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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hr]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	“Very well.” the artist said.

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

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

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

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

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

	“Fascinating, thank you.”

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

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

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

	“I agree.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	“I agree.” DeGrand said.

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

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

	“And then we can do war.”

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

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

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

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

	“Very well, you are dismissed.”

[hr]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	“That makes no sense.”

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

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

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

	“The King.” said Sallo.

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

	“Because I farm his land.”

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

	“None of us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hider]
The Expedition Commander has decided to take option A towards the boat builders.

Meanwhile, the rest of the encampment will go about working on the food supply for this turn
[/hider]