[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/YW5kpkR.png[/img] [h2]New Arrivals[/h2][/center] [hr] Sawing. Hewing. Scraping. A cacophony of woodworking noise filled the air in and around the workshop; a large lumber yard comprised of two work huts, a storage shed for the important and expensive crafts, and two outdoor shelters for worked and unworked wood respectively. The source of many a complaint even from other loudworks in the modest district outside of Fragrance proper, and tonight was no different. Despite proper precautions and years of experience with woodworking, each laborer felt the discomfort of their loud environment - each motion of their pristine new two-man copper saw was like a ripple of unease shooting through their bodies after forcing its way through their meager ear protection. That was before one considered things like the ever present film of sawdust on all surfaces, splinters and the musky smell of wood that truly needed no effort to overpower other smells. No sane nelf chose carpentry willingly, let alone a lumber yard. It was guaranteed to be sweaty, loud and smelly. Tonight was different. A gentle rumble of wood and planks offered an early warning, though only one of the working men noticed anything. With the rumble came an innocuous scent; peach trees and fresh meadows lingered in the air, inviting each in turn to avert their mind from work. As a collective, the laborers slowly paused in their work as more and more of them confusedly moved to identify the source of this new fragrant smell. They gathered in a group and discussed what they smelt in low voices, barely audible thanks to their ear-wear. That's when the second rumble struck, and the entire shelter full of processed wood rattled angrily. With the rattle came a new waft of scents, more intense than the first and entirely enticing to these men who had been ruined by sawdust and muck. The planks began to shake and rattle with increased fervor, yet a strange combination of fear, curiosity and allure seemed to hold enough sway over the gathered nelves that none found the courage to leave. This second rumble did not seem not to dissipate, rather the very ground beneath the shelter rapidly tore open as they stood silent in awe. One by one, pieces of wood fell away from the bottom, vanishing down into an ever greater rift stretching itself in every direction. Finally, the entire heap of wood toppled into the hole, leaving nothing but a view into the otherworldly rift that had torn itself open over the ground. Beyond it lay the source of the scents; blooming pink trees and colourful strange plants in a grandiose forest. It was brighter than the Fragrancian night, yet it didn’t hurt their eyes nor strain their sight. The fallen planks and logs seized in the air beneath the rift, arranging themselves like a steep staircase. A few of the nelves grew wary, ushering their comrades to move away. It was no use; already a few among them were daring enough to take a few steps forwards to glean a better view into the rift. They did not have to wait long. Solid, heavy steps slapped against the floating staircase, and a shape grew into view as it ascended the makeshift stairs. It was a nelf, though it only truly looked like one at a second glance, drowned in ratty vestments and a travelling cloak that appeared to have seen it’s fair bit of use. Its skin was a little too light to be attractive, and the clothes masked any defining features, making it difficult to identify even their gender. Only their face was visible, and even then a hood masked most of their features from being illuminated by the vague moonlight and being more than basic shapes to the darksighted nelves. The visitor from another land stepped up on the last plank before stopping to stare at the assembled crowd in silence. For a few moments, stares were exchanged in silence, before the hooded visitor took another step and walked into the world properly. Their hands lifted slowly, crooked and worn fingers not unlike an aged crone’s withered fingers or the talons of a bird, pointing towards the spiralling rift in the ground with a floating staircase to the blooming land beyond. Lips parted, and though the words were barely spoken out loud, their sound pierced through ear-wear and distance alike, burrowing into the laborers’ ears. It was a strange and unpleasant language entirely foreign to the land, yet they each understood what was said. It called to them, and imparted a beckoning demand that could not be refused. [i]A new life awaits with the Goddess. Go to her.[/i] No arguments or protests arose among the gathered. After a few seconds of hesitation, the eldest among the men took the first step towards the portal, silently moving past the newly arrived visitor to descend the steps into another land. Bolstered by his action, other laborers began to follow suit. One by one, they descended the steps dutifully, transfixed by the strange words and the world below. As the head of the last laborer dipped below the edge, the rift began to ripple and shift, and within moments it faded from view gradually until only earth and dirt remained, wiped in a crisp circle that hinted at its alien presence. The visitor stared at the portal until it had closed in its entirety, then simply began to walk away from the site and towards the rest of the loudwork district. With no one left to work the yard or observe what had occurred, the lumber yard fell silent. [hr] Not many were willing to pay the unnamed drifter idling through the city any heed. They didn't smell right, looked run-down, and didn't seem particularly worthy of a second glance from the few that took brief interest. As such, few noticed the idle vandalism - weather-worn fingers painting small symbols on each structure it passed, hidden from view or in the strangest of places. Old, ancient runes of no real meaning beyond basic words and concepts of love and sin. Symbols given power not by their inherent worth, but by the figure of divinity now drawing them into creation. People would discover them with time. Not many would care, fewer still would dare to touch them save to wash them away. The few that traced the lines or spoke the words - though how they would accomplish such did not occur to the drifter - would be its disciples. The simple knowledge imparted by each symbol would be enlightenment enough to push them down a path of self-discovery by pushing them to indulge in their vices. Whatever meager bit of divinity they received would help them on their quest. For hours and days, it seemed to be all the drifter did, walking during day and night alike to paint the structures of Fragrance. When the nelven populace began to take note, the streets were bereft of the traveling vandal once more. [hr] Upon a field outside the city proper the drifter found itself face to face with it's most uncanny opponent yet. It was a crude wooden effigy dressed with hay and ragged clothes. The drifter examined its own clothes for comparison and realized what a cheapskate its creator was. Given the blazing sun above, no nelves were present to watch the duel of wits take place, and gave the drifter ample chance to undress and swap the clothes on the effigy with its own. Having sated it's own need for fashion, it set to work doing its creator's bidding. The goddess cared not how the mortals below were coaxed out of their moral and traditionalist shells, only that it happened without apparent involvement from her. So the drifter, joined on its journey only by a voiceless wooden effigy stuck in the ground, glanced around to cook up it's own master plan. It gathered all it had learned from viewing the township, its people, and listening to those who'd clicked their tongues in earshot. It didn't take an avatar to figure out where the base of their society was quite literally rooted. So the drifter lifted its hands in the air, flexing talon-like fingers as it focused the goddess' essence. The morning air grew heavy and hot, no doubt troubling a few easily stirred sleepers. With a single moment of intense focus, a small whirlpool of energy grew in the creatures' hands, and then dispersed into the air to be carried away on the wind. The crops would grow plentiful and rich. Those that already had the most would see the greatest boon, while those who struggled would see no benefit at all. If any of what the goddess had imparted on the drifter was correct, the nelves would take care of the rest themselves. Content with itself, the traveler wandered onwards, leaving the effigy behind with a new set of clothes. [hr] [hider=Summary] A portal to Neiya's realm opens in a lumber yard in Fragrance. From it comes a hooded traveler that assumes the form of an elf. This is Neiya's new avatar, a shapeshifter of sin and vice. It convinces the witnesses to enter the portal and visit Neiya, and the portal closes behind them. The avatar walks off to other adventures. It resurfaces in Fragrance proper, where it paints divine glyphs on the walls of buildings. Those who 'activate' the glyphs will become empowered into a new order of sinners. Finally, the avatar visits the fields outside Fragrance, where it trades clothes with a pre-modern scarecrow and blesses Fragrance's fields with an odd blessing; those who already own and grow a lot will see even greater returns. This, it hopes, will rattle the region into action. [/hider] [hider=MP/DP] Neiya start: 4/4 -3 MP - Created an avatar: The Drifter -1 MP - Opened a portal to Fragrance -0 MP - Commanded loyalty from a small group of workers. (reduced with Devotion) -2 DP - Created Holy Order; Unseen Council Clandestine Affinities II: (Members of the Council are initiated in the skills required to keep themselves in the shadows, and excel at disguise work, sneaking, and camouflage. They are able to hide in plain sight in crowded areas, and are excellent at pulling vanishing tricks. ) Free with Cunning Portfolio Black-hearted Knaves II: (The symbols of power have imparted each member with a weak divine capability related to their strongest vices. This could take the shape of attractive pheromones, increased strength while angry, or whipping a crowd into a fervor with proud and spiteful rhetoric. These powers are varied and are on average no more than tricks, though skilled members are more dangerous. ) -2 DP - Blessed Fragrance with a "blessing" of Greed: All fields provide more produce and harvests proportional to the size of the owners crops: more land = more bountiful harvests, already struggling = no extra harvest. ( 3/5 Greed ) End: 0/0 3/5 Pride 3/5 Greed 1/5 Lust [/hider]