Théin Gomarix sat atop his elk, scanning the highland surroundings with great admiration in his eyes. The curving hills between patchy forests and rocky canyons offered much-needed nuance and texture in an otherwise snowed-down landscape. Behind him trailed a small warband, all looking very much exhausted from the journey thus far. The commander sucked in a deep breath through the nose and said, “You know, Kaer Obee - I think I have another verse in mind.”
Kaer Obee, who had aged during the war about as well as milk, offered him a wrinkled, tired stare. “Splendid, brother… Would you -please- give us your -best- performance of it?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” chuckled Gomatrix to the chagrin of his companions. He took another deep breath and spoke,
”Snow ‘pon yonder hill is a wondrous sight, Mayhaps as great as my own might. One, one-two, one-two-three flakes fall; The snow’s as deep as I am tall. A smile from Ynea, this winter be, A kiss at my druid, my men and me!”
Kaer Obee sighed. “Brother, please do not use a goddess’ name so frivolously in verse…”
“What? She’s a Cenél goddess, Bee-Bee - she can’t do me anything, as she does not exist.”
“Please do not call me--”
“For there are only fourteen gods, my Bee! And neither Ynea, Malgog nor Seva are among them!” The commander fisted the air triumphantly. Kaer Obee took a deep, impatient breath.
“I pray we are alone on these plains today…”
Gomarix turned to look over his shoulder, a white shock all over his face. “Woman, you are married!”
Obee blushed and scowled back. “I meant alone from any Cenél spies, you stone head! And that’s ‘sister’ to you, théin!”
“Hmph! Why, I have never. You ought to learn some proper manners before you speak to me in that manner, siste-- Oh, look! We’re here!” Before Obee could even begin to retaliate, the officer clapped his elk’s buttox with a flat palm and rode ahead. The druid could only suppress a deep, furious growl. When they got a clearer view over the slight hill brink, the anger subsided somewhat, though. They had arrived. There, opposite a dip in the landscape with a thick forest, tree saplings had begun to reclaim what had once been the clean-shaven hill up to a castle at the foot of Tordentind, the eastmost mountains in Dûnan territory.
Grimholt.
“Or at least what’s left of it,” came a sober comment from one of the guards. She was silenced by a hard glare from Gomarix. The théin took his axe from his belt and lifted it to the sky.
“By Caden, what glory awaits us up ahead! Soldiers - today, we stand at the brink of oblivion, as so few warriors are sent to reclaim what was once the Eastern Gem of the Dûnan civilisation! There are none I would rather share this experience with than with you, loyal sons and daughters of the Trueborn Folk. Together, we will surely triumph, and those who may fall will await nothing but glory eternal in the afterlife! Now… CHARGE!” With that, the commander rushed forward down the hill and into the woods. The others exhumed a collective groan.
“He knows it’s most likely empty, right, mother?” one of the warriors asked in concern.
“At this point, I’m not sure anymore,” Kaer Obee confessed and all of them followed at a much slower pace, albeit still a small jog. Twenty minutes later, they heard the echoing creak of ancient wood, reasoning that Gamorix had opened the gates of the palisade fort and moved inside. When they themselves reached the open gates and stepped into the fortified village, they looked around for their commander. “Brother?” Kaer Obee called. “Théin Gomarix?”
They moved down the main path, passing by houses as empty as could be. The streets, once alive with trade and music, were completely deserted. The warriors huddled together somewhat, wearing mixed emotions of concern and confusion on their faces. “We heard it’d be abandoned, but I, personally, was at least expecting a few squatters or Cenél settlers. What’s going on?”
Kaer Obee felt her breathing quicken. “Théin Gomarix? Are you here?”
They then turned a corner to see the town square. There, in its centre, their commander laid dead. More specifically perhaps, his torso did. His other limbs had been arranged in a neat pile on his belly, his head topping the pile with a twisted expression on its face. His elk had been butchered, too, its limbs and entrails surrounding its owner’s pile like a wall. Many of the warriors screamed, and the others immediately went into high alert. That was when a wooden crash shook them even deeper to the core. The gate had closed itself.
Despite the fear of the warriors there was no charge, no sudden eruption of violence. Things seemed grimly quiet despite the grisly scene before them. Things were stilled, grimly so as the warriors collected themselves. The only noticeable change a chill breeze sweeping past.
“I-... I wanna go home,” came a quivering confession from one of the warriors.
“Hush now, my daughter,” Kaer Obee soothed, but she seemed anything but calm. “Let’s just… Slowly make our way back to the entrance and see if we can get it open.” Their morale stabilised by a tangible purpose, the group slowly began moving backwards to where they’d come from, leaving the mutilated corpse of their commander behind.
“What caused this, mother?”
“I-... I don’t know. It could… It could’ve been the Cenél gods, for all I know.”
“They exist?!”
“I don’t--! I don’t know, but let’s not take this discussion now. Move faster!” They quickened their pace, keeping their voices to loud whispers.
The winds picked up as they got closer and closer to the gate working their way back. Getting colder and colder in spite of all else the chill stayed and surrounded the Dûnan warband.
A door slammed open in sudden motion, nothing came out, it slammed back with the breeze. Soon others joined in this cacophony, strangely hounding the band as they moved back through the town. Shifting and other noises could be heard around corners, wind or perhaps something else that could be waiting.
One of the warriors at the back of the party hunkered down, pulling her hat down over her ears. On the other side, those at the front set off in a full-force sprint. Kaer Obee was stuck in the middle with the remaining third of the soldiers. “HEY! COME BACK!” she shouted while her companions tried to haul the last one with them. She refused to move, even kicking and screaming as they began dragging her with them. Those who had run ahead quickly disappeared out of sight behind the various houses and ruins, their footsteps and shouts deafened by the thunder of slamming doors.
The slamming cacophony of doors continued as the few warriors tried to corral her along. The wind and cold worsened, each could begin to see their breaths before them as they trundled along.
Then it stopped. The chill remained, the wind was absent, the doors no longer swung on their hinges by any unknown force. The warriors could barely move, as shaken as they were, and after all the chaos, the sudden silence seemed almost less natural. The anticipation gnawed at their bones like rot, and every cell of their bodies pulled them closer and closer to the gates, whether by sprint or by walking. They kept quiet, convinced that any sound would alert the evil spirits again, for it had to be evil spirits.
Passing corners each seemed to hold untold danger. Only frozen splatters of blood, arrows from unknown archers, and Dûnan weapons left abandoned, stained and broken.
Grim scenes that foretold the fate of those that ran off before, their assailants still left unknown, excepting the idea of evil spirits, haunting things of ill-fortune and ill-fate. The group grew ever closer to the gate, both with grim fascination and fear and hope to escape.
“I think we now know why the last settlers never wrote back,” one of the warriors whispered through whimpers. Kaer Obee comforted her with a squeeze of her shoulder. When they came to the gate, they found those who had run ahead earlier - spread in bits and pieces across an area of twenty square metres, their blood and skin curdled and frozen as though they had been dead for weeks. Kaer Obee and the four warriors that were left all sounded screams on reflex, which only scared them more, and they tossed themselves at the gates to drag them open.
They were thrown back with an overwhelming force, bringing them to the ground, landing on their backs. One or two managing to skid for a bit on the frozen entrails of their compatriots.
It became clear not just that they were not alone, but that figures were watching them from the doorways here.
Shrouded and tall, the forms of warriors for sure in build. They were men surely, too short and tall to be any kind of troll. And yet there was something so off in the way they stood and watched, motionless although they had been there the whole time. Yet what was most in concern although their clothes were darkened by well use, is the arms they carried. Axe and shield, bow and arrow, fresh blood covering near all.
At least seven had made themselves visible from the doorways, but if they were responsible for all this or otherwise had some connection to evil spirits…
“P-please! Spare us!” pleaded Kaer Obee. “We are but humble settlers! We will leave if you claim this land!”
Silently the seven walked out towards the remaining members of the warband. At each step the Dûnans felt the strength drain ever further out of their bodies, whether fear or something else. The figures surrounded the Dûnans at a distance, excepting one who approached Kaer Obee.
It lifted up the Druid with one arm, grasping an axe with the other. The stench of death and rot was nearly unbearable as Kaer Obee was brought face to face with the... ...man.
It spoke with a rasping and gasping voice, "Humble. Settlers. Nothing Dûnan about that."
It paused, drawing Obee ever closer to its face, before throwing the Druid down and speaking once more to the group, "Grimholt stands again. No Dûnan blade or blood will take us."
“H-hey, isn’t that--”
“Y-y-y-yeah… That’s Barth - I could’ve sworn Vegard took his head before, before…” Kaer Obee quieted the two soldiers down with a quivering shush and swallowed.
“W-we understand. If you let us go, not a single Dûnan shall ever set foot on your soil again…” She took a shaking breath. “B-but if you kill us, I guarantee you that, come spring, they will send another party of settlers - then another - and another. We w-will tell them never to venture here again! We swear!”
"Sworn oaths mean little from a Dûnan." Thus came the snarling reply, however he-who-was-Barth looked around at his party standing so still around them. "If Dûnans come again dismemberment will be the least of their worries. Pick druid."
Barth pointed towards the remaining warriors of the warband. "Two."
“T-two what?” the druid whimpered.
"Pick the two that will carry you." With that Barth slammed the back end of his axe against Kaer Obee's leg causing a most unpleasant cracking sound. "Something to keep your memory clear." The druid screamed and took her leg, holding it up limply while the adrenaline still held. Her breathing could barely keep up with her pained sobs as her woolen kneesock darkened with blood, and the others instinctively backed off at first, afraid they would be next. However, two of the warriors whom Kaer Obee had soothed earlier each hooked a grip under each of her arms and pulled her with them, their backs now up against the gate.
The Men of Grimholt let them leave.
11k words. Circle of the Long Stride: 12 + 5 = 17
Some Dûnans go to reclaim Grimholt. When they arrive, though, it’s all empty and shit. Their general charges ahead, thinking the enemy just hides inside the castle. The rest come in a bit later, only to find the general dead in the town centre. Everything gets super spooky and lots of people die off camera. Then, when the survivors reach the gate, which had closed by its spooky self, the attackers reveal themselves - they’re super spooky undead. They announce that Grimholt is rightful undead clay and break the legs of the druid in the Dûnan group. They then let them go. The end.
It was no easy task, traversing the Blackwoods in the deep winter - its black pines darkening even more the already deep blue polar night; however, they had no choice, either. The reindeer had journeyed this way, after all - the highway of hoof prints in the snow revealed nothing less, and it was not the first time the Weike had been afoot during the zenith of the winter’s cold. The flock was erratic, these days, frightened by great migrations to the south. A campaign of sorts, heading into the Lúpmí. The chieftain hadn’t believed it when he had heard it at first, but having seen the tracks and the flocks of men, women and even children moving to Reginsvik to pledge service to the cause, he could no longer choose to ignore it. Good riddance, the younglings had exclaimed - they were ignorant of the way of the world, after all; they were innocently oblivious to the implications of this great assault.
The elders knew, however, and as did chieftain Sabba.
The Weike had long been dependent on the southern trade routes with the Dunná and the Rákká, and the peoples of the Yellow Plains. They had good relations with most of them, too, and their own crafts and products were well received among their buyers. However, with an invasion like this one, the trade routes that had just opened up again after the turmoil in the south, would once again be left sundered and weakened.
His people would be left sundered and weakened.
A bray up ahead made him hunker down. His followers slowed down, too. A knock of bone against bone and several more grunts and groans hinted that they had arrived. Sabba placed a finger over his lips and beckoned respectfully at one of his followers in the back. She was a middle-aged woman, his sister, in fact, Aile. She stepped forward slowly, her reindeer hide mittens bringing a small feathered mallet out from a red and blue wool satchel at her waist. In her other hand, she held a small skin drum. She offered her brother an assuring nod, who returned it. Then she walked past him into a clearing in the snowed-down woods.
As she stepped into the opening under the moon, she began to sing, beating the drum ever so gently with the mallet as her voice carried through the frozen winds. The reindeer stopped what they were doing to look up, eyeing the woman curiously as her feet edged ever closer to them, her soothing song begging for them to stay. Her voice was not alone, though; the wind chimed in, as well, adding ethereal high notes; the trees wished and swayed from side to side, adding the rhythm of their knocking branches; even the snow seemed to twirl around the woman to dance with her. The reindeer, listening to the chorus of the woman, the wind, the trees and even the lichen, joined in, braying and groaning to the melody. Aile’s fervour grew and her song intensified for a few bars to greet her new friends with mutual respect - they responded in turn, kicking and digging at the snow with their horns to the rhythm. Shortly after their greeting, Aile brought the song to a close, and the reindeer seemed immediately much friendlier to her, the calves approaching to knock heads with her torso. Aile giggled and waved the others over invitingly. The rest of the Weike crossed the forest border into the clearing, and the reindeer remained calm.
“Well done, Aile,” praised Sabba curtly and caught the incoming head of a curious buck in an embrace, the buck grunting warmly. Aile scratched the buck under the chin and grinned back.
“Hee-hee - that was easy! The reindeer in these parts have been quite lonely, they told me - seeing people again made them really giddy all of a sudden.”
Sabba frowned. “Is that so, huh? Then Sarak and his Loike must’ve travelled east, as well…” He sighed and shook his head. “This is troublesome news.”
“Look at it on the bright side, chief!” came a young and energetic voice. Aile and Sabba both turned to eye a smiling lad of seventeen winters, his pale face rosy in the cold. “More reindeer for us, right?” Sabba frowned.
“Firstly, they’re not ‘ours’, Kveie. They’re unbound souls, free to join us or leave us at their leisure.” The young Kveie rolled his eyes with a smirk - he had obviously heard this lecture many times. “Secondly,” Sabba continued, “our clan hasn’t got the herders necessary to drive all these reindeer from place to place.” He gestured to the flock - in this clearing alone, there were at least a hundred heads; if Sarak and the Loike truly had ventured east, then the west would hold at least a thousand heads more. “We cannot greedily request them all to join us - their stampede across the region would impede the functions of the other spirits.”
“Pfft, alright, calm down, gramps. I was just askin’.”
“Gramps?! Now you listen here, young man--”
“Sabba!” Just as the chieftain grabbed the lad by the collar, Aile took her brother by the shoulder warningly. Sabba looked down at the lad, whose face had lost its smugness to a twinge of fear mixed with uncertainty. The other Weike were staring disapprovingly at both the lad and the chieftain, and even the reindeer stepped over to intervene, braying coarsely for the chieftain to let go. He did, and Kveie staggered back to regain his balance, adjusting his collar properly. Sabba looked around, seeing the people flinch slightly when he looked at them.
“... We’ll camp here for tonight,” he commanded sternly and looked down at Kveie. “I will be taking this boy fishing… Any objections?” The others were silent. Sabba nodded. “Good. Now get to it.” While the others were setting up tents, Sabba pulled young Kveie along, two quite nicely polished fishing rods in his free hand. Multiple times did Kveie try to run for it back to camp, but the chieftain was always there to drag him by the collar. When the youngster got violent, Sabba would respond with violence, and Kveie would lose upon the first, well-placed hit to the belly. After thirty minutes of this sort of back and forth, they eventually reached a frozen-over river. Kveie grunted sharply.
“Oh, would you look at that. It’s frozen - what did you expect? ‘Go fishing’... Pwah!”
Sabba sighed and grabbed a large rock, stepping out onto the ice. There, making sure to spread his weight as widely as possible by descending to all fours, he began hammering at the ice. “When a barrier obstructs your path, kid, remove it,” he muttered. Kveie scoffed, but eventually a hole was made and the two of them dipped the bone hooks of their fishing rods into the water. There, they waited in silence. For a long time, they only exchanged looks every now and then. Then eventually, Sabba opened his mouth slightly.
“Where does all your anger come from, kid?”
Kveie scoffed quietly. “Maybe it comes from you calling me ‘kid’ all the time?”
“I call you what you act like.”
“I act like I am treated.”
“Oh, grow up. You know very well that it’s your own behaviour that’s the problem here.”
“Oh, do I? I think I might be a little too young to understand these things.”
Sabba snarled and pulled back a right hook. Kveie lifted his arms in reflexive defense, his hook flying out of the water, fishless as expected. Sabba did not hit him, however, but lowered the fist slowly instead. “It’s just… I see a lot of myself in you.”
Kveie grit his teeth together and dipped his hook back into the water. “When has that ever been an excuse to treat someone else like a brat?”
“It isn’t… However, I just don’t want you to repeat the mistakes I made.”
“What, like the fact that you’ve never had kids of your own?” The following silence brought a sudden sting to Kveie’s consciousness, and his following statement had lost much of its smug momentum. “A-actually, I didn’t mean that… I took it to far and--”
“No, you’re right. While that wasn’t the incident i was thinking of, it has, in truth, been one of my great shortcomings, that.” He nodded slowly. Kveie frowned.
“Say… Why haven’t you actually gotten yourself a girl? You’re the chieftain, after all. Shouldn’t ladies be lining up to be with you?” Sabba shrugged apathetically.
“They have been, but I’ve turned them all down. When I die, the role of chieftain will pass to my sister’s son, Tveia. He’s a good lad, that one - the clan will be in good hands.”
Kveie’s frown deepened. “But why? Why have you told them all no?”
“There’s only one lady for me, son…” mumbled the chieftain mysteriously and looked up at the bright half-moon, contrasted by the dance of the Afterlight. “... Black hair… Broad shoulders… A woman with no sense of fear nor weakness…”
Kveie blinked and shook his head. “Forget that I asked…”
Later that night, Sabba gathered everyone in the camp for the sermon of the day. Behind him, Aile and her children sat drumming and humming. The chieftain and some others had fashioned a small altar in the centre of the camp, built out of snow and decorated with feathers, bones and branches. The chieftain took a deep breath and spoke, “It is now that we give thanks to the North God for granting us another day of only encountering the softer hardships of winter. It is in the North God’s grace that we exist, and if their mercy is spent, we will all surely perish. We offer them this bounty as thanks.” With that, the chieftain knelt down and placed a fat salmon on the altar. He then folded his hands in prayer and continued, “Then we must remember those who have passed on into the Afterlight - they life forever in harmony with the spirits of this world, and we must ever remember that we are welcome among them as family. Fear not death, everyone, but embrace it - for in death, we are given new life, like winter becoming spring. Praise the sagely dead.” The whole camp started to sing along with the shamans, and the chieftain started dancing around the altar, tossing up snow with kicks and jumps. Others joined in after a bit, all wanting to show their appreciation for the ancestors and the North God.
The Weike had been reduced, yes, and much suffering was still to come. However, they would ever persevere, for they were survivalists - and the North God was on their side.
The Weike are back, baby! Sabba’s been made chieftain (yes, he survived the troll attack all those years ago - as did his sister Aile, who is now a shaman) and is chasing a reindeer flock with his gang. They find it and Aile goes to worldsing for them. She succeeds, so they get some reindeer friends. Sabba then gets into a fight with a young mang named Kveie, and the two go fishing to bro it up some more. They chat and stuff and find out that Sabba’s not married and has no intention of doing so - he loves only one woman, and that woman’s off somewhere far, far, faaaar away. The post then ends on a ritual prayer to the North God, aka. Yam-Yams with many aspects of Thaa, as well.
”So… You all know why you’re here…” The stink of alcohol permeated the room as Gibbou wobblingly wagged a wine glass from side to side in her hand, her feet propped up on a large, round table. Seated on each of the other three non-existent corners of the circle were Qael, Artifex and the Patron. Gibbou eyed them all decisively before lifting her glass into the air. ”We gotta build a school!”
Qael had no idea what was going on. He just got an invitation from Gibbou to meet up. Apparently Artifex was invited as well. As was some strange sibling he hadn’t had the time to meet yet. Unlike the laissez-faire attitude of his sister, Qael was sitting propped up on his chair, looking awkwardly around. Four of his six eyes lit up with various shimmering colors. He just hoped it wouldn’t be a waste of time. Well, then finally Gibbou laid the cards down on the table. “A… school?”
”Da’s right!” A burp. ”The people of Galbar are stupid, so we gotta educate them!” She fisted the air and rose to her feet, one of which was still on the table. Her pose would’ve been impressive had it been a different pose, or no pose at all.
“Weeeeeeeeeell, she’s not wrong.” The Patron commented as she eyed Gibbou with amusement. She was slumped in her chair, arms stretched behind the backrest, paying attention but affecting the opposite as best anyone could. The olive-skinned woman had been, quite literally, pulled out her realm by the Goddess of the Moon and, while clearly as confused as Qael, seemed to prefer playing along over asking questions. To that end, she added, “I want secret libraries, though. Maybe forbidden towers? Oh, and some of that wine. Dragging me here and not offering a glass? Pft, rude.”
”Oh, shizz, I’m sorry…” slurred the moon goddess and snapped her fingers. A glass appeared before every god, filled to the very decadent brim with wine. ”... Also, who are you again?”
“Hglprmmm?” The Patron managed while drinking the glass in one long swig. A pair of rivulets spilled from the sides of her mouth and ran down on her dress, which was fortunately made of what seemed to be wind. Well, fortunately for her. A small spray of drops almost immediately bombarded everyone else around the table. She paused, carefully put the glass down, and answered while extending her arm and leaning over the table for a handshake, “I’m me! A god, I think. Who are you? I didn’t drag myself here.”
”Good question…” mumbled Gibbou faintly and didn’t shake the hand as much as she limply accepted it, her eyes staring into nothing. She quickly recovered, though, and smiled broadly at the god to her right. ”Arty! So nice you could, ‘scuse me - hic! - make it! How’re you?”
”I’m doing well, thank you for asking” the goblinoid shaped god replied while attempting to clean the Patron’s spray of wine from his garments with a handkerchief and failing rather spectacularly to do so. He frowned at the wine stains and then gave up ”or I was. Till this one’s” he waved a hand in the direction of the mess making god ”complete lack of table manners got in the way of my good mood.”
The Patron, having lazily slumped back into her chair, lolled her head in Artifex’s direction and complained playfully, “Hey! This is my first table. Did you just pop up knowing everything about tables? Mmm, I don’t know, tsk, seems unlikely to me.”
The goblin raised a finger to object, seemed to think about it for a moment and then replied weakly ”well. no. But in my defence at the time of my birth they did not exist,” before sighing, lifting and sipping at his wine with refined grace before attempting to get back the point ”So. Gibbou. This school. Where is it going?”
Gibbou conjured forth a map in the centre of the table. It showed the entire planet, bulging outwards to give a spherical sense. She lifted her finger and, face slammed down on the table, pointed in the middle of the Mydian Sea. ”Here!”
”Well it’s central. if a bit... out in the middle of the ocean?” Artifex said scepticaly before scratching his chin thoughtfully and then adding ”hmmm, though that could be an interesting challenge,” before pulling out a piece of parchment upon which he began to sketch on while the others spoke.
“Could make it float,” The Patron noted as she carefully leaned over and grabbed Qael’s glass of wine, giving the God of Magic a little wink as she did. Now doing her best to sip at the liquid she went on, “Or maybe a volcano? Might get a bit toasty though.”
”Active volcanoes do not make for good foundations,” Artifex commented, ”Floating could work. I believe Qael has already done something in that department?” the goblin looked up from his sketches and over at the god of magic for confirmation.
The god of magic had honestly no intention to drink the strange liquid before him. Especially not considering what it seemed to do to Gibbou. Still, it felt incredibly rude of the strange goddess to just take his goblet. She could’ve asked! No, no Qael wouldn’t make a fuzz of it. “On air… to be specific.” He quickly clarified. “A small island floating in the air. Though I fear mortals have yet to discover any way to fly so I would not suggest it.”
”Wass about a normal island, then, y’know? Jussss…” She pointed on the spot again, missing it by a few centimetres, and the map spawned a bump meant to be an island. ”Like that, y’know?”
“Boooooooooooring,” The Patron droned, before pivoting to add, “But maybe it could be underground? Have a portal lead to it, or a whirlpool? Or have a whirlpool be the portal to it. Could work for the floating island too. Oh, or-” She paused and stared at the empty bottom of her second glass, seemingly rethinking any further suggestions.
“Or an island.” Qael said in quite a passive aggressive fashion. “A normal island would be a good place to start.” The region of Mydia was indeed uniquely suited for such a school. Toraan couldn’t seem to get its act together. Local warlords were fragmenting the land and nobody seemed to be capable or willing to unite everyone for longer than one needed to destroy their neighbors. Meanwhile the goddess before him, the one without a name, seemed oddly out of place within these negotiations. Unlike Artifex and himself, she seemed chaotic. Without structure or organization. She just spouted out her thoughts in a drunken haze. Qael’s remaining two eyes turned to look at Gibbou. Well, the stranger was not alone he supposed. Qael’Naath stood up in preparation of his case: “Magic should be taught. Obviously. It’s the only knowledge worth knowing. Through it mortalkind will be able to observe and understand the world around it. I thus propose the school to be singly focused upon the arcane studies.” When he was done he once more sat down.
After taking a refined sip from his own wine Artifex said that ”I agree with the island. As, mmm, fun as this one’s ideas are, we do want people to be able to get to this school, and those of a scholarly disposition aren't always the most, ah, resilient to the trials of adventuring upon the waves.”
In order to finalise the matter, the god reached into his jacket pocket anr retrieved a pebble, which he placed onto the spot Gibbou had pointed to, giving them a basis for their creation.
”That said, I disagree that Magic is ’the only knowledge worth knowing.’” Artifex did not stand to make his argument and instead maintained a conversational tone ”Do not get me wrong, those who master the art can weave wonders most sublime. But it is not the be all and end all of knowledge. You could argue it is the pinnacle if you so desire, but even the glossiest of shining spires need a solid foundation. It is technology with which societies are built, with tools and machines that can be used by the masses. There is overlap of course, magical artifacts blur the lines, but I do not think it wise to ignore the potential of the material world to focus only on the magical.”
”Hear, hear!” praised Gibbou. ”Oughta have stuff for other people than magicians! Like, like temples to stuff - stuff like us!” She fisted the air triumphantly. ”Dibs on making dorms!”
Well… maybe Artifex had a point. Some less magically inclined mortals could benefit from a less magical education. But the god of magic chose not to mix with those. It would seem that Artifex had plenty of his own ideas already. The god of magic was quick to brush aside the trivial ideas Gibbou brought up as well. It wasn’t that dorms weren’t important, it was just that…well they weren’t important to him.
“A greenhouse and orchard for ingredients.” He mumbled out loud, and as if it was commanded blue glowing flying sand took shape around the god of magic in the form of a greenhouse with an orchard in the back. “Obviously a star observatory spire.” A spire took shape from the blue glowing, flying sand that just appeared. Showing it with a dome roof. “Large balconies suspended in the skies. Choirs. Spell-circles. Dissection altars. Grand dance halls. Runic auditoriums.” Every room named summoned another depiction of that room. “Hmmm, perhaps a complete alchemical laboratory for the joined wing.” He said mostly towards Artifex who suggested the joined wing in the first place.
”Glad to see you’re onboard.” Artifex said, nodding with approval ”Now lets see. First, the more practical concerns.”
The god pulled out a small sharp knife and began to slice segments off his sketch paper, each one coming alive for a moment, fluttering towards the pebble island he had made on the map. Wherever the architect’s blueprints landed their diagrams came to life, forming structures from pen strokes in an instant.
”First off, docks, for the arriving students” Artifex explained as the first of his diagrams came to life, creating a sheltered stone harbor, its high walls guarding its ships form storms while its long piers would allows dozens of vessels of all shapes and sizes to dock with the island.
”Paths, store houses, plumbing, a place to grow food to sustain them and store water to water them” the god added, crafting infrastructural buildings around the docks and center of the island that all would need, while also raising up a large swath of fertile farmland that would ensure the island would not be massively reliant on imports to feed itself and building large cisterns to catch rainwater for the people to drink from.
The god nodded to himself, before beginning to add the places to learn of the scientific arts, making them a mirror of the magic god’s own structures for sake of symmetry. Spaces of craftspeople of all trades were made, from forges to woodworking shops, glassmakers to potters. places where resources could be shaped and fashioned however the students wanted. Then came the labs and workshops, places for things to be built and assembled. there was little focus on what should be made there, instead the god focused on providing spaces where any kind of invention could be made. He also added a series of wharfs near the docs, so that the islanders could produce ships and a large shallow and especially sheltered section of the docs dedicated to safely testing experiments with new designs. Heavily reinforced places, ones that put the sturdiest fortress walls to shame. Any who had experience with the god’s Inventors knew exactly why this was.
He also created a swath of wild land, packed with natural resources, from ores and gems hiding in deep natural caves to woods and glens teaming with wildlife from all across Mydian. any material an inventor might need could be found if they were willing to brave the untamed lands beyond the University.
A long twirling wisp of smoke emerged from the Patron’s extended finger, and as it swept over the tiny diagram little mounds of vapor rose on the island. With a little smile she explained, “Tells. So the students think this island has been around for a while. Also, a good excuse for catacombs!”
The smoke outlined a vast network of interweaving, chaotic, catacombs whose entrances would be focused on the academy and the supposedly ancient tells, but would extend far below the island. As a final touch little spots across the catacombs, hundreds of them, began to glow. “Tombs, with spell books and treasures and secrets. For the adventurous.” The Patron openly grinned and leaned closer to the menagerie of pebbles, living diagrams, and apparitions of smoke.
She poked the academy in a few places and imposing, gravity defying, spires appeared. Long suspended bridges branched out between them forming a sort of upper academy, connected to the larger structure on the ground by the spindly bodies of the spires. The Patron elaborated, “And for masters, an upper academy. Somewhere to put all the spells that’d kill the students. It is a school after all. I’d think it oughta be safer than just poking at those spells floating around like everyone’s doing now.”
Gibbou lifted her face from the tabletop in a jolt. She pointed at the model of the academy and, suddenly, a row of large, square-shaped houses popped up by the courtyard, all decorated with gothic statues of muscled men with bat wings and faces like fruit bats. There were at least eighty windows in coloured glass on each side, meaning forty rooms per floor, and each room was furnished with two beds, two desks and a chest for each, from what one could see through the tiny model windows. In total, there were five dormitories. ”Yay, dorms!” cooed the night goddess before zapping the other side of the campus. There, even more lavish dorms popped up, these ones arranged into three great towers all linked together with bridges on every third floor: Each floor had four rooms, and there were a total of five floors, each furnished with a single bed, a desk, a bookshelf, a cabinet, and, if one looked really closely, the same fruit bat gargoyles over the door frame. ”If people feel uncomfortable sleeping -here-, then…” She sniffed. ”Then I’ll be sad…” She had another swig of her drink.
The fact that this new goddess was so concerned about hiding spell got Qael a bit on edge. Who was she and why did she care so much for hiding his creations? Perhaps she had a point, but there were less dangerous ways to hide information that should not be known yet. He himself locked it behind trial and tests. Not with hiding and obfuscation. Alas, he did not want to have the discussion now. There were other matters at hand.
“Libraries.” Qael’Naath mumbled, realizing all of them except the newest goddess had nearly forgotten them. “Not the hidden ones. Normal ones. Though surely you could come up with an easier to use medium to carry the information?” He asked Artifex, before returning to his own musings. There was already an archive of magical knowledge. One that had been growing for two decades now. Why replicate such an achievement? From those ponderings appeared once more a blue glow. Though this one did not assume a physical form. Instead it held a concept for a higher realm. One in which people could study the knowledge stored with Sancta Civitas’ Library.
”There are many advanced forms of information storage that I have seen down the mortals path, though ironically as record keeping technology improves its ability to withstand the ages fades. Compare stone engravings to writing on parchment for a current example,” Artifex replied before proposing that ”for now I suggest we stick to the classic stone. If we want to give the impression of age then it’s the most logical material to have survived. not that they need to stick to that material once they start adding to the work.” Artifex proceeded to populate the little libraries with stone tablets featuring knowledge old and new, while also adding saltwater papyrus like plants to the shallows of the ocean, and small colorful diving beetles who protected themselves with ink sprays to live among them, and large wading seabirds who would pray on the beetles and whose feathers would make excellent quills.
”hmmm. Though perhaps...” he then said contemplatively, before plucking out a feather, pot of ink and sheet of papyrus from the parts of their rapidly growing tableaux. Then he put the feathered down on the table, retrieved a fine needle and began engraving runes on it.
While Artifex busied himself, the Patron gave Qael an amused look and set about doing exactly what she’d promised to. The god’s playful smile grew and she leaned closer to the little mockup on the table before declaring, “But also, secret libraries. In the upper academy. Ones that don’t need stone or paper or ink.”
Once more little wisps of smoke flowed from her fingertips, but this time they stilled into a number of pools, each one becoming perfectly reflective. Within the little pools magical symbols appeared and began to shimmer, before the patron tapped each one and watched the symbols rearrange into new ones. The Goddess carefully placed the little smokey pools inside the apparitions that were the planned upper academy and explained, “Some mortals have been using a book that works like these. So I’ll add a few here. Just plop a spell into the pool and it and all the others will be able to access it.”
Having finished engraving the quill, Artifex picked it up, dabbed it in the little ink pot and started writing down instructions about how to do the bit of magic he had just done.
”Humm, what else…” grumbled Gibbou. ”Oh yeah!” She slapped down another building, this one veering slightly off the campus centre. Inside its tiny windows, one could see loads of long tables and benches to boot, and all along the middle of the house were firepits with metal pots suspended over them. ”Without their food, a scholar’s no good!” she mused happily as she also added fruit gardens and crop fields next to Qael’s reagent garden. ”They’ll have to get some foods from the surrounding islands, but I’ve heard the local, whassit, Akwanz? Whatever, there are locals who’d gladly help ‘em out.”
Artifex finished writing as Gibbou added more agriculture to the island, squinted at it as if unsure if she was adding redundancy or was just to smashed to notice his own plots, and then shrugged. he retrieved a second sheet of paper, dabbed the quill in the pot, placed its tip at its op and then let go. the quill, rather than fall, hung poised above the parchment before it began to write on its own, copying the document Artifex had just written word for word. artifex smiled, then made a second quill with the same runic engravings and repeated the process, resulting in two quills scribbling away to copy the original document.
”You can never have too many ways to backup knowledge” he said to himself, before adding a tablet containing instructions on how to make this text repliating magic to the library.
"AH!" blurted Gibbou. "Almost forgot!" With a slap of her hand on the table, she turned the empty spaces around the university into peaceful gardens for study and meditation. One grove in particular sprouted various tranquil trees with leaves specifically designed to muffle sound and provide the visitors with the optimal quiet experience. Then, around the various hills and groves, she put down small prayer houses and temples. ”There we go. I’m good.”
Qael rubbed the tentacles running off his chin for a second. The gardens, yes. How could he forget!? They were paramount for mental endeavors. Even The Library back in Sancta Civitas had one. A significant one at that. Gibbou’s gardens were no doubt beautiful but they lacked a certain…spark. “Allow me.” He said as he extended a single finger at the gardens. They were bathed in a soft blue glow for a second, as certain aspects of them returned. To respect Artifex’s balance (and eventual unity) between magic and technology, he only altered just about half the gardens. Turning them into something more magical. With floating gazebo’s accessible only through floating stepstones, or a meditative place where carved stone orbs would rise up from the ground and orbit around you in auspicious patterns. These would be the places where mortalkind’s serene creativity would flow like water, that in certain places flower up the waterfall now.
Artifex, eyeing this magical enhancement to half the gardens, added a few minor touches to the other side. A number of exquisit statues were raised, made of glass, marble and bronze formed into elaborate abstract shapes that pleased the eye. A small river was added running through the gardens, fed from a fountain, that gave the pleasant ambiance of running water to the area. He also added some hedge mazes, sundials and a hedge that could be used to track the time of year.
Having watched Qael and Artifex closely, the Patron chewed on her lip and started crafting her own garden, one placed firmly between the two major halves of the academy. It started as a shallow pool of water, no deeper than a few feet but as many as a hundred meters across. From it rose a great plume of fog, but one which grew heavy and clung to the water. The water below it grew dark, and soon it seemed to suck the light out of the already foggy air above it.
There, in the dark, little plants took root and grew. They started out as little more than lilies, but soon grew thick purple roots that found the soil deep below. Anchored to the world the plants became trees rising from the water, trees whose leaves glowed a faint blue and illuminated the Patron’s garden. Platforms rose close to them, each one a tiny amphitheatre with a stage of sorts below a descending ring of seats. Around each platform were columns of obsidian, arranged to hold up a covering dome that glowed faintly like the leaves from the trees which loomed above it.
From the edges of the garden were invisible stepping stones, as black as the water and just millimeters below its surface. They led to the platforms, and from platform to platform. A nearly invisible network of stones connecting the misty gardens pavilions. The Patron, now fussing obsessively over her mock garden, added all sorts of glowing fish to the midnight water, alongside a number of underwater plants for them to hide and nest in.
It was only after she’d spent nearly as long as Qael and Artifex combined on her garden, much of it spent on choosing the particular hues of the fish, that she looked up and, in a remarkably self satisfied tone, announced, “And done! The central garden.”
”So… Should we add some staff? Y’know, someone who knows the deal - could maybe tell people what this place is all about?”
”Magic within this institution must be overseen by the appropriate agent…” Qael’Naath mused as he stroked his chin-tentacles. There were no mortals alive whom he could offer the charge. At first he thought about his daughters. Auriëlle could never be chained down to such a place and while Soleira would make a fine guide for mortals, her magical capabilities were still painfully lacking. His mind darted to other places. An Eloxochitli perhaps? No, he needed something approachable for all races. Something that could guide them as well. Someone from Anghebad? Alas, they were only barely scratching the surface of their Labyrinth. They made him proud but were not yet ready for the task. But as his mind went over their Labyrinth, he found his answer. He squeezed his fist for a second, and then opened it again. Showing a fired-clay figurine of one of the axolotl-looking creatures and put it on the table. ”The school’s headmaster of magic.” He presented it to his siblings.
”A frog, huh. Neat.” Gibbou conjured forth a slice of bread as she regarded the statuette. ”Y’know… A place like this is bound to get pretty dirty. Y’all think everyone would be responsible and clean up after themselves after doing their stuff and things like decent mortal beings?” She looked around the table. ”Yeah, no, I agree.” She took a crumb of her bread and, in a second, it flourished with mould. The mould twisted and turned, eventually shaping into a person-like figure with three legs, two hands - one swallowed by the mushroom growth - and a bioluminescent ghostcap for a head. Gibbou placed it down proudly. ”Now we have a janitor!”
”Well now. that raises all sorts of interesting possibilities. A living member of a species that never existed” Artifex noted as he looked upon the axolotl Qael had made, ”I predict its life will be a rather interesting one. Now then,”
The Artifex leaned back in his char, swirled his wine and then took a sip, clearly contemplating. Then he nodded to himself, before pulling to rings that he was wearing off his fingers. ”I think the office of head of technology shall be headed by a mortal. The best, possibly decided by competition, but that does not mean I don’t want them to be completely without the kind of continuity and wisdom provided by magic’s ageless ruler. ” The smaller was placed inside the other and the space inbetween filled with a black mass as he spoke ”So I’ll give them an assistant” The mass suddenly grew eyes and abstract limbs, propping itself up onto them. The god made a vague depiction of a mortal, their general appearance and even species ambiguous, and set it next to the axolotl. The prototype obediently scampered over to this model, before clambering up it and sitting to rest on its shoulder like a tame raven.
”Ain’t that somethin’. This’ll be such a project, y’all!” clapped Gibbou giddily. Turning to the Patron, she frowned pensively. ”You. You adding anything?”
“A librarian would be useful,” The Patron bit her lip in thought, “Someone to take care of all the books and tablets, and my spell pools. They’d need to keep the students from killing themselves whenever some master dropped a book in the lower academy too. So not a pushover, hm.”
Her fingers drummed on the table for a moment, before she grinned and set to work on her own little figure. This one was large, far too large to walk about the university. Rather, the giant furball with a mouth full of jagged teeth and two long twisting horns was given a chamber in the catacombs. A vast cavern with glowing crystals, a small lake, and what almost qualified as a forest.
However, from the beast’s cavern the patron plucked a little tree. She twisted it until the foliage resembled an old man grown from wood. Growing from the figures shoulders was a long sweeping robe made from yellow leaves, and from its head sprouted two long wooden antlers. Once she was done she pulled a tiny thread from the beast and connected it, not just to her one wooden figure, but to the entire little forest where the beast lurked.
The Patron leaned back into her chair contentedly and said, “Our librarian, and one that won’t die once some angry kid shoots a fireball or drops a boulder on him.”
”How about that… So, how’re we doing, folks? Anymore thinga-magiggs y’all wanna add?” She refilled her cup.
“We must find a way for students to reach and return from the school.” Qael still noted as he observed the wider map. Boats would be fine for the Amazons and the Night Elves. But for the people of Sancta Civitas, Anghebad and civilizations even further the journey would be perilous and dangerous. Once more did he clench his fist, only to reveal a fairly sizable figurine of a giant lobster. From the side though, you could see inside its chest. Which was separated in several rooms and one-way magical windows that showed the ground below and the skies around it. “An emissary, guide and method of passage. All in one.”
”For a more straightforward bit of help” Artifex said as he popped a large tower down on the port’s wall, and atop it a beacon that lit up the night, guiding ships towards the safe harbor. Then he enhanced the light so that it could be seen from much further away by any who sought the island, so that they would never lose their way while they sought the island.
“And just to be safe,” The Patron commented as she placed a room deep below the tower, accessible only through a number of spelled doors in the catacombs, “Something to keep the island hidden, when it has to be.”
She eyed the little room, and the spells etched both into its walls and the walls of the catacombs that stretched out in every direction around it. With a snap of her fingers the little room glowed and soon a vast blanket of magical, disorienting, fog descended on the little diorama of a school and the mock seas around it.
”Neat! Dunno why we’d need that, but neat! Anything else, folks?”
“No.” Qael said, in response to Gibbou’s question. This place of learning had already become quite a grand creation. Uniting four gods their power into it. What more could it need still?
”I think these plans are functionally complete. All that remains is to make it real, and to find a way ‘explain’ why there is suddenly a new island with an ancient university complex in the middle of the Ocean where none was before” Artifex replied ”there are, after all, people living in the ocean who might ruin the illusion if we just put it there as a blatant divine act.
“Oh,” The Patron stood up and looked down on the table, conjuring a little sparking cloud that grew with every moment. She started twirling her finger in it as she spoke, “That’ll be easy. Just spin up a little storm, add a dash of magic to it, and tada!”
The little storm grew to cover the entire table, taking on a sickly purple hue. Below the sea’s waves became enormous breakers as the rain that pounded it started to glow like the purple lightning above. The enchanted deluge struck the little mock academy and the false water around it, mixing with the sea and rendering anyone touched by it unconscious. Magic ran deep into the sea. Wherever it went any memory of the expanse of ocean where the academy was to be placed was erased. Washed away in the storm. The tempest grew until it was spilling over the sides of the table. It was only then, when it was finally large enough for her liking, that the Patron sat back down and explained with a content little smile, “And now nobody will know.”
”Perfect! And here. We. Go!” As if slapping a button, Gibbou hammered the tabletop with her palm. Immediately down on the planet below, the centre of the Mydian Sea began to toss and churn. A gruesome, mighty storm washed over the surrounding islands, flooding forests and villages in rain and seawater. Coastal villages screamed as a pillar of clouds and lightning could just barely be seen at the very edge of the horizon - a hurricane of power as though sent by the gods. Something about the storm seemed to hint that it had not simply gathered there out of natural causes, and as it passed, Akuan communities swimming to the shore told every islander that a miracle had happened: At the center of the storm they’d found an island. One of great development and technology, filled with buildings and landscapes more advanced than anyone had yet seen. All the cultures of Mydia agreed - they needed to hasten to unveil the secrets of this site.
Gibbou, sad after fighting Neiya, gets hella lit. She's so drunk she invites a bunch of other gods, and drags one she’s never met over to her realm. There, she declares her intent to make a school. The others are pretty into it, even if in jest at first. Anyway, things get going and soon a school is being made. It’s gonna be half magic, half mundane, and teach anything there is to know. It’s got a lower section for students, and upper towers for masters. No less than THREE gardens! It’s also gonna be run by a fun cast of weird spooky people. It’s disguised as being ancient, aswell. A giant storm is created which causes mass amnesia in everyone it touches to hide the creation of the academy.
The Omniversity: Tower of Galbar II - All mortals at this holy site can understand one another regardless of origin, language and biology. It does not translate the meaning of cultural expressions and gestures, however. Scripts of Qael I - Knowledge of magic and alchemy is acquired at an accelerated rate. Tools of Artifex I - Knowledge of engineering and crafting-related trades is acquired at an accelerated rate. Of the Old and the New II: Already discovered technologies spread between societies who have contact with the university at an accelerated rate; technologies that have yet to be discovered can be researched faster at this holy site. Explorers Tale I: Tales told by passing sailors and former students, of distant places or long lost treasures and spells, sometimes find their way into a book at this academy. Though never found until the teller is long gone, these tales will inspire forever. Fog of Confusion I: An ancient spell room in the university contains the trigger to a powerful defense for the academy. When activated it conceals the entire island, and much of the sea around it, in a thick blanket of fog that actively disorients and confuses those within it. The inside of the academy is immune to the effects.
Gibbou 5MP/5DP
2DP: Create extraordinary, legendary monster - The Janitor: The monster inhabits the university grounds, living as a legend in the shadows of the night. When the students and faculty have gone to sleep, the Janitor seeps out from wherever it has been hiding in the day to consume all the filth left behind by the resident scholars. A cursed myth to the daywalkers, and a true nightmare for any nightdwellers careless enough to wander outside their designated quarters.
1MP to the Omniversity. 1MP to the magic school bus.
End Gibs: 3MP/3DP
The Patron: 5MP/5DP
2MP: Create legendary monster - The Librarian: The Librarian is a beast of extraordinary power that lurks in a vast cavern below the academy. Appearing as a massive furry beast with a maw nearly a quarter the size of its body the Librarian is a fearsome beast, but usually a gentle one. He uses his innate magic to grow the peculiar trees that thrive under the magical light of crystals in his cavern, trees which he can warp into puppet forms to manage the academy in its vastness. The Librarian usually has at least three of his wooden puppets wandering the academy, managing its vast collections.
3DP +1MP: The Fog.
2DP: Mysterious Storm
1MP: The Island
End Patron: 1MP/0DP
Qael’Naath 5MP/5DP
1MP for the Legendary beast “Duxus” - Duxus is a large, lobster-shaped, golem-like construct that is capable of flight. Its body is hollow and filled with various rooms to sleep or entertain oneself in and also has various one-way magic “windows” so people inside can see the ground below or the skies around them. Several rooms have a masked face carved in its wall. Each allows interaction with Duxus, Emissary and Guide of the Omniversity. While Duxus seems menacing, he mainly exists to ferry those who so desire to the Omniversity. To do this he often lands and stays near larger settlements for several days before he returns to his island home. Duxus possesses magical abilities to expel those from inside of him should they prove to be dangerous or aggressive. 3MP for the Ethereal Vault 1MP to the Omniversity. 3DP to undecided titles for the Headmaster of Magic End Qael: 0MP/5DP
Artifex 5MP/5DP 1MP to the Omniversity. 1 MP to teach the ability to make enchanted quills used to replicate texts. 2 MP for assistant 0 mp (ship discount) for lighthouse: II guiding light: the light of the lighthouse can guide any ship trying to sail from the surrounding parts of Mydian islands to the university will be able to see the light of the lighthouse, guiding them to it. 1 MP towards island
Year 29AA, early winter, in the stronghold Caisteal Na Grèine, situated between Scawick and Ha-Dûna.
“Very well… We have taken inventory of weapons, supplies, clothing and medicine. Our clearest shot at retaking Ha-Dûna is in front of our very eyes.” Hilda the Leoness slammed her palm on the table, rattling ceramic cups filled with drink. “If we wait out the winter, we may never get a shot like this again.”
“Why not? According to our scouts based in Kirin’s Rest, the Sigerans are broken asunder - morale is shattered, their food supplies have been dry for months, and people are either defecting or deserting every day. It wouldn’t surprise me if we’d be arriving in a ghost town by spring,” countered Valix of Leothe. Hilda rolled her eyes.
“It’s evident that you have been far too busy escorting Kaer Pier to pay close attention, théin Valix - with the loss of Scawick’s support (good riddance, if you ask me), our túnskiolding numbers have been reduced considerably - even if they weren’t good for much, they could at least have served their duty as levies…” Valix offered a cold hum. Hilda paid him no mind and continued, “According to your own words, we have reason to doubt the self-proclaimed “queen” of Kirin’s Rest and her support. The Undûnan are not to be trusted under any circumstance, so we might even have to account for her turning on us.” The table before them displayed a crude map drawn in charcoal upon a wolfskin. Hilda straightened herself back up and gave a pensive hum.
“Perhaps, but half our warriors march alongside her. They will no doubt keep her in check if she tries anything. You must also remember that we also have the support of these… Oraeliari - the winged ones.”
Hilda’s face offered a raised brow, her finger twisting a few locks of her large black mane. “Oh yes, the winged ones, the angels of Reiya - the Reiyar. Proof once again that ours is the greatest people, chosen by the gods to bring order and civilisation to these wild lands.” She put her hands triumphantly on her hips. “Their presence only proves further that the time to strike is now! Who knows how long this blessing will last?”
Valix hummed. “... That is a fair point.”
“Isn’t it?” snickered Hilda. “Théin Boudicca, there is only one possibility here.” Boudicca, who had been listening from a chair not too far from the table, nodded slowly with her chin balancing on her fists.
“Spread the word,” she said. “Anyone who can carry a spear, wield a bow, swing a club - all are coming with us. Make certain to equip everyone with whatever sunforged weapons we have, and pack sleds and carts with food and medicine for the trek and a long battle.”
“It won’t be a long battle, Boody,” soothed Hilda.
“Then pack the supplies for when we settle back into the city. Once only our civilians are left, I would not want them to drag all of it for the whole week’s trek.”
“Oh, very well, then,” Hilda conceded and walked off. Valix and Boudicca’s eyes met.
“Ha-Dûna is finally within our grasp, Val.” The warrior nodded and walked off, as well. Boudicca sucked passively on a tooth, stood up and walked over to the map. The wolfskin was blacked with the continued erasure and redrawing of features and details. The entire artwork was centered around their home - that beautiful home which they hadn’t set foot in for almost three years now. She looked up again and drew a slow breath. Soon now - soon. She then walked off to seek out the Reiyar leader Tevuri.
“Oh, great Tevuri, please - would you enlighten me as to what sorts of sacrifices the Sun Goddess truly prefers? Please?” The angel was surrounded on all sides by druids hungry for any information they could receive.
Tevuri gave them a perplexed look as he walked. “Whatever do you mean, Humani? A sacrifice is unbefitting to the Goddess. She does not require nor preach for them to be. Only those with falsities in their heart would ever think that a sacrifice of any nature would please her. Oraeliara only wishes that the world would be at peace, in happiness, and that fellow mortals cared for one another, opening their hearts to love and growth. The best thing you could ever do to please her, is to live your life and help those that require aid.”
“Oh, you’re too modest in her behalf, great one! Every god adores sacrifices - food, crafts, vows. It’s well known!”
“Very well known, in fact!”
“Is it?” He mused. “I’m afraid we are unfamiliar with other deities. Do they speak to you? Do their avatars teach you of what they ask? From what I’ve gathered from this situation, one should always be careful of who they devote themselves so completely to. And never put our own words behind their voices.”
The druids exchanged looks before turning away. “Well, ahem… We thank you for your wisdom. Walk in the gods’ blessings, great Tevuri.” Then they shuffled off sourly. The angel wasn’t left in peace for long, however, as Boudicca approached instead, her arms crossed across her chest in a posture that radiated authority.
“Great Tevuri, we have decided to strike today. Are you and your soldiers ready?”
Tevuri looked down at the warrior and studied her for a moment, giving an inquisitive eye. "My people are ready to help you retake your home. What are the enemy forces?"
“From what our scouts tell us, only stragglers remain. They have supposedly been joined by your kinsmen, too, but their numbers cannot even measure against ours. Ha-Dûna is ours for the taking.” She clenched her fists triumphantly.
At the mention of his kinsmen, Tevuri frowned. "The Neiyari are here? But how…?" He shook his head. "They are not to be underestimated. If they have a Saint with them, fear shall rule the hearts of your soldiers. Let us handle them, we have the most experience."
“I won’t argue that. They’re all yours. If possible, though, I pray we can avoid bloodshed. The city is what we want - if we can retake it without spilling more Dûnan blood, then the gods will surely see that we are worthy again of their favour.”
"I shall inform Soluri and gather my men." He said, giving her a nod. Boudicca nodded back.
“Tonight, we will dine in the central resthouse. This, I swear.”
He gave a small smile. "I look forward to it."
The sunstone castle gates vomited out a great band of warriors, following Boudicca like a flock of lethal sheep. The highlands spread out before them like the a violent ocean frozen in stone, its thousand hills, cliffs and tops giving the Dûnan force, as well as potential other forces, ample opportunities to move unseen.
From the other direction a lone rider came. Seated atop a highland stag that looked nearly as old as he looked. The man had a long, braided, grey beard and was dressed in furs. Bird skulls, wooden discs depicting the four seasons, feathers and beads hung from him. A staff laid on the stag’s back vertically. It was a gnarled, twisted, thing, seemingly taken from a live oak. It was carved with intricate runes though. Only one thing did not look weathered upon him: a white painted medallion of an owl hung from his neck. He was softly humming and could be mistaken for a traveler simply going about his way. Yet as he grew closer, there was a focus to his expression. Boudicca raised a brow at the traveller, then nodded for Hilda to lead the warriors onwards as she herself strode over to the stranger.
“Good day, father. These are dangerous lands to travel alone in these times - may I know what circle do you hail from, so we can escort you to the nearest resthouse safely?” She looked him up and down again and furrowed her brow. “What happened to your robes?”
“That’s very kind of you, young lady.” The old man spoke with a soft, slightly hoarse sounding voice. “But I’m not from a circle, and I’m not from here searching for a resthouse. And thus, I do not wear the robes” No true Cenél would ever need a rest house in these lands. They knew the caves, the hills, the forest, the burrows. They had to, or you died. He looked friendly, almost grandfatherly though. His face looked terribly weathered though. As if it had been exposed to too much sun and snow as well somehow. “I am looking for the leader of the army that’s marching here.” He said, motioning at the people passing them. “Could you be so kind as to point them out for me?”
Boudicca pursed her lips. “Not a circle, huh? Are you--... Ooooh, no, I understand.” She eyed him up and down again, her gaze growing momentarily skeptical. “I command this force. I am Boudicca of Ha-Dûna.” She hammered her leathered chest in salute.
Darragh quite doubted the young girl actually understood. Nonetheless, as she introduced herself as Boudicca, he gave her a gracious bow before dismounting. “Ah, but of course!” He exclaimed. “Word travels fast.” Then he began to speak with a hushed voice. “I am Darragh of the Cenél tribes and I have come to offer you our support. In every way.”
The warrioress nodded. “Cenél, huh. I was at Grimholt myself - would that our peoples had met under better circumstances back then. Hopefully, reason will prevail once more and we can return to things as they were before the Conquests.” She looked around and chuckled politely. “Why are you whispering, friend? The druids cannot hear us from here.”
“Because I do not trust your druids. Any of them.” Darragh whispered as he turned so he stood beside Boudicca but with his back towards everyone else marching by. “Nor would we want things to return as they once where…” He continued. “But those are conversations for a later day. For now I have come to offer you our support of the Fakir of the Cenél tribes. Together with the support of the White Owl. Do you accept, Boudicca of Ha-Dûna?”
Boudicca frowned. “Now hold on, I’m still talking here. Forgive me if I seem suspicious, but our tribes haven’t seen eye to eye on many things, and now you come to pledge your warriors to me and our cause - seemingly out of nowhere?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”
“Boody!” came a yell and she turned her head slightly. Hilda waved from down in a shallow valley, where the Dûnan portion of the force were treading over rock and stone to ascend a steep hill. The alviri had simply flown past it. “You coming?”
“Yeah, give me a bit.” She turned back. “Why?”
“Because my people and our way of life was once shunned, ridiculed and even endangered by the druids. And when peace returns, I would not have my people suffer like that again.” That was the formal reason. The reason agreed upon by all the Fakir. But there was a deeper one. One not all had agreed upon, but enough for Darragh to mention it. “And because the Sigerans slaughtered our kin as well… Ha-Dûna doesn’t know this yet but this land… it demands blood for blood.”
Boudicca furrowed her brow and eyed her force over her shoulder. “Take no offense from this, friend, but we have no doubt our current forces can hammer what stragglers remain among the heretics to little more than pieces. While we appreciate your pledge--”
“Boody?!”
“Coming! Right, while we appreciate your pledge, there are… Other fronts where Sigeran influence is growing stronger. Perhaps that would better suit your capable fighters?”
A small grin formed on Darragh’s face. “I would not want to hold you up needlessly. Tell me where, and my people will take care of it.”
Boudicca nodded and eyed the sky briefly. It was overcast, so she walked over to a large stone. Brushing off some of the light snow around its foot, she uncovered patches of moss. She turned back and pointed in the same direction as the side the moss was growing on. “Not six days ago, our scouts returned from the north with word of banditry by the waterside. The hoodlums left clear Sigeran tracks - butchered corpses, wicked altars - all of it. They’ve been picking off only the smallest hamlets, so they cannot be many. However, search for them by the sea, and you will find them no doubt.” She lowered her arm. “Doing this will serve both your search for vengeance and the Dûnan cause - I will vouch for you if you wish to speak to the druids in the future about their treatment of your people.”
The Fakir took a slight moment, even though he knew how valuable it was, to ponder on the task. It felt beneath him. Something too easy. Perhaps it was a test? Or perhaps Boudicca did not want them close to the druids? Alas, she gave her word. That was a start. “Consider the bandits taken care of.” He said as he mounted his highland stag once more. “We will be seeing each other.” With those final parting words, he ushered his stag on and headed north.
“Go in the gods’ grace,” the warrioress finished before turning back to her force, her cloak dragging in the snow. When she reunited with Hilda at the front of the warband, she flashed her a lopsided grin.
“What was that all about?”
Boudicca frowned. “Nothing much. Just someone coming to swear fealty to our cause.”
Hilda flexed her browns. “Another one, huh? Dûnan?”
Boudicca hesitated slightly, running her tongue along her teeth. “Yeah,” she said eventually, her eyes scanning the horizon as she did. Hilda raised one brow, then nodded with pursed lips.
“Not bad, sister. People join our cause left and right - the meek truly do gather around the strong to worship them at their feet!” The Leoness hefted her spear high into the air triumphantly. Boudicca nodded slowly.
“Right.”
The warparty travelled for five days and five nights, camping in the meadows and hills of the highlands. On the way, they met various roaming bandits, many of whom they chose to chase down with the help of the Reiyar. Those who survived were given the choice: Join the Dûnan cause and repent, or meet Sigeran the Hungerer in eternal death. Most joined to live another day.
By the end of the week, the warband had reached the outer borders of Ha-Dûna, ruins of the beginnings of a palisade gate blocking off the main entrance into their once-prosperous home. With the help of the Reiyar, the debris was shoveled out of the way without issue, and the warriors entered slowly. There had been estimates of what sort of resistance they could have expected, but even those proved too optimistic. Within the hour, the warband had reached the city centre, greeted only by the ghosts of their opponents. First when the palisade gates of the city centre were opened did the warband see their first faces - their former comrades who had deliberately or not ended up on the wrong side of the conflict. There were fewer than fifty of the once nine hundred strong Sigerans, and all who remained showed not a hint of despair at their defeat. In fact, nothing but relief could be seen on every face. Boudicca pushed herself to the front and looked around at the hungering faces.
“The true daughters and sons of Ha-Dûna have come home, traitors. You will be given this one chance to surrender. Deny us, and we will unite you with your false god.” She drew her sword and hefted it high. “Pledge your loyalty, Sigerans, to the druidic gods and the Dûna, and you will be our sisters and brothers again.”
Immediately, those who could walk and crawl approached her to beg for forgiveness; others were helped over. The reluctant few who remained steadfast in their beliefs were quickly taken away to be executed, many of them convinced that they could not be forgiven no matter what anyone said. Once the stragglers had been returned to the Dûnan fold and sent to be back of the line to be fed, Boudicca went to the Hall of the Weary, the great resthouse of the archdruids. Storming through the curtain door, she thundered her way to the end of the hall, sword drawn and glistening in the limited light shining through holes in the thatch roof. When she reached a bed at the far end, she grabbed the fur blanket and pulled it aside, sword aloft.
There laid the starved corpse of Teagan, the Sigeran Priestess. Boudicca lowered her sword and frowned.
“As expected, not even your god of death could keep you alive, you demon. May the winters bite you hard in the deathlands.” With that, she cast the blanket back over her and stepped outside.
She met with the others outside the resthouse, making her way to the centre of the city core. There, the Statuette of Prolificacy glistened golden in the sun, untouched despite the years of strife. Boudicca touched its belly with a smile and sighed in relief. “Even in their evil and wickedness, they could not bring themselves to strike down this gift of the sun…”
Hilda chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “What, planning number three to celebrate?” Boudicca pursed her lips in thought.
“It would be a worthy offering to her, I feel… Maybe, maybe. How about yourself?”
Hilda shrugged. “I will have to talk to Fender about it. It’ll have to come after we settle down properly, though - the farmlands must be resown; houses, rebuilt. The chosen people are home again - the lands will flourish once more.” Boudicca nodded wordlessly.
Ever so silent, even for a being so large, the avatar of Reiya stepped forth over those gathered before the statuette and grabbed it within his mighty hands. He spun around and began to walk away with it in hand. The Dûnans didn’t understand what happened straight away, and Hilda suddenly called after him: “Hey, HEY! What’re you doing!” Remembering herself, she quickly added, “Mighty Solus - what are you doing?!” Bouddica instinctively reached for her sword as well, and many hurried to follow the giant pleadingly.
The Reiyar grew nervous and took to hovering over them. Solus paused in his step and turned again to face them. "This gift… Is taken. The cause of… Your wars… Your greed… Our fault. Oraelia does not… Wish… To see you this way. She… Blames herself for… What you've become. Keep the Basin… Keep the land… You are not… Ready… For this. We are sorry." And without waiting, he began to walk off again. The Reiyar in the air, followed with hard expressions.
“This is--! This isn’t right! This is unfair!” screamed Hilda and was joined by many others. She gave chase, but was stopped by Boudicca. She tried to wrest herself free, but the warrioress held her tightly.
“Stop, Hilda! If we fight them over this, we might never be favoured by the sun again!”
“SHUT UP! You got to touch it! You got its blessing before it was too late!” Her eyes flooded over and she cried after Solus and the Reiyar. “COME BACK! PLEASE! WE BEG YOU!” Men and women alike trailed the giant in tears, collapsing to their knees in prayer and rising back up to get closer when necessary, all weeping for mercy and forgiveness.
“How can we get it back? How can we be forgiven?!” the druids at the front of the column wept at the giant’s feet.
"Tend the land… Make peace… Find your… Roots. This is… Oraelia's will. Only then…" The giant rumbled. The Reiyar flew off towards from whence they came.
The druids slowed down to ponder this, while many of the peasants followed weepingly for hours more. Solus was silent now and the Reiyar that flew behind him seemed sad. For who, no one could say, for they were quiet as well.
Back in the city core, Boudicca and Hilda still remained, Hilda having slumped to the ground and Boudicca hugging her supportively. The warrioress ran her fingers through the Leoness’ hair wordlessly to the sound of her whimpers. “Now it’ll be like the days our grandparents warned us about in their stories,” she sobbed. Boudicca didn’t respond. “... Babies born unable to breathe or see… Cold and dead before they can even walk.”
“Hilda, listen to yourself! The future will not be so! We, we’ll get the statue back somehow and--”
“What do you know?!” snarled the Leoness back. Boudicca recoiled. “My grandmother had ten children, Boudicca! TEN! Do you know how many survived to grow up? TWO!” She pulled her legs to her chest and stared emptily into the air. “... Four of them died before their first summer… One of them died during their first winter… The remaining three passed away in before they reached the age of ten…” She looked at her hands. “... Will my future babies follow the same fate?”
Boudicca felt her stomach turn to icy stone. Their newborns would no longer be protected by the sun, and not even their druids’ extensive knowledge of medicine and midwifery would save the thousands of deaths that would come until they could be forgiven.
There had to be changes.
In the deep woods behind Ha-Dûna, where the Dûna had been found and declared the meeting place of the Circle of the Long Stride, the druids of Ha-Dûna gathered for the first time in many years. A week had passed since the capital had been retaken, but there was no celebratory spirit to be found around the great stone. Being the last druid of senior rank in the circle, Kaer Pier stepped forth to the rock, placed his hand upon it with rusty familiarity and spoke, “In the name of the Eight, this humble servant of the gods wishes the Longstriders welcome to this much too long-awaited moot of the Circle. Let there be no ill thoughts among us, and let no conflict arise as we speak before our sacred defenders on this day.” He then stepped back and took a deep breath. “So… What have we found out? Kaer Cwenn?”
“The Statuette has been taken to the Caisteal Na Grèine, where the Reiyar and Great Solus, too, seem to remain. While we may not get the statuette back here until we bring peace to the Highlands, we may be able to negotiate some sort of pilgrimage for our most vulnerable mothers and fathers to receive the sun’s blessing.”
Kaer Pier nodded. “We will send a delegation their way as swiftly as we can. Only our most humble and devoted will go - I will hold an election in the Circle of the Gods tonight under the stars of Seeros for clairvoyance. And what of the dark-winged Reiyar the survivors spoke of?”
“They supposedly left as soon as they saw us coming.”
Kaer Pier nodded again. “Let us pray we may never encounter them again. Now… How do we change to please the sun once more?”
A hand rose up in the air and Kaer Pier invited Kaer Myvon to step into the circle. The middle-aged man took a step forward and held up a piece of bark for all to see. Upon it was written a prayer in the Ketrefan script. Kaer Myvon took a deep breath and spoke, “My fellow druids - it is evident that our behaviour over the past years has been gravely sinful. I have an hypothesis for why that may be…” He gestured to the bark piece. “Gaze upon this… For decades, now, we have been writing in the Ketrefan script. A small matter, I know, but not an insignificant one - all this time when we have thought ourselves Dûnan, we have held on to our Ketrefan roots, and thus we became like them.” Murmurs bounced among the druids. “Our conquering ways came as a result of our Ketrefan hubris, and there is not a doubt in my mind that, if we were to purge ourselves completely of their influence, we may once again be favoured by the gods.”
The murmurs carried an agreeing tone. One hand was raised and Kaer Pier invited Kaer Semble to join the circle centre. “Forgive my disagreement, Kaer Myvon, but what will this change? Only the druids use this script, and there are larger issues in this world that the manner in which we write.” Kaer Myvon wagged a finger.
“I respect this view, sister, but I must disagree: It was us, the druids, who started the Conquests four years ago - we have made every decision that has brought us here. Under our leadership, Ha-Dûna has lost its favour with the gods.”
“Now hold on, Kaer Myvon, isn’t that--”
“No, no, he’s right,” Kaer Pier added somberly and patted Myvon on the shoulder. “Whether it be our Ketrefan heritage or not, the truth remains: The druids are responsible for this. So, Kaer Myvon - what do you suggest?”
Kaer Myvon tossed aside the piece of bark and took out another. The writing upon it was foreign - it seemed not to make much sense at first, but Myvon pointed at the various glyphs and explained their pronunciation and combined meanings. “I suggest we change our script to one of our own - sever our final link with Ketrefa and make ourselves, our bureaucracy, truly Dûnan. Then…” He continued. His voice put on a coat of reluctance, but persevered regardless. “... Then we step down as the leaders of Ha-Dûna.”
Outraged cries sounded from the other druids. “Wait, who else can lead if not us, though? Who can interpret the will of the gods if not us?”
“The gods are important - our greatest allies! We exist to worship and praise them. However, we have seen what can happen if their will is interpreted falsely - or if their will goes against what is right!”
“This is the talk of a defeated man, Kaer Pier - let us be sensible! No one in Ha-Dûna has the divine mandate to lead!”
Kaer Pier frowned. “No… No, there is one.” The voices quieted.
“Who?”
Kaer Pier stepped over to one of the mirror-like puddles surrounding the Dûna. He knelt down and hovered his hand over the water. The image of Boudicca springed to life, and there came agreeing murmurs from the druids who at this point were surrounding the puddle.
“Boudicca? But she’s no druid!”
“Indeed, yet she is charismatic, strong and clearly favoured by the gods. She has been the champion of many sports and games, and is an accomplished heroine of our people - a true daughter of Ha-Dûna.”
The druids nodded at one another. A few voices scoffed. “What, do you mean to suggest that she will lead us? What link to the gods does she have? She has never tasted the waters of Hir!”
“That may be, but nothing stops us from functioning as her subjects - her advisors and voices of the gods. Little will change - we will only turn to her to use our interpretations of the gods’ wills to lead our people.”
“You mean like a queen?!” came an outraged cry and the tone suddenly shifted to malcontent. “We will not have a despotic lineage take control of our people ever again, Kaer Pier!”
Kaer Cwenn raised her hand, quieting the others. “What if the title was not hereditary?”
“The gods’ wills are many, but from what we know, they share many views on what is an ideal person of virtue. Perhaps… Perhaps they could guide us to such exceptional individuals when Boudicca’s time has passed?”
“You mean like… We would go to search for a successor based on whom the gods deem will grow into a worthy leader?”
Kaer Cwenn nodded. The druids looked at one another. One by one, their heads began to nod. “That… That could work. The gods would naturally guide us to only the most virtuous individuals.”
“Indeed,” Kaer Cwenn agreed.
“Then so be it. Starting today, the archdruids are no more. Instead, we will continue to support Ha-Dûna as we always have - and the new sanndatr Boudicca! Long may she reign in the light of the gods!”
“Long may she reign!”
As the crowd quieted down, Kaer Pier drummed his staff to the ground to centre attention on himself again. “Now… We must also discuss other ways to regain our favour with the gods. The great Solus demanded that we should make peace in the land. During the Conquests, it became clear that many of our less refined countrymen showed gruesome undûnan behaviour. While we should all realise what this sort of behaviour entails, we cannot trust others to do so. Therefore, it is mandatory that we keep a record of the exemplary traits of Dûnan civilised behaviour so all may learn.” There came murmurs of agreement from the others. Pier gave Myvon a nod. “Once your script is complete, we will produce this codex of law so that we and all our descendants will be familiar with the true Dûnan way.”
Myvon nodded. “It would be a great honour to help create this.”
After the moot, the druids ventured out into the city to aid in restoring it to its former glory. The reparations would normally have taken years, but the Circle of the Long Stride devoted all their collective power into persuading the godly elements to grant them the power to rebuild ruins into building, mend broken materials, produce resources where none or few were available, and heal those injured during the work. Within a month, as the snows grew heavier, the city had been rebuilt again, just in time to hunker down for the winter. In the process, they helped finish the temples to the gods that were never built, houses to the gods built in wood and stone placed all around the city in an orbital pattern around the city core, planned precisely with the use of the map in the Town Hall.
While they were in the spirit of building, the Dûnans took note of the querns still used to grind grain into flour. Some druids reported having seen Scawicks employ the wind of the sea to power their querns through some sort of propeller setup. They had called this a ‘mill’. The druids took some time to draw and sketch it out, but eventually managed to create something similar, adjusted for the mountain and the sea winds of their home city.
Boudicca on her part was at first overwhelmed by her election to govern Ha-Dûna. However, she knew well that now was no time for reluctance. She wasted no time bolstering the Dûnan forces for the inevitable backlash they would suffer from their untrustworthy allies. Ha-Dûna needed to be moderators of peace, yes, but there would be no peace in the Dûnlands if the policing force was too weak to fend for itself. She rounded up the théins and drilled them and their soldiers in a formation she called the oksi aug órni: The most veteran soldiers would hold the two flanks of a line, where the weakest warriors made up the centre. If the centre caved, the two “horns” of the ox would charge the centre from the flanks, surrounding the enemy; the “eagle” archers would provide arrow cover before impact and then reinforce the centre line from the back, replacing the tired soldiers there if possible. Thereafter, she preached to her people a need to assimilate the Dûnlands into the ways Dûnan Dlíbók and its laws - this could not take place militarily, however; no, the Dûnans would assimilate others through example. If they could return to their old ways as the jewel of the Highlands, then others would surely adopt their way of life simply out of common sense. Others would see the glory of Ha-Dûna restored, and the city would once again become the capital of Highland druidism.
In honour of this political shift, the bards created a new music genre: the Dûnan opera. Great plays would be shown on stages around the city and the nearby towns of the accomplishments of Dûnan heroes, all performed with lavish costumes and sang in a special technique known as strûpisangi, accompanied by harps, flutes and drums. Time would show whether all these efforts would pay off.
Meanwhile, in Scawick...
“WHAT?!” thundered Burud.
“That’s right, brother! Not only have the Dûnans taken back the city, but they’re also saying they’ve changed their ways and will go on as paragons of peace!” The man spat on the ground. Burud grabbed his axe and hefted it to the sky, his spectators raising their fists in rage.
“Peacemakers, my ass! By the gods, their arrogance knows no bounds!” He scanned the crowd. “Mark my words, all of you - we will not bow to any stinking Dûnan in this life nor the next!”
“YEAH!”
“We will sooner see Scawick burn than to kneel before some filthy broad!”
“YEEEAAH!”
“Come! Let us show them what we think of their ‘peace’! For every head you take, you shall eat for a year - I will see to that myself! FOR SCAWICK!”
“FOR SCAWICK!” With that, bands of raiders charged out of the coastal village to raid Dûnan hamlets. Ha-Dûna may have been recaptured, but this was only the beginning of the dark times.
The Dûnland War had only just begun.
The Dûnans move in to take Ha-Dûna as quickly as they can before winter, and do so without issue thanks to A) the Sigerans being either gone or dead and B) they have a large fuck-you warparty. On the way, Boudicca meets Daragh, a shaman of the Cenél, who offers to aid them. She gives him a small mission 'cuz she doesn't trust him, and he seems dissatisfied - not wanting to be seen as lesser, however, he takes it and they part ways. Solus decides, however, that the Dûnans have been naughty, so he takes away the baby-maker statue. This upsets the Dûnans and makes them realise that they gotta do some shit to get better. A fuckton of prestige is spent (see the expenditure below along with the descriptions) and they basically hunker down to be good guys.
The War event has begun!
The war for Dûnlands has begun! Apart from the factions already involved (Ha-Dûna, Kirin’s Rest, Cenél, the Reiyar and Solus), anyone who would be interested to throw in another faction or create a local civ to battle it out in the ensuing landgrab, is absolutely free to do so!
For anyone joining, I have some requests to keep in line with regional canon:
1. The civ can either be Dûnan, native or Merelli. The Dûnan culture is described in detail on the wiki, and I will gladly answer any further questions. The native populations refer to the peoples who inhabited the land before the Dûnans came. These still have a lot of opportunities to develop a canon, but keep in mind that the terrain is mountainous, rocky and difficult, so civilisations that fit those would be good. Merelli pops can be made along the shore.
2. While they can become regional powers during the landgrab, I request that none of them start out this way, unless they are situated outside the Dûnan cultural sphere. The region has, up until now, been poor and underdeveloped compared to the southeast, and HD has been the sole regional giant and pushed down others. As said, though, this can change during the warring states days.
3. Make use of regional technology and magic. While exceptions of course can exist, such as trade towns importing bronze and siege equipment, the region still employs mostly copper and stone for tools and weaponry. The region is also mostly druidic, with a bunch of different sects and circles that can be made and used. Other types of magic exist, but are rarer and often ostracised.
4. Have fun! If this becomes a thing, I hope it'll become a cluster fuck of fun times and backstabbing all over. It should be chaotic, and to turn on allies all the time is encouraged for the hell of it. If it makes for good stories, do it. Regarding point 1, expansionist Savannah people can come over, too, why not.
5. Ha-Dûna will not outright attack any of the factions who come into play, but will defend themselves if attacked. Please keep in mind that they are the big boss - very powerful and not easily defeated. They will focus on building alliances and spreading Dûnan cultural influence. Also please keep in mind that this is not a game about winning - the hope is that we can make good stories out of this. If a player faction is defeated, this does not mean you are “out of the game” - it would be awesome if you kept developing the culture after defeat. Making alliances and settling the conflict peacefully, too, for example, should not be seen as defeat either. The only defeat would be a boring story.
38k characters.
Boudicca: 10 + 5 = 15
-5 Make minor cultural or technological shift: Invent the tactic Oksi aug Órni: The most veteran soldiers will hold the two flanks of a line, where the weakest warriors make up the centre. If the centre caves, the two “horns” of the ox will charge the centre from the flanks, surrounding the enemy; the “eagle” archers will provide arrow cover before impact and then reinforce the centre line from the back, replacing the tired soldiers there if possible.
-8 Create major cultural shift: Create ideology: Dûnan Hegemonism: Ha-Dûna will cease its ambition of military conquest of the lands in the Dûnan cultural sphere and instead focus on extending their soft power through cultural development and alliance building, bringing all of the Dûnlands (Dûnan term for the Western Highlands) under the rule of Ha-Dûna through exemplary behaviour and cultural influence. This does not mean they will demilitarise, but they will cease their warmongering.
End: 2.
Circle of the Long Stride: 36 + 5 = 41
-8 Make a major cultural shift: The druids invent the Dûnan script, Dûnisk, a phonemic script with blocky characters ideal for writing in wood, bark, glass and stone.
-8 Make a major cultural shift: The druids elect that the leadership of Ha-Dûna should fall to the sanndatr or sannsonn (literally High Daughter or High Son), people of exceptional moral and virtuous character selected by the gods themselves to lead the Dûnans. These are found as children by the druids and groomed to become leaders by studying under the living leader and the druids themselves. The current leader of Ha-Dûna as elected by the druids is Boudicca.
-8 Make major cultural shift: Write the Dlíbók, a codex of laws and guidelines outlining proper Dûnan behaviour and punishments for violating such behaviours. This includes various sanctions against criminals, inheritance laws, moral imperatives and key ideals in Dûnan society.
-5 Improve existing settlement: The Circle of the Long Stride helped restore Ha-Dûna.
-5 Improve existing settlement: Helped Ha-Dûna finish its temples to the gods.
-5 Making minor cultural or technological shift: Adopted wind-powered mills from Scawick.
End: 2
Bards of Ha-Dûna: 5 + 5 = 10
-5 Making minor cultural or technological shift: Created a new musical genre - Dûnan opera: Musical theatre with costumes and throat singing.
It was an uncharacteristically hot evening on the southern shores of Sso-Hwah. The palms stood as frozen in the windstill air - the inhabitants of the jungle sang their late night songs a little quieter as they had no gusts to compete with. At the borders between overgrowth and dry flats, rach Rose sat on a small wooden chair with a skin seat. He was hunched over, neatly chipped bone studs running the length of the shell of his long ears, his chin resting comfortably atop his intertwined fingers. He wore a leather harness that protected his torso, but left his arms uncovered to help his body stay cool; over his legs, he wore a kilt fashioned from skin strips and studded with bone, as well.
Opposite of him sat chief Tsarri of the Hui-Prra, dressed in, surprisingly, a black shadowtiger pelt, with thick fur bracers around his wrists and long strings intertwined with tiger knuckles dangling from his earlobes. His teeth, which he bared menacingly, had been sharpened with flint. His hands held tight grips atop his powerful thighs. Both his toenails and fingernails had, too, been sharpened to almost clawlike points.
The two of them had sat in silence, staring at one another. Behind them were lined up nelven warbands, all armoured for battle in the heat, most bare-chested and hardly dressed in more than kilts. They all wielded their pi-xxois and xwenkkos with intimidating presence, hissing sharply at one another. With regularly intervals, the warriors almost walked up face to face with each other, flicking their tongues out of their mouths and making animalistic faces. They squatted down and flexed intimidatingly at their opponents, and some would even growl to get attention, then jump out in the middle to do gymnastic exercises, such as handstands, cartwheels, flips and more, being cheered on by their comrades and cursed by their enemies. Eventually, Tsarri rose from his seat and stepped out, doing a high squat in the middle of the field and placing two fists on his lower abdomen with a sharp, challenging huff. Rach Rose stood up to meet him, and the two collided foreheads and snorted aggressively at one another.
“Ya got balls, kid, comin’ ta my jungle just like that,” the chieftain snarled to the hisses of his warriors. Rose purred in challenge.
“After you snatched a whole sled full of flowers? Roses no less! How could I not answer such a challenge?”
Tsarri snickered. “Where’s ya proof, huh? What makes you think we took it?”
“Come on, Tsar-Tsar - we found tiger fur all over the site of the ‘accident’ - by the way, do boulders really fall like that? Fairly certain they don’t.”
“Shit happens, Rosie - shit happens.” He stepped back and eyed the warriors Rose had brought. He shot hot streams of air through his nostrils. “Is this all you brought? Half look to be missing mother’s tits; the other half, wifey’s caress. What, has masculinity lost its meaning in Fragrance?” The insult brought wheezing laughter to the White Tigers. The Fragrancians unleashed almost deafening insults back, impossible to decipher on account of their volume. Rose flinched and motioned for them to quiet down.
“Harsh words, Tsar-Tsar; we’ll make you eat every single one.”
“Oh yeah? Do tell me how, exactly.”
“How about a dance?”
The chieftain raised a brow. “And which dance would that be, my lady?”
The rach smirked. “Toc-saox. My best versus yours.”
There came whoops from both sides. The chieftain tugged at his stubby chin. “Alright, alright - I’ll play your little game, provided you’ll play one of mine, too.”
“What’ve you got in mind, you sub-nelven brute?”
“Hoo, feisty, just how I like them,” the chieftain said and flicked his tongue sharply. “Only one game can follow up a dance - xxois-wooah!” The White Tigers threw their hands in the air and started grunting in a cheering manner. Rose sucked in a breath through the teeth.
“You sure that’s what you want them to play?” the rach mumbled and clicked disapprovingly. Tsarri snickered and clapped his hands to his thighs.
“What’s the matter, my lady? Did we scawe yoo, humm?” He drummed his chest and threw his arms out wide, stretching himself to his full height, torso musculature flexing menacingly. Rose would be lying if he said he didn’t feel intimidated.
“Ugh, this is why your jungle is seen as nothing but backwater in comparison to our glorious--”
“HEY, BOYS! I THINK WIDDLE WOSIE IS SCAWED!” The White Tigers roared in laughter as their chieftain jumped from edge to edge of his warband, cupping his hands behind his ear and drumming his chest to challenge his men to be louder. In no longer than a few seconds, the White Tigers were deafening whatever complaints and counter-insults the Fragrancians could throw back. Morale among the Fragrancians was weakening, and Rose felt the stares of his countrymen hardening the rach took longer and longer to think of a good reply. The other side was chanting and singing:
Behold, the man of tiger blood: A man with skin of hardened mud; A man with bones to rival stone; A man who can’t be killed alone!
HUI!
PRRA!
HUI!
PRRA!
Behold, the son of moon and beast: North and south and west and east - Nowhere in life is safe from him Yes, ev’n in death, he’ll do you in!
HUI!
PRRA!
HUI!
PRRA!
The rach struggled immensely to think, and it was visible all over him. The Fragrancians had all stopped their ruckus at this point, realising that they couldn’t compete with the fervour shown now by the White Tigers. The rach was halfway ready to acknowledge defeat when he felt a warm hand caress his sweaty shoulder. The anxieties clawing at his soul were momentarily alleviated, and he felt his old, secure self return. “Where have you been, my heart?”
“Yesterday’s kheft didn’t sit very well with my system. Took a while to get it out,” mumbled Lavender jokingly. Rose scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“Gross, Lav.” The warrior gave the rach a quick kiss on the lips and stepped in front of him. The White Tigers began to quiet down upon smelling him, and Tsarri turned away from his warriors to sniff the air.
“My, my, now ain’t that just the most familiar smell. Come to dance, have we, Lav?” the chieftain rumbled and stuck out his tongue. Lavender proceeded to take off his chest harness and uncork a bottle of lavender oil. He slowly poured it over his pectoral muscles and rubbed it in with slow movements. The scent oozed forth and almost knocked the Tigers back. Tsarri cringed.
“By the gods, man - in moderation, please!”
“‘Moderation’ isn’t my kind of word, pussy cat,” the warrior replied and then lifted flexing arms above his head, kicked his right leg up in the air and then hammering it to the ground, entering a low lunge. The moonlight glistened on his oiled body, and his black topknot spiked the heavens like a singular horn. He hissed sharply at the chief, who recoiled and snaked his head side to side, calculating his response to the challenge.
“Oh-ho, I see. You’ll step it for Widdle Wosie, is that it? Was that your plan?” The chief offered Rose a click. “Understandable, little seedling - you’re not ready to face me either way.” The chieftain blew Rose a kiss, who waved it away harshly. He then looked down at Lavender, who now had gone down into splits. “Good form, kid - not gonna lie, if you were one of my men, I would’ve adopted you as my own son.”
Lavender laid his torso over his left leg and grabbed his foot with his hands, barely suppressing a chuckle. “You ask every time, and as with every time, here is my answer: Thanks for the offer, kitten, but my heart is already taken.”
“Understandable,” the chieftain offered and hissed back at the rach. “Finally, you’ve brought an actual man to my borders - now I won’t have to worry about any women being hit.” He spat on the ground and the Fragracians brandished their spears. “But a chieftain can’t face a captain - that’s just not right. No, no, no - rank must face equal rank, such is tradition! Fursa, come out here!”
While the White Tigers reorganised and oiled up their champion, Rose offered a scoff to which Lavender snickered. “I had hoped you would be breaking that cretin’s neck within the hour…” muttered the rach. Lavender shrugged.
“I’ll be breaking someone’s neck. Don’t worry - we’ll hit him where it hurts. Someone as proud as Tsarri will be bugged for months over a defeat like this - especially after riling up his men for so long.”
“So… Got a plan?”
“You suggested the dance first, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I took care of it. He ate it up like unhooked bait.”
Lavender ran an oily hand through his hair and took a long whiff of the air. He then leaned in. “Well, of course, he did. He’s an idiot. What did he suggest after?” “Xxois-wooah.”
Lavender raised a brow, then bobbed his head from side to side. “Not my first guess, but not unexpected, either.” Rose took his hand in his own.
“You’re not playing, right?”
“You kidding me? No! No, I’ll place my bets on the dance and the third challenge.” Both of them turned to regard the Tiger champion - he resembled the chief in that he, too, was a mountain of muscle with sharpened nails and teeth, but he had a wider jaw and stronger brows. He was also bald, and the sheen of the moon cast a blinding light off of his oiled scalp. Rose drew an anxious breath.
“Be careful, my heart.”
“Always am,” Lavender responded and kissed him softly on the lips. As they broke apart, Lavender spun around and drummed his chest in challenge. The Tiger champion Fursa did the same, wheezing menacingly. Lavender met the wheeze with a growl, and before long, the two clashed foreheads and bent down low and forward. Then clasped hands and tested each other’s strength. The Fragrancian warriors got a second wind as they saw that Lavender could, in fact, push back Fursa. However, Fursa refused to be pushed away so easily, and the White Tigers got reason to celebrate, too, when Lavender almost lost his footing.
Rose’s breathing quickened and he blurted out: “Should we perhaps get started with the games, then?” The champions stopped and the warriors quieted down. Tsarri clicked disapprovingly.
“Ugh, since you whine so much, I guess we can. Again, Lavender, how can you stand this woman?” Fursa and Lavender broke apart and each returned to their own comrades’ sides while preparations were made for the drum dance.
“He can be quite manly once you get to know him,” retorted Lavender with a chuckle as he pulled Rose to the side. Tsarri offered a polite click back.
“Why did you do that?” Lavender hissed at Rose a few steps away. Rose shrunk.
“I… I didn’t want you to--”
“To what? Appear weak? Rose, come on, I -had- control.”
“But--”
“Ap, ap! -Don’t- steal my thunder again. You make me look bad. Calm down and let me do my thing, okay?”
Rose sighed anxiously and forced a smile. “Yes, my heart.” Lavender raked his hair with his fingers. He then put one hand on each of Rose’s shoulders and kissed him quickly on the cheek.
“Now man up and join the crowd. This’ll be over in no time.”
Eight warriors from each side formed two crescents of a circle surrounding Lavender first. The warriors all held small drums and Lavender received two lengths of thin linen, which he tied around his wrists so that each of his arms sported a long cloth. He spun and tossed himself around for practice, the sheets soaring after him like representations of the air flowing around his body. All around the ring, whether friend or foe, the men clicked and purred flirtingly at his moves. Lavender’s chuckle was somewhere in there, too - it was evident that he revelled in the attention.
“Ya ready, son?” Tsarri asked and Lavender slowed down. He tightened the wraps on his wrists and took a deep breath.
“Yeah,” answered Lavender and tied a third length of linen over his eyes.
The chieftain clicked. “Then we will begin!” The drummers started slow, beats coming from all sides of the circle. This was to confuse the dancer first - keep them on their toes. Lavender started skipping in place to the beat. The beats grew louder and louder as to test the dancer’s perseverance. Lavender kept skipping, the oil on his skin hiding whether or not he had yet to break a sweat. The men around the circle started chanting:
Warrior, warrior, warrior of the night! Is he, is he, is he born of might?! Can he triumph over death?! Can he grow as great as gods?! Warrior, warrior, warrior of the night!
One of the drums sounded louder than the others. The dance had begun. With a flying high kick, Lavender skewered the air with his foot, casting himself out of the way of an incoming javelin. The javelin, being tipped with a length of obsidian, snapped, leaving the hilt and half the blade on the ground while the edge stuck up from the sand like a spike. Not a second later, he kicked himself back, snatched the javelin from the sand without getting cut on the spike and did an airborne pirouette. He landed right where the drum had been the loudest and hammered the drum with the hilt, making sure to stay on beat as he cartwheeled back to the centre of the circle. Another louder drum thundered, and Lavender flipped through the air off to the left, dodging the javelin. He picked it up and returned it to its drummer.
The number of louder drums picked up. Next came two javelins, but Lavender couldn’t return both in time without missing the beat. He thus skipped around the circle for the remaining percussions of the metre before returning the last javelin. Rach Rose watched as Lavender nearly danced right into a tall, lethal spike of razor obsidian, only narrowly stopping right before it. It had no doubt been sheer luck, but the man showed no sign of surprise, merely continuing on without so much as testing the confines of the rhythm. The dance went for three minutes without a single stop, and on the final measure, the dancer had to return as many as four javelins to their owners. By the time the dance ended, Lavender was shaking, the ring filled with closer to sixteen obsidian spikes that he had all avoided. One had grazed him slightly, and blood ran down his thigh in a black line. Still, he stood, and the White Tigers didn’t even look mad at his performance - in fact, they cheered louder than the Fragrancians.
“HAH! Now -that- was a dance!” praised Tsarri and slapped Lavender on the back. Lavender chuckled politely and clasped hands with the chieftain.
“Let’s see your little Fursa beat that?”
“Doubt he can, honestly,” the chieftain mumbled and Fursa behind him lowered his head in shame. Tsarri rolled his eyes and squeezed Lavender’s hand tighter. “Those were no sissy Fragrancian moves, son… Face it…” He leaned in to Lavender’s ear. “... You’re no flower. You were born to be a Tiger.”
Lavender sighed and pulled himself away. “Alright, settle down, kitty. I’m taken, like I’ve said a thousand times.” Tsarri clicked playfully and wagged a finger.
“Oh, ho-ho, I will get you yet, son - Fursa! Get ready!”
“Y-yes, chieftain!”
While the Tigers’ champion prepared himself, Lavender was surrounded by Fragrancians coming to congratulate him and hand him drinks and towels. Lav accepted a cup of lowee and sat down to wipe off the worst of sweat.
“How do you even do those kicks?!” asked one of the warriors.
“Yeah, don’t you get super tired after just one?”
Lavender chuckled. “Why, in the beginning, I did, but years of diligent training and the goodwill of the gods have given me the stamina I need to serve Fragrance as well as I do today.” There came approving clicks from the crowd. “Remember, train yourselves every day, keep in touch with your sages and have them help you take care of your body, and stay pious to the gods. The great moonfather Kipo smiles upon those who have the will to grow strong!”
“Yes, Lavender!” many half-squealed in their whisper.
Fursa’s dance wasn’t even close to as impressive. He frequently stepped off the beat, and while he never mistook which drummer had thrown the javelin, he often failed to hit the drum with the hilt on time. His dodges were simple and uninteresting, and while he has never hit or grazed, it didn’t feel like a dance, but more like a game of dodge-the-spear. Needless to say, Lavender was the undisputed champion. After the chieftain had given Fursa a stern talking to, he spanned his arms as wide as he could and thundered, “Next up - xxois-wooah!” The White Tigers cheered and the Fragrancians shrunk. Lavender put his hands on his hips and turned to the nail-biting Rose with a smirk and a click.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get hit. Remember our plan and calm down.”
Rose clicked anxiously and pulled his fingers out of his mouth. On the opposite side of the field, Fursa already stood ready with the spear. The javelin used in xxois-wooah was different from the standard Fragrancian pi-xxois: Rather than being a relatively short shaft with a long obsidian tip that would snap upon impact, the game spear was one long shaft of wood with both edges sharpened. The goal of the game was to throw the lance at one another and for the other to catch it before it hit the ground. If it did, the catching party would lose. Lavender and Fursa stood opposite of one another with around fifteen metres of distance between them. The chieftain eyed them both.
“Ready?!”
Both clicked their confirmation. “Begin!”
Fursa cast his throwing arm back, hopped a few steps forward and sent the spear soaring at Lavender. The man may not have been much of a dancer, but he could throw spears, that was for sure. The lance barely quivered in the air, but flew as though it was meant for nothing else, and would have skewered Lavender straight in the chest if the man simply hadn’t stepped to the side and let the lance plant itself deep in the sand. There came a collective groan of disappointment from the Tigers, and even some of the Fragrancians clicked their disapproval. Fursa threw his hands in the air with frustration and Tsarri growled.
“Come on, Lav, really? This is too low for someone of your calibre.”
Lavender shrugged and pulled the spear out of the ground with a bit of effort. “Am I not allowed to choose what games I participate in?”
“If you wanted to do that, you should have been here from the beginning,” the chieftain muttered angrily and caught the spear as Lavender gently lobbed it back to him.
“Sorry, I had shits to take that were more important than this. Shall we just get on with the third challenge already?” The chieftain exhaled hot air through his teeth.
“I’m startin’ to think I might have to teach you a lesson, too, son…”
“Finally! I may have my challenge yet. That’d be great!”
Tsarri growled. “Oh, you want a challenge? Let’s get you a challenge. Let’s make the third game a bit bloodier, shall we?”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Lavender took the linen from before and wrapped it around his knuckles. The chieftain lifted his arms to the nightsky.
“The gods decree that, if the two games lead to a draw, a third must be had! We haven’t had a lot of physical contact tonight. Let’s make it a wrestling match to the death.”
“Sounds good to me. Fursa?”
The Tiger champion spat. “Hope you’ve said your last prayers, budling.”
“Likewise, pussy cat.”
Once again, the warriors formed a ring around the two, though instead of drums, they all held their javelins tightly. The circle was wider this time, wide enough to fit every warrior. The space in the middle made for quite a battlefield, almost a diameter of six metres. The warriors rubbed themselves in with new coats of oil and assumed their stances opposite of one another. Each combatant entered a high squat, hissing and flicking their tongues and one another. Fursa clapped at his thighs; Lavender drummed at his chest. Rose couldn’t help but grab his hand to keep it from quivering - Lavender had come out of many fights without so much as a scratch, but he never knew when his divine luck would run out.
“Begin!”
The two nelves collided barely even seconds later, and Fursa immediately got the upper hand, catching Lavender’s attempt to lock his arms, smacking those arms out of the way and spinning Lavender around, catching his throat in his right elbow. Just as Fursa was about to place his left hand behind Lavender’s head, however, a well-placed punch to the jaw managed to stagger him enough for Lavender to break free, bend down and almost trip over with a strong grab around his core and a foot behind Fursa’s left. However, Fursa caught himself with his right leg just in time not to fall, and did it again as Lavender kept trying. Fursa lifted his fists above his head and brought them down with meteoric force on Lavender’s back, smacking him to the ground. Lavender tried to catch the breath knocked out of him, but before he could, Fursa had already laid his legs over his back, Lavender’s right arm trapped between them. The Tiger champion cackled. “Is this -it-?! The great Lavender of Fragrance, floored in a matter of minutes?” He grabbed the struggling right arm and tilted it a bit to the left, then a bit to the right. “Nooooow… Which side should we snap it, boys?”
Half the Tigers hissed ‘left’; the other, ‘right’. Lavender squirmed to get loose, but the grip was tight. He looked up at the Fragrancians, all of whom were telling him to persevere and fight on - break out of the grip! Lavender suddenly regretted having spent so much energy during the dance - he could’ve sorely used it right about now. He looked up at Rose, who was nearly in tears. If Fursa broke his arm, he would no doubt be killed by the next attack. He couldn’t do that to Rose - he couldn’t leave him like this. As quietly as he could, almost to the point where it could hardly be called ‘sound’ at all, he whispered, “Gods, give me strength…”
A simple rush of wind brushed past his ear. With it came a sigh, unassuming and soft, yet to him strong enough to drown out all other sound as it echoed in his mind. Ethereal hands ran along his form, unseen but felt. Finally, a warm and compelling voice burned in his ears, louder than anything he'd ever heard, but still somehow kind on his hearing. "So long as you dance, you shall have my favour, my sweet," the voice sang softly, and he felt a surreal touch run along his chin. "As you shall have the favour of all who watch you spin to your own tune." Another sigh rushed through his ears, and for just a moment an ethereal horned, winged woman rose from before him, her hand moved away from his chin. As soon as the image came, it vanished, as did the surreal sensation.
The shock nearly made him lose sense of his struggle, and his arm went flaccid to the point where Fursa had to see if he had given up. Then, before the spectators could get similar ideas, Lavender redoubled his efforts, flexing to release his arm. Fursa blinked - in the span of seconds, he had grown stronger - much stronger; in fact, Fursa couldn’t reroute enough of his own strength to his legs before Lavender broke free of his trap and rolled away. The Fragrancians exploded into a wild cheer, and the White Tigers were speechless.
“H-how did he do that?! That grip should be impossible to escape!” came a sharp whisper. Lavender pushed himself up to a kneeling position, brushed his black hair to the side and snickered.
“Not for me,” he said and clicked suggestively. The spectator who had spoken up fell back into formation, blushing. Fursa charged at Lavender once more, but an unnaturally strong second wind had overtaken him, as though the cheers of the crowd infused his breath and muscles with power. He danced out of the way and skipped over to the other side of the ring, posing triumphantly with one hand saluting the moon. The crowds whooped and drummed their spears on the ground. What was this sensation? Fursa came thundering towards him again, and Lavender avoided him again, as though their fight had become a game - entertainment for the masses.
“Get him, Lav!” came a shout. Ah, it was Rose, his precious Rose. Well, Lavender felt that he was nothing if not a crowd pleaser. He turned around, did a cartwheel into a backflip and planted his feet in Fursa’s chest, sending the large man hammering to the ground with unnatural force. The warrior looked to be struggling to stay conscious as he shakingly lifted his head off the sand - spots of black coloured the ground where his skull had landed. Lavender danced another round around the ring, cupping his hands behind his ears.
“End him, end him, end him!” the Fragrancians cheered. The White Tigers were covering their eyes at the sight and their noses at the smell of blood. The chieftain stood there grimacing. Lavender snickered and exaggerated some searching gestures to the struggling body on the ground.
“Oh, you mean this guy? Whaaat do you want me to do to him?”
“Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
“Oof, such a menacing request - my, my. Oh well, as the crowd demands.” Lavender flattened himself down next to Fursa, who still hadn’t gotten his bearings. He then grabbed his arms, forced him onto his side before locking the arms behind his back and then laying himself on his enemy’s back. He locked his elbow over Fursa’s throat and squeezed. “Here we go, folks!” Then he squeezed - the man underneath him squirmed weakly to free himself, but there was no hope. Worse yet, whenever the crowds would grow quieter, Lavender would let up slightly, giving Fursa the opportunity to suck in a desperate breath, only to worsen the chokehold. Eventually, Tsarri growled.
“By the gods, just let him die already!”
“I dunno… What does the crowd think?”
“Kill! Kill! Kill!” the Fragrancians continued, and now the White Tigers joined in in the hopes that their comrade would be shown some mercy. Lavender clicked in acknowledgement.
“As the crowd demands,” he whispered and, with a final squeeze and a twist, snapped his opponent’s neck. Fursa laid limp the following second. The Fragrancians cheered as Lavender rose up and threw his arms in the air. The White Tigers had lost all the fervour they had, and Tsarri clicked somberly as he walked over and inspected the corpse, turning his limp head from side to side with morbid jerks of movement.
“Didn’t take you for a torturer, Lav,” he whispered coldly. Lavender cast a glance over his shoulder and snickered.
“Fighting is a show to please the crowd - one man’s torture is another man’s glory, after all.”
The chieftain eyed him blankly. “What?”
“You’re a crowd pleaser like myself - surely, you understand that the morale and enjoyment of the spectators must come before the wellbeing of the fighters; otherwise, they will be left dissatisfied and sate their bloodthirst through other means.” He scratched the chief under the chin. “Can’t have nelves wantonly killing nelves, now can we?” He then spun around and walked back to the Fragrancians to be carried by the warriors like a hero. To take his place, rach Rose stepped forth to meet the shattered chieftain. Tsarri eyed him briefly and clicked his acknowledgement of his existence. Rose clicked back.
“Ready to hear your terms of defeat, then?”
Tsarri waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, we know. Stay out of your lands and pay compensation for the roses. What do you want?”
The directness took Rose by surprise, but he couldn’t let the iron cool. “Roses are valued as among the most fragrant flowers we have here - you will repay us in something that can equal or equate to its value. Seeing as your… People have nothing that can compare to roses, we will settle for three sleds of junglewood.”
Tsarri sucked in a slow breath. “Fine, you shall have it. Meet us here again in a week, and you will have your carts.” He lifted one of Fursa’s cooling hands. “Did you know Fursa was our nelflings’ finest wrestling instructor? They’ll be devastated to know he’s dead.”
Rose shrugged. “Shouldn’t have let him fight Lavender, then - deep down, after all, you are aware that your people is inferior to the civilisation of Fragrance; he couldn’t have won.” Just as he turned away, Tsarri grabbed his hand.
“Fursa had the upper hand from the very start - then, just as he was about to end him, Lavender turned the fight completely around. How could such a thing happen?”
Rose hissed and pulled his arm free. “Accept that your man lost and mine won. Maybe Fursa had a lapse of judgment allowing Lavender to break free, or maybe he was toying with all of us and had control of the situation all along. If you even consider accusing us of cheating--”
Tsarri growled and lowered his head. “No, no, I would’ve noticed if he had pulled some chao-ggao nonsense… He won with his own power, but…” Before he could finish, Rose turned away again and kept walking.
“Keep your conspiracy theories to yourself, kitten. We’re done here. We’ll see you in a week - do not be late.” With that, the Fragrancians headed back north.
While walking, Lavender was praised and worshipped by his peers, and many stuck close to touch and smell him, clicking happily whenever the champion would return the gestures. Rose himself kept a steady pace some distance behind, and eventually grew a little anxious at all the attention his oia’ssi was getting. He sped up, plowed through the crowd and grabbed Lavender by the arm, dragging him a little ahead of the rest of the group.
“Woah, hey, I was going to get to you, Rosie,” Lavender whispered with a chuckle. Rose frowned, but kept looking forward so Lav wouldn’t notice. Lav giggled. “Oh, I get it - that jealous, huh?”
“I’m -not- jealous. I just…” He sighed and slowed down, matching the pace of the men behind them. “You really had us going back there, you know… For a second there, I actually thought you… You would…”
“Would what, die?” Lavender threw out as though it had never been and would never be the case.
“Yes!”
“D’aaaw, Rosie was worried about me…” A quick movement seized Rose’s hand and placed it to Lavender’s lips. “You’re so cute when you're anxious.”
“Please don’t be attracted to my stressed side. I’m having a whole pot of tea when we get home… This whole ordeal has not been good for my heart.”
“What’re you talking about - I’m doing great!”
“My bodily heart, Lav!”
“I’m just teasing, Rosie.”
Rose sighed harshly. “Dumbass.”
Fragrance is having beef with its southern neighbours, the Hui Prra (white tigers). In true nelven fashion, they decide not to settle it with war, because that would be dumb and harmful to both sides, but to settle it with games. The champions are Lavender from the Fragrancian side and Fursa from the Tigers’ side. The first game is a war dance - Lavender wins; the second game is catch, but with spears - Lavender forfeits; the third game is a wrestling match - Lavender wins with the help of Neiya. The Fragrancians win best of three and thus the skirmish.
Neiya: 5/5
-3 MP - Buying Pride
Consecrating a hero:
The Bloodiest Showman II: This hero's strength and dexterity increase considerably whenever he fights in front of a crowd cheering for him. (Free with Pride)
The Entertainer II: This hero has an almost eerie ability to sway the crowds to his side, either through impressive displays of gymnastics, song or speech. It's as if the spotlight's always on him.-2 DP
Year 29AA, in the fortified fishing village of Scawick, situated on shore northeast of Ha-Dûna...
Boudicca slammed her fist into the peat wall, causing dirt to drizzle from the roof. Encircling her was a crowd of bitter men and women brandishing all sorts of improvised weaponry, and on the floor before her knelt two women, hair and face mucky and dusty from fighting on the ground. Their hands were tied and red - both with their own and with others’ blood. The two women stared at the floor with trembling eyes; their teeth ground together anxiously with tectonic might. The warrioress offered a low growl that made the two women flinch.
“... Why did you do it?”
“Théin Boudicca, please, we--”
Boudicca hammered the thatch again. The crowd hissed down at the women. “Why?!”
“They talked down Kaer Wella! We couldn’t just stand there and--”
“We’re guests here, Gwynne! Guests! It takes every ounce of their good-heartedness not to butcher us all, do you understand? First the fights, and now…” She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “... A murder.”
“It wasn’t murder!” shouted the other one. Boudicca turned slowly, her wolfskin cloak adding predatory intent to her glare.
“Then what was it, Signe?”
“Justice!” she shouted. A quarter of the crowd shouted her down.
“JUSTICE?! Justice will come when your heads are spiked in the town square for all to see!” came a thundering voice. Bouddica stormed across the room to calm the rowdiest ones.
“Yes, yes! They will be punished, we’ll see to it!”
“Yes, but two lives for one?” came a voice from the other side of the hall. Boudicca turned to see the braided head, olive skin and scarred face of one Hilda the Leoness, a théin of Ha-Dûna like herself. The warrioress drew a deep breath - she had all sorts of respect for Hilda, but she couldn’t afford to let her pride compromise their goodwill with the Scawick - or whatever it was that they had.
“They both took part in the murder. They must both be held accountable,” retorted the warrioress. Murmurs of agreement came from the Scawickan quarter of the room. The Leoness remained visibly unconvinced.
“Listen, Boody. It is true that these two have committed a serious crime against our friends, the Scawicks…” The Scawicks growled; Hilda smirked, “... But again, to take two lives to pay for one is simply not just - no matter what sort of undûnan behaviour is expressed.” The Scawicks grew rowdier once more, and Boudicca had to physically step in between them and the rest of the room to avoid a bloodbath.
“What do you suggest we do, then, Hilda? Take their right hands as per the Dûnan law?”
“Just their hands?! They’re murderers!” the Scawicks roared.
“Now, now, let’s be rational about this. We’re in the middle of a war, and from what our scouts are telling us, more and more are joining this war as the days go by - and these new factions don’t necessarily have the best in mind for our people. Can we really afford to lose two of our best girls?”
“What?!” whispered Boudicca anxiously at her. Hilda didn’t look back, though; she was busy smirking at the seething Scawicks.
“By Taeg Eit, no! They are -not- walking free!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Burud,” Hilda declared, “the Dûnans in this town outnumber the Scawicks by the double, almost.”
“Half of you are still suckling at your tits!” The most vocal of the Scawicks, a giant of a man with scars running across his exposed chest like a labyrinth, stomped forth from the crowd to stand toe to toe with Hilda, who while standing shorter than him, radiated a presence that easily brought her up to equal height, if not taller.
“-True- Dûnans can hold a spear from the age of three, loose arrows at the age of five. What can Scawicks do? Tie knots?”
A fist like a brick thundered against Hilda’s jaw, staggering her backwards. Burud’s attack was swiftly repaid with a spike-like knee to the groin. The Scawicks screamed their warcry and the Dûnans did the same, but just as the fists started flying, Boudicca blew the horn from her hip and immediately deafened out the brawl. Every face turned to her.
“STOP THIS!” she demanded. “We’re getting nowhere if we kill each other in the process. This is supposed to be an alliance! We’re all Dûnan here, and--”
Burud spat, the orb of phlegm hitting Boudicca on the cheek. The warrioress took a second to realise what had just occurred and slowly brought a hand to her face. “Typical Dûnan piss,” thundered the giant. Boudicca eyed him in shocked disbelief. The rest of the Scawicks exited the peat hall. “By midday, you’ll have brought us at least one of their heads. If not, we’ll show you what true Dûnans do to folk we hate.” With that, he, too, left the building.
His words weren’t given time to linger for even a second. As soon as he finished speaking, the Dûnans in the building broke into a frenzy, cursing and shouting at Boudicca for justice against the dishonour done unto her by Burud. Boudicca couldn’t hide it, either - her face had contorted into a black, furious scowl, eyes aimed at the doorway Burud was diving through. A hand touched her shoulder and Boudicca turned to see Hilda smiling supportively at her.
“There is nothing pettier than someone who spits in the face of someone as good-hearted as you, Boody.” Boudicca hissed and shrugged her hand off.
“This would not have happened if you hadn’t pissed him off!” At this, Hilda shrugged apathetically.
“Scahicks are dumb as rocks - they’d be pissed off if we used big words.” She gently massaged her swollen cheek and licked at it from the inside. “Come on, you, too, knew this was inevitable. Dûnans, we… We’re just a little above these kinds of people. They know this, and it makes them jealous; so they act out. They would’ve known to keep their mouths shut if they hadn’t so… Conveniently… Been out fishing when we took this village all those years ago. Imagine that… A whole village - out fishing. Ain’t that something?”
Boudicca’s face turned to cold stone. “Yeah… It’s something.” Hilda raised a brow knowingly.
“Keep in mind who your friends are, sister. At least we have the proper breeding and culture to know to respect a woman’s honour.” She held up her palm. Boudicca eyed it briefly before clasping it with her own hand. Hilda smiled and pulled her in for a strong hug. When they separated again, Hilda looked at the seething crowd around them, then down at the two murderers and sighed. “How about you take a breather, hmm? You look exhausted. Go to your husband, see your daughter and your son. You’ve been working your damndest since we came here.”
Boudicca deflated a little. “Maybe… Maybe I should.”
Hilda smiled. “Do that. I’ll keep the gang under control. Don’t worry.”
“You will do that, right? Promise me.”
“Oh, yeah, I promise.”
Boudicca sat atop a small stone on a hill, surveying the sloping highlands further inland from the Scawick shore. On her lap sat her son, Boudin, reaching for the small flakes of snow falling slowly down from the heavens above. The warrioress was deep in thought, barely noticing when the infant would pull playfully at her braids and clothing. Every inch of her was screaming for her to go back - to make sure Hilda wasn’t doing anything foolish. However, other parts of her explained that she herself wasn’t the only moderate among the Dûnans, and that someone surely would stop her if she got too enthusiastic. But still…
A strange note rang out. Then another, louder but calm and it went on and on until a glow emerged on a hill down from her. The glow grew into a tear upon the fabric of the sky, suspended just above rock and stone. From this tear came golden light and then it grew larger still until at least it stood at a height taller then several men.
When it grew no larger, it came. Before her own eyes emerged a giant figure from the portal, made of the same substance, sunlight. He walked further ahead and stood silently, overlooking the land. Then that head turned to her and though the giant had no eyes she could feel its gaze.
Then they followed, not as tall as the giant but no less imposing. Striking golden hair, still taller than their tallest man, most wearing armor, all carrying weapons, carrying supplies and they still came by the dozens but most surprising… They had wings and they sang songs in a language she did not know but a song was a song and theirs was beautiful.
Yet besides this beauty, the giant still held its gaze to her and it was fast approaching. Boudicca nearly dropped her son as she fell backwards off the rock. Nestling her child as safely as she could on her left arm, she used her right to draw her sword, pointing it threateningly at the giant and its entourage.
“You stay back! Don’t come any closer, or by the gods, I swear you will be returned to whatever master you serve!”
The giant came closer still but did pause before her. It said nothing for several moments and then a voice akin to a roaring inferno boomed.
"The Sun Mother… Sends us… Are you… Friend or foe?" There was much weight to those words and now several of the winged beings had flown closer, hovering in the skies like vultures, hands upon hilts.
Boudicca’s stance faltered slightly; her blade lowered by a bare inch and her eyes hardened to study them some more. Then, as the initial shock of their appearance began to wear off, the blade sunk lower and lower. “The, the Sun Mother? Has Reiya sent her aid?” She fell to her knees, her child cooing giddily on her arm. “Forgive my actions, mighty one - I was caught off guard. I, like other Dûnans, are faithful servants of the Sun and all her creations.”
As the giant studied her, the winged beings relaxed as well when they saw her lower herself. The giant then spoke again. "Dûnan. Rise. Take us… To your people."
Boudicca rose slowly. “Y-yes! Of course! Follow me!” She sheathed the sword and hoisted her child onto her cloaked shoulder, making her way back towards the village by the water. It was a quick procession after the last of the winged beings had come through the portal. She could hardly count their number but it had to be in the hundreds. They came with a great many supplies as well and everything about them was somehow taller and larger. The giant lumbered at the front, with several golden winged beings. She felt fairly confident when in their presence but though they seemed curious about her, they did not at all seem surprised to see her.
When they neared the village the giant spoke again. "Bring… Your people… To me."
“Understood.” She hurried into the village through the stone gates. Regardless of who she was supposed to bring back, though, the whole population eventually came running to witness the miracle that was the giant’s arrival. Boudicca managed to shepherd the Dûnans into a separate group from the Scawicks, and sparks flew between the groups. Like Burud had pointed out earlier, one half of the Dûnans was indeed made up of mostly children, from infant to middle teenagers. The rest was a much more diverse mix of all ages, though most were young adults. Still, the adult portion was as large on its own as the whole of Scawick’s population, and the locals seemed shamefully aware of it even as they glared threateningly at their guests. Boudicca took a deep breath and stepped forth, gesturing to her half of the populace. “Here they are - every Dûnan in town. What do you wish of us, great one?”
The giant stepped forward and clapped its hands once. New realization fell upon her and she knew she would be able to understand the beings… The Oraeliari. The giant clapped again and a beam of light touched the earth between the two groups. When it faded, a pile of sunlight weapons lay in a pile, gleaming bright. A third clap and a stone building erupted from the ground inside the villages walls. Another clap, but nothing of note changed before there eyes. Then the giant clapped again and another beam of light landed, this one closer to the Oraeliari. When it faded, a pile of red rocks was visible. The giants hands went down to his sides and there was silence at last. From the ranks of the Oraeliari, there with golden wings flew forth and landed in front of them. One stepped forth, wearing armor of bronze.
"Hello Humani. We are the Oraeliari, hailing from a land known as the Luminant. We have heard your plea and Solari has answered in the name of Oraeliara. I am Cardinal Tevuri, this is Cardinals Amara and Ponfiri. We have come to aid you in the name of Oraeliara, your Sun Mother. We hope to bring about a sort of, alliance between fellow worshippers. What say you?" He asked with a warm smile.
The Dûnans all fell to their knees and raised their hands in praise. Even the children were forced to join the adults as to show respect. Many tried to struggle free. The druids amongst them tried to shuffle their way closer, all while dipping even deeper in their gesture of worship than their peers. “I am Boudicca, good cardinal, théin of Ha-Dûna. We wholeheartedly accept your aid, fellow servants of Reiya,” Boudicca thanked deeply. She drew her sword, balanced her son a little better on her shoulder and stabbed the point into the soil. “You have been good to us even though we did not ask - of course we will help you in turn with whatever you may wish, in good faith.”
“Now hold on just a damned minute!” came a furious roar from the opposite side of the gathered people. Boudicca and the Dûnans turned in angered surprise. The Cardinals turned their heads in unison to shouter but gave no reply.
The voice belonged to Burud, and the Scawicks had already lined up with weapons drawn. “What in condemnation is this? You, you’ve come to help -them-?! Even though we have been faithful to Reiya for just as long, you come in -their- hour of need?!”
“Be silent, Burud! You are disrespecting our allies!” warned Boudicca. Burud spat.
“Where were you two years past when these very same Dûnans burned our homes and butchered our neighbours?! Where were these weapons when we couldn’t defend ourselves from bandits in the gruesome winter thereafter?!” A young man, no older than eighteen, came running out the gate.
“The stone house! The stone house is filled to the brim with grain, with carrots and beets! Our winter is saved!” Burud’s face showed not a smidge of joy; in fact, like the other Scawicks, he only grew angrier.
“Where was the food when these Dûnans took it in the war, forcing us to starve for the whole winter?! We are only as few as we are now because of -them-!”
“Burud, calm yourself!” shouted Boudicca, but the Dûnans, too, began reaching for their own weapons.
Tevuri's smile faded, replaced by a worn down frown. He sighed, "We were fighting a different war, your conflict unknown to us." The other Cardinals gave solemn nods. "Please, there is no need for violence. We come to help all Humani now, not just one faction or another. We do not know your pasts and we do not know your pains but if you wish to blame us for your struggles, you may. We will help you now, in any way we can, for this is what Oraeliara- Your Reiya, would want. Is it not?"
Burud pointed his axe at Tevuri, then back down at the Dûnans, who had begun pushing the children and their caretakers behind them. “I don’t give a damn what the will of Reiya is if all she wants is to support these fuckers. You won’t steal their blame from them with your honeyed words - they’ve beaten us, stepped on us and killed us, and we can’t even be given justice without some messenger claiming to be from the gods swooping in to give them yet another gift for their piety!”
“Well, we -are- the chosen people, Burud,” taunted Hilda as she stepped forward to extract a spear from the pile of sunlight weapons. “I see this as nothing but proof.”
“You filthy broad!” thundered the giant and charged at her.
Tevuri was faster. In an instant a fiery sword erupted from his hand and swung it at Burud's axe, casting it from his hands. He then grabbed the man by his shirt and pulled him in close.
"Do not speak ill of our Goddess again, Burud. I say this for your own sake, for her avatar listens even now." He released him but did not move. "You are angry, you want justice, I understand this but you are at war with an enemy who will use every advantage against you. More loss of life will not help you, but it will help them." He raised his voice. "But this wrong will be righted, one way or another! I swear upon the Goddess that we will see it so, by any means but it must not be now. When this conflict ends, you will have your justice, reparations will be made. But I beg you, please, you must wait."
Burud scoffed mockingly and stepped backwards to the other Scawicks. “So that’s it, then, hmm? We’re… Hostages, in our own homes, no less. The Dûnans have free reign to do as they please, and we have to wait with our justice.” The Scawicks were practically foaming at the mouth. “Oh, you bet we will have our justice, Cardinal.” He picked up his axe on the way and pointed it at Hilda. “We will not rest until we have our heads.”
Hilda rolled her eyes, and many Dûnans laughed. “You keep telling yourselves that. Great Tevuri, please - allow us to show you to a suitable area for you to rest. Have you brought your own tents and the like?” Meanwhile, the Scawicks retreated back into town with furious stomps.
Tevuri said nothing for a moment, deep in thought as he was. He whispered suddenly, "Even now you are unworthy of her gifts." Then he shouted, "Very well! You," He pointed at the Dûnans. "Gather your items, I have seen such a look before and there will be no peace between you and them. We are leaving. Burud!" He yelled after the man, "Take your village, keep the food and may the Goddess protect you." He then nodded at the other two Cardinals and they flew off.
Boudicca and the others blinked. “Wait, are you leaving? Are we all leaving?” They suddenly got incredibly busy rushing to pack.
"We have not the time for infighting. But make no mistake, one day you will have to pay for your crimes. We all do, in the end." He said, watching them go. The Dûnans shrugged and hasted to gather as much of the supplies the town has just been blessed with as they could. They took all the sunforged weapons, as well, and pocketed what remained of the sun rocks left from the Oraeliari. The Scawicks didn’t dare to protest, as they feared the Dûnans’ new allies would retaliate on their behalf. Even Burud and his closest didn’t outright attack, but kept shouting curses and threats after them. After two hours or so, the Dûnans were ready to move, Boudicca and Hilda leading the travelling band.
The host of Oraeliari and Dûnans then marched off, leaving the village of Scawick behind. The giant was the last to leave, having watched it all unfold with an ever impassive gaze, before meandering after the group.
Days went by and they traveled southwest, deeper into the Highlands. Soluri guided them now, and both human and aiviri followed. They shared stories, shared food, and learned from one another. All the while, Tevuri and the Cardinals held private discussions, asking of Ha-Dûna from time to time. Perhaps they were shaken by what they saw, or perhaps it was something more, no one could really know for sure. They were there to put a stop to the false worshippers, human agendas and crimes would have to wait. Right?
Upon the seventh day of travel, the giant stopped upon a bluff overlooking more hills. It was there he raised his hands and brought his hands together like a clap of thunder.
What rose from the ground before them was breathtaking.
A large castle with a great hall and many towers, seeped in the warm glow of yellow light. It towered over the land like a beacon for the lost. Around it a good ways erupted a stone wall, wide enough to allow people on top and with gap between, serving as the entrance. The Oraeliari seemed relieved all at once and broke out into cheers. The Dûnans weren’t far behind, collapsing to their knees in loud and pious praise. Even the children stood or knelt frozen in awe, even their wild imaginations not able to imagine something so magnificent. Quickly, the caretakers began shepherding the children inside to warm up, while the others hurried to dig pits in the ground where they could keep their supplies cold and safe. Boudicca stood surveying the work, resting her hand on the pommel of her sheathed weapon.
A beat of wings and Tevuri landed beside her. "There is no need to dig, Soluri has made the underground level of the this Holy Site large and expansive." He paused. "I do not know your history here or what your people have done, but we did not wish for that to happen. Your bad blood with your kinsmen will need to be dealt with one day."
Boudicca halted the work and looked up at the angel, crossing her arms over her chest. “Great Tevuri… We are so grateful for everything you have given us and are giving us - your aid and support in this conflict will be invaluable, and likely allow us to retake Ha-Dûna in a day. That said…” She gestured to the direction from whence they had come. “You said it yourself: You do not know our history here nor what we have done; our bad blood isn’t something so simple that it can be “dealt with”. I honestly thought it could, but our time in Scawick has only proven that whatever bridges we had between us and our neighbours have been reduced to cinders.”
Tevuri gave a slight nod. "We know the feeling all to well." He stood a little straighter, "Perhaps as the days go by, I can learn more. I find Humani fascinating. You are unlike those that share our home. But for now, tend to your people and in the coming days, we shall talk of war."
Boudicca nodded and tossed her chestnut hair out of her face. “I fear it may come quicker than we expect.”
The dunans and scawicks tussle and boudicca calms it down. Boudicca takes her kid and go watches the land. Solus and Oraeliari come. Boudicca goes wow, and takes them back to the scawick place. Gifts are given but the scawicks think the Oraeliari are only helping the dunans which isn't true. Another fight almost happens and the Cardinals tell them to leave the Scawicks. They travel for like a week and Solus builds a castle. War is coming.
Oraelia 5MP/5DP
-1MP Blessing of language for the human folks. Only the The Oraeliari language is understood and only those present before Solus are gifted. -1DP tech gift- sun forged weapons -1MP tech gift- storage house -1MP A blessing of food to last the winter and then some. -1DP tech gift- Sun rocks to keep warm in the winter
-1MP Another blessing of FOOD
-1MP A stone wall with pathing
-3DP Holy Site. Caisteal Na Grèine Sundom III (Sunlight Port) - The warmth of the sun is evident in this design. The construction of this castle is made entirely of Sunstone, which emits warmth throughout. The Caisteal Na Grèine was created in a way to further use the Sunstones, by channeling the buildings latent solar energy into the central chamber at the peak of the castle. Once done, the Caisteal Na Grèine will illuminate the surrounding area, turning night to day. This allows for solar equipment to be recharged in mere seconds. Usually lasting for around three hours before the sunstones need to be recharged by a full day of sunlight.
(+2 Free Titles in Sunlight Port) Solar Forge II - The Caisteal Na Grèine also allows for those versed in sunlight forging to work faster. What normally might take days, can be done within Hours.
Year 29AA, in the fortified fishing village of Scawick, situated on shore northeast of Ha-Dûna...
It had been hard to get Scawick to join the Dûnan forces, - even harder, perhaps, had it been to have the village function as the second headquarters for the resistance against the Sigeran influence. The Scawicks were Dûnans once, among the first to emigrate from the settlement proper only five years after its founding. Led by the Old Elk Scawick, this small band of eight or so families ventured out east to the shores north of Ha-Dûna, where they lived in peace and quiet reaping the fruits of the land and sea.
That was until the Conquests, anyway. The druids weren’t always so clear on the fact that many of the tribes slaughtered during the conquests two years ago had, in fact, been Dûnan descendants - barely even one generation apart. Many had recognised each other, even in the heat of battle, but the mentality of the raging mob can sway even the strongest hearts. Those few who insisted on laying down their arms so they would not strike another Dûnan were themselves struck down. Before every assault, there would always be those who snuck over to the villages to warn them of the impending attacks - many of these were caught and executed for treason; sometimes, though, they got away with it scot-free.
Boudicca had, and she was remembered for it. The assault on Scawick hadn’t been as destructive as others exactly because the townsfolk had escaped before the break of dawn and avoided most of the raiders. Many houses had been burned to the ground, but the lack of opposition had meant the assault itself had spared much of what would normally have been used for barricades, improvised safehouses and walls. Only a quarter of Scawick had fallen to the torch - not a single inhabitant had been killed. The following winter had been harsh, as the larders had all been emptied, and many had starved or been forced to cannibalise their dead. The wounds still ran deep, and the Dûnans who had participated in the Conquests felt the Scawicks’ eyes burn at their skin with every turn.
Only Boudicca was accepted amongst them, though her role as the mediator between the tribes put her in a precarious position. Frequently, she had to pull apart Scawicks and Dûnans who were at each other's’ throats over the pettiest things - a Dûnan had an extra ladle of herbal gruel; a Scawick got a little too cheeky with their tone; even something so insignificant as exchanging the wrong looks could ignite a street brawl with many casualties.
A month had passed since they had heard anything from the west - the Sigerans were tired, broken. Boudicca and the rest knew they only really had to wait and their victory would be within their grasp. However, even the raids for supplies had grown scarcer. They were planning something…
Meanwhile in Ha-Dûna...
Ragnar sat on the steps of what had once been a prominent glassworks - only ghosts lived in its dusty halls now. It sat a mere hundred paces from the palisade gates to the inner city, though “city” was hardly a term for it anymore: Ha-Dûna was barely inhabited these days; most of the Sigerans had, in fact, deserted or passed away. Ragnar the Black Hog and his Stone Boars were the only real soldiers left in the ruins; staying around was a death sentence, after all - unfit for anyone but warriors fighting for…
For what, really? Ragnar asked himself.
The Dûnans had every advantage, even more than they knew about: Their chain of command had been shattered weeks ago - Teagan laid weak in bed, starvation finally catching up to her, too; the need to raid to sustain themselves had left their forces scattered and unorganised; they had no way of replenishing lost warriors, as they had no allies anywhere.
Ragnar plucked a straw from the ground and placed it between his teeth. giving it a pensive chew. Maybe he should just take his men and leave? Their talents were too good to be wasted dying for some fanatical cause, anyway - they’d find work somewhere else.
He heard footsteps approaching from around the corner. Ragnar’s shadowed eyes rolled rightwards, homing in on the corner. He gave the straw another chew and spat it out. “Karstein, did you bring some gruel for me, too? I’m starvin’.”
“No, afraid not - little to cook gruel off of in these ravaged lands,” came an unfamiliar voice like satin. Ragnar quickened to his feet and reached for the worn copper axe on his belt. His hands grew weak when he saw the voice’s owner turn the corner. It was humanoid, no doubt about it, but it was tall - enormous, even. Boudicca and Frode both had no chance to even compare to this size. Its skin was pale, bleak, even, as though it belonged to a corpse, with hair blacker than coal running down to its bear chest. Most notably, however, was its grand wings - spanning a greater length than it itself was tall - sprouting out its back. The creature looked similar to a man in every respect save for those, and it offered Ragnar a sly smirk. “Why, you look positively shook, humani - paler than me, almost.”
“W-what--...” Ragnar, who had barely ever known the sensation of fear, replied in a quivering voice.
“What am I, I reckon you’re asking? Quite rude, as far as opening questions go - I am very much a person, you know, so the correct thing to ask first would be ‘who are you’. But fine, I will answer the question to put your simple humani mind to rest. I am aiviri, a son of Neiya and Oraelia - though I suppose my lighter siblings would call me neiyari…” He huffed somewhat.
“Wh-wha?” Ragnar offered again, but was interrupted by a ‘ssh!’
“Again with the rudeness, by the Goddess!” The neiyari exhaled some hot air and rubbed his right temple. “I can see you are only more confused, so I will introduce myself to you, as well, as a bonus before… Well, we’ll get there.”
The warrior began to back away slowly. Others had caught the black angel in their sights and were hunkering down in wary preparation for a fight. The neiyari cleared his throat. “I am Annihilari, eternal servant of the Goddess and consort of her holy child, Aveira, my heart and soul.” He posed triumphantly with a fist in the air and his wings spread out. “I was sent away on a quest to bring more servants until her glorious heel, and that was when I stumbled upon this… Humble village.”
“Don’t make light of our plight, demon!” came a sharp exclamation from the back. Annihilari turned to smirk.
“Wo-ho, a rebel, I see. Well, nothing quite like putting down the uprisers on the first day.” He reached down to his hip, around which was tied a skin belt holding aloft his linen pants. A mighty flash blinded the nearest Sigerans and those in the back joined in as the angel unfurled a terrifying whip of light and cracked it against the ground. The dry grass growing on the dirt road was immediately singed to a crisp. “Now, who was it that called me a demon?”
“Wait!” shouted Ragnar and lifted his hands up in the air. Annihilari rolled his eyes.
“Would a ‘please’ kill you?”
“Please! Don’t- don’t kill us! We, we barely have enough to scavenge for food without letting those, those… The others come and take our, our…” He looked away, unable to meet the smirking aiviri’s eyes.
“My, my,” mumbled the angel and hid his inferno of a whip behind a wing. “Is your home under threat from an outside force, hmm?”
“You’re here to enslave us, yes?” Ragnar continued. Annihilari’s smirk turned to a furious snarl for a second and he spread his wings in a mighty challenge.
“Do not belittle my motivation as some simple prisoner run, you measly worm, you unwashed ape!” He then shrunk back together again and cleared his throat. “But that about sums it up, yes.”
Ragnar and the others, on the other hand, tried their best to grow back into something resembling an upright position. “W-well… I-if you help us against our enemies, then, then we will come with you freely. No, no need to kill anyone and, well, me and my men, specifically, can probably offer you some support in battle if you--”
“I don’t think so, insect,” he muttered. Ragnar shrunk a little and the others around began to say their prayers. Annihilari rolled his eyes again. “Although, I suppose Aveira would prefer her servants to be alive and well - she has such a good heart, my love.” He sighed dreamily. “So be it, you hapless parasite. Me and my followers will spare you and aid you in your troubles in exchange for your cooperation.”
“Wait, followers?!” came a shout. Annihilari put his smirk back on.
“Why, of course! These are dangerous lands - one should never travel alone.” As he finished his sentence, there came fourteen more like him, both males and females, descending from the sky. The Sigerans quivered behind cover and Ragnar swallowed. How much more would they suffer?
The northern border of Ha-Dûna was scarcely protected at this point - with the limited manpower and shattered morale, the Sigerans were forced to keep their warriors fixed on the fronts most likely to be attacked - those being the south and east. The north was offered a single guard, one who often needed a companion to make sure they wouldn’t defect as soon as their shift began. A lone spearman sat atop the large rock designated as the watch spot, scouting the vast, hilly highlands which were beginning to whiten with the first autumn snow. Not a soul would wander these plains nowadays, save maybe for elk herds and wild goats.
However, today, the spearman spotted something vastly different.
At first, he thought it was an elk, its head was elk-like that's for sure, minus the skin, but the rest sure as all Dûna wasn’t. It walked upright, merely strolling without a care in the world, but its legs were hooved. The being wore haggard clothing, a long cloak, tunic, and pants that looked sewn together from various clothes and he could see the image of a pack on their back. The most concerning portions were the head, which looked like an elk-skull put onto a human body, with wicked sharp teeth sitting within its mouth instead and dried blood caked upon it, and the rusted and bloodied scythe that was held in their left hand.
In essence, he saw what he could only assume was an utter demonic entity.
The spearman ran - or at least that’s what his brain told him to do. His feet had frozen completely to the ground, and his quivering hands could barely keep a proper grip around the shaft of his weapon. He only stood there, watching as the monster came closer and closer.
Soon enough, it stood a few scant feet from him, its breath was heavy and haggard and the small dim eyes he could see within its empty sockets stared at him with hunger and fury.
”Ha...Dûna...” A voice rang out, its voice he believed, it was deep and harsh, and further scared him to his spot.
The spearman lifted a quivering finger pointing southwards, gesturing to a thin, rocky path leading up into the hills.
”Thank...you…” Its voice rang out once more, as it continued its trudging walk, going past the guard with little care, its scythe carving its own small ditch behind them. As they continued up the path, stone and grass started sprouting the ruins of abandoned farms and broken huts. Scavenging wolverines stealthed between the buildings with bones in their mouths; animal skeletons stripped bare down to the marrow littered the corners of the path; fields that would have been at the end of their ripeness cycle at this time, though still quite plump, had been picked down to the straw by rabid locusts. The land was, by all means, alive - but it was a desert to anything living off of it. The ruins formed a small hamlet, and further along the path, the monster could see the broken houses grow numerous, until its eyes set upon the peak of the hill, where the edge of the ghost town Ha-Dûna truly came into view. The creature cared not for the destruction around it, it had called them yes, but the city was its focus.
As it advanced into the city, the houses became better maintained, though the general condition bordered heavily on close to collapse. Around it, starved people dared to look upon it before ducking back into hiding. It wasn’t until the creature had reached the city centre, there in front of the palisades to the core district, that people actively stared at it. Here, the density of people was great enough that, while none felt safe, they could at least rely on each other for a smidge of protection - or so they believed, anyway. A winged humanoid landed on the ground before the gate, a radiant whip held readily in his right hand.
“Halt, creature - what business have you here?”
”Called...forth...why you, here?” The creature looked around as it spoke, staring down the starved people, the hunger called inside them, but these people were worth nothing to them, this winged being though called its attention. The master was ever curious in their quest here.
The black angel pursed his lips. “I am here on royal decree by my love Aveira - I am Annihilari, her consort - sent to claim more land for the Goddess. Who called you?”
”The Master...lord of tragedy and ruin…” the beast once more looked around, and chuckled ”You...claim this land?...not worth...it…” they spoke, looking straight at Annihilari. The neiyari frowned.
“Alright, maybe not the land, but the people inhabiting it will become servants of Aveira once the southern threat has been dealt with.” He twirled his whip around slowly. “Now, why were you called here? If you serve the Lord of Ruin, then we do not wish to fight you - however, if you are out for blood, we will not hesitate to strike you down.” From inside the city core, fourteen more angels took to the skies.
The creature laughed at the angel’s display ”Winged flesh does...not scare me..the Master...has called me here...don’t know why...I...do not care...I hunger for feast...and feast alone...but...these...people...lack in feast…” The beast stared once more at the starving people, his hunger was slowly growing, the elk he had eaten before coming here were not filling enough, but he knew these people wouldn’t be either.
The Sigerans cowered away from the two. “Please! We just want to live in peace! We’ve suffered enough for our sins - we just want to be left alone!” Annihilari rolled his eyes and sighed.
“They’re so broken that it’s hardly fun anymore. If you’re going to go on a rampage, take it southwards - the prey there’s much more fun to play with, I reckon.”
”South...wards” The beast looked vaguely in that direction ”What...is...southwards?” knowing there was, tastier, prey made him consider this ‘quest’ less of a lost cause.
Annihilari shrugged. “From what these people have told me over the last two days we’ve been here, ‘the believers in the false gods’ live to the south, readying themselves to attack at any point. They are vastly more numerous than these people here, and much better armed - and better fed. Really, it’s a wonder that these people haven’t surrenderyet.” The Sigerans around shrunk together. Some began to cry. “Oh, shut up,” Annihilari muttered.
The beast scoffed, then slowly shook his head "Large...Armed...dangerous hunt...could not...damage in ways that mattered." He slowly drew his scythe upwards, resting it upon his left shoulder "Better...to stay here...or hunt...surrounding area...lack of food...could be...solved…"
“Food?! Do you know where there’s food?!” came desperate pleas from the humans, all of whom instantly grew much friendlier towards the monster.
He chuckled "Yes...but...must...broaden term...food" He gazed at the frightened villagers, then slowly looked up at the angels "If...provide help...could assist...winged flesh...and these...people"
The Sigerans fell to their knees. “Anything! Anything! We’re starving!”
"Are...there...any villages...or small groups...nearby?"
The humans immediately lost some vigour and exchanged anxious looks. One of them stood a little taller. “No, not many left… Closest would… Would be Fianneck, but that’ll take us too close to Scawick.”
“The infidels have a strong presence there,” added another.
”I see….” He looked back up towards the angels, and directed the lead one ”How….quiet...are winged flesh?”
“Quiet enough,” muttered Annihilari in response. “Don’t doubt our ability to ambush our foes.”
The beast nodded ”Very...good...two...or three...winged flesh with me....if quick and quiet enough...could get some food...might not be much...but it could be enough to satiate...for time until i gather...info for better hunts.”
The neiyari exchanged looks. “What, do you expect us to carry grain and cattle through the sky like some birds?”
“Oh, please, please - help us! We’ll die otherwise!” pleaded the humans. The neiyari got busy shoving away the most desperate, who were busily reaching for and aiming to kiss their feet.
“Ugh! Yuck, fine! Fine, we’ll do it. Just - get off!” Annihilari kicked a boney girl off of his leg and dusted himself off with an eyeroll. “Destrura, Pathora, come with me. Lead the way, monster.”
The beast chuckled at the neiyari, but focused himself upon the humans ”Which direction...is Fianneck?”
“Due east! Due east!”
“Due east, apparently,” came a mumble from the one either named Destrura or Pathora, who balanced her hands atop a pommel of a sheathed greatsword of sunlight. Annihilari sighed.
“Well, let’s get going, then - wouldn’t want the peasantry to starve.”
”Yes...let's...come winged flesh” The beast turned eastward, heading off, merely just expecting the neiyari to follow behind. The neiyari reluctantly followed along, though one could practically taste the bitterness in the air trailing them.
Further south, at Kirin’s Rest...
Within the stone walls, the city was overflowing with people and activity. Workers milled about, constantly needing to retrofit and repair houses and build upwards adding new stories connected by a hole in a cellar and a ladder loosely bound to the wall. Poles and other rudimentary support was used to hold up much of the town from collapsing in on itself, with was not an all too uncommon occurrence, however those who started making their life in the city knew to avoid buildings marked with red paint by the Midnight Watchers.
The market district is a clutter of stalls and baskets, mostly run by the third or fourth son of a farmer or craftsman selling their families goods. Rudimentary copper and silver coins were eagerly exchanged. The concept travelling along with the ever-shifting pilgrimage of the guiding lights to this remote corner of the highlands.
Kaer Pier eyed sourly a rack of elk jerky while scratching his stubbed jaw in annoyance. “Can you believe this, Valix? They want copper clumps in exchange for meat! Why, what manner of self-respecting druid carries metals in their pockets? Stones, I can understand - Boris can appreciate the odd spreading of gravel - but metal?”
“Yes, father,” responded the warrior Valix politely. They had been travelling to Kirin’s Rest by the long way, passing through as many villages on the way to garner support for the Dûnan cause. Now that they were finally here, though, they had hit a dead end: The leader of the ally they had hoped the most to recruit, the druids of the Guiding Lights circle, had yet to show themselves. This had Kaer Pier at the tip of his toes in frustration.
“Yes, that one - no, no, yea-- That one! Yes, thank you. One copper p--... I don’t--... Valix, do you carry any on you?” The druid’s palm flexed and unflexed its finger beckoningly like flower petals on the wind. The warrior suppressed a sigh and produced a bone carving - it was a figurine of an animal, a boar; it was masterfully carven, a product of weeks of work. Kaer Pier, as well as the merchant, both gave it a frown. “What’s this?”
“A boar, father. I carved it myself.”
“Is it copper, Valix?”
The warrior couldn’t suppress this sigh. “No, father. It’s bone.”
“The merchant didn’t ask for bone, though, did he?”
“Now, hold on,” mumbled the merchant behind them and snapped his fingers at the figurine. Kaer Pier handed it to him and he gave it a close look. “You said you wanted one piece of jerky for this?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I did. Does nobody listen in this town?” Heads around began to turn and frown. Valix sighed yet again. The merchant seemed unfazed.
“Well, I’m willing to take this if that’s all you want. Here you go.” The merchant handed Kaer Pier a slab of rockhard meat. “Have a good day, and may hope never leave you!”
The archdruid seemed to calm down and nodded his polite farewells before walking off, followed closely by Valix. “What was -that- all about? If he was willing to take other things, why not just say so from the beginning?”
“I believe my figurine could’ve fetched a higher price if we had sold it first,” added Valix matter-of-factly. Kaer Pier rolled his eyes.
“Southerners…”
The pair continued to peruse the town in search of temples or prayer houses to Seeros. Their search wasn’t very long, however, for as soon as they turned the corner of the jerky peddler’s shoppe, they were greeted by a sight that stole the breath from them both. It was a tower - the tallest structure any of them had seen - standing at least twelve men tall (no, fifteen!) and being built entirely out of stone. Kaer Pier staggered backwards at the sight and Valix tightened his grip about his spear shaft as though it calmed his nerves.
“By the gods,” whispered the archdruid, “is… Is that a tower?”
“That must’ve been what we saw from the outskirts. I thought my eyes were being cheated by weariness.” Valix gestured at it. “If their leader is here, I cannot think of any other place they would be.”
The druid whispered a small prayer. “A s-sensible assumption.” He swallowed. “You mean we have to climb that thing?”
“If heights make you uncomfortable--...”
“I have never been able to stare over the edge of the Cléanclippe, you know… Do you know what that’s like when we offer sacrifices over there?”
“I can only imagine,” mumbled the warrior and walked on ahead. The archdruid followed reluctantly.
The tower had no door, but standing in front of it, two men crossed their spears to prevent anyone from stumbling into it. Glaring into it, it appeared as the first room had small shrines to each of the gods with a staircase wrapping around the floor leading to the next.
“Blessings of the gods upon you both,” greeted the archdruid and bowed curtly - not so much as to not compromise his station, however. Valix hammered his chest and bowed deeper. “We have travelled far with the humble intent to meet with the great leader of your Circle. Ha-Dûna is in peril, and we pray we may establish the old bonds our two sects shared before the betrayal of the Sigerans. Pray tell, is the archdruid at home?”
One of the guards, a younger man, almost shuttered out, “Archdruid at” before the other guard deathly glared at him and spoke up, “Please, step inside.” looking the younger soldier harshly again, “The attendants of the Nightward Tower will be with you shortly.” He said, lowering his spear before deeply bowing and walking inside, while his companion started the climb upwards.
The two nodded their thanks and, as they were left to wait, Kaer Pier offered a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods, they are coming to us!”
“Yes, father.”
After the wait, the young spearman, slightly patting, announced “Constellar Cionn and Watcher Gal are descending.” following him down to the ground floor was Cionn, wearing her constellar robes, Gal who wore black robes with a white crescent moon emblem on his left shoulder and various white dots throughout, and another soldier who wore more impressive armor than the other two guards and carried a bronze spear.
As she stepped down from the final step, she bowed every so slightly, “Hello, welcome to the Nightward Tower of Kirin’s Rest. Why did the stars bring you on this journey?”
Kaer Pier returned the bow, and Valix repeated the hammering of the chest and bent a knee. “Constellar, it is an honour,” greeted the archdruid. “May the Eight grant their warmest blessings on yourself, your family and all the wonderful villagers of Kirin’s Rest. I am Kaer Pier, archdruid of Ha-Dûna and officer of the Reconquest Army. I am joined by my trusty companion, Valix of Leothe, and together, we have come to reforge those broken bonds of old in an alliance against the Sigeran menace.”
“I am sorry. I do not have the authority required to help you in this manner.” Her eyes glanced away slightly and her voice became the slightest bit uneasy, “I was granted the greatest honor to attend to this holy place.”
“But, I have no greater power than any other Constellar. To claim otherwise would be transgressing the law of thirds. You are free to attempt to rally the citizens or other Constellars to your cause, however it may be more difficult than you seem to think. The Sigeran’s are withering while we are building and growing. Few here want to throw away their future for the memories of the past.”
The archdruid’s polite smile faltered immediately. “Do you mean to say that there is no chain of command here? Who do we talk to to bring Kirin’s Rest back into the fold, into the great family of Ha-Dûna?”
Cionn paused, “We are not without law, but it is not the Constellars who impose it. You can speak with the Queen, however, she is a native of this land and she did not think well of Ha-Dûna before the invasions.”
The archdruid’s face immediately excreted a layer of cold sweat. “Oh, a native…” He drew a deep breath. “I suppose we will have to try. It truly is a shame, though - we were so hoping for your assistance in this matter; the Constellar’s assistance.”
The ever-quiet Gal broke the silence, his voice was only barely above a whisper but still clearly audible, “Do not despair in this place of hope. The stars will move with you to battle, but that is where my sight ends.”
Kaer Pier raised a brow. “You must have good favour with great Seeros if you have such a sight, my son.”
He replied without an ounce of irony or malice, “I do.”
To this, the archdruid nodded politely. “Well, if there is nothing we can do, then, we will try our luck with the queen. I-...” He pursed his lips. “If the great kirin is asleep somewhere up there, present it an offering from me, please. I would have died had it not been for its rescue, so I am eternally indebted to it, and to Seeros.”
Cionn nodded affirmatively.
Gal took a cloth that was stashed within his sleeve and wrapped it around his eyes as a blindfold, “Please, follow me. I will take you to the Queen.” The Dûnans did as they were asked and followed along.
The watcher guided them through the narrow streets and tight corners of the city, easily navigating through it, avoiding uneven patches of ground and even some loose debris with ease. The streets were rather crowded, but they seemed to try to do their best to walk around him in equal parts respect and apprehension.
As they moved through the city, they reached a part of the city where there hardly any of the multi-story buildings common to the rest of it. Gal guided them to the largest of these single story buildings and rested his hand on the door before waiting a few moments, “You may enter.”
Kaer Pier took a deep breath. Valix’s stone face hardened further. “I’m not looking forward to this,” the archdruid muttered as they stepped inside.
“Right behind you, father,” the guard whispered politely.
Stepping forward was an uneasy feeling, as the ground was sloped downward slightly, with at the far back a woman sat on a throne of stones, beside her another much younger watcher by her side whispering something quietly to her. Above her painted on the wall was the visage of a boar. As they entered, she boisterously shouted, “And so the mighty Ha-Dûnans come to us for aid? The gods tell us to wipe out the festering wound that is the Sigerians, but why shouldn’t we salt the earth as we leave and be done with it.”
The archdruid frowned. “Great queen, we are honoured to be allowed into your house - under the rules of hospitality as dictated by the gods.” Valix sucked quietly on a tooth in disapproval.
“You don’t have to worry about me killing you.” she said, casually looking over to her crudely made but battle-tested club, “I won’t want to have your blood soaked over my nice floors. But tell me, why should we help you rebuild Ha-Dûna. When has Ha-Dûna ever been anything other than a blight on the highlands?”
The archdruid raised a brow. “I wouldn’t be so quick to anger if I remembered all the good brought to this land by Ha-Dûna, as well. Keep in mind that, before the arrival of my people, this place was nothing but stone and moss, spotted with small camps--” He was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Valix gave him a sharp look and the druid swallowed. “... Please, think of all the good our people has brought! We have brought trade, growth, knowledge and religion - much of which your people, too, have benefited greatly from.”
The queen scoffed, “The people of these stones and moss remember well who brought them those things, and it was most certainly not the Kiers and their rest houses.”
The archdruid rolled his eyes. “The resthouses supply hundreds of druids, many of whom have brought your compatriots great safety and prosperity, with the food and shelter necessary to live lives devoted entirely to the gods. Druids before it were forced to work the land alongside their studies - this puts too much pressure on god-fearing folk who have been tasked with keeping the peace in the land. You, too, must see that, that a civilisation such as ours must have such systems in place to keep our well-educated priesthood in good condition. It -is-, after all, the core of our people.”
:And those who wandered to our land performed the labor of the divine, and were provided the right hospitality, but tell me, what did you do to deserve to eat the fruits of the community?” the queen retorted.
The archdruid sighed. “Come now, great queen - you are the leader of your people; I am leader of mine. We both know that, if left to their own devices, the people will gather in no greater masses than small villages. To keep united, we must have a strong governmental model, and a government must be supplied with taxes - the resthouse system. Your town keeps only growing and growing - surely, you cannot expect that your companions in rulership will rule without compensation, can you?”
The queen glanced back at her weapon, “Do you know why I am the queen? Because the last person who carried that club fell dutifully in battle, and he gave me the privilege to carry it back and I was crowned in respect to the gods’ will. When I receive a feast, it is not only because I live for this city, but because I will die for it as well.”
The archdruid sighed. Valix remained steadfastly stone-faced. “I can see that we’re getting nowhere here. We are sorry for wasting your time…” He turned around halfway, but then stopped. “If I may offer a word of advice, however, from one ruler to another…”
The queen simply glared at him, not even trying to hide her contempt. The archdruid cracked a half-smirk. “Surround yourself with loyal, capable administrators and pay them well. With this many newcomers arriving at your gates every day, fewer and fewer are going to know about your deeds - the deeds of your forebears. You will need allies by your side when the unrest begins to grow.”
“Your rule is the reason that they are at my gates. We will meet the Sigerans in battle, we will generously allow you to reclaim what is left, but do not expect us to aid you any further. Now, my boundless patience is growing thin.” the queen replied.
“Generous, indeed,” thanked the archdruid and bowed. Valix followed suit. “We will bid our farewell, then. May the gods smile upon your efforts.” With that, they exited the hut.
East again of Ha-Dûna, outside the ruins of a village known as Ha-Saune...
Kelly gave the air a whiff, sighing somberly at the thick stench of char and death. They stood on the outskirts of the small village, a victim of the Conquest’s crusade across the central Dûnan plain. It had never been a wealthy settlement, necessarily, mostly on account of rocky soil that offered little to work with for the farmers, and not strategic enough a placement to draw traders and pilgrims. Still, it had been someone’s home, and now it wasn’t anymore. Kelly hated that she had grown numb to that initial sting of horror and sorrow upon seeing such destruction - she had spent the last two years, maybe longer, travelling these ravaged lands to do her duty as a Mother, but in all her time, she had never imagined she would grow used to the worst of it.
“Mother Kelly?”
She blinked and looked down into the face of Kaer Cwenn, a druid who was part of her rescue party. Kelly acknowledged her with a nod and turned to her group of ten - three druids, five warriors equipped with an assortment of different weapons, and another mother, Lon. “We’ll do this as we always do - me and Lon will be the eyes in the sky while Kaer Cwenn, Kaer Myvon and Kaer Semble tend to whatever wounded we may find. Zelda, you and your warriors, keep them safe.”
“As you wish, Mother Kelly,” confirmed the warrior. The plan then spun into motion as the Mothers took to the sky and fluttered in over the village. The ground troops advanced cautiously. From the sky, the village somehow seemed even more deserted, crumbled huts and broken roofs witnessed from an angle they hadn’t been built for. The mothborn drifted slowly to capture as many details as they could, but their hope hung by a thread - the last three villages had offered nothing but charred remains and starving hounds.
“Kelly! Below!”
Kelly spun her head in the direction of Lon’s finger. There, thankfully quite visible amongst the black sooted buildings - a blonde head, hiding from the warriors and druids. The closer she looked, the more heads Kelly saw - chestnut, bronze, copper, amber. She looked to Lon. “With me!” Then they both turned sharply and descended.
The two of them landed with two hard thumps on the stony ground, Lon rolling once to absorb the excess momentum. The crowd of heads turned to them and paled. A chorus of children all squealed in fear, and many began to cry and run. Lon and Kelly looked at one another quickly and waved their hands around. “No, wait! We’re not here to hurt you!”
“FOR HA-SAUNE!” came a shout behind them, followed by two more cries like it as Lon and Kelly turned to see three young boys, no older than thirteen, all run at them with copper axes much too large for them to wield. One of them wore a pouch with two holes in it for a helmet. Their swings went wide and then not wide enough, and Lon and Kelly gestured wildly for them to stop.
“Now hold on and listen, please!”
“YAGH!” came a cry from behind and Lon groaned sharply as she jumped back. Her moonsilver armour luckily managed to ricochet what would’ve been a fatal blow to the leg by a fourth combatant, a fifteen year old girl. A boy like her was hot on her heels, bringing his spear up for a stab at Lon’s chest. Lon inhaled sharply and fluttered her wings mightily, unleashing a column of moth dust over the attackers. All five of them fell asleep on the ground.
“Tansa!” came a weak squeal from the group of children as the rest joined the already crying ones.
Kelly groaned and approached slowly. “Please, would you just--!”
“Get away from them!” another voice ordered, and Lon and Kelly both readied another volley of dust. However, the owner of the voice ran straight past them and knelt down before the children, holding a spear of her own in the Mothers’ direction. “Don’t take one more step,” she snarled.
“Fionaaaa!” the children cried and embraced her from behind like a wave. The girl named Fiona, barely even sixteen, one could guess, offered the children a reassuring smile and softly pushed them back. “Don’t worry about me. Just head to the safehouse and wait there--!”
“Please, will you just LISTEN?!” Kelly shouted in a fit of frustration, one outraged enough to shake Fiona’s motherly determination. Lon, too, seemed uncharacteristically done with the whole shebang.
“To what? Your demands?” It was evident that Fiona had practiced her posture for just such an occasion.
“We are here to -help-! Heeelp! Is that so hard to understand? Ugh, where’s Kaer Cwenn to say the greetings?”
“Right here, Mother Kelly,” came a voice behind her and the mothkin jumped.
“How long have you been here?!”
“A short while.” The warriors all exchanged amused smirks while the druids Myvon and Semble both went to tend to the sleeping defenders.
“Don’t touch them!” shouted Fiona and brandished her spear menacingly, but Kaer Cwenn approached slowly and put down her tree branch staff on the way.
“Be calm, my daughter, we come in the gods’ peace. I am Kaer Cwenn, and these are the Mothers Kelly and Lon, champions of Gibbou and Artafax. We have come to rally support against the Sigeran onslaught, and to bring any refugees to safety back in Scawick. Please, are there any adults we can talk to?”
“No, no! It’s just that…” The Dûnans looked at the villagers’ small faces, aged everywhere between three and fourteen, the majority being younger than ten. “... Where are all your parents?”
Many of the children resumed their sobs, and the older ones tried to soothe them while suppressing their own sorrow. They failed miserably. Fiona glared daggers at Kaer Cwenn, who backed away slowly behind Kelly. “Where do you think?” She rose to her feet and patted a small boy clutching her thigh on the head. “It happened a month ago. A band of bandits came and took everything. All those who resisted, were killed without mercy. We, the youngest, were hidden away inside a safehouse until the raiders disappeared. When we came out, we--...” It looked like it demanded her every fibre not to break down. The Dûnans looked on in admiration as she held her ground without shedding so much as a tear, although she was shaking. “... We were all that’s left.”
“That’s…” Kelly and Lon felt like they had to cry for her. “That’s so awful,” sobbed Lon. Kelly nodded and wiped her own tears. Fiona looked somewhat more at ease upon seeing their reaction, before eyeing the sleeping five.
“I hope for your sakes that they will wake up again…” she threatened bitterly. Both Lon and Kelly waved in surrender.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah! We just needed them to stop for a bit! They’ll be back up soon, don’t worry.”
Fiona scowled, but untensed herself. “... Alright. You said you’re here to help us escape?”
Kelly nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s why we’re here. Is this all of you? We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Fiona shook her head. “No, there’s more of us.” She eyed Kaer Cwenn, who ducked a little further behind Kelly’s wing. “You, you’re a druid, right?”
Kaer Cwenn immediately jumped out of cover, and was quickly flanked by both Myvon and Semble. “Oh! Yes! Kaer Cwenn, at your service, my daughter.”
“Kaer Myvon.”
“Kaer Semble.”
Fiona bowed politely at the three of them. Kelly nodded approvingly at her manners. “I choose to trust you all, even though you are outsiders. The safehouse is just over here. That’s where we have our youngest and… And the sick.”
The druids’ optimism faded. “Understood. Take us there.” The Dûnans assisted the villagers in carrying the sleeping defenders and shepherding the children through the ruins until they reached a door in the mountain. Fiona gave the door a cryptic knock - three bangs followed by four taps, and a scrape of wood hinted that a great object was being moved. The door swung open to reveal a fourteen year old boy, hair blonde as wheat and one eye scarred blind by some old cut. He immediately froze upon seeing Fiona’s escort, but the girl knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Kyartan, they’re here to help us.”
The boy gaped slightly, upon which movement one could see that he had lost his tongue, too. The Dûnans cringed with anger - the Sigerans would pay for this. The young boy gestured for them to enter, and the group continued into a dark room lit only by the light of the doorway and a small crack in the cave ceiling. Lon gasped quietly.
“Do you sit here in complete darkness all day?”
“What choice to we have? If we light a fire, the smoke will reveal that there are people in here.” There came a series of weak coughs from the other end of the cave and Fiona hurried over, followed by the druids. With the light of the sun, Kaer Myvon conjured forth a smokeless flame in his palm with which he lit up the cave. It was small - much too small for the Dûnan party to stay here; however, for children, it was just the right size. Now, however, it was quite crowded. Fiona and the druids knelt down over a group of three babies, all of them wrapped cozily into animal pelts. One of them coughed weakly into Fiona’s face as she lifted her up motherly. “This is Dina, my cousin. She was my father’s sister’s daughter, before the raids… We have tried to care for her since, but it’s been hard to find food for her, for any of them. And now that winter’s coming…” She sniffed a little louder than she had expected to.
Kaer Cwenn nodded slowly. “I understand. Kaer Semble, if you would.”
Kaer Semble nodded slowly and started untying the knots around the neck of her robe. Kaer Cwenn gestured for Fiona to hand her Dina. “Kaer Semble had a daughter of her own not too many moons ago. She should still be able to feed the little ones.”
Fiona blinked and did as she was told. “You, you mean your child is at home without its mother?”
Kaer Semble scoffed. “You’re making it sound like it’s the end of the world. Don’t worry, her father’s at home - as are her brother and sister.”
“Then, then who’s feeding her?”
“Oh, my cousin takes care of that,” smiled the druid. “My duty comes first, after all. It’s the will of the gods. Ow! Don’t bite now!” She patted Dina softly on the head. Fiona blinked again, her frown hardening.
“As for the coughing…” mumbled Kaer Myvon and rummaged through his pouches. He eventually extracted a root and put it in his mouth, chewing it to paste while he cringed at the flavour.
“Lungweed,” explained Kaer Cwenn. “It helps with the coughing around this time of year. It’s incredibly bitter, though, so Dina better offer Myvon her thanks when she grows up.”
“This, ugh, this isn’t worthy of anything, Cwenn,” muttered her companion as he spat the paste into a wooden bowl and mixed it with some water from a skin, stirring it with his finger until it took on a soupy consistency. He then took a moment while the baby rested between eating to feed it to her. The flavour made her cry, and there came groans from the older children.
“There… We’ll have to keep feeding her on the way, but this should stave off the worst of it. Anyone else?”
“Here,” Fiona spoke softly, having shuffled over to a young boy who had been wrapped in several animal pelts. He looked to be sweating and his breathing was incredibly weak, barely noticeable. The druids’ expressions grimmed and Fiona’s paled as she saw them. “Is, is something wrong?”
Kaer Cwenn knelt down next to the boy and cupped her hand on his forehead. It burned, and the skin appeared almost scaly. She eyed Fiona and whispered, “Has he been acting strangely lately? Any sudden movements or tossing in his sleep?”
Fiona swallowed. “H-he, he was kicking and convulsing this morning… When he stopped, he seemed calmer.”
“Too calm, perhaps?”
Fiona held her breath and then nodded slowly. Kaer Cwenn nodded somberly. “I see. What’s his name?”
“Hama, son of Hasu and Kaer Fryd.”
“A druid’s son? Was his mother the village’s only druid?”
“Yes, Kaer Cwenn… She was part of the Circle of the Tall Stone. My cousin was her apprentice.”
The druid nodded. “Fiona, I’m… I’m sorry to say this, but…” She eyed Hama again. “... This young boy will not last the night.” Fiona drew a hacking breath, but her stone-hard demeanour kept her from breaking into tears.
“I…” She sniffed quitely. “... I understand.”
“If only we can come earlier, we--...”
“No, no… It’s not your fault. None of this would have happened if not for, for…” The girl grit her teeth and stood up, turning to Kelly. “Did you say you need warriors to fight the Sigerans?”
“That, we do,” nodded the Mother. “Do you wish to join us?”
“Yes. What they did to my people is unforgiveable - I hate them.”
“Now, now, Fiona, you mustn’t--”
“Then you’re welcome to come with us, newblood!” came a salute from the warriors in the back. Fiona nodded harshly and then returned to guiding the druids around to aid the sick. By nightfall, they had packed up and left the ruined village, carrying between them stretchers and pulling sleds and carts topped with babies, children and what supplies they had left. Ha-Saune’s chapter had ended, but its children would grow up to become warriors of Ha-Dûna.
Some short stories for your enjoyment!
First: Takes place in the Dûnan stronghold of Scawick, where half the Dûnans are stationed while they plan the attack on HD. Scawicks hate Dûnans, and Dûnans look down on Scawicks. It’s not a good time, and only Boudicca prevents it from becoming an all-out war (again).
Second: Neiyari come to take the Sigerans as slaves. They are convinced to help defend HD in exchange for the people’s loyalty.
Third: Yamat’s boi, the Wendigo, comes to help the Dûnans hunt for “food”. This’ll be fun.
Four: Kaer Pier and his warrior companion Valix travel to Kirin’s Rest to get the support of the Constellars. Upon learning that the Constellars don’t have a centralised power structure like the Long Strides do with archdruids, they give up and go to the queen of Kirin’s Rest instead to ask for help. Problem is - the queen is of a people who predate the Dûnans in the region, and has quite a number of bones to pick with Kaer Pier over HD’s very right to even exist. While the queen eventually says she’ll help them kill Sigerans, it’s pretty evident that this merely is because the Sigerans somehow are worse than the Dûnans.
Five: The Mothers Kelly and Lon, along with a party of druids and warriors, find a village inhabited only by children. They learn what happened and offer to take the children home with them, recruiting one of the oldest girls there for their forces in the meantime.
The Stone Boars: 45k chars. 5 + 5 = 10 The Mothers: 10 + 5 = 10. Circle of the Long Stride: 31 + 5 = 36
The shoreline of the Kubrajzar desert existed in this odd limbo where water meets earth and nothing happens in terms of life. Sure, there were reefs a swim off the coast and one or two oases further inland, but right here, at the border between the two realms of sea and sand, there was nothing but, well, sea and sand. Twilight approached, and Twilight was grateful. His eyes had been burning all day and could really use a few hours of moonlight. He sucked in a deep breath, smelling that fresh stink of beached seaweed and bird droppings, keeping his joyous gait with one hand on the pommel of Tsukigami-no-Kokoro and the other resting nearly on the inside of his robe fold. He may have had an appearance of freedom; however, inside, he couldn’t help but feel trapped. The annoying menace behind him kept sternly reminding him of that funny, little word: “mission”. He had hope, though - she seemed the type who would eventually crack if convinced. He exaggerated a yawn, stretching his arms high above his head.
”Say, Kesha… What’s dommy Tekret like, actually?” he mumbled and gave one of his teeth a suck.
“Not my name,” She glared at Twilight for a moment before relenting, “But, fine. Tekret is uhm, well she doesn’t stop working. Except she’s never working? Honestly it’s a little confusing, but I guess Gods don’t have to move to like, do things?”
Kesheret looked over to the ocean, and a disfigured mass that had to have been a whale two or three months ago. She pinched her nose cautiously and went on, nasally, “Anyway she was usually just lounging on a beach. Which was a lot nicer than this one, just saying.”
”’Course it would be. They never gotta do anything to get what they want. It literally just takes a-” Snap! ”... And it’s there. I’m honestly surprised she can think of other things to do than just lounge, smoke and drink. Speaking of…” He pulled out his pipe and started scraping algal remains out of the bowl.
“What? Speaking of what? Have you noticed you trail off a lot?”
”That so?” Twilight managed to squeeze inbetween huffs and drags through the now-smoking pipe. He held it in for a few paces and then expelled a rapidly expanding gray plume that blew further inland. ”Ah, that soothes the nerves. Hey, you wanna try?” he asked and offered her the pipe mouthpiece first.
"Hm? Oh, sure," Kesheret grabbed the pipe and did her best to imitate Twilight. Halfway through her third puff she abruptly coughed and sent smoke out through both her nostrils before gasping for air, only to get more of the smoke shed just expelled.
It was enough for her throw the pipe at Twilight and, wheezing a bit, blame him, "What, ack, what the fuck? That's horrible. Soothes the nerves? What the hell are you- Oh. Oh. Oh ok I see it."
Twilight brushed some smouldering embers off his robe and refilled the now-empty pipe with a meagre smirk. ”Mm-hm. Told ya. Best thing about these powers? This grass is but a snap of a finger away.” He snapped his fingers to illustrate, and in his palm appeared a fistful of pipeweed. ”Toraan’s got buckets of it naturally. This real nice thumbling named Oscar showed me. Ever met a thumbling?”
“Neat,” Kesheret’s eyes widened as Twilight displayed his powers, before turning her gaze onto her own thumb in confusion, “And, uhm, uh no. Is that like a talking thumb or?”
”Nah, more like a human shrunk down to size of a thumb. You following, kehd? They are the best.” There came a wash of water, this one different than all the other waves that struck the seaside so lazily. Twilight blinked and listened in. ”Did you hear that?”
“Yeah.” Kesheret looked dreamily at the waves, and the sand, and the desert, and the sky. She exhaled contentedly, “You can really hear everything out here can’t you. The world’s so... Big.”
”Yeah… Real, real big. Almost a shame that we aren’t able to explore it uninhibited.” He shrugged weakly and gave his pipe another suck. ”Life just ain’t fair sometimes.”
“Mhm…” Kesheret offered in fleeting response. Twilight sighed two smoke plumes through his nostrils and gave the sky a pensive look. He looked back at the ocean again - maybe he could use some sort of magic to track this… Drighina. He tried sampling the air for any smells, only to realise he had no idea what they smelled like. He shifted another glance at Kesheret - her eyes were still fixed to the deserts further inland. He thought to the sound he had heard earlier; he hadn’t been mistaken. Something definitely came ashore. If he could just get her to leave…
”Pheeeeew! Feels like we’ve been walking for months, doesn’t it?”
”You do make time pass slowly.”
”That hurts, Kesha.”
”Again - not my name. It’s Kesheret - kesh-eh-ret.” The woman tensed in annoyance. Twilight rolled his eyes.
”Whatever. You’re just bitchy over the fact that you got sent to rein me in, aren’t you?”
”You’re making it hard not to be, you know that, right?”
”Wouldn’t it be awesome if you didn’t have to?”
Kesheret groaned. ”And again, you are not walking free just like that, got it? By dad-mom, it’s like I’m talking to a wall!”
Twilight hung his head. ”Pfft, ain’t that just a load of-- IS THAT A COOKIE-CUTTER SHARK?!” he shouted and pointed at the desert.
”A what?” Kesheret mumbled, rubbing at her ears, and turned her gaze for an instant to where he was pointing. When she looked back, Twilight was twenty metres ahead of her, sprinting as though his life depended on it. ”Really?”
”I WILL NOT BE SHACKLED! I AM FREEEE!”
Kesheret growled in annoyance and took flight, casually floating above her colleague with studying his panicking strides. ”Y’know, I’m kinda curious, actually. Do you have some kind of… Dislike for you powers or something?”
”I-- uhuh-uhuh -- I don’t!” he forced ought between his panting breaths. Kesheret offered a slow nod and an unconvinced mm-hm.
”You could’ve literally teleported away at any point - are you sure you’re an avatar?”
Twilight stopped so suddenly Kesheret nearly fell out of the sky trying to readjust her flight path. The vagabond offered his hands a look, then gave one to Kesheret before cracking a face-wide smirk. Kesheret blinked. ”Twiliiiight… Don’t.”
The vagabond slowly lifted his hands. ”No! Don’t! Bad Twilight!”
Twilight drew a circle in the empty air, his palms leaving behind a moon-blue trace. Even as Kesheret kicked off to stop him, she couldn’t reach him in time. The man vanished into the rift in space and it closed as Kesheret reached his position. She stood there and stared blankly at the air.
”ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”
Twilight had no idea how long he had been travelling through space and time. His portal spell had been hasty and crude - it flung him between dimensions like rubbish down a rocky hill. Years seemed to fade into nothingness, blowing on the cosmic wind like fine sand. It felt as though the trip took less than a minute, all the while lasting for aeons. Before Twilight truly managed to grasp the nature of the spell, he was gripped by a powerful force and pulled into a black crevice. Cosmic energy turned to moisture; void became hard, hard, oh, so very hard ground; and Twilight rolled all over it and crashed into a thick, firm tree trunk. It took him a moment to recover, his fingers caked in blood from a hundred cuts and bruises from all over his body, all of which were rapidly healing even as he inspected them. Thank the gods he was immortal. He hauled himself to his feet and looked around - he appeared to be in some kind of forest; a very wet and inhospitable forest, at that. The air was closer than the space between grains of sand at the beach, and the canopy hung over his head with oppressive density. Almost as thick as the moisture was the presence of all manner of insects - both aflight and acrawl. His sandals filled with all sorts of beetles and ants, all of which began inspecting the legs of his raggedy pants for snacks; his exposed hands and face were swiftly assaulted by fliers curious to see what divine skin and blood would taste like. The avatar took a deep breath. This was fine.
”This is fine,” he repeated like a mantra before taking his first step. The hard soil turned to deep mud after a few steps, soaking into the fabric of his pants.
”This is fine.”
A thick, almost stonehard clump of something smelly struck him in the scalp and slowly slid down the side of his face. The avatar brought a quivering hand to his soiled cheek and sampled the substance between his fingers. It was sticky. Reluctantly, he held the fingers up before his eyes. It was a greenish brown. Lastly, with a stone of anxiety in his stomach, he gave it a sniff.
It stank to high heavens.
With a squeal, the avatar started slapping and wiping himself all over with panicking hands, scraping off filth and smacking bugs. His legs danced through the mud and his messy ponytail whipped at the swarms around him. ”GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF!”
“Halt!” came a nearby voice and Twilight froze. His eyes fixed on a woman standing amidst the trees. She had bark-brown skin, black hair, and a long, animalistic tattoo that snaked its way from her cheeks to her stomach. She wore a wary frown and held an obsidian spear at the ready as she approached. The more Twilight looked, the more woman he saw pop out of the surroundings as though they had been there all along. Ignoring the bug bites and the fact that he was slowly sinking into the mud for a moment, he slowly brought his hand towards the hilt of his sword. The mere movement caused everyone around him to heft their spears higher.
“One move and you’re dead, outsider,” snarled the first woman. Twilight snickered, his hips sinking into the mud as well.
”Brave of you to carry that tone with me, lady… I see that I may have to reveal my true power level to gain some respect around here. Hehehe.” He was up to his chest in mud. The women all seemed to lower their spears in confusion and disbelief for the avatar’s calmness in the situation.
“... You… You do realise you’re sinking, do you, outsider?” Calmness wasn’t the right word, perhaps. Twilight’s smirk broadened.
”A temporary setback, love.” The mud settled neatly around the root of his neck. ”Behold - I will be free in the mere blink of an eye! Yes! That’s right - you have the pleasure of meeting no one else but ME! Twilight! Vagabond of the Moon and-- why isn’t my spell working?” Under the mud, his fingers were having a hard time snapping - the mud made his fingers slip. ”You’re kidding me.”
The women adopted states of sighing or laughing. The first one rested the bridge of her nose on her index and her thumb. “Alright, that’s about the extent to which I will be patient with your games, outsider… Sisters, pull him up.”
”No, wait!” Twilight pleaded. ”I can still prove my divinity! Wait!”
“Gag him, please.”
”No, wait, I-- erhmph! Hmmph! Ehveveve!” It took two of them gag him with a sweaty vine. The avatar growled and fought back as they tried to pull him up. The ones holding him found themselves struggling immensely against his strength, and it took the whole band of them and twenty metres of vines to bind him. Oh, and they had to knock him out, too. In the end, Twilight was dragged face-down along the jungle floor, for miles and miles. He was asleep for most of it, but towards the end, he woke up to realise he had acquired a series of new scars all over from his very being being sanded away by the ground. He was sat up, his eyes still recovering, and given just enough time to take in the sights of a small village at the border of the jungle, situated on a rise overlooking a distant growing city centered around a pyramid in the middle of construction.
“Welcome to Zetanze, tributary of the great Zuanwa, outsider.”
Twilight blinked. Where in the world had he ended up now?!
Twi and Kesha keep chatting. Kesha drops the fact that Twi could’ve escaped at any time. Twi realises this and escapes. Twi being Twi botches the spell and ends up in some jungle some time later. He is fucked hard by the jungle and then taken prisoner by the Amazons of Zuanwa. To be continued.
Twilight: 5/5 1MP - Teleport to Zuanwa, possibly timetravelling into the future in the process. I’unno. End: 4MP/5DP
The trickle of water rushed down over a bed of nightshades. Above it was suspended a watering can, wooshing to every thirsty plant with a fresh drink at the whim of its master. Its master, on the other hand, sat comfortably on a fat bean bag, making hard eyes at a sloppy vine sticking out of a flower pot. Gibbou balanced her chin on her fist.
“I see bell peppers don’t really grow in complete darkness, huh… Darn, what’s that? Me: Ten; Orey… Uh…” She looked at her fingers. “... Damn it, life, you’re hard to love sometimes. It’s not like I can make another Neverday Island! I mean, I could, but… Ugh…” She let herself be swallowed by the bean bag. “Effoooort…” She wrinkled her nose with a sniff. The ceiling of her glass dome offered a damp view of steam with a faint hint of the eternal expanse of space behind it. After a while, she looked back at the plant. She pittered through her lips.
”Yo, Orey! Wanna hang?” she asked the void.
There was a burst of laughter, some muttering about a chick or two and several more seconds passed before Oraelia exclaimed, "Gibbouuuuuuuuuuu! My little sister, my Gibs, my first love- Oh how I've missed your voice! It seems so long ago I gave you a big hug. The kind that makes the heart warm and melt- Oh oh oh! Don't eat that little Bun." her voice faded.
The moon goddess offered a series of blinks. ”Woah, someone’s happy! What’s up? Did something sweet happen?”
Oraelia gasped. "Gibbou! Have you ever baked pie? Tell me tell me tell me." Her sister said quickly, words almost slurring together.
Gibbou squinted - these was something familiar about her articulation. ”Nnnnooo…” she offered with a hint of suspicious. ”Only muffins. Say, Orey, did I… Have I visited and given you something? Recently? While, uh, under influence?”
"Nope! I haven't seen anyone in soooooo long." she then giggled and half whispered, "Okay I saw that Qael guy and I've helped some mortals." Followed by more laughing. "Muffins! Muffins muffins muffins! What is a muffin?"
”Okay, what’s going on? You’re always giddy, sure, but this is a lot - even for you. Be honest - have you been drinking?” There was a pause. ”Actually, hold that thought - I’m coming over.” Gibbou shot up out of her bean bag, put on her space-black summer dress, sandals and sunglasses, and skipped out the doors of her glass dome. She jumped across the lunar surface until she reached the sunny side. The fiery light burned at her skin, but she was undeterred. ”Hold on, Orey! I’m coming!” She then squatted down and kicked off, launching herself into space like a blue comet. As she travelled closer to the sun, the space around her began to twist and warp. Before long, instead of crashing into the solar surface like physics suggested she should have, she instead broke through the edges of space and crashed straight into a fluffy bed of grasses and flowers in her sister’s garden. She pushed herself up from her belly and looked around, spitting out dirt and petals. ”Orey? Orey?!”
A streak of green erupted into the sky on the distant horizon and made a beeline to Gibbou, humming all the way. When it reached her, the Orb tackled into Gibbou and Oraelia changed forms into her sunny bright one. She wrapped her arms around Gibbou and squeezed as she kissed her sister's cheek repeatedly. "Gibbou's here! Gibbou's here!" she exclaimed.
”Eeep!” squealed the moon goddess and momentarily let her protection instincts kick in. Arms that pushed her sister away were quickly rerouted to hugging her back, however, though her face tried its best to dodge Oraelia’s incessant pecks. ”Woah, hey, hey, hey! Yeah, Gibbou’s here! Gibbou’s here.” She tried to tighten her hug so Oraelia wouldn’t squirm as much. ”What on Galbar happened to you?”
Oraelia seemed to relax slightly in her grip and stopped pecking her. She then gushed, "Nothing! I'm just baking a pie! It's going to be delicious and and and i'm going to take it to Neiya and that way she can feel better too!" She grinned with childlike excitement at Gibbou.
Gibbou caught something in her throat - most likely a clump of ‘what did you just say?’, for she immediately followed up by saying, ”Wait, what? You’re hanging out with…” She took a deep breath. ”Did she make you like this? Did she?!”
Oraelia tilted her head. Then laughed. "Psshht no. Don't be silly. I haven't seen Neiya innnnnn uh, the day she hurt me!" Oraelia's smile then seemed to break for a moment, her eyes flashing awareness. She then released her grip from Gibbou and brought a hand up to her face. Vividly crimson berries appeared and she smirked. "Try one, try one! You'll feeeel so much better Gibs! You won't have to worry!" she said, holding out her hand.
Gibbou forced a smile and guided her hand away from her mouth. ”Maybe later, sis. First, let’s… Let’s just talk, alright? Tell you what, how about I set the kettle to boil and we can, y’know, catch up a bit - I’ll even make muffins, how about that? You -need- to try them, after all.”
”Okay!” Oraelia said, wrapping Gibbou into another hug. ”That’d be soooo wonderful sis!”
Gibbou nodded slowly and snapped her fingers, a small kettle appearing out of nowhere to settle on a fireplace that had arranged itself neatly on the ground. The kettle filled to a little under the brim with water and started cooking. Gibbou then conjured forth a stone over using a nearby heap of mud and started cracking eggs, pouring in milk and adding sugar into a bowl - all of which materialised out of nowhere. While she was mixing, she offered Oraelia another glance, pursing her lips curiously. ”Sssso… What’ve you been up to - except making pies?”
”Oh! I’ve been helping lots of people! I made your druids happy and their lands really fertile, then I helped an Iskrill because he seemed nice and was scared of everyone, so I gave him a deterrent! Then I helped a Neiyari that Neiya and Yamat bullied! Uh, uh, yeah! Aren’t you proud of me Gibs! It feels really good to help people and not feel so useless!” Oraelia clapped her hands together.
Gibbou stared at her blankly. She brought her palms together, rested her fingers under her nose and took a deep breath. ”Orey, sweety?”
”Yeah?” She bobbed up and down.
The moon goddess held in another breath, then slowly removed the kettle from the fire and added some tea leaves. She then let out a sigh that could’ve caused earthquakes in less stable worlds. ”Y’know what, nevermind. I’ll feel like such a hypocrite if I comment… Just… If you get asked to help Iskrill, Neiyari or…” She made a face. ”No, that’s not right, either… Look, you -can- help them all you want. Just… You oughta understand the consequences and, and…” Her head collapsed forward and left her staring at the ground, sapped of hope. ”I can’t really say anything at all in this, huh.”
Oraelia poked Gibbou. ”Watcha mean sis?” Her voice then grew quiet. ”Consequences… Did I…” She whispered to herself. ”Hey! You’re sad aren’t you? Have a berry!”
Gibbou pushed her hand away, more firmly than last time. ”Sis, I’m good. I don’t want any berries right now.”
”Areeee you suuure?” She chided. ”Evandra showed me her version a long time ago, and they make you so full of passion, so I tweaked these a bit.” She giggled.
Gibbou frowned. ”Yeah, I’m sure, I’m sure! Sheesh, what’s with you? You’re so…” She pushed Oraelia away slightly and pulled her knees to her chest. ”You’re being really weird. I think you should take a break from eating those berries.”
Oraelia blinked rapidly and seemed taken aback for a moment. ”W-Why would I want to do that?” she asked, raising her voice. ”I can’t do that. I can’t do that! I thought you would understand! I don’t want to feel like that anymore!”
Gibbou frowned. ”Okay, that settles it - no more berries!” With a lightning quick move, she flicked away the one Oraelia had in her hand. ”Rule number one about addictions - if you can’t stop, it’s an addiction - which ain’t good.”
Oraelia stiffened. ”I-I-I’m not addicted! They make me feel better!” Oraelia stammered, summoning more into her hands. Gibbou tossed herself at her to slap them away.
”So does wine for me, but you remember what I mess I become when I drink too much!” She tried to wrestle her to the ground.
Oraelia fell over and Gibbou fell on top of her as the sister’s fought over the berries. Oraelia kept them out of Gibbou’s hands for a while but then Gibbou slapped them to the floor again. ”Why are you being like this!” Oraelia cried out, no longer able to summon berries as they wrestled in the grass.
”When I was at my lowest, you were there for me! I won’t let you waste away in a stupid high if you’re feeling sad - and I know you are, because I haven’t seen Genesis anywhere!”
Oraelia froze. ”S-S-She’s j-just sleeping! Sleeping!” But her tears gave her away. ”No no no! I need a berry, I need a berry!” she cried, struggling to free herself again. Gibbou’s grip only tightened.
”Don’t let yourself become a slave to drugs, Orey! They didn’t do me any good - they certainly won’t help you!” Gibbou focused, the shadows on her face and body growing outwards into a circle around them. The edges of the circle grew taller and taller until they were both imprisoned in a cylinder of darkness. Gibbou let go and quickened to her feet. ”Now you and I will talk about this - we will cry; we will hate the world; we will call each other names like we never have! But I won’t let you just sit here to grieve!”
”Let me out Gibbou!” Oraelia said, banging on the darkness. ”Please let me out! I can’t bear to be sad anymore! I hate it, I hate the feeling!” she yelled, growing frustrated.
”Sadness is the worst emotion - trust me, I know it so, so well! But we must take it in - know that it’s there, and not escape from it! How could I protect anything if the sadness of loss broke me down at the first instant?” She paused. ”How can you bring your love and warmth to the world if there’s no sadness and cold to wipe away?”
Oraelia turned to Gibbou, her body growing brighter as she clutched her fists tight. ”No! You don’t get it, Gibbou! I exist to make others happy! To bring others warmth! That doesn’t mean I deserve it! I am undeserving! I am a terrible god, a terrible sister, and a terrible mother! I hate myself, I hate myself! And the only thing that makes me happy are those berries, so you’re going to let me go!” She said, trying to sound fierce.
Gibbou blinked in disbelief. ”What’s gotten into you? Who said those things?”
Oraelia gritted her teeth. ”What’s gotten into me? I-I-I… Gibbou…” Her light began to fade and she grabbed her head. ”No that’s not… What’s…” She looked up again and broke down. ”She’s dead. She’s dead. Genesis is dead. I failed her. I-I wasn’t there. I ignored her. She’s dead. Oh why is she dead?” She fell against the wall and slid down slowly, her form’s light shattering in an instant, to reveal a disheveled Oraelia.
Gibbou lowered her head. She sat down on her knees and dragged herself to kneel opposite of Oraelia. She pressed her fists tensely down on her thighs and nodded slowly. ”... So she’s gone, then. I thought for a moment she had locked her portal shut, but as it was completely gone, it felt kinda… Off.” She made a knowing look. ”It was not your fault, Orey. You may think it is, but it isn’t.”
”She didn’t say goodbye…” Oraelia whispered. ”How is it not my fault? She lived in my realm and I didn’t even notice she was gone until it was too late. The lifeblood came and snatched her away and I did nothing.”
”Exactly! You did nothing - you are not at fault here!” Gibbou grit her teeth and glared at the ground. ”It’s the lifeblood that did this, but neither you nor I can change what the lifeblood does. The lifeblood is, well, the lifeblood, and not even we can change how it works.”
”Gibbou… Because I did nothing I am at fault. I could have tried to do something… Anything. But it was too late. I lost her.” she lamented.
”It’s easy to think of these things in hindsight. None of us have been able to defy the lifeblood’s barrier to reach Galbar; do you think anyone of us could’ve reversed death if it was the lifeblood’s will?”
”No…” she sighed. ”I just wish it wasn’t so.” Her eyes began to water. Gibbou nodded slowly and shuffled closer to embrace her sister.
”It’ll hurt. It’ll hurt for a long time. Maybe it’ll never pass - loss rarely does. We shouldn’t try to forget it - suppressing such emotions does no good at all - but we cannot dwell on it forever, either - it’ll consume us. We must acknowledge it, accept all its horror and despair, and make it a part of ourselves. Only then can we begin to move past it.” Her embrace tightened. ”... And if you need anyone to hold you and open their heart to your worries, I will always be here for you.”
Oraelia returned the embrace, sobbing into her sister’s shoulder. After some time had passed she said in a hoarse voice, ”Look at you sis… I’m so, so proud of you.” She paused, ”I don’t… I don’t trust myself here all alone. What do I do?”
”How about you stay at my place for a time? You can get those berries out of your system and we can level with each other as much as we want. Also, you can help me make peppers than grow in the dark!” Gibbou pulled away and smiled. ”How’s that?”
Oraelia gave a small smile. ”I’d like that.” Then she looked around her realm and sighed. ”Perhaps I shouldn’t leave it all alone. I think I need someone to answer my prayers for a time, make sure my realm is safe, don’t you think?” she turned back to Gibbou.
”Suppose so, huh. What did you have in mind?”
”Well… Let’s see.” Oraelia raised her hand and from a nearby yellow sunflower, something shimmered and grew. A lithe body began to form, with long skinny legs and arms. Golden hair ran down a button face, all the way to her feet. For indeed, the form took shape into a woman’s and the light around her formed into shimmering colors of the rainbow, faint but there. Set upon her torso, the light came together and formed flowers of gold that covered her chest, while leaving little to the imagination. Golden eyes, soft and sweet, looked down at Oraelia and Gibbou with a spark of intelligence as jewels wrapped through her air, weaved together by golden chains. When her form was complete, she bowed before them. “Lady Oraelia, Lady Gibbou,” She said in a modulated tone. Her voice sounding pleasant to the ears. ”It’s so nice to meet you and to be of service to you, Lady Oraelia. I promise I will do my very best to uphold, and fix, your divine mandate.” she said, clasping her hands together as she looked round the realm. ”What a lovely place!” she exclaimed.
”Gibbou, this is Rhiona, the Caretaker. Another avatar of mine. She’ll do better than me.”
”Lady Oraelia, please, do not belittle yourself.” Rhiona crouched down in front of the two. ”It takes great strength to realize when you can’t do something alone.”
Gibbou let out a squeal and cupped her cheeks in her hands. ”Oh, she looks just like you! Hey-o, Rhio! You’ll do great!” She turned to Oraelia with a raised brow. ”So you intend for her to stay here, right?”
Oraelia nodded. ”Yeah. I shouldn’t leave her alone though, I’ve learned how hard it is.”
Gibbou looked around. ”Yeah, I could see this place getting some more life. Like horses or day bats.” She shrugged. ”I dunno, what you think?”
"She needs some companions I think. Ones who can be cherished and love in return. Would you like that Rhiona?" Oraelia asked with a small smile.
She nodded in return. "Oh would I! But don't fret my Lady. I shall create them in my own time after I explore this place some. For now I would advise you go with Lady Gibbou and heal. I shall visit you frequently. Please please don't exert yourself, you have made me quite capable." She said standing straighter but a sheepish look did cross her face and she coughed. "Horses might be nice though."
Oraelia giggled, and with a snap of her fingers horses of pure white erupted from the grass in herds like moving snow. Rhiona went wide eyed and squealed with glee before composing herself and bowing before the two gods. "I shall take my leave. Lady Gibbou, Lady Oraelia. I will see you soon." and with that, Rhiona flew off after the herd.
Oraelia couldn't help but laugh. "Oh I love her already."
”Your realm’s in good hands, I reckon,” Gibbou said sagely. ”Now, then, shall we bounce? We’ll put on some cocoa and play board games! There is this one called ‘shezz’ that I wanna try out. You game?”
"I wouldn't want anything else." Oraelia smiled.
Gibbou wants to hang out with Oraelia but sees that something is up with her sister. Thus she connects their realms together for easier access and arrives in Oraelia’s who promptly assaults her with hugs and kisses. Gibbou grabs her to prevent her from loving her, and asks what’s up. They talk some and Oraelia eventually lets slip that she’s been eating berries to get high. GIbbou doesn’t like that and they wrestle around. Gibbou is stronger than Oraelia, and easily subdues her. Oraelia then begins to break down because she can’t eat berries and Gibbou locks her in a small prison of darkness. With both inside, Gibbou tells her they aren’t leaving until they hash it out but Oraelia breaks down further and she leans on Gibbou for support in her grief. Gibbou invites Oraelia to come live with her until she’s better and she agrees, but she also can’t leave her realm all alone, so she creates another avatar to safeguard it, and do her job in her absence.
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