppressive emptiness, reached on forever without end.
It was so very wrong.
Red.
There was suddenly red, a blood drop rent from a wound in the darkness; a pin prick that bore crimson fruit. The droplet ran and flowed, leaving a line behind it that reached out into the long stretches of oblivion. From the ruby-cinnabar vein the darkness recoils.
Like flames the red spreads, coursing down into the darkness, and at last it is revealed to be hair; fiery, carmine hair.
In spools it began to collapse, as a bun released and flowing freely at last. The tower of hair reached from above down as far as perception would allow, a river of flame in this invalid oblivion.
A figure fell from the wound, riding the tide of that was crimson locks, roaring flames, and flowing blood all at once. Skin pale as snow and baring that carmine mane.
The hair was hers.
A face, her face, was surrounded in crimson, framed by the flames as her eyes opened and stared, calmly, into the darkness. Her mouth opened and whispers flowed forth, beyond understanding.
A flurry of images, of acts and deeds; her deeds, numerous and odd. She was conflict, she was passion, she was flame.
An image of a place so far away as the beggar imagination filled the space, noise accompanying it. A hound, huge, flanked the woman as she sat; where she was, it could not be surmised.
The sanguine drop plopped into reality below her, spreading out, widening, growing and deepening. It was a lake where bubbles flowed down, into a threshold that led right back to the woman and her hound.
From her minds eye flowed white, her eyes closed but her true eye open; that purifying light that battled the darkness.
Suddenly, there was light.
Serenity and harmony; tranquility and peace. Through efforts of conflict, of passion, and of flame were these won. The darkness, oppressive and wrong, receded.
Now there was only light.
The woman faded, her hound and her lake already gone. Her voice poured forth from her mind, strange and melodious all in one.
BEAR OVER RED WATER
I AM
𝔖 𝔢 𝔦 𝔥 𝔡 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔞
Roog woke, his eyes opening wide and bloodshot. His chest heaved with new breaths as he was drawn from Death’s door. His breaths were labored, his heart pounding, and his skull aching. Slowly his lungs began to slow, his heart began to calm, and the pain in his skull subsided. Viridian, ivory, and sapphire sought shapes revealing trees and clouds and skies.
Roog sat up, his muscles raging at the change, and his stomach lurched at the sensations. The world around him, now showing in its beautiful light, seemed to watch with anticipation. The taste of blood filled Roog’s mouth, catching his attention; his blood, black and glistening.
Thoughts began to wander, to what had happened, to his promised end; the feeling of ash beneath his skin, no doubt his own, drew his gaze downward.
The wolf-that-was started, for it was not black fur and paws that were below him.
Legs, that of a Vallamir but with skin of pale grey, sat crosslegged before his eyes. His gaze did not wander, locked on feet and calves, and thighs. Slowly his hands raised into view, revealing fingers marked not with claws but blackened, pointed nails. Heart racing, Roog let his hands wander to his face and felt nothing of his wolfen form. A nose, short and squat, hugged his face with lips below. Canines thrust out as before, smaller than a wolf, but evident nonetheless. His forefinger slid into his mouth, feeling jagged teeth become flat at the back. A mouth that was not his. The other hand wandered, feeling hair where once there was flame. As it fell before his eyes it was black, just as his hide, but did not flicker and burn.
The once-wolf forced himself to calm, to consider what he had seen; a vision had come to him in his death, a sign that his end was not as it should be. The oblivion he had first found was wrong, destructive and oppressive in its nature. It was an erroneous end, fallacious and unfounded; it was not the end he had sought nor the one he knew awaited him.
The woman! The red, the hair, the flame!
He poured over the memories, seemingly fading yet so sharply detailed; his death had revealed much to him and that darkness, the enemy of the serene oblivion he so sought, seemed to battle with him over those thoughts that so threatened its reign. Roog contemplated, remembered hound and lake. What did it all mean? And the woman, what did she say?
”Seihdhara . . . Bear over Red Water . . . Who are you . . .”
Roog breathed deep, hearing the air rush into his nostrils and fill his lungs. A more flesh and blood body than before, different in the extreme. His eyes opened once more, surveying his surroundings. These hills were still so young, had so much more before them.
As do I.
The thought washed over him as an avalanche, the sensations of icey waters awakening him to the truth. Of course he hadn’t seen true oblivion, it was no wonder he had been thrust from the end! His life had so much more before him, so much more to do, and this Seihdhara, whoever she was, had known the same. She had embraced oblivion, the true and serene end, in her own time; she had taken the righteous path, one of embracing nature rather than forcing to herself an end. That dark abyss, the false end, invalid in all its forms was to opposed, not rewarded. It had to be defeated, or at least ignored, so that the serene peace deserved by all living creatures could truly be embraced.
Roog stood on shakey legs, limbs he had not once stood upon. He stood in his nakedness, skin grey and daubed with ash from his own end, and looked onto the valley that was before him. Down the hillside he stepped, one foot carefully after the other, before speed took him and his strides became leaps and bounds. Flames roared in his chest, a reminder of what he was, of the freedom he had now found in his first demise. The wolf, of flame and flesh, roared in his heart reminding him of his true self; he could return to it, simply allow it to consume his form as his new form had done to it. Reincarnation, a life born anew. Roog smiled broadly, jagged teeth pearly white and in stark contrast to his grey skin.
As he reached the bottom of the hill, as valley stretched from slope and stream flowed calmly in its babbling way, Roog was met by men and women. They stared with wide eyes, mouths agape and empty breath. The crowd was large, surprisingly numerous for any day. A woman, one Roog immediately recognized as Emla, stepped forward with her eyes filled with tears.
“G-Great-Wolf? Is that you?”
Roog looked on at astonishment and confusion, surprise tinging his features with no attempt made to hide his thoughts. Realization dawned as he saw baubles and objects in their hands, the Wolf-in-Heart putting together the reason for their gathering. In his selfishness, his desire for an end, he had left them. They had watched as their protector, their guardian, their creator had set ablaze. Grief had taken them, as it had him for each life he had found snuffed out before he could reach them on the great migration to the North. His features hardened, his visage pulling inwards and his lips tightened with displeasure and disdain; how truly cruel he had been, selfish beyond reason. Where his voice faltered a nod would suffice, Roog acknowledging her question and offering positive response.
The crowd dropped in an instant, whispered prayers going out over the host as they bowed in unison. Roog watched as gifts were held close, what were to be his grave-goods in the great beyond. They were meager things, arrowheads and eating bowls, but great treasures fit for a king in their young eyes. Even in this time of great grief and sorrow, these people offered their heart ten fold what he could possibly imagine. For this, Roog was ashamed. His gaze turned back to the hill, to the thoughts of his first demise, and the site of his vision. His blood began to boil, to thoughts of the Red-Woman, and determination burned bright in his eyes. He turned, stepping close to Emla and lifting her to her feet.
“Rise, all of you, I implore you; do not offer me praise. I am undeserving of it.”
The crowd rose to their knees, some even standing, but most looked on with a reverence born of awe. Emla, who stood after some physical prompting, stared at the now Valla figure of Great-Wolf with tears still holding at the edges of her eyes.
“But how, Great-Wolf? You died beneath the Reodweir. We all saw the flames of your end.”
”I was mistaken, Emla, for I sought an end I did not deserve; I found darkness, the invalid end. I am reborn with a vision of purpose. The end I so sought was not true oblivion but a falsehood that entraps the minds of those who wish only for peace. I have seen a woman, whom must be found; she did battle with this end, embraced harmony. I must find her.”
“And where shall we find this woman, Great-Wolf?” came the voice of Aesc, now standing beside Emla with a defiant and warrior cast burning across his visage, “We are with you, Great-Wolf, till the end.”
Roog considered the man’s offer and watched as each man, woman, and child among the gathered throng rose; among their ranks were Cenekyn and ordinary Valla, all having arrived to pay homage to their fallen god. His chosen, bedecked in the armor he had helped them wrought, and armed with obsidian spears that shone in the light of the midday, stood rivaled in determination alongside their no-less valiant comrades, unbound to the Wolf God by oath but just as filled with reverence and glorious intentions as those so armed by the Wolf himself. They were all beside him now, unwavering in their faith in this new path he had so quickly set before them, and Roog was humbled by it all.
“I do not know,” Roog conceded, his shoulders only slightly slumping before rising again. His hair, before simply jet black strands, seemed to flow together into flames that rose into a raging mane of passion and purpose. ”But I know this. This Seihdhara, Bear-Over-Red-Water, has found the truth. Her life was of conflict, passion, and flame; she fought the false end to a standstill and embraced peace in her life. This I must do, to walk in her footsteps.”
Roog raised a hand to the heavens, directed up at the hills of his end and the tree that shadowed his demise. A smile broke his lips, jagged and toothy yet beautifully pale and pure. His bronze eyes seemed alight, as fiery as his dreams.
”With my own two hands I will build there. A place for all to follow in the Red-Woman’s path. A monastery for the Cenekyn and all others who will seek to do battle with that false end and welcome true harmony into their hearts. I will find the Red-Woman and I will learn from her oblivion the truth of mine own; her own actions will light a fire for generations. This oath I swear.”
The naked man that was a wolf ascended the hills, a crowd following behind him at a distance born from veneration. With his own two hands, as the wolf-man swore, Roog set to task. His fingers dug deep into the heart of the mountain, dragging forth bricks and great slabs. One by one the walls arose, power surging through Roog’s form that seemed to alight an aura around him of flame. Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days, the ever growing throng observing in silent worship the trials of their God. Trees were felled by hands alone, great boulders pulled from the mountainside and howled into shape. Not once did the man, bare in the icey breeze, tire or slow. That grey skinned Valla, Wolf-in-Heart, worked through night and day. The very power of his divinity flowed from him into every stone and timber, leaving an aura of flame in them all.
Thirty three days passed, night and day flowing like water, and the crowd did not relent. Entire villages moved, small hovels and settlements growing around the hill and the vast lake and many rivers beneath its sight. At the base of the hill a pile began to grow, of gifts carved of wood, of bone, and of stone. Daring would overcome some, crawling up the slope to place their offerings ever closer, hoping to garner some of the divinity of their beloved God and his trials into their little gifts.
On the eve of the thirty fourth day, as sun threatened to rise, the great monastery in the hills seemed to roar to life. Warmth exuded from the monastery, a promise of hope and deeds to come. Roog, the naked and grey God that had died and returned, stepped forth from the great gates of his monastery with swelling pride. Not at his works, despite the loving care that he had devoted to each and every stone and timber laid into its creation. Instead, his pride was for the people he had sired; before his eyes whole villages had arisen, numerous and dotting the landscape hugging his hillside. At the foot of the hill, unwavering in their devotion, stood the hundreds of Cenekyn sworn to uphold their oaths of protection to their people.
Here he would teach them, for this would be their home, and would learn from them as he had today. They would be his equal partners in this endeavor, seeking the Red-Woman and the enlightenment she had found. A name had come to him when the very final stone had been placed, the lintel of the great gate now holding vast doors of carmine wood. This monastery, which would house generations of Valla on their pursuit of enlightenment, would be his crowning achievement with his new form; proof, evident in its beauty and grace, of the righteousness of his path. It would be Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where-Heavens-And-Nature-Meet.
With that the Wolf-in-Heart stepped forth from the gateway, standing before all to see, and let fire embrace him once more. As black flames consumed his mortal form the howl of the divine wolf filled the air and out strode from the inferno the lupine god of the harmonious end.
The great migration comes to an end as the Valla reach their destination, spurred on by Roog and protected by the Holy Order of the Cenekyn.
The North East of Kalgrun is settled by the Valla devoted to Roog and communities are formed all cross the thrust of land on the north eastern side of the continent.
As the Valla continue their work establishing villages and homes in this new wilderness promised to them, Roog is faced with a realization of his own existence. The ever pressing desire for a true life and, perhaps more importantly, a true end closes in.
Emboldened by his feelings of success and an assumed completion of his purpose on Kalgrun, Roog commits suicide by allowing the divine flames that make up half of himself to consume the other. Beneath the great tree, now known to the Valla as the Reodweir, Roog meets his own demise.
Roog is thrown into a hallucinatory state, a vision of a demise and accompanying oblivion that does not match the one of his dreams. It is a dark place, oppressive in its emptiness rather than peaceful in the freedom of oblivion.
Roog is struck by a vision of a woman, the color red, and of fire that drives him further into his hallucination. The woman reveals herself with two identifiers to the Wolf God; Bear Over Red Water, and Seihdhara.
Roog awakens in a new, Vallamir shaped form. Contemplating his vision, Roog realizes the mistake of his divine suicide and the purpose that still lies before him. Inspired, Roog makes his way down to his people.
The Valla, brought to grief by the perceived death of the creator, had prepared to perform a burial ritual; instead, they find their god now in Valla form and completely naked.
Roog realizes the unintentional selfishness and cruelty of his actions, of simply ending his life, and rebukes himself for the actions. Realizing that to achieve enlightenment he must strive to do battle against this false end, both spiritually and potentially physically, Roog seeks to follow in the footsteps of this Red Woman.
Roog, offering a path of determined enlightenment to the Valla and his Cenekyn, swears an oath to construct a monastery by hand from which to plan his efforts and lead all those who desire it onto the path of enlightenment.
After thirty three days Roog finished the construction of his monastery, named by Roog in the Valla tongue as Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where Heavens And Nature Meet. Roog then sets alight his Valla form, revealing his new found capabilities to veer between his mortal and divine forms.
Starting: 6MP, 4FP
Expenditures: 3FP on the creation of the Monument called Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld, Where Heavens and Nature Meet. This Monastery is constructed for the Cenekyn as a training ground and stronghold, to attain enlightenment through discipline and trained skill and to serve as a post from which to sally forth to defend the Valla. (Martial Combat Portfolio)
1MP on Roog’s demise and reincarnation into a Vallamir, semi-mortal form. (Reincarnation Portfolio)
2MP on Roog’s ability to allow his body to consume itself and rapidly reincarnate between forms. (Reincarnation Portfolio)
Fear froze over Urlango’s body. The thick sharkskin that protected him seemed thinner than ever, and his mighty stone spear felt like a twin. His kin stood to his left and his right be he couldn’t help but feel as if he was alone in an ocean of sharks. Him and his kin stood in a field, all in a line with their various weapons ready.
Across the field a group much smaller than their own stepped forward in unison, each footfall sounding like a pounding drum, or was that just Urlango’s heart? A good few of them bore scars made by beasts Urlango had never seen, their bark and reptile hide armor glistening with ornaments that made him pale. Dinosaur teeth, firebird feathers, the canines of great bears -- these Selka of the west knew no fear. They marched with their K’nightly brothers, all of them holding impressive ivory clubs marked with tales of their deeds. None of them wore any fear, anxiety, or hesitation -- but the eyes of flawless hunters, the eyes that the legendary figure Panganeem wore as he witnessed the grave of his daughter.
Urlango gulped, maybe they should have heeded the warnings of Yupilgo. Before doubt could settle deeper in his mind, his clan father yelled out a battlecry and rushed forward with a stone axe. His brothers charged forward, Urlango in step. He felt the vibration of the unified charge, and his spirits were almost lifted, but then the K’night’s made their move.
Not a sound passed through their lips when their line split in two, several in the back suddenly hucking javelins. The spears vanguarded their charge, a sickly squelch as they slammed into his kin. Blood sprayed, one of the javelins popping through his older cousin’s skull. The staining scarlet entered his eyes and he was temporarily blinded.
As his vision returned, he saw something that could only be described as monsterous grace. A single K’night had worked his way into the center of the clan’s formation. His face was calm and in a perfect line as he moved, his club batting away spears and axes, a free hand countering with a sharp slice of obsidian.
An axe arced towards the K’night’s face, but he quickly ducked under it, rising again with a thrust of his club. The ivory pounded against the bottom of his attacker’s jaw, forcing teeth through tongue. An elbow quickly followed, slamming into their throat and as it swelled, the club came back around and pushed the aggressors snout in with a crunch.
A spear lunged, but the K’night stepped aside and grabbed its shaft (dropping their knife). A club came at their back, and the K’night suddenly yanked the spear in the way, impaling the clubber through the gut and then pushing the spear back, knocking the spear man off their feet. A hunting blade came for their hamstring, and in one swoop, the K’night snapped the head of the captured spear off the shaft and drove it into the skull of the attacker, using the momentum of the swing to follow up with his club, nailing the stone tip in place, the victim convulsing to the ground in a spray of drool and blood.
Urlango dropped their own spear, his knee’s shaking as the K’night’s fellows broke into the center to aid him. The cold glare of the K’nights fell on him, and he decided it was time to go.
Without checking to see who else may still be alive, Urlango turned tail and began to sprint towards the tree line, a million thoughts racing through his head. Yupilgo and the K’nights had warned his clan that it was to stop their abuse of the fisherman along the coast or face retaliation. A verbal treaty had been agreed upon between his father and the Hyummin council, nearly absolving them of their crimes save for the steep victim’s tax levied. But his father wouldn’t have it, his father continued to harass, ravage and kill the other clan’s in the territory -- and the day they sold a single Selka to slavery, they all knew the Hyummin would be back.
Bobbo sees all from his mantle in the great blue, though, and his words found his father’s ear first. Kirron had whispered their crimes to the K’night’s of Tyuppa, the very group who had saved them from the first Hyummin retaliation and mediated the treaty between the two parties, and this time they were there to ensure that no more crimes were to be committed against their fellow Selka at all costs.
Urlango gulped, and they did.
Here is a post resolving the issue of the murderous clan mentioned in the Yupilgo post. Enjoy.
The Logs of the King’s Council - To Nurture a Paddy
57 years after the founding of His Majesty’s holy city, Talemon, Garden of Late Spring, 7th day - His Royal Highness Anu’s city of Talemon.
I confess improving the effectiveness of the rice paddies has proven to be a larger task than I initially thought. Earlier experiments incorporated additional water in the paddies, but this seemed not to have a noticeable effect beyond making the harvest considerably harder for the shorter pygmies. Subsequent experiments attempted to increase the nutrient content of the water in the paddies. Leftover rice was added to stimulate growth, but this delivered insufficient results. It was later removed again after the smell of rot and alcohol filled the experimental paddy.
However, lately, we have stumbled upon a possible solution to our issue: A few weeks back, a farmer came to me telling stories of fish in his paddies. Initially, he had seem them gnawing on the stalks of his riceweed and had decided to fish them out of there before they ate his plants; however, as he observed the fish closer, he found that they were not at all eating the plants.
They were eating the parasites on them.
We have thus concluded that the fish at the very least seem beneficial to the riceweed. If we are fortunate, the Beihese fish and rice may exist symbiotically if His Lordship wills it.
Zhu Rongyuan, His Majesty Anu’s secretary of state.
57 years after the founding of His Majesty’s holy city, Talemon, Garden of the First Flood, 6th day - His Royal Highness Anu’s city of Talemon.
Eureka! The experiment has been a success! Opening the paddies to the river and allowing fish to swim in has provided great leaps in growth. It has been roughly a whole garden since the introduction of fish, and the results are noticeable against all odds. Already under the Garden of the First Flood, we are beginning to see grain sprout. While harvest is still several gardens off, growth such as this is unprecedented!
The fish, too, seem to be prospering, their growth is unheard of - violent, even. We have held the fishermen back for now - it is possible that any damage to the stock may impact the god-given growth we have witnessed up to this point.
On a relevant note, a farmer came to me yesterday and pleaded that I should follow him to his paddy. A gruesome development had occurred. I shall investigate this tomorrow at dawn.
Zhu Rongyuan, His Majesty Anu’s secretary of state.
57 years after the founding of His Majesty’s holy city, Talemon, Garden of the First Flood, 9th day - His Royal Highness Anu’s city of Talemon.
Oh, blackest bile of cruelest fate! I knew it was too good to be true! The farmer of three days past, whom I have learned is named Abegunde, brought me to his paddy today, and from half a li away I could tell what had befallen it. The paddy rank of rotten fish long before we arrived, and when we arrived, I found that algae had outgrown the rice and killed the farmer’s field. Yesterday was spent salvaging what remained of it. The farmer and his family will naturally be compensated for their sacrifice for the good of the nation. As befit a family of five like his, they will receive twenty quarter chips for the granary. That should last them until the next sowing season and then some.
Still, the source of this algae explosion remains largely a mystery. All the officials I sent out today came back and confirmed that there is indeed algae in other paddies, but nothing as dire as this. Tomorrow, I will return to the Abegunde’s farm and investigate.
Zhu Rongyuan, His Majesty Anu’s secretary of state.
57 years after the founding of His Majesty’s holy city, Talemon, Garden of the First Flood, 10th day - His Royal Highness Anu’s city of Talemon.
Nothing.
What remained in Abegunde’s fields did not satisfy any of the hypotheses:
The other paddies experienced no bloom similar to this, so it cannot have been the river itself. Detailed accounts from Abegunde’s family, as well as his neighbours, revealed no hidden plot of fraud with the intention of receiving rations from the King’s Granary. The algae had not been planted nor brought from the river.
I confess I am at a loss. It pains me to admit it as a scholar, but it’s the truth. There is a distinct possibility that it was the presence of the fish that triggered the bloom, but the issue has not spread to other paddies yet.
Truly, I am without guidance. I will return to this research at a later date, but for now, the fish will be culled to a bare minimum required to keep the parasites off the rice. The Pygmies, at least, will feast on the river’s bounty over the next weeks. Let that be a joy in this otherwise bitter series of events.
Zhu Rongyuan, His Majesty Anu’s secretary of state.
Zhu Rongyuan logs his attempts to increase rice yields. At first, he finds that fish in the paddies eat parasites off the plants and encourages farmers to have fish in their paddies. However, he later comes across a paddy that has been swallowed by algae that have killed both the plants and fish. The owners of the farm are reimbursed with rice from the Granary, but Zhu struggles to find the reason behind the paddies. He drops the experiments until a later date.
Siwen, the King’s Council start: 5 +1 role minoris +1 role majoris End: 7
“I ordered you to stay at the camp, and you disobeyed. I know what your intentions are and I am happy you care this much about my wellbeing, Child, truly… But what I require right now is solitude.” Li’Kalla explained calmly, walking into the forest without looking back at the one following her with quick and light footsteps.
“W-What if the River Worm comes back and hurts you again!” A pair of small, thin arms wrapped themselves around Li’Kallas wrist, and she stopped with a sigh, turning around to look at the black-haired and blue eyed child with a motherly smile.
“Rann’Ka.”
The child looked straight into Li’Kalla’s eyes, his own ice-blue eyes filled with fire and determination.
“… Very well. I will reward your passion by allowing you to accompany me. Go to the the camp craftsman, get a knife, and catch up to me. That is your quest for today.” Li’Kalla nodded and the boy ran off without hesitation.
Without wasting time, Li’Kalla turned and went on her way. Her objective today wasn’t simple solitude. It had been almost ten years since the day Shengshi had cursed the land, and while Ya’Shuur had cured the land of its illness, the shockwaves left by the attack were still reverberating to this day.
The Rot had only lasted for slightly over 6 weeks, and in those 6 weeks many species of wildlife, as well as hundreds of Vallamir and Valthumir across the Island, had perished. Every secluded tribe immediately turned their backs on Li’Kalla, and over the years more than a handful had tried to attack her Faithful to no avail. And they would keep trying to hurt her and her chosen herd if she didn’t do something.
It was two years ago that a party of Valthumir explorers came back from an expedition to the west of the Island and reported a large forest that consisted of a single tree. A large tree in the center had roots spanning beyond the horizon, and those roots came above ground very often, turning into what looked like independent trees but were in fact all part of the same entity.
That’s where she was heading. She’d been travelling with a small group of her people for a few days now to reach this place, and now she had to impress them. She would make this entire forest immune to the effects of any curse involving Shengshi and Harvests, and to do that she only needed to do one thing according to her theory.
Power and Essence.
When she climbed a hill, she saw it. A forest stretching as far as the mortal eye could see, with pretty trees everywhere you looked, all blooming with beautiful flowers and leaves of different colors and shapes. It was impressive even to Li’Kalla that a single tree could have parts of it be so different from one another, with the one similarity being a pale-colored trunk.
When Li’Kalla was about to enter the forest, Rann’Ka came down the hill, wielding a stone knife with plant fibre rope wrapped around the handle for comfort. One of the finest tools in their camp, she recognized, due to the exotic material in which it was made — Obsidian. It seemed like her people’s admiration and respect for her grew with each day, with the adults being willing to give such a great tool to a child of barely 10 years of age in order to protect her serving as proof.
The child caught up to her and grinned widely, holding the knife with both his hands and showing it to her, “I got it, Queen-Mother, Uncle Jin’So gave it to me!”
Li’Kalla chuckled and ruffled up his straight black hair, “Jin’So, huh? As expected of a Valthumir like him, he sees the potential you hold, Child.”
Rann’Ka gasped in delight and his cheeks turned red as he stared with starry eyes at Li’Kalla, who after a second turned around and resumed walking. He followed closely and silently, like he’d been taught to do by his caretaker.
Until at last they arrived at the center of the forest and saw the great tree. It stood as tall as the mightiest wild dragon, and it breathed life. Birds and small animals made their homes in the endless branches and canopy of the tree, and its soul seemed to emit a calming aura, enveloping every being near it. Even Li’Kalla could feel it, and a spare look at Rann’Ka afterward she confirmed he was feeling the same way.
“Rann’Ka, I will infuse this tree with my life force, and in doing so I will protect this Holy Land and all of my beloved Children from attacks like the one that the Accursed Envy launched on us ten years ago. I do this, hoping in the depths of my heart, that you nor any other child has to witness death, famine and insanity like that.” Li’Kalla’s voice was serious, and her face hardened. Rann’Ka watched in amazement and nodded excitedly.
And so Li’Kalla walked to the tree and placed both her hands on it, closing her eyes…
And let her energy pour into the Tree freely.
It was an incredible sight for young Rann’Ka. A blinding light had consumed the Goddess and the tree, and the latter grew and grew until it blocked out the sky, and its trunk thickened and warped around him, and created large halls and openings, with several levels. It was becoming more of a living, empty village than a tree, but that was only because Rann’Ka was inside the tree and couldn’t see that from the outside, the once mighty tree had now pierced the sky and had grown slightly paler. Its canopy was as wide as a city, and its trunk was equaly as amazing.
The flow of energy slowed and the shapes became more visible and detailed as time went on. And then…
“AH!” Li’Kalla yelped, and a shockwave went through the tree and the land, and she fell to the ground in a heap.
It was dark for a long time, until an odd warmth reached her. It was soft, sometimes prickly but she felt at peace and… Happy. Happy? Had she ever felt that way…? Without thinking about it, and without caring to open her eyes, she sighed and cuddled up against the warmth, nuzzling into… Leaves?
Did the warmth just squirm?
“… Get away from me!! Mom, mom! Wake up please!” Rann’Ka cried, and Li’Kalla’s eyes shot open to come face to face with a delicate, green, soft face and a pair of half-lidded, shiny, all-black eyes staring at her happily. The face was framed by soft-looking leaves which were squirming lightly and gave the entity cuddling up to her the appearance of gentle excitement. It seemed humanoid enough, with a feminine, delicate shape but unfortunately small breasts. They weren’t suited to breastfeed newborn, Li’Kalla thought and then realized that this entity wasn’t a mammal at all. After pushing her knee up between the entity’s legs, she confirmed that it wasn’t able to engage in intercourse. Interesting.
“Agh!” Rann’Ka groaned and fell, and reminded of her situation, Li’Kalla pushed the little soft humanoid plant away and stood up, turning to see Rann’Ka’s blushing face peeking out from under a mountain of feminine green, brown, pale yellow and orange bodies. He didn’t seem hurt, and was just embarrassed. So Li’Kalla looked around and saw how the Tree had changed and that they were now inside a great hall of some kind, with multiple levels above and below, reaching up into the sky and down below the earth, with bioluminiscent plants wherever the light didn’t reach.
On the level below there were hundreds of pods lined in strips of the solid wood of the tree, and those pods were quickly opening and letting out many of the plant-like humanoids. Around her and Rann-Ka’s location, she noticed a few plants, much bigger and stronger looking than the others. Those were the males, hulking and gentle and shy.
In the end, she chuckled and waved her hand at the pile of bodies smothering Rann’Ka, and they got off him reluctantly.
“It’s been done, let’s go back to the camp.” The Goddess said and started walking away toward an opening in the thick walls of the tree. Rann’Ka jumped up to his feet and ran up to Li’Kalla, holding onto her dress tightly as he composed himself. At the exit, Li’Kalla turned to look for the plant humanoid that had cuddled up to her and pointed at it. “Come with me.” And it obeyed happily, skipping up to her and wrapping her soft arms around Li’Kalla’s.
“… W-What did you do, mom?” Rann’Ka asked after a while.
“I gave the tree the power necessary to protect this land’s flora from outside interference through an enhanced capability to heal the land’s plants. For all intents and purposes, this tree, which I will name ‘The Endless Tree’, has now become our first line of defense againt Demonic influences.”
“And those weird green… Things?”
“Ah… An unexpected side effect. Let’s name them… Foreas.”
Li’Kalla finds herself in western Be’r-Jaz, followed by a group of vallamir and valthumir in her expedition. She finds a large forest that consists of a single tree with roots so expansive that when they pop out of the ground the look like trees. She goes into the forest followed by a Vallamir child named Rann’Ka. She goes to the large tree in the center which is as tall as a dragon and pours a lot of energy into it, turning it into a monument in the process and making it grow absolutely massive. It now has a hollow trunk with enough space for a small town on each level, of which it has dozens, reaching into up into the sky or down into the earth. The tree, now named “The Endless Tree”, serves as a defensive monument, its influence spreading across Be’r-Jaz and constantly protecting the flora against external divine influence and disease.
Also while giving the tree power she messed up and gave it much more than necessary, creating a race of plant-like humanoids named Foreas in the process. The feminine ones have soft skin in varying shades of green, brown, yellow and orange, hair made up of leaves, vines and flowers and a below average stature; and the masculine ones are hulking, gentle giants with skin made of hard bark and the same deal for varying colors and leaves, flowers and vines instead of hair.
18MP 16FP
Used 3 MP to turn large tree into a defensive monument named “The Endless Tree”. It protects the Island’s flora against outside divine influence by seeking to neutralize foreign divine essence and heals plants in its vicinity (vicinity being under its 5 km wide canopy). Used 4 MP to create the Foreas, a race of sentient plant humanoids
Remaining 11Mp & 16 FP 3/5 MP to Plant port (if spleen no come bacc) 4/5 MP to Love port
As Ya-Shuur continued his solitary southward walk, he reflected on the Rot and the terrible things he had felt happening during it, and also on what Daethyrd had told him when the grizzled executioner found him during that terrible period.
When he had come Ya-Shuur had immediately sensed blood on him and had recoiled from the vall, whose red hair now seemed to Ya-Shuur like blood. “You have killed.” Ya-Shuur stated, though his voice betrayed neither indignation nor approval. Daethyrd frowned.
“I have delivered the price of blood.” The vall corrected tersely, and he went on to describe to Ya-Shuur details of the terrible things the demigod had already sensed. Ya-Shuur found Daethyrd’s methods disconcerting, but he could not deny that he himself had told them that the price of blood was blood.
“It is for kin to ask after the blood of their own, not you.” The demigod spoke. “And you have in any case forgotten that forgiveness is good, though in this case it is not for you to forgive but for the kin of those whose blood was unjustly spilled.” Daethyrd pursed his lips and looked away, unconvinced.
“You are a just and kind god, Be’r-Jaz. But disobedience cannot be met with kindness. I am your vengeance; and I will strike down with great vengeance and furious punishment those who transgress, and they will know the full glory of the Land only then when retribution is due.” But Ya-Shuur shook his head and turned his back on Daethyrd.
“It is not my way and you are not of me.” He said as he walked away from the vall. Daethyrd looked silently at the god’s turned back. The Land was the face of merciful justice, and mercy was good; for the Land itself was good. But the ways of people demanded cruelty and retribution, and he would continue to bring about the Land’s retributive justice even if it turned its back on him. Retributive justice was a lonely path, it was true, but Daethyrd had never been afraid to walk alone.
The Horned One walked through the stench, and eventually he came upon a group of of twelve valls. Leading them were two, dressed in well-crafted furs and leathers. One of them sported white hair and blue eyes and the other dark brown hair and grey eyes, and Ya-Shuur immediately recognized them as Valthumir, the supposedly superior valls that the Queen-Mother had selected for rulership. This group seemed to be going somewhere with purpose, unfazed by the black rot and the terrible stench that had gripped the island for weeks now. Eventually they made camp and Ya-Shuur took the opportunity to approach them.
The Demigod approached from behind a thick concentration of trees as one of the Valthumir shouted, “Ah, there we go! Feast your grey eyes, Sun’Ka! This, this means you owe me two handfuls of nuts and berries, my friend!” The white-haired Valthumir said with a laugh, to which his fellow responded to with a chuckle.
“You were lucky this time. Say, want to do a double or nothing? Four handfuls, Takk’Takk!”
“Eeeeh! Four!”
“Wait, someone’s approaching.” The voices became hushed and inintelligible, and there was a sizzling sound as a fire was put out. It all became deadly quiet, and by the time Ya’Shuur emerged into the clearing in the forest, it looked like nothing was out of the ordinary.
The demigod looked around impassively at the empty clearing, his herding stick in his hand and two molves at his side. One of them growled slightly, and the other released a loud bark. He approached the flame that had so quickly been put out and with a snap of his fingers there was a great fire. Dead branches rose and made their way into the flame, and in the light of the fire the horns of the demigod were clear, and his long brown hair and beard gave him the appearance of something ancient. Had the stench of the Rot not been so great, the hiding Valthumir would have been able to smell him!
“The wind blows and the rain falls and it is cold tonight. Come sit with me in the warmth a while and we will talk.” He said as he sat himself down and waited.
“Y’call tis rain?” A deep voice rang out from the bushes.
“Ye, this only a drizzle!” A high-pitched one added.
And then the rest of the voices flooded in with their agreements, “Rite!” “It is” “Can’t even fill a waterskin wit tis weak drizzle!” “Ye, and I can’t wash m’balls.”
There was a silence.
And then all the voices erupted into laughter, until another one rang out, one of the first two the Demigod had heard, before the Valthumir hid from him.
“Boys, do our friend a favour and shut your filthy mouths.” And surprisingly, the voices went silent. And from the canopy of a tall tree jumped down the black-haired Valthumir. His hair was long and silky smooth, with bangs barely reaching his grey eyes, and as he stood up there was an odd… Air, to him. He turned his icy eyes toward the Demigod and bowed his head in a respectful manner, holding his eyes closed as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Forgive our companions, Divine. I hope our uncouth banter hasn’t offended you in any way.” He said, opening his eyes and standing straight up again.
“Nothing you or your companions do could offend me, for it seems that your race are destined to disappoint. Nor could anything you or your companions do ever truly please me, for if you do well you are only carrying out your duty; and that is only to be expected and requires no praise.” Ya-Shuur did not look over at him, but spoke to the fire. Then he looked at the icy-eyed Valthumir and smiled. “Only I can disappoint me.” He gestured for him to come sit and his molves, which had disappeared, returned suddenly with game in their mouths. One had felled a deer while the other had brought them a wild goat. With a gesture the two animals were skinned and emptied. “Would you like them cooked or raw?” He asked as he brought the meat close to the flame.
The Valthumir spared no look to the Molves and instead stared at the two animals, gulping. He took a step back and regarded Ya-Shuur carefully, but finally decided to walk closer to him and sat down across from him, behind the fire. With a motion of his hand, the rest of his group came out of hiding. The first was the other Valthumir, who dropped down and wiped away some saliva off his lip. Then the Vallamir followed, all looking various levels of hungry and lean. They all moved to take a seat around the great fire, with Takk’Takk sitting next to Sun’Ka.
After a while, Sun’Ka spoke again, “My name is Sun’Ka, the one next to me with the blue eyes is Takk’Takk. And, cooked, please.” Ya-Shuur acknowledged Sun’Ka and Takk’Takk with a short look each as the goat and deer were brought over the flame and began to spin slowly in mid air. He noticed that the two Valthumir did not deign to introduce the others and guessed that it was due to their lower status.
“And what brings you so far east, Sun’Ka, Takk’Takk, and uncouth companions? Any further and you will be out of the forests and rot and in the mud and rot.”
“Ah, no, they have no names, our companions. No official names, at least. The Queen-Mother, Li’Kalla, promised them names if we succeeded in our mission. We’re due northeast, toward the Clay Spires. Our objective is a ravine in the area that is said to reach deeper than any other. It is a dark place, but the Queen-Mother expects a lot of great things from this expedition and it is the duty of all Valthumir to lead their brethren to the future.” Ya-Shuur listened impassively and then invited the twelve to eat once the meat had been cooked (at an unusually fast pace, for that was but a small things for divine beings!) But even though his face betrayed nothing, he was shocked to hear the name. It took a greater degree of discipline than he usually needed to maintain complete calm.
“Li’Kalla.” He said simply. “I am not unfamiliar with the name. Not at all. I thought her dead, but unless there happens to be another god named Li’Kalla of whom I was unaware, then your Queen-Mother would be…” Ya-Shuur smiled, “my mother.” He did not look at his guests at this revelation, but only looked into the fire. “If she has tasked you with this, then it is your duty to fulfill it as best you can. You nameless ones may be nameless, but even in your namelessness you must aspire towards excellence. And you who have names, you should not let that fact blind you. You must cultivate excellence. An excellent nameless vall is greater and more praiseworthy than a named one who lacks excellence. Remember that.” He paused for a few moments. “Perhaps I can aid you with this mission of yours. I know a rowdy vall, overly vengeful and bloody, but one who will surely be a boon to you...” and he gestured to one of his molves who leapt off to summon Blood-haired Daethyrd.
“If they can use a spear, and they have the guts to traverse the depths of the land, then they are more than welcome to join us, Son of the Queen-Mother.” Sun’Ka nodded,
“Wait just a minute, Sun’Ka, should we really believe what he’s saying?” Takk’Takk asked sudenly, perking up.
“Do we have any reason to distrust him?” Sun’Ka asked his group, all of whom but himself and Takk’Takk were eating.
After a few moments of silence, Takk’Takk sighed and rubbed his neck. “You guys remember what the Queen-Mother said, right? The world is full of Demons like the Accursed Envy, the River Worm. We can’t trust all Divines this quickly.”
Sun’Ka rested his head on his fist in thought, and then looked at Ya’Shuur, “We require proof that you are indeed the Queen-Mother’s Son. I apologize, but you must understand. She’s never mentioned offspring of her own.” Ya-Shuur waved the request away.
“There is no need,” he said, “for she does not know me. The ways of the gods are beyond mortal comprehension, for I was born of a mother who never knew me though I knew her, and a father who neither knew me nor I knew. But I will travel to her soon, and we will be reunited at last and come to know one another.” Ya-Shuur then stood and cast his hand above the fire. “I will bless your journey and ease your way. Animals will aid you wherever you find yourselves, and my two molves shall accompany you and help you.”
Just as he said this, the molf who had leapt off to find Daethyrd erupted from the trees, closely followed by another molf on whose back was a rider. The rider approached without descending from his molf and surveyed the two valthumir and their vallamir companions, and then he looked at Ya-Shuur. “The Land summoned and we answered.” He said.
“This is Blood-haired Daethyrd, and if he is willing then he will accompany you and aid you on your quest into the darkness.” Ya-Shuur looked at the vall. “These good folk are headed towards the Clay Spires. They seek a ravine in there that is said to reach deeper than any other. I have travelled in the dark places and I have seen the monstrosities that lie there. It is not for the weak of heart. But it is for those who seek glory.” Daethyrd sniffed at these words and looked disdainfully at the two Valthumir.
“I don’t really feel like helping their ilk, but I just so happen to be heading off in that direction.” He waved a small spike at Ya-Shuur and the demigod immediately recognized it as being from Zer-Du’s tail. “My quarry seems to have run off there. So I’ll accompany this lot. For now, and only because the great Be’r-Jaz himself recommends it.” Ya-Shuur smiled thinly. “That’s good. It seems like you will get along just fine.” And saying so he got to his feet, preparing to leave. But before he did he looked at the two Valthumir, granting them the opportunity to say anything they wished before he left.
Takk’Takk was the only one to speak, “I recommend hiding those horns, Son of the Queen-Mother. Try to look as close to a True Divine as you can. White Hair, Grey Eyes, glowing aura, I’m sure you know the rest. If you do that, your meeting with the Queen-Mother will go well.” Ya-Shuur nodded in acknowledgement of this information before heading off silently into the putrid night.
As Ya-Shuur continued his journey, now armed with the knowledge that the True Queen-Mother was in fact Li’Kalla, he found himself reflecting on some of the oddities and contradictions that existed when it came to this Queen-Mother. The way she had been described to him was very unlike how he remembered Li’Kalla. She was spoken of with fear, with respect, the many middelvalls seemed to hate her for choosing the valthumir over them. Yet the Li’Kalla she remembered had never been one to strike fear into a person’s heart and she was not the kind of person one could hate, unless they were unhinged or hateful by nature. And he could not say she commanded respect either.
The Li’Kalla he remembered was easily loved and adored, pitied, protected. You laughed with her and made merry and watched the world with wide and curious eyes. She was the kind of person who held a lot of pain, and he had immediately felt the need to protect her from any further pain. He had failed of course, though he no longer blamed himself. He had made his peace with his mother a long time ago, and peace with himself.
But the Li’Kalla who had been described to him seemed different. Certainly Takk’Takk’s warning weighed heavily on him and he found himself looking into a still lake and surveying his reflection. Maybe ones he could have said that he liked his horns and that he had some kind of sentimental attachment to them that meant removing them would have been truly difficult, but that was no longer the case. He was not attached to his appearance at all and did not care for it, as the long wild beard and unkempt hair showed. Things like this just didn’t matter, because the most important thing was being excellent.
White hair, brown hair, blue eyes, gray eyes. These were all unimportant and transient things, and most beings had no control over them. When his hair and eyes changed, he remained the same. Yet Takk’Takk had suggested that for no reason other than the color of his eyes and hair his meeting with Li’Kalla was bound to go badly, and so to ensure it didn’t go badly he would have to change those cosmetic things. It seemed shallow, and he disliked the idea of being loved for something so shallow as his appearance rather than the substance of his self.
As he walked, he came across starved pilgrims heading to the Cave of Light and they stopped before him and praised him. He took a hand to one of his horns and snapped it from the base, much to their shock, and he gave it to the pilgrims. Then later he came across a solitary hunter, and he snapped the other horn and gave it to him as a trophy. And when he came across a stream, he waded out into it and washed himself until he was cleaner than he had ever been. He sat at the side of the stream and braided his hair and beard as he had seen the valls do, and when he looked at his reflection again he found that his appearance was tidier. His hair was still brown and his eyes were still the color of honey. He had made some changes, but he would not do all that Takk’Takk had suggested. If his mother had become so shallow that the content of his character was of no concern to her, but only the color of his eyes and hair, then she was no mother of his and Li’Kalla had truly died.
When dawn next came, Ya-Shuur found himself in the intense fog and rain that meant he had arrived at Li’Kalla’s manor.
He had arrived from the back and had not stumbled into the small settlement at the foot of the hill, and so when the demigod walked up to the large entrance doors, he was met by two Valthumir. The two were white haired and grey eyed, and they were dressed with the finest furs and leathers that such a primitive civilization could afford. One of them even had a hat made out of some exotic animal not found on the Island.
The two Valthumir regarded Ya-Shuur with icy eyes until the one on the right spoke.
"State your business, Divine. The Queen-Mother has had her trust hurt by your kind before, and it is our duty to make sure that doesn't happen again…"
Ya-Shuur looked from one to the other impassively, and then smiled thinly. “I am here to speak with my mother. Please let her know that I would like to see her.” He held his herding stick before him in two hands and waited on Li’Kalla to permit him entry into her presence.
The one on the right scrutinized Ya-Shuur’s appearance, and after a while nodded. “Then you may enter. We’re not allowed inside without being purified, so you will have to find your way around the Queen-Mother’s abode on your own. Follow the path dictated by your heartbeat.”
After speaking, the two Valthumir bowed their heads in a quick show of respect and took a step to the side, the large wooden doors opening without a need for mortal assistance. The only light illuminating the inside now was that of the sun and when Ya-Shuur walked inside, the doors closed behind him. All that a mortal’s eyes could see would be dusty darkness, but that didn’t last long.
From the ceiling hung large, strange and beautiful contraptions which slowly lit up the room with intensifying light. But it wasn’t a natural light, it wasn’t something created by the Goddess of Light, and so it lacked any warmth, and its colors were slightly off. Ya-Shuur stood and observed the odd light for some time, wondering if it truly made him uncomfortable. Eventually he concluded that he did not feel strongly about it whether it lacked or had warmth. That was good, to be thick-skinned.
Regardless, the darkness was no more, and with a light white tinge to everything due to the artificial light, everything could now be seen clearly. Ya-Shuur found himself in a large Entrance room flanked with two desks leading to closets. Past the Entrance room there was an even bigger Foyer with an ornate staircase and several doors leading to different parts of the Manor, they were locked of course, and none of the artificial light leaked out from under the doors so it was safe to assume they were not in use.
Built into the solid foundation for the large ornate staircase was a small passageway toward the basement, but the sturdy looking metal gate to go into it was locked, and it was dark down there.
The only path lit was the one leading upstairs, and so Ya-Shuur took that path, and it lead him through several twists and turns in the upper floor of the Manor, until finally he reached an unassuming door at the end of a dead end hallway. The door was ajar, and light spilled out from behind it. Soft crying could be heard from behind the door, along with muttering and the movement of heavy fabric.
Ya-Shuur paused before the open entrance and listened quietly to the crying. After a few moments he rapped three times on the ground with his herding stick to make his presence known. “Mother Li’Kalla, may I come in?” He asked in a clear, loud voice.
There was silence, and then hurried shuffling before the door opened and the pale, white-haired and gray eyed Li’Kalla showed herself to be standing with her hands clasped. She inspected Ya’Shuur and gave the air a subtle sniff, which if Ya’Shuur wasn’t as wise, he would have mistaken for a badly hidden sniffle.
“... Hello… Ya’Shuur? You seem familiar. Do I know you from before, as a fellow Divine? You’re not allied to that ghastly river worm?” She asked with uncertainty, fidgeting a little. Ya-Shuur looked at Li’Kalla for a few moments, taking her in and noting how she had changed and how she was yet the same. The tears were still there, it seemed. Then a small, shy smile grew on his face.
“Hello, Li’Kalla. Yes, I am Ya-Shuur. I do not know if you know or remember me, but I certainly know you. I lived with you for a time, long ago. It was a… beautiful time. You likely do not know this because it happened in a very strange way, but…” and it struck him only then how odd this revelation was, “you are my mother.” Ya-Shuur allowed his words to hang between them and watched for Li’Kalla’s reaction.
Li’Kalla opened her mouth to speak, but immediately shut it and looked away for a moment, then sat on her bed and remained silent, her wings drooping and resting on her big fluffy bed. Ya-Shuur cocked his head then put his staff against the door frame and stepped inside. “I just want you to know that, even though we never spoke back then, I have missed you very much. The island has not been the same without you. I am glad you have returned.” He placed a hand on her head and patted her comfortingly a few times, as he had done to the god with chopstick eyes when she had been sad. “And your friend the god with chopstick eyes came and asked about you. She was very sad because you were gone, but now I’m sure she will be happy again. And you simply must return to Melly and see her again, as you promised. There are many who love you, you must know this and must not be sad.”
Li’Kalla sniffled and rubbed her eyes, “B-But I don’t think they will like me. I’m not okay, I-I can’t help it… I brought this plague onto our island by not being able to shut up. These mortals were meant to grow strong to battle whatever is coming b-but I can’t even keep them alive… I want to be… Liked, yes. But no one likes me now… They liked me when I was weak and let everyone walk over me…” Ya-Shuur sat beside her and looked across the room, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I don’t know what has happened and why this terrible Rot has come about, but you must know that there is no use in blaming yourself and beating yourself up about it.” He paused and thought. “Your Valthumir made mention of another god who hurt you recently; I am guessing they brought about this Rot because… you told them something they did not like?” He shrugged. “That is okay. You should not seek to be liked. It is certainly nice to be liked, I think, but it should not be your goal. Tell me mother, why is it that you feel that you are not liked?” He looked at her.
“Well… I went to Orvus and he called me a monster, then I talked to his daughter and she ran away from me. And I spoke before that to his other daughter and she was so uncomfortable she could’ve passed out… And Shengshi saw it fit to curse the entire land because of my words… So yes, I don’t think I’m liked. And if the others are the same, then I fear they might grow to hate me if I show my face to them…” Ya-Shuur frowned at these words and looked at her pensively.
“That does seem very odd. If you don’t mind, can you tell me exactly why this Orvus called you a monster? And what did you say to make his daughter uncomfortable or to cause Shengshi to curse the land?”
“I-I only said the truth! Orvus was a lonely sad god wanting to fit in with mortals even going so far as to get a mortal that he turned immortal, his daughter was a fine specimen and she hadn’t bred yet which is insane… What if she dies in battle?! Her bloodline will be lost! And Shengshi was the worst,” She sniffled and her wings stiffened and stretched, brushing Ya-Shuur’s back, “I just called him what he was. A deviant for protecting other deviants and being a half-animal and expecting to be treated as a full person. It’s crazy! He should’ve been thankful that I told him the truth, apparently no one else had been brave enough to do so! This gives him the chance to change his ways. And yet… Here I am.” She said as she deflated once more. Hearing all this, Ya-Shuur smiled in understanding.
“I see, so that’s what’s happened. So all of this has come about because you were concerned for their wellbeing, wanting what was best for them; and so you spoke frankly and inadvertently hurt them?”
“Um… I suppose.”
“Are you sad that you spoke to them like that? Or that they didn’t listen? Or both?” He continued calmly.
“I… I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t have many memories. I don’t remember any offspring, which should be my pride and one of my most treasured memories… I’m just confused. I don’t know.” She said and began sobbing quietly, tears falling from her eyes and mixing with the rainwater flowing over her skin at all times. Ya-Shuur instinctively placed a hand across her shoulder and brought her smaller body close.
“There is no need for crying or for sadness, mother. All these matters that are causing you sadness are simply beyond your power and control. Since you can’t do anything about them, you should not be bothered by them. You can’t force this Shengshi to change, and you can’t control what this Orvus says, and you can’t control whether you have your memories or not. None of it matters. What truly matters is what you can control, what is truly in your power. Shall I tell you what that is?” He looked at her and wiped the tears and rainwater from her cheeks.
Li’Kalla sniffled a few more times and looked up at Ya-Shuur, “W-What is it?” He smiled and tapped her forehead gently with one of his fingers.
“It is you, mother. Your self. Your soul. Your character. You are the master of what you say, how you act, how you feel. The only thing that should truly sadden you is if you are not as you wish to be, or if you act in a way that displeases you and is not in accordance with your principles. If you are principled and always aspire to be the best version of yourself (if you are not a slave to emotion, to lust, to fears), then you will never have reason to be displeased. Take utter moral responsibility for your own actions and be indifferent to all else, not because you do not care for the felicity of all creatures but because such things are not under your control. Certainly seek what is good for others, for it is our duty, but ultimately what others do is up to them, just as you are the master of yourself they too are their own master. Others may like or dislike you, but what is most important is that you will like yourself, you will live in such a way as not to disgrace yourself and will not be less than what you truly could be.” He stopped, and knew that he had spoken for too long. He had not wished to preach, for he did not like that, but if perhaps it helped Li’Kalla even a little then he did not mind. It was not lost on him that in many ways he may have just done the same as Li’Kalla did to this Orvus and Shengshi. He looked at her and rubbed his head and laughed. “At least that’s what I believe, but maybe I’m a little bit strange!”
Li’Kalla had listened quietly to Ya-Shuur’s speech, and when the time came to respond, she chuckled while drying the last of her tears and returned his embrace with a wing, “You speak like a deity, Son.” Her words surprised him and he blinked a few times, realizing suddenly that there was a warmth in his chest and wetness in his eyes. He swallowed and blinked the wetness away.
“Mother,” he mumbled, his lips quivering ever so slightly, and he brought both his arms around her and closed his eyes, basking for the first time in his existence in the feeling that… “I have a mother.” One who knew him. One who acknowledged him. It was a few moments before he regained his composure and broke the embrace, all sign of the previous emotion gone from his face though the smile remained. He removed himself from the bed and got to his knees before her and kissed both her hands in respect. His mother had been returned to him when he thought her dead, and this time he would be a good and dutiful son.
“You do.” She said softly before dropping to her knees in front of his and embracing him again, “That was the first embrace I can say belongs to me. Just a little bit longer…” She whispered, her wings fluttering slowly, sending gusts of pleasingly cool wind around the room. Ya-Shuur obliged her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and bringing her smaller body into his even as her great wings surrounded them protectively. He found it warming that even as his great arms sought to hold her in a protective embrace, her great motherly wings held him in a greater, more protective one. That was how a mother was. Ya-Shuur had seen it in many living things - the mother spider allowed herself to be consumed by her children so that they may grow strong and live, the mother goat stood guard over her children and was willing to stand between them and the jaws of the wolf, and vall mothers carried their children for nearly a year and cared for them after that for longer, and he had seen the corpses of mothers wrapped protectively around their small children in an attempt to shield them from raiders with their own bodies.
It was motherhood, and Ya-Shuur had seen that love much but never felt it. Now with his mother’s arms and wings around him, he could say he had.
Ya-Shuur continues his journey to speak with Li’Kalla. On his way he is appraoched by Daethyrd, who has killed in the name of justice much to Ya-Shuur’s dismay. Ya-Shuur makes clear that he does not approve of Daethyrd’s ways and they part on a bad note. Ya-Shuur then meets Takk’Takk, Sun’Ka, and their ten nameless vallamir companions. Ya-Shuur speaks with them and he finds out that Li’Kalla is the Queen-Mother. He blesses their journey and gets Daethyrd to accompany them (he is now pursuing two quests).
Ya-Shuur arrives at Li’Kalla’s new mansion and has an emotional reunion with her. She is sad that everyone appears to dislike here now and opens up to Ya-Shuur about it. He attempts to comfort her, but his overly rational approach does not quite work with the emotionally torn up Li’Kalla. Eventually he gives a small sermon on how she might go about overcoming sadness and grief of this sort by seeking to be the best person she can possibly be. It’s not clear whether this affects Li’Kalla, but she is happy that Ya-Shuur speaks “like a deity” and acknowledges him as her son. They embrace and it is therapeutic.
Ya-Shuur spend 1 FP (discounted to 0 by Animal Domestication portfolio) to bless Takk’Takk, Sun’Ka, Daethyrd, and the Nameless Ten so that animals will aid them along their quest.
1 Prestige for each post in which a Hero plays at least a minor role; this should still be more than just an offhanded mention or a few lines of dialogue. The role must advance the story in a notable way. ✔
1 Prestige for a hero if they are the focus and the star of a post. ✘
1 Prestige to each hero involved, if the post was collaborated between two or more people. ✔
1 Prestige if the post follows a hero on a quest. ✔
5+ Prestige if a Hero completes a quest they pursued over three or more posts. If the Quest is completed in two posts, this is halved and rounded down to the nearest whole number. ✘
The mighty elk's hooves scratched into the fine snow beneath its head. With a guttural grunt, it dipped its hairy lips into the snow to pluck out a few blades of grass and the flesh of a fruit too tough for most tree-dwellers. The crunching of the fruit between its teeth broke into the quiet whine of cold wind that brushed the dusty white across the land. It was accompanied in the black-barked and white-carpeted forest by a doe and a squirrel.
The squirrel was twitchy enough to scurry off before the smell and sound of a pelted stone punched into the great buck's neck.
The buck slumped onto its side with the force of a gale. The doe bolted. The rock rolled down from the dented neck and crunched gently into the snow.
"Gotcha, you tricky little scamp..." A hulking red god kicked his way through a snow drift to reach the dead elk. Clacking quietly against his back was the wooden sound of several sets of elk and moose antlers tied to a long white rope clutched over his shoulder. He mumbled incredulities to himself as he stooped down to the beast's head.
"You'd think with all the snow you lot wouldn't be hear me as far off as you did, but here you are-"SNAP went an antler, broken fresh off the skull. "-squealing away like you got all the ladies starin' at your tail..."
A sudden chill could be felt in the air, and a divine presence revealed itself. ”Kirron,” a voice stated rather flatly.
The red god turned his head up and peered over his shoulder.
Kalmar stood not too far behind the Blood God, the white cloak of a polar bear draped over his shoulders, as he glanced upon Kirron’s antics with a vague look of disapproval.
"Well met!" Kirron stood up and turned around, dragging the carcass by the remaining antler. His other fist, carrying the broken counterpart rested on the belt around his waist. "It's been a while, Kalmar," he said with half a smile and a raised brow. "I wasn't talking about you, by the way. I meant this fellow." He side-eyed the still surprised face of the dead elk. "Or what's left of him. Anyway, what's new? A nice land you made. Suits you."
Kalmar nodded at the compliment, before looking back down at Kirron’s elk. ”A clean enough kill, good work on that,” he observed. ”But I have to wonder why you’re collecting all those antlers.”
As if wondering himself for a moment, Kirron lifted the broken antler to look at it curiously. "Uh, I'm making something for some friends of mine down south. No idea whether it'll work, but I was thinking these things could make for a great framework." The lack of the framework's stated purpose was conspicuously absent. "These antlers have an energy to them. You know?"
Kalmar raised an eyebrow. ”And what about the rest of the animal?” he questioned.
Kirron's other hand lifted up the carcass awkwardly up to its hindquarters and gave it an up-and-down glance. He poked out his lower lip and looked to Kalmar. "Don't really need him."
Kalmar frowned. ”If you’re going to kill something, the least you could do is ensure that most of it gets used. Either by you, or something else.”
Kirron hummed and shrugged into his answer. "Something's gotta be using it. It rots after a few days, don't it?"
”Preferably it should be used before it rots,” Kalmar argued. ”Otherwise there was no point in killing it. It might as well have been allowed to die from disease, or old age.”
For a while, Kirron stood silent with his brow low and his mouth stupidly agape, deep in the most erudite and rigorous philosophical grinding of wheels in his mind. He looked to a tree, to the sky, and itched the side of his head with the antler.
He lifted a finger in realisation. No, he mouthed, bowing his head. He slowly closed his eyes, slowly opened them, and then a grin formed across his face. He peered to Kalmar and waggled a finger. "Aaah, I see," he boasted. "I get it now. Yes, I see like a hawk. You want to share this elk with me, don't you?" He suddenly hefted the carcass over his shoulder and beckoned with the broken antler. "Well come right along, brother! No need to be shy about it! We'll find a place to roast this big fellow up and catch up over some fresh meat!"
”Might as well,” Kalmar said with a shrug. The chilly air seemed to die down. ”In the future, though, if you kill something it would be best to eat it yourself, or find another creature to feed it to, instead of just leaving it. Now, I think I know a spot nearby…”
Kirron waved off the comment. "Yeah, yeah, I got terrible manners sometimes, brother. I'll be more considerate."
”So how did that dispute with the Grottu get resolved?”
They sat in a flat, rocky, barren section of land at the base of a mountain, with a view of the northern bay. There, a fire made in the snow crackled between them, and Kalmar now held a stick over the fire with a chunk of meat at the end, nearby a wooden spit suspending the skinned upper leg of the elk. Naturally, they continued to converse of a great many experiences between them. The God of the Hunt had decided to make inquiries regarding the Selka.
"That's the clever part," Kirron explained, staring into the flames. "The Hyummin got together and trapped their fighters in with some fire. Had 'em packed in so tight their metal spears weren't right to kill with. They got beaten like cornered snakes." He licked his upper teeth idly. "The Grottu left got conquered. Life goes on for 'em. Honest, I didn't know it'd end that fast, but I gotta hand it to those selka, they're teaching me all sorts of new tricks." His smile faded. "Or maybe they're just making me remember things," he quietly added.
”And who would you say gave them those spears?” Kalmar asked, turning the stick over.
Kirron vulgarly blew through his lips. "Beats me. Could've been any number of gods or other things. Chopstick Eyes, Narzhak, Sartravius, Shengshi...could've been someone I don't even know about yet." He turned his small eyes up to Kalmar. "Think hard enough and anyone could have a reason to chuck some pointy sticks into the hands of a bunch'a mortal folk."
”Narzhak or Sartravius,” Kalmar assumed. ”Narzhak has toyed with some of my own creations and turned them against each other in the past. And Sartravius had already raised armies elsewhere. Do you know what the Grottu were trying to accomplish? Or did they just want more land?”
Kirron took his time reaching over the spit and tearing off a strip of roasted leg with his bare hands. He sat back down with a satisfied breath before ripping into a mouthful with the left side of his triangular teeth. "They were scared, Kalmar," Kirron said through his chewing. "Mortal life, it ain't got much calm to it. Those Grottu folks, they wanted to pretend it wasn't gonna eat them alive by thinking I made them invincible." He swallowed. "They just wanted to keep lying to themselves is what."
”Sounds cowardly,” Kalmar observed. ”That isn’t much of a reason. They could have used those spears for hunting, or fishing, or even defending themselves against others who could have attacked them first. Instead they started cutting down their own kind.”
"Maybe if they said it out loud like you did just now," Kirron said with a small point of his finger. "...They might not be dead." He returned to his meal. "Like I said before, I don't think I needed to step in any more than I did." Another noisy squelch preceded Kirron taking another bite. "I reckon you'll have some tales to tell soon enough, with all your Vallimoos scampering about now. Don't judge 'em too harsh for cowardice before they know what the word means, eh?"
”How many Vallamir have you encountered?” Kalmar asked, now that the topic of his own creations had come up. He pulled the roasted meat away from the fire, inspected it briefly, and took a bite.
"None yet. Just the way you talk about 'em. Sounds like you've got expectations." He slurped up a shredded tendon sticking out between his teeth.
”I made them to be quick and intelligent,” Kalmar answered. ”Yes, there has been some conflict - between individuals, or small groups - but they’re getting better at handling that, and I’d say they’re smart enough not to start any larger scale wars.”
Kirron broke into a broad chuckle, holding the side of his fist near his mouth in case he sputtered. "Never took you for the optimistic type." Kirron took in a deep breath through his nose. "Speaking of the future, what's next for you?"
Kalmar shrugged. ”The Vallamir will grow and spread. Karamir, the first of their kind, is out looking for new discoveries that he can come back and show them. In the meantime, I’ll have to continue showing them new things, give them new ways to protect themselves.” He took another bite of meat. ”Of course, I don’t think they should be the only intelligent life on this land. As I said, they’re smart and quick, but some diversity would be good. Maybe another species, built around strength and resilience, better off in the cold northern climates instead of the warm southern ones.”
"Hm." Kirron turned towards the snowiest portion of their viewpoint. "'Spose it'd be awful quiet up in the cold, huh?" he voiced. "It would be better with some noise. Some voice. What did you have in mind, if this new species is coming?"
”The interesting thing about intelligent mortals, is that you can’t always tell which direction they’ll go,” Kalmar answered. ”I have a few ideas in mind; teachings and abilities they can use to their advantage, but for the most part I don’t intend to lead them directly. What they do is up to them, and I’ll only step in if they start killing each other or destroying the forests they need to survive.”
Kirron paid only as much attention as he needed to. "...You get fun out of the method, don't you, brother?" He remarked. "Making mortals in enough numbers not to die quick, though. Takes a toll. Especially with all your plans."
The red god stuck the remainder of his meat onto the spit. It glistened, raw and undercooked, and likely more than a little tough. No match for the jaws of the god of strength, but there was taste to account for as well.
"I'll be plain with you, brother," Kirron said, hands woven together leaning forward. "You keep exerting yourself on this strip of land, on these people you nurse around, you put yourself in danger of some of our other siblings pushing you around. I ain't gonna protect you, but if it's important for you to get these mortals made in the north, I can offer some help if you want."
”I can handle myself, and I’m not without friends or allies,” Kalmar pointed out. ”What would you want in return for this help?”
Kirron paused. He glanced at the fire and leaned slowly back, the hides around his waist and upper legs creaking against the ground and one another. "Nothin'" he decided.
Kalmar swallowed another mouthful of food. ”You have my thanks, then. We can get started as soon as we’re finished here.”
The work took five long and arduous days and nights. The effort of two gods aligned with bodily might could have performed any great effort to meet their goals, but their task upon themselves was a hunt. A terrifying hunt in its unending scale. The antlers of the creatures of Kalgrun had a strength to them, Kirron had explained. Upon Kalmar's insistence, they took up the rest of the body and found it contained strength as well.
Each night, the pair would compete to see how many hulking woodland creatures they could drag up to the northern wastelands. Kalmar had more kills, though Kirron had an easier time bringing greater piles of the dead over his shoulders. Kirron, though outperformed, was having too much fun to show any weariness. Kalmar, for his part, maintained his grim demeanor, but he could not hide that there was some level of satisfaction in this work.
Each day, the pair butchered, piled the various pieces, and built mixes of iced gore, bone, antler and snow. Each grisly snow sculpture hardened in the freezing winds, taking the shapes of powerful humanoid physiques.
Those five nights, the mightiest creatures of northern Kalgrun felt a new fear of the gods.
By the sunset of the sixth day, Kirron jumped down from the last standing snow sculpture, having packed the last details of snow around the broken moose skull that shaped its head. Kirron stood covered in scraps of flesh and darkened spatters of old beast blood. He shooed away a curious winter spirit like a bug, before turning on his heel to witness the rest.
In a haphazard formation stood countless snowy pink and red pillars of snow. Maroon kidneys, livers, and spleens poked out of the snow like plaguey bubos, seeping frozen lines of black blood. The cold blew tiny frost off each, giving the illusion of ghostly hair waving from their heads.
There was a flash of metal as a knife appeared in Kalmar’s hand, as the Hunter stepped forward. ”When I made the Vallamir, I used some of my own blood. Roog offered his own too, and Li’Kalla gave a hair. Seems fitting that we’d do something similar here, too.”
Kirron eyed the knife and nodded upwards. "That oughta wake them up, yeah." He half-smiled at Kalmar. "Give yourself a little cut, I can hit 'em all at once. It'll be a sight to see."
With a nod of his own, Kalmar drew the knife across his palm, creating a perfect cut through the scar from the Vallamir’s creation. He then offered the knife up to Kirron, only to see the blood god with his teeth wrapped around a portion of his forearm.
The heat of Kirron's blood steamed in the frigid air, but as he drew his arm away, leaving a dashed line of punctures from which bright red ichor flowed, not a single drop touched the snow. Neither from Kirron or Kalmar. Each drop clung to the next, growing into a viscous blob that steamed more furiously as it accumulated. Kirron drew his hand up, and the blood sizzled as if on the coals of a fire.
A stream of tiny droplets rose like fumes into the air from Kalmar's hand and Kirron's arm, twisting together as they rose up. The sky above dimmed in the shadow of the suspended liquid, and it spread, forming low, pink clouds. The power in the air baked against the skin of the gods. Every heartbeat carried potential out across the fields of gory standing statues.
Kirron instructed, looking intently up into the red mist. "Chill the air, watch them awaken."
But before he had even finished speaking, Kalmar had already begun. The air began to freeze, so much so that even the creatures used to this climate began to shiver. The clouds turned blue, and then began to rain droplets of icey blood upon the statues.
When the droplets found their mark, they wasted no time in seeping deep into the snow. The blood rain continued, and once the clouds were drained and dispersed, each snowy statue had clearly defined blue veins. The veins began to glow, and then the bodies began to change. The hardened snow took on the smoothness of flesh and muscle. The cracked bones and torn vitals within began to reform themselves, creating a proper skeleton and functioning organs. Eyes appeared, and began to blink. Mouths opened, to reveal teeth. Fingers grew nails, and fists began to open and close. The strongest or most confident even began to flex, showing off powerful, well-defined muscles and astounding physiques. Others had instead focused on forming sounds with their new mouths, and from there began to attempt their first words.
”Looks like it worked,” Kalmar observed.
Kirron was showing every one of his pearly sharp teeth. "Ah, they're worth every second!" he bellowed, spreading his arms. "WELCOME TO LIFE!" He laughed an echoing, triumphant laugh that called the giant men and women to attention.
The laugh turned heads, most of whom were as tall as Kirron himself. As they looked upon their creators, they displayed a wide range of emotions.
”You are the Jotnar, and the land you stand on is called Kalgrun,” Kalmar declared, stepping forward. ”My name is Kalmar, and this is Kirron. You were created not to serve, but to live life as you see fit, taking guidance as needed. All I ask is that you respect the land and each other.”
Kirron planted his fists to his hips. He beamed like a forge. "And all I ask is that you respect yourselves."
At first, there was a mix of reactions. Some of the Jotnar began to look to each other. Others looked to the sky or the ground. A few who had quickly grasped the basics of speech began to speak amongst themselves. Many simply continued to stare at their creators, as if sizing them up.
And then, the vast majority of them began to nod, or issue some form of confirmation. Those three things, they could manage.
The post opens up with Kirron trying his hand at hunting, in the Frigid Forest of Kalgrun. His go-to method appears to be hurling rocks at his prey until they die, and then taking their antlers. Kalmar finds him, and begins to question why he is only taking the antlers, which Kirron seems to interpret as a passive-aggressive attempt to get him to share food.
Anyway, they set up a fire, and begin to cook the deer. A lot of off-screen catching up happens. Kirron finally gets familiar with the dramas and goings-on of the Northern Hemisphere, filtered through Kalmar's retellings, and vice versa from Kirron to Kalmar about the south. The scene opens as they talk a bit about the Grottu’s failed conquest, who could have been behind it, and why it happened. The conversation then shifts toward the Vallamir, with Kalmar briefly going over their strengths and explaining why he believes what happened with the Grottu is unlikely to happen on the same scale for them.
Kirron then asks what Kalmar is going to do next, and Kalmar reveals that he intends to create another sapient species, one intended to excel in skills that the Vallamir do not. Kirron warns Kalmar that he might be over-investing in his continent, leaving himself vulnerable in doing so, and offers to take up some of the cost.
Kalmar isn’t concerned, but agrees to take Kirron’s help. They decide that the new species will be built from the remains of beasts hunted throughout the region, and soon get to work. They build thousands of snow statues, with organs, bone, and muscle packed inside, and then use their blood to bring the new species to life.
Kalmar tells them they are free to do as they please, on the condition that they respect the land and each other. Kirron adds a third condition: that the Jotnar respect themselves as well. The Jotnar agree.
-3 MP to assist in creating the Jotnar, an extraordinary sapient species.
After: Kirron - Blood, Strength - 6 MP - 11 FP
The Jotnar are a tall humanoid species, ranging between eight and ten feet in height. They have pale, snow white skin, and icey blue blood which generates cold rather than warmth. Hair tends to be either blond, blue, grey, or in extremely rare cases, black. Their lips are generally a dark blue or purple, and during intense bursts of emotion their cheeks will flush a light blue. When a Jotnar is in poor health, their skin will usually become an ashen grey colour.
Being partially created by the God of Strength, and designed to contrast the lean and agile Vallamir, the Jotnar are a strong and muscular people, with durable skin and a high pain tolerance. Their lifespans generally range around one hundred years in length.
Additional detail and abilities will be added when the wiki article is up.
The dark haired Nebulite stood over the sleeping form of Orb, their cloak bundled around them like a cocoon, revealing for the first time how lithe Orb’s figure really was. This didn’t even register in Tiben’s mind, his face a wash with anxiety and fury, a bloody animal tied behind him. He frowned at the sleeping figure and raised his foot, jostling Orb with a shaking kick.
“HUH?” Orb rocketed awake, eyes twinkling behind their mask, vision darting too and fro.
“They left without us!” Tiben shouted.
“Context!” Orb hissed back, holding their still waking head.
“Shengshi, the others, Polyastera” Tiben paused, “Laurien.” The last name was said with a grain of disappointment.
Orb sat up and leaned back on their hands, “No... They couldn’t.”
“Oh they can, and they did,” Tiben threw his hands up and started pacing, “The bastards left a number of us behind.” He punched a nearby tree, a loud crack and a spattering of white blood smudging over his knuckles. Orb flinched, they had seen Tiben angry plenty of times, and each time was never any less scary. He was a nice man with a thoughtful mind and a caring heart -- but that temper.
Quietly rising to their feet, Orb shuffled, “What about the others, our supporters?”
“Some left,” Tiben breathed through his nostrils and rubbed his bleeding hand, “Some stayed, waiting for me to return from the woods. I knew I shouldn’t have left.”
“We needed food-”
“I know we needed food,” Tiben snapped and rubbed his temples, “But this is not good.”
“Well, can we catch up?” Orb suggested. Tiben just gave them a silent look and Orb shrugged, “What if we leave too.”
“What do you mean?”
“We take our supporters, your son, and we go-”
“My son isn’t coming,” Tiben interrupted angrily, his voice seeping with venom, “The depraved bitch stole him onto the ship.”
“Well okay,” Orb tried to remain calm, “Just our supporters then, we leave the islands for good. Find a new land, build great structures, live how we want to live, away from all the politics.”
“Maybe,” Tiben surrendered, “But how in the world do you propose we do that?”
Orb pinched the bottom of their mask, “I can think of something... just give me some time.”
Tiben sucked in a large breath, his fury slowly subsiding, “I’ll gather the others, just be ready by tonight-- can you do that?”
“Seven times over,” Orb rasped proudly, inciting a weak grin from Tiben.
“Well at least our cause didn’t lose you.”
The loyal nebulites crowded around the shore of the island. Orb’s old paddleboat served as the centerpiece, with the cloaked figure standing atop it next to Tiben. The ring of followers were a wash of murmurs and worried whispers. The sky was purple above, just dimming enough for the green swirls of Moksha to appear next to the stars.
Orb seemed transfixed on the new sight, a hidden smile plastered behind their mask. But on the breezy sands of the beach, they were alone in their admiration, with the others sick with worry. As the whispers turned to hushed voices and rambles, Tiben finally raised a hand.
“We are all that’s left of our group,” He announced, eyes falling on the one hundredor so Nebulites. Slanting into his cheek he sighed, “We missed our opportunity, and I only hope those who didn’t are still nursing the ideas that we held dear in the face of Polyastera’s claim to rule.” He held out a fist, “She is unjust, she is self serving, she is cruel. The Nebulites were born with the intelligence to spot these flaws but clearly a select few of us were dropped a few times to lose the sense to go against the holder of these flaws, but not you all. You stayed true to your birth, your wisdom, and to the greater good.”
There were some sharp agreements, and a few curses thrown out at the mention of Polyastera. Tiben sucked in a breath, “Our way of life can never go back to how it was at the very start, you all know this, which is why you are here. Polyastera has left, but she will return and bring whatever machinations she had been blessed back with her and even if she doesn’t, she has set a precedent that will echo through time. We have no choice but to abandon this land and strive to build a better civilization elsewhere, one that can stand up to whatever her and her bastard sucklings manage to curse this world with, and one that can someday return in full and claim the life that is now lost to us. She has no right, and should she ever rear her ugly head to push her false rule, we will be ready to cut it down.”
There were some confused mutterings but also some baritone cheers and Tiben held up a hand, “But we are not without guidance in this new quest.” He waved a hand to Orb, “The Queen of flies was too blinded by their own greed to notice a great friend and ally standing under our tree. This is Orb, first and last of their kind, the thinker of the Eye. They have agreed to help us build our new life.”
Orb waved a hand, eyes twinkling, “I’m very excited.” Their rasp was swelled with a joy that not many others shared in the moment, but they nodded and thanked them with genuine appreciation.
“And where are we building this new life?” A voice called out.
“The continent to the north,” Orb answered quickly, “It is the closest.”
“How will we get there?”
Orb shuffled slightly, “I have configured two possible solutions to that problem. First we could spend the time and resources to build the appropriate amount of vessels to transport us there.” Orb tapped their mask, “Secondly, we could try and contact a god in a similar fashion to how the others contacted Shengshi. If there is a god of the hunt, a god of these isles, and a god of rivers, there is likely to be a god that shares our ideology or at least can provide the appropriate source of aid to our cause.”
“Which ideologies shall we project?” Another voice called out.
“Freedom, to choose our destiny,” Tiben answered, “Strength, to power through any trouble to come, and might, to ensure that no one can ever take what we build from us.”
He looked up to the sky, his eyes almost lost as they fell on Moksha, “So I pray on behalf of my people, for a God of might, a God who knows conflict -- a God to see our civilization rise among the dregs of whatever the Bastard Queen plagues this world with -- and should we need it, a God who will give us the vigor to take back our lost people and keep us safe from vipers who would see themselves above all others.”
There was silence. Then, a low, droning hum rose over the gathering's heads. At first, it did not seem to come from any one spot, but as it grew in intensity, it became clear that it spread from Tiben's person. It resounded stronger and stronger, filling the air with stifling vibrations that lightly shook the nebulite's body. A breath of torrid heat rolled over the shore, followed by the smell of blood and metal. And, all of a sudden, a voice like the rumble of an earthquake pierced the tremors.
”Pray and you will receive. Light a pyre of death, and my heralds will come to you. They bear what you wish on grey wings. This is my word.”
The voice fell still, and the tremors in the air were gone. Minutes passed in silence, the group in a heart thumping stupor. The first to break was Orb who roughly jabbed a finger into Tiben’s rib, forcing him out of his awe-stricken trance. “We need flammable material and a heating source.”
“Right...” Tiben blinked, “Gather driftwood,” He commanded to the others before looking at Orb, “Can you get us fire?”
Orb nodded with vigor, “Easily.”
A large bonfire was light on the beach, the tendrils of range flame licking to the night sky above and illuminating the brooding masses. A certain level of solidarity seemed to bind the nebulites in a communal anger, as if the words of their new patron carried just a hint of tinder for the raging fire in Tiben’s heart, spreading it among the loyal. Orb didn’t feel it, but they could definitely tell the others did. Insults were whispered about the nebulites who had left them behind, threats were made, vows cast into the fire.
“They won’t get away with this,” A bulky nebulite swore to Tiben and the fire, “If their hubris doesn’t cut their throats...”
Tiben put a hand on the man’s shoulder, as if stealing the rest of his sentence and surrendering it to silence, “Should we meet them again, there will be a clash -- but we will be ready..” Was all he said, his voice an eerie calm.
The night around them was silent. For a long time, the rustling of the waves and whispered howls of the wind were the only sounds to answer their voices from the darkness. The distant lights in the sky come and went behind the drift of thin clouds.
One of them was moving.
Large dark shapes swept over the Garden and Moksha overhead. The crack of leathery wings swooped down from above, arced over the nebulites' heads and landed on the sand far from the fire in a series of soft thuds. The unnatural light had followed it, growing to an orb of pale spectral luminescence. It bobbed some feet above the ground like a ghost, and the dim contours of grotesque shapes emerged as hints in its halo.
"Pyre of death," an innebulite voice drawled from the shadows, a hoarse, primal mockery of speech, "we searched, we smelled. The pyre."
"Long lost in darkness," another rejoindered, just as broken and monstrous, "We could not find. We smelled the anger, but there is no death."
"You did not listen," a third gnashed, "The pyre of death. This fire is bare. You did not give sacrifice!"
"Sacrifice," an entire chorus moaned, "Sacrifice! Sacrifice! Give sacrifice!"
The crowd stood in silent horror, with even Tiben at a loss for words -- gasping like a fish. Orb, however, seemed to be analyzing silently, their twinkling eyes darting at every nebulite and then into the darkness.
“Parameters,” Orb finally piped up, all eyes falling on the cloaked figure, “The initial instructions were unclear, what parameters do you require for sacrifice?”
"Something that lives must die," the darkness growled, "In the pyre, that is the way."
Orb slowly nodded, “Parameter accepted.”
Tiben narrowed his eyes and was about to object when suddenly Orb picked up a big ocean smoothed rock. Orb had no trouble lifting it, the weight pushing their feet into the wet sand below. Everyone looked at Orb with a certain confusion, only slowly understanding when Orb let the rock fall back down.
The stone made a loud thud, forcing frightened squirts of water to jet out of previously unseen holes. With a happy rasp, Orb dove at the first one and shoved their hand through the sand. With a yank, they tugged out a mollusk and casually tossed it into the fire. It took a second, but the roar of the fire was soon overtaken by a slow sizzle and the pop of the shell. A few stomachs rumbled at the smell.
Orb turned away from the fire, facing the endless night once more, “Parameter completed.”
"Small!" the voices howled, "Poor meat, poor life!" Yet they fell quiet, and one spoke. "But you have given. We can see you."
The ghostly light bobbed and advanced, and with it a pack of living shapes crept into the fire's light. They were horrid things unlike any the nebulites had seen before, crawling on six legs or pulling themselves ahead with enormous clawed batlike wings. Flickers from the pyre danced over coarse hides covered in swollen malformations, over blunt heads with too many eyes, and glinted off iron plates and spikes lodged into living skin.
Amid them walked a robed figure, the only one standing upright. Its hands were metal and wood, and its head a blank lantern.
"You called, we were sent and we came," one of the creatures rasped from an unseen mouth, "What is your wish?"
“We wish to leave,” Tiben finally found his voice, the commanding nature of its grain falling back into place, “To be placed on the continent north from here.”
The creatures exchanged looks, then one of them, still largely hidden in the shadows, handed a sack made of skin to those at the fore. A six-armed beast took it and pulled out something that looked like a metallic model of a ribcage, with recurve iron bars ending in inward-turned spikes.
"It is granted," the being said, and tossed the object to the ground at Tiben's feet, "Any who wears this in the skin and eats the flesh of kindred will have the blood of divinity. Spill it in the water. The iron fish will come and take you where you lead."
It fell silent, and one of the winged monsters took up the word. "You have the wish of strength. You can speak one of dominion. We listen."
Tiben hefted the iron ribcage up, his arms flexing under the weight.
“Can you elaborate on the instructions?” A confused Orb rasped.
The six-limbed creature rose on its hindmost pair of legs. "Take it around your body. Let its teeth dig into you. Eat the meat of those that are like you. Your blood will be divine." As it spoke, it mimicked placing the contraption around its chest and pushing the spikes into its body. When it was finished, it snapped the mouth on the underside of its head and fell back on all sixes.
"We listen," the winged one repeated.
Tiben closed his eyes, his nose scrunching up with what could have been disgust, he cocked his head, “You wish for me to eat one of the few people we have remaining?” The iron mess dropped with a thud onto the beach as Tiben opened his eyes, “Was there at some point in this interaction where you figured me to be a mookish buffoon? I haven’t been entrusted to this exodus because of my habit to consume my fellow at the first beast to suggest it.” He pointed a finger, “I prayed to a God of might, not to a God of sinister jokes.”
The horrid cortege rumbled. Some of the creatures rose on their crooked legs, spreading and flapping their wings, whipping up clouds of sand. The rest crept back into the darkness along with the tall lantern-headed wight.
"Weak," they clamoured, "You cannot grasp might! You do not earn it!" "You did not listen! You gave poor sacrifice!" "You fear the strength of blood!" "You cannot take what must be done!"
"You prayed in vain! You called us for nothing!" The winged monsters crouched, splaying out ahead, "You pay!"
In a flurry of leathery beats, they were on Tiben, claws and teeth falling and closing. A blink later, they were rising into the night, blotting out Moksha until they were gone. Further away, the lone light of the lantern drifted up behind them. The crowd burst into horrified screams and wails, with Orb completely frozen in fear.
A fraction of a second ticked by in complete horror before Orb found their adrenaline and rushed to Tiben’s mangled body. He was a sputter of wet, gasping breaths and leaking blood. Orb peered down at him through their mask, eyes frozen on the rage that burned behind Tiben’s mutilated face.
“C-” He coughed, “Cowards...” His eyes widened and then closed, his chest falling. Orb hesitated a moment, but then placed a shaking hand on the side of his face, black gore rolling through their fingers. Gliding the hand down, they placed it over Tiben’s heart, a weak pulse pushing back against their hand.
“This is my fault,” Orb whimpered a rasp.
“No...” The negative was a soft whisper, barely pushing through Tiben’s shredded lips. Orb seemed to shake, the crowd around them still in a state of panic, with most having run off in fear. Slowly a twinkling drop found its way out of Orb’s mask, landing on the body below.
“I can fix you,” Orb shook, “I’ll make you better.”
Tiben didn’t respond, his hand weakly falling on top of Orb’s, fingers limp. Orb shivered, slipping their hand free and placing it over a gushing wound. Tiben’s closest friends lingered by the kneeling Orb, doing their best to stem the other wounds with palm leaves and even sand -- but Orb just sat there frozen, their hand covering a deep gash, Tiben’s heartbeat pulsing through their fingers.
An hour ticked by before Tiben’s heart finally stopped, two hours ticked by before Orb was finally moved by another nebulite, a gentle shake forcing them off of Tiben’s lifeless body. Orb refused in silence at first, but was eventually coerced to stand up, their cloak drenched in blood, their only friend a shredded mess.
Orb’s knees weakened and tears dropped out from under the mask. A hand comforted their shoulder, a voice simply telling Orb that ‘Tiben did the right thing,’ and that ‘His efforts will be remembered.’ Orb shook the hand off without a word and slowly began to wander off, stopping for an instant, the iron cage slumped in the sand before them. With a heave, Orb picked it up and continued their walk forward.
Days went by without talking. Orb would slowly forget what their own voice sounded like throughout each day, curing it with random mutterings and monologues. The iron cage was always by their side while they worked in solitude. The other nebulites seemed to have forgotten them quickly, the shock of Tiben’s death enough to scatter the once praised plan. The exodus was as dead as Tiben, but even still, Orb didn’t want to stay, they couldn’t.
It didn’t feel right anymore, it never did, but now it really didn’t. Their godly benefactor had abandoned the settlement to Laurien, who then abandoned the settlement themselves. Tiben was their one and only friend, the only one who showed care or interest in their well being, and now he was cold and dead -- because of Orb’s own plan.
They looked down at the iron cage, divine demands of cannibalism wasn’t a factor that Orb had considered, and it cost their friend their life. A seed of hate curled and fought a nauseous depression in their stomach, watered by guilt. Sometimes Orb would find themselves crying without warning, even as they worked.
Their new project was simple enough. They had collected their paddle raft and began modifying it for longterm oceanic travel. They widened the base, formed a hull of sorts, and increased the paddle leverage and deepened the rudder. They managed to fit enough rations and water to survive the straight cross to Kalgrun and even managed to calculate the additional weight of the iron cage.
Keeping the cage almost felt like an ironic justice. To activate it you needed to eat the meat of another one of yourself, but Orb was the one and only -- the cage was useless to them. Orb sucked in a shaking breath, all this thinking poking tears back into their eyes.
More days flew by, and by the start of the third week, Orb was ready. The sea was calm, like the surface of their heart. Orb just hoped it wasn’t as stormy on the inside. With little fanfare, and no one to see them off, Orb set out for Kalgrun.
Orb and Tiben realize they were left behind with a number of their supporters. Tiben’s ex-lover had stolen his son onto Shengshi’s ship. The pair decide that they and their supporters will leave the eye for a new life -- Tiben leaves Orb to think about ‘how’.
They decide to pray to a god of conflict to aid them in theirs and to help them leave the eye for Kalgrun.
Narzhak demands a fire(pyre of death) and so they build one, then his messengers arrive and clarify that it was not a fancy way to say fire and want a sacrifice. Orb demands parameters. The parameters are easily loopholed, and Orb grants them a single mollusk as sacrifice.
The beasts accept it and then give Tiben an artifact that will bring them to Kalgrun, IF and only if he eats another nebulite. Tiben is disgusted and insulted by the suggestion and lets ‘em have it. The beasts are as stubborn as Tiben and claw and bite him into a mangled mess before leaving.
The nebulites are in full panic while Tiben is bleeding out quickly. Orb fuddles over him for a couple hours. Tiben dies. Huge Orb monologue. Orb leaves the eye on a boat, taking the artifact with them.
Narzhak:
Starting: 8 MP, 13 FP
2 FP spent on forming the Grey Heralds, a band of kostral and skestral that act as Narzhak's messengers.
2 FP (discounted from 4 by the Cannibalism portfolio) on the Goregrasp, an artifact that gives its wielder's blood a spark of divine power as long as they eat others of their kind. This manifests as unnatural strength, an increased lifespan and the blood itself having some miraculous properties when spilled, depending on the wielder's creator deity.
“Glorious solid material!” Orb whimpered happily, their entire form face down on a sandy beach. Their cloak was drenched and crusted with what could have been weeks of salt. Two hands gripped the sand tightly, a soft happy sob breaking from the cloaked figure. Their modified boat creaked in the gusting beach wind, keeled up onto the shore completely -- having been propelled by a major tidal surge.
Orb’s knees and elbows were screaming, having finally been released from their sitting and paddling positions. They haggard a victorious breath, thankful their stomach was still full from their rations and their mouth was wet, because otherwise, Orb felt that they could lay where they were forever. They closed their eyes, still whimpering happily along with their buzzing muscles. The sounds of Kalgrun echoed around them, the vast forests off the shallow shore repeating with bird calls. Orb couldn’t help but smile softly, their mind slipping into a sudden sleep.
They could see it... the sun blasting down from the heavens, blanketing the golden desert with a scorching heat. The horizon wriggled as the air seemed to boil, turning the distant, massive spires of limestone into yellowed serpents. Great jets of power shot from each steeple, invigorating Orb as they stood witness to the desert. Crystal water flowed in moving canals of water, and a mighty tree stood center an oasis.
Sniff
Orb’s eyes strained open, met by the darkness of the sand -- their face still buried into the shore. Suddenly, a wet pressure made its way through their hood and up the back of their head, followed by the rustling of leaves and subtle shifting of sand. Orb made a face for a second before suddenly and urgently rolling over.
One hand shot out to grab the perpetrator and found its way onto a soft, uneven surface. There were lines along the surface made of tiny leaves, ridges and decently sized orbs that kind of felt like closed eyes. When Orb’s eyes made contact with its attacke, it realized that it was indeed a face that it had been fondling, with a pale green unblemished skin, soft features and thick eyebrows consisting of leaves, and a thick mass of vivid green sinuate leaves finishing off its appearance. The leaves were quivering and the eyes fluttered open once Orb’s fingers moved away from the exotic being’s eyelids, showing two shiny black spheres that stared intently at Orb’s mask, mere inches away. Its pale green lips curled into a gentle self-pleased smile and its expression and the quivering of its leaves gave off the impression of purring.
Hesitating, Orb let their fingers fall from the strange creature. Cautiously, Orb moved to sit up, scooching further away --Uselessly as the plant only scooched closer as Orb moved away-- from the plant-person before issuing a standard runic, “Hello.”
The plant perked up. Its eyes widened and its mouth fell agape as it tilted its head curiously and wrapped one of its hands around Orb’s wrist. Orb shook their wrist free and slipped their hands back under their cloak, squinting behind the mask. They shifted languages to that of the Nebulites, “Hello?”
Again, the Plant perked up even more, its leaves standing on end and making its head look more like a cactus than a cute shrub. It closed its mouth, then opened it and closed it again before looking away. Without looking at Orb, the feminine humanoid pulled a piece of the masked figure’s coat up to their nose, took a sniff of it, and then began nibbling on it.
Orb narrowed their eyes, a hand snaking out of their cloak. Slowly they brought their gloved hand close to the living-shrub’s face, curving to gently grip its jaw. The shrub seemed to chuckle although no sound came out, and its leaves went back to their relaxed state. It let Orb handle its jaw however they wanted, sticking out its tongue slightly through gently biting teeth.
Squeezing the plant’s cheeks between their fingers, Orb peered inside the plant’s mouth, humming a curious tune. The plant’s teeth were remarkably similar in appearance to the Nebullites’, although upon closer inspection their pigmentation was slightly darker, and there were wooden patterns along the edges of the teeth, like those one would see in the core of a tree trunk. Its tongue was a darker shade of its skin color and taste buds could be seen along its surface much like on a Nebullites’ tongue.
Suddenly, the plant opened its mouth and poked its own tongue, then tried to guide Orb’s finger into its mouth by grabbing their hand. Orb gulped, “If you bite me, I’ll be very upset.” The said as they willingly let their finger prod into the shrub-person’s mouth. The shrub gently bit down on Orb’s finger and smiled innocently.
Orb’s eyes narrowed again and they gently slid their finger out of the creature’s mouth, “So you can understand me? What is your designation?”
The creature tilted its head once more then grabbed Orb’s cloak with one hand and pointed at the sea. Orb nearly jumped at the grab and slapped a hand over the plant’s -causing it to jump back- a hidden frown forming on Orb's face, “Please, no interaction with my clothing.”
After a moment of stillness and anxious staring, the shrub-person crawled back up to Orb and veeery slowly moved its hand closer to Orb’s cloak, never once taking its eyes off Orb’s mask. Orb inched just out of reach and pondered out loud, “There is a possibility that you are incapable of speech as well as understanding. We will need to confirm a level of alternative communication if we are to continue our interaction. Yes.” Orb pinched the end of their mask thoughtfully, “I must assess what senses you possess.”
The creature merely looked on, and when Orb finished speaking, it leaned forward and showed the top of its head to Orb, leaves quivering in anticipation.
“Desire?” Orb pondered, reaching out and touching the creature’s head gently with a single finger.
The creature seemed to freeze, then after a moment it peeked up at Orb’s mask pleadingly.
“You possess touch, and earlier you portrayed taste, smell, and sight,” Orb concluded, resting their gloved palm flat on top the creatures head. As Orb pondered, the creature began rubbing its leafy head against their hand, closing its shiny eyes in what seemed to be pure bliss.
Orb made a curious face and patted the head gingerly, “I assume you are very sensitive in this particular area. I hope and plead that it is simply perchance and not the result of something unsavory that I am unaware of.” Orb shook their head and retracted their hand, “You can’t understand me, either way. Yet you do have ample use of facial expression.”
The creature looked at Orb and then patted their hood-covered head while grinning happily.
“Yes, yes,” Orb said, scrunching under the petting reluctantly, “Uh... thank you.” Orb moved a hand forward and pinched their own mask. “Right, we are going to experiment on a theory of mine, now.” Their other hand moved the plant’s own away from their head, two hidden eyes staring intently at the plant’s own.
“Look at me,” Orb commanded, well aware of the uselessness of their words. Sliding their mask up, they took in a deep breath. The once hidden band of the mask fell from behind Orb’s head, their hood falling to their shoulders. Orb pulled the mask from their face and anxiously held it against their lap with both hands.
Two big eyes colored similar to a starry sky twinkled at the plant. Orb’s feminine face was gentle, with a deep tan. Their cheeks were full and angled to their gentle sloping chin, indeed giving their face a heart shape, with a small nose and a mouth that seemed to have a slight natural curl at each end. Orb had two tiny thin strip of burgundy down feathers where eyebrows would normally be, matching the long silky burgundy feathers that trailed down from their scalp, many strange beads tied into the cascade of shoulder length feathers. Orb let out a beaming (albeit forced) smile, showcasing a white brilliance. They pointed eagerly at their face, “Happy.”
The shrub-person looked between Orb’s lap and their face, and eventually put a hand on each. One rubbing the mask and the other Orb’s now flinching face, specifically their nose and feathery eyebrows, which the plant seeming to enjoy the most, running its fingers back and forth along the eyebrows in amazement while the other hand inspected every accessible surface of the mask.
“You are a touch based learner,” Orb suggested, letting their mask fall to the sand below for the meanwhile, allowing the plant creature to focus both its hands on Orb’s bare face, with one slowly settling around their throat. At that moment, the plant froze, and then mimicked opening and closing its mouth. Orb hummed in their throat, vibrating against the plant’s hand. It reeled back and stared agape at Orb, then with the tip of its finger traced a path from Orb’s throat all the way to their chest, over where their left lung would be. Orb backed up a little and grabbed the plant’s hand, putting it back on their throat.
“Orb.” They said, poking themselves as they did. Making sure the plant’s hand was steady on their throat, Orb poked the plant gently on the forehead, “Shrub.”
The Shrub stared in confusion, wincing everytime Orb poked its forehead. It leaned in and lightly pressed its hand against Orb’s lips and opened and closed its mouth.
Sucking in a breath through their nose -causing Shrub to look at Orb as if it had performed some unknown forbidden magic- Orb patted Shrub on the top of its head, gently speaking into Shrub’s palm, “Shrub.” They took Shrub’s free hand and patted the hand against their own feathery scalp, “Orb.”
Shrub’s eyes lit up in understanding and she nodded, petting Orb’s head with an airy smile on her face. She mimicked Orb’s lip movements and mouthed ’Owb’. Orb nodded with a big exaggerated smile, “Good.”
And then Shrub started mouthing off, ’Owbowbowbowbowbowbowbowbowb...’ over and over as she slid up to Orb and hugged her new friend, nuzzling their feathery hair. Orb squirmed uncomfortably, slipping from the grasp, but gave Shrub a gentle pat on the head and a weak smile.
“This is a start.”
Shrub suddenly released Orb from the hug and nodded fervently, standing up and trying to pull Orb onto their feet, ’Owb!’
Scooping up their mask, Orb rose to their feet, “What is it, Shrub?”
Shrub intertwined her fingers with Orb’s, but the cloaked figure broke free to run to their paddle boat. Leaning onto the deck and out of sight, Orb quickly grabbed a backpack (depositing their mask into it) and swung it over their shoulders before running back to the waiting Shrub. Hesitating for a moment, they placed their hand back into Shrub’s who led them further into land, looking back every so often to confirm Orb was really there. After what felt like a long time, they arrived in a particularly dense patch of jungle, where the overgrowth went almost past their waists. At that point, Shrub gave the air a few sniffs and squatted down into the overgrowth, emerging a few seconds later with quivering leaves and presenting a newly hatched griffon to her new friend. ’Owb.’ There, with strong rays of light reflecting off of every possible surface, it was easy to see the crystallized sap going along Shrub’s arms, shoulders, chest and back, with deep gashes visible under the crystal-like fluid of life.
“Wha-” Orb suddenly had a flashback and shivered, “Ah, one of those.” Staring at the scarring of what could have been wounds, Orb began to piece the puzzle together, “I was taken by one of those too.” Orb offered helplessly, braving a single touch of the baby griffin. It cried weakly in response, squirming away from Orb’s hand. It seemed to be half-starved, and so it could do nothing but cry once more as Shrub thrust it into Orb’s hand.
Orb fumbled with the weak baby for a moment before finding an appropriate grip on the squirming creature. Orb’s starry eyes studied it intently, “It requires sustenance.” Their own stomach rumbled, “I also require sustenance.”
Shrub tilted her head and pointed at a nearby ray of light and at Orb’s rumbling stomach.
Orb hummed and shook their head. They pushed the baby back into Shrub’s arms and slipped their pack off their back. Snapping the bag open and after rummaging through it briefly, Orb pulled out a strip of cloth. Unraveling it they plucked a dried fruit from it and tossed the fruit in the air. The small fruit looped and came back down, landing square onto Orb’s blue tongue. They chewed and swallowed, giving Shrub a wink, “See? Consumption.”
Shrub stared on for a long few moments, until her eyes suddenly lit up and she placed the baby griffon on her head, proceeding to scratch at the crystallized sap on her arms until it fell apart with a silent grunt of pain and fresh new sap began to slowly leak out of her flesh. After letting it accumulate for a while, she coated her finger in a generous portion of her sap and brought it up close to the griffon’s beak. It took the baby a split second to react, and then it began energetically licking up the sap. Shrub’s face lit up with a wide grin and starry eyes and she looked at Orb.
“Well that’s one solution,” Orb surrendered as they ate the rest of their fruits, “But I have a feeling that infant requires fleshy sustenance.” Orb swallowed their meal and rasped, “Come.” they coughed on a loose rind stuck in their throat, “Come aid me in relocating the materials and supplies of my vessel, I think I spotted an adequate clearing on the way here where I could lay a foundation.”
After the griffon finished licking her finger clean, Shrub nodded to herself and skipped close to Orb, wrapping her arms around one of Orb’s.
Orb seemed to freeze for a moment before reluctantly sighing, allowing the cling, “Let’s advance.”
Orb finally makes it to Kalgrun. Has a foreboding dream. Meets a plant lady who is named Shrub by Orb. Orb reveals their face to Shrub (Who cannot see it anyways). They nurse a baby griffon back to health.
