Oraculum

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

@Narcotic Dollie We can't let life be larger than fiction. The next order of business is to make someone drink from the skull of their father.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

He's not a real man if it's not part of his body.

Hopla.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

The Soothsayer

Giselart the Soothsayer

Also known, to his enemies, as Giselart the Mad.

Appearance: In many things, Giselart takes the traits of the archetypal Lampert to their extreme conclusion. His hair and beard are long, dark and flowing, not to say wild; his frame is robustly built and vigorous, though somewhat short among his compatriots and slightly stooped with incipient age; his gaze burns with a wrathful light that strikes terror into the hearts of those that meet it. Although he dresses humbly, donning only the sombre raiment of a sage, from a distance his form can appear richly bejewelled due to an eccentric choice of adornment: upon his person Giselart wears numerous holy amulets and symbols of faith from the Amalian lands, all of them defaced and broken by his own hands. The most imposing of these trinkets is a large nondescript, weathered husk hanging from his neck, which he claims is the head of a Divine Locust, worn as a symbol of God's malice.

Kingdom Allegiance: Lampertei.

Tribe: Lampert, born and bred.

Background: Of where and when Giselart's life began no one can say much for certain, save that his origins were lowly and obscure, likely among peasants in the conquered countryside far south of Skadania. In his youth he was apprenticed to a volcaduc, one of those wise men who, among the godless Lamperts, fulfil that role of masters of lore and tradition that the clergy take on in more pious lands. From that teacher, he learned the legends and histories of his people, as well as smidgens of some practical sciences, such as how to speak with rhetorical cunning, read the stars and know the herbs that can cure fever or kill the body and the mind. Giselart proved an eager and curious student, and when, several years later, he was ordained a volcaduc himself, he began to travel Lampertei, seeking out other sages for their knowledge.

His intent was to collect all the tales of the Lampert tribe into one great chronicle; however, on his journey he had many adventures which marked the path of his life from then onward. He climbed mountains, traversed swamps and braved rivers; several times he fell severely ill, but always recovered. In the south, he joined various raids and campaigns against Udos, fought bravely and desecrated some shrines and temples, in which he took a fiendish joy. It was in those years that people first began to notice his immense hatred against God. Whether it came from the many stories of His evil and iniquity that he assembled, the perils he faced, a deep conviction of his own or something else entirely is unknown, but those who spoke with him of the questions of faith were often impressed with the virulence of his words and the abundance of his arguments, which were great even for a volcaduc.

Thus passed several more years of Giselart's life. The next great change came in the later years of King Cunincprand's reign, after a particularly unlucky expedition to the south. Angered by the failure, the wandering loremaster withdrew to a small, isolated town and began to preach to its people. He drew upon the wealth of knowledge he had accumulated, evoking great heroic deeds of ages past, and above all inflamed his listeners with fury against God and his vile minions on Visandza. His thunderous words fell on impressionable ears, and, when he rode out of the town, he was not alone, but followed by a cohort of coarse yet zealous men, enthralled by his speeches. He led his acolytes towards the lands of Udos, and on the way others joined them. Many were simple folk swept up by Giselart's blasphemous predication, but there were also among them experienced warriors from the remains of forces broken in past invasion. In the end, it was a sizeable, though shabby warband that crossed the border, and, while it was more owing more to blind luck than their skill, not only was it not entirely decimated, but even managed to bring back some plunder.

Upon their return, the surviving improvised raiders were overjoyed, and acclaimed their leader as gifted with a power that could breach the defences of God and men alike. Giselart, for his own part, grew convinced that it was his duty to bring war against God to all Visandza, and that for this end he had to go speak to the king himself. The band thus headed north, towards the capital, gathering more proselytes yet on its way. By that time, the supposed Locust head was already in Giselart's possession, and around that relic was built, almost casually, the warrior sect's identity. The assembly of rabble became the Farigai, the ones who brought the end and the extinction of God and his kin, and the divine instrument of destruction was perverted into the symbol of a scourge of His faithful. Members of the band carved stylised wooden effigies of the head and wore them on their persons or hung them to their saddles to signify their allegiance.

At length, the now greatly swollen force reached Skadania, and Giselart appeared before the king, his dire omens filling the halls of the capital. Although the fulminating loremaster and his followers were rather coldly received by the altogether moderate Cunincprand, who deemed them too undisciplined and rambuctious for his liking, they found greater favour with one of his younger sons, Dalgiserius. The prince's rougher character was more congenial to the band's rowdy, violent nature, and he took it among the forces under his command, with Giselart becoming his lieutenant and advisor. When, struck with suspicion at the deaths in his family, Dalgiserius began to investigate the source of the evil afflicting his bloodline, the Farigai were all too glad to become his hands and eyes, terrorizing the populace in their efforts to leave no stone unturned.

The sacking of the Mountain Temple was an occasion of great celebration among the warband, which had long set their eyes on that glaring target in the very midst of Lampert lands, but had theretofore been held back from assailing it by royal protection. Giselart himself, by that time a Gastald of the new king, led his men through the rampage with club in hand. Those who were with him then say that his hoard of plundered symbols of devotion grew twice as heavy on that day alone. Yet he was also never far from Dalgiserius' ear. When no proof of the Vestals' involvement in the deaths was found, he proclaimed that this was all the more reason to be certain that God's own invisible hand was in this, and He had to be fought with all their forces.

Since then, that indomitable old man, volcaduc and warrior, prophet and Gastald, has not been idle. He was ever close with his unholy oaths as the king descended into his madness, and those who sought to limit his influence were suddenly struck with mysterious ailments. This gave rise to rumours that the man had some sinister power with which he could bewitch and curse whom he pleased. Yet it is much too late to openly act against him. The only rival Giselart fears at all is the king's own get, Dalgiserata. For all he hates her mother for being a foreign witch and herself for weakening the king's resolve, he does not dare work against her, either with curse or poison or through the daggers and strangling-cords of his devotees.

Nevertheless, the Soothsayer thinks little of even the princess, for he is certain his power is immeasurably greater than hers. At his command, the Farigai ride out across the land, sowing fear in their quest to root out "disloyalty to the king" - that is, sentiments towards God other than venomous hate. To this day, their vexations rage on unhindered in the shadow of their protector, who, in his prophetic guise, makes no secret of abetting Dalgiserius' obsession and working to plunge Lampertei and all the world into apocalyptic carnage.

The Soothsayer's Right Hand

Ratechi the Iron-Hand

In both form and bearing, Ratechi lives up to his nickname, of "his shadow", be it said derisively or enviously. Tall, burly and clad in long, dark cloaks over his suit of lamellar mail, when he follows closely in Giselart's steps he does indeed appear as an enormous formless shadow cast by the older man from a light at his feet. And it is little wonder that he should often find himself in such a position, for he is the sage's bodyguard, executioner and most trusted agent. Once a farmer and village craftsman, Ratechi joined the Farigai when they were on their way to their first, historical raid and stuck with it since, working his way into the leader's favour through a combination of serpentine cunning, grim obedience and a stomach strong enough to know no qualms before the direst of deeds. His years of service have brought him more than one kind of experience; not only has he learned to wield a variety of weapons as well as a hardened warrior, but, impressed by his aptitude and strong memory, Giselart has taken him as his student, teaching him portions of his traditional wisdom.

Though mimicking his master's appearance to an extent, sporting an unbound beard and dark head of hair, Ratechi keeps his noticeably shorter, so that they might not inconvenience him in combat. Rather, the most unusual part of his appearance is one kept concealed in the folds of his cloak most of the time. During a skirmish, his left forearm was shattered by a mace blow. While the bone was hopelessly broken, leaving little choice but to sever that part of the limb outright, Giselart was able to salvage some of the situation. By wielding the secret healing arts of the volcaducs alongside his wild inspirations, and, as rumour will have it, his sorcery, the sage welded a long knife-blade to the stump, in such a way that Ratechi may freely use it to strike. The Farigai thus remains bound to his master out of gratitude for his salvation from cripplehood as well as reverence, respect and reliance on his protection; there are, however, some who say that the old Gastald ensures his favourite's loyalty with a magical decoct that dulls the pain from that strangely sealed wound, which would otherwise become unbearable.

The Captain of the Farigai

Dauraulf Locust-Head

Unlike most of his compeers, distinguished by, if anything, their low and humble birth, Dauraulf can vaunt rather more illustrious origins, being the firstborn of one of old King Cunincpert's Gastalds and a sergeant in Dalgiserius' erstwhile warband, though never very close to the prince. While he could very well have hoped to one day equal his father in rank, being a skilful commander and deft with a hellbeard, he chose instead to join the Farigai under Giselart's lead, forgoing any chance of being elevated outside their ranks. His reasoning, seasoned by Dalgiserius ascending to the throne, was such: given the new king's temper, which only seemed to worsen over time, those that stood around them on their own were much more likely to have their heads roll if it came to that. Meanwhile, if anything happened to the Farigai, Giselart would take the brunt of it, and himself? Well, he'd always find a way out.

Being one of the few Locust-bearers to have any proper experience in leadership, Dauraulf was often singled out to lead raiding parties and train his more rustic fellows in the use of arms, quickly rising through what ranks the Farigai have. At length, he found himself on almost equal standing with Ratechi himself in Giselart's esteem, and was given leave to dispose and direct the practical aspects of the group's organisation, tactics and logistics. Though aware that this once again made him a visible figure, Dauraulf still found his position safe enough for comfort, and enjoyed the power it gave him. He thus did his best to live up to it. Having always been of an imaginative and humourous bend, he took the Locust imagery further than anyone, covering his cuirass with leater stripes to make it seem like the shell of an insect and adorning his helm with a contraption of wood and hide that gave his head a carapace, fangs and horns like those of his Gastald's symbolic talisman. True to the fearsome image he projects, he is famed for his ferocity and irreverence towards anything divine, and a penchant for cruel mockery against his enemies.

The Maimed God - (Dark Age Casual-Advanced Character RP)

@Grijs

One warrior-monk and locust prophet coming up. I'll add some cohorts soon.

I took some liberty with giving a provisional name to the Lampert pseudo-clerical sages - it's as much a play on the Russian volkhvs as a debased Latino-German combination of "Volk" and "dux".

The Soothsayer

Name: Giselart. Also known as Giselart the Soothsayer, or, to his enemies, Giselart the Mad.

Appearance: In many things, Giselart takes the traits of the archetypal Lampert to their extreme conclusion. His hair and beard are long, dark and flowing, not to say wild; his frame is robustly built and vigorous, though somewhat short among his compatriots and slightly stooped with incipient age; his gaze burns with a wrathful light that strikes terror into the hearts of those that meet it. Although he dresses humbly, donning only the sombre raiment of a sage, from a distance his form can appear richly bejewelled due to an eccentric choice of adornment: upon his person Giselart wears numerous holy amulets and symbols of faith from the Amalian lands, all of them defaced and broken by his own hands. The most imposing of these trinkets is a large nondescript, weathered husk hanging from his neck, which he claims is the head of a Divine Locust, worn as a symbol of God's malice.

Kingdom Allegiance: Lampertei.

Tribe: Lampert, born and bred.

Background: Of where and when Giselart's life began no one can say much for certain, save that his origins were lowly and obscure, likely among peasants in the conquered countryside far south of Skadania. In his youth he was apprenticed to a volcaduc, one of those wise men who, among the godless Lamperts, fulfil that role of masters of lore and tradition that the clergy take on in more pious lands. From that teacher, he learned the legends and histories of his people, as well as smidgens of some practical sciences, such as how to speak with rhetorical cunning, read the stars and know the herbs that can cure fever or kill the body and the mind. Giselart proved an eager and curious student, and when, several years later, he was ordained a volcaduc himself, he began to travel Lampertei, seeking out other sages for their knowledge.

His intent was to collect all the tales of the Lampert tribe into one great chronicle; however, on his journey he had many adventures which marked the path of his life from then onward. He climbed mountains, traversed swamps and braved rivers; several times he fell severely ill, but always recovered. In the south, he joined various raids and campaigns against Udos, fought bravely and desecrated some shrines and temples, in which he took a fiendish joy. It was in those years that people first began to notice his immense hatred against God. Whether it came from the many stories of His evil and iniquity that he assembled, the perils he faced, a deep conviction of his own or something else entirely is unknown, but those who spoke with him of the questions of faith were often impressed with the virulence of his words and the abundance of his arguments, which were great even for a volcaduc.

Thus passed several more years of Giselart's life. The next great change came in the later years of King Cunincprand's reign, after a particularly unlucky expedition to the south. Angered by the failure, the wandering loremaster withdrew to a small, isolated town and began to preach to its people. He drew upon the wealth of knowledge he had accumulated, evoking great heroic deeds of ages past, and above all inflamed his listeners with fury against God and his vile minions on Visandza. His thunderous words fell on impressionable ears, and, when he rode out of the town, he was not alone, but followed by a cohort of coarse yet zealous men, enthralled by his speeches. He led his acolytes towards the lands of Udos, and on the way others joined them. Many were simple folk swept up by Giselart's blasphemous predication, but there were also among them experienced warriors from the remains of forces broken in past invasion. In the end, it was a sizeable, though shabby warband that crossed the border, and, while it was more owing more to blind luck than their skill, not only was it not entirely decimated, but even managed to bring back some plunder.

Upon their return, the surviving improvised raiders were overjoyed, and acclaimed their leader as gifted with a power that could breach the defences of God and men alike. Giselart, for his own part, grew convinced that it was his duty to bring war against God to all Visandza, and that for this end he had to go speak to the king himself. The band thus headed north, towards the capital, gathering more proselytes yet on its way. By that time, the supposed Locust head was already in Giselart's possession, and around that relic was built, almost casually, the warrior sect's identity. The assembly of rabble became the Farigai, the ones who brought the end and the extinction of God and his kin, and the divine instrument of destruction was perverted into the symbol of a scourge of His faithful. Members of the band carved stylised wooden effigies of the head and wore them on their persons or hung them to their saddles to signify their allegiance.

At length, the now greatly swollen force reached Skadania, and Giselart appeared before the king, his dire omens filling the halls of the capital. Although the fulminating loremaster and his followers were rather coldly received by the altogether moderate Cunincprand, who deemed them too undisciplined and rambuctious for his liking, they found greater favour with one of his younger sons, Dalgiserius. The prince's rougher character was more congenial to the band's rowdy, violent nature, and he took it among the forces under his command, with Giselart becoming his lieutenant and advisor. When, struck with suspicion at the deaths in his family, Dalgiserius began to investigate the source of the evil afflicting his bloodline, the Farigai were all too glad to become his hands and eyes, terrorizing the populace in their efforts to leave no stone
unturned.

The sacking of the Mountain Temple was an occasion of great celebration among the warband, which had long set their eyes on that glaring target in the very midst of Lampert lands, but had theretofore been held back from assailing it by royal protection. Giselart himself, by that time a Gastald of the new king, led his men through the rampage with club in hand. Those who were with him then say that his hoard of plundered symbols of devotion grew twice as heavy on that day alone. Yet he was also never far from Dalgiserius' ear. When no proof of the Vestals' involvement in the deaths was found, he proclaimed that this was all the more reason to be certain that God's own invisible hand was in this, and He had to be fought with all their forces.

Since then, that indomitable old man, volcaduc and warrior, prophet and Gastald, has not been idle. He was ever close with his unholy oaths as the king descended into his madness, and those who sought to limit his influence were suddenly struck with mysterious ailments. This gave rise to rumours that the man had some sinister power with which he could bewitch and curse whom he pleased. Yet it is much too late to openly act against him. The only rival Giselart fears at all is the king's own get, Dalgiserata. For all he hates her mother for being a foreign witch and herself for weakening the king's resolve, he does not dare work against her, either with curse or poison or through the daggers and strangling-cords of his devotees.

Nevertheless, the Soothsayer thinks little of even the princess, for he is certain his power is immeasurably greater than hers. At his command, the Farigai ride out across the land, terrorising the populace in their quest to root out "disloyalty to the king" - that is, sentiments towards God other than venomous hate. To this day, their vexations rage on unhindered in the shadow of their protector, who, in his prophetic guise, makes no secret of abetting Dalgiserius' obsession and working to plunge Lampertei and all the world into apocalyptic carnage.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

It might just be due to my masterful handling of touchscreens, but I somehow randomly shuffle around cell contents whenever I try doing anything in Excel. Anyway, I'll see to keeping Osveril's stats updated more regularly in the future. It's bad form for a Lawful character to not have his papers in order.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Ay, there goes my not being a silly goose. In my defense, I could only get online on mobile lately, and, with how reliable editing from there is, I was afraid I'd make a mess of the spreadsheet.

Ruins of God -- Dark Age Character RP (Barbarian setting)

An Inquisition would be a tad anachronistic, given the setting's inspiration. Besides, those nosy friars are only good at their theological casuistry. The only real defences (or unmakings) of faith are blood and steel!

Ruins of God -- Dark Age Character RP (Barbarian setting)

Si quis foris provincia fugire timtaverit, morti incurrat periculum, et res eius infiscentur.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Lest I end up being missed at the next roll call, here goes the usual three-week disappearance warning. Whichever way the choice may go (to me, this thread looks like it's still got much to give, for all my humble uninformed opinion might be worth), I'll always come back to a Divinus, in any size, shape and colour.

Dark Matters (Open)

Skyport Ussviset
Esevrenn City-Hive
Ske'sta'Rvastre

Although she had never seen any herself, Issrin knew that the skyports of major inner galactic planets were, for the most part, grandiose things, vast enough to allow hundreds of thousands of passengers to go in or out and inevitably wait some hours for their vessel to land. She had heard of the bustle, the noise and smells, the decorations, and could imagine them well enough if she thought of a capital bio-plant. Thus, despite lacking any experience by way of comparison, she knew she much preferred skyports as they were in the Nests, even disregarding the matter of human-sized passageways. Ussviset expressed her sentiment perfectly: despite being arguably one of the most important landing sites on no less than Ske'sta'Rvastre, the seat of the Assembly and every corporation whose name was a nest-hold word, it had a subdued, somewhat quaint - provincial, a human would have called it - air about itself. The entryway building was unassuming, much shorter than the average housing spire, and its chambers were a soft, pleasant hue of greenish-brown. It was past high noon, and the halls were almost empty, with only the occasional group of Zsresriir or single Scorpine idly crawling by. The scent was earthy, almost pristine.

Beyond the access structure, several paths branched off towards different parts of the site. Issrin followed the main connection to the landing pad area past the temporary storage silos, then split away from the thin stream of passers-by headed to the public departure terminals and took a turn into a narrower pathway winding deeper into the skyport. Despite her status, she had never travelled through an official-only access hive - her work, much less her life had never taken her offworld before, and even this last time the Assembly had barely bothered to reimburse her standard shipping tax. Now, she would see the restricted zone of not just any port, but of one on Ske'sta'Rvastre, and she could not help but feel curious. How did the core's elites treat themselves on their business journeys, she wondered?

It turned out that the core's elites either wanted to make a show of their frugality or outright lacked the budget to have something entirely presentable. The path that led to the hive did not feel worn and its lack of visible security was not to be trusted, but it certainly cut and wound through some odd places. The vegetation around it was overgrown, and once it passed not too far away from a sparsely fenced scrapyard, with what Issrin was certain were a pair of ferals digging through it. The access building was little better, being unassuming on the outside, though slightly more spacious than the entry halls within. The only marked improvement was in the smell, which was even fresher here, likely due to there being even less people about.

In fact, she only noticed one group standing in the further half of the central chamber. They were an odd assemblage – the four armed Zsresriir wearing light combat membranes were its least remarkable members. More remarkable was the large shape crouching in their midst. It was the first time Issrin saw a live Rekshai, and the impression was not a pleasant one. She could smell it from across the room, a faint, pungent blend of alien flesh, metal and chemical-ridden blood; undoubtedly, it could perceive her much better. Its bulk shifted somewhat, and she caught the gleam of a narrow, inexpressive eye. By a reflex she did not suppress, she snapped her mandibles and raised her carapace in a threatening stance. The Rekshai turned away with an air of disinterest. If they were taking it here without restraints, it must have been a mostly cooperative specimen, albeit the Zsresriir around it were conspicuously holding their pulse rifles at the ready.

The sixth figure in the group was squat, bulky and donning an oblong breather mask. As it gestured, engaged in conversation with one of the Zsresriir, the chitinous blades of the rear of its arms briefly flashed into view. One of those Lonoxi people. It was a wonder how so many of them managed to find their way here, though it seemed that most of them were clones. A suspicion stirred in Issrin’s mind. This motley could very well have been one of the things that held that way open. As far as she knew, the Repopulators organised this whole operation, and they could give their people passage via the restricted port zones, as well as being more selective about what went into their vats than who they hired to do their work.

With a distant sound of plodding footsteps, an armoured Ulthari appeared from one of the shadowed recesses in the back wall and beckoned to the creatures with a gesture. The group raised itself from its folded legs and shuffled, or in the Rekshai's case loped, into the awning corridor entrance. The chamber was left empty, save for Issrin, who idly followed the departing crew with her eyes until it disappeared into the unlit passage. The Lonoxi had still been gesturing all the way-

Schreetch.

She turned, rather swiftly for her bulk, in the direction the sound had come from. It had been the customary call for attention of the Rvasstran Zsresriir, but with some clear, almost crass metallic undertones and obviously artificial modulation. Indeed, it was a human shape in nondescript grey and black, likely some low-ranked uniform, that was walking towards her from one of the side ends, one hand raised in a reasonably good imitation of a greeting gesture. She responded in kind.

"You have been directed here by the Transstellar diplomatic service, yes?"

At least he - as it seemed from the artificial voice, which was set to a male timbre - was more polite than that Qiormu¹. Not that it was saying much, but it was a start. She motioned her assent. "Censor-Inspector Tesri Nth'issrin. Issrin." Her mandibles rapped against one another. "I wasn't told why I should be here."

"You weren't?" The human cocked his head aside in perplexity. "It's up to me, then. Ovrith Terech, Free Speaker-"

He was about to continue, but Issrin interrupted him as he was audibly inhaling. "Terech, like that Prophet from Volthanek?"

The Speaker nodded. "Like him. Better said, a clone offshoot of his. See-" he gestured as if to pull the subject back where he had left it, "- Issrin, call me Ovrith, please, we're about to leave the Vacuus. You do know the Assembly is sending regular officer support to the Neo-Scorpine." He recoiled slightly as the large Zsresriir stepped up to loom over him, impatient annoyance glistening in her eyes despite them being perfectly inexpressive. "We are attached to the expedition core as links to the Coalition. To ease relations, well, talks..." His mask's translator fell silent as his true voice died somewhere in his throat. Issrin had raised her forelimbs dangerously close to his head and chest, and by how their talons were twitching it seemed she was likely to vent her pent-up anger on the sorry sack of intestine and endoskeleton before her.

"I must leave Nest space?!" she almost screeched in a way that would have sent the dullest, hungriest of ferals scurrying off. "NOW?!" The sound was loud enough to draw the attention of whatever was lurking in one of the side corridors. A hideous, yet oddly sleek and, in its way, striking head of skin and chitin curiously edged its way out of the shadows. An asymmetrical arrangement of many-coloured eyes glanced at the scene as multiple parallel tooth-lined lateral jaws dripped and clicked below them. Issrin motioned that nothing was the matter, and the head disappeared.

"The worst idea they could have..." She began to his something in her native dialect, then checked herself and paced to the further wall and back, slightly spinning her arms at their joints as she went. Terech smoothed his uniform with practiced, yet nervous gestures. "Does that mean you decline?" he ventured at last.

"No." came a more even droning answer. "It's another way of pushing Cultors around, in the end. There better be a relay terminal somewhere here."

"Not far at all, just before the exit." The human seemed relieved, for all that could be discerned under his mask. "Your nest?"

"Not mine." Issrin made the sign of descendance. "I'm a drone, you could say." She was not certain whether that expression² was so well known here. Casting her eyes around, she swayed towards the opening where the strange head had emerged from. "There are many hybrids here?"

Terech shook his head. "That's a human, if you'll believe it, one of these unborn augmented. It should be a Speaker to Perseus. They ought' take better to one of theirs, by the plan."

"About that," Issrin snapped, "why does the Assembly need me with the Scorpines?"

"Not as anything too complex. The expedition scheme had it we'd have someone for ethnic representation..." His voice trailed off again as the Zsresriir unfolded her shell in a worse than foreboding manner. "I think we should go find that terminal," he managed to find the thread again, "it's almost time. Sky Commandant Uchinex, our core, I mentioned, might already be waiting. He's an admirable personality, really..."

Their voices trailed off as they walked into the central corridor, Terech occasionally lengthening his steps to keep pace with Issrin's broad strides. From the darkness, an asymmetrical web of eyes watched them disappear for lack of anything better to do.

Notes

1: In most Zsresriir languages, it is considered a form of politeness to emphasise the role and independence of one's interlocutor in grammatical constructions.

2: "Drones" are, in informal parlance, adult individuals living in their parent nest, as they have not founded their own.