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7 yrs ago
dissertation done. can actually post again. yay.
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Naija

level: 5
day/time: day 3
Location: Tetris Castle
Interacting with: Guile@Holy Soldier


Through the door at the opposite end of the room from the escaping villains burst Naija, dripping wet and rather ticked off at having been woken from her slumber by the noise of the pirate attack. It took her only a few moments to take in the scene, from the wounded to the fleeing squad of thieves. Her instincts raged in a battle between the slaughterer and savior, but in the end the closer issue won out and she hopped to Gouil and rosalina’s side. Fishing though her inventory she retrieved some long life soup, a broth made from a variety of seafood meats and fungus cooked in tandem with her using the verse. It was suspended in a sealed bubble of air that acted was meant to protect the fluid from seawater contamination but up here mainly acted as a strange consumable bowl.

“Drink this Guile, it’ll regenerate your wounds” she told him, while keeping one eye on the retreating ball like warriors incase they turned back or if they remain long enough for her to strike at them once she had administered to the council member.


Taric

level: 2
day/time: 3 - evening
Location: save point inn
Interacting with: Bently@ONL, Shantae@Guardian Angel Haruki, the Guardian@Zarkun,
Cooldowns:
Bastion: 2/2. linked ally: none
Starlight's Touch: 0/6


“Hold on, it’s not safe for you to go alone!” Taric shouted after Sparks as he flew up into the night. It was to little avail however, as the speedy insect was soon reduced a glowing dot in the night sky, leaving him and the turtle behind in the little room.

“By the protector this is a mess” Taric sighed with a hint of amusement as he turned from the window and headed for the door.

A few moments later the Taric burst out of the front door of the save point in and onto the street and began thundering up the road after Sparks, his own floating lights sailing after him as he passed by the ally way where the Guardian and Shante where in.

“Sparks has flown off after our shadowy figure!” he yelled at them as he passed by, expecting them to understand the danger that their little friend had put himself in as a result.

Then he rapidly disappeared from sight, the heavy footfalls of his armored boots heard thumping against the pavement as he weaved among the various pedestrians.

The Emerald Empire

The Frozen Cliffs


Oscar awoke, much to his own surprise. Everything was numb. His vision, looking out at the peaceful snow covered village surrounding him, was hazy, as if seen through a thick wall of glass. When he tried to move that turned out to almost be the case.

There was an almighty cracking sound as the haze shattered around him, shards of ice spilling across the now clear landscape. Oscar dropped to his knees atop the now decapitated stalagmite of ice he had been imprisoned in and despaired at what he now saw. The village was at peace, for so where its people. Broken bodies surrounded him, his friends and comrades who had made a last stand in a hopeless attempt to stop the wooden abominations that had attacked their home without warning. Many lay where they had fallen, bones shattered by the blunt instruments of the treekin, while others were frozen in lower parts of the prison that had so recently held him as well.

The ice prison itself had the stalagmight at its center with a frozen blast radius surrounding its base, a low wave of frost that had consumed flesh and bark alike before crashing against the walls of the two homes on either side of the villages main entrance, spilling forth to where his enemies had once stood. While those of flesh remains entombed in ice there was clear indication of areas where something had been broken out of the ice with hammers. Either the treekin had freed their comrades before they succumbed to the cold, or they had removed their bodies for whatever it was they did with their dead. Oscar wasn't sure what that was. He didn't really care, for they deserved to rot where they fell. His friends however, they deserved a proper burial.

but the heart of the mountains called to him

But he couldn't stay here. The dead should not take president over the living and perhaps there were survivors in the village. Leaving the battlefield behind him Oscar slid down from his frozen perch and entered the place that was, that had once been, his home. It was, remarkably, intact, but was also a ghost town. Everything of value was gone, either stolen by the Treekin or taken by fleeing villagers who had hauled off anything they could carry as they headed for safety. Here and there a few people lay dead, crude axes and burnt out torches at their sides. The Treekin had simply ignored anyone who hasn't been armed, for what was soft flesh against hardened bark? Nothing but a futility. Those that had lived, those that the treekin had ignored, must surely have fled, for an undefended village was easy pickings for the monsters and marauders that roamed the surrounding snowscape. As if to drive that fact home a howl pierced the graveyard quiet that had followed Oscar as he searched through the homes of his neighbours, both hoping and fearing that he would find someone still here. It came from the south, from higher up the mountain. He should knew he should run. Flee north down the mountain before the scavengers arrived.

but the heart of the mountains called to him

But down there was nothing but the Forest’s Empire. So instead he found himself marching upwards towards the danger, rather than running away from it, following the trampled path the Treekin had taken. There he found the source of the howl. Dyvolfs, two headed wolf like brutes who roamed the mountains in small packs/tribes, hunting and raiding. Here to loot anything that remains in the village no doubt. Well he wouldn't let them. The pack of twelve or so that had been marching down towards the village stopped at the sight of him emerging. There was growling and barks in a language Oscar did not understand. Most sounded scared. Nonetheless one of the Dyvolfs charged him, the great gray furred warrior seeing an opportunity for glory and status where its fellow faltered and feared.

In response Oscar reached inside himself and drew forth his magic. He raised a gloved hand towards the Dyvolf and the cold ripped forwards from his palm, resulting in a blast of concentrated entropy striking the beast in the chest. It blossomed like a crystalline flower, ice spreading out across it to cover a quarter of its body. The Dyvolf crashed to the earth, its heart flash frozen. The Ice Witch opened his mouth to shout at the others, to demand they leave this place, but all that came out was a cracked, dry scream of rage. It had the desired effect however, the other raiders turning tail and fleeing as fast as they could.

Oscar marvelled at his own power. It had come easily, more easily than he ever could remember. Even in the battle where he had pushed himself to his limits he hadn't had this much strength at his command. With it he could get revenge, he could crush the Treekin against the walls of the holy sumit, for shuly that was where they were headed now that the Queen had pulled most of her forces north on a fools reconquest of the long lost lowlands.

but the heart of the mountains called to him


But the heart of the mountains called to him.

Oscar turned, without really understanding why, away from the path to the holy sumit and marched towards an even higher, inaccessible peak. As he vanished into the falling snow the scavengers fell upon his old home, the laughter of snow hyenas echoing across the mountainside, delighting in the frozen bounty that war had gifted them.




The climb was long, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he did not tire. It was treacherous, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he did not falter. It took him to the depths of the frozen cliff range, where the cold was so intense even the hardiest would freeze solid in the white out conditions, yet the heart of the mountains called to him and so he marched on, drawn by the sirens call that echoed in his mind.

After what might have been many days or mere hours Oscar emerged from the white into the light of the sun. Above the constant snowfall. Above the clouds. It was a paradox of blinding light and glacial cold, though Oscar hardly felt it. He hadn’t felt the cold since he awoke. Or had he only felt the cold. He couldn’t say. He didn't need to think about it. Above him, higher than the Holy Summit by a significant margin, standing alone in a sea of cloud, was a peak of raw stone crowned in ice. Surrounded by walls of crystal clear frost it was hidden from the world below by the perpetual snow storm that made accessing it normally imposible. As Oscar approached the wall, a wall 20 meters in height, he saw that attop it stood status of ice. They all gazed downwards as they stood guard, frozen facimalies of races predominantly from the mountain itself, with a scant few from further afield. As he drew close to the wall it warped before his eyes, forming a gateway where before there had been naught but sheer ice moments before. Within the ring of ice was the peak itself, clear stone into which thousands of depictions of primordials had been carved. Most common were depictions of a four winged being bearing the mark of the sun sealed within a diamond lattice, who was often joined by a six armed woman who had a serpent's tail in place of her legs who bore the mark of a radiant moon. The gateway of ice sealed behind him as quickly as it had opened, trapping him within the walls and leaving only one way forwards; a tunnel, carved into the mountain for a being far greater than he, leading downwards. The carvings flowed down into this passageway, from which the heart of the mountains called to him, and so Oscar soon followed them. The tunnel had steps carved into it, spiraling downwards, each half the size of Oscar himself. Into these steps a smaller stairway had been carved, seemingly later than the first set and it was down this he walked, reading the carvings that were illuminated by a pale blue light that followed him as he descended. Towards the heart of the mountain.

The carvings told the tale of a Primordial with four wings, who had ruled from this peak in the time of legends, who had done many remarkable things including overthrowing Great Beasts of Lynn-Naraksh for their tyranny over mortals. However, as one by one her kin vanished from the world she and her serpentine sisters had sought ways to escape the endless string of tragedies that seemed to consuming all their kin. They had made servent, pale reflections of their own image and with their help had built two great temples within which they would rest til the end of days, when the sun’s rays froze cold and the moonlight burned. With preparations made they sealed themselves away from the world and left their servants to guard them while they slumbered. For generations they had done this, but while the Burning Moon’s aquatic children remain faithful, the Frozen Sun’s yearned to spread their wings. One by one they abandon their posts, flocking to other peaks where they would be free from obligation. In the end only the most faithful few remained. They struggled on, but their numbers faltered, each generation growing more sickly than the last even as their magical power grew. In the end only five remained, and these five turned to desperate measures to ensure their mother would remain safe till she awoke. They had turned to the beacon, a mirror of the one that glowed in the sea of lights, and twisted its design. At the end of the stairway Oscar found the end results of their tampering.

At the heart of the mountain was a great door, the entrance to the Frozen Sun’s resting camber, sealed behind a wall of ice polished to a mirror sheen. On an archway around this entrance where five thrones, upon which sat five frozen harpies, each blessed with a second pair of wings. It was not they who had Oscar’s attention, nor was it the culmination of the tale carved in the chamber walls:

The two beacons, one in the oceans depths and one in the heavens, where both bright reminders of the primordials legacy and wells of power for their followers. Wells the Five’s wayward sisters still drew from and gave too without knowing it. For the sorcery used by ice witches involved a pact, a pact with the beacon sealed in blood that allowed them to draw from it when they needed to, in exchange for it passively drawing a little of their own power for the rest of their lives. The five’s tampering with the beacon damaged its light in the process, creating the eternal frigid storm that raged across the mountain, but they did manage to insert a trap that would bring their sisters back into the fold. They changed the deal, creating a trap for those who drew to greedily, or desprely, from the wells power, As the harpies magic tradition spread to other races, the trap had ensnared them as well. It had ensnared Oscar.

In the mirror he saw himself. Saw a monster. A statue of ice given life. Deep beneath that ice there was still a man, a man who breathed air that came out colder than it went in. Whose heart still beat, yet what icy blood ran through his veins now he could not fathom.

Oscar remembered how he had been trapped in that ice. He remembered the battle, being desperate, horrified, by the Treekin who simply would not die. He had pushed everything into his magic, more than he ever should have. He had broken through some barrier, and for a moment mana flowed so easily. Too easily. Had lost control. He had been overwhelmed. And then everything went white. Embedded in a frozen chrysalis he had been remade to serve for all eternity.

His wrenched his gaze up and away from the reflection in confusion and horror, only to find the harpies gazing down at him.

“What. What am I? Where am I?” His words were ragged, brearley understandable, yet the Harpies responded nonetheless.

“You are frost forged, guardian of the Frozen Sun, and you are where you are needed.”

He was Frost Forged, and he was where he was meant to be.




The Sem Hills, south of Fenreforst
4 days after the battle of Cher Fort


Selzona had traveled through the night across the provinces to get to the low hills overlooking Lake Sem. There an unusual discovery had been made by a supply convoy heading from Fenreforst to ships docked against the northern shore of the lake. In an ancient abandoned quarry an entire legion of statues had been found, only discovered due to the high amount of traffic now using the region to get to the southern marshes. Slezona had come to take command of the the investigation both because she had dealt with strange occurrences like this in the past (notably the undead hydra and the strange staff now being used in the experiments) and ,because as author of the Empire’s notes on Ice Witchery, she had experience deciphering foreign magics.

Cresting the ridge line that had hidden the quarry and its contents from view Selzona and her small party of ents and dryads could see the army far below the, all made from the same stone as the quarry. As they descend down the long spiraling ramp up which stone and ore had been dragged in the time of legends Selzona conversed with one of the Dryads who had found the statues the previous evening, but who had halted his investigation after nightfall so that news of the discovery could be brought back to the Dreaming Forest. With their focus primarily on the war the Forest had decided that few could be spared to involve themselves in this anomaly and as a result all but the one dryad with them now had already set forth to the front. In a similar circumstances most Selzona had asked to come with her had declined to join the expedition and as a result only the most inquisitive and studious of Treekin had come with her from the site of the experiments in the west. All present then where distinctly aware that their presence here detracted from the war effort as a whole

After several minutes of walking down the party finally arrived at the base of the quarry, a rugged expanse of bedrock that its original carvers had not been able to peirce and into which no life had sprung after it was abandoned. Many years ago this place had been briefly surveyed by Dryad scouts during one of the last true wars with Shenra and their notes, and the memories of the Trees of those notes, indicated that these statues had not been here before. The nature and shear size of them made it highly unlikely that they had simply been missed.

The majority of the statues were of dryads, decked out in platemail made in a Shenran style and holding rune engraved greatswords in both hands, the tips of which where planted in the stone between their feet as the silicon soldiers stood to attention. Among the Dryads where a small number of colossal ents which nonetheless made up the majority of the stonework in the canyon due to their shear bulk. More beautifully masoned towers than statues the colossal ents were hidden from view by the depth of the quarry, but only just. They were equipped with the exact same equipment as colossal ents, down to material. A castle wall wielded as a shield, a great pillar of sharpened stone as a sword and armor featuring battlements for archers. It boggles the minds of the present dryads as to who would do this, and why. It could not be old, for the treekin as a subspecies were less than 200 years old and the colossal ent’s style of armament had only been made in the last years of the Sherna-Emerald wars. Perhaps stranger than the peristeen statues’ existence itself was the faces carved on them. Somewhere blank, most featured the faces of what were probably dryads, but among them were faces from species the Dryads did not imitate, such as sun elves or the genetically warped Warbreeds of Matathrana. Others noticeably showed signs of aging or disease, the most egregious of which was one of the colossal ents sporting a face that looked like it belonged on someone’s kindly old grandma, carved in immaculate detail, which stood in stark contrast to the utilitarian features that ents generally sported.

The varios Treekin investigators fanned out slightly once they arrived at the bottom of the quarry, thought they stuck within Dreaming range of the few Ents on the mission. Some began examining the make of the statues or the runes upon their blades, cross referencing them with manuscripts they had brought. One beastmaster unloaded a cage full of collared rats and then sat down to meditate as the tiny beasts made a complete survey of the quarry, counting the statues, looking for anomalies and sniffing for smells that might give the some clue as to the artisans of the work. Selzona herself walked among the statues, simply absorbing the place as she thought until she came across one that made her stop in her tracks. She had found one carved in the image of Saberath the Mad, the Empires only fire mage, who had perished in the final failed assault on the entrenched Matathran position during the battle for Fort Cher.

The sight of the familiar face struck her out of her contemplation. Time was precious, she reminded herself, and they needed to work out what this strange occurrence was and how it might either be used or stopped as soon as possible. Placing her hand against the statue of Saberath she chanted a few simple Ice Witch evocations to activate a small spell. Where her hand touched the stone frost began to form as she unknowingly channeled the entropy of the Frozen Sun, drawing power in to see if there was more energy inside the statue than would have been expected from simple dull stone. It was a crude way of detecting magic, easily confused by the simple presence of unexpected heat, but it had worked before.

Yet instead the bizarre happened. As the magical frost formed, it also disappeared. The cold seemed to seep into the statue, and the magic seemed to follow, the stone absorbing the magical effects like a sponge.

She stopped as soon as she felt the tug, feeling like a hunter who’s pray had show itself to be far hungrier than her. After overcoming the surprise she called for Marketh the Blunt to come over to her. He was one of the original discoverer of the statues and one of the few among them who actually needed to be armed in order to be dangerous. Selzona then repeated the test on a number of other statues as she waited for him, ensuring that Saberath’s statue was not unique in its hunger. The armored Dryad arrived when she was on the fourth test, his warhammer resting nonchalauntly against his shoulder.

“What ya need me for?” he asked as Selzona withdrew her hand form the magic devouring statue.

“Break that one for me please.” she instructed, gesturing to the statue of Saberath.

“I guess I can do that. But it doesn't sit right. Hurting one of our own.” The warrior replied as he passed Selzona.

“It’s just stone. A reflection.” she glanced up at the wrinkled face adorning one of the colossal ents. “A mockery”

“I guess.” Marketh rolled his shoulders and took a breath, psyching himself up “So. How you want this done?”

“Just break it, there's plenty more where it came from. Once we have a better idea of what we are looking at we can do some more delicate dismantling” Selzona concluded, stepping back to get clear of the Dryad’s upcoming swing.

He nodded and then, grasping his hammer in both hands and winding it back for a big hit, made a crushing horizontal strike against the statue’s chest with the flat side of the hammer.

The hammer collapsed a portion of the chest in with a loud crack. A sweet aroma filled the air as a honey like liquid dripped out from the stoney wound. The Statue staggered backwards, maintaining its stance, pulling the tip of it’s broadsword from the earth and brandishing it in a single hand while it reaching out to try and grasp the hammer with the other.

As the drips of honey hit the bedrock floor, the entire quarry filled with the sounds of the face bearing statues unrooting themselves. They held their weapons defensively over the unfaced statues and others came to the aid of the wounded one, surrounding the scene and staring at Marketh with lifeless eyes.

Marketh’s hammer thudded to the ground, dropping it as he backed away from the suddenly animated statue.

“I’m so sorry” He backed away from the dropped blunt instrument with his arms raised to either side of his head, genuinely appalled by what he had done, only to have one of those arms garabed by the wrist. Selzona and the other researchers where all old enough to have learned to spot a bad situation when they saw one, and they all broadcast the same advice through the Dreaming.

Run! Regroup!

Selzona then more or less dragged the younger dryad after her as she made of at a dead sprint for the ramp leading up and out of the Quarry. As she did she channeled mana into her free hand, ready to unleash it to repel any of the statues that tried to stop her, though she doubted it would be very effective against the magic devouring golems. While they had all stayed near the entrance, near each other, Selzona and Marketh had waded some way into the ranks of the stone warriors and as a result had the furthest to go out of all their kin to reach the presumed rally point.

As Selzon and Marketh attempted to escape the surrounding circle of statues, the lively ones followed shortly behind them, forming a tight defensive line. Others were seen attempting to secure the perimeter the quarry, threatening any stragglers. Unfortunately for Selzona and Marketh, they were those stranglers and where rapidly penned in by the perimeter of stone warriors, with others hot on their heels.

The statues quickly surrounded the escaping pair, eyes fixated on Marketh. One stoney dryad reached forward with their arm, and extended their index finger as to point at Marketh. None paid much mind to Selzona, and even seem disinterested in her.

“I didn’t know.” Marketh tried to explain a Sleszona dragged him closer to herself in an attempt to shield him. She raised her other hand towards the statues, cold frost forming upon it as she channeled magic. As she did so she demanded that they “Stay back! If you understand me then come no closer. We can talk about this, we can come to an accord, or you can force me to act.” It was dawning on Selzona that she herself was the end product of a similar situation, that she now stood in the shoes of the woodsmen, and she could either attempt to understand her mistake or commit to it with ignorant fury.

The group surrounding them all extended one arm, their index fingers pointing at Marketh. Slowly one end of the circle opened, and the statue the bore the face of Saberath hobbled through, one hand on the still leaking wound, although the stream had turned to a trickle, three dimensional hexagons of stone revealed past the crumbling exterior, similar to that of a honeycomb. The statues took no step further as they pointed, and behind them the grinding sound of the perimeter being enclosed by the rest of the stone army halted, signaling a complete enclosure of the faceless.

When the soldiers did in fact stay where they were Selzona slowly lowered her frost covered hand to her side in acknowledgment of their cooperation. Though if they had actually listened and obeyed, or had simply continued with what they would have done already, was unclear to her. She suspected the latter. As the statue of Saberath approached them Marketh regained some of his composure, the swirling mess in his mind settling down as he became transfixed upon the possibility of redemption. He stepped away from Selzona and walked, slowly, towards the person he had so grievously wounded. With little other option Selzona prepared to follow him, only for a mighty sword to fall between her and Marketh, the owner being one of the stone statues. It slowly shook its head in an almost scolding fashion at Selzona, eager to only let Marketh approach Saberath. She had been relegated to mere spectator. Ahead of her Marketh halted his advance a meter from the wounded golem, his arms spread to either side to show his unarmed state. Unsure of what was expected he simply asked “how can I make this right? How can I fix this?”

Saberath leaned forward, and without movement of its mouth, a haunting voice echoed from the statue, partly Saberath's, partly a tone Marketh's ears could barely fathom as alive, "bring faces for the soldiers of stone."

“I, I don't understand. Who put faces on you before, why didn't the finish their masonry?” Marketh asked while he pushed what he had just heard into the dreaming. There Selzona’s mind reeled as she heard the memory of a half familiar voice. She had met him once before he died and back then they had talked of foreign magics and their study. She reached out with her mind to find his, but there was nothing. If the statue truly was Saberath then it was a marval of magic that had allowed him to escape death, yet he had lost the dreaming in the process and to many of her kind that was a fate worse than death.

"Bring sacrifices," Saberath explained.

“Oh.” there was a long silence as this sank in. A silence Selzona interrupted before Marketh could respond

“You should know that won't be necessary.” she shouted from her hemmed in place “Death draws closer every minute, the same death that consumed you Saberath. Or do you not remember the man whose face you wear, whose voice you speak with. Do any of you?”

Saberath kept its eyes on Marketh, "you have your task."

"Now-"

A figure erupted from the statue of Saberath. The eye barely caught it as it fluttered translucently, a simple ethereal form of glowing white. It almost looked like a young dead woman dressed in many robes, but the eyes could not fixate on any particular detail as it left the corporeal shell of the statue. It opened its mouth and the sentence was finished with a horrifying scream that excited the deepest reaching fears of all creatures that heard it, "LEAVE."

Yet Treekin had no brains to process it, no blood to pump adrenaline through, no real way of feeling fear. The memory of fire haunted them all, but that was knowledge chiseled into them all through the dreaming, not true, instinctive, terror. The banshee's cry rammed into their minds and then faltered as it ran into something truly alien and, with no chains to grasp and rattle, the power behind her cry failed. The only things in the quarry effected where the rats, who’s squeeks of fright could be heard as they scurried away, heedless of their master’s commands. Despite being unaffected Marketh felt the need to take several steps back from the specter for his own safty. Selzona merely grinned, an entirely deliberately decision, at the ghost. “Thank you for your answer. Let’s go Marketh, we have a task to complete.” She turned to leave and, after one last glance back at the face of Saberath, the warrior hurried after her.

They rejoin their comrades who had been waiting on the ramp without incident, the statues forming a perimeter behind them. Rather than returning to a static state it seemed that this was a genie that would not be going back in the bottle: the statues began actively securing their nest now that it had been kicked, patrolling the perimeter of the quarry. The Treekin expedition left as soon as the panicked rats had been re-collected, ascending the ramp more or less silently. Once they were out of sight the various researchers and scholars all erupted into mostly philosophical debate on what this meant about the existence of souls, to what extent the statues might absorb the person the seemingly stole life from and so on. Selzona however fixated upon what they could mean militarily (where they a threat like the hydra or a tool like the staff?) and could they, or the magic of the specter, be used by them in any way. Marketh meanwhile was concerned about the fact that his fellows had so easily thrown aside the possible plight of their kin trapped in stone simply because they weren't connected to the dreaming anymore. He managed, more or less without notice from his preoccupied kin, to roll a satchel bag of paper and writing materials, that they had been intending to use for documentation during an extend stay, safely down the quarry before they left. If they were inside and ever free from their ghostly master perhaps they could use it to communicate with one another. A poor substitute for the dreaming, and one that would run out at that, but it was something.

On the journey back he managed to get ahold of Selzona in between her discussions of the arcane. “We aren't giving them sacrifices? Right?” he had asked what he needed to do to be forgiven, but their deplorable request hadn't been worth their forgiveness

“No. the task we need to complete is the one we came here to do, to report back to our kin on the possible dangers here.” “and if they come looking for sacrifice” “the war should feed them well enough will we find a solution.” “we would be committing our kin to stone prisons” “better that than risk total annihilation by Matathran fire. Still, it is not our decision to make, it is the Forests.”

Marketh nodded in agreement,and spent most of the remaining march back to the south Fenreforst grove ruminating on what should be done.




The Forest initially decided to do nothing and the statues were added to the growing list of strange events taking place in the world. However, with the subsequent reports from the north embassy to Clan Barkor of the angel’s words of floating beings building armies of stone soldiers and the muddled rumors coalesce from refugees about warriors of stone, spirit and flesh fighting against the angels let them draw a link between the undead hydra being unleashed upon their lands and the statues having the same creator. A creator that most likely meant them harm. The rumors of the angels fighting them also destroying Utyre where considered too unreliable to be worked with in any capacity. Unwilling to make the same mistake that Shenra made with them however, they decided to endevor to understand these two forces rather than attempt immediate retaliation and discussion about how to acquire additional data was put just behind the war with Matathran in terms of priority for discussion. As debates swirled among the Trees the Agrarian faith was brought up, as their belief in a threat from the east arriving around this time was remarkably accurate if the rumors were true.

The Forest had never put much stock in any religion but had studied that practiced by their enemies regardless, but if they were to get a proper understanding, unfiltered through scripture and priest, they would need to go to the home of that faith. And so an expedition was organised, one that included Selzona and Marketh, that would cross the inhospitable wastes between them and the knights to the east. There they would endeavor to find out all there was to know from the prophetess faithful and, perhaps, get some remote scouting on the war in Utyre.

Suggestions that the war with Matathran be halted were dismissed. The Matathrans could not be allowed a port so close to the Ever Green Isles. The chaos for the east would hit them first regardless if it continued to spread west and ocne it did they would be in a much better negotiating situation.



Captain Piper

Level: 1
day/time: day 3 - evening
Location: Forest of Skyrim
Word count: 510
Interacting with: @Zarkun, @Holy Soldier, @Mattchstick, @Lugubrious


It was rather cathartic to send her foes running for once, rather than having to book a hasty retreat with her gang, hauling their stolen swag on their backs, in order to avoid being overrun by ever increasing waves of reinforcements. Not that it looked like she would be seeing much of the loot this time with their allies descending upon the fallen Forsworn’s like thirsty miners on a freshly discovered ice seam. Still, she got one thing out of the end of the encounter, and that was her carrion pistol back from the boss. He now sported a bizarre contraption that was probably a gun, though how it worked when the barrels had loop de loops in them she had no idea.

“Thanks even though I didn’t get a chance to use it.”

”Your welcome. They sure weren't expecting us huh Boss.” She said jovially as she clicked the crude safety of the handgun back on and carefully slipped it back in her hip pouch. After a brief detour to loot a mostly intact headdress off one of their defeated enemies, which quickly disappeared off to her crew’s hat collection, she joined the others to talk to Ulfric. From him they learned the odds they were up against and where invited to join him in his fortification, but before they could take him up on his offer a cacophonous sound rocked the landscape and Piper got her second encounter with magic, second both for to day and for her whole life. Having spent all her life in space Piper’s first though was that the sound meant that they had crashed into something, and braced herself for impact accordingly, only to remember that they were in fact on a planet, not ship or asteroid.

It took a few moments for everyone to figure out that they went about to die, after which she listened to the explanation of the country rocking PA System’s purpose and owners, as well as the follow up discussion about their interest in one of them.

”While I agree we should send someone, seeing as these Greybeards seem to have far reaching surveillance systems of some kind to have spotted us already, I think we should take into account that Ulfric thinks they have interest in one of us. If we send the wrong person then they just become a glorified messenger if they are picky about who they talk to or have some person specific boon to give. Now if I were to hazard a guess the person they are interested in is you, Azura”

She turned her focus from the group as a whole to the spear wielding songstress.

”Seeing as the rest of us mainly did some fancy shooting in that fight while you did something that I would call pretty special. I’ve certainly never seen anything like it. Plus, your singing and their shouting would seem to be in similar camp ability wise right? Imagine if you could use whatever sound system they just used to project your songs across this entire place, that alone could be a game changer for this mission.”
The Emerald Empire & Olira

3 days after the battle of Fort Cher


The vessels sent to the island nation of Olira had arrived the day prior in the capital city of Rilk. from there varios ambassadors were sent out to contact minor kings the empire had favorable trade dealings with to attempt to gain their support. During this time the Dreaming forest discussed and adjusted plans to take into account the fact that their ship’s return to the warfront would be face unexpected opposition. This debate, while mainly about whether a mass troop convoy that risked a battle was a good idea, or wether they should unload troops in safer ports and to then march them south.

Safety vs speed where the main initial sides of the argument, but some saw the armada plan as a golden opportunity to draw the deep dewlers into a trap, a decisive battle that would end, or at least temporarily halt, their raiding. This line of though eventually prevailed, because if there was anything worse than the pyromaniac Matathrans getting access to the ocean, and as an extension the Evergreen Isles, it was the Morj getting their hands on Matathans fire oil. If they could be crushed in a failed convoy interception, or cowed by the might of said convoy, then they could perhaps drive them out of the war before the Matathrans reached the coast and provided their allies with their alchemical terror weapon.

This was the plan discussed with the kings in their castles and the one that would be brought to the Black Band. Once the convy plan had gained steam a reasonable sized expedition was formed to bring the wealth of the empire to Svawad Castle. This expedition made its way out of the capital, traveling west through the storm devastated landscape as swiftly as the ents bearing the expedition could run.

As the envoy drew closer to Svawad, the expedition came upon a group of men, bearing shields, armor, weapons, and a long, black banner, blocking the road. They stared straight ahead, lacking any sort of intimidation or threat, while at the same time clearly not intent on moving. In front of them stood the only person who seemed to have expressiveness; a grogar bearing no shield or helmet, but still with a full suit of armor and a blade. When the caravan drew closer, he shouted, "HALT!"

Not wanting to trample the band the expedition gradually slowed to a halt, becoming stationary two meter from their lines. While the expedition did contain a dryad bearing a potted shoot of Yaval similar to the one that had been present at the meeting with the Lynn-Naraksh a day prior, it was not this individual who responded to the man in charge of the blockade, but instead it was a Dryad woman sitting on the shoulders of the front most ent. She wore the standard Ironbark mail that most Dryads wore, but was marked out from the others by her leafy autumnal hair, a golden choker wrapped around her neck and the highly detailed nature of her face. The Dryad, known as Arianna the golden, shouted back down from her three meter high perch at the grogar.

“For what purpose do you stop us?”

"You approach the castle of Svawad, home of the Black Band," he shouted back. Despite the immensity of some of these foreign creatures, the members of the black band seemed unfazed by their encroachment. "If you seek to attack us in our comrades' vulnerability, know that it is an excercize in futility."

“You have misjudge our intent. We do not aim to attack the black band, but rather to hire them.”

The Dryad points back at a large bestial ent that is shaped roughly like an ant. Its back was covered by a tarp, a tarp that is lifted briefly by one of its passengers to reveal several large, tightly locked, chests that were clearly implied to contain valuables of some kind.

“We mean you or your comrades no harm, nor did we know of this... vulnerability?”

For a while, the grogar simply stared back at the tree people with scrutiny, until he eventually said, "Hurricane. Wrecked the village, much of the Band is outside the castle walls helping with repairs." He then looked over the locked chests. "Alright, we shall escort you to the General." The grogar then turned and nodded to the men to march on, as the members of the Black Band surrounded the envoys on all sides.

The Treekin accepted this escort without comment, though within the dreaming there was a little conflict of emotions between those who felt threatened being surrounded by so many dreamless and those who were dead shure they were more than capable of taking on the escorts in a fight. Arianna mainly focused on the upcoming negotiations, ignoring the internal conflict as best she could.

When the caravan had pushed past the forest, they came upon the sight of Svawad village, with the castle hanging watchfully on a hill above it. While the wreckage of the storm was still eminant, many buildings were now standing, and the air of commerce now breathed throughout the townsfolk, while many members of the Black Band worked side by side with the villagers. Many of them stopped their work, the simple folk watching the Treekin with eyes wide and mouths open.

Most of the delegation where traders and travelers in their off season and such gazes where a constant presence wherever the winds took them. In major cities this had died down as the continent trotting Treekin became a more familiar presence to the populace, but out here far from any major port it was unsurprising that their presence drew attention. The Treekin bore the weight of the peoples gazes with an indifference that came from having been subjected to such looks many, many times over their long lives.

As they marched closer to the castle, a man riding atop a Karkadann approached the group, and, after being informed by the grogar of the purpose of their presence, rode quickly up to the castle. When the group had made their way up the hillside, the iron gates of Svawad Castle creaked as they opened. Inside were assembled dozens of Black Band warriors standing at attention, forming a pathway which led to Gultar the Stick, who was dressed in a black robe, and bore his titular staff. At his side was Sula, his lieutenant. The escorts saluted as they approached, and broke off.

Before they entered the gateway Arianna absalded down from the shoulder of her ent companion using a vine trailing from the branches at his back. After that the two larger ents of the delegation had stooped in order to get through the gateway, they and the other treekin walked forwards between the assembled rows of warriors. It was, in Arianna’s opinion, an impressive display of order and discipline to have set this up so quickly. In contrast her own party seemed rather disorganized, yet they possessed a strange fluidity that allowed them to get everyone where they needed to be quickly and efficiently without need for words. Arianna and the ent who had transported her gilded their way at the front after the brief delay caused by the dismounting process, the pair matching the Mercenary general and his lieutenant. The ant ent and the Yaval cutting carrying Dryad positioning themselves just behind them while the rest positioned themselves as best they could to watch the surrounding warriors, forming a haphazard counter line behind the two groups’ representatives that lead back towards the gates.

“Greetings Gultar the Stick, I am Arianna the Golden and this” she briefly indicated to the vast bulk of her ent comrade ”is my second in command Vargrar the Poet. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice”

The general grunted in response, and looked at the display in front of him. "Seems like we've all got a title." He paused for a while longer, looking carefully at the arboreal nature of Arianna's face, having to squint his aging eyes, and looking into her eyes as well. "What are they saying?"

“That is literally the case for our kind.” Arianna informed the general before cocking an eyebrow, unclear as to who he was referring to “ and who might they be?”

"The Dreaming," Gultar nodded. "What are they saying?"

Arianna blinked a few times in surprise at the question. It was not unheard of for the dreamless to take interest in the Dreaming forest’s shared mental connection, but that was most often an academic or militarily framed question. The nature and manner of Gultar’s question struck her as rather uncomfortably invasive, even as she could recognise the hypocrisy of thinking it so.

“Ah. hmmm. Summing up the thoughts and feelings of all of us present into meer words is… difficult. I suppose we are all now wondering why you ask?”

This was, of course, a gross simplification of the mess of debate an emotion swirling around behind her, but a summary was the best she could give. It was like being asked what a hall full of people engaged in lively discussion where talking about. Attempt to explain it all in detail and you would be left behind as the conversation raced on without you, all you could do was dip into the noise, sample it briefly and then come back out to summarise what you had heard in the moment.

He grunted again, before shouting out an order in Olirian. Suddenly, every single soldier of the Band dropped to the floor and began doing push ups in unison, the full weight of the armor attempting to pull them down in vein. He watched their form for safe measure, before looking back to Arianna.

"They could be faster." He gestured for her to follow as he moved into the Great Hall of the Castle, the guards opening the doors before them. The hall was usually host to the meals of the Band, but now, Gultar simply took a seat at one of the tables. As Sula entered behind him, she shouted for the soldiers to stop and relax.

Arianna and Yaval’s mouthpiece and a third Dryad carrying a saddle back full of papers followed after Gultar while Vargrar remained outside both to remain in charge of the rest of the delegation and as to not damage the ceilings of the meal hall. The Treekin where all a little frustrated with the generals questions and showboating, which Arianna supposed might be the point. The three dryads took up seats opposite the general, Arianna in the center, her kin on either side of her.

"I heard about the Dreaming Forest a while ago, before I founded the Band. I wondered if with so many others' thoughts in your mind, could the lines of your own personhood become blurred? But I realized that the pressures of society are already others' own thoughts, and to what extent you lose yourself is a choice." He sighed as he sat back, looked between the three dryads. "Would you like food? I am not entirely sure what your kind eats."

“That is an interesting way of thinking about it” while Arianna was not much of a philosopher the Trees most certainly where, and once the generals musings reached the evergreen isles via Yaval her progenitors slowly began to mull over this little insight into the world of the Dreamless. “As for food, we eat much the same as you do.”

"Ah." The general motioned to an attendant, who went off towards the kitchen, while Sula scrutinized the foreigners with her one eye, the other socket covered by an eyepatch. "So," Gultar began. "How goes the war?"

“Word of it travels quickly I see. Worse than hoped obviously, otherwise we would not be here seeking to employ you. Matatharan has breached our border guard and is preparing to make what is expected to make an incredibly slow march to the coast. A march we intend to make a living nightmare. They have also enlisted the help of the deep sea dwelling Morj, which is both a frustration and a here to ungraspable opportunity.”

Gultar nodded, contemplating what she just said. He inspected the stick in his hands, and then looked back up to Arianna. "I will not lead my men into a massacre."

“Nor do we intend to send you into one. We believe we have learned the breath of Matathran’s capabilities and any additional secrets should be uncovered before you arrive in our homeland. There will be no charges into unknown dangers. To throw your men into a meat grinder would be pointless, and expensive, waste. What we initially required from you is the training your men have so aptly demonstrated. For you to drill some of that discipline into our militia forces. We may have additional, more involved, work for you but that depends on what you see as the most useful application of your men.”

The General seemed to relax somewhat at the treekin's words. "There has never been an army I couldn't train. I'd be glad to inspect your men. But as for making use of mine..."

"We have a debt to repay," the lieutenant chimed in. "There is a deal with the village of Svawad, they care for us, we care for them. I don't know if you heard, but a storm recently struck Olira, and it is our duty to help rebuild the village. As long as they are not properly taken care of, the Band has no place overseas." Gultar nodded in agreement.

"This is true. The Band has never taken on a full expeditionary invasion before, anyways. There is no way we could provide our own transportation, what with...Morj being in the water now."

“The damage it causes is hard to miss” Arianna commented, in relation to the storm “Do you know how long said repairs will take? We may able to offer assistance to expedite the process of reconstruction if it will allow completion of your duty in a timely manner.”

“As for transport, our seafaring kin will be providing transport should you accept. They have the capability to repel the sea dwellers more effectively than a deadwood craft can.” before she began to lay out more details about the journey the saddlebag wearing Dryad retrieve a, large map of the Emerald empire and used it to help illustrate the route Arianna subsequently described.

“They will bring us to the southern Evergreen Isles, where we will join the full might of the Emerald navy. That armada will be transporting additional forces south to the war theater, skirting along the coast in. It on this leg of the journey we believe the Morj will engage us, rather than trying to find us on the open seas, or attacking the home islands directly. If the merfolk can be crushed in this engagement it will be a boon to all coastal nations. If however they prove too much of a threat then our traveling close to the shore will allow our craft can safely beach themselves and we will then make the rest of the journey on foot or beat the morj on solid ground with the assistance of local land forces. Considering the fact that they have never been so brazen as to enact a direct assault upon our forces before, we expect the former situation rather than the latter to occur, if they dare engage such a massing of our might at all.”

Gultar brought his staff to his chin and began contemplating the situation at hand. "For the village, simply paying for the assistance of local laborers should be sufficient. I do not expect any more than this, nor should I.' He turned his attention to the map. "We shouldn't march any too great a distance; I can't see Matathran being all too slow in their conquest." He thought for a moment longer before continuing, "No, destroying the Morj is a necessity. But they'd be unlike anything we had fought before. Do you have a strategy in place to fight them?"

“Repair costs can be added to your payment then, we have an initial payment with us that should cover that. Matathran’s reliance on small cart bound warmachines leaves them both slower than a traditional army and more vulnerable to road sabotage, so we have slightly more time than you might imagine. Time is always at a premium in war of course, so the navel rout is still preferable. A victory at sea will also make it easier for smaller convoys to follow up the main one for supply purposes. As for methods of combating them, we have several plans, but the one that you could be involved in the most directly involves these.”

The carrier dryad retrieved a simple leather belt from their satuca, one that featured 6 amber charms at equidistant points around its length as well as a single sapphire scale at its buckle. It was placed on the table while Arianna explained its function.

“These are air belts, an innovation we developed with the assistance of our Koirari citizens” amphibious denizens of Gweldgale island “it forms an air tight seal around the wearer, letting them both breath and protecting their equipment from the rust normally caused by seawater. They have some issues, such as a limited air supply for those who can't charge the enchantment and you still sink, but near the shore this shouldn’t be as much of an issue. Also we don't have that many of them, they were mainly a curiosity till this situation arose and as a result larger scale production has only just begun. So it will have to be a crack force bolstered by a Koirari militia force who take to the waters while our ships and mages support them. Training these that militia would be your first job and joining them in the battle is a possibility.”

"Interesting, could work," Gultar stated, thinking for a moment longer. "But training this militia would take time. Do we have the time to spare?" That questioned seemed somewhat rhetorical, as he didn't care to stop and listen, while he picked up the air belt and examined it closely. "To throw humanoid soldiers into the water to fight the morj seems foolish. I will not allow my men to partake in this action. What other strategies have you considered?"

“Without forces beneath the waters the morj will have free reign to attack from where they please, but we can appreciate you not wanting to personally take the plunge.”

The belt was retrieved and placed bag as Arianna continued.

“On the sub surface combatants end of things we have ents and ships that have adapted themselves to take the forms capable of operating beneath the waves, along with various beasts native to our shores we have bound to our will. Hydras will be brought from the north, sea drakes from the south and some of our number believe they might be able to weave a sirens call of sorts, drawing in native carnivorous like sharks, vileshrips, leech fish etc. into an impromptu flanking manoeuvre once the Morj engage.“

“For more mundane weapons we will be making use of harpoons, heavy arrows, vine bombs and weighted nets to bombard them as they approach and once they are among us. We have a height advantage, any who show themselves above the water's surface can be picked off with ease, while those below will have to contend with gravity assisted progeticles. Magically we have highly adept water and ice mages who will be providing arcane firepower. Water’s application is obvious, but ice has the potential to create a pincer maneuver of firepower, with ricing ice from below intersecting with mundane artillery from above.”

“Some of Olira’s lord’s, in appreciation of our mutual trade treaties, will be providing harpooners trained in combating the Morj to our cause. We have also had a tentative pledge of some indirect support from the Rayneid natives of the Bay of Lights. Presumably intel, as it was they who tipped us off to Morj presence in the first place.”

“We have also had discussion of polluting the water in some areas to reduce their visibility and to make breathing difficult. Some options are poisons or alge. But here I am getting into plans that are in the research phase”

At this point the dryad who had been sitting silently with the Yaval shoot spoke up “There are also other mechanisms for combating them in development, experiments to create new forms of life and warfare are ongoing. Which prototypes are successful remains to be seen. We have survived this long through rapid adaptation to new challenges. We observe. We adapt. We overcome.”

Gultar nodded, somewhat impressed by the Empire's preparedness in combatting the Morj. "I underestimated your capabilities. I do hope you understand that I am by no means an expert in naval combat, but my men will assist where we can. The men of Khasibuil who shall be acting as harpoonists...they would be far more attuned to your...air belts." He thought for a while longer.

"Have you spoken to the Freishannese?"

“Some of our kin and progenitors enjoy war game thought experiments, which comes in handy for times like these. The dreaming then lets us rapidly coordinate ramping up production of specific materials necessary to implement their ideas. We would go down ourselves en masse, but our favored armaments are not suitable for aquatic warfare, too much drag. Also there's the issue of buoyancy...”

“As for the Freishannese, Tenzin the Discerning is in talks with them as we speak.”

“But they are not going well” Yaval once again interjected “the high king is not interested in sending troops our way and has initiated time consuming debate over minutia in our defence pack that won’t be sorted out till it is far too late, even if they come up in our favor”

"Your head is under a crown that is far too heavy. I have many friends among the nobles of Freishann, allow me to reach out to them. The Band has conducted much business in that country to insufficient payment; payment which I do not expect to recieve. If I offer a forgiveness of debt owed to the Band," Sula's one eyebrow became knit in consternation, "then I can promise you a Freishannese army of no small fortitude."

His lieutenant spoke up. "General, this isn't a debt that can just go away..." The General seemed to ignore her, and looked back to Arianna.

"Could we see the portion of our payment currently at hand?"

Arianna smiled at that. While all Treekin where warriors grown, she was a merchant through and through, and at last they were down to business.

“That assistance would be appreciated. I am also sure you will not find us to be like your debtors.”

At that a small, two meter tall ent, entered the room escorted by 3 dryads. She was carrying the one of the hefty trunks born earlier by the ant shaped ent under one of her arms. The chests was deposited on the table in front of Arianna, the wood audibly creaking at the weight of it, who proceeded to first unlock it and then then turned its round to face the general for inspection. Inside where neat, tightly packed stacks of silver and gold coins from various nations. “I apologies for the international origin of our payment, we peddle our wares far and wide. This represent what a day of your time in our employ will be worth.”

“We have seven of these with us as a retainer and you will begin to accrue payment once we set sail. Said payment will be received upon arrival first to the emerald isles and again once we arrive at Crinwaley, after which you will be paid daily til the war is over. You also get rights to battlefield plunder if you participate directly, and specific payment for that can be negotiated after you know the details. We can guarantee you a month’s payment, which you will receive regardless of when the war ends, after which we will renegotiate any subsequent employment based on performance.”

“Once your service under our banner ends, whether it be at the end of the month or at the end of any subsequent period, you will be paid 30 more of these trunks and will then be provided transport back here as soon as we are able to do so.”

Sula's eyes widened at the prospect before her. "I guess...some debts could be forgiven..." she said. Gultar began to chuckle, as a few Black Band soldiers came forth with plates of food; roast duck, a keg of beer, dried dates, and various other food items.

"I will send a letter to the Countess Sliagie shortly. This payment seems...sufficient. I will need some time before the Band can mobilize. This is on very short notice, and we aren't currently readied for war. I'll need to put an order in to the weaponsmiths and armorers in Shasur, but they are quick, and relatively close by; we should be ready fairly quickly."

“Excellent. Then it’s a deal.” Arianna slid the ring of keys for the payment chests over the table and then sat back in her seat. “And a well timed one at that” she mused in regards to the arrival of the food. “I imagine we can leave things like discussing logistics and getting our deal down in writing till after we enjoy your hospitality. We have time to spare for you to prepare your soldiers and arms, our other support will be needing the same after all.”

The General grunted, and said, "Right. About your militias. Give me an hour or so, I'll make a training regimine, have your commanders learn it through the-uh, dreaming, put it to use. Best start the training now." He smirked, and asked once again, "What are they saying now?"

“We’ll see it done. As for what they are saying… what we are feeling… thankfulness that this journey was bore fruit.“

After a breif pause she added

“Also hunger.”

Question. are aliens allowed? yay or nay?



Interested, though I am not sure what I am going to do char wise yet.
My thoughts:

one thing that I think contributed to the slog is that Play by post doesn't really suit linear exploration. Having everyone do a post of "I go north" is a bit of a slog if north is the only way to go. on table top the decision to take everyone north takes like 5 seconds, where as here it takes a week of people posting basically the same thing.

I'd suggest focusing more on rooms if you use the dungeon rout. so like the raptor swamp and Russian camp are good examples of situations to be solved that everyone can get involved with somehow, either though discussion or action, where as the first areas of the bridge and forest where basically box ticking of "we search the one searchable area" or "we go forwards" which are both kinda busy work that only really the first few people can put a creative spin on.

it might be a good idea also have loot rolls be rewards for clearing encounters instead of environment interactions? or rather you could automate the searching of an area after it is made safe (with the danger passed you take some time to explore the area. X finds a rifle in a closet, Y finds some herbs growing outside, etc.) Which lets you pre-prepare the item rolls/descriptions while you are waiting on them to solve the area.

Co gms to help manage separate groups or assist in item rolling/description writing might also be helpful as if its only one person you can have them roll for others but not themselves and you can also have them run their rolls/posts past you for approval before it is permanently stamped on the IC tab.
@Crosswire
you put a hell of a lot of work into all this. it's impressive.

as for trying again, maybe we can brainstorm a way of adjusting the mechanics to reduce the slowdown?
The Emerald Empire

Crinwalry - 3 days after the battle of Fort Cher


The northern coastline of the bay of lights was tranquil that night, the sea lapped gently against the edge of the forests that grow along its shore. To the east the warm glow of the human city of Crinwaley could be seen, a sea of candlelight slowly dimming as its inhabitants said their goodnights. Deeper in the forest faint lights of cold gold could be seen, the magical lights of the Dreaming Forest, made by both deliberate light fixtures and as a byproduct of the magic being performed within. While the children who prepared for war, while their progenitors twisted nature to their own ends, their machinations dulled by the woods in which they worked. In the sky above the moon hung, blessing the land with its pale light, while to the south, beneath the waves, five pools of glowing lights of blood red surrounding a greater center that mirrored the celestial majesty above.

As the last lights dimmed in the city a disturbance arose at the water's edge and from the deep blue emerged figures, cloaked in darkness. They did not look like they belonged there, but their bodies, ment for life within the sea, propelled them forwards with unnatural grace nonetheless. A dozen or so of these creatures emerged from the water together and ascended a small hill just beyond the coastline. Some of the climbers used partisans or staves, to lightly assist them in the ascent. Other carried short swords who’s blades pointed forwards from their handles rather than up.

The small party reached the top of the hill that looked over the surrounding area and was topped with a large stone tree, a monument of remembrance to the Tree’s fallen kin who gave the region known as the Grave of the Pioneers its name. The sea creatures ignored the monument, turning instead their attention towards the Grove in the forests beyond. One figure moved ahead of the rest and placed their staff to the grass, grasping it with both hands before beginning to chant softly and unintelligibly, power flowing into the implement, which after a few moments flared to life, focused on a gemstone suspended at the top held by two claw like extensions. A beam of blue burst out of the gem, shooting into the forest beyond.

The light of the magical implement revealed the seafolk to be Rayneids, merfolk native to the bay of lights. Somewhat akin to mermaids or the morkt, they were humanoid in apperance up until the waist, at which point their bodies seamlessly transitioned to that of an eel or sea snake, a long serpentine tail that could propel them through the water or allow them to snake across the land. Those with armament wore sleek form fitting bronze armor on their upper halves, the heavy plate padded on the inside with kelp pods to provide buoyancy. These were sacred guards, sworn to defend the priestly moon kissed daughters, who were garbed in scale hugging robes made of shark skin leather dyed crimson. All present wore either visored helmets or masks made in the image of their Primordial mother who’s resting place their kind were sworn to protect.

The burning light was a signal rather than a weapon, part of a setup made to allow the two ancestors of the primordials a way of meeting without either having to risk the dangers of the other’s realm. The Bay of light’s depths and the hearts of the Dreaming Groves where both equally perilous to those who did not belong there, each guarded with a paranoid zeal. The light called to the Trees to send envoys out from their mist to come meet their neighbours. Soon after the signal was sent one appeared, a small collection of dryads accompanied by a singular ent emerged from the woods and ascended the hill to meet the Rayneids. One among the group was Selzona the cold, recently arrived from the north baring the mysterious staff that had been deposited on her doorstep. The one who stepped forwards however was a local Dryad man, dressed in ironbark armor and wearing a wolf skin across his shoulders, its head settled on a shoulder pad.

“Greetings. I am Harkfen the Pack-master. To what do we owe the pleasure of this meeting?”

One of the priestesses slithered forwards, a different one form the signal sender who herself was visibly tired and supporting herself on her staff. This priestess wore crimson leather robes decorated with silver stripes on the shoulder pads. Her mask was white and featured three red ovolide eyes forming an arc above her own which where shielded by red stained glass. Four ten centimeter long blade like teeth from some carnivorous seacreture were embedded at the edge of the mask in-between the eyes, forming either a crown or set of horns.

“I am Akara, daughter of the burning moon and representative of the Cetera-Matris.” The use of Cetera-Matris raised some eyebrows among the assembled treekin, it was a name they had only heard the Rayneids use to refer to themselves on two prior occasions, and the were unaware of its significance. “We have come to grace your presence with our piety because of your message. We found it odd that you would bother us with the trivialities of the pointless powerstrugles of mortal races”

Akara had been instructed to remain quiet about their knowledge on the continental conflict, at least initially, by daughter Alexix, so as to not fowl their second source of information with the influence of the first. Alexix herself was too busy with talks with other allies to come personally and also did not want to make the Morj suspicious of her absence should they pay another visit.

There was silence as Harken debated with the Trees and Dryads in the area how much military information to divulge to their neighbours. They were without Yaval, the great tree far too preoccupied with the business of war to interject at that time, more than happy to leave the local affair to local management. After a consensus was hurriedly met before the pause became an insult Harkfen responded.

“As mentioned there will be an increase in shipping over the following weeks. While we have agreed to let your infrequent attacks on human vessels slide we insist that this activity cease for the time being so that it does not target flesh and blood allies of ours as they come to our aid.”

The Rayneids reaction to this demand was hidden by her mask. After a few moments of consideration she replied “These vessels would be military vessels correct? The agreement was that we do not strike those. This state of affairs still stands, your allies are free to pass above our domain as you are. Was that all you needed to talk to us about?”

“Not quite. We believe the nature of the invasion may be of some concern to you. Andromach, slayer of Lucrore, the primordial of rebirth, marches against us with her Matathran army in an attempt to seize the port town of dreich port” theis managed to get a reaction from the Rayneids, some visibly recoiling.

“Slayer of... Preposterous, no mortal can harm a god”

“So the story goes. What we do know for a fact is that she is incredibly dangerous in combat and that her people despise the primordials with a passion.” the dryad maintained a calm disposition even as the Rayneid retorted with righteous fury.

“You can not taunt us into abandoning our sacred duty with such blasphemous stoires! How dare you...”

Realising he had pushed her too far, Harkfen quickly interjected to placate the furious Raynid.

“We don’t mean to involve you, it is simply a warning to stay clear of the port until matters are settled. We aren't entirely sure what their plans for the port are or how fast they will enact them, nor can we hope to assemble a force guaranteed to block them from reaching the coast in the first place. Rest assured that when they take the town they will not be allowed to hold it for long, nor shall any ships constructed be allowed to leave port. All that we need from you is patience while we deal with this matter, that you do not put yourselves at risk by accidentaly arousing Andromach’s wrath.”

There was a tense silence during which the only sound was the distant lapping of the waves against the shore, and the slow calming of the Sisters breathing. Finally she spoke, calmly.

“You concern is noted. But know that we do not require your, or anyones, protection. We are perfectly capable of handling our own affairs”

“It is, of course, but a suggestion and a warning. We would not presume to dictate to a presence and order as ancient as your own. But I hope that you consider our council on the threat that Matathran poses, a threat we would not wish you to risk the security of the Burning Moon in involving yourselves in. we can handle it. Alone.”

“And yet you have allies incoming across the sea”

“Ah. yes. Those we have paid for and others who wish to restrict the spread of Matathran’s influence. They will ensure our victory is not a pyrrhic one.”

“Hmm. I see.”

The dryad waited a few moments to see if there was anything else the masked sister would add, but with little forthcoming he decided to wrap things up.

“So. In appreciation for your time and cooperation, we would like to give you a gift” as was tradition. Harkfen motioned too two dryads among the group, who bought forwards a chest containing a number of weapons, tools and armor pieces all made out of bronze to the specifications of the Rayneid bodies and needs. These had been prepare well in advance for if such a meeting would occur and the chest had been gathering dust in the local grove for some time now. The sister indicated for two of her guards to retrieve the chest, but instead of ordering or personally retrieving a gift in return, as was expected, she instead entered a brief, hushed, discussion with the other priestess and two select guards before turning back to the dryad.

“We appreciate your generosity of your forges. Rather than trinkets that you cannot use or arms that we cannot afford to give, I give instead knowledge you desperately require. You face not only Matathrna and shenra but also the Morj of the northern deapths.”

Harkfen was unfamiliar with their name, but Selzona was not, having dealt with their raids on the northern provinces before. The ice witch quickly pushed her way past her kin to join the diplomats.

“What are those tentacled slaver doing here? How do you know?”

“Earlier today we received an unexpected guest, the queen of the Morj...”

The priestess then recounted to them the Morj plan, or as much as they knew of it at least, and the nature of the deal they had had little choice but to accept. Not that the queen had been anything but polite and accommodating, but the threat that she represented, real or imagined, had been there hanging over the negotiations the entire time.

“We were already rather unhappy with the situation, but if what you say about Matatrhan is true…” she finished ”We are either made oathbreakers or accomplices to heresy. Not a decision we are prepared to make without lengthy consideration of the consequences.”

“Even if the murder is a fabrication, we assure you their hatred is real. We appreciate you telling us this and your resisting their attempts to cajole you into joining their war effort directly. Know that our pact is still in-place, there will still be peace between us.” Harkfen spoke truly for the Emerald Empire when he said that, for Yaval was now watching, listening, guiding. Plans were already being made incase the Rayneids spoke the truth. While there was little reason to believe they were lying the possibility did not escape them, they would need to make investigations to verify the claim.

“We can't do anything overt to assist you, even this meeting risks, but if what you say about the Matathrans is true, something we will verify through another source, then there may be ways we can assist you indirectly without drawing the wrath of the Morj. I cannot speak of them now however as I must return to Alpha to commune with my sisters and The Burning Moon on any further course of action. May your kind live to see the end of days Harkfen, for when the moon burn with crimson flame and the sun freeze over our mother will rise and rapture shall be upon us all. Your cooperation and respect for our vigil will be remembered upon that day.”

“Your dedication is an inspiration to us all, Daughters of the Burning Moon.”

“If the invaders allow it, and your words hold true, we may meet again. Farewell Harkfen.”

“Farewell Akara”

With that the delegation turned as one and slither back down the hill, disappearing into first the night and then the dark watters, baring the chest of bronze with them. The Dreaming Forest watched them go. Once they were out of sight Harkfen turned to Selzona.

“How bad is this”

“I don’t know. The extent of their interactions with us has been primarily raiding, either by bands of their own kind against ships or by bands of enslaved humanoid warriors, bound by collars similar to the ones we use exclusively on animals, against land targets. What the true extent of their might is, that I do not know, and neither it seems do the Rayneids. Any idea what this other source of information they have is?”

“No. we had no idea they even talked to anyone else. We are the only ones that realy use the bay”

“And the Morj are the only oceanic power in the region.”

“I wonder who they are talking about then? A question for after the war I suppose. For now, there is work to do. Work that staff you found certainly is helping in immensely.”

“I suppose. But who sent it is another question for after the war. There seems to be many such questions arising as of late.”

But they were, as stated, questions for later. For now, the delegation returned to the faintly glowing forest, back to the experiments.
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