He stood alone in a forest, nature surrounding him on all sides. He was back on Kalgrun, he realized. How he had gotten there, he did not know. He looked down to see that his cloak and weapons were gone; he was dressed in furs. What had happened?
"This is life. I made you so you could experience it. In order to experience it, you must survive. And in order to survive, you must be able to defend yourself." The voice was familiar. Someone he had met before. Who was it? What was his name?
The stick caught him in the back of the head, but he felt no pain. He fell to his hands and knees. He remained there for a moment, and then pushed himself back up on shaky legs, brushing the dirt off.
A torrent of water appeared as if from nowhere, and swept him away. The ground seemed to vanish, and all he could do was flail about, desperately searching for something - anything - to grab onto.
“You escaped your birthplace with a certain vigor as ignorant as it may be and devised an insurmountable plan.”
Another familiar voice, this one he recognized well enough. ”Diana?” he burbled. Then he felt his hand catch the edge of something, and he pulled himself up, above the water and onto a black umbrella. Yes, this he knew. It was how he had escaped from… what was that place called? And why had he escaped? His clothes had changed now. He was no longer wearing furs. Instead, he had a suit. Wait, didn’t that come later-
Then suddenly his surroundings changed, and the umbrella became an obsidian platform in the midst of a forest. What platform, and what forest, he did not know. An unknown voice whispered to him to find his own basket. What did that mean? An orb lay nearby. He picked it up, looked into it, and bristled at the sight - savage, humanoid beasts devouring a child.
Suddenly, he was lying on a different platform, one much larger, and made of stone. It floated in an empty void. There were pillars at the edges, a raised throne in the center, and above that, a mirror. Once more he rose to his feet, and standing before him was misshapen woman with odd sticks protruding from her eyes.
”Vrog?” he asked, confused.
“There is a power recently discovered by a child of gods. Money, energy flowing through all of Galbar, its Spheres and the gods that made them. It is made manifest through the elements of fire, water, earth and air and, should you learn to manipulate money, you can bend these elements as you will.” lectured the one Karamir believed was Vrog.
Wait… this wasn’t…
Now he was in a library. Karamir had never seen one before, yet somehow he knew what it was. The shelves were lined with books. He walked down an aisle, and plucked one at random. Runes appeared across the page. “Why does your existence matter?” it asked.
”Why does it matter?” he asked aloud, and then a sword pierced his back. Now he had his cloak and robe. A tall woman in black armour stood before him, a wicked smile on her face. Laurien, he somehow knew, as he fell to his knees, feeling a sense of betrayal that left him both hurt and enraged. ”Why?” he demanded.
”A secret,” was all she said.
He coughed blood, then Laurien flicked her wrist. Something broke inside him, and then he was falling forward…
...and upward.
Karamir jolted awake, sucking in a desperate breath as he frantically looked at his surroundings.
”Karamir! Karamir! It’s okay! Just breath, breath! You’re safe here.” came a sweet voice. She stood in front of him, a strange being, one vaguely familiar. Her arms were just above him, almost as if she had been, at one point, holding him down.
Karamir sat up, wincing as a dull pain struck his side, and a hand went for his weapon, only to find it gone, but he still wore his cloak. His shirt had been removed, someone had changed him into a pair of white pants, and he was lying in a bed. Karamir recalled what he had been doing before this, and thoughts of alarm surged through his head. He looked up at the familiar stranger. ”Who are you?” he demanded, eyes narrowing.
”I-It’s me… Arya. Don’t you remember?” Arya said, taking on a concerned look.
”No, I don’t,” he said, expression shifting to confusion. He felt a faint itch in the back of his head, but ignored it. ”How did I get here?” he asked.
Arya sat down on the side of the bed and sighed. ”That’s… Well…” she cleared her throat, ”What do you remember last?”
”I was fighting, I was stabbed, and then I was fleeing,” he answered rather bluntly. ”So how did I get here?”
”As far as I can tell… Your cloak brought you here on a will of its own, unconscious and dying. With his Holiness Shengshi’s help, we were able to heal you, but…” she grew silent.
”But what?” Karamir asked, before adding. ”And who is Shengshi?”
”Shengshi is a God, just like Kalmar, do you remember him?” Arya asked, avoiding his first question.
”No,” Karamir answered, furrowing his brow. ”You say ‘remember’ like I met him before, but I never did.”
”Karamir… Who do you remember?” she asked.
”What do you mean?” His confusion seemed to deepen. ”Do you want my life story?”
”Yes.” she said simply.
”I was… I was…” he scrunched his eyebrows together even further. ”Fighting someone on a beach. Then he told me to leave. I travelled through a forest. I don’t know how long. Somehow a river washed me into the ocean, and I ended up on an umbrella in the middle of the ocean with a woman called Diana. She… did things to me. Nightmares, and tricks… there are gaps, but it went on for years… then she was taking me somewhere. After that I remember walking through a different forest, with a brown bird, and then… I met Chopstick… no, Vrog… wait… neither of those are right…”
He closed his eyes and put his hands against his temples as a headache began to come on. ”I… I… no, none of this makes sense.”
A small hand fell upon his and Arya smiled at him softly. ”It’s okay. Just relax, take a deep breath.”
”What did you do to me?” he asked, his voice half-accusatory and half-panic.
”Oh Karamir.” she said, a tear falling down her cheek. ”I didn’t do anything to you.”
”You said you healed me but,” Karamir countered. ”What went wrong?”
”Your soul was decayed.” she said, looking to the floor. ”It explains why your memories are gone or scrambled. I’m-I’m so sorry, Karamir.” she said, her voice breaking.
”Decayed?” he asked, sounding shocked. ”How? I…” then recollection struck him. He lowered his hands and clenched them into fists. ”Laurien…” he hissed through grit teeth, a cold fury in his voice.
”Yes… Laurien hurt you. But we are going to fix your soul, okay? A plan is already in motion. We just have to find my father and he can heal you.” Arya said.
Karamir did not seem to hear her. ”Where is she?” he asked. ”And where is my weapon?”
"I don't know where she is." Arya began, "But I do know that you aren't leaving here in your condition. So sit down." she said in a stern voice.
The latter part was because while she was talking, Karamir had tried to stand up. He grimaced as a hand fell to his scar, and then grunted in response to her words. ”I can walk,” he protested.
"I don't doubt your ability to walk but please, don't over exert yourself." she said.
With a sigh, he sat back down. His memories were in disarray, his soul was decayed, he still felt traces of pain from his old wound, and who knows what else about him had changed? He looked up at Arya. ”You seemed surprised that I didn’t remember you…” he recalled. ”How did we know each other?”
"This is actually the first time we've met, physically. A long time ago we shared a dream and danced, but never again." she said with a sad smile.
That answer disappointed him. ”So we didn’t know each other very well,” he said, eyes downcast. ”How much can you tell me about what I’ve forgotten?”
Arya shook her head. ”I… I’m sorry. I don’t know a lot about you to be honest. I know that you were created by Kalmar, God of the Hunt along time ago and that you wandered Kalgrun for a time before being with… Diana for even longer. Then you were physically at the Palace of Dreams, home to K’nell, god of sleep. You must have left some point and eventually found yourself upon the Dragon’s Foot.”
”My earliest memory,” Karamir said, thinking back, ”Is of a man wearing furs and a moustache beating me with a stick for nine days, and then leaving me to fend for myself. Was that Kalmar?” he asked, a bitter edge in his voice.
”He… Beat you with a stick?” Arya said angrily.
Karamir nodded, feeling anger rise within himself as well. ”That’s what I remember. I had a stick too, but how was I supposed to win against a god?” He shook his head. ”Doesn’t matter. Some day, after my soul is repaired, I’ll figure out how to become a god too.”
Arya balled her fists before breathing out heavily. ”Beating a god is foolish… but becoming one? It’s never been done.”
”That doesn’t mean it can’t be done,” Karamir pointed out. ”The gods we have now, didn’t they all come from somewhere?”
”They came from beyond the barrier, by the Architect himself, Karamir. He rules this universe. To become a god is… Basically unheard of. The effort, whatever it would be, would probably kill a mortal.” she said grimly.
”And how do you know that?” Karamir asked her.
”How do I know what?” she said crossing her arms.
”That it would be fatal,” Karamir said.
”Look at yourself. You got stabbed, then had your soul flayed, by a mortal. You seriously can’t think it would be easier than that?”
”I don’t expect it to be easy,” Karamir said with a slight shake of his head. Her pessimism was beginning to annoy him, and they had strayed off topic. ”When we met in the ‘Palace’,” he began, trying to get the discussion back on track, ”What did I do? What did I say?”
”We danced, and talked. Mostly about myself.” she said quietly.
”And did I say anything about myself?” Karamir asked. ”What I wanted, where I was going, anything I had learned?”
”I...I can’t remember. You may have wanted to travel the world and learn all you could.” she said solemnly.
”Sounds like something I’d want. Some good it did me,” he sighed. ”Do you know who Abanoc is?”
”The God of… Of… Uh.. Recording. Yeah, recording. Never met him.” she shrugged.
”I don’t remember meeting him either,” Karamir said, ”but I must have at some point. Laurien attacked me when I suggested going to him for help.”
”So that’s why…” she tipped her head.
”Do you know anything about Laurien?” he asked next. ”Who she is, what secret she was trying to hide, why she thought killing someone who offered to help her was the best way to hide it?” He could not hide the anger in that last question.
She turned to him, her expression conveying brokenness. ”She’s my sister. The secret she did not want revealed, was that she stabbed Orvus and then did something with him. Where he is, no one knows. I’m… Truly sorry for what she did to you.”
”If you didn’t have a hand in it, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Karamir told her. ”As for Laurien, if she likes to stab people, I think it’s time someone returned the favour. When I’m recovered, I’ll teach her the importance of following her own advice.”
She suddenly jumped and said, ”No! No… She’s my sister. I’ll deal with her.”
Karamir frowned and gave her a skeptical look, but decided to let the topic slide for now. ”How long before my soul can be… repaired?” he asked instead.
”I wish I had more answers, instead of telling I don’t know… But that’s that. We have to find Orvus… Arryn is currently out looking for him and… The one likely place he could be… Kalmar is going, for better or for worse. The world… It’s under siege right now.” she said, crossing over to the window, and opening the curtains. The land was dark, a storm lay in the distance, pierced by balls of fire.
Karamir grit his teeth and stood, walking up behind her. ”Is this place safe?” he asked her.
”Relatively… I think. The Marble Star is probably safer but you were asleep, and I did not want to move you.” Arya said, staring out at the sky.
”So I’m stuck here until Orvus is found, and all this,” he gestured out the window, ”is over.” he sighed.
”Have faith, Karamir. We will fix you, and we will fix all of this, and then we will find Laurien and… Punish her accordingly.” she said, her voice wavering.
He reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder. ”I’m sorry if my words were too harsh,” he said, not truly feeling sorry but instead recognizing the need to remain on good terms with her. ”If there’s so much I forgot about the world, then I need someone to help me remember. Can you help with that?” he pleaded.
She turned to him and smiled faintly, ”Of course… Come on, I’m sure you’re hungry.” she said sweetly.
Karamir smiled back. It was not a genuine smile, because although the answer was pleasing, he simply couldn’t find it inside him to be happy - he only felt a hollow emptiness where the emotion should be. ”Where is my weapon, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She pointed to a shelf on the far wall, before walking off. ”Come downstairs, when you’re ready. You’ll find some clothes underneath your weapon too.” she said, tilting her head, before walking down the stairs.
Karamir has a bad dream, in which he relives past events, but they are scrambled, or out of order, or some details are missing. Then he wakes up, and Arya is there. She reveals what happened to him. They begin to talk a bit. It turns out Karamir has lost much of his memory, has reverted back to his old ambition of becoming a god, and has lost much of his emotional capability, all of it being due to Laurien’s soul decay. Arya tells him to wait until Orvus is found, and in the meantime Karamir asks if she can help him remember things. She says yes.
Will Karamir regain his memories? Will his soul decay ever be cured? How many Nebulites groped him in his sleep? Will Zee finally write one of these summaries himself instead of forcing NF to do it? Stay tuned.
Arya: The Learner, The Martial Dancer, The Compassionate, The Wanderer, The Teacher, The Sailor, Last of the Zhengwu, Swordmaster, Lady of the Eye +8 Prestige Starting +1 For Major Role +1 For Minor Role +1 For Jolly Collaboration = +11 Prestige Ending
Karamir: The First of the Vallamir, the Wizard. Caster of Violent Wind, Rushing Water, and Mend Clothes. Beginning Prestige: 17 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. +1 for collab. Ending Prestige: 20
“Checkmate, Your Lordship,” He Bo said with a half-smirk.
The snake frowned. This new game his master servant had made was most definitely rigged against anything divine. It had to be, for he dared not imagine the alternative.
“... I thought you said the pawn could only attack diagonally.”
“This servant did, indeed, Your Lordship,” He Bo replied dutifully as he began to pack up the board. The snake picked up one of the pieces and held it out.
“Then answer me this - why did you take my queen earlier with a forward assault using this piece?”
“Because that is a rook, Your Lordship. Those may move and attack in straight directions.”
The snake eyed the piece closer and huffed. “I swear, you must have carved these so they resemble one another on purpose…”
“If this servant’s skill in woodworking is insufficient, then it shall engage its every resource into improving it in the future, Your Lordship,” said the master servant politely as he put the lid on the wicker basket holding the pieces. The snake pursed his lips, lifted the lid and put the piece inside.
“No, no, your skill is quite sufficient, worthy one…” There was a pause. “... But really, two steps forward and one to the side? What sort of cavalry move is that?”
“It’s meant to simulate flanking, Your Lordship,” replied He Bo calmly.
“It is meant to simulate flanking, muh-muh...” the snake muttered sourly. He Bo snickered quietly.
“Would there be anything else, Your Lordship, or should this servant bring His Lordship’s guzheng?”
“No, that would be all. You may bring me my harp. I need to cool off a little.”
“Right away, Your Lordship,” He Bo said with a deep bow before walking off with the basket of pieces.
The snake sat grumbling to himself. “... Did I really just lose a game to a mortal? Is that even possible?” He looked up at the sky. “You left me unfinished, great lord Architect!” he muttered dramatically and sighed.
“Beaten by a--”
His nose caught scent - an odd scent; it was a scent of multiple layers: divine, mortal, bloody. It brought him to the railing of his veranda, where his divine eyes began to scan the surrounding clouds.
“... What are you?”
His gaze settled on a red dot in the distant sky, slowly but surely growing larger as it streaked toward his vessel at an alarming speed.
The snake stared hard eyes at the incoming dot, trying to make sense of the visual and olfactory sensations to paint a picture of what exactly he was seeing.
Then, just before it could crash into one of the towers, it came to a sudden stop. For half a second, a vaguely familiar Vallamir of brown-and-white hair dangled in the air, wearing a peculiar cloak crafted from red feathers, and beneath that a mundane grey robe. Those were not the most striking details, however. No, his eyes were closed, the cloak and his hands were stained with blood, and a Nebulite blade had been impaled through his back.
A single drop of blood fell from the man, and splashed on Shengshi’s deck. Then, once again, he began to move - as if the cloak was dragging him. He maneuvered around the tower, and then once again sped off, continuing his course.
The snake cocked his head to the side. He leaned down, dipped a finger in the blood on his deck and placed the finger on his two-tipped tongue.
“Kalmarian essence…” He smacked his lips. “... With a slight Orvusian hint… Yet something is a little off about it.” There was a pause. “He Bo!”
“Yes, Your Lordship?” said the master servant as if he had simply materialised out of thin air.
“Have the ship follow that man,” the snake demanded.
“His Lordship’s holy might steers the ship, Your Lordship,” He Bo reminded politely. The snake huffed.
“I, I know that… It just sounds so much better when an order is given.”
“So it does, Your Lordship.”
With that, the Jiangzhou set off after Karamir’s unconscious flying body.
Arya sat in her kitchen table, arms folded loosely in her lap. Her chair was in front of a low window, but she did not look outside. At least, she didn’t see what was going on. It was hard to tell on a Nebulite, but she was extremely drained. Her face expressed a profound emptiness, her body was slumped, and she was tired. So tired. Yet, she did not want to sleep. Because sleep was a temptation, and Paradise, even if she went there, could offer her no solutions that she hadn’t thought of herself.
Her mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts, chiefly about Ashalla’s arrival. Her father had not abandoned them, or even if he had, he had been hurt. By who? Who could do such a thing to another? And why had Laurien left? Did she know? Was she sworn to secrecy? Was she threatened? None of it was adding up.
After Ashalla left, she immediately called out for Orvus, but the only thing she recieved was silence. And it was that silence that crushed her spirits. It all came crashing down, a wave of emptiness. Her sword was corrupting her, her father had been injured or worse, Laurien was gone, those she felt comfortable with asking for help, were dead. They were dead. And she couldn’t tell them anything, there was no point. Those she could tell, could also do nothing about it.
She wanted to go find Laurien, she did, but then who would watch over the Eye? Who would make it safe? Her Knights were only equipped with stones. They could do nothing to those that she was beginning to fear most. Ashalla had frightened her. Never before had she met such a being who casually saw her as little more than nothing. How could she show such little compassion?
Then there was the fact that the other gods were trying to figure out an alternative to the Pyres and she sat with the key. How could K’nell do that? It just made her sad. And so she did not leave her house, even when her family came to check on her. She had to lie, say she felt ill, that she needed to be left alone. It broke her further, but she did not feel like doing anything about it. What was the point? Why drag anyone else into it? Why bring them sadness, when she could keep it, and try to get over it herself?
A single black tear fell down her face, landing on hand, before rolling into her gown.
There was a sudden movement in the window at the corner of her eye. The fluttering of wings, and a light scraping against wood. She turned her head slowly to the noise, expecting nothing more than a stray gardener that hit the window.
It was not a stray, it was not a gardener, and it had not hit the window. But it was a bird… and it was familiar.
Arryn stared back at her, and wordlessly inclined his head.
She stared at Arryn for what felt like forever, before remembering that she had been told by Myra that the avatar was on his way. And now, he was right there. Perched on the window sill. She felt something stir inside her, a warmth blossoming from her chest. A flood of tears began to pour down her face as she got up, falling to her knees as she opened the window. Without saying anything she gently snatched the bird up into her arms and turned around to lean up against the wall as she cried and stroked his head.
”O-Oh Arry.” she choked out.
There was a time when Arryn would have resisted such an embrace. He would have swiftly fought his way free, and then replied with a glare, or a stern reprimand.
Instead, his own eyes began to shimmer, and his wings extended to wrap around her.
”I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” she said over and over again, her voice small, reminiscent of her youth. As she continued to hug him and stroked his head, he said nothing, but his wings tightened and he pressed his head harder against her.
”I missed you. I missed you so much. But I was afraid you hated me. I’m so sorry Arryn. I should have tried to see you sooner. I should have-” she broke down again, her voice failing. There were no words that could truly explain what she felt.
I… Arryn tried to begin, his own voice, even telepathically, in no better shape. Me too… was all he could say.
The two held each other for a very long time, saying nothing but living in the moment as they reunited. Arya’s tears became less and less as she calmed down. It had been forever since she had seen her first friend, and she never wanted to feel so sad again.
She then said in a raw voice, ”I’m glad you’re here, Arryn.”
I am glad too, the bird said, having calmed down as well. I… please don’t tell anybody I acted like this. Not even Kalmar, he requested, a mild treachery.
Arya chuckled softly, [color=ivory]”Arryn… You shouldn’t be ashamed of your emotions… But okay, I won’t tell anyone.”[color] she cooed.
You’ve changed, the bird noted. It has been a long time…
”I… I grew up Arry. You didn’t think I’d remain a child forever did you?” she smiled warmly.
All creatures do change over time, it’s true… Arryn conceded. What happened to you since… his voice trailed off.
”It’s… It’s a long story…” Arya said sadly. ”But after you left… I learned from Shengshi.” she said again, telling him her entire life story. They did not move from where they sat, and as the sun began to set, Arya still continued on, telling Arryn of her travels, and the people she met, and of Tendlepog and everything else in between. ”...And that leads us to now.” she said as the chorus of night filtered in through the window. ”You came when I needed you most.”
I see why you were sad, Arryn said, after listening to it all. I’m supposed to seek out the Vallamir here, but… is there anything I can do to help?
”This doesn’t seem right to ask, only just getting you back… But I need to know where my father went and you, are one of the only ones that I know that could track him.” she said softly.
I… he began, but then seemed to hesitate. I can try, he offered. But first I need to complete my task. I have to speak to the Vallamir. After that, I can help.
”Of course Arryn. Seeing them is your first priority, but… Tomorrow. They’ll be sleeping now.” she said with a smile.
Arryn nodded. Very well, he said.
Morning came, and Arryn had decided to commandeer Arya’s house for the meeting with Vallamir. There, he told them of Kalmar, what would be expected of them should they agree to come, and what they would find on the continent itself - both its dangers, and its bounties. The majority had already left, deciding they would prefer to stay on the Eye.
Only four remained, Myra among them, shifting with uncertainty. They asked their questions, while Arya waited outside, occasionally overhearing snippets. Stories of large beasts, lush forests, a temple, some sort of weapon called a sling, and frost giants.
Whatever her own thoughts were, they were soon interrupted by a light wumph! as a figure landed on the ground in front of her. He lay on his side, his back to her, all except his unkempt brown hair obscured obscured by a cloak of red feathers.
She jumped in her chair screaming from the fright as she looked at the body of the man suddenly before her. When he did not move, Arya’s brow furrowed and she rushed to the side of him. She fell to her knees behind him, noticing the sword that was embedded in his flesh. The hilt was… strangely reminiscent of herself, so was the blade. She peered over his side, using on of her hands, she brought his head up and moved his hair away from his face with her other hand.
Her eyes went wide as she realized that the familiar face was… Karamir? He was taller than she remembered, and part of his hair was now white, but there was no mistaking him. His eyes were closed, his clothes were ragged. His front, back, and both of his hands were stained with red and white blood. ”Di… Diana…” he murmured.
The door to the house flew open, and out came the four remaining Vallamir, Arryn among them. He landed on the grass in front of Karamir, took one look at the man, and then up at Arya. What happened? he demanded.
She looked up at Arryn and was bewildered. ”I have no idea, he just landed here like this. He’s got a sword embedded in him, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. He needs help Arryn.” Arya said quickly, checking Karamir’s forehead. He was burning up.
He’s dying, came Arryn’s immediate diagnosis. Get him inside, cover and put pressure on his wounds, and leave that sword in - it might be all that is holding his guts together. Move! This last word was directed at the motionless Vallamir who stood between Arya and her house. They quickly moved out of the way, and Myra went to the end of his body so that she could lift up his feet while Arya carried the shoulders.
They went quickly, placing him on the kitchen table exactly how he was, on his side. Arya began ripping her dress in strips and applying them around the sword as she put pressure on them. ”Arryn, what do we do. I-I’ve never dealt with this sort of injury before.” Arya said flustered.
Myra was wrapping a cloth around Karamir’s sliced hand. Arryn, perched on the edge of the table, walked forward and stopped just before the blade. He extended his wings, and a look of deep concentration passed over him for a few moments… then he nearly collapsed. I lack the power to save him… the bird conceded reluctantly. Keep applying pressure. I’m going to find out what happened. And with those words the bird stalked over to Karamir’s head.
A pit formed in her stomach. Arryn couldn’t save him? How were they going to…? She tried to think if there was anyway, or anything that she knew of that could help Karamir and her mind came up with nothing. She didn’t have the skills of a healer, and she grew angry at the fact she couldn’t just fix him. She barely even knew Karamir outside of their dream, and yet, seeing him like this…
His soul has been partly decayed… Arryn observed, sounding shocked. By an unnatural force. His memories are in chaos. The bird then began to recite what he could make out, almost as if the images were flashing through his mind as he spoke. He found a settlement in a desert… he accepted a drink from their leader… she attacked him... he fought some Nebulites… their leader waved a hand… then he felt pain, and emptiness…
Arryn shook his head. That is all I can see. Does any of this mean something to you? he asked Arya.
There would only be Nebulites in a desert if… Her heart began to sink. She didn’t want it to be true, it couldn’t be… But she had to know. ”Arryn… What did the leader look like?” she asked forlornly.
”Reee… in…” Karamir suddenly breathed as Arryn went back into his memories. Tall, black skin, shining hair, black armour, and a sword not too different from your own. Arryn observed. Is that your sister?
”No no no!” That’s not… That’s not Laurien. That’s not her. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t do that…” Arya cried out. How could Laurien do such a thing? What prompted her to hurt Karamir? She felt her heart break again, but she breathed in and then out. This was not the time. Karamir needed their help and she wasn’t going to let those thoughts consume her.
”Arryn. We need to do something here!” Arya said sternly, applying more pressure.
There is a Selka Tribe on Atokhekwoi, Arryn revealed, Who know how to infuse water with magic, and use that to heal injuries. I will go there. I do not know how long it will take, but if you can keep him alive until I bring one of them back, there might be a chance.
She gritted her teeth and reluctantly nodded her head, ”Go! Fly fast! I’ll… I’ll pray to Kalmar. Maybe he can help.” Arya said quickly.
Arryn had already flown out the window.
She began to speak out loud, ”Kalmar! Karamir needs you, he’s been hurt. Please!”
The snake sneered at the growing blot in the sea that he knew was the Eye. He clicked his forked tongue disapprovingly in the way one does when seeking attention and as usual, He Bo was right beside him.
“His Lordship was not hoping to return to the Eye?”
The snake shook his head. “Two encounters with the Nebulite sodomites has been quite enough. I loathe the thought of a third.”
“With all due respect, Your Lordship, this servant is confident that the worst of the sodomites came along for the odyssey to Asteria.”
The snake hummed disapprovingly. “To think I took the worst of such a kind and put them on my precious land… What was I thinking?”
“His Lordship is gracious and generous, and in His generosity chose to take pity upon even the ungrateful sinners that now populate the Foot. It is in His Lordship’s nature to be selfless like so.”
The snake gave the master servant a smile. “You always know what to say, He Bo.”
The ship landed neatly in the sea and the snake slithered down the staircase of water formed by the freshwater river that had carried the ship through the sky. He went alone this time, for another scent had joined the one he followed.
“I suppose we would meet again sooner or later.”
The snake dusted himself off, smoothed over his hair and beard and slithered towards Arya’s house.
As he got closer, his divine senses could taste the blood in the air and the frantic talking of people coming from inside the house.
"Arya you need rest! Let Ava take over." came a stern, but motherly voice.
"No! I'm not tired, I can still do this, take Myra's spot." came the familiar voice of Arya, but richer and perhaps sadder.
He slithered through the front door to see a strange sight. Across from him was several Nebulites and another species. Arya was the only one he knew by name and she had grown. No longer was she the small mouthless girl he had once known, she had become a woman. They all stood around a table, on it there was a man with a sword embedded in his back.
Several heads turned to see who the newest visitor was and all gaped in awe, save Arya. The girl smiles briefly before seeming to remember what she was doing. Her face took on a grim expression. "Your Holiness! We need a healer, please!" she said with desperation in her voice.
The snake blinked and gave the man on the table a frown. "If he needed a healer so desperately, he should have just stopped when he passed my ship. Stand aside." The snake pushed his way over to Karamir and hummed. "Bring me fire and water - make the water fresh."
The Nebulites quickly scrambled for what the God needed. Arya stayed behind and went closer to Karamir and whispered, "You're going to be okay. Stay strong." she then looked up at his Lordship and said, "It's good to see you, your Lordship. It's been… Too long. I just wish the circumstances were a bit better."
"They will improve once this man is nursed back to health, my dear. For now, though, it is good to see you, too. I am sorry I did not come to visit on my last trip here. I was preoccupied, unfortunately."
"Yes… We'll need to talk about that." Arya said knowingly. It was then that the Nebulites came back, carrying torches of fire and pots full of water.
“Indeed, we must, but for now…” The snake took a torch and a pot of water. “... The spawn of Kalmar must be healed.”
The snake held out one of his claws and put it into the fire of the torch. It was coated in soot, then began to glow a dark red. A simple alteration of the heat around his claw made it warmer than it should be, and made it so it kept warm even as he removed it from the fire. With simple, controlled prods, the snake seared shut the smaller cuts on Karamir’s skin, and then deftly lurked out the blade before burning closed that wound, as well. Working quickly, he took the water in the pot and had it spread to every cauterised wound. The brown, or at times black, crisps of skin flaked off under the water to reveal fresh, new skin underneath. The stab wound started from the centre, the punctured, now-recovering organs within filling up the space before new skin spin itself together at the surface, leaving a pale scar. While Karamir was nowhere near full recovery, he was at the very least not bleeding anymore.
Arya watched with disbelief as the wounds healed. So too did everyone else that was inside, with quiet murmurs and praise for the River Lord. At last, Karamir was able to be on his back and Arya did so gently. Rowan then spread a blanket across him and placed a pillow under his head. "Thank you, your Lordship." Arya said misty eyed. She then went over and tentatively plucked the sword from where it lay. She looked at it with curious eyes.
The snake wiped his hands off with a handkerchief he materialised out one of the unused bandages. “It was nothing. This mortal did not deserve to die - at least not before he identifies his attacker.” His nose wrinkled again and he gave a quiet hiss. “... There is something odd about him, though. His presence feels… Lacking. Even for a mortal.”
Arya sighed, giving the sword to Myra, who studied it with a curious gaze of her own. Arya then looked up at Shengshi and said, "His attacker was… Laurien. Arryn said as much before he left to find a healer in the Selka. I don't know why she did this… But I know what afflicts him. She decayed his soul." Arya said sadly.
“Decayed his soul, you say?” The snake cupped his chin in his hand. “That is unfortunate - I have not the power to reverse that. If his spirit is rotting, then there is nothing I can do.” His expression darkened. “... To think I just saw Laurien the other day - was this Polyastera’s order, the cretin? Or…” There was a droning hum.
"My father could reverse it if he was… Here. Your Holiness, what did Laurien tell you ten years ago about my father? Surely you must have wondered where he was and asked?" Arya asked, rubbing her chin.
“He was absent, if recall. I chose not to pry - I would rather not have disturbed him in case he was busy. I reckon, then, that something had happened to him.”
"His ichor was spilled upon a beach, Ashalla said as much, but it was faint, old even. I fear my sister is keeping a secret your holiness. One I don't want to believe." Arya said again, looking at Karamir.
“A rather obvious one, once the pieces are put together,” the snake said with a dark frown. “... Deicide and patricide… Even the thought of such crimes is a gruesome sin, let alone the attempt. The sister you once knew, Arya, has committed a most heinous crime. Her motivation, I do not know, but it surprises me not that she would not hesitate to harm a mortal if her blade has tasted godly blood.” He looked down at Karamir. “... If this man is half as bent on getting involved with others’ affairs as his creator is, I can see a possible reason behind his wounding, too.”
She felt numb, hearing what her thoughts had led her too, now said by another. She looked over to Rowan, the woman stood in front of a window looking out. Then she looked at Lily, who sat in a chair with a blank look. Arya gripped the table in front of her, looking down to see her shaking hands, before asking, "And what would that reason be?" in a small voice.
“Is it not obvious? This man asked the exact questions he was not supposed to ask, and pried the topics he should not have pried. His thirst for knowledge was met with a pint of his own blood - or a few more. He must have lost quite a bit on the way here.” The snake gave Karamir a quick look-over with a pair of hard eyes.
"Yeah…" she said absentmindedly. The snake shot her glance.
“What will you do now?”
"I don't know. Find my father… Find Laurien… Fix this mess and find out why she did it. Orvus isn't dead… I would have felt it. No, he's somewhere, and I can only guess where she would have taken him." Arya said hollowly, looking down at her hands.
The snake slithered over and placed a clawed hand on her shoulder. “No, Orvus is not dead. It takes more than a well-armed mortal to kill a god - you can trust me on that. However, her crime still stands.” The snake gave her a stern look. “You know she cannot go unpunished after what she has done.”
"I… I know…" her black tears falling again for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last day.
“Good,” said the snake and let go of her shoulder. He slithered over to a chair, touched it and watched as it became a beautifully adorned leanchair with silk-upholstered pillows. He sat down and propped his cheek on a fist.
Not even a minute later, muffled voices were heard outside, and Shengshi felt an all-too familiar presence. “TEN THOUSAND YEARS TO-”
”Quiet!” an equally familiar gruff, angry voice barked, and then mere moments later Kalmar burst through the door. He was different. His ears were pointed, he had a beard in place of a moustache, and his clothes were more refined. He did a quick scan of the room, his gaze shifting from Karamir, to Arya, and then finally to Shengshi. ”What happened?” he asked through grit teeth.
“Nice to see you, too,” the snake said dryly.
Kalmar scowled, then he looked back to Karamir, and his expression softened. He stepped closer to the table, saw the bloodstains, noted that the wound was healed, but then used his finer senses and realized that the decay Arryn told him of still remained. ”Who did this?” he asked, looking up at Arya.
Arya smiled faintly at Kalmar then frowned. "It was my sister…" she said with regret.
Kalmar then looked to Shengshi, his expression carefully neutral. ”Did you heal him?” he asked.
“I did.” The snake shifted in his bejeweled chair. “Consider it an olive branch on my part. He soared by my ship and I could tell he was wounded. I followed him here and the rest is history. I am glad I did, too, as it helped me get some answers I have been wondering about.”
”Well… thank you for that,” the Hunter said grudgingly, the words sounding stiff and awkward, before looking back down at the table. ”There is still his soul to fix. Any idea on how to do that?”
The snake shrugged. “Arya proposes Orvus can fix that, buuut… Well, he is not here.”
”I know. Arryn told me he has been missing for ten years,” Kalmar frowned, before once again turning to Arya. ”Arae told me he gave up on the path of destruction. Azura told me he returned to it. Which one is true?”
Arya shrugged. "When and why did Azura say that?" she said blankly.
”Twelve years ago, when I met her at her Vault. Some time before that, Orvus tried to decay the souls contained within,” Kalmar answered. ”This would have been before his disappearance.”
The girl frowned and sighed. "I don't know what my father does when he isn't on the Eye Kalmar. I don't really know anything anymore, it feels like."
”Then one way or another, we need to find him.” Kalmar decided.
"I agree. He's our first priority. Laurien comes second." she said.
”I will set out soon. Arya, I’m going to need you to stay here, in case Karamir wakes up. He might remember something, or…” Kalmar paused. ”Orvus once intended to destroy all life, simply because his soul was frayed. If something similar happened to Karamir, there is no telling how his mind was affected. Someone needs to keep an eye on him.”
Arya nodded. "I can do tha-" she began to say but was interrupted by a golden skinned child bursting through the door.
"MOM!" He shouted. Rowan turned around to see Doron, tears stained her cheeks but she wore a confused look on her face.
"Not now Doron." She said sternly.
"But the skies falling!" He blurted anyways.
Arya frowned and ran over to the door, Doron stepping towards Rowan. As soon as she looked up, she saw Veradax and from it, thousands of meteors descending.
"Oh no."
Kalmar appeared beside her. His eyes widened, and once again his expression hardened. ”We were wondering what Orvus has been up to for the past decade,” he growled, ”And this might be our answer.”
She breathed, "No… He wouldn't…"
”You said it yourself, you don’t know what he does when he’s not on the Eye,” Kalmar frowned. ”I’m going to Veradax,” he announced, in a tone that brook no argument.
“Now do not be so rash, brother,” the snake’s deep, oily voice hissed gently as he slithered over. He stuck a head out the door as well. “Oh, my, that -is- a predicament… Regardless, Orvus may be an oddball, but he would not be foolish enough to do this - not over some surly stabbing, anyway. He knows all too well that the gods have things they love on this world now, and to threaten them would certainly mean his own destruction.” He frowned at the sky. “Another piece may have taken control of the board…”
”Whether Orvus is involved or not, his sphere is the cause of this new threat,” Kalmar insisted. ”Someone must go there and fight the problem at its source. I’m going.”
“In that case, will you grant me permission to cross onto Kalgrun soil in case one of those larger rocks should approach just a little too close, then? I promise, I will not be a bother.”
Kalmar seemed genuinely taken aback by that, and for a moment wondered if he had heard the River God correctly. Then he spoke, his voice soft. ”As thanks for healing Karamir, and making this offer,” he said, little louder than a whisper. ”Your banishment from Kalgrun is lifted.”
The snake bowed his head. “I thank you, Kalmar. I have been hoping to make amends for my…” He strained himself a little. “... Unfortunate episode all those years ago. Consider this a start.”
”I didn’t handle myself very well back then either,” Kalmar admitted. And with those words, he was gone, rushing eastward.
The snake nodded with a half-smile before turning to Arya. “Well, I suppose I ought to do something about those incoming rocks, hmm?”
"That would be lovely, your Holiness." she said, still watching the meteors.
The snake nodded and made his way back to the ship. He climbed onto the deck and turned to the servants. “I would advice everyone to head below deck. This can be quite a bumpy ride.” The servants blinked at one another and hurried into the palace. The snake looked to the sky once more - a number of larger rocks were heading towards the islands.
“He Bo - please secure everything precious below deck.”
“Right away, Your Lordship!” He Bo yelled before closing the palace gates behind him. The water gathered below the great vessel and lifted it to the heavens. As it climbed, it gained more and more speed, the snake standing at the very head of the dragon with a vicious grin on his face. The vessel was rocketing straight towards the largest rock, and at this point, the ship wasn’t as much sailing on the river as it was being pushed by a jet of water. As the metres between the bow and the stone disappeared rapidly, the snake hummed to himself.
“I should have written a poem about this - oh well, later I suppose.”
Then the Jiangzhou slammed into the great meteor. Often in cases such as these, the wooden ship would have been reduced to sawdust and splinters, leaving Shengshi as a sole survivor; however, the sacred planks, oiled with divine blessings, could withstand any strike not made by a god - stone was no challenge.
The meteor with its great mass and speed wasn’t broken apart by this lighter vessel, yes, but it was slowed down considerably and sent off its course, settling instead for the much less terrestrially populated ocean. The snake’s ship repeated the process for all the other meteors heading for the island, scooping the smallest ones he could reach up with cold river water. Many of them cracked apart from the cold shock and became dust.
Arya was amazed at the display of the Jiangzhou but had little time to watch as her mind kicked into gear. A following had began to arrive around her, asking what to do and Arya looked to the Marble Star and yelled, "Everyone get to the Marble Star! Pass the word around, gather food and valuables then go!" and the crowd scurried in every direction as Arya went back inside her house. It had felt like the end times had come, but she still had people to protect.
Shengshi is on his boat playing Chess with a Servant, and gets rekt hard. Then a wild Karamir appears and passes by, and Shengshi is like: “Let’s follow him.”
Meanwhile on the EoD, Arya is sad. Sad because Orvus was gone, Ashalla was mean, K’nell and Hermes are DED. Then Arryn appears and she is happy. They hug and talk about stuff, with Arryn offering to help locate Orvus, but first he has to speak to the Vallamir on the Eye to see if any of them actually want to go to Kalgrun.
The next morning, Arryn is having a meeting with them while Arya waits outside. A wounded Karamir lands at her feet, the cloak having carried him to Arryn’s location. They put him on the table. Arryn realizes that he is dying and his soul has decayed. He reaches into Karamir’s memories and reveals what happened. Based on his description, Arya realizes Laurien was behind it. She is super bummed out by this.
Arryn then decides to head over to the Ubbo Tribe, and see if they have a healer. It’s a long journey so Arya has to stay and keep Karamir alive.
Some time later, Snek catches up. He heals Karamir using a new method he has devised, and then talks to Arya about what happened. He finds out that Laurien caused this, that Orvus’s disappearance was around the same time as Laurien’s departure, and that Orvus’s bloodstain was recently found. The snek puts these events together and correctly deduces that Laurien stabbed Orvus, and then had Karamir stabbed for being too nosy.
They talk some more, with Shengshi trying to assure Arya that Orvus is probably still alive. Then Kalmar shows up, and asks some questions of his own. He decides to go find Orvus, while Arya stays behind to look after Karamir. They are interrupted when Chicken Little bursts in and declares that the sky is falling.
They look outside to see Veradax’s meteor shower. Kalmar instantly concludes that Orvus is responsible, and decides to go to Veradax to sort the issue out in person. Shengshi cautions to him that Orvus might not be the reason for this, but Kalmar still insists on going because Veradax is the source of this trouble. Shengshi offers to protect Kalgrun from meteor strikes if any happen to head that way, and Kalmar accepts, lifting his banishment in the process.
They sort-of make amends, then Kalmar leaves for the Maelstrom. The snek hops in his boat and smashes up some meteors. Arya takes charge of the Nebulites and tries to get them to safety.
Snake: 1MP/3FP start 1MP Claim ability: "From the Ashes" Having witnessed his jungle burn and having explored the theories of slash and burn agriculture, Shengshi applies this concept to healing - what has been burned grows back stronger, so if he burns a patch of damaged skin, he can use river water to 'cultivate' it and make it grow back stronger, effectively healing it. Snake: 0MP/3FP
Arya: The Learner, The Martial Dancer, The Compassionate, The Wanderer, The Teacher, The Sailor, Last of the Zhengwu, Swordmaster, Lady of the Eye +5 Prestige Starting +1 For Major Role +1 For Minor Role +1 For Jolly Collaboration = +8 Prestige Ending
Karamir Beginning Prestige: 16 +1 for collab. Ending Prestige: 17
The eastern coast Dragon’s Foot was much like Karamir remembered it.
Which is why he hadn’t bothered to give that area a further look, and instead ventured deeper inland. There, he quickly discovered two things.
The Charnel Steppes stank. The Desert was hot.
Fortunately, the downside of the latter ecosystem had been offset substantially, by the Frostguard Ring Kalmar had given him. By all rights he should have been sweating up puddles, yet the ring kept his body at a comfortable temperature. It was incredibly useful, perhaps even life-saving, had he lacked his red-feathered cloak, or been a mere mortal.
For a moment, he wondered if there was someone out there who could get more out of the ring than he. Perhaps that person would be better off with it. Yet no such person had been found, and so there was little point in contemplating the idea of giving it away.
As he flew over the vast, sandy desert, every now and then he took notice of life: tall, fiery creatures. He knew them, from Abanoc’s Archive. The Jotundar, fiery soldiers of Sartravius. They had been created to raze and kill, and although the book claimed many had settled down peacefully, Karamir had decided it would be best if he had a better understanding of the area before he attempted communication.
And so, for a full day he scoured the sandy region, only stopping when the sun had set and he had come across a rather deep and wide river. There, he took a drink, and then fell asleep on its bank.
He awoke the next morning with the rising sun in his eyes. After one more drink of water, he took flight, and followed the river south.
Some time later, he found the city.
The first thing he noticed was the temple. A giant building made of stone, towering above the town like a monolith. Next to that, was a large building, made of the same material. In fact all of the buildings around it were made from the same material, and from there it shifted to rock, then to another tier of light brown. All of those were inside a wall that encircled the city. In some parts the wall was discolored, obviously replaced, as it had to wrap around expansion. Outside of the wall was downtrodden shacks and farther out, fields of growing crops.
Even the lowest quality buildings seemed both impressive and fascinating to him. Already, Karamir’s mind was abuzz with questions. Abanoc’s Archive had revealed nothing about a people who lived in a city such as this, and therefore it had to be a recent development. He would have to ask the inhabitants where it came from, he decided. If there were any inhabitants.
He stared at the wall for several long minutes, contemplating how to make his approach, and then decided it would be best to start in the middle and circle around to the outside. He flew forward, glancing down at the city streets as he passed over them, and noted the inhabitants who moved about the town.
They were a tall people, with an appearance vastly different from his own, or even the Dreamers he had met at Tendlepog. A distant memory, of a dance inside a Palace ten years ago, flashed through his mind. Yes, they did look like her...
Many wore simple rags, but as he grew closer he began to see finer clothes, made of animal skins. Why was that, he wondered. Not enough to go around? He’d get a chance to ask them soon enough.
He came to a stop in front of the largest building, and then set himself down on the steps leading up to the entrance.
It did not take long for his presence to be noted. From the main doors came four, heavily armored beings, wearing the color of a crimson nebula. They wielded long, carved swords of similar make and approached slowly. Following behind them floated another figure, this one wearing similar armor, but it was not so armored. The one that floated wore a helmet that was open down the middle. Behind it he could see two gleaming white eyes and a frown.
They approached and halted two body lengths away, the one floating then said. “We’ve never seen your kind before. State your business upon these holy steps of his Lordship’s Temple or be gone.”
“Business?” Karamir frowned, recalling the time he spent with Chopstick Eyes. ”I deal in information,” he said. ”I look for information and I share it with others. Or at least, that’s what I’m trying to do. What is this place?”
The floating one sneered. “This is his Lordship Shengshi’s Temple, built upon the backs of the Nebulite people. You stand upon Holy Ground Outsider, but at least we share the common tongue. Now who are you, and why have you come.”
”I didn’t think there’d be any Nebulites all the way over here,” Karamir said. ”I thought you were all on the Eye of Desolation. Anyway, I’m Karamir, of Kalgrun. Firstborn of Kalmar, First of the Vallamir. Can I ask how you made it this far, and how you built this place so quickly?”
“Pfft. We are not the islanders, we are the Asterians. And no, you may not receive any more answers, until you tell me why you’ve come.” the floating nebulite, crossed his arms.
Karamir furrowed his brow in befuddlement. ”I already told you, didn’t I? I seek to learn all that I can, and then share that knowledge with others. There’s no need to be so guarded.” Then an idea struck him. ”You know, I met Arya once…” he revealed, hoping that name would mean something here.
The other guards began to whisper to each other at the name of Arya. The floating one landed in front of them and pointed at Karamir. “You’ll be coming with us now.”
”Oh? Where are we going?” Karamir asked, unmoving.
“Lady Laurien will want to see you, and she can deal with after.” the Nebulite said.
Karamir eased up somewhat. ”Ah, she’s your leader? Let’s go then, I have questions.” He nodded, and waited for them to move.
The guards laughed and began leading him away down the steps and through the upper tier. They passed the sandstone houses of stature, the streets, much cleaner here but that wasn’t saying much. Many nebulite guards, wielding spears and without armor, stood at entrances to houses. It was quiet in the upper level, besides the occasional loud moaning or the sound of a whip cracking. Oddly enough, they passed right by the second tallest building, the one next to the temple and kept walking.
”What are those noises?” Karamir found himself asking.
“Which ones, outsider? The fucking or the whips?” said a guard before the rest burst out laughing.
Karamir’s cheeks reddened slightly, more from the laughter than the Nebulite’s crude words, which he didn’t fully understand. ”I’m not sure what either of those things are,” he said after a moment.
They began to laugh even louder after that. “And here I thought you were a man, outsider.” one of the guards said between chuckling.
The floating one then said, “That can change, here in Laurienna.”
Karamir’s mouth curled into a frown. ”Asking questions doesn’t make me any less of a man,” he said flatly, ”And I’ll do without the mockery.”
“No one was mocking you about your questions, boy, just your lack of experience.” They laughed again, before the floating one halted.
“Quiet, We’re here.” Before them was a nice looking house, at the front entrance, three armored guards stood watch. The floating one went over to them and began to speak in a hushed tone, as they looked at him. One of the guards then went inside and a few minutes later, came back with a nod. The floating one came back over and said, “Go inside, Outsider. And goodluck.” he said, smiling before walking away with the other guards in tow. He couldn’t make out what was said, but more laughter followed.
Brow still furrowed, Karamir watched the guards leave. He had to wonder why they seemed to have so many people just standing around with their weapons. Did they do that all day? Shouldn’t they be out hunting? Another question he would need to ask at some point. But for now, as instructed he entered the building.
One of the guards led the way, and another followed. The home was eerily silent as they crossed rooms. Most of them were empty, or had broken pieces here and there. Then they crossed through a garden area, it even had a lower level, that seemed like it could contain water or something. It was empty, save for a very thin level of bloody red water at the bottom. Along the far wall there sat two figures working in the ground, pulling burned plants. They were both about the same size, but that was where the similarity ended. As they approached, the two noticed their presence and rose. Both were female, one was a pygmy and the other was a juvenile Jotundar. They did not make eye contact with them.
”Hello,” he said, as a means of introduction. He looked from them, to one of the guards. ”Three species from three different areas under one roof. How did that happen?” he asked.
The two women looked up at him and blinked. The guard behind him simply said, “Quiet.” and with one armored look, the two women got back to work without saying anything.
Once again, Karamir frowned. ”What was that about?” he asked, a disapproving look on his face.
The guards said nothing, and eventually they made it to the upper level, where two more guards were stationed before a door. There was a knowing between the four and one knocked, before opening the door. Karamir was ushered inside, and the door shut behind him.
”Out here, Karamir.” came a sweet voice. Before him was a simple room, with a very large bed, and on the far wall was another door, a faint breeze blowing in from it.
With a shrug, Karamir stepped past the bed and went through the door. He arrived on a large balcony with a view of the city. Standing with her hands on the railing was the person who had called for him. She turned around to reveal, clothing that left little to the imagination and gave him a very warm smile, before walking over to a table with a pitcher and cups. She beckoned for him to sit down.
”Karamir. It's so nice to meet you. I am Laurien, but you probably already knew that. Drink?” she asked.
”I don’t see why not,” he said, taking a seat opposite to her.
”Good!” she said, pouring a dark liquid into his cup and then her own. ”I’ll apologize for the taste, it’s very bad, but it’s the only thing we have, besides water.” she said, taking a sip.
Karamir brought the cup up to his nose, and sniffed. ”What’s in it?”
”Local berries or something. I don’t really know.” she shrugged. ”Drink enough of it, and you get a buzz. Drink a lot of it, and you’ll probably die.” she said with a chuckle.
With yet another frown, Karamir took a sip. He didn’t think much of it at first, then the aftertaste hit. He recoiled slightly, and set the cup back down.
Laurien laughed and pushed the pitcher to him. ”It’s an acquired taste and the more you drink, the moe you forget the after taste.” she took a sip. ”Now, what brings you here?”
”I travel,” Karamir answered, not moving for either his cup or the pitcher. He found his gaze briefly shifting downward, but snapped his eyes back up to her face. ”I try to learn as much as I can, in the hopes that someday I’ll be able to share it with others.”
She leaned forward, interest plastered on her face. ”Oh really? Where have you traveled?” she asked excitedly.
”Well, I started on Kalgrun,” he began. ”Then by accident I met an avatar named Diana, nearly sixty winters ago, who took me to this land. There wasn’t that much to see at the time - somehow I missed anything that might be of interest. Anyway, after that she brought me to Tendlepog, and I visited the Palace of Dreams, where I met your sister. But then I left to go my own way, and ended up in a place called the Infinite Maze. It wasn’t even a true maze, and it was terrible - I wandered for days without food and water. From there I found the Observatory, and met the God Abanoc, who taught me about some of the intelligent species of Galbar - including your own. After that I ended up on the continent directly north of here, and spent some time exploring it. I met the Goddess Chopstick Eyes, and spent some time with her. Then I came here. This city stood out, so I decided to visit.” He shrugged. ”Those are the basics, at least.”
”My, quite the traveler you are. I once met an avatar, named Vrog. He uh… Wasn’t a nice encounter, not like this one.” she said with a smile, before taking another sip. ”So, what have you learned throughout all these travels?”
”Well, I… wait, did you say Vrog?” Karamir asked suddenly. He glanced upward, as if recalling a distant memory. ”I think… I met a creature with that name. Long ago.”
She held up her wrist, to reveal faded scarring. ”I met him all too well.” she said with a frown.
Karamir gave her a sympathetic look. ”He tried to eat Diana,” he said, ”and only ignored me because he was too busy with her. I wasn’t much, back then.”
”Well, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.” Laurien smiled.
”Where did this place come from, anyway?” Karamir asked. ”Abanoc showed me nothing that suggested there were Nebulites on Dragon’s Foot. You had to have come here recently. How?”
Laurien stood up and beckoned him to follow. She went over to the balcony and stretched her arm out and said, ”We came here ten years ago, and built everything that you see before you. It wasn’t easy and claimed many lives, even our beloved Queen’s.” she said sadly.
”How did you build it?” he asked her. ”So far I’ve only known gods to be capable of building with stone. If mortals can do it, it’d be good to know how…” he stroked his chin. ”Maybe we can even find a less costly method?”
”Oh that’s simple. We found the Dari and use them to move stone down the river. We mimicked his Lordship’s boat and built rafts, crudely as they are, they float. It’s all a very complicated process, that had to be perfected quite quickly due to a time restraint. We had ten years to build the Temple, if not His Holiness Shengshi would bring ruin to us.” she said, taking another sip.
”Ruin? Over a structure?” he quirked an eyebrow. ”Why?”
”Let’s just say the Nebulites here are prone to over indulgences.” she folded her arms underneath her chest.
”Over-indulgence in what, exactly?”
She raised an eyebrow. ”Isn’t it obvious?”
”You mean food and drink?” Karamir asked. ”Is it wise to use so many resources, considering the area in which you live?”
”Food, drink, sex. All sorts of things really.” she said absentmindedly taking a sip. ”Hence why I said, over-indulgence. It isn’t wise, no, but it’s becoming ingrained in them every passing day.”
”Is there any way to change?” he asked. ”If your population keeps growing, and you keep using more resources, won’t you run out of things to enjoy?”
”I’m sure there’s ways to change, but until the time comes when it’s necessary, they will keep doing but they do best. The king is trying his hardest to do away with all the corruption, it just takes time.” Laurien said with a smirk.
”The King?” Karamir asked, suddenly confused. ”I assumed you were in charge.”
Laurien placed her empty cup on the balcony and turned to look at the palace. ”Of course not, the King is the sole authority here. I simply act as an advisor of sorts, after the royal family was murdered.”
”Murdered?” Karamir’s confusion turned to surprise.
”Yes, they were killed by rebels who wanted to overthrow the Polyastera Dynasty. Only two members survived, the current king and his younger sister.” she said with sadness.
Once again, Karamir furrowed his brow. ”So that is how your queen died?” he asked. ”Why did these rebels want to overthrow her?”
”Power, wealth, control. The usual, really.” Laurien said, looking at her nails.
Karamir looked sad at that answer. ”I read about similar incidents, which happened to other species. Is it really so normal?”
”Mortals are foolish creatures, prone to such vile things Karamir. We live in a world where there are flawed gods at every turn, is it really so surprising that their creations would be just as flawed as they are?” Laurien frowned.
”Perhaps not,” Karamir conceded, a dejected tone in his voice. When he returned to Kalgrun, would he find that his own people had adopted such flaws and corruption? Would his efforts to help them only culminate in the discovery that they were never worthy of help in the first place? These thoughts weighed heavily on him, and he fell into a melancholy silence.
Laurien put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. ”Everything okay?”
”Did it really have to end in death?” Karamir suddenly asked. ”Regardless of who was at fault, couldn’t they have found some way to settle the issue peacefully?”
Laurien let her hand fall and for a long time she said nothing, adopting the same silence that he had. She turned to the balcony and placed her hands on it. ”There was no other way.” she whispered.
”Perhaps I can ask Abanoc,” he thought aloud, his voice equally quiet.
Laurien suddenly looked up at him, her eyes wide. ”Ask Abanoc what?” she asked quickly, fear trickling into her voice.
Karamir shot her a quizzical look. ”Ask him what happened here, and if there was a way to prevent it. Even if we can’t change the past, it might prevent future incidents. Why does that bother you?”
”Bother me? I already told you what happened here. There’s no sense in dragging a God here where they aren’t wanted.” she said angrily.
”But you can’t see everything, can you?” Karamir asked, undaunted by her anger. ”There could be a detail you were unaware of, or a solution somebody hadn’t considered. Besides, I wouldn’t even need to bring him here. I can just go to his Observatory and ask. He can see everything from there.”
”No no no, that’s okay. Don’t bother yourself with us.” Laurien quickly shifted her tone to be softer. ”I insist. Please.” she said, trying to remain cool.
”Simply by asking the right questions we could save lives,” Karamir protested. ”Why are you so opposed?”
”Sometimes the truth needs to remain buried.” she said cruelly, punching Karamir in the stomach, before screaming, ”GUARDS!”
Karamir doubled over, one hand grasping the railing for support, the other hand clutching his stomach. ”What are you doing?” he gasped.
”Silencing you.” she said, before going in for a kick at his head.
It did not connect. Instead, Karamir’s entire body jerked backward, as if an unseen hand had yanked at his cloak, and he narrowly avoided the attack. He pulled himself to his feet. ”This isn’t very smart…” he warned her, hand creeping to the knife at his belt.
She outstretched her hand, and there was a strange whistling before an object erupted from the other room and found her hand. Black armor molded over her imposing frame, as Karamir saw the sword in her hand. A blackened thing that seemed to eat the light surrounding it. Laurien then said, ”Isn’t it?” before charging him in a great leap, the sword over her head.
Karamir drew his knife, and waited. At the last possible second, his cloak suddenly jerked him to the left, dodging her attack, and in that moment his knife formed into a warhammer, which he swung into her back as she passed.
There was a loud clang as weapon hit armor, sending her into the wall with a crack. The wall then collapsed onto her, covering her in stones. She growled angrily, trying to push herself up. It was then the guards came in, five in all with pointed spears of starlight and swords at their belts.
”Kill him!” Laurien screamed, pushing stones off of her.
The guards then all attacked at once, spears thrusting at Karamir.
Karamir could have fled now; fairly easily too. Yet striking her had felt invigorating, and it felt wrong to simply turn tail and flee without putting up more of a fight.
So as the five guards lunged forward, Karamir stopped them in their tracks with a wide sweep of his arm; a vicious gust of wind drove all of them back except one, who was stopped but managed to maintain his footing. He recovered and attempted another lunge, but Karamir grabbed the spear by the shaft, pulled him forward, and bashed him over the side of the head with the hammer.
The guard fell, but Karamir had already moved on to his next attack before the man had even hit the ground. He held out a hand, manipulating both the water in the wine and the air surrounding the jug, and then the pitcher was flying, striking a second guard in the side of the head.
The remaining three guards were taken aback by this display of supernatural power, but once again they readied their weapons and charged forward. They were not as synchronized as before; one moving much earlier than the other two. Karamir’s hammer became a sword, and he parried the first lunge, then turned aside the next two with one swing. The movements came almost naturally, without even thinking; largely due to the divine blessing placed upon him long ago.
Karamir’s foot came up, and caught one of the guards between the legs. The guard crumpled to the floor, before beginning to crawl backward, and the remaining two guards discarded their spears to draw swords. It was then that Laurien freed herself from the rubble and stood up. She came up from behind him and went to swipe at Karamir.
The clank of her armour betrayed her intentions, and because he couldn’t turn, Karamir had no choice but to rush forward at the two guards in front of him. He ducked under their swings, his sword became a dagger, a second knife materialized in his offhand, and then he lunged upward. Each blade found a throat, and as the two soldiers fell, Karamir went down with them.
He landed in a kneeling position, and for a moment could only stare in shock at the lives he had just taken. Their warm blood spewed onto his hands, while their eyes stared up at him, pleading. He pulled his blades free, rose to his feet, and then wheeled around to face his final opponent: Laurien herself.
Only, she wasn’t his final opponent.
A sword was driven through his back. One of the guards from before, who he had incapacitated instead of killed, had clearly recovered. Karamir fell to his knees, goggling in astonishment at the sharp, red, wet metal tip which protruded just to the right of his stomach. He would have flown away, but the guard behind him had stepped on his cloak. He looked up at Laurien, with hatred in his eyes.
Laurien’s helmet faded to reveal cruel smile. She laughed, ”Good work Ion. Phew, you had me worried there for a moment, Karamir. You’re a good fighter, I’ll give you that, but you messed up. Always… and I mean always… Go for the kill.” she said moving forward. ”I’ll make this quick.” she said, raising her sword.
”Why…” he choked. ”What are you trying to hide?”
”A secret.” she lulled.
”It’s not a secret, you stupid bitch,” he spat, as he returned the Multi-Weapon to its sheathe and dropped the Knife of Friendship on the floor. ”Abanoc’s probably watching us right now.”
”And where is Abanoc, Karamir? He’s letting you die.” she shook her head, ”You can’t trust a god, all they do is hurt you. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll avenge you.” she said with a laugh, before beginning to bring down her blade.
Ion, however, had chosen that exact moment to pull free the sword he had plunged through Karamir’s back. And in that moment, Karamir came up with a mad, desperate gamble. As the metal blade began to slide back, Karamir’s right hand closed around it, and it bit into his palm, but that did not stop him. With a scream he leaned forward, pulling Ion over him, and into the path of Laurien’s blade. In that same moment, the Knife of Friendship returned to his hand, and he thrust it into Laurien’s ankle.
The knife managed to cut through her armor at the gap, but only managed to go a quarter of the way through, just enough to make her growl as she slew Ion. She let go of her sword with Ion’s corpse and backed up, away from Karamir. She grunted in pain as she looked at him, and then smiled again. ”Have tricks do we? Well… How about I show you mine.” and with a flick of her wrist, the sensation of pricks and needles, then something shattering, went off in Karamir. She then outstretched her hand and a squelch sounded as her sword came back to her hand.
Karamir said nothing. He nudged Ion’s corpse off his back, and with nothing encumbering his cloak, he was finally free. Shakily, he levitated into the air, and then took off, swerving left and right as he accelerated, the city growing small behind him.
Through the pain, the adrenaline, and the haze of blood loss, he noticed a certain emptiness inside him, one that wasn’t there before. Was he missing something? The Knife of Friendship returned to his hand. No, it wasn’t that. He touched his sheathe with his unwounded hand. The Multi-Weapon was still there. What was gone?
Before he could find out, darkness overtook him.
Karamir is exploring Dragon’s Foot and he finds the Nebulite city. He introduces himself to the locals and they are extremely wary toward him, but decide to take him to see Laurien. He meets Laurien, they drink some terrible wine, and he begins asking her about the city.
Eventually she lets slip that some sort of uprising happened in the past. Karamir questions her on the necessity of violence to solve political differences, but she insists there was no other way. Karamir begins to express doubt, and suggests that Abanoc might be able to shed more light on the issue, because he’s the one with all the facts.
Laurien immediately becomes evasive, trying to talk Karamir out of it, which only makes him more suspicious, and therefore more insistent on contacting Abanoc. Eventually her friendly facade breaks, and she decides he has to die. She attacks him, and just as Karamir gains the upper hand, a team of guards appears.
The fight continues until only Karamir, Laurien, and one guard remain on their feet. The guard stabs Karamir in the back. Laurien is about to kill him, but he still manages to fight back, getting the remaining guard killed in the process. Laurien soul decays him, and then he escapes.
Karamir Beginning Prestige: 14 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. +1 for collab. -1 prestige to pull a guard into the path of Laurien's weapon despite being stabbed. Ending Prestige: 16
Laurien; Lady of Laurienna, Warrior. +6 Prestige Starting +1 Prestige for Minor Role +1 Prestige for Major Role +1 Prestige for Jolly Collaboration = +9 Prestige Ending
Atop the tallest mountain in the Frigid Forest, as a blizzard raged around him, Kalmar stared at the metal cage with an expression of befuddlement. Arryn had once again set a task aside in order to do something that the bird decided was more important.
In this case, at least, Arryn had been right. Narzhak's aura was unmistakable, and there was no doubt that the item was powerful. Arryn's description of it had certainly been alarming. An artifact that gave its wearer immense power as a reward for betraying, murdering, and eating their own kin? No, this could not stand.
But what to do? His recent work had expended much of his effort. The creation of the Jotnar and the Vallamir, as well as the various gifts he had bestowed upon them, had drained him. Right now, he simply lacked the energy.
Still, it wasn't like there was anything he couldn't do.
For a start, he would take measures to punish whoever would wear such an infernal device. Two curses he placed upon it, ensuring that the wearer would likely freeze to death or be torn apart by wild animals. Then he encased it in a block of ice. Hefting it over his shoulder, he brought it down the mountain, to the Frozen Citadel. As he walked through the courtyard, members of the Forgeguard stared at their god in befuddlement. Duels were stopped, heads turned, and all stopped what they were doing to salute.
Kalmar waved for them to carry on, and brought the block into what the Jotnar called the Forgeguard. There, the weapons and tools were made. Frost Giants were compacting snow into the areas of the moulds that should be the handles, and then filling the blade areas with water, which would soon turn to ice and then be put through the Coldforge. They, too stopped their work to acknowledge their god, but Kalmar waved for them to carry on.
He stopped before the Coldforge itself, pulled it open, and then slid the block of ice in. Then, he waited, a deathly quiet in the room. Minutes passed, but none disturbed him, and eventually the noise resumed as the Jotnar awkwardly returned to their work.
Only after an hour had gone by did Kalmar finally move once again, pulling the newly coldforged iceblock out, and carrying it outside.
"Jotnar!" Kalmar proclaimed before the assembled Forgeguard who had gathered outside, as he dropped the block in the snow in front of him. "This is a cursed artifact," he proclaimed, "Created by the Narzhak, God of War. Intended to grant power, at a terrible price. In addition to guarding the Coldforge, your duty is also now to guard this. Do not use it, do not let any outsiders get their hands on it. Keep it hidden, keep it secret, keep it safe, and risk your lives to do so if necessary. Should you surrender it, or try to use it yourself, you will be punished. Am I clear?"
Glances were exchanged, nervous words were uttered. Ingrid and Wulfgar stepped forward simultaneously. "We'll see it done," they declared, Ingrid's tone eager and Wulfgar's tone grave. Ralof and Asvald gave their assent as well.
"Good," Kalmar said with a nod of his own. "I'll leave you to it."
And with that, the God of the Hunt began to walk away, the crowd parting to allow him through. He exited the keep and began his journey down the mountain slope, leaving the Forgeguard to their new duty.
Kalmar gets the Goregrasp and thinks about what he should do with it. He places some curses on it, encases it in a block of ice, coldforges it, and then gives it to the Forgeguard to guard.
Kalmar
Beginning MP: 0 Beginning FP: 0
Expenditures -1MP (discounted to 0 via Hunting Portfolio) to put a curse on the Goregrasp: those who wear it shall find themselves hunted by wild animals. -1MP (discounted to 0 via the Cold Portfolio) to put a second curse on the Goregrasp: those who wear it shall feel a bitter chill, limiting the time they can wear it without removing it or seeking additional warmth.
The shriek of Coldforged Ice rang out, as two giants clashed.
It was a sparring match, to test out their new weapons - which had been made blunt, of course, in order to prevent injury. Ivar, tall and broad-shouldered, with his long black hair and short beard, grinned confidently as he stood off against Leske, a stubbled blond-haired man with an almost permanent smirk etched on his face. Like all Jotnar men, they each wore nothing save a furry loincloth. The two stepped back from each other, sizing the other up. A small crowd of perhaps a dozen or so forgeguard had gathered, watching with interest.
"So I'm thinking," Ivar said, as they stared each other down, "that it's all about footwork."
And with those words he stepped forward. Leske raised his sword, and three quick exchanges ensued as attacks and counter-attacks were made, until suddenly Ivar darted to the right. He narrowly avoided a lunge from Leske, and responded with a lunge of his own, stopping just before Leske's shoulder.
Leske's smirk dipped into a frown, and as Ivar pulled the sword away, the shorter man sprang to action. He swung high, aiming for Ivar's shoulder, and as Ivar moved his blade to block, he suddenly changed course and swatted Ivar's leg. "No fancy footwork there," Leske's smirk returned, as Ivar glared at him, "just a bit of deception."
"Aye," Ivar nodded grudgingly as they once more backed away from each other. "But try that again, now that I'm ready for it."
Once again they advanced upon each other, swords clashing and shrieking, occasionally breaking apart before moving in once again. After one particularly fierce exchange, Ivar swung high at Leske's head. Rather than block or parry the blow outright, Leske instead avoided it, dropping to one knee. While doing so he scooped a fistful of snow in his offhand, then flung it up into Ivar's face.
Ivar reeled backward, more shocked than anything else, while Leske leapt to his feet, swinging upward into Ivar's groin. As Ivar let go of his weapon and slumped to the ground, the observers groaned or shook their heads in disapproval. Leske's smirk remained... until Ivar wiped the snow from his eyes, and with an expression of pure fury he shot forward, slamming into Leske's midsection. The two hit the snow, and Ivar began to rain punches down, Leske fending off the attacks with his own hands. A few viewers cheered, but most exchanged uncertain glances - this was no longer a sparring match, but a brawl.
"Both of you! Enough!" Wulfgar's distant voice cut through Ivar's rage.
Ivar immediately got off of Leske, rising to his feet and turning to face Wulfgar. Leske rose a moment later, spitting a bloody tooth onto the ground and rubbing his jaw. Both wore expressions of varying anger and frustration, but Wulfgar had been their chieftan before they came here, and so neither hesitated to obey.
Wulfgar walked up to the pair until he was mere feet away. "We asked you," he snarled, looking from Ivar's eyes to Leske's, "to practice techniques with these weapons. Yet here you are trying to kill each other, with your weapons abandoned in the snow!"
"We were practicing," Leske interjected, "until this fool lost his temper."
"Craven idiot," Ivar cursed. "Can't beat anyone in a straight fight, can you?"
"In a fight for my life, I'd do whatever it took to win," Leske retorted. "Nothing less."
"If you can't win a fake fight without cheating, how do you expect to win a real one?" Ivar demanded.
"It's not cheating to-" Leske began.
"Enough!" Wulfgar snapped. "You're meant to be practicing, not squabbling. If you can't work with each other, then we'll give the job to someone else. Take a break, and then get back to your duty."
Both men growled at that, but nodded. They retrieved their weapons, and parted ways. The crowd dispersed uncertainly. It was very rare for the jovial moods of Leske or Ivar to be fouled. They were from the same tribe, and had always been friends - to see them angry at each other was jarring indeed.
Wulfgar stepped inside the tower, which was empty save for his three co-chieftans.
"How did it go?" Ralof asked, turning to face him.
"Poorly," Wulfgar grumbled. "They practiced well enough, at first. But things turned sour when they had a disagreement over conduct."
"Oh?" Asvald wondered.
"Leske threw some snow and went for the groin," Wulfgar said. "A smart move, but Ivar lost his temper and started a brawl."
Ingrid frowned. "Of course he was angry. It's not a real fight; Leske didn't need to do that."
"Maybe we should place some sort of code on how duels are to be fought?" Ralof suggested. "Prevent misunderstandings, or bad blood."
"It depends on how close to a real fight we're trying to make it," Wulfgar pointed out. "We're going to be handing these weapons out soon, and if they are turned against us, we'll need to be ready for the real thing. Sharp edges, life or death, anything goes."
Ingrid frowned. "We won't put up much of a fight if half of us are bruised from training injuries and angry at the other half over it," she pointed out.
"Maybe," Wulfgar conceded. "Hand out more weapons. Blunt ones, of course. See how the others take to sparring. Could just be those two who can't keep calm."
The Forgeguard have made blunted weapons from Coldforged Ice. We are introduced to two new characters: Ivar and Leske, who have been tasked with testing the weapons out. They're trying out different methods, with Ivar winning, but then Leske decides to fight dirty. The sparring match becomes a brawl, which is broken up by Wulfgar.
Wulfgar then goes back to the other chieftans, and they consider putting some sort of code of conduct on duels and sparring matches.
The Forgeguard Beginning Prestige: 2 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. Ending Prestige: 4
The Jotnar were a new species, but they adapted well to life. Much better than the Vallamir did. The Frigid Forest was a special place, and the Jotnar had essentially been made for it, so it was only natural that they would thrive. Their height was perfect for plucking icefruit, while their strength and durability allowed them to go toe to toe with even the fiercest of predators. They required more sustenance than the standard Vallamir, it was true, but they were also fewer in number, and thus there was still enough food to be found.
As he had with the Vallamir, Kalmar traveled amongst the Jotnar, telling them stories of the other gods and bestowing teachings that might aid in their survival. They listened to his tales with interest, and took note of the values he tried to encourage.
Then, he received word that Ashalla was exploring the eastern coast of his continent, and so he had traveled south to greet her.
Now that he was returning, it was time to continue his interaction with the Jotnar species. As he soared through the chilly air, he began to consider his next step. The Vallamir of the south had already been taught to wield various tools and weapons, yet those took time to craft. It could take hours if not days to carve a stone or whittle a piece of wood to a point where it could be usable for its intended purpose. And even then, there was only so much the resulting tools could do before they had worn themselves down and needed to be repaired or replaced.
An idea had taken form. He set his sight on a large mountain. The Jorag Mountain, he would call it. Why not? It was the perfect place to implement his new plan, and so, he changed course toward it. In the meantime, he sent out a message.
A number of Jotnar had already made their homes in the hills and highlands surrounding the mountains. He passed over their camps as he flew. He frequently saw fighting, but when he stopped to investigate more closely, he realized it was for sparring purposes only. And strangely enough, everyone - even the fighters themselves - seemed to take joy in it, cheering and smiling as the fight carried on. Other tests of strength were common as well - two Jotnar engaged in an arm wrestling match on a flat rock. Two other Jotnar were competing to see who could lift more objects before they fell over, laughing in the snow.
A bit unusual, but it maintained their fitness and their skills, so it was hardly impractical.
He flew to the northern side of the mountain, where he came across a section of raised, flat, rocky land, nestled between the mountain and the coast. It was where he had his meal with Kirron, actually.
Kalmar landed, and he waited.
The next day, as the sun was setting, a massive blue dragon appeared over the northern horizon. It was Vendral. The heads fixated on Kalmar, and the great winged beast landed, peering down at him.
"It's been some time," Kalmar stated. Vendral had been left to remain on the Twilight Isle, to observe Azura and her work.
Vendral nodded one of its heads. "It has," he said non-committedly.
"Anything to report?" Kalmar questioned.
"No," Vendral answered. "No major changes have been made. None that I know of."
Kalmar frowned. "I see," he said, clearly disappointed. "And what about you? I know there's not much up there."
"I can manage," Vendral answered. "There isn't much, but the cold is comfortable, and there are still some things available to eat."
"Well, you might not need to stay there much longer," Kalmar suggested. "A few more years, maybe, and there will be someone to perform the task in your place."
Vendral appeared somewhat relieved. "Did you call me down here just to tell me this?" the blue dragon asked.
"No, there's something else I had in mind," Kalmar revealed, and then launched into an explanation. And Vendral listened.
The dark mountainside was suddenly illuminated by bright blue flame. There, as instructed, the five heads of Vendral concentrated their coldfire on one specific point. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Then Kalmar stepped forward. Before the freezing flames could dissipate, the God of Cold outstretched his hands, and then clapped them together. The coldfire was suddenly condensed into a single frigid ball of light, which hovered toward him and into one hand. He raised his other hand, and a great slab of stone rose from the ground. With his mind he shaped, hollowing it out, creating a grating which things could be put on, a door with slots to see through. Had Kalmar known what an oven was, he would have observed that this very much looked like one.
Then, he tossed the blue light inside, and shut the door.
At once the light expanded, back into its coldfire form. It crashed against the walls of its new container, fighting to get out, with streams of it erupting through the slots. Then, Kalmar focused his will, and it began to settle. It continued to roar and flicker, but the coldfire no longer fought to escape or spread, and it would stay that way.
He lifted something from the ground next to him. It was a simple stick, made entirely out of ice. As a weapon, it was worthless, and would surely shatter before it did any real damage. He opened the forge, and stuck it inside. A minute passed, and he pulled it out. Now, the ice glowed. He reared it back and, with force that would be impressive by mortal standards but disappointing by divine standards, swung it against the wall of his new construct.
Neither the ice nor the stone broke.
The Hunter smiled. Yes, this might work as intended.
Weeks later, the Jotnar Tribes began to arrive. There were four tribes in total, the smallest numbering twenty and the largest numbering forty. As they ascended the slope leading up to mountain shelf, and gazed up at it in the afternoon light, they were amazed.
The first thing they saw was a colossal tower, twelve stories high, and made of what appeared to be ice. They followed it downward, only for the tower's base to be obscured by a wall. The wall itself was impressive: forty-feet in height, and divided into sections by nine smaller towers - one of which was, oddly enough, made entirely out of stone rather than ice.
When the tribes had ascended up to the shelf itself, they saw that one of the sections of wall had an opening. They assembled in front of it, talking and whispering amongst themselves. Kalmar had called them here. He said nothing of this structure. What was it. What was it for? Where did it come from?
Four individuals - three men, and one women - stepped forward. Each one was the leader of their own tribe, and it was a position they had achieved through charisma, courage, intelligence, or strength. Either way, they had all been chosen for leadership, and what sort of leader would tell their people to enter a location without first ensuring it was safe?
So, the four chieftans stepped through, their people following behind them. The wall was as thick as they were tall. They stepped into the courtyard. The colossal tower was in the center, and there were three more icy buildings built around it, against the rock of the mountain.
Kalmar stood in front of the entrance to the great tower, waiting.
Some had seen him before. Others had not, but knew him from description. All did the customary show of respect: a dipped head, and a clenched fist across the chest.
Kalmar's eyes swept across the crowd, his gaze settling on the four chieftans. Ingrid, Ralof, Wulfgar, and Asvald, their names were. "The four of you. Come with me," he commanded, before turning and walking around the tower, toward one of the buildings behind it.
"This," Kalmar said, as they stood within the vast icy room that was empty, save for a pile of odd stone slabs with strange shapes called into carved into them, and a stone monument which contained glowing blue fire, "is the Coldforge."
The four looked upon it with wonder. Kalmar lifted one of the slabs. The shape had been filled in with snow and ice, and appeared to be some sort of weapon or tool, shaped like a cross. One end of the cross was about as long as the width of two Jotnar hands, and had was made entirely out of compacted snow, while the other was half as long as a Jotnar was tall, end was made out of ice. "This is a sword," Kalmar explained, as he opened the Coldforge and slid the slab in, before shutting it.
The blue fire seemed to come to life, enveloping the stone and the 'sword'. Kalmar allowed this process to continue for several long moments. Then, he opened the door, and the coldfire died down. He pulled the slab out, and removed the 'sword' from it, which seemed oversized in his hands. It was mostly unchanged... only the snow now had the texture and smoothness of stone, while the ice glowed a soft blue. "The handle is as strong as stone, and the blade as strong as metal," Kalmar informed them. "Though you don't know what metal is."
He wrapped the hilt in fur, and then held it out. The blue-haired Ingrid stepped forward and accepted it, inspecting the blade with interest. She pressed a finger to its edge, only to wince as a drop of blue blood was drawn. Asvald with his bushy blond beard walked up next to her, took one glance at the sword, and then looked back at his God. He opened his mouth to speak, but the grey-haired Wulfgar spoke first. "This is what you wanted to show us?" he asked, in a gruff voice similar to Kalmar's. Blond Ralof winced slightly.
Kalmar nodded. "It is," he confirmed. "Consider it a gift. Not just for you, but for all the Jotnar. With the Coldforge, you can create tools and weapons which will make your tasks easier. If you wish, you and your tribes are free to live here." Four pairs of eyebrows shot up. Ingrid smiled, Asvald and Ralof were shocked, while Wulfgar seemed skeptical.
"However," Kalmar continued. "There will be conditions. In choosing to live here, you must take up the task of guarding the Coldforge against those who might abuse it. You also take up the task of distributing its weapons and tools to your fellow Jotnar. You may request food or supplies in exchange for this, but only based on necessity. You will not give these tools to those you know will abuse them, and you will not abuse them yourselves, or raise them against your fellow Jotnar unless provoked. Do you agree?"
"We do!" Asvald said at once with a nod.
But Kalmar did not seem convinced. "Long ago, on another continent, with a different people, there was once a leader who was given a gift. Weapons, which he could have used to aid his hunters or defend his people. Instead he chose to strike at his neighbors. Countless lives were ended on both sides, nothing but bloodshed was accomplished, and in the end, he lost everything. His army was trapped and destroyed - not by the hand of any god, but by the mortals he tried to dominate. He died, and all who remembered him hated him." His tone was harsh, and grim. "I do not want to see this story repeat itself. If it does, you will share the same fate."
Three of the four seemed taken aback by the dire warning. Wulfgar, however, stepped forward. "It's a fair offer," he declared, giving another respectful salute. "I accept."
"I accepted as well." Ingrid saluted.
"And me."
"I as well."
Kalmar nodded. "Good. Tell your people of these terms. All who do not accept are free to leave. The rest will stay here, and make as many weapons and tools as they can. I will spread the word, and when I do, people will seek you out. Be ready. Remember my conditions, and know that you can be replaced if you disregard them."
And with that dire warning, the Hunter exited the room.
"This is a blessed day," Ingrid smiled.
"A lot of pressure, though," Ralof pointed out.
"So?" Wulfgar arched an eyebrow. "We've been given a task. It's time to rise to it." He looked to Asvald. "You have anything to say?"
Asvald shook his head. "All that needs to be said has already been said."
"Then let's get to it," Ingrid declared, her smile returning.
Kalmar has been telling the Jotnar stories and teaching them how to make stone tools. He then goes to meet Ashalla, which happened in another post. After he returns from said meeting, he decides to build a special monument, known as the Coldforge, and constructs a castle out of ice and stone. He invites some Jotnar to come, and explains that if they agree to guard the Coldforge and moderate who has access to it, they will be allowed to live in the castle and have full access to the Coldforge itself. They accept.
Kalmar
Beginning MP: 1 Beginning FP: 9
Expenditures -1FP to teach the Jotnar how to make stone tools. -1FP (discounted to 0 by hunting portfolio) to teach the Jotnar how to hunt. -3FP (enhanced by the Cold portfolio) to create the Coldforge. -2FP to start the Forgeguard, a Jotnar Holy Order. -1FP to create the Frozen Citadel. -1FP to gift the Jotnar stone moulds of various weapons and tools.
Beginning MP: 1 Beginning FP: 1
Forgeguard
Beginning Prestige: 0 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. Ending Prestige: 2
The Coldforge looks like a stone oven with blue flame. You take something made of ice, or snow, and then you put it inside. The snow and or ice is then made harder and stronger, rivaling stone or steel, while being considerably lighter. These items are also permanently imbued with cold magic: they are always freezing cold to the touch, and they will never melt. Coldforged weapons emit a shrieking sound when struck, and after repeated strikes, mundane weapons used against them will become increasingly brittle and risk breaking.
Although the Coldforge is a 3FP monument, only 2 of this MP goes toward the creation of the weapons. 1FP goes toward another function which will be revealed in time.
Note: the Frozen Citadel is not made purely out of ice. The ice is actually more like a substance known as Pyrkrete; an alloy of 86% ice and 14% sawdust, that is comparable to concrete in strength and solidity. In this case, simply replace sawdust with shavings of stone.
Kalmar, Arae, Roog, and Li’Kalla created you. You are the Vallamir.
Karamir jolted awake. Within a second, he was on his feet, and within another second, the Weapon was out and had taken the form of a sword. He swivelled in place, scanning his surroundings, yet there were no threats to be seen.
Strange. He could have sworn someone had just spoken, and he wasn’t quite sure what it was supposed to mean. Kalmar was the only name Karamir recognized - as far as he knew, ‘Arae’, ‘Roog’, and ‘Li’Kalla’ had nothing to do with him. And the name Vallamir… he had never heard that before in his life.
He glanced up at the Lustrous Garden. It was well into the night; day would soon follow. Yawning, he took the time to wipe his eyes… and then paused as a strand of hair appeared at the top of his vision. It was white.
Something had happened, after all. But what? Another glance around. No sign of anything, or anyone. He took flight, and circled the area surrounding the Stone Book. Again, he found nothing. ”How strange…” he muttered to himself. Talking to himself had become something of a habit, now. Not since his time on Kalgrun had he gone this long without somebody to converse with.
He did not go back to sleep. With weapon in hand he awaited the morning, continuing to practice his magic in the meantime.
When the sun finally rose, he took flight and found the nearest clear body of water. A quick glance of his reflection revealed that his hair had in fact changed colour… but only a small portion. The front was now white, but the rest remained the same light brown. ”What happened?” he wondered aloud.
Could it have been an effect of what Abanoc did to him? Doubtful. The encounter had been over a year ago, so why would such a change only come about now? Was it a result of his proximity to the Stone Book, or some belated side-effect of one of the many things that had been done to him in the past? It was impossible to be sure.
The most likely possibility was that Kalmar had finally gotten around to creating a species modelled after him: Vallamir was the name of the species, while the gods Li’Kalla, Roog, and Arae all helped create it.
”Karamir… first of the Vallamir…” he spoke aloud, testing it out.
He rose to his feet. If there truly were others like him, then it was time to get moving. He still needed to seek out the other mortal species, and the other gods. And once he had learned from them, he could share that knowledge with other people - including his own. He had remained near the Stone Book to continue practicing mana, but there was no real reason he couldn’t practice as he travelled. Being able to use mana while flying would be a useful skill anyway.
And so, on that note, he took flight and began a journey west, practicing his manipulation of the winds as he flew.
Eventually he reached the coast, of course, and he did not fancy another journey over the open ocean just yet. So instead he turned southwest. In the meantime, while he wasn’t attempting to summon gusts of wind mid-flight, he had contacted Kalmar, who confirmed much of what he had theorized. Though apparently a few changes had been made to the species, one of which led to the partially white hair that Karamir now had.
At some point he flew over a rather eerie looking forest, and a dense fog gradually enveloped him. He was no stranger to fog, but this felt rather sudden. Still, he couldn’t rightly call it unnatural, since he had never been to this area before. And after what he had seen in the Palace, Tendlepog, the Infinite Maze, and the Observatory, a bit of fog was hardly the strangest thing he could encounter.
He lowered himself to the ground, passing through the forest canopy until he landed on the ground before. It was rather eerie; like something out of one of Diana’s nightmares.
He drew his dagger, and willed it to become a staff. It wasn’t the most deadly weapon, but it felt comfortable to carry. He began to walk through the forest on foot, stopping occasionally to inspect plants or insects, every now and then glancing up at the forest canopy.
Unable to see the sun, he once again found himself in the concerning position of not knowing the passage of time. He wasn’t sure how much had passed, but after quite a bit of wandering and inspecting, he eventually came across a rough trail. No animal could have made this - or at least, no animal he had seen before.
”Are there mortals nearby?” he wondered. No, Abanoc’s book had not informed him of any within this region. ”The work of a god?” Or was it yet another oddity that had no clear explanation.
Anyway, he decided to follow the trail. ”Surely it leads somewhere...”
Time continued to pass, but it was not long before he came across another oddity - this one much larger than the insects he had grown accustomed to. A large tentacled slug, almost the size of a direwolf. It did not seem to possess any eyes; could it see him? Karamir circled around it, yet it did not react. He prodded it with the butt of his staff, and it lazily flicked a tentacle to ward off his pestering.
It didn’t seem to be hostile, and he didn’t even know if it was edible, so there was little point in disturbing it. He briefly wondered what its purpose was, but it wasn’t like he could ask. Instead he carried on, leaving the beast to drag itself along the trail.
On and on he walked. His cloak was spoiling him, he realized; he had almost grown unused to trekking vast distances on foot. He would have to take walks more frequently, instead of simply relying on the cloak to get anywhere. There may be come a time when he might find himself without it. ”Seems like the perfect place to get used to long walks…” he muttered to himself.
Eventually, the trail lead him to a clearing, and while that would not have been unusual, what was inside it was. A table, mostly stocked with plates of food, and one of the slug beasts from before was there, hungrily shoving food into its mouth with its tentacles.
Karamir was quite hungry himself, come to think of it. He walked around the side of the table opposite the creature, and noted that the foods the creature was eating included meat. It didn’t seem to notice him, but it could see the food in front of well enough. How did it perceive the world, he wondered?
Karamir closed his eyes and focused. It had been a long time since he had needed to call upon the Hunter’s Sight granted to him by Kalmar, but the power had not left him. He slipped into the creature’s perspective, and found that it could in fact see… everything except for him. Because as Karamir gazed through the creature’s eyes, he was looking at the very spot where his actual body should be standing… and there was nothing there.
He slipped back into his own perspective to confirm that he had not moved or been transported in any way. If the creatures could not see him… that was a remarkably easy weakness to exploit. He glanced back down at the table. His better judgement told him not to touch it, that this food had been left out here for a reason… and then his stomach growled. It had been too long since his last meal.
So, he grabbed a rather large loaf of bread from one of the plates, turned, and continued onward. The oversized slug didn’t even notice. He took bites as he walked, until eventually he had eaten it all.
At some point he decided it was time to take a break. He fell back into practicing his mana; using the loose yet controlled movements required to manipulate the air around him. He then looked down at his robe, which had grown increasingly worn and frayed.
Thankfully he had taught himself another spell for this.
Concentrating deeply, he drew upon the raw mana in the air around him. Raw mana was dangerous, and volatile, yet the result of this particular spell would hardly be catastrophic if it somehow went out of control. Slowly, the small tears, holes, and loose strands in his robe began to repair themselves, threads reattaching back together. He was sweating by the time he was done, but the clothes had been repaired in the end. ”Still dirty, though…” but there was little he could do about that until he found water.
He sat against a nearby tree, and breathed in the foggy air. He was not concerned; he could leave at any time he wanted. All he had to do was fly above the forest canopy, pick a random direction, and commit to it until he made it out. As far as he knew, he was still on Galbar, and so this forest must have an end. Even if he had somehow ended up in another sphere… even the Infinite Maze came to an end at some point, despite its name. As far as he could tell, he was in no danger. He was here by his own choice and his own curiosity.
He rested there for some time, until he saw an odd light in the corner of his eye, steadily coming closer. Warily, he rose to his feet and readied his weapon, only to see a rather strange sight emerge from the smoke: A lantern walking on a four-legged pedestal.
It came near to him, close enough that he could feel its warmth, and then suddenly it retreated, only to stop and then inch closer. Karamir took a step forward, and again the lantern began to fall back… only to start shaking itself in what appeared to be frustration, as Karamir had not moved beyond that single step.
”You want me to follow?” Karamir questioned with a raised eyebrow.
The lantern tilted itself slightly, in what Karamir assumed was meant to be a nod.
”Why not…” Karamir shrugged. If this was some sort of trap, he could easily get away. If it wasn’t, then it likely led to something interesting. So, he followed it. Time continued to pass, and Karamir continued to walk.
Eventually, however, his eyes began to droop, and it was getting darker. He needed to sleep. So, he stepped off the path, laid down near a tree, and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
Karamir awoke to something wrapping around his leg.
Just as it began to drag him, however, his cloak slipped out from underneath him and suddenly began to drag him in the opposite direction, as he floated an inch off the ground. He craned his head to look at his mysterious attacker, but saw nothing save a faint, blurry outline. He kicked at it, but it did not relent. All the while, the unknown assailant and his cloak continued to play a tug-of-war over his body.
His hand closed around the Multi-Weapon which lay next to him, and it morphed into a glaive. He swung wildly, severing an unseen appendage, and then he was free. His cloak dragged him over the dirt for several feet until he willed it to stop, and rose to his feet.
He could see the blurry outline of the creature, but it was practically invisible, and it was heading toward him. Despite its obscurity, he realized its size and shape was comparable to the beasts he had seen earlier. Quickly, he used his hunter’s sight to slip into the creature’s perspective, and realized that this time, they could see him.
It wasn’t particularly fast, however, so it was a simple enough matter to hold out his staff. A nearly-invisible tentacle wrapped around it, and then suddenly the glaive became a sword, and Karamir pulled it back, cutting through the creature’s flesh with ease. It recoiled in pain, and then the sword was a spear, and Karamir plunged it through where he assumed the monster’s brain would be. It collapsed.
He prodded the transparent corpse with the butt of his spear (transforming it back into a staff as he did so) and drew in a deep breath. Did these things become transparent at night? Or had eating the food affected him in some way? Either way, it seemed unwise to stay here.
A quick look around, and he saw a light in the distance. The lantern from before. Or at least, he assumed it was. It began to rapidly shake, as if urging him to follow, and so he did.
For three days Karamir followed the lantern. It led him off the trail, onto new trails, and even to food shrines. He realized that the creatures remained invisible even during the day, so therefore it had to have been the food that resulted in this change… somehow. Or maybe it was simply the result of being in this forest for a certain amount of time. ”If only I had some way to record all these thoughts…” he wondered aloud.
A quick experiment revealed that the food was indeed the cause. He ate some of the food in front of the creatures, and soon enough it went blurry and transparent to almost completely invisible.
It might have been a good idea to stop, but… he needed to eat something. The creatures were already invisible, the food was available, and it wasn’t like they were completely undetectable anyway - he could see faint imprints in the dirt and grass, marking where they stood, and he had his Hunter’s Sight ability anyway. In the night he flew up into the trees, used his cloak to tie himself to a branch, and allowed himself to drift off.
He marked trees to ensure that the lantern was not leading him in circles, but that didn’t address the concern that it might not be leading him anywhere at all. ”One more day of this,” he decided as he went to sleep that night. One more day with no results, and he would simply leave this place.
But around noon of the fourth day, he finally reached the pagoda.
It was five storeys tall, now, and disappeared far into the foggy sky. The giant wooden treadmill-crane standing on scorched ground beside it was the only sign that, somewhere far above, construction was ongoing. What was finished was already painted, plastered, and paved, and dozens of huge circular kites flew from its windows on long strings. They turned to look at him as he emerged from the jungle, displaying vivid irises.
At the edge of the forest, a curious being with a heavy green parrot on his shoulder turned to him. It had a peaked copper lantern for a head, and wore a heavy robe, a slender cane emerging from its sleeve to tap at the moist earth between them. Saith the parrot, “By the feathers of my beard: A stranger? A danger? A deep-forest ranger, seeking for yon places weird.”
”I am Karamir, of Kalgrun,” Karamir declared to the stranger. ”Who are you?”
A delicate pair of pliers emerged from the creature’s other sleeve, and tapped its chest, where a simple glyph was woven into the fabric, gold on black. It made a harsh whirring noise, the light in its lantern flashing unevenly as it did so, as if a shower of metal sparks had burst inside it. Then it bowed.
“Better luck, o traveller, Cannot be found speaking with her. The lantern heads don’t speak, or blink. This one’s X4B, I think.”
Lanternhead X4B shook gently, tapping the earth with its cane. She was laughing. After a moment she raised her head and motioned towards Karamir with the plier-hand.
A look of befuddlement briefly flashed across his face. ”What is this place?” he asked, taking a step forward. Lanternhead X4B paused momentarily, then walked- or maybe glided- back to the edge of the forest, where she had left a small basket filled with leaves. This she retrieved, hanging it on a wrist hidden under her sleeve, and with the plier-hand cracked off two slender twigs of even length. These she handed to Karamir before turning and ambulating back towards the great temple. The parrot looked back at him from her shoulder.
“Hmm, well, err, um. It’s called the ABACADARIUM. And while we’re out for names to give, For the record, mine is Liv.
”I see,” Karamir said, studying the twigs in his hand and having absolutely no clue what to do with them. ”Is there anyone else here?”
“You’ll just have to come and see,” said Liv, her voice barely audible as X4B crossed a bridge over a tile-bound stream running through the foundations of the temple. “For certain, not just you and me.”
Someone high up on Abacadarium’s youngest floors split the air with a yell, blasting apart the sound-eating fog to reveal a swarm of bright lights spiralling around the worksite. The greyness soon crept back in.
Karamir glanced up at the sudden yell, and grasped his weapon, but with no sign of immediate danger he let go. He did a quick scan of his foggy surroundings, and then followed X4B in silence.
The pagoda was about as big on the inside as it was on the outside, which, while not a supernatural feat by any means, was still a feat. Part of the stream had been channeled into shallow grooves around the edges of the enormous ground floor, and the rest was all pillars and mats and stairways and vast open space, floor after floor after floor. Lanternheads stood here and there, often in circles or rows, flying kites from the windows, tallying things in bundles or under lenses or trickling through hourglasses. Some of them seemed to be fighting, in a slow, turn-taking kind of way. They lit up the floor of each successive storey, and chirruping clusters of flying paper-lanterns lit up its ceiling, twirling their streamers and fluttering around Karamir, who resisted the urge to swat them away.
They emerged onto the ceiling of the fifth storey, the floor of the unfinished sixth. There a goddess sat crosslegged with her back to the newcomers amidst a pile of scorched butterfly nets of enormous size, sulking.
She seemed important. He needed to think of something to say. Something that wasn’t too vague, but also wasn’t too bloated with explanation. But where to begin? So instead, all he offered was a rather lame ”Hello?”
“Ah fuck what now,” said Chopstick Eyes, waving her hand in the air without looking back.
His eyebrows raised. That was not the response he expected. Certainly different from the parrot’s rhymes, or X4B who didn’t speak at all. ”I am Karamir, from Kalgrun,” he answered. ”I was exploring this forest, when one of the walking lights led me to this place.”
Chopstick turned her stitched-up head and focused her sticks on Karamir for the first time, and her eyebrows untangled. “Oh, hey, dude, that’s a dope cloak,” she said. “Hold up, hold it right there.” She scrabbled to her feet and closed the gap between them in two fast steps, pressing her body into the Cloak of Red Feathers and smelling it deeply, then sniffing her way up to his face. He winced slightly as the chopsticks jabbed him through the cloak. “Damn, you smell like… Ten gods.”
Karamir allowed this only because he knew who she was. The eyes gave it away. ”I have met a lot of gods,” he confirmed. ”The first was Kalmar, my creator. Then Phystene. Then K’nell’s Avatar. Then K’nell himself. Then Kalmar’s Avatar. Then Abanoc. And now you. I think your name is… Chopstick Eyes?”
“Well, I do have them,” said the god who had chopstick eyes. She looked up. “K’nell. The dreamboat. Is he an asshole?”
Karamir frowned. ”He was friendly enough, at first, when I visited his sphere. But it seemed like I didn’t fit there, so I left, and then he decided to send me out of his lands as well. His avatar, on the other hand, is a living nightmare who takes fun in tormenting people - myself included. That’s my experience with him.”
“HRRRMMMMM. Hmm.” Chopstick took another deep breath of Karamir and detached herself. “Hmm hm hm. Here. Take this net. You’re Kalmar’s boy, so I figure he’s taught you at least something about catching things.” X4B made a grinding noise, which Chopstick ignored, scrabbling around for a net for herself. “He has, hasn’t he? I hope he has. Make yourself useful. You too, sparky.” Lanternhead X4B stooped laboriously to the floor and picked up the closest, smallest, most beaten-up butterfly net within reach, and held it limp-wristedly, turning her head briefly towards Karamir.
Karamir accepted the net, and looked at it with a quizzical expression. ”What am I supposed to catch?” he asked.
“The, fuckin’. The flying… You’ll see,” said Chopstick. “You can catch things, r-”
Strange lights flashed in on a misty wind and Chopstick screamed. Karamir drew his dagger, which suddenly became a sword.
There were some three dozen of them and each one was everything the Lanternheads were not: organic and random and wildly nimble, tumbling and turning and kicking and leaping. Their shapes were fantastic, their colours lurid, blazoned on wings and flaps and tails and jets stitched together with curious textiles and wire, like hot air balloons that had studied the fish and the squid. Their fireball hearts blazed free and airy under their skin, blasting them along through tubular vents.
Oh. So this was what he was supposed to catch. He glanced down at the small, battered net, and scowled. Some use that would be. Then he looked at his sword, and he had an idea. He cast the battered net aside, and suddenly the blade of his sword began to shift. Instead of a sword, it became a net itself - only with metal where there had previously been rope, and the rim being wider and larger.
Then, in a blur of red, he shot forward and upward, flying himself into their midst. With his metallic net he swung rapidly, catching as many as could fit, before darting back down just as quickly as he went up. ”Where should I put these?” he asked Choppy, as he willed the opening of the net to seal itself.
Chopstick watched her fire-spirit scorch its way out from under her net in a flurry of sparks and spiral off whistling into the fog before standing and turning to check. After a moment of absorbing the scene, her sticks rolled widely and she snapped her net over her knee. “Aw GUT ME. Why didn’t you think of that, huh? Huh, sparky?” Lanternhead X4B tossed her unused net aside without moving much. Chopstick sighed and strode over to Karamir’s catch, which was snickering like a mechanical horse. “A metal fucking net...”
There were two of the strange creatures in the Weapon, though one was curiously bifurcated. They weren’t much larger than pigeons, and substantially lighter. “Sparky, what are they saying?”
Lanternhead X4B whirred and scraped.
“Olivia, what’s she saying?”
“She wasn’t talking to you,” said the melancholy parrot. Chopstick smiled broadly and touched the sides of her head as if they were about to explode. “Do they understand her?”
“No.”
Chopstick turned to Karamir with sticks splintering audibly before her face and said, through gritted grinning teeth, “I’m gonna fucking lose it. Who sold you that net?”
”Kalmar gave it to me,” Karamir replied, taking a cautious step back. ”Why?”
Chopstick stared at him with no smile for a moment. Then she deflated. She combed her hair with her fingers. “...I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this,” she said, looking out into one of the eye kites. “I don’t even know why you’re here. Let’s go inside. Sparky, bring me a coat. I’ll explain everything.” X4B stamped her cane on the ground once in affirmation.
They disappeared back down into the pagoda, closing a trapdoor behind them, and at Chopstick’s request released the spirits into one of the storeys once all exits had been sealed. They bumbled around merrily with the flying-lanterns, teasing them. Chopstick spoke as they worked. “I’m the god with the chopstick eyes. The Market Lord. This was meant to be my office, and it’s gonna be. These people are my staff. I made them to keep track of my things. And things generally. Hey, gourdface, hey, hatboy.” Two Lanternheads, one a pumpkin, the other with a wide-brimmed hexagonal lid, greeted them, already illustrating the fire kites on broad easels.
“I tried to make them last for a long time, but that didn’t work. They’ll wear out in a few decades. So I’ll have to make more. But concentrating enough soul ash for these guys was a… slog. So, I went back to the magic lanterns I made them from, took a few of those, made them halfway into lantern heads so that their souls would fit, then mixed them together with wild kites… You might not know what that is. It’s what it sounds like. The kites can make babies, anyway, so I’ll never run out of new fires. And then I amped up their souls a whole lot.” She watched as one of the spirits alighted on ‘hatboy’s hook-hand, her scarred lips tight. “Lanternheads are nice- and they work hard- but they’re very… Patient. I was hoping that if I did all that with the new batch of souls, they’d be kind of less passive. Well… turns out they’re still kind of passive, but at ten times the speed. I call them Spitfires.” She sighed.
“Guess I’ll have to take the least ditzy of them to make new Lanternheads. Anyway. That’s where I’ve been at. I wanted to have this building finished ages ago, but these guys took so long to make that I couldn’t, and I don’t even really know how they work. ...Sorry if I snapped at you.”
Karamir had to admit: this was all somewhat fascinating, but there was a troubling concern nagging him from the back of his mind. ”Just to clarify…” he said, glancing back and forth across the room. ”We’re still on Galbar, right?”
Chopstick shrugged with several spare shoulders. “I mean I’d hope so,” she said.
Karamir breathed a mild sigh of relief. ”Sorry, it’s just that I’ve only ever seen things this… strange… when I was in a god’s sphere. This is all very interesting though: how long do you think it will take to be completed?”
“‘Nother few years.” Chopstick dug around in the pockets of the big wool coat X4B had brought her and pulled out some wire and fabric, which she deftly worked together into a kite. “I… get you, though. This is kind of a special place. It’s a very me type of place, and I’ve been cooped up here a long time. You probably feel like you’re snooping in someone else’s messy bedroom.” She threw the little glider into the room, where one of the spitfires pounced on it, feasting on it midair in a flurry of sparks and smoke. “You’re welcome to stay, though. Did you come looking for something? I can totally set you up.”
Karamir glanced up at the ceiling. Ideas were beginning to take shape inside his head. ”I’m not looking for anything specific,” he admitted, ”...but since I’m here, is there anything I can do to help you build this place?”
“Probably not. If you could tell me how that net of yours works, though, that’d be super cool. Or your cloak. You can fly with that, right? And besides, I owe you one for helping out.”
He nodded, and held up the net. ”It’s not really a net,” he said, and with that it morphed back into a dagger. ”It can be whatever weapon I imagine, with some limitations… but apparently tools count, so that’s how I did that. As for the cloak… yes, it lets me fly.” He returned the dagger to its sheathe before Chopstick got a chance to reveal her own blade and compare sizes. ”If I can’t help, I’d still like to stay, for a time. It’d be useful to have a place where I can practice mana without worrying about the weather, and it will be good to see how a place like this can be built.” He shrugged. ”I like to learn things.”
“Well, in that case, maybe you could start with these!” Chopstick flipped the top of a nearby box, almost tipping it over, and pulled out two books, one bright and one plain. The bright one was titled ‘You Are A Moron: Pictographic Calculus for the Completely Illiterate’. The other was written in a braille, its cover embossed with ‘Advanced Watercolour Painting for the Blind’.
“I don’t know what they’re about, but I gave them to the lanternheads and apparently they learned a lot,” said Chopstick Eyes, grinning ear to ear. “They’re real good at this whole counting and painting thing. They even use paintbrushes.”
Karamir glanced at the titles and squinted. ”Pictograph… Calculus? Watercolours? What do those even mean?”
“Is that what they say?” Chopstick smiled blankly, flicking through the mathematics textbook. “I know watercolour is paint with water as a fluid medium for the pigment, instead of like, oil, or acrylic. That’s not what Hatboy and Gourdface are using right now, but I know the others are keen on it.” She tossed the book over her shoulder, where ‘sparky’ caught it without looking, then looked at it curiously for a moment and returned it to the box. “I can show you that pretty easily. The rest, you’ll probably have to get the lampnoggins. Ask around! They’re pretty helpful, just not when you need them to talk.”
”I see…” he said slowly. ”I’ll have to get on that. Another question: you don’t mind if I practice mana here, do you?”
“Don’t know what that is. Is it explosive?”
”Uh… it can be,” Karamir answered reluctantly. ”Abanoc told me about it. It’s this energy that can be found all around the world. Mortals can use it to do things they can’t normally do.” he held out a hand and a small flame flickered from his finger, before sputtering out.
“Oh, so that’s what this stuff is,” said Chopstick, rummaging in her coat pockets until she found a crisp dollar bill. She folded it neatly into a paper man and tapped it, whereupon it morphed into a crude clay figurine, wriggling weakly. “Leverage.”
Karamir raised his eyebrows, but he was unsure if she actually used mana, or if she simply used her divine powers. Best not to question it, he decided. ”Yes… but I was told it’s called mana. Can any of your ‘lampnoggins’ use it?”
“Nah, they’re paid in art supplies,” said Chopstick, squashing the figure.
”Well then…” Karamir said. ”If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going back outside. Let me know if you need help catching any more of those… things.”
“Figure I can manage, now that I’ve got these to practice on. Hmm.” She stretched. “You pay the air to fly, right? Something like that.”
”Uh… no,” answered Karamir, who had already been in the process of turning to leave, and now had to look back. ”The cloak allows me to fly at no cost to myself. I don’t know if mana could be used to fly without it. I haven’t tried.”
“Give it a shot if you’re practicing on my grounds,” saith the Lord. “I can push you out of a high window if you want. Or if you’d rather do some, I dunno, botanical illustration, you’re free to stay and mess around with the candlemugs as long as you’re keen. I’ll leave it up to you!”
”I... will keep that in mind.”
Time passed.
Bricks were made and baked and raised, and there came a moment when, all of a sudden, the Abacadarium stood complete. Clouds streamed over it and off its edges, like water, and kites floated from it like the distant leaves of a branchless tree. Chopstick kicked apart the gargantuan treadmill-crane with great mirth, and set it on fire thereafter. When the ash was cleared and the grounds were paved and gardened, they soon sprouted into a maze of finished charcoals and watercolours, hung to dry or to display, depicting things the Lanternheads had seen or been brought. Some of them depicted Karamir.
Chopstick pranced daydreamy through the paper and canvas, a shoal of Spitfires whining at her, tugging her silk shirt this way and that, each begging to lead her away and show her some trinket or other. She played with a bundle of steel wool from a steel sheep, tossing fragments of nutritious wire for the spirits to swarm over.
“I guess you’re not staying much longer, huh?”
Karamir was seated in an empty space of grass that was clear of flowers or drawings. A fire had been built, and somewhere he had found a grate which he used to construct a makeshift grill. His multi-weapon had been converted into a spatula, which he used to flip a sizzling fish. He leaned forward to inspect it more closely, sniffed, and then looked up at Chopstick.
”Probably not. It was interesting to see this place built, but there’s more out there for me to see,” he admitted. He wasn’t sure how much use what he had witnessed could be - for example, how could he possibly replicate something like that crane? He had, however, made ample use of his time, by honing his understanding of mana. In addition to advancing his skill over winds, he had also begun to practice the manipulation of water, finding that it required a similar move and mindset. There was a stream that flowed through the pagoda, at which he had practiced at almost every day. ”Thanks for letting me stay,” he nodded.
“No problem. You’re a cool kid,” said Chopstick, sticking a marshmallow on a stiff wire and setting it on fire under the grill. “Tell Kalmar I said hi, if you catch him again. Or anyone else, really.”
”I will,” Karamir nodded, as the spatula became a fork and he speared the fish.
Karamir wakes up receiving the message that his species has created. His appearance has changed slightly. He decides to explore the Kick in greater detail, so he does. He finds the Feasting Forest and has some encounters with the local wildlife. Then he stumbles across Choppy's pagoda, which is under construction.
There is a weird lantern-headed creature with a talking parrot on its shoulder. It takes him to meet Chopstick Eyes, who sets him to the task of capturing some escaped defective lantern fire spirit things. I dunno. She gives him a wooden net which Karamir realizes will be useless, so he shifts his Multi-Weapon into a metal one which is far more effective.
Chopstick is frustrated by this, and wants to know where he got it. He tells her. She calms down, and he asks her some questions about the pagoda. He asks if there is any way he can help with the building process or if Chopstick's followers can be taught mana (and then has to explain what mana is), but the answer to both questions is no. In the end he decides he'll stay at the pagoda anyway, because he's interested to see just how such a colossal structure can be built.
Years pass, and Karamir spends most of that time on the pagoda, watching it be built and finding quiet places to practice his mana. Eventually the building is completed, and it's time to leave, so he does. He exchanges a goodbye with Choppy and goes on his way.
Karamir Beginning Prestige: 14 +1 for minor role. +1 for major role. +1 for collab. -2 to claim the title “First of the Vallamir.” -2 to claim the title “Mend Clothes.” A spell which allows him to repair clothing (it does not create new material, however.) -2 to claim the title: "Rushing Water," allowing Karamir to use mana to manipulate liquid water. Ending Prestige: 11
First of the Vallamir. The Wizard. Violent Winds. Rushing Water. Mend Clothes.
Oh god, this one’s a mess. Choppy needs to get her finances in order after all those audits. AFAIK she has 16 MP and 12 FP to throw around this turn.
10 belated Might is spend building the Abacadarium, Chopstick’s official pagoda. This is a Holy Site staffed by Lanternheads, as detailed earlier.
4 Might is spent creating the Spitfires, a kite/hot air balloon/lantern spirit kind of deal. These are a sapient race in their own right, to be detailed a little more later. They’re a bit like Lanternhead tadpoles. Delicious. True to their nature as lanterns, they like showing people things and leading them places, so I’m gonna call that Might spent towards Lanterns.
2 Age of Lords Might are spent teaching Lanternheads to how take precise measurements of the natural world and how to make accurate illustrations thereof, respectively. Important for accounting!
Lanternheads gain +1 Prestige for a minor-ish role and +1 for collabing. I think they still have 1 Prestige from their introduction post too, they had a very minor role, but eh, it was a collab.
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.
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
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