Le Opsy was posted here

Dainerim groaned as he woke up to a fealing that was very similar to having his head banged against iron a hundred times.
He remembered fighting the dragon before waking up somewhere, on a small clearing in a nearby forest, with trees looming taller. Than him. That thought however, brought him to think about Zaernoth
Dainerim regreted ever moving forwards to face Zaernoth. The black dragon hadn't been so friendly, far from it indeed. With tail and a vicious flap of it's wings, he had been crushed against the wall into a barely recognized mess.
Unsheathing his dagger, he stabbed at it's wings and with a roar, it tossed him into it's mouth and swallowd him hole. Not before he cut it's tongue with his frost sword, he made sure. It hadn't crunched him, he still had a bit of strength left.
:
The fight had been brief and it was clear the dragon had been stronger than him by a billion times. He had lost his daierin, which was a fire sword that could defeat the strongest fire crafted from the previous dragon lord's heart which held most of the fire it possessed.
He was surprised to find his wounds gone, but better not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he guessed
As he stood up again, he remembered where he was and glanced around calmly. He hadn't been happy the last time his soul had been tugged to another area, another place.
But really, who cared? He would either die horably, get mangled somehow, or have some sort of thing happen to him.
Stumbling as his heavy weight forced him down, he looked inside the large bag oddly hanging from his arms and banging against his stomach uncomfortably,, he saw his daierin, food, water, a peace of paper, and several other bags that held his armors and weaponry
Willing for his daierin to get lighter, he felt better as the bag got noticeably lighter. The fire wouldn't be activated until he willed it, but with a strong enough wind or a strong enough jet of water, it would extinguish.

As he stood up and started scouting the area, he noticed a large boar charging through the area towards a panicked looking short person that yelled as he saw him.
Going still, he moved as close as he dared to the boar and put his daierin right into it's back.
It grunted, falling back and slamming him to the ground. With a small grunt, he rolled to the side and stood up
As the short man looked at him, he asked guardedly, "Is there a nearby town?"

The screaming finally ceased.

Breathing a hollow sigh of relief as he casually flicked his wrist to spray a line of red across his cabin floor, Lord Silverpine's unnaturally glowing blue gaze watched the broken bundle of meat and blood squelch on the wooden floorboards. With the red mist fading from his mind, the warlord tilted his head to the side as the bloodthirsty thrill faded into a neutral expression as he inspected the fruit of his labor. The corpse had, before undergoing Lord Silverpine's administrations, been one of the humans that they had picked up during the raid on the West Port Docks.

While abducting people had not been originally part of the plan to steal some ships to take to the seas, a quick review during the trek to West Port of his followers had reveled a truth that needed to be addressed: None of his followers had ever sailed on the open sea before. Since the entire point of taking to the seas was to land on a far distant shore, securing some experienced seamen proved to be rather vital to their future efforts... so when they were raiding the port, securing some experience crewmen was added to the list of things that needed to be taken intact during the battle.

Of course, as was generally the case when it came to raiding parties, more was taken then was strictly needed. A number of people had been 'conscripted' that had no prior experience with the arts of sailing. Some of them had skills that would be useful for their new home and thus the fact that they could contribute nothing to the trip was excusable, but there were a handful that had no skills useful to the Regency at all... well, not many.

Ever since he had transcended mortality to become a knight of death, death and bloodshed were apart of Lord Siverpine's very being. While the living needed things like food and water in order to survive, Jasper hungered for the destruction of others like a man would desire a well cooked leg of lamb. In this regard, men like the former mayor of West Port proved their worth by stating his hunger without him having to start hacking into either a loyal follower or one of the pressed ganged crew members required for the functioning of the ship. Plus, the occasional torturous murder served as a wonderful motivational tool for those members of his crews who hadn't originally come onto the ships willingly.

That said, useless sacks of meat were starting to be in short supply. As Jasper finally reached for a cloth to wipe down his blade to clean it of blood, his head perked up as he heard a cry from up in the raven's nest.

"LAND HO!"

The landing site was dead ahead as the three small ships, made with wood stained dark and their shadows imposing as small rowboats were lowered into the shallower waters and sent with them those who would start the first colony in the name of the West Underwood Trading Company. The dark elves moved quickly, however, even when they breached the waves, none moved except for one, shrouded in a dark cloak with her white hair pushed to one side. This was Lord-Trader Haelee Hune, the lady who had been charged with founding not only a new trade post, but establishing a stepping stone for more conquest in the name of the Underwood. Such a task brought a smile upon her face as her metal boots hit the wet sand.

Another dark elf brought her a flag bearing the blackened crow, to which Haelee had taken within a greedy smile. Others offloaded the rowboats, once emptied, the small craft were pushed back into the waters and made way back to the ships. Haelee, looked into the the treeline ahead of them before she stabbed the banner into the sand in front of them, the land now belonged to the Underwood and as such belonged to dark, all-seeing eyes of the Oracle. There was a moment of silence amongst the preliminary landing party as the Lord-Trader turned to them, reaching her hand forward and a male dressed in servant’s clothes walked forwards and handed her the handle of her blade, pushing it out ever so slightly.

Taking the blade from the scabbard, Haelee pointed the fine sword towards the treeline, still facing the landing party. ”We have claimed this land in the name of the company, Underwood, and in the name of the Oracle! A land still uncharted, rich with potential plunder from the land and potentially with slaves to be sold back to the mainland! Our venture her today will dictate the future of our employ and as such, I alone shall lead this charge with you, my assembly! In the name of the Oracle, the Empress, and the Magistrate we shall make this land into the crown jewel of the overseas!”

Her small motivational speech earned her a rousing round of applause, stroking the alrighty mighty ego of the Lord-Trader even further. She stepped towards the treeline as the next landing party began to disembark, the laborers and other necessary craftsmen they would need to survive. There would be little time to merely gaze into the unknown.

”Set up camp, tomorrow, we shall begin our conquest of this new land,” she ordered before looking back to the flag. Lord-Trader Haelee Hune would do all that she could in order to increase the profit of the company and show that this venture would not be in vain, though only the Oracle would know the future for them.

Hold your shivering, and draw close the blankets. Sit and be still, for here is how the world came to be.

In the beginning, there was nothing but void, fire, and water. In the vast sea of emptiness, its deep crystal depths was the realm called Nadania. It held nothing, and was nothing. To its north rushed sea, Agaelia. Its rough waves were bright as silver and foamed; heavy and salty it rushed west through Nadania. On the south of Nadania, there was the fire: Pyrosyna.

Nadania, though vast and shapeless offered no resistance to either fire or water, and both forces met. In a crash the universe was filled with a mighty volcanic roar as sea and fire met. The two forces fought one another in violent conflict. Splashed over and under one another in long suffering spasms and devouring. They battled up other one another. With waves of water and fire racing up and up. Waves rose like pillars into the dark sky, as the illumination of the sparks from Pyrosyna shot towards heaven with the screaming and yowling of fire works. In the mad chaos of their battle, the fire got the upper hand as the brilliance of its embers rose into the sky forming flares of stars whose light was hot and boiled the great seat away until it was steam and cloud that softly spread over the battlefield as it quieted and settled. In the wake of either combat were vast deserts of ashen gray landscape illuminated by the weak fires of the stars overhead.

In the haze the ground cracked and sputtered as the latent hear brooded and fermented. Over distant horizons the endless fire sea of Pyrosyna sputtered and burned on. While opposite the endless depths of Agaelia churned and lashed against the sea. But the vast emptiness was beaten, and the baking embers over head warmed the world. The clouds released from the confrontation rained upon the sooty earth. The rain drops boiled and steaming from the ashen ground and rose again as mist in the sky. The great lashing dunes of the elemental battle were eroded.

As the dunes flattened, the shoulders of great giants shifted. Lifting their heads from the blackened earth rose the great Blando Pelliedo Grondas, the White Giants. Two by two they emerged from their dunes as the rains washed over them. Standing naked in their great bleak and gray world they looked out at the the new creation of the world and realized its emptiness. They gathered together, and realizing the bleakness of the world sought to build something out of it. They reached to the ashen ground and brushed aside the mud and the slop and pulled out the clay. In their hands they molded and formed, creating the world around them.

They created great mountains, built celestial palaces. They set to the sea of the north and the fires of the south and laid out great bridges. They brought fire to their mountains and opened forges. They brought water to the troughs and filled great seas. They reached for the stars and brought down great shimmering gemstones and metals which they spun into the veins and bones of great creatures, packed them tight with clay and forged life. They worked with a silent innocence and love for all that they touched and their works filled the sky as it did the ground. They sat at their benches, their heads in vast clouds and hammered into creation great works. In every move they made they put in their love and their life.

For eons they worked. Until so much of their love and life was spent that the great giants fell back from their tables and died. Their creations mourned them. Their bodies were buried in the great earth. From their bodies came a last creation as they rotted, green life came into existence and astonishment came to the world. The halls of their palaces were filled with luscious forests. The taming of the seas became home to great forests of kelp. And the premier of their creation, the dragons looked down upon it all.

---

The first boot touched the ashen shore with a muffled thud as the long boat came to a stop. Around the sailors an eerie snow was settling over the landscape. Behind them was held a silent sea. A light wind blowing from over the horizon held a gentle lapping of the waves but nothing more as the longboats unloaded unto the shore. For the better part of three days the detachment at open sea had prowled along the coast of this island in search of an ideal landing spot. They had in the end found it at the furthest tip of a great bay, guarded at the one end by a large island. Exhausted and legs wobbly from months at sea the sailors and marines finally once again felt dry land.

“Santiago.” hailed a sailor. He turned back to the men getting off the boat and in a dour tone spoke, “Once you get your land legs back take a group of men and scout the surrounding area, establish a picket.”

The sailor, dressed in a loose fitting shirt and a leather tunic nodded. He leaned on the long pole of a pike as he staggered ahead a short distance and fell down in the cold sand to rest. Moving quickly the commanding sailor helped men and equipment get onto land, pulling the boats further ashore so what little tide there was would not pull them again out to sea. After several minutes passed of walking and stretching many of the marines and sailors were just losing their sea legs and a patrol was sent out. Many of the others moved by habit to move up to the dunes and highland overlooking the beach to find cover from the elements in the immense oaks, mangrove, and fading palms of the shore line.

Things moved along as more and more boats landed ashore. The commanding sailor fell in with a recovering group of men as they helped them along. From these boats came various ill and famished sailors, pale as a winter's gale and their gums bleeding. Scurvy. Helped by the doctors and surgeons of the ship they were moved up on their stretchers to the high beach where they laid out and a fire lit to keep them warm.

“If we do not find some fruit soon, I fear for them, don.” said a surgeon in gray formality, “They are well advanced.”

Scurvy was by no means an unknown ailment, or one hard to treat. Everyone knew this. But it lifted a weight off the old surgeons chest as he brushed his graying bird and turned to look back to the sea. Adrift in steel gray waters still as a mirror's edge sat five immense hulks. Three packed levels of canon deck and perhaps enough stores to sail around the world, though none have thought to try it; many things aboard a ship has a tendency of going sour. But he looked at those boats not as a promise for some great deal or potential but as a nursery for plague and disease which had long haunted them over their trip no matter how much they tried to chase it off with gunpowder and burning incense. Of the original number of the crew, fifteen to forty men each aboard each ship had died many more convalesced by one disease or another, least of them was scurvy. There were plenty more aboard the dank decks feared too sick to move still.

“I already put out the orders for a patrol. If we find any fruit in the area they'll be the first to receive it.”

The surgeon nodded and his eyes shone with a hint of gratefulness. He wandered off to tend to his patients as the commanding sailor stood to look out at the operations coming to shore.

Many things were coming to order. It had to, the officers of the fleet had spent the last two days making a plan of operations for when they would find a suitable spot. They had sailed past plenty of coast and wave-breaking cliffs since finding this land. They knew little of what might possibly be here, though more than a few ruins of fortresses seemed to have been perched high above the ocean cliffs. Their walls looked as sturdy and bleak as the gray granite escarpments that met the waves. On this island though they did not see much of the sort from the sea.

From the great boats was launched one more longboat. The sailor stood erect and crossed his hands behind his back as he saw it make its approach. A great red banner flew from it. A golden canopy covered the hull. He could see the shine of full armor dress as the men aboard shone in the eerie low sunlight. The oars of the boat beat at the waves as it crawled in towards the shore where the men now were working. The sounds of axes struck the breezy air and the first trees were beginning to gall. Clearing was under way and soon would rise the first of the tents. The sailor knew a number of engineers would be at work surveying the area to begin work on initial fortifications; who knew what lived in this land with them now.

As the dressed boat neared close to shore the sailor stepped back onto the beach and towards the wash to greet it. He came up to the waves just as its bow hit the shore and the first armored boots sunk into the moistened gravel and sand. The wood growled as it pulled across the wave washed pebbles as the men aboard stepped out. The sailor bowed low to the commanding figure who stepped onto land.

“Don deGrand.” the sailor greeted the tall lithe figure under the wide brim of a flapping hat, struck with a long gray feather, “Welcome to a whole new world.”

The lithe man, his skin sun kissed and his features sharp and emaciated through hardened stretched skin smiled down at his officer through bright blue eyes. “The pleasure is yours.” he said softly, “You were the first to land.”

Laughing the two grabbed each other by the forearm and pulled each other close. Sir Gabraldi, or Domi Gabraldi Samprosio SantoSillisia DiCorlone gazed out expectantly at the land they had come to. His eyes were filled with the religious fervor of finding the moon and setting it free again, where ever it might be. This land, he thought to himself as he scanned the shore looked as though in better times it would have been a tropical paradise full of heavenly birds with the potential for much wealth. But under current conditions, the mood was dampened and the possibilities were scant. He may be able to put potatoes and corn into the ground and expect to feed his men with that much. But to again taste coffee and rich Sanerican Oranges were a luxury long dormant even now. Men lived, but they did not thrive. All were forced to be monks. These days were good for Heaven, to receive so many pure souls who did not need to wade the fires of Hell for so long to clear their souls and minds before they stood on the gates of eternal resplendence or blissful reincarnation. But what joy was there in the meantime, except drunkenness or suicide?

In contrast to the lithe gentleness of Domi Gabraldi was his minor officer, the commanding sailor Fussolino Falango Rumero diCapal. A short stacked figure whose graying features were bruised and scared from a number of fights and scuffles on the grand endeavor he was on. His black beard salted with hints of white and gray and growing wild. His pale gray eyes shaded under the visor of his polished helmet. He wore his musket on his back, a long precise Perto sword at his hip on which rested a heavy gloved hand, while at the other hung a pouch of already wrapped packs of powder and shot.

The two strolled together up the beach as sailors and marines worked around them. On their expedition they had acquired many different hands. The expedition itself was no longer simply one from and for Sandovarra. While the king still financed the effort, even more so as it produced tribute for his court, manning it was no longer a prerogative of the court itself. Disgraced nobles or overzealous schemers still come to the expedition to seek redemption, but they do not fill the entire ranks. From shore to shore the expedition established many foot holds, or many offices and consulates in foreign lands. Under the red-gold dragon banner of the King of Sandovarra many were offered council or guidance, or hooked fully into the expedition as it seized principalities for trying to excise it. As such, the laboring hands of the expedition were numerous in size and shape. Men and women blue-blooded and not came to be a part of the expedition and they toiled and labored here on the beach to set the next step in its long mission. Children even had been born to it, and these Expediodarra helped pull the labor, doing the simple things.

Fires were lit to help against the alien biting chill and the two officers surveyed their future encampment. Gabraldi was pleased to see they had found such an ideal bay. The distant small island at its mouth was not far off either and could be seen as a thin strip behind the great masted ships. At a future point, such an island would become an ideal location for fortifications. From that point guns could look out over the steel gray waters and hold off hostile ships. In a more ambitious future, a chain might be pulled up from the sea to seal the water off and break the hull of any hostile vessel seeking to land in their bay. And from the inland they were guarded by the forests and wilderness where any attacking army would have to struggle against first before he could muster an army to hold them at land. The site of a river mouth opening into the sea opening the potential for an inland route for any advanced detachments sent inland. He counted up his possibilities, and thanking the divines that there was nothing yet to contest their presence. A more perfect position he could not think of.

There! Light of day! Another cave-in had shut them inside the ancient tunnel network of Dvergadypi for the second time this month. Thorfinn Underhall grit his teeth furiously. Oh, how he vowed to have those puny excuses for builders whipped! To call yourself a Brownbeard and yet failing to reinforce a simple tunnel? They shamed the whole clan, they did!

A few strikes of pickaxes later and there had formed a small hole for the tiniest of the dwarves to crawl through. A few of them did, keeping an eye on the situation outside in case there awaited another rockslide there.

“Clear!” came a muffled shout from the outside. Thorfinn nodded at his miners. “Break us through,” he commanded and the miners dug through stone and shoveled gravel with blood-pumping intensity. They were tired - that much was clear as the outside day. However, every dwarf in the tunnel knew that the larders already were scraped bare, so there was but a question of time before the population would begin to starve.

Finally, the rubble was cleared from the entrance and Thorfinn stepped outside. While the people that had followed him to the entrance exclaimed their praises and celebrations, running around hugging frozen trees and kissing the snow, Thorfinn took a deep breath of sorely missed fresh air and turned to inspect the gates to his underlands. Once, they had been proud and towering, like those of a castle, with pillars of stone carved to resemble dwarven workers holding up the mountain, and an arching dome for a roof which integrity never threatened collapse.

Now, one would be lucky to even see the remains of those statues’ feet. To think that such a mighty and ancient kingdom could have fallen into such disarray in only a few generations. It was almost as if…

“Yarl Thorfinn!” cried an approaching entourage. The patriarch turned to see battered farmers from the lower villages come running and limping on occasion.

“Halfdan, cousin! Is that you?!” Thorfinn exclaimed back and approached. Their condition brought the attention of the others dwarves as well, and quickly a few ran into the tunnels to fetch bandages, medicine and stretchers. There were a total of six, led by the correctly identified Halfdan Macdoug-Underhall, thane of the farmer’s settlement Dougsdahl. He had been wounded in the arm, but was bruised in comparison to some of his followers.

“They were too many,” he explained, “we were overrun a day ago. A few of us tried to escape back to the tunnels, but we were cut off.”

“Who attacked you?” Thorfinn asked. “Have the ancient horrours of the woods returned?”

Halfdan shook his head. “We saw them not in the dark. They were like ghosts.” He extracted a small jewel from his pocket. “... It may be due to this.” He dropped it into Thorfinn’s palm and the yarl gave it a lookover.

“What is it?”

Halfdan shrugged. “We do not know. All we know is that the warrior who dropped this seemed terribly eager to get it back.” He pointed to the sky, where the fractured moon barely still hung. “Our scribe suggested that it may be remnants of the Moonfall ten years ago.”

“Oh, that horrible business?” Thorfinn mumbled and turned the jewel around in his hand some more. “What does it do?”

Halfdan shrugged again. “Nobody knows. It could be some sort of family heirloom or currency? Why else would the warrior want it back?”

“Could it be a weapon?” a third dwarf suggested. It was Donald Deepstone-Underhall, warchief of the Underhall battleborn. Thorfinn pursed his lips. There was something about the stone - something about it whispering in his mind.

“Wouldn’t say that,” Halfdan mumbled, “they never hit us with it.”

“But it could be magical, no?” Donald suggested.

While the two of them discussed the properties of the stone, Thorfinn walked back over to the gate to Dvergadypi. He eyed the foot of a long-crumbled statue and cast a glance over his shoulder. A few were curious as to what he was doing, but most were following the increasingly heated conversation between the thane and the warchief. Thorfinn placed his hand on the statue and imagined as much as he could a statue of a mighty dwarf holding up the roof of the tunnel entrance.

In a flash, the stone in his hand became dust, and the stone around the statue became like a soup. Thorfinn stepped back, and all the dwarves turned to see what the source of the suggest commotion was. Rock and stone smashed together and sand twisted itself around it like a cloud, polishing and carving details into its shape. Before long, there stood a proud, mighty dwarf of stone in place of the crumbled pillar, beautifully holding up one side of the neglected gate.

The dwarves were all speechless. Donald and Halfdan came running over to Thorfinn and each grabbed him by a handfull of his furred shirt. “What did you just do?!” they demanded in unison.

Thorfinn blinked and pushed them away. He looked around for the stone, but found only dust under where his hand had been when he cast the spell. “It was magical… A stone of wishes!”

“A what?”

“Do you not see?! I wished for there to be a statue here, and the stone granted the wish! That’s why you couldn’t see the assassins in the night - they wished to be invisible!” Now it was Thorfinn’s turn to grab the other two by the neck of their shirts. “We need to find more! Dvergadypi shall be restored to its almighty glory - for the honour of Gereg the Stoneshaper!”

Lizardmen colonists were working away, hauling the little supplies of lumber, stones, and dried straw to construct small simple huts. Hunters and warriors patrolled the area while the rest of the boats arrived on the beaches. "We don't have much food left... We must ration out resources!" called a council member inside a small, crude long-house. "But that will decrease the populations happiness! They cannot work if they are starved and depressed!" called another. "Should we send scouts to see whats out there? We could have neighbors!" another argued. "Calm yourselves!" Thrall interjected. "Infrastructure is our main goal right now. We don't know whats beyond our border and we don't have long until nightfall. Focus on the construction of huts and fishing docks for now. We will improve the populations happiness by giving them homes, rationing our food supplies to ensure they do not starve, and prepare scouts later to search for proper habitable land and resources... Be ready to salvage the buildings and boats for the move." Thrall finished. The other council members applauded in agreement.

The construction of multiple huts were already finished and more were on the way. Some hunters discovered stones with few precious metals and abundant amounts of fish. The rest of the boats landed and more supplies were being unloaded into the stockpiles. Thrall and some Warriors were patrolling the encampment to watch over the progress and check the supplies.

Grimtak looked out over this kin, strewn around the shore, exhausted and bruised, some among them still coming ashore, their boats and rafts now little more than wreckage. He felt a tinge of sadness and shame that they had been reduced to this, he wished that they could turn back and aid those they had abandoned in their battle against the elves. But the truth was that they were lost the moment the waves and the winds carried them out of sight of the coasts. Is this what the spirits had intended for them? Does that mean they are not dishonored?

All that remained was an elven ship, too large to approach the shallow bay it still sat out in deeper waters. A final testament to their origins, and perhaps a beacon to their presence. Soon dusk fell on them and an agreement was quietly reached the spend the night on there to recuperate and gather themselves for the days to come. Grimtak made other plans, he was born in war and he saw action he wanted taken. Together with two of his old comrades, he rowed out to the boat on little more than a big piece of wood. Then they did what needed to be done; they set fire to the vessel that had been built with the blood of Orcish slaves.

When they came back, their people had gathered on the shore to watch the fire. Some smiled, some stared, some cried Why?, Mukdrak and Runda, the would-be shamans, danced a wild dance around their own fire. Grimtak met the gaze of the elders, those who had been born as slaves, those who had been born with elven names, those who had been the first to raise weapons against the elves. Rokar, as he had named himself, looked at him with scorn "One day your rash actions will bring you dishonor, Grimtak". But they left it at that, apparently more offended by Grimtak's own decision-making than the action itself. Grimtak and his comrades did not hide their actions and walked proudly among their people, long wet black hair clinging to their green skin.

At dawn, they cleaned away their presence on the beach as best they could and marched in-land with what they had left, following the river to find safer lands than the exposed coast. It was a long march, but they soon found fine grasslands and a great forest expanding before them, finally coming upon the great lake that the river flowed from. The blossoming spring made it look all the more like a dream land. Is this what the spirits had meant for them? Nestled between the forest and the lake, they began to make their home.

Turn 1

@Bright_Ops



@Lauder



@Dinh AaronMk


@Pirate

The Bloodhowl Clan

@The Wyrm



@CelesteEste



@Nate1008



@AdorableSaucer

While the pangs of hunger... at least for food was long a thing of the past for him, Jasper still remembered the sensation of emptiness well. The pains that came when there was nothing to eat had long burned itself into his memory, even after his ascension. While it could be a powerful motivator in its own right, letting his followers starve was simply not an option for long term stability. So while his people were digging foundations, some of them were shifted towards the task of capturing some of the local animals so that they could be domesticated, thus ensuring long term food production. The fact that the practice also involved gathering furs was just a wonderful bonus.

However, this day to day affair was quickly shoved to the background as he focused on the teal crystal in his palm. Between it and the pull from further down south, this new land had already reveled mysteries that needed to be solved. Exploring the presence of undeath down south was going to have to wait until he had secured his base of operations however. The presence of other undead in this land might have been an opportunity, but it also opened up the possibilities of rivals to contend with his right to rule.

Running his thumb along the crystal, Lord Silverpine's gaze never left it as he reached out to pull the magical energy within it into himself in order to experiment with it. Curiosity demanded that this discovery be properly studied after all... and if it could enhance his powers further.

Rhaetia: Turn 1

---

Princess Aranalda cleaned the edge of her blade on the edge of her cloak, one did not tarnish elven steel on the rags of barbarians. Her white armour was bright in the dim light of the cave, a stark contrast to the troll shaman who crouched in the dirt before her. She regraded the creature for a moment before using the tip of her sword to flick the ring up into the air, catching it in a gloved hand, and examining it carefully. It was a thing of crude but remarkable craftsmanship. Gold entwined with what appeared to be purple or black onyx. It suggested that there was more to this troll civilization than the savage band that her people had destroyed.

"Search it." She said out loud and two sword-masters stepped past her, their keen eyes easily probing the darkness and find no one else, no means of escape. They both stepped back, shaking their heads as they went.

"Hidden doors?" The Princesses voice was a melodic as the trolls was like gravel and she saw the creature cock its head at her. A battle mage cast a spell of detection and shook her head. The little crevice was, in effect, a prison for the troll. The creature was undoubtedly magically powerful and it would bear in mind to keep a sharp watch on the thing. Nor would she put the ring on her finger until they had studied it properly. One did not know the curses that could be hidden in such a trinket.

"You will live, and you will serve." She said simply, turning away from the troll without further comment. The mage who stood with her followed her to the edge of the crevice until they could just see the creature crouched inside. "Places wards around it, but let it live. If it tries to escape, kill it."

The mage bowed and turned away to begin casting a series of wards about the crevice. They would serve to kill any living thing, other than an elf, that sought to enter or leave the space.

While the wards were set, the Princess strode out into the new landscape that was to become her home. Already the first buildings were going up, driven as much by magic as construction skill. In the coming days they would see to a permanent settlement, well defended and secure. When they had accomplished that, they would move on to studying the Moonwell and the powers that lay within.

In the meantime, they would build, they would collect the troll moonshards that had been scattered by the dead, and in time, they would restore balance to this world.

The boy would find a long, curved blade adorned with the finest marks and the most exquisite of polishes that could be found upon any weapon throughout the land. He knew this weapon well, for he had heard stories from the famed heroes of the past wielding a blade much like this, not just because this scimitar was so grand in design, but that it could split down the splinter to become two. This boy knew of why the armies of his people were feared in melee, knowing these blades could fell many who were overconfident and they could fell many more who were ignorant. These blades, these grim weapons of his people, would have served his father and even his father's father in battle countless times.

The boy looked to his father before asking, "Do you think that you would have to use these?"
"Undoubtedly, Alni. This land is untamed and there are many who would rather see our kind dead, Oracle knows," the father replied to his son, before motioning for a servant to bring refreshments to them. Watching the boy pick up the scimitar and marvel at it, bringing a light smile to the face of the older elf. "Alni, when I pass, those blades will be yours," the father said.
"R-really?" the younger inquired, having his answer confirmed with a simple nod.

The father got up from his seat, glass in hand as he walked past his son to look out of his new dwelling, watching the normal bustle of a new settlement. He took a breath of air before he took a swig of his drink, knowing that even he would have to work on a day as fine as this, knowing that he would have to act as overseer over the construction of a harbor. After all, it was best to not disappoint the Lord-Trader as that would likely mean losing his own head, and despite what many may think of his stubbornness, even he knows where to draw a line. He had already seen the plans, the outlines of a simple dock to allow some boats to deliver cargo from ships from the mainland or to even allow some to fish should they be assigned to do so.

They would have to look some of the refined wood from their stocks that they had brought from the homeland, bringing forth the issue of needing to get a reliable means of refined timber. Though, this land was very much rich in timber, a raw resource that could likely be exported back to the mainland should this expedition not have much to offer in terms of luxury. The land was rich from what they have seen, however, so hopes were high that they would be able to grow quickly and form a powerful foothold in the name of the company and her majesty, the Queen.

"Alni, have you finished your reading? the father asked absentmindedly.
There was the sound of silence.
"Finish your studies and then you may look at the blades," he said, hearing the shuffle of disappointed feet along the ground.

There was a moment of silent contemplation from the man, sipping away at his drink before setting the cup gingerly on the table next to him. There was much that would need to be done before Deepcrest would be labelled as a successful settlement, and even more would need to be done for these people to thrive in this foreign land. The father looked to a servant before giving a single order,

"Pen a letter to her opulence, the Lord-Trader about these details of the docks..."

During the time of the Blando Pelliedo Grondas the stars were their most valuable resources.

They swam in black oily perfection in the high heavens shedding fragile illumination on the world of the Blando Pelliedo as they forged the world from the ash and steam of the chaos that preceded them. And from the stars they pulled forth great magic that they used to create life. This power was radiated onto them, cursing them with the mortality that eventually killed them. For even in time all stars die in utter brilliance, bursting forth their energies across the cosmos to shed life and creation like the fires of Pyrosyna.

Refining magic from the stars created three magics in creation: Consciêsie, Spiri, and Magio.

Into life was spun Consciêsie and Spiri. Respectively, the power of conciousness, and the spirit of life itself. In all things that grow, die, breed, and live is the capacity to remember and to be aware, to hold conciousness, to possess the magic of Consciêsie. But to bind it into form and to prevent it from evaporating into the void Spiri was created. Living spirit; the very essence of soul and life bound into all life. Without the magic of Spiri, all things become as muted and still as the rocks that litter the landscape, or as influenced and determined as the water in the stream, or even fire itself.

But most divine of the magical energies is Magio, raw magic. A primal blend of consciousness, spirit, and the raw unrefined creative potential of the universe and the stars themselves. As the giants worked they learned to take that raw power itself and to trap and pack it into its own vessel. Becoming weary over the eons of reaching for the sky to reach ever more distant stars to do their work they consolidated their efforts to create a vessel from whence to draw a closer supply of this raw primal clay. They sought to have near at end an eternal supply of such power. And so they took the last of the world ash and the last of the primal fire and fought to create two containers. They dubbed these creations Lua and Solea; the Sun and Moon.

To be near enough to be easily at reach, but to not directly interfere they placed these newly created vessels in the sky. There they traveled one after the other to not let one giant be without their power. Both were a spectacle of their own and were revered by all the giant's living creations, foremost the dragons who held the Sun and Moon and the Blando Pelliedo in awe and reverence.

But it was in making Lua and Solea that in the end sapped the giants of their living energy. As t he Blando Pelliedo died, Lua and Solea took on their ultimate brilliance. Filled with the everlasting power of the primal artisans they shone with their own world-influencing magic. They shone down on the bodies of the giants, who decayed into the earth and lending the last epoch of their final creation to the world. Their bodies rotting sewed the last fertility into the soil, and the last essence of their magical power creating the last forms of life: the mushrooms and carrion eaters of the world.

The dragons, inheriting the world from their elders' now revered the Moon and Sun with awe and terror alone. They came to be understood among them as Creator and Destroyer. Able to engulf creation in life-ending fire or ice. Or to bless either with the incubating warmth and soothing coolness of day and night. With the power of Lua and Solea the permanent mist that shrouded the world faded and was absorbed back into the earth.

Without the giants to tend them, their forges sputtered and flashed with unhinged chaos. Incapable of being controlled by the dragons they took on a life of their own. Some cooled and became frozen dormant mountains, simply dying. Some continued to broil and froth at the mouth clouding the skies, living on in agitation. And the rest flared and smoked continually on and off, being restless in their waking moments and their restful ones.

The seas took on life as well, slowly swallowing the old bridges and churning up storms from the fires of the forges. They smote the shore, dragging and shifting the world built up by the giants that had tamed them.

And above this new landscape, shining down with their influential magic orbited both Lua and Solea. Their eyes cast down as they tugged and pulled in their own way.

---

“As you said, you found boats?” Gabraldi asked, reclining on a mattress laid on the ground.

“Yes your honor.” a marine scout said, he too sat on the ground with his heavily plumed helmet resting on a raised knee.

They sat in the middle of Gabraldi's tent, which served a multi-functional purpose as the expedition commander's living quarters as well as temporary command. With a canvas wall it was the center of the nucleus of the operation where the tents for the other expedition officers were also pitched, from whence radiating outward the other members and functions of the expedition spanned out in accordance to their relative importance to it all. This spot acting as a form of court, many of the non-commissioned nobles in the expedition struggled to keep themselves as close to this spot as they could.

The space itself was well lit by a number of lamps that cast a soft orange glow that combined with the late evening sunlight that filtered through the heavy canvas. The dirt and grass of the space cleared for it was covered with heavy decorated carpets that also smoothed out the rugged spaces of the ground underneath. Several pieces of furnishings lended a homeliness to the space as crates yet to be unpacked promised a further evolution to the current condition of the expedition commander's living quarters. As of now, the space was dominated by the acidic smell of burning lanterns and a moldy saltiness.

“Suppose, your honor,” spoke up an officer himself reclining across the ground as he sketched on a piece of parchment the description of the boats found, “that this is a peasant race or a noble race?”

“I could not tell. We only found the dugouts. From them I would say they are a peasant race.” the scout said.

“This doesn't actually say anything however.” Gabraldi cautioned, “A peasant may have a master or may not. Finding his hut does not confirm as much.”

“I agree.” said another nearby, sorting through the crates for a bottle of wine, “This discovery if anything at least confirms that people live here, and those fortresses are not of some race of man or beast that did not bloom and die in a fortnight, and they persist here in this land.”

“What else did you say this boat had?” the officer, reclining and drawing asked.

“An outer beam, running parallel to the hull.” the scout answered.

“Very well.” the artist said.

“Suppose your honor these people possess the Moon, or know where it went?” the office rummaging for wine asked, finding it, and smiling as he carried the large ceramic jug to the circle.

“Then we will deal with them, as we do with the rest, Montreau” Gabraldi answered, “They will need to know of our mission, and if they are willing to part with the piece. Then we march on them if they do not. The standard rules apply.”

“So soon and we may finally see action. I hope to stretch my sword arm again.” Montreau, a middle-aged man with a bulldog face said with a long sigh, sitting down and uncorking the bottle. He passed it to Gabraldi.

“No, we can not risk them tampering with or harming the moon if they have it.” the sketch artist said. His attention wandered to the scout as he finished the drawing and held it up to the scout, “Is this what you described?”

The soldier nodded and the artist smiled, handing the canvas to Gabraldi, “Here's their boat.”

“Fascinating, thank you.”

“But back to the matter at hand: we are now not as lonely as we thought. But we can not risk harm to the moon, or any more than we can avoid. We do not fully understand its magical nature or what it means for it to be on the earth. Causing too much ignoble death around it may be like poison to it, and would be an insult to the divinities. We must retain pure intention approaching it, or we risk insulting the spirit of Alrique.”

“Yes, but eventually we may need to fight, Sevilo.” said Montreau.

“Yes, but not right now. And not at first.” Sevilo responded, and turning his attention to Gabraldi: “I have to urge diplomacy. We don't know who these people are, if they are at all a noble race or have Lua. We could throw away opportunities in acting rashly.”

“I agree.”

“I don't know, how can we even confirm their intention for peace or for war?” DeGrand said, speaking up from his spot on the floor, “While yes: diplomacy will be the most attractive option. More so because if there is any possibility of danger it may hold catastrophe at bay. And if we can confirm the location of the moon we can send back to The Court, or if we find any tribute for that matter. About where are we?”

Everyone looked at one another pensively as Gabraldi rose. Moving to a nearby table the scout stood and asked, “Excuse me your honor, but am I excused?”

“Yes, you did what you can. You may leave if you wish.” The scout bowed low at this invitation and left the tent.

At the table were a series of charts painted on wide sheets of parchment. They depicted much of the known world to the Expedition, and much of what they had found. Much of what Gabraldi had discovered in his tenure had been sketched in with charcoal over the years and as proportions became finalized and theories confirmed in travel finalized with the ink brush in slow delicate thin lines. There was a gap in the map though, a place marked with the words “Unknown Sea” that had long been avoided by merchants and travelers alike who had for centuries or longer chosen to merely sail along chains of islands and secure coasts that linked the whole world with itself. These men and crews had long brought to Sandovarra tails and stories of the distant lands the Expedition itself went to. Territories at one point or another have been claimed – if at least on paper and in word – by the guile of ancient kings in Parva using the temporal majesty granted to the seat by the dragon Roalumi himself. But these motions were mere gestures at time back up by intertwining the realms with marriages and adoptions since they were often so distant from the court to be directly influenced by its laws.

But the Expedition coming to their shores had been the most direct contact with the kingdom had with these realms in some centuries and confirmed to the court that they were actively independent if not dismissive of their powers. The implications of such discoveries were kept secret from the Expedition, though the routine waves of exiled nobles from the homeland was often considered an indication of the uncertainty and lost faith this news brought to the secluded court.

The officers in the room rose as Gabraldi produced a golden compass from a brass box and began charting out their route from the regular logs the ships' navigators had kept over the course of the expedition. Passing around the jug of wine they watched Gabraldi meticulously follow their rough course and direction from far-flung known ports to the rumored islands they had found and confirmed in the middle of the Unknown Sea. Gabraldi was no amateur in this art, as well as in many other arts he was a skilled navigator and cartographer and the twisting and looping course they had followed at the will of wind and tide took shape in charcoal to end at the spot on the map they had ended.

“It's a long journey.” he said flatly, “It may be five months under a steady wind to send for home if we find anything.”

“There is no reason to cut it down.” Montreau said.

“We will need to sail it many times.” Sevilo corrected.

“It does not make it a non-option.” DeGrand pointed out, “Merely a long one. If we can leverage diplomacy as a way to stall war and to get an advantage, it would only be a year or more.”

“Yes, but by then what can happen?” Montreau asked.

“We can not know.” Sevilo added, “We can not even go to war well if we are not fully aware of who it is we must kill, lay aside any other righteous concerns here. Any good diplomat here would be like a spy to take measure. Montreau, your sword hand may be strong but here you and I I am sure can agree: we have to have a lay of the other race here.”

“I agree.” DeGrand said.

“I'll concede to that.” Montreau sighed, “Well in any case, how do we go about this? Your honor?”

“I propose we first set a watch on the boats, to know who it is owns them. We can follow and make our approach when we know more. Establish what they have, and what they mad need. If this is one kingdom or several we do not know yet either, but we can learn this in time. This may be a dozen tribal polities.”

“And then we can do war.”

Gabraldi nodded, “Yes, that'd be the harmonious way to root ourselves. And in the meantime we can gather what we can to send as tribute to The King. Enforce our position as the long term strategy, and go from there.

“Hence I propose this list of orders to carry out: to seek and identify the boat builders, establish contact and gauge intent. If they mean us war: we must reinforce out position here and wear them out. If they will accept a peaceful existence: carry out exchange with them. We will need to become embedded among them, learn the language. Sevilo, those are your talents.”

Sevilo nodded, smiling under his gray beard. “Further more, how is your magic?” Gabraldi asked.

“It is tired from the voyage as I am still. But give me time.”

“Very well, you are dismissed.”

---

“No, my friend: all I am saying is that this is a land that shall make us all noble!”

A spirited looking man of young peasant stock sat atop a rock by the sea. In his hand he held a rock like a plate and a knife in another. Sea urchins split and unsplit took up residence on the black basalt sea stone he was using. With the knife he scraped out the delicate orange flesh of the urchin's gonads and ate the sweat, salty flesh.

His companion, a lanky pale skinned man in recovery from scurvy reclined weakly at the bottom of the rock, his toes buried in the pearly sand, “How and why do you say that? Do you know that all land is owned by The King and his Princes?”

“Yes, but they are not here now, and all land must be worked to have value: right? And who is here to work it but us?” the spirited peasant eating urchin said.

Behind them the encampment glowed higher up on the coast. Throughout the day the region was cleared rapidly of trees. Their rough trunks now forming the beginning of fortification against whatever may lurk in the wilds. But now the sun was low it was alight with torch and lamp light and sparkled in the growing purple light of a light spring day. The coldness had lifted and the weary bodies of the newly arrived had been spirited into activity beyond the work day they had. Many went on on unused logs to fish from the sea, others wandered about the shore searching for the easy crabs or clams that were buried in the sand for a fast meal or to add to their rations. It had been months since they all knew a good meal.

“Where did you get such an idea, Gonzo?” asked the other with a light cough.

“Just now. What I think I'm trying to get at is this: if the Honorable King demands tribute from his people, but all tribute flows through the nobility to him: then in a land as fresh as this we can become our own nobles!”

“That makes no sense.”

“Then Sallo I will have to break it through your head!” Gonzo declared, tapping the knife to the rock to punctuate, “When we harvested grain at home: to whom did that harvest go to?”

“My Count.” said Sallo weakly, “But then he gave me up to the Expedition to avoid a debt.”

“That bit is besides the point. But to whom does your count send the grain to?”

“The King.” said Sallo.

“Exactly. So why do you send your grain to your count?”

“Because I farm his land.”

“Yes. And here we are on virgin land. Who owns this land?”

“None of us.”

“And there you have it.” Gonzo said with a smile. “No one owns this land.”

“But that means The King does not take tribute from it.”

“But he can.” Gonzo reminded him, “And who is there to say who can or can not own it?”

“The Expedition Commander, Gonzo. Don't you see: he owns this land now.”

“Does he though? Or does he govern? What determines ownership?”

“Listen friend, I am not really in the mood.” Sallo complained, “Is this really worth it?”

“It is, because I am telling you: this can make us rich and independent men. Far beyond what the Homeland of which ever country anyone here could have made us. Whatever territory the Expedition Commander sets, we can go beyond that. There is no claimed land here, it is all free for us to take. We may have farms and estates where we only owe so little of our produce to someone else, and we may own the rest. Imagine that: our own noble lineage, there is no end to the possibility of us being free, landed, Companiera.”

Sallo only groaned, mumbling something about an ache in his tooth.

“If you will not have a conversation then so damn you to ignorance.” Gonzo spat, “I will have to find someone else.”

“Can this just wait until I am not feeling so tired?”

The small canoe moved up to the tall, thin tower. Wopwe wanted to be the first there. Above them, the sky was dark, even though it was barely past midday. Such was life in the swamps, the sky always was often overcast, it probably reminded his people of their ancestral underground homes. Of course, the dark roofs of the caves was still, calm, the sky could be like that too, but it also could showcase great fury in its storms, like the one expected today.

The Nupa of the lands looked over as the traitors were brought, the leaders of an attempted rebellion. It did cross his mind that perhaps he should have gave then a chance, but the law was the law, as he had said in public when he declared their sentences, it could not be bent by prestige, by money, by bloodlines, that was the old ways of the land, the ways of abuse and corruption, of chaos. To fulfil his dreams of an Entmoian Tribe fully centred around the rule of (his) law, he had to deal with these people in the same way he would have dealt if they were fisherman.

Even some priests were asking the Kvune Wopwe to be more flexible, but he could not be moved, he was stubborn in his conviction. The prisoners would be led from the boats to the top of the stone tower where they would be placed in an iron cage. It had to be done in a stormy day so there was a chance of thunder striking the cage. The Nupa was ready to justify the event no matter what happened, no thunder would mean the divine had no desire to give traitors a quick death and if a thunder did hit the cage then it was clear the goddess saw fit to punish traitorous acts with her own hands.

The prisoners in place, he left back for the town. Outside of dealing with political enemies Wopwe wanted to further influence the city and integrate religious and civilian life to a greater extent. The introduction of festivals would be a good way to utilize the temples' control of resources to the benefit of the population. Excess wood could be made into idols and amulets, excess food could be used in feasts, furthermore there were many religious acts typically only observed by the priesthood that the Nupa wanted to extend to the population, stargazing in the hills, bathing in the swamp waters, raising poles in the dry land, all reminders of this new cultural age for the Entmoians.

The news of the magical stone had reignited a manic curiousness that had laid dormant within the Underhalls for decades. For a brief week, the populace of Dvergadypi were living in blissful distraction from their collapsing clandom, pilgrims ascending the main tunnels in order to lay down their offerings of respect and piety at the feet of the stone dwarf now holding up their crumbling cave entrance. The Underhalls grew anxious at the thought of so much food going to the gods rather than to the bellies of the living, but to halt perhaps the first unifying moment of the past few years would devastate any remaining claim the Underhalls had on the position as leaders of the Dvergadypi dwarves.

Thorfinn tugged disapprovingly at his beard as he surveyed the train of pilgrims shuffling past the statue, laying down their offerings and making u-turns back towards the mountain’s depths. They would need to replenish their larders if there was to be any hope of surviving the rest of the year. His tugging hand moved to a bronze seal pinning his velvet and brown square-patterned wool cloak together at his neck. He turned it upwards at cast it a glance - the seal of his clan, one still untested by time and trials. Perhaps this would be the beginning of its thousand year dynasty - or the final fizzle before the winds of fate extinguish the last remaining hope in Dvergadypi.

Millennia of history - gone in the blink of an eye.

He would not have it. With a clenched fist around the medallion, he called, “Cousin Halfdan! Warchief Donald! Huntsmaster Astrid!”

The three summoned dwarves appeared before him, bowed curtly and each offered a, “Yes, yarl Thorfinn?”

“Our work to restore the magnificence of Dvergadypi starts today. For too long have we waited for time to pass underground, bickering amongst ourselves while our underlands fall into shambles of what they used to be - what they used to represent. None of us have seen the true glory of our halls as they were meant to be, but by my pride as an Underhall, we shall see that glory restored!”

The three dwarves nodded proudly and hammered their chests in approval. “What will you have us do to make it so, great yarl?” asked Donald. Thorfinn pointed at him and Halfdan.

“Warchief, you will accompany the thane along with fifty of your best. Together, you shall reclaim Dougsdahl and its surrounding farmlands. I want you, cousin, to bring whatever workforce you need to reassume farming once the lands are retaken. We need to bolster our larders before our work can begin.”

Halfdan and Donald exchanged suspicious glances, but nodded either way. “It shall be done, cousin,” Halfdan vowed. “Are we lucky, the enemy will have left the storages untouched, meaning we already can recover enough to last a while longer at the very least.”

“Very good. You may begin.” While the two of them went to gather their units, Thorfinn turned to the huntsmaster. “Huntsmaster Astrid, you will assist in local food production.”

“What will you have me do, great yarl?” Astrid asked politely with a bowed head. She was a Sinclair, the only one of them to hold position so close to the yarl’s family as the court’s huntsmaster. She was powerfully built and clad in wood and skins, with a patterned, long scarf around her neck in the colours of her family. Her hair was chestnut and cut short along her temples. The rest was bundled into a long ponytail running down her back. Thorfinn pointed to the mountains.

“There once ran goats all throughout these hills. Their milk, wool and meat would all be necessary supplies if we are to bolster our people. I want you to take your hunters and scour the canyons and hilltops in search of our old allies. Bring as many of them back as you can - preferably alive.”

Astrid bowed. “At once, great yarl.” Then she stormed off to gather her colleagues and acquire weaponry. Thorfinn pursed his lips, making them almost visible through his great mass of beard. Behind him, lady Ellinor Underhall approached and squeezed calmly his shoulder.

“It’s refreshing to see you like this, Thorfinn,” she whispered to him affectionately. The yarl offered her a glance before looking back ahead.

“There’s no doubt about it, though - we will need more of those wish stones if we are to recover our greatness.”

Her grip tightened a bit. “Yes… A great deal can be accomplished with magic. They do say, after all, that the first descendants of the Stoneshaper could speak to the mountain - make it take the shapes they wanted. I mean, how else would the Hall of Gereg ever have been built?”

“Centuries of labour?” Thorfinn offered.

“Nnno. They must’ve had something like these stones. In truth, my dear, we’re really just furthering the accomplishments of our ancestors by acquiring such artifacts, no?”

Thorfunn hummed. “I suppose.”

Ellinor grinned back and stepped up in front of her husband. “So, why don’t we send our son to find us some?”

“Which one of them?”
“Why, who else but your heir? Harald is young, untested and, worst of all, bored out of his mind. It would do him some good to get out and do something with his life, instead of wasting away inside that cave all day, waiting for us to die.”

Thorfinn furrowed his brow. “Ellinor, dear, we’re Underhall - descendants of the Brownbeards! We don’t go outside like those rascally Goldbeards would!”

Ellinor frowned and took her husband’s hands in her own. “Well, you said it yourself - for too long, have we waited underground. Maybe it’s time for certain traditions to make way for new ones?” Thorfinn wrinkled his nose. Ellinor sighed. “Besides, it’s clear that this stone didn’t come from inside the mountain. It originated from, well, somewhere outside. We cannot let it slip through our fingers just because of some old norms demand following.”

Thorfinn sighed. “Fine. Harald!”

While Ellinor struggled to contain her excitement, the young dwarf came over from some distance away, where he had been waiting with his siblings as was tradition. He knelt before his father and kept his eyes locked on the ground. “Yes, father?”

“You may rise. Your mother has request that we put you to work and I am in agreement.”

The gray shades of boredom drained the colour from Harald’s face. At this point, it was difficult to see whether he could control his rolling eyes or not. “Fine, what hole will I be inspecting this time?”

“Calm down, son - we’re not sending you into the caves.”

Harald blinked. “What? Wait, what’s this?”

Thorfinn pointed down to the mountain path leading to the valleys below. “Gather your closest friends and ten of the warchief’s men. You can take what supplies we can spare, but expect to live off of nature’s bounty for the most part. Be on the lookout for anything - our kind has always fared poorly above ground.”

“B-but where am I going?” Harald asked uncertainly.

“You are going to find us more wish stones - as many as you can carry with you back home.” Thorfinn placed a hand on Harald’s shoulder, who seemed to feel its weight to be way greater than it actually was. “You will be the cornerstone in our people’s restoration to greatness.”

Harald blinked again and nodded wordlessly. Some time passed before he could formulate works again, “Y-yes, father. I w-will bring glory to the Underhalls! Thank you for this!”

“Make us proud, son,” Ellinor said warmly and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek.

An hour later, the lad and his escort had begun to descend the mountain, heading for the untamed valleys below.

A) "Gather the others and let us search the buildings. Let none say we were afraid of some empty houses. If there is a threat to the clan we will bring it to the elders. Better bring Mukdrak and Runda as well, at worst they will make fools of themselves, but if there is anything.. beyond our world hiding here they may fare better than us in finding it." Grimtak told his companion, practically ordering him.

Gathered on the lakeside the orcs took their first real break in ages, most among them had spent their entire lives running and fighting, the only exception being those born in chains. They had always pushed on, driven by anger and desperation, leaving no time for doubts or reflection. Finally they had what they desired, peace and a land to call their own, with neither the whips of elves or war on their backs. Yet it left them restless and without direction. Their new lives however could not wait and their restlessness soon boiled over into a burst of activity as they set to making temporarily shelter in the woods and spread out around the lake, fishing and scouring the land in disorganised groups to fill their bellies.

F) Rokar in turn gathered a group to start working the forest, felling trees out of which to make fishing spears and the basis of other tools, materials for more permanent shelter as well as clear room for common spaces and future buildings.

Lizardmen villagers continued to work away, constructing the huts, shelters, and fishing docks. The buildings that were not already done would be finished within the next day. Scouts returned, telling stories of massive sculptures and ancient ruins. By the next hour, these ruins became the talk of the village. Patrol parties, hunting parties, and scout groups were now often sent to investigate the strange buildings.

"Scout the surrounding lands. See if there are more of these ruins. Find out what they are and who built them... They do look old, but we may have neighboring civilizations close by. Gak'vahn! Take your finest warriors and supplies. Search far and wide, and do not return until the third full moon sets, or until you have found another settlement. In the meantime, gather the hunters... Its time for another Kal'vah!" Thrall announced to his council. "Very well... I will take 30 of my people into the wilderness..." Gak'vahn replied. "As for the rest of you... Call the tribe out for the hunt." Thrall commanded. With that, the council meeting was finished.

Outside, nearly the whole village prepared for the Razathian tradition. The Kal'vah is a special event. Nearly the entire tribe gathers for a mass hunting, taking down a large amount of wildlife in a wide radius around the tribes territory. Most of the Wildlife is chased off, but will return in the following months or in the next season. After the massive hunt, the tribe feasts on their kills and saves the leftovers. After the feast, the tribe would greatly ration their supplies until the Wildlife returns. Razathian tribes normally begin the mass hunting if food supplies are direly low, or for preparation of another event.

Most of the Lizardmen tribe gathered in the center of the village. All of them were carrying weapons. Most began to speak prayers to each-other, themselves, and the creatures they would soon hunt. Hunting groups with 10-16 Lizardmen spread out in a wild search of Wildlife to take down.

Turn 2

@Bright_Ops



@Lauder



@Dinh AaronMk


@Pirate

The Bloodhowl Clan

@CelesteEste



@Nate1008



@AdorableSaucer

All power demands sacrifice...

The old words that his former master had told him back when he was nothing more then a neophyte echoed in the darkened mind of Jasper Silverpine. The stone in his hand offered much in the way of raw power to be taken advantage of and used, but the... vision he had borne witness to suggested that the stone had secrets that he would need to come to understand before he attempted to delve to deeply. Still, he would keep it close at hand, safely contained if a sudden boost in raw power was required.

As the lock-box that would be the stone's new home was sealed and put away, another of his followers entered his quarters to bring to his attention a matter of mortal concern; While food was no longer a requirement for the undead, having -all- the local animals suffer from a wasting sickness was a serious problem that needed to be addressed and quickly. At first glance it seemed to be a matter of debating between pressing forward with the limited resources they had to try and salvage both herds at the same time in order to benefit the settlement in the long term but risk short term losses, or selecting one of the animals to focus efforts on... but as the Lord pondered the situation, a third option started to present itself to him that he normally wouldn't consider.

There were three major paths for a death knight when it came to magic. While they could access all three, part of the ritual of ascension required one of the three to become infused with your very core, so intertwined with your soul and physical body that it would allow you to defy even death itself. Some chose to embrace the icy chill of the grave and became masters of ice and snow, able to freeze their enemies bodies, minds and even souls. Others instead embraced the power of necromancy itself, becoming plague bearers able to unleash horrific melodies on their victims, as well as raise armies of lesser undead to lead into battle.

Lord Silverpine had embraced the path of Blood. While the layman saw it as a path of battle and death (and there was some justification for that), those who truly followed the path understood that it was a path of life and death. What made those who followed the path of blood so feared was that they fed off the life energy of their enemies and victims, using it to heal and empower themselves even as they moved on to the next foe to meet them in battle and left broken bodies in their wake. Plus he had wanted to test out the extent of his empowered magic anyway...

Slowly, a cruel looking smile started to slowly appear on Lord Silverpine's face. Turning his gaze to the servant whom had informed him of the situation and had politely waited in silence for the Lord's answer, Jasper gave an order. "The animals you have gathered so far. I want the herders to search through them and select two goats and two boars that are the strongest and healthiest of their respective herds, as well as two of the weakest and sickest of both. Secure the rest of the animals together and have those four restrained so they cannot move outside of the pens. I will be informed once this is done. Do not let me detain you."

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Things did not take long to get organized. The stronger and healthier specimens of the boar and goats were generally more lively then their counterparts and were easy to spot, but the sad truth was they were still much weaker and smaller then a healthy member of their species should have been. Selecting two animals that were sicker and unlikely to recover was... something more of a challenge. Still, they were separated and restrained outside of the pens in which the rest of their herds were pinned together as per Lord Siverpine's request. A runner was sent... and the Lord appeared shortly afterwards.

The herders saw the look of annoyance on their Lord's face at the sight of the quality of the animals they had selected for him, but it seemed to lose some of the heat when he let his gaze look over the rest of the animals: While the lord was clearly annoyed by the what qualified as the 'strongest, healthiest' of the animals, this was the best that they had to work with and such a fact was clearly understood. Lord Silverpine gestured one of the herders over, but when he talked it was easy for all of them to hear. "We are going to require another 'healthy' boar. Annoying, but we work with the tools we have."

It took a little more time, but another boar was selected and brought out to join the other four. Only then did Lord Silverpine finally step forward. With a gesture, the herders backed away to give their lord some room. Pulling out a thin dirk, Lord Silverpine moved between the animals and repeated the same gesture: A quick thrust with the dirk into their side so that the blade sunk all the way to the hilt before pulling it out again and leaving a small, deep but non fatal wound. The animal would of course cry out in pain and struggle, but they were to weak and frail with sickness to risk breaking free of their bonds.

Once all the animals had been wounded in this fashion, the dirk was put away and Lord Silverpine took a stance in front of the pens that the herders had never seen before. For a moment, nothing seemed to be happening... at least until the restrained animals started to buck and move with renewed energy. At first nothing appeared to be wrong... until from each animal trails of what appeared to be... not blood, but the same red color without the texture of liquid started pour out of each of the wounds and float through the air before meeting and started to form a massive blood red ball that hovered in the air.

As more and more of the strange, blood red energy left the animals their struggles started to slow... then stopped completely as the trails finally ran dry and the sphere was fully formed, leaving the animals dead on the ground. Without a word, his eyes closed, Lord Silverpine gestured and seemed to push the orb so that it hovered out over both pens. At some unspoken signal, dozens of tendrils formed from the orb and zoomed out, each one connecting with a different goat or boar. While the animals were startled at first, their sickly nature prevented much in the way of outcry... but those witnessing what was happening could see the red energy from the sphere being funneled into the animals.

As the orb started to shrink, the animals in the pens started to look... well, healthier. A new strength and vitality that had not been there before was starting to emerge, giving the sick and frail a proper fighting case at recovery and giving the herders efforts to nurse the herds back to health a much needed head start. Once the orb finally ran empty and disappeared completely, Lord Silverpine simply turned to walk away as his ritual was complete. "Tend to them both. These animals are ours now." was all he said as he departed.