[center][h3]Turn 11[/h3]

[hider=The Map]
Map suspended pending the return of Chenzor, my cartographic monkey. Sorry folks!
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[h3][color=DarkGray]The Lycan Covenant[/color][/h3]
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There was some good news, at least--producing the spears from the black stone took only a matter of a few days. Several boulders of basalt were from freed from the ground and carried (or rolled, in the case of some rounder ones) back to their encampment. The Goldtooth were experienced craftsmen, so even without th benefit of being accustomed to knapping such stones, they were able to fashion hundreds of sharpened points and affix them tightly to the end of wooden shafts. Though of potentially dubious quality (the spear shafts could probably be easily broken by creatures like the rhino men, and the spearheads were prone to occasionally falling off) there were soon too many spears to count. There were enough for all of the lycans capable of fighting or hunting, which even included some of the pups. The spears of better quality were naturally claimed by the most accomplished warriors, many of whom also claimed one or two backup spears in case their primary ones broke.

Drilling with mere sticks, and then shortly after with the new spears, was carried out. The Covenant's warriors didn't fight in dense formations like the pikemen of other lands, and nor did they have an understanding of that sort of organized warfare. Still, it was easy enough for them to figure out how to hold their spears, fight with them in one-on-one duels or in small skirmishes, and use them to keep enemies at bay. The weapons were so primitive and simple that wielding them felt like second nature for many of them, and perhaps in the future even some of the hunters would turn to using these spears in favor of fang and claw.

Their position seemed reasonable safe now. They had fully relocated across the river, and now with some crude fortifications and Bloodfang and Silentpaw patrols to spot out any surprise attacks, they were not wholly unprepared for battle.

Mex also had a few scouts on the other side of the river, operating out of Seagard. They had barely managed to hide the two slain giants before a [i]large[/i] band of the Rhino Men was spotted out. Presumably lead to the area by the third member of the trailblazer trio (the one Rhino that'd gone missing before the Lycans performed their ambush), there was a wandering caravan of about two dozen of the Rhino Men as well as ten or so regular rhinos which walked on four legs and seemed to be used as pack beasts. They were clearly trying to find their two missing friends, and after scouring the area for an hour or two, they began to make their way straight towards the unusual structure of Seagard.

By the time Vlath heard word of this, there were mere minutes to react. If he rallied the warriors he would likely be able to make it across the river to that makeshift fortress just as the Rhino Men arrived, and hopefully he'd be able to gather the attention of the Void Gods' two champions along the way and summon them to the fight as well. But then they would be throwing away their advantage of a fortified position across the river...perhaps it was better to just order the Bloodfang garrisoned inside of Seagard to retreat?

Time was of the essence, and Vlath couldn't afford to ponder for long or to be indecisive.

[b]A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other[/b]

[b]Population:[/b] 140 men, 143 women, 68 pups.
[b]Livestock:[/b] Small number of rabbits
[b]Military:[/b] 2 void monsters. Militia spearmen able to be conscripted up to about 40% of adult population.
[b]Food level:[/b] Slightly below average
[b]Resources:[/b] Lumber (low quantity; increasing), basalt (small amounts)
[b]Wealth:[/b] Nonexistent
[b]Trade:[/b] Nonexistent
[b]Growth:[/b] [i]Low; impacted from food level.[/i]
[b]Morale:[/b] Average; brought up by respite from rain, brought down by food level
[b]Foreign relations:[/b] [color=silver]Rhino Men: (Hostile)[/color] 
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[h3][color=lightblue]Attolia[/color][/h3]
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[center][color=red]You've not posted anything for this turn! Did you need another month and a half? :P[/color][/center]

"But how am I supposed to know [i]which[/i] stupid animal we need to find and bury? I've hunted dozens! And I still think that this 'spirit' stuff is probably nonsense..." Salvdal remarked to the shaman in a tone that sounded almost entirely unapologetic. Lady Saphira, or whatever was left of her, just peered at the foolish hunter with the empty eyes of a ghost. There was a bit more fire to be seen in the shaman's baleful glare, and together the two of them stared Salvdal into a repentant silence. They treasured and kept that silence for most of the journey's remainder; they found and buried at least a score of skeletal gazelles (and for good measure a few other carcasses that they stumbled across, too) in the hopes that one of these had been the particular animal whose vengeful spirit had returned, but there was no telling whether or not that was the case, nor was there any true way for them to know if the mere act of burying the bones and offering a quick prayer would even be enough to exorcise the spirit that was guiding their enemies. Nonetheless, they continued their work for two days and then began to make camp. Then, the Spirit Vessel suddenly craned its host's head and looked to the distance.

"I sense their presence. The enemy is near."

Salvdal muttered something to himself and quickly climbed up one of the steppe's rare trees, the one that they had been meaning to camp beneath for the night. About halfway up, he let out some exclamation. "Fires!" he said.

The shaman squinted into the distance, and sure enough, there was the faint glow of two campfires. The steppe here was so flat that they could see that from miles away, but it was hard to make out any more detail. But then to their horror, the two fires became six, a dozen, more, and more...

This was no small band that was pursuing their people; it was an army!

The shaman was distraught. "We must head back to warn the others, right now! There's no time to sleep!"

"No; fleeing is the coward's way. We can strike now and sever the snake's head," the Spirit Vessel declared. The shaman looked up into the tree for the dark silhouette of Salvdal, trying to find support in [i]that[/i] scoundrel of all people.

[hr]

At their camp, it took the better part of an entire day as well as the following night to create a ritual to summon the local spirits and ask of them the great favor. It was always hard to tell whether the spirits understood what was being asked of them, because even with wisdom accumulated in death they ultimately remained animals at heart. But as they shuffled away in the morning, one could only hope that they were somehow muddying the path for the Attolians' enigmatic pursuers. Progress migrating north was [i]much[/i] slower than they would have liked. It had grown to the point where they hadn't moved camp in years, and over time complacency had led them to accumulate more belongings, and to simply lose some of the readiness and hardiness that their people had once had. In addition to simply having more belongings, they now also had to worry about driving their substantial herd of cattle onward. It was hard to move the animals at anything that could be considered a fast pace, and impossible to cover the entire herds' tracks.

[hr]

It was quickly becoming apparent that this was not a foe that they could flee from, at least not without abandoning nearly everything that they had worked so hard to earn over the past years. And with two days already wasted, time was running critically short.

[b]A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure, and some w
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other[/b]

[b]Population:[/b] 143 men, 144 women, 78 children.
[b]Military:[/b] 1 elite warrior (spirit vessel). Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
[b]Livestock:[/b] A large herd of cattle
[b]Food level:[/b] Above Average
[b]Resources:[/b] Horses (A small number)
[b]Wealth:[/b] 200 pounds of gold; some precious jewels
[b]Trade:[/b] Some internal trade, facilitated by currency
[b]Growth:[/b] [i]Average; impacted by racial traits, good food level, and good morale.[/i]
[b]Morale:[/b] Below average (ill omens)
[b]Foreign relations:[/b] None
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[h3][color=purple]The Mustaqilun Tribe[/color][/h3]
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The shaman was [i]not[/i] pleased by this compromise that Rukdug had devised. For that matter, neither were the people who wanted to fell those trees for charcoal, as twenty trees worth of fuel was hardly enough to run the smelteries and forges for long. Still, there were some that said that a good compromise was one that left all parties unhappy, and if he kept to that philosophy then Rukdug could take pride in the outcome of his decision.

As the miner-turned-poisoner took to his new role with glee, for it was much more amusing to concoct and test toxins than it was to break rocks and perform hard labor for days on end, the shaman ironically seemed unhappy. He claimed to have no fondness for woodcarving, yet refused to suffer any of the artisans to aid him in creating the axes supposedly for fear of them ruining the magic or making 'dumb mistakes'. It was nonetheless interesting to watch him work, and a few orcs spent their spare time shadowing the shaman (much to his chagrin). They told Rukdug that the shaman was performing all manner of bizarre and seemingly pointless rituals along every step of the process. He took a cut out the sturdiest part of each tree an carved an axe head from it, but seemed to pay little mind for the handles and just found whatever sticks or branches were thick enough to suffice for such. He would whisper to the wood, then pound it with a mallet. Rub it with ointments, then immediately wash it clean before covering it with filth. Occasionally there were incantations, too. It all culminated with him carving symbols into the [i]totally wooden[/i] axes in an attempt to imbue them with enough enchantments that they wouldn't be totally useless in battle. In the end they looked sturdy enough. Despite not even being made from stone or metal, they were sanded to have a sharp edge and had enough heft to hurt. They probably wouldn't fare well against armor, though.

True to how he first described it, the final step of creating this cursed weapons involved him using the axes to slowly cut down the very trees from which they were made. It seemed almost a formality at that point, as cutting a large section out of the trees' trunks had left most of them dying anyways. Still, he [i]very slowly[/i] finished the job, which naturally took a toll on the weak axes. So he repaired them as best as he could, then surrendered them for inspection.

[hider=Axes of Hate][img]https://cdn.instructables.com/FM7/7T5O/JLQV2K1Z/FM77T5OJLQV2K1Z.LARGE.jpg[/img][/hider]

The first axe was tested upon one of the pig runts just as the miner's poison had been, and it seemed utterly unexceptional. The end product looked flimsy and borderline useless for combat, even if ornamental enough to perhaps serve as a ceremonial weapon. All eyes fell upon the shaman and many were furious, with the miner-turned-poisoner's laughter cutting through the cloud with particular clarity. When demanded to explain himself, the shaman stammered that perhaps there had been a mistake and [i]that one axe[/i] had been used to chop the incorrect tree, but that the others should still work.

So they cast aside that useless one, and tried again with another one of the eighty axes that had been chosen at random. This one worked as expected. The piglet's fate was not to be envied, and the baleful axe seemed to drink its blood and grow sharper from the feast. The butcher that had held the thing claimed to have felt uncomfortable even holding the weapon after the fact, but such objections were quickly brushed aside. Now there was the question of what to do with these 80 cursed axes--or 79, now that one of them had been discovered to be useless. A few pointed out that if that one had been used on the wrong tree, then surely there had been a swap and at least one of the other axes would have similarly been ruined. In fact, for all they knew, half the axes could have been ruined.

The shaman blamed the meddling or tampering of those that had hounded him throughout the entire process, and said that they must have touched the axes, rearranged them, and ultimately caused him to misplace them through no fault of his own. Some other orcs were vocal in their suspicion that the shaman was just a half-senile fool that had lacked the foresight to even keep track of which axes were meant to go where, and others tried to deflect the blame into nothingness by saying that perhaps some of the axes just hadn't taken to the magic well. In any case, though there were a fair deal of pigs there were not enough runts to test 79 more axes with seriously harming the food supply, so it seemed likely that the Mustaqilun would just have to carry these all into battle (defective and successful axes both) and hope that most of them performed.

Later that day, a messenger returned from Nyorgha's expedition to report that the logging camp was coming along. Some minor setbacks had taken place, but the messenger claimed that the first shipments of lumber were likely to arrive before he even completed the journey back to his captain. That was welcome news, because as of yet the prospectors were still failing to find any coal. On one or two occasions they did hear or see ninja patrols down in the tunnels below, but the goblins never stayed around to talk. It seemed that there were other ways to enter the mining caverns below, as even with the entrance to the firestone chamber now completely blocked, the goblins still seemed capable of accessing the other parts of the area below Riverforge. In fact, many were beginning to suspect that these goblins lived somewhere down there...they probably didn't want the orcs to know exactly where, and that'd explain why they'd been so careful to blind or render unconscious all those that they'd kidnapped.

[hr]

A long ways down the mountains, in a secluded defile, Pak waited alongisde the other orcs. He passed the time by staring into a small campfire and toying with the flute that Ie had given him. One of the others tossed another green branch onto the fire to make more smoke; they were trying to be noticed, after all. The tengu had assured them that he and the goblins were not far away, not far at all. They were just barely out of sight hiding in the thickets and trees on the cliffs above, lest any of the bandit scouts perchance spot them out. But of course, Ie had assured them, it would only take a moment for them to strike once they heard him play the flute as a signal.

It was hard to figure out what a goblin's or a bird-spirit's word was worth, though. Probably not much, but here they were nonetheless.

Eventually one of the bandit scouts came creeping down the path, hugging the wall. It was right on time. The youth was sneaky enough, but because Pak and the others had been expecting him, they practically smelled him the second his head peeped at them from around a rocky outcrop. The hardest part was for them to make conversation and act busy to make the trap seem believable, all while trying their hardest not to look toward the human spying on him and betray the ruse. But they seemed to have done it, for after only a minute the scout disappeared. He'd be running off to tell the other bandits, who wouldn't be far.

And soon enough, the bandits began to creep in. Silently, like pale ghosts of the mountain wilderness, a dozen rounded the corner. And then a dozen more. And another dozen. They were dangerous--sure, they still wore mismatched leather and metal armor and some had straw hats instead of helmets, but their gear and weapons seemed cared for and they didn't have the starved look that most men of their position carried on their faces. More and more of the bandits flooded in. Then came out from the chokepoint and fanned out a bit to surround the orcs' campsite against the cliff wall, but the bandits didn't come closer than twenty yards. They held their yumi bows, their swords, and their spears, and they inexplicably just waited in a staredown as the outnumbered orcs also readied their weapons. More bandits were still coming in, but wading through their ranks with his thighs at the level of their heads and shoulders, there was a hulking figure that could be none other than the Bandit King.

He pushed through the crowd, past the front ranks of the bandits, and brazenly walked right into the orcs without so much as drawing the massive sword sheathed by his side. The red giant breathed deeply in a long and exaggerated mockery, then fixated two fiery eyes upon Pak. [color=tomato]"And what little slave-thing are you? I can smell the tengu from here,"[/color] he suddenly laughed. Something about the demon's eyes was making Pak hesitate...he rubbed his fingers over the flute and reconsidered blowing it. As his grip on the tiny wooden instrument had tightened, the great oni's eyes fell upon it and he let out a diabolical rumble of a laugh.

[color=tomato]"Do you think they ever cared about you? That they would actually help you? They sent you here to die. Fortunately for you, I've already slashed your mongrel of a master in two!"[/color]

[b]A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other[/b]

[b]Population:[/b] 203 men, 205 women, 101 children.
[b]Military:[/b] No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 60% of adult population.
[b]Livestock:[/b] A large group of pigs
[b]Food level:[/b] Average
[b]Resources:[/b] [i][color=gray]copper, zinc, and arsenic[/color][/i] (decent amount; not yet being worked or smelted into alloys), charcoal (tiny amount), [color=green]paralytic poison[/color], [color=red]cursed axes[/color]
[b]Wealth:[/b] Some semi-precious gemstones
[b]Trade:[/b] Nonexistent
[b]Growth:[/b] [i]Average[/i]
[b]Morale:[/b] Below average (improved by sending away the worst complainers)
[b]Foreign relations:[/b] [color=Gold]Ful's Ninjas: Neutral[/color]
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[h3][color=orange]Orr'gavol: The Hammersworn[/color][/h3]
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The way back for Kadol and the explorers was treacherous, even as they'd come to know well the path between the mountains and the Hovel. Freshly thawing snow and half-melted ice along the ground made every slope and patch of ground into a nuisance at best. Still, the unusually clear skies (which had over the past few months been almost always grey and overcast with snow-laden clouds) and the steady dripping of water from melting icicles were [i]welcome[/i] things. After Trollheim, even the unmelted snow around their lands felt warm.

As they traversed the wood, a few astute dwarves realized that rising up over the trees were more plumes of smoke than there'd been before. Upon their arrival they saw that this was due to the addition of numerous crude smokehouses. The food situation was now no longer so dire, and hope was rising with the temperature. Naturally, Kadol expected that their ill tidings would shatter all of that. Food was prepared in anticipation of the expedition's return, for Kadol's ragged group looked worn and tired so all the Hammersworn thought that [i]surely[/i] such a state indicated that they'd undergone the journey and returned home to tell the tale of how they met their success. Still, it was hard for those on the expedition to not gulp; their stomachs turned with the nervous anticipation of all the ill news that they had to bear.

[sub][i]Godrim was dead. Kadol had to kill him. Godrim said that a troll had corrupted him.

A [i]troll[/i] had corrupted him. That meant that the ice trolls had somehow made it to the mountains, and that they had terrible powers!

They didn't find the Sorcerer-King. Godrim said that it was a trap. It was unlikely they'd ever be able to find the Sorcerer-King's tomb and live to tell the tale.[/i][/sub]

How was Kadol going to deliver any of this? Was it better to bear the burden himself, or perhaps only share it with the Foreman, and [i]not[/i] subject all the others to despair?

The next day, word came from the mines that the Abductor had been sighted flying around one of the mountain peaks yet again.

[b]A) Improve food
B) Improve military technology
C) Improve infrastructure
D) Improve culture
E) Explore
F) Improve resources/technology
G) Prospect the land
H) Expand military
I) Take diplomatic action
X) Other[/b]

[b]Population:[/b] 238 men, 237 women, 118 children.
[b]Military:[/b] No standing military. Militia able to be conscripted up to 30% of adult population.
[b]Food level:[/b] Average
[b]Resources:[/b] Lignite coal (low grade; large amount, increasing), iron ore (substantial quantity, increasing), iron (substantial quantity)
[b]Wealth:[/b] Nonexistent
[b]Trade:[/b] Nonexistent
[b]Growth:[/b] [i]Average[/i]
[b]Morale:[/b] Average, influenced by food, end of winter, Abductor sightings, and Godrim's (re)dying
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[hider=Meanwhile...]
The final crack of dusklight illuminated a snowflake as it fell down onto the pallid flesh of a skratti. The troll allowed his gnarled staff to fall into the snow as he looked up at the darkened sky. Something wasn't right...one of the brightest and most auspicious of those stars wasn't as it was supposed to be, glowering most strangely and moving where before it had always been unwavering and still in its post. A portent of some sort, perhaps? He would have contemplated it, did the glory of the full moon not beckon to him and draw his attention away from all else...the hide of the evil sorcerer's fur clothes melded with his flesh, his elongated tusks became great fangs, and then he was suddenly no more than a beast. The crazed, gargantuan wolf howled to the moon.[/hider]