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Fantasy Kingdom Death - Main - IC

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In the lee of the Knife of Glass, The obsidian outcropping where reigned the Epimoni,

where other peoples built towers, and walls, and temples, and monuments -- Aaliyah built a tribute to the only thing she held dear...

HER POWER.

The Throne of Tyrants did not take long to complete, but it was endlessly refined and decorated... redecorated, strengthened, made ever larger, more fearsome, A home built out of a skull of a Titan, the walk up to the throne lined with the Wyrmbone fangs and teeth of the Fiend of the Pit. The most luxurious leathers, and piles of boiled mushroom made it the only truly COMFORTABLE place in the dark Cresh. Soft was the ground in her audience chamber, and deep and pleasing was the rest of Aaliyah and her cronies... who slept the dreamless sleep of the guiltless, the pitiless, the well fed and the content. Their allies brought health to the community, and the meat and clothing... and armor gave a pride to Aaliyah's people. All WERE the throne. All were a stool to be seated upon by their Queen. Mighty were the Epimoni, but to survive they were obsequious to their one and only master.

The Throne of Tyrants would Aaliyah's seat from which she beat her daughter and heir every day of her miserable life. Greed turnt to sadism, and sadism to madness. The throne consumed, as the lord of the pit consumed... and the only way anyone was going to succeed Aaliyah, is if they COULD NOT be broken.

She killed her firstborn for weakness and threw the corpse to the festrogs. She would do the same to her nextborn, given half an indication of weakness.
Her daughters eyes over the years of beatings swole into slits, like her eyes were buried in a visor of bruised knotted flesh and bone. Her nose was flat, he lips broken on her own teeth from strikes to the face. Every night she slept under the heel of her mother, and every morning she was kicked awake to be beaten again.

Until one day, Aaliyah in her age kicked her daughter and her foot broke, for brittle had she finally turned in age. It broke badly... a compound fracture. Blood. And Aaliyah Fell.
Her daughter, in her first seconds as queen, pulled the cruel foot of her mother free of her body and stabbed her in the heart with the jutting fragment of bone. How fitting Aaliyah would only die to her own blood, her own flesh to bring her low. She coughed blood all over herself and laughed as she was pulled from the Tyrant's Throne... taking what time she had left to relish her own death.

The Queen is Dead

Long live the New Queen...

_______________________________

Effects:
A champion combatant fighting for Epimoni at the foot of the Tyrant's throne gets (Awe +2) (max of 3) -- this only applies to the Queen herself and two designated bodyguards.

SLAVERY becomes a custom in Epimoni -- those wandering in from the darkness can willingly become slaves to serve the Black Tyrant. (+.5 labor to endeavors near Glasswall)
(slaves are not counted as part of population, but as an abstract number relative to the size of actual pop)

Epimoni gains "Right to rule" as a cultural aspect. All other leaders are considered despots at worst or unlegitimated charismatic leaders at best.
 


Hello, darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

---​


A pilgrimage of forty humans, clad in stone masks imitating the face of people, silently marched through the darkness. Their lanterns, covered with cloth as a sign of their belief, proved to be of little to no use to these pilgrims as they began to embrace the darkness and to face it for what it truly was... an illusory manifestation of their fears. Their inner lights would guide them through these mysterious lands. These pilgrims... they did not know why they were here, but they knew within their hearts and souls that the Argead would guide them through the confusion. Why else would the strange creatures of the lands seemingly avoid them? And the few times that a creature did notice the pilgrims, they soon began to cower in fear at the majestic sight of the Argead (Feared). It seemed as if the deadly creatures of the dark knew that death meant nothing to the pilgrims or the Argead (Deathless). When the pilgrims were hungry, the strange insects of these lands flew towards them and collapsed to the ground as offerings to the pilgrims. These strange lands would bow to them and the brilliance of their inner lights (Power Drunk). It already provided many bounties, and the inner light guided the pilgrims to innovate and create. In the distance, the pilgrims saw a giant skeleton of an urchin, shaped like a lantern (Perceptive). They quickly approached the skeleton and knew that this was a sign from the lands that the pilgrims had a divine mandate, and that their path was true. The skeleton would serve as an excellent basis for a shrine... nay a LANTERN to hold the inner light (Brilliant).

Silently, the pilgrims lifted the skeleton in unison and headed off to a direction that was familiar to them. They had been given a divine mission: to manifest the will of the inner light. And thus, in their silent fervor, the pilgrims walked towards a distant light in the horizon... where they knew that they would find aid in their holy mission... aid that would be shocked at the return of the Argead (Wild Card/Fraudulent).

---

The Lantern of the Inner Light

The Argead will construct a holy palanquin/portable shrine in the shape of a lantern for the Argead to symbolically sit in as the greatest "inner light" and illuminator of this dark, deadly and uncertain world. It is to serve as a reminder that the darkness itself is not necessarily deadly, but rather the fear of the dark and the unknown is more deadly. Thus, it will be a tribute to the Inner Light faith and the Mindscreen Ancestory that enables the bloodline to walk without fear in the dark. It will be made of the giant skeleton of a urchin, quartz glass panes, bones, wood, clay, lime, and fiber with the expert assistance of the Vivaldi that was arranged in a trade deal. The Palanquin will also feature carvings/scrimshaw explaining the teachings of the Argead and their struggle.
 
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Trektek Trektek :

The people of the Smith Build a Great Forge out of clay, bricks and stone. The waste heat is a great comfort to the community, where those without covering to sleep (which was most) rested in the cold dark. The only warmer place in the Quarry it was said was in the Vivaldi Harem...

____________________

EFFECTS:

Anything "Shoddy" or "Inferior" crafted in the Quarry is rerolled for quality.

Smelting of rocks and dirt produces the strange glassy alloy called SLAG. (the worst metal in the game -- but it's metal!)
Unless an item from the quarry is made of a better material, it is assumed to be made of SLAG.
slag rusts away quickly when not in use or wrapped in oily rags. It breaks bone and wood, but is brittle against other metal and stone. (sunders,can break)
All crafting done with Vivaldi permission in the Quarry is +20%
The Forge has 100 "Art" points, and gains 20 every turn. (if a timejump happens, the forge is restored to it's max of 100)
ART points are percentile points that can be added to any item on a d100 scale, up to 120. (Art is used to craft better or enhance existing items)
The forge can work Wyrmbone and other tier 3+ materials more easily.
 
Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon :

The Lantern of the Inner Light


EFFECTS:

The first 2 successful hits on a person in the lantern are considered misses. If this procs enough, this power will degrade. the "Lantern" can hold 5 people comfortably, and 10 cramped. It is filled with Comfortable fiber and sponge, and is non-flammable.

Mindforce and Mindscreen are more powerful when used within the lantern.
Travel in the Dark Cresh is 100% safe from animal (though not environmental) hazards for the faithful (travelling with the lantern). Outside the cresh, this bonus is still 50% as powerful.

Twist Twist 's faith is considered the first religion, and Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon 's faith is considered the strongest. Cultural tension develops between these players/factions as long as the Lantern structure exists.

Willing population can be BURNED inside the Inner light to charge it like a weapon. this weapon is a 1d20 scorching ray weapon, +1d20 for each supplicant fed to it. People not killed by the light of the lantern must save or convert to serve the Argead! (conversion probabilty is low at present, but will grow with the faith). The beam, paradoxically, is invisible, and not a true light, per se.
 
Lazaro1505 Lazaro1505 :

The Huntsmen, using bricks and plaster to create a barricade. Topping off said barricade by making a couple of pit traps (will teach the others about the locations fo said traps to make sure no/little accidents happen) around it and spikes against the wall to help ward off attacks. Will also aid Kent with his construction

EFFECTS:
A Barricade is built all around the Quarry, with pits and spikes. For now, something resembling "safe" falls over the Quarry, as only flying or crawling things can ever breach the defenses, even then if such critters could bypass the sentries.

QUARRY IS CONSIDERATED FORTIFIED.
MORALE IS INCREASED INSIDE THE QUARRY.
Barricade will degrade if not maintained... though this may take a long time.
 
Twist Twist :

Laughing Lantern Lanterns will be hung from the JesterTrees, and a great pyre will be built (Kindling/Sharp Stone), to attract new followers and deter predators. A feast will be set up using blindbird eggs and meat (?) to further incentives new followers. Sharp Stones and Shredded Scales will mark the entrance to the burrow and proximity to the trees, injuring those who are foolish enough not to crawl in the First Faiths presence. Any and all followers will dig deep into the ground (Sharp Stones/ Claws (?)) to extend the burrow, following the root network of the JesterTrees and leading to greater expansion of both parties.



The Jestertree forest -- once a broken ring, became a mighty stand that grew into it's own haunted biome... where only the cult and creatures that learned to live there could survive. Beneath the forest the cultists burrowed, slowly pushing out the borders of their domain, feeding the inner trees with their own blood and luring the foolish to feed the new growth on the outside. For burrowing the people discovered PURPLE TUBERS -- a vital fiber-rich vegetable food source to complement the mostly bird and egg diet of the cult. They wore claws and their hands and feet, and the jestertrees grew around them and in them. Lanterns of the dead hung from every tree, giving the forest an eerie light. In the swaying shadows, the jestertrees giggled and jangled the lanterns and chimes, filling all around with a ghostly horror -- even the leathery flying snatchers were no match for the giggling wood, the fliers pulled from the air to rot at the roots of the meat-trunks. However, the lantern forest and crawling trails did not lead many new pilgrims into the fold... most that dared were eaten by the wood, or fell into sinkholes above the burrows and died.

EFFECTS:THE GAUNTLET: THERE IS NO WAY ANY BUT THE BRAVEST OR MOST INSANE SUPPLICANTS COULD REACH THE BURROWS. This translates into static population growth, but the cult gets a hero/maniac every turn instead of population.
TERRORSCAPE: Cultist pop fighting or dealing in the jesterwood have awe (+1) and Fear 10.
FORTIFIED: The jesterwood is considered fortified. It does not require maintenance.
 
Pat Pat

Ciun makes a stone/brick/quartz library filled with shelves of clay tablets documenting the art, culture, history, knowledge, and records of the Dark Cresh for future generations, including an autobiography/manual for Eostre's successor. Camp workers not following Eostre are offered food and water in exchange for working on the building and providing blank clay tablet mediums for the Ciun to write on with bamboo stylus before firing the clay tablets to harden them, and leaders in the quarry are offered food, water, and ink in exchange for opening their minds and ordering their followers to open their minds to Ciun so she can read their thoughts and memories in 'guided tours' for her studies. Ink is poured into the clay tablet imprintings to dry once they're hardened for extra legibility. Those who provide anything that is put into the library will be given access to the literary materials that they personally contributed by the librarian, Eostre, who intends to oversee the building and it's collection as it's guardian and custodian when she retires and becomes an elder. Excess labor and materials are used to decorate the building.

EFFECTS:

Scuttlebutt: routine scanning of the quarry populace thoughts gives Ciun bonus to intel. If it's known to NPCs in the Quarry or glasswall, Ciun likely knows plenty about it.
Obsession: Ciun leaders can always elect to have one perk compounded. This has a 50% chance of compounding a quirk as well.
Mental Discipline: Characters can spend a turn at the library to remove a quirk. there is a 50% chance of still getting credit for having a quirk on death/retire.
Written by the Victor: Ciun can "Spin" events as more positive or more negative over time. Or even reverse the perception of events or the truth.
 
Kent Kent

Sephirah HALL OF ETERNITY A masterpiece of passion that is built with the blood, sweat, tears, and life by the Forbearer of the Sephirah Bloodline - Adam.

He wanted to name it "The Shack" but the other Shamans violently refused so he was forced to name it something he thinks is cringe. At the end of the construction, Adam stood in the middle of the Halls and crazily laughed as he witnessed his masterpiece. After tens of minutes of laughter, he looked at the people behind him, hideously grinned, and flicked them all. "Fuck you all."

He then collapsed into a majestic golden flame that will eternally grace the hall with its warmth and light. It was named the Eternal Fire. Labor, Materials, and other Details: 6 Powerful Shamans assisted with general labor by the other Council Members.


While of Modest size; Stone, Quartz, and Cement is used for the construction. All lanterns used will also be enchanted with efficiency.
With our Arts and Tattoo culture, the building will be decorated with majestic artworks -- in particular a small collection of clay statuary and ink paintings. Though not very large, it is (at least at present) the most attractive cultural accomplishment in the Cresh.

The Hall of Eternity will is constructed in a narrow nook in the back of the deepest part of the Quarry, making it remote and exclusive.
Purpose of the structure aside from being a symbol of the hope of eternity is shelter and an enchanting blessed land.



EFFECTS:
The Mighty Bird (but not THAT type of bird):

at the deepest part of the hall lies a 10 foot clay statue of a hand shooting the bird, with bright light behind it. For a randomly assigned additional quirk, anyone allowed may carry ONE USE of "The Curse of Sephirah" -- when somebody else rolls a d8 save, You can shoot them the bird and apply -1 to the roll, or a 60% chance of forcing a reroll.

When enchanting an item here, there is a 10% chance of any such enchantment being BOOSTED. Boosted enchants cannot be temporary.

Beauty in Darkness:

The Hall of Eternity, for those allowed to view it, is a small cultural wonder. Basking in it's beauty can change a person in this grim dark world, even if only for a time.
Visitors gain "Inspire +1" and "Morale 5" for their next fight or hunt.

Place of Succor:

The Hall of Eternity is enchanted with healing wards made by Sephirah the first themselves. If allowed, a characters that are wounded beyond the help of medicine can rest here for the rest of their turn, and will either die, or be healed, by the spark of Eternal hope. (Each player inscribing a rune of hope on the patient may increase the chance of success, but the chance of success is not high to raise the dead!)

ETERNAL WARDS:

A special ward hides this building so it can only be found by permission. Visitors to the warded hall may be healed over time. A small but BOOSTED barrier ward prevents entry of the unwelcome, assuming they can find it. This building it the closest thing to "secure" that exists in this world.
 
Chapter Two
  • Index
    • GENERATION TWO: TURN 1 OF 3 -- PACIFICATION OF THE CRESH:

    The greatest predators in the cresh have been brought low, at least some of them.
    While the dark without a lantern is almost certain death, the cresh is not as dangerous as it once was, with the festrogs and faceless cowed, and most factions having access to food an water (even of dubious quality) and strength in numbers.

    it is HUMANS that are rapidly becoming the biggest threat to each other -- for with only so much space in the cresh, conflict over resources quickly turns to unrest over beliefs. This generation, one belief system will reign in the cresh:

    1) The Argead is the Messiah: Reglardless of faction, some populace have begun to recognize the Argead as the savior of the cresh, and potetially the leader from the cresh to more resources before the cresh is depleted, overpopulated, or just crushed by horrors for the fishbowl it is... Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon
    2) The Right to Rule: A growing undercurrent of legitimacy to rulership is blowing through the cresh. many even not in the Lord of the Pit's faction see her as the rightful ruler of all humans in the cresh, and there is pressure in communities to "bend the knee" -- other factions must legitimate their leadership or lose their identity and culture to the glasswallers. Cosmo Cosmo
    3) The Jestercult, once a distant fear, has been expanding ever towards the Quarry and Glasswall. Unsteady peace must be made with the Jestercult, steps must be taken to prevent the infectious nature of their faith or lose identity to it, or some say the cult must be smashed entirely. Twist Twist
    4) The mob of Hope: A melange of Kent Kent and Auriel Maza Auriel Maza faiths, this seems the most wholesome of the emerging philosophies, but not the most popular...
    5) other ideologies spread and establish their identity and relationship to everyone else. But before the cresh is left, one philosophy will stand dominant.

    Gen 2 so far will be defined by:
    A) Overlapping belief systems and religion in the cresh,
    B) Overall health of Factions (but this is pretty good to be honest)
    C) Preparing expeditions to leave the cresh
    D) Cultural dominance through invention

    GEN 2, TURN 1 is open:
    People may post ONE ORDER/PROJECT for your faction each, (all ideas already started will be considered done in the timejump)
    Discord adventures into the cresh to pacify the last most dangerous hazards are also encouraged, or planned in forum to be discovered/dealt with.


    GAME ON! Beckoncall Beckoncall
     
  • Index
    • asda.png


    Zahra Epimoni
    Mistress of the Pit

    ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

    The Cresh had changed so much, yet in many ways, had not changed at all since that faithful day their ancestors emerged from the shadow with the lanterns and fought for their place to survive in this world of beast and darkness. However, where their ancestors stumbled in the dark, fighting over scraps as they lashed out against the terrors of the night, now it was burgeoning societies, of fledgling beliefs and dogmas, the great obstacle of their generation was not beast, it was Man. The 'Messiah' and his light, a religion the Epimoni had thought crushed, slain in their bid for power by the First Queen when their ancestors walked the land, still roamed and people flocked to him, hoping for something to save them. The Jestercult, once thought a myth invented by frightened Quarry Rats, has been shown to be a truth. Humans who have 'bonded' with plants and even become them on their death. A symbiotic relationship with nature, with the beast and plants of the dark, of this new world. The idea of 'Hope' that was oozing out of some in the Quarry, it was wholesome, it was kind, it was weak. Lastly, Right to Rule. Created by the Queen, the Only True Sovereign, of this land. The belief that Right to Rule is won through strength. Those deserving to rule, will naturally rise to the top and claim it. If they cannot, they will fall and a new, better, replacement will naturally emerge. This belief was formed the day, Aayliah Epimoni, broke the Bestial King of the Cresh, the Black Tyrannosaurs and claimed her place as Ruler. The Messiah and his flock wander the Cresh, without a home or a place, the Jestercult are food for their trees, servants, not masters, of their destiny... The Quarry Rats preach of hope while the powerful live in warm forges, in an elegant home suited only for the best, while the weak, the ones most needing of hope, sleep on the hard floor. How could they compare to the Right to Rule? How could they compare to the Epimoni? All who have bent the knee have had their lives improved. The Seia have known only prosperity, their medical skills and beauty have grown by leaps and bounds. The Epimoni claim the Glasswall, the original spot of their ancestors, where all the people gathered to see whom would lead, the Epimoni emerged and claimed what was theirs, all the rest fled to the corners of the Cresh. The figures of legend in their people's history, could not stand against the First Queen's might, how could their descendants? The poorest of the Epimoni live in bamboo lean-tos, covered from the elements by both bamboo and blankets, while the rest live in proper bamboo homes. While the others scrounged in the dark, the Epimoni had feasted upon the flesh of the Rex, and even now, they are well fed by the clams of the Seia. Their warriors were legion armed in the best equipment of the Cresh, they were stronger, faster, tougher then the rest, how could anyone not bend the knee? Misplaced pride and ego. But when the darkness comes, when the abyss is staring at them, the others will quake, praying for others to save them, but not the Epimoni. The Epimoni will stand strong, they will gaze into the abyss and break it to their will, and sooner or later, the others will bend the knee for it is an inevitability.

    ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

    The Bamboo Pavilion, the grand structure at the heart of the Glasswall and the seat of Epimoni power, the leathers of the beast slain by the Epimoni covered its frame, protected from the elements, it was a site of gathering for the people, a symbol of power for within lay the Throne of Tyrants. The skull of the great Tyrannosaurus that had been slain by the first queen. The skull was etched, covered in fine blackscale leathers, and the floor was covered in soft baked mushrooms and it was here, within the Pavilion, at the foot of the throne, that the chosen of the Epimoni rested. It was not as beautiful as some of the structures in the Cresh, but it was the Epimoni, it was simple, it was regal, it was powerful. Slaves milled about, protected from the horrors of the outside in return for preforming basic labor, while the warriors of the Epimoni lived as warriors do. They feasted, they told tales of their hunts and triumphs, they wrestled and fought, occasionally, pairs would break off to go to their home, or even just beyond sight, to engage in fighting of another kind. The Epimoni were tall, broad, their bodies well built with knotted muscle, many sported scars that littered their bodies, proof of their triumphs and toughness. Most would be considered rather fetching, but the Epimoni men and women were a bit of an 'acquired' taste as under their dark scale armor was skin coated in mud. The mud was something they had done since their founding, it helped them hide in the shadows, it hid their scent and protected them from the insects that made the Cresh unpleasant to live in if they strayed too far from the light. It had started off as practical, but now had grown to be something akin to a custom. It served as a stark contrast to the Seia clan, the healer vassals of the Epimoni, who tended to be well bathed, on their home on the waterfront, and beautiful especially when compared to the barbaric visage of the Epimoni, the veritable princesses guarded by the zealous dragons.

    Yet it was within this place of power, of prestige, that the greatest of all the 'dragons' dwelled. Zahra Epimoni, the second and current queen, who had killed her mother to claim the throne. She was large, even for an Epimoni, her body swelled with muscle and coiled power, her presence alone enough to strike awe, or fear, into all those who were near... But she was not a beauty. Her eyes were almost swollen shut, and with her naturally darker complexion and the mud that always covered her, from a distance, it appeared as if she had no eyes at all. Her nose was smashed flat, her lips were cracked against her teeth giving her a rather ghoulish snarl when she deigned to smile. The only 'nice' thing about her was her hair, braided ebony hair flowed that was meticulously cared for, her only 'beautiful' asset that Zahra guarded jealously [Jealous]. The Queen of the Epimoni was not a fool, she knew she was hideous [Smart]. She saw it every time someone looked at her, how they flinched when she smiled, how they stared, or did not, stare [Smart/Insecure]. Perhaps, in another life, if she had not been given so much of 'Mother's Love' she would have been beautiful, like Aayliah. Men and women would desire her, as they desired Odette of the Seia [Jealous/Insecure], but that was not so, nor would it ever be so. The men that pursued her did so only out of greed, to further themselves in society, or did so because they knew she desired them and so went through with it for fear of reprisal. They feared their Queen. They respected their Queen. They loved their Queen. But none would ever love her [Jealousy/Insecure]. As her swollen eyes watched those below her, as she watched two young men whisper to one another as they lightly touched the others arms, as they glanced around to see if any was paying attention, she could not help but wonder what that was like [Jealous], when they noticed her looks, both of them recoiled, and she offered them a challenging smile, her cracked lips pulled back over her teeth in a nasty snarl, like a feral cat watching her prey, and as they froze, as they stepped apart, as they lowered their heads, she felt a swell of satisfaction from the fear in their eyes, how quickly they submitted to her, how uncomfortable she could make them [Cruel]. She would never be a beauty, she would never be desired, but she would always be needed [Utterly Defiant].

    Boredom was a dangerous thing, it was something Zahra had realized once her mother had passed. Before she never had time to consider it, life had been pain, she moved from one beating to the next, slurping what food she could get through broken jaws as she fought and clawed just to survive to the next day, the feeling of broken ribs stabbing into her organs as she laid awake at night trying to sleep. Her mother would beat her, and the Epimoni would watch. They would watch, they would sneer, some would joke in hopes to gain her mother's favor... the same people that watched her get beaten, who sneered down at the ugly child with the broken face, could now only bow in her presence, lower their heads and prostrate themselves before her in hopes of escaping her notice or fury, it brought a perverse sense of pleasure to her [Cruel]. The only kindness she had received as a child was from the Seia healers that would be called when her mother went particularly too far, when she was barely clinging to life through sheer will [Utterly Defiant].. No one knew better then Zahra the value of the Seia [Smart] and while she would forever be jealous of their beauty, that left men and women stunned, she would always hold them in high value for they were the greatest treasure the Epimoni had [Smart/Jealous]. But now, without the beatings, without the pain, she had nothing but time and her thoughts [smarts]. Her mother's legacy was all around them, she was even sitting upon her mother's greatest achievement, what would be Zahra's mark? She had killed her mother, she had tore off her leg and stabbed her with it, had brought death to the woman who had shown her only pain and, in that moment, even as tears fell from her eyes as her mother choked on her blood, as she laughed at her mortality, Zahra had felt happiness for the first time in her life, freedom [Cruel/Utterly Defiant]. She had taken the throne from her mother, but now she had to take the legacy [Jealous]. She had to become known as a far better queen then her, to lead the Epimoni to new, greater heights so that when their children spoke of her, it would not be of the broken faced child begging for love, it would be the powerful queen who bent the knee of man [Insecure/Jealousy/Smart/Utterly defiant]

    ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

    Actions
    1.     Slave Labor will be used to construct a training field with Bamboo dummies to allow for the Epimoni to train in the art of war relatively safely.

    2. The Epimoni Warriors are going to train to fight as large units. They will learn to fight using shield walls, to outflank, to ambush, they will learn how to hurl their javelins boosted by atlatls and disrupt formations and maim shields before smashing into them. A military Meritocracy will be implemented, based on the Right to Rule, where the strongest, smartest, fastest warriors can rise to become Déka, a commander of ten. Déka are going to be used to give greater tactical flexibility, allowing commands to be issued and control to be maintained over larger forces, but officer initiative is to be commended. Battle is a flux, standing orders may not account for all things, as the Epimoni well know, the best laid plans end once someone get's punched in the face, if a Déka can see an opportunity to grasp victory, they are encouraged to do so using their training and knowledge. It is rumored that once the military grows large enough, a new high position of Ekató, commander of a hundred, will be created. Any Epimoni injured in this training will be healed by Seia healers. [Extra Note: Zahra fought in a 'large' scale battle against a force of Grimmory and she got to put some of the 'units of ten' concept into practice]

    3. Right to Rule: Slavery Reform will be initiated. At the moment, all clanless are taken as slaves, regardless of their ability. This is not right. The slaves will be gone through and examined, those with special abilities or knowledge [War, crafting, construction, etc] will be given the ability to earn their freedom and join the Epitanny, a new clan, that will be given rights and allowed to forge their own destiny under the reign of the Epimoni. All slaves can earn their freedom, if they have the strength and skills to do so, such is the Right to Rule. Those that do not, will remain slaves, but the ability to rise above their station will always be present for all those who come for the path to salvation does not lie in nature, nor in nonsensical light, it lies in the quality of one's own spirit and the strength of their back.

    4. The Epimoni will aid the Seia [Eloise] in hunting the Sealaconda [a serpent with the head of a sealion... these things do not see people as prey, thankfully. they do compete for waterplants though, and no waterplants can be harvested while they exist. (stalemate on resource waterplants)] so they may gain access to the waterplants.    ​
     
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    1654515868042.png

    Yaas Vivaldi


    How dare they?

    Clang! (HARDWORKING)

    HOW DARE THEY!

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    HOW DARE THEY MESS WITH THE MIND OF YAAS VIVALDI OF THE GREAT VIVALDI CLAN!

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    They were the Clan that made the armor that most warriors in both the Quarry Council and the Glasswallers wore. It was they who made the most glorious of buildings and items that mystified and had the people felled with Awe before them. It was this CLAN, following her GREATNESS that will even be led into the FUTURE with her greatest invention yet! The MEDIUM ARMOR! A new revolutionary idea that she came up with and that through her genius and skill as a prodigy will be brought to fruitition and greatness! No one else could do it. No one else has the skill. It will be her hands and her mind that will lead this path to GLORY. Both in this Blacksmith Hold and eventually on the field against her now hated enemy. (EGOTISTICAL)

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    The Jestercult. The HATED Jestercult. They come to her home and not only try to brainwash her people, but also take control of HER mind. HER powerful and skillful mind. Make HER think their THOUGHTS. (Egotistical) That somehow rotting in the ground to become Flesh Trees was better than life in the Quarry. That it was okay for people in the Quarry to BELIEVE this idea!

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    THAT SHE WOULD EVER WILLINGLY BELIEVE SUCH BULLOTAUR SHIT OUTSIDE OF MIND MAGIC WAS UNCONSCIONABLE!!!

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    Oh yeah. And some of the other leaders were mind controlled by this Standing Man as well. It was just a good thing that when Hega slashed the bastard down that we were freed from that line of thought. Our minds were our own once more. It was time that THE QUARRY COUNCIL did something and as such, with Yaas taking the lead, she declared that THE QUARRY COUNCIL was at WAR with the JESTERCULT.

    CLANG! (HARDWORKING)

    When people grumbled, they were willingly shown the Grand Library and some turned away from the nonsense of the Flesh Trees. Those that didn't, were shown the door, never to be once again allowed into The safety of THE QUARRY. They willingly chose darkness over the LIGHT of THE LIGHTHOUSE. And as such, they will wallow in it. If they did not embrace the Light, they did not deserve the warmth of the FORGE. HER FORGE. THE FORGE OF THE VIVALDI CLAN!!! (EGOTISTICAL)

    CLANG!

    So now. Now she began in response to build her greatest concept yet. Using her constant skillful negotiation skills on the Queen of Glasswall( EGOTISTICAL), she gained 20 units of Wyrmbone. With Wyrmbone and the unlimited supply of Quartz from the Quarry, soon, THE MEDIUM ARMOR shall be born of her own two hands!! SHE WILL BIRTH THIS CREATION AND BE VALIDATED BY THE FAMILY AS NOT ONLY A PRODIGY AMONG THE VIVALDI CLAN, BUT ALSO AMONG ALL THAT RESIDE WITHIN THE CRESH! (Egotistical)

    CLANG!

    In between these constrictions, she knew that she had to train an elite fighting force to be able to fight the Jestercult within their own home. She would start it and call it, The Vivaldi Crusaders. they would be small, but powerful. Perhaps in time, it would grow. But for now, an elite force was what SHE needed. She wanted revenge on the Jestercult. NOONE MESSES WITH HER MIND AND GETS AWAY WITH IT! (Egotistical) And, to a lesser extent, her people as well.

    CLANG!

    The Medium Armor would be emblazoned on the Chest with the NEW SYMBOL of the Quarry, THE LIGHTHOUSE. It will help spread the Light and the Holiness that comes from that Light. It is the Light from the Lighthouse and the eternal flames of the forge that help to drive away the invaders. The Light keeps them away, but the weapons and armor that come from the forge make certain that they'll stay away.

    Yaas looks up from her hammering at the wonderful piece of armor before her. This'll do nicely.

    Actions:

    1. Craft as many MEDIUM ARMOR as she can. (Quartz and Wyrmbone)

    2. Train an elite fighting force of 8 Soldiers to be known as THE VIVALDI CRUSADERS. (They and herself will all be wearing MEDIUM ARMOR once it is completed and the training will include being able to move/fight and use the armor to its fullest)

    3. If possible try to set up a meeting with the Queen of Glasswall in order to set up a possible military alliance against the JesterCult.    ​
     
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    The Eternal Meditation​

    All shamans were sitting in a lotus position around the Eternal Fire as they meditate on their ancestry - the Sephirah Arts of Enchanting. The Eternal Fire was blazing brilliantly and burning incense was scatted around the hall, giving the shamans a sense of calm and keeping their minds sharp to allow them to sink deeper into their meditation. The efficiency glyph on their forehead was glowing the same golden color as the Eternal Fire. It was constantly activating and helping the shamans keep their mental faculties at top condition and likely even improving it. The arts of the Eternal Hall were also a beauty to behold, allowing them to keep holding on to their beliefs(+1 Inspire, +5 Morale).

    Raphael Sephirah, the current Grand Enchanter was also sitting on a cushion and meditating before the Eternal Fire but different from the rest, he had a flute in his hands. He brought it up to his lips and began playing gentle music[PERK: GENTLE(?)]. As if in response to the music, the Eternal Fire starting growing then it spread out into six directions and surrounding the shamans but it didn't burn any of them. In the contrary, it made them more comfortable as the strands of the Eternal Fire starting dancing around them. It was as if the Forbearer of the Sephirah, the Grand Enchanter Adam was giving them their blessing and assisting them in developing their ancestry.

    The main purpose of their meditation was to discover more about their ancestry - the very thing that gives them their unique powers. They meditated about the mysteries of the two pairs of Twin Swords of Cursed Flame, the cursed and flaming aspect was something never see before and they wonder if it can be reproduced in their enchantments or other magical aspects. They also recognized their lack of magical energy, it's not enough for what they want to do and they seek to remedy this need. So they began meditating on possible enchantments, glyphs, or wards that could possibly boost their magical energy or gather magical energy to a location. And most importantly, glyphs or wards against his most-hated enemy, the Seg.

    a day before the meditation... Raphael was in deep thought as he stood before one of the great artworks in the Eternal Hall. He was thinking about the recent happenings in the Eternal Hall. The infiltration of the Seg and their lack of labor which leads them to be dependent on the quarry. As mandated by the Grand Enchanter Adam, they were supposed to be reclusive but they have been forced time and time again to open their doors to seek aid.

    Raphael sighed as he looked at Ace next to him who was also admiring the great artwork.

    "I will be making changes to the policy of Eternal Hall. In the coming days, we will open the doors of the Eternal Hall and start accepting servitors." Ace looked at him and was about to protest when Raphael spoke again, "We will still be the core of the Eternal Hall. They will be just that - servitors. They will be the attendants ad labor of the Eternal Hall. We will stop doing manual labor and start focusing on what's important. This decision is final, inform the Shaman Council."

    "As you wish, Grand Enchanter. I will take charge in vetting potential servitors and then secretly bringing them into the Eternal Hall."

    Order Summary:
    - The Eternal Hall will open its doors, vet, and then secretly recruit servitors.

    - Raphael with his 5 other Shamans attempt to learn more about enchanting. (Will list it according to the priority)
    1. Mind Glyph and/or other possibly related glyph
    2. Magic Gathering Ward and/or other possibly related glyphs
    3. Curse and Fire Glyphs and/or other possibly related glyph(From the 4 Swords of Cursed Flame)
    4. Some any other extra

    Note:
    Cyrus of the Argead Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon will join in on the meditation and assist with his Mindscreen.
     
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    Amaraa Xygaras - The Voice of Hope
    [Amaraa's Theme]    ​


    • "Oh father, you did always had a wonderful smile, a way with words and jokes. I'm sorry for what happened, but I hope that I can be what you saw in me, what you saw then... when I was a little girl. You saw light. We saw light, and in that light you would live forever. Now... I ask you grant me the opportunity to rebuild what was lost, for everyone. As you feared, it seems that not all can see what you could. Not all understand the great ball of light you saw. Not all understand that while we abandon hope, it never abandons us. And... I felt that today. Something came over me, I felt changed only to return as I was. I see that I am just one of many of the children of the light. I am nothing special. I simply possess the pedigree of your legacy. A simple girl. Now allow me to return it to its former glory.
      For the Aeon speak of light, we understand darkness. For only light can expel it, and to best expel it, we must understand. Father, I do hope you smile and crack jokes this day. And I hope I am worthy of your legacy, as the first cowgirl, whatever that means."


      Amaraa looked outside, there were dangers there. And she wanted to face them head on, but home needs to be thought of as well.

     
    (Disclaimer: this is strictly an opening post to establish character personality and joining of a faction. All of these events happened prior to the beginning of Generation 2, despite the obvious time inconsistency)

    Darkness seemed to be the cruel nature of this world. The gloomy atmosphere so oppressive it seemed to physically press people to the ground, suffocating from above and uncomfortably prodding from below. The inkiness the girl awoke to was so complete and unbroken that it took her a minute to register that she was, in fact, awake, alive, and had her eyes wide open. She rose to a sitting position slowly, body stiff and mind abuzz with questions and a growing fear. The only comfort to be found was in the milling confusion she found herself surrounded with, as other bodies stirred into consciousness around her. And what a hollow comfort it was. Not even the feeble light the lantern next to her emanated offered any solace, only illuminated the stinging horrors that descended upon her as soon as she stirred; no rest for the wicked. As people naturally gravitated and huddled into groups, she found herself in one such small circle too, lanterns coalesced into the centre to better perceive the opposing members. Opposing? Were they to be seen as natural competitors in a world of limited resources? Was the lantern not telling enough of strength in numbers? But she saw it too; how warily various people carried themselves, sharp rock ready - not as a tool, but as a weapon. In the end, fear made monsters of men.

    She watched the other groups rapidly progress, relying on a hierarchy of brute force or a show of ability. As it would in a world so hellbent on snuffing out your light, no? The girl drew her scraps of clothing closer to her body, watching the sift of eyes in the people around her grow increasingly more suspicious as time passed, most having made up their mind of which faction to support, who they wished to follow. But others still were crippled with fear, helplessness. In a world where the strong and capable survived, and fear and desperation drove the masses to survival... was there no other way one was to live? [NAIVE]
    Despite everything; the hostile surroundings, the questioning stares, the mounting aggression, the rising stakes, Candy mustered a smile at the people around her. The world could use a little kindness right now.

    "You know, in circumstances like these, the last thing I see in helplessness. I know things look bad, and survival seems impossible, and everything just seems terrible. But look at the will in everybody. Look how all we have is a tool," She brushed her fingers along her lantern, "and our spirits that burn bright. See how everybody, everybody is looking for a reason to keep going despite how hard things are. Everybody is saying, 'hey! Staying alive is really hard right now! Death would come easier but all I need is a reason, a reason to keep living! Even if it's just a stick, I don't care if it's a stick, give me a stick to fight with and I can stay alive!' I think that's incredible. With no hope, running on nothing but fumes, you're willing to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that's what it takes to get you to safety. You're saying 'Give me a stick, I'm not dying out here' if that's what it takes to survive."

    She tilted her head at the growing audience, enraptured by her words laced with positivity and hope. She smiled at them yet again, and somehow the darkness didn't seem so oppressive. Somehow, the lanterns seemed to burn just a little bit brighter. But that was probably her imagination, right? "My words have nothing to do with how great everybody's feats are. All I'm doing is handing out sticks. You're the ones staying alive." And for the first time, she wasn't the only one smiling in that circle. [HYPED] [Morale boosted]

    Honey drew more flies than vinegar. Candy soon found herself surrounded by a willing, nay, doting throng of followers, who seemed to go out of their way to ensure her comfort if it meant they received kind words and a hopeful smile. It was unfortunate how drippings kept these people alive, the most insignificant of honey trails and the most obscure of hopes that things could be alright. She soon found herself armed with a functional knife and a smattering of objects that were foraged from somewhere. One even deigned to give her an accessory, a necklace fashioned of a stray thread and a single shard of obsidian, and the dazzling smile of happiness she gave him sent him into a flurry of servitude for the rest of his activities. It was difficult to measure day and night, but people toiled on; they rested when they needed, and banded together as the only form of survival. Candy to her measure did her level best to keep the populace happy and healthy; she turned out to be an exceptional cook who made the best out of whatever ingredient they could throw at her. Even the most vile of mushrooms could be deigned to be edible if passed by her dexterous hands, and she always sampled her dishes before passing it on to her followers; a rare act of service, but one of the only she could do. She was not talented in combat, nor was she physically strong, so she served in the only way she knew how - making sure the others could achieve things to the best of their abilities. And knowing that at the very least their next meal was guaranteed kept the people going strong.

    It had not been smooth sailing always, of course. Famine and drought came to all; there were times when they had nothing to eat except the filthy oily water and the flesh of the dead. Many chose death over such indignities, others still wept as they ate the bodies of the fallen. Candy herself starved away to nothing but skin and bones until she could be persuaded to eat some flesh, carefully masking its flavour with insect bile and the bitterness of her own tears. It was in part only the hope she provided her people with enthusiastic stories and cheerful words that the people found it within themselves to keep going. Hard times passed too, as they always do, but Candy always carried a length of bamboo, carefully cleaned and maintained, with the names of the fallen etched deeply into it. The lesson itself was engraved even more deeply within her mind, and she pushed hard to improve her abilities so that her followers may never see such days again. In perhaps the most desperate of these exercises, she stung herself with venomous insects over and over, every day, so that if the day comes when she must survive on insects so the rest of the clan may feed, she will be immune to their venom. It was difficult at first; her followers fell into deep despair at the thought of losing her and her resources - the venom was strong, stronger than she expected owing to her small, frail frame. She nearly didn't make it out. Only nearly though. [OVERZEALOUS]

    Her nature did not always serve her well either. Her gentle innocence attracted all kinds of unsavoury characters, and it was not within her to turn them away. It was not within her to harbour any sort of suspicion against those stray brushes of hands, against those 'accidental' bumps against her, those gazes and eventually hands that wandered a little too far from a friendly interaction. If anything, it pushed her harder to accept those members as part of her society, ignoring her niggling instincts and quietening her doubts. She tried hard to convince herself of the vast and varying natures of people, how it doesn't mean anything; she tried hard to convince herself that she should treat them as any other follower. She tried hard to convince herself she did the right thing when she answered their seemingly innocent request to help them collect mushrooms, just out of range of the lanterns. In the darkness lurked monsters, and sometimes they wore the skins of men. There was a twisted humor in watching a candle snuff, in watching an object shatter, in watching a creature in fear. And sometimes this enjoyment is a deep and carnal instinct. Through pain comes wisdom, and that day she grew very wise. [NAIVE]

    But it was also not within her nature to suffer in silence. A little known side of her, a little spark that kept her own spirit burning bright; when a good man goes to war, the devil trembles. And revenge seemed to come all too easily. Slowly, gently, a death by inches, that's how a life is taken... The insidious effects of cooking food by bamboo fire led to a slow buildup of ill health. Oh, she was careful, she covered her tracks well. Food was a requirement for all to survive, and none knew it's workings better than she did. She moulded the meals carefully, left them to "stay warm" in a closed kiln, sweating in the poisoned air of the filthy bamboo fished from the waterlines. It happened slowly, people fell as they walked, laid ill for days into weeks into months, blindness and nausea, weakening and bleeding from every orifice. Oh, she acted the perfect concerned leader part, knowing her rule was secure, and their demise, imminent. And the decisive blow; she would not kill them. One fine day, their "get-well soon" meal, prepared specially by her own hand, delivered by herself and her personal guard, left at their isolation doorstep with a sickeningly sweet smile. It was a slow-acting poison, and soon they were expelling the food and blood in violent retches. The worst of the lot raised a single accusing finger upon her, and shockingly, she burst into tears. Time stilled. When the stout smile, it's a miracle. When the cheerful cry, it is akin to watching an angel weep. Angry murmurings rose from the crowd, even as she made a show of wiping her tears and denying all allegations. That she did it out of good will, that she did not poison them, that she would never harm them. She spun stories laced with more lies than poison in her food, and in her final show of conviction, she offered to eat a portion of the food still leftover in her cooking utensil. Everyone's breath caught as she spooned the still-hot food into her mouth, waiting until she finished it all before exploding in accusation, except this time it was targeted at the sick and the ailing. Angry whispers of framing and jealousy rose to shouts, and the girl tearfully asked if they could ever trust her again. There was an uncomfortable pause, and the sickly rose to their feet and hobbled off into the darkness, holding their lanterns aloft. Candy watched the light drift into the distance slowly until the darkness swallowed it, and her smile returned, but this time it was a smirk of victory. [VINDICTIVE]

    But the debacle showed her one thing. That perhaps there really were forces out there that she, for her lack of better judgement, could not protect herself from. That given the situation, she would not be able to defend herself in a physical... altercation. That she lacks strength to protect herself and her followers from what evil can lurk within her followers. And so she had to set into plan a different action, derived of, you guessed it, food. It required days of immaculate planning, drifting closer and closer to the Glasswallers before the big day. It was an event; a freshly killed Festrog, a rarity of meat in the faction of foragers, was hauled into the centre for the skillful chef to do her magic. She took a deep breath and got to work; she made sure not a single bit of the animal was wasted, to fully appreciate the sacrifice of the creature. Carefully she extracted droplets of fat from the meat, smoked the bones until the marrow was tender and dripping, making a delicious emulsion of the lard and the marrow. For a clan of warriors such as the Epimoni, whose great deeds carried across the wind in the Cresh, only the finest cuts of meat; Candy prepared the thigh, rich in muscle and fat. Warrior required such, surely! Kept the heart pumping and the blood rushing strong! Grilling it with utmost care, she finished it off with a side of the choicest parts of mashed liver and a sprinkle of powdered bone shadow. A meal as nutritious and well-serving as it was delicious; only the finest of tributes for the Queen of the Pit. Carefully wrapping the still-warm meal in leaves, she mustered up all her courage and marched up to the outermost of the soldiers standing watch. A deep breath, and...

    "Take me to your Queen."


    (overzealous lmao?)    ​
     
    Fluff Fluff :

    Hers was a meandering path in the dark before reaching the relative safety of the glasswall... and her followers were groomed, gilded, and garnered with the care and enthusiasm Candy alone could summon. The bad element in her following -- was dealt with harshly, vindictively, and those more pure of heart she protected even as they were subjected to threefold horrors between every rest.

    Candy's faction is "Blooded and Proven" (add to lineage) -- their loyalties tested, their devotion proved. Candy's excitement was it's own lantern -- and woe be unto those that fell in it's shadow, but lofty were the spirits that remained in it's grace...

    They reached Glasswall in a black, oily rain... seeing the lamps and fires in the distance they would press on. Something special was found in the darkness by Candy's band... a single branch (1 unit) of Godswood. -- The entire area around was drained of moisture, despite the patter of the rain, as if all that was life-giving collected in this single branch of Azure wood and bluish leaves that seemed to shine in the darkness.

    All the predators and wicked were purged from her following... but one perhaps... Distinguished henchman: "The Letch" -- he was mysterious and tall, almost a mummy in all the rags he wore, and he lived and died for Candy with a burning passion of one who's mind was sick. The Letch was her secret guardian... and many a threat came for Candy that Candy never saw, because the Letch was always there. The letch carried a single hair that had fallen from Candy's head like a talisman... a being obsessed, always at the periphery, but always with one eye on his cathexus... Candy was the soul to this soulless person. As they neared the glasswall Candy could feel his stare behind her grow more intense... would she rid herself of this burning admirer? Should she, could she use him to solidify her safety and her leadership? She would need to decide...


    Candy's group arrived at the glasswall with a meal for the Black Queen... would they find safety and acceptance here?
     
    Cosmo Cosmo :

    The training field was done quickly, as many slaves sought to prove themselves. eager for the elevation from slavery, for the change to come... An ever since it's construction the Epimoni trained, sweat and blood while the slaves watched. Many hoped to prove themselves in the coming trials, so they paid special attention to the techniques of the warriors.
    When the time came, they would need to demonstrate THEIR strength.

    Troops gain "Formation Fighting" on Gen 2, Turn 2

    For the words of reform had been heard... it was not a chance to join the Epimoni -- it was a second class citizenship of sorts... but it would no longer be slavery. Many trained with crude obsidian weapons for the time to come that they would be tested.

    (Sealaconda event to be handled in discord)
     
    Among the burnt brushes, the retinue of the Argead walked through this past battlefield, not long ago... they had slain numerous Grimmory and the Bisontaur here. Yet, they returned to this site of desolation and death. Normally, there would be little reason, but today there were a few compelling reasons to visit this site. The hills were the site where they first encountered the Seg... where Raphael had encountered the manifestation of the Seg... and where the Pale Witch had noticed something buried in the trench where the Bisontaur had crashed. The Argead could not help but feel like these events were all connected somehow. These were HUGE coincidences after all. Thus, the retinue arrived with carts of tools and iron. Their goal was simple. To excavate the area and recover the buried object. Silently, the Argeans approached the site of the Bisontaur's death, yet despite the lack of sounds they seemed to keep themselves organized and coordinated with each other with ease.

    ---

    Summary: The Argeans return to the site of the battle with the Bisontaur to excavate the area and recover the buried object that the Pale Witch had noticed during the battle. Working silently, they still work together using their telepathy to coordinate their work while using their mindscreen to remain hidden from psychic attuned monsters and beings.

    Perks: Brilliant (Compounded), Observant, Charming

    Quirks: Hero Syndrome, Sarcastic, Workaholic, Overambitious
     
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    Eostre

    MINDFORCE BLOOD,

    Mindforce Powers: uses psychic stress to disrupt an enemy's concentration and battle prowess, and some say with practice read minds. Bloods with mindforce grant bonuses to themselves and/or allies in contests/combat, and more easily give the opposite to rivals. It is said there are other talents this ancestry can bring in the darkness such as sensing the unseen, but such powers are developed over generations in a bloodline...

    BLOODLINE CIUN,

    Hardy Heralds: Increases population of followers wherever moving camps, and has a +1 to save rolls.

    50% more mana, .5 more power to your abilities.

    + To mindforce

    A pale albino woman, with a FOCUSED and CONTEMPLATIVE personality (perks), BLUNT to a fault in conversation (quirk). Wears threadbare clothes, carries a lit lantern, mindspike wand (double damage using offensive magic), and sharp rock.

    Knows 'mindblast' spell.

    Followed by forty lantern bearers, renewables of ink, insects, and (purest) water, one unit of oil, twenty units of Bisontaur meat, four units of brass.

    Additional community renewables of green herb, red herb, human bone, quartz, and stone in the quarry camp. Stepwell use is public.

    Controls stepwell and library buildings.

    Possesses sewing tools made out of human bone, and stone bowls.

    ​
    Ras, and now Cyrus... Eostre gladly merged her Ciun with the stone-faced Argead when the personality cult matured into religious faith. She was their sword, and they her shield. His savage ribaldry, in this life and the last, amused her greatly as the gracious host to his flock again and again. In a way, she owed him more than she could ever possibly repay the prophet and savior born of Inner Light.

    The library and her life's work were nearly behind her, concerns of fulfilling the needs of her people and the Quarry a distant memory when the wind blew and rain fell as if to proclaim his resurrection. He inspired her to continue her story to see what epilogue would come instead of resigning the rest of her life to curating unending shelves of clay tablets. Generations would grow to read and write and know the achievements of their ancestors because of her, but something was missing from the tapestry that eluded her until now.

    Dedication to the preservation and proliferation of knowledge for the betterment of the future would mean nothing if she left those around her that would raise their charges to adulthood ignorant. It was necessary to nurture the intellect of the civilization around her to unlock their full potential, and in so doing, ensure that they do not tarnish their progeny. The masses would soon learn to speak, and act, as the Argead and their faithful Ciun adherents did.

    Melting the brass from the split helm of the Bisontaur to mint into coinage displaying the equal halves symbol of the Inner Light belief, she and her followers find an empty and central location within the Quarry to build a tall obelisk to temporarily display newly fired clay tablets providing information and entertainment. Right in front of it, a raised platform is constructed before rows of benches for lantern bearers to come watch a glut of teachers, performers, philosophers, heralds, and merchants, exchange ideas and wares at this would-be heart of the community. To incentivize attendance, those who stay to the end of the early assemblies are given the new coins that can be exchanged for prepared cuts of Bisontaur meat to help usher in the birth of intellectual debate and currency-driven commerce. The Ciun also act as a bank to safeguard any coin deposits on behalf of their owners, and if need be reforge coins to reenter circulation.

    After trading with the nomadic Singers arriving in the Quarry as of late, exchanging Ciun's 'purest' water for their gold, Eostre chooses to mint some gold coins to supplement the lesser brass coinage.
     
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    The Nihtur Bloodline

    Spora

    (The first)

    Henchmen

    (The Filthy Priest)
    Di Dru

    Key

    Disciplined: Green
    Clear Headed: Light Blue
    Misguided: Grey
    Corrupter: Red
    Dissociated: Dark Blue

    Artistic: Yellow
    Delusional: Rose


    Spora walked through the twisted and dank burrow that was the home of the Nihtur, a safe haven to all those who would accept the truth of this world.

    That everything was for naught in this dark dangerous world. All that lay beyond this burrow, and outside the jungle of JesterTrees meant nothing. This world was cruel, its denizens even crueller, each one killing the other to only be killed by something worse. It was all just pointless.

    But something stood apart, beyond the futile struggles of the living, above the constant death. gaining nourishment and enrichment from the unrelenting circle of destruction...

    The Plants of the Penumbra

    So why fight it? Spora realised, those countless years ago. Back when her hair was not a wizened grey and her skin was supple, and not rough and creased like the trees that surrounded her. It was just the way of things, she had accepted that fact long ago. And so had all the others around here, anointing themselves with bloodied hands of past lives and seeded by the JesterTrees, that they had so long ago grovelled before. But the Nihtur now stood as part of this extreme ecosystem, beyond struggle, beyond pain, beyond death.

    Though they were not immortal, they all knew their demise fulfilled their only true purpose in this ethereal existence.

    As fuel for the flora.

    Beneath the bones, and feathers that adorned, under the leathers and rags that ensconced her body,     Spora had become the ultimate canvas to express their existence.

    Painful and agonising, The first of the Nihtur had let her Filthy Priest work into her flesh the tattoos of symbols and scribbling's, transferring her teachings from the vellium that she had conceived, the fatty tissues a parchment on which to scribe with ink fed feathers, allowing Di Dru to hone his artistic craft with ink and needle. In flesh, the First Faith would live on, a fitting use for a fleeting thing. Wherever the Nihtur went, their beliefs would now follow, and when their lives were extinguished, the trees within would now teach, beyond this stained shrine.

    With mucus and water, yolk and blood, this wood had become a forest of faith. Rocks had become paintings, small stones were strung together into mottled mosaics, the very soil saturated in paint of red and purple hues. And the burrow, a mural to their faith. Lined with art of death; a JesterTree erupting forth from within, the destruction of beasts, their blood quenching the soil and shining lights and dangling hands atop the world and leading the willing to their true purpose. Drawn by Di Dru perhaps in his madness he had made something beautiful....

    Though she walked within the catacombs of canvas. she let herself not be drawn to the murals on the wall nor the shallow sob from the incubation chamber.

    Brought to their doors by the Man Who Stands, an eloquent and honourable man who deemed himself unworthy of entry within the burrow. Instead he had gone to preach the First Faiths cause, and with it brought exiles, believers of the faith deemed evil. A perplexing thought mused Spora.

    She had planned to send her Filthy Priest as an envoy to the people of the Quarry, to educate them on the true ways of this world, while she herself went to the visit the 'Tyrant Queen' but the Man who Stands had gone in unaffiliated stead. His message however had not graced the people of the Glass wall, only the Quarry folk. Perhaps her recent encounters with the new queen might still bear fruit.

    Still she had already gained followers. The babes and youths of the Quarry were placed within the incubation chambers, to show them the pointlessness of it all. Though with gentle care and delicate fingers, the children tried to raise the Blindbirds, the fragility of the feathery beings made it all futile.

    As was everything in this world.

    Through teary eyes and broken hope, the children would learn that life was naught but meat for the plants of the Penumbra.

    And nothing could change that.

    The Elderly would gather the fallen seeds of the JesterTrees, their bodies frail and weathered. The oldest and youngest would not be seeded yet, their growing and ancient bodies unsuitable hosts for the JesterTrees.

    Though she could feel the wood creak, their meat dripping as if salivating at the prospect, the people would do their part for the plants in the end. Through their toil or death it did not matter.

    Even her death, rapidly approaching, the knotting of her grassroots gut and swelling stomach a good indicator to her parasites predilection did not faze her. Going outside, she would simply wait to die...

    Her body was just sustenance for the soil, after all.



    The Nihtur turn themselves and the JesterTree forest into champions of the First Faith, the Forest and Burrow made into a shrine and holy site and the Nihtur it's dedicated devotees​
     
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    Beckoncall Beckoncall

    Speech for Quarry Election

    1654896667249.png

    ​
    Amaraa softly makes her way to the top of the lighthouse, using her powers to make a temporary amplifier to her voice so that all could hear her in the quarry. She wore a circlet that puffed soft rainbow mist at a constant pace.

    "My dear friends, my dear brothers and sisters of Light, we face incredible darkness ahead of us. Nothing new. We have survived, cherishing our light in our bid to cleanse the darkness from our view. We have made enormous strides toward that dream, but we now seek to answer for the future, for leadership. We have made a nation, a home for ourselves. We have shown our compatriots that iron-fisted rule is not necessary and that it is not the path moving forward. However, someone should take an executive position to manage affairs that debate cannot suffice in a timely manner. But, we should wary of relying on one man or woman to wield absolute power. Darkness whispers in the ears of those that wield it, corrupting them. My father, Niko Xygaras, understood this very well. He did not ask you to be your leader for he understood the dangers of doing so prematurely. He understood that the Quarry council was a blessing for it gave promise to just and fair governance that could weather the corrupting storm that darkness has shifted over power."

    "But, my dear brothers and sisters of Light, I speak this not to bore you. This is quite relevant for our discussion this day. We remember the day when grimmories ran from the 'library' as the alarm was sounded. Why were they there? Why had there been little evidence of a struggle? I arrived there that moment and scanned the scene. Calm for the beast's nature and their violent nature. Days earlier we had hunted and eradicated them in a fell swoop. They left that night and we've seen little of their kind since. Why? What was the purpose of their arrival? Why did the patrols not intercept the beasts before they reached so deep? Many questions yet, so little answers. The Agread has made no comment, which is strange. Something of critical concern to our security pushed aside for other projects, which I know of..."

    “Over alerting us to security concerns, he instead encouraged the slaves of Glasswall to rebel against their queen, a just idea to encourage those to seek freedom when in chains. However, as I have understood, has failed, with no appearance of the Agread at all. Of course, there wouldn’t be. He’s been here with us. I have been making resolutions to use the gifts of the Light and other goods at my disposal to make a peaceful resolution to the issue, to free them. However, that could not be resolved thanks to the Agread. The envoy of the slaves came to me for aid, and they spoke to me of the Agread’s involvement. They spoke such promise and love. Yet, now their lives have been thrown away at the Agread’s hand. From what I can see from here, they have burned in a restless fire. No memory of names in our hearts or our minds. Now they return to the Light as which they came, to join my father with his open arms and loving jokes.”

    Amaraa paused.

    “They did not need to die. No. I was well on my way to a peaceful resolution and a chance to build better relations with Glasswall for all of us, not individual clans or families. For the darkness seeks to divide us, to war amongst ourselves. For it cannot face us together and strong, it must divide us using our fears and insecurities. Not our differences, we all are different in the light’s gaze, for we all its children. We have not one voice but many, not one sight but many, and we are not one person but many. I seek to support and help all flourish in the way my father did those years ago. I seek to fill us with hope, so much so that fear is not a concern. For fear is darkness and if we all we do is ignore it, we do nothing about the darkness it truly is. Only through Hope can we banish this darkness that seeks to undermine our radiance that we inherit from the light. You are radiant ones; you are special and unique. You are not an inner light, but a radiance. Inner light is an insult to what you are. Do not offer yourself to another for them to consume your voice, your radiance. For they consolidate power, and we remember what I said happens to power in one place, it becomes corrupted sooner or later. The Light saw that we all needed radiance to remind us of this fact.”

    “And this turns to the topic many have begun to foresee in my words. What are my thoughts on my opponents? For the Agread, he seems well-intentioned and committed to spreading the light. But, only seems. On the day the great leviathan of the sky fell, on the day he killed it, he did so prematurely, with little thought for our lives. He had no solution to save us from its colossal weight. He asked Yaas and I to release the heat from our structures to divert it from annihilating us all. Yet, even that was not enough… When I asked you to believe in the hope my father gave, a great gale came and saved us all! My father never once mentioned his name, never. My father did not recognize him as savior. And the Agread’s stone tablets be damned to darkness if they dare say otherwise. My father saved us for we believed in hope, in the hope he made when he discovered the Quarry, showed us that we could weather the storm. But, that is not all. My father once told me a story that the elder of the community can attest to, those that traveled with my father to the Quarry…”

    “Before they left, the former queen Aaliyah was challenged by the Agread and in the commotion, he placed his followers to sleep, for them to never awaken as my father never heard of them after that. We know that Glasswall can be brutal, none deny it. Did their ‘savior’ doom them to die? The Agread will speak to these actions or let them lie and allow us to take their silence as admission of the worse. Will the Agread answer to my other questions? Or will the Agread stand by as this litany of issues and malfeasance show us what he truly is? A fraud and a charlatan. I’m sure many of you have questions as well. Will he answer them? Or will he remain silent knowing that I have revealed him for what he is? Will you allow him to destroy you and deny you what you are?”

    “Now for our dear master smith and dear friend Yaas. She is a good woman, one who has supported the works of the Quarry faithfully. However, over our many years of working together, I have noticed clear points that need to be addressed. Firstly, she is a fine craftsman, but she can be easily manipulated when her pride is wounded. Trust me, I’ve recited some of my father’s favorite jokes. She did not take them well. And while she is good in the forge, I fear what the darkness may do to her. And I rather protect her from the machinations my father saw. Secondly and finally, she is a fine craftswoman. Making beautiful works of craft that surpass all in view. Allow me to take leadership so that she may continue to dazzle us with her creations.”

    “Now, finally, I will discuss myself. Something, I will admit is not my strong suit as it is not right to boast oneself. We all say many things, but it is our actions that show who we are. Look around you at the lighthouse, the place we have built, the improvements we’ve made. It was all thanks to hope. All thanks to my father. So, I will finish with that. For I will not speak of what I will do, for you can see what I have done, what the Xygaran family has done. And that should attest to what my leadership shall do.”

    “Shine bright radiant ones as the miracles we are.”
     
    "There is nothing to fear but fear itself.

    A generation ago, a group of humans gathered and launched their improbable assault against the darkness. Foragers and inventors, leaders and the faithful who had trekked across a deadly and dark expanse to escape predation and fear finally grouped together in an effort to fight back against the horrors of the dark, using the strength of our wills and souls... our inner lights.

    The effort that they began ultimately became stained. It was stained by the predation of Tyranny and fear of the unknown or other; a question that divides our kind and sabotages our efforts against the dark into a stalemate.

    Of course, the answer to this question is already embedded within the principles of this settlement, the Quarry. The Quarry that has at its very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Quarry that promised its people liberty and justice, and a union of disparate people that could be and should be perfected over time.

    Yet such principles would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage or provide men and women of every faith and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the Quarry. What is needed are citizens in successive generations who are willing to do their part - through protests and struggles, in the depths of the darkness and in the halls of civilization, through battle and diplomacy, and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of our forefathers.

    This is one of the tasks that we set forth in the Inner Light - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring, and more prosperous civilization. I chose to run for leadership at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together, unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - toward a better future for our children and our grandchildren.

    Throughout last few years, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely ostracizing and religious lens, we won friends and believers among some of the most distant communities in the Cresh. We even won over a friend among the Vivaldi despite being political rivals in this election.

    That is not to say that faith has not been in issue in this election. At various stages in recent history, some figures have deemed me either "too zealous" or "not zealous enough". We saw sectarian tensions bubble to the surface with the arrival of the Man Who Stands. The rumors makers have scoured every single opinion for the latest evidence of religious polarization, not just in terms of faithful and not faithful, but how faithful as well.

    And yet, it has only been in the last few weeks that the discussion of faith has taken a particularly divisive turn. On one end of the spectrum, we're heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in religious brainwashing; that it's based solely on the desire of wide-eyed pilgrims to purchase religious reconciliation on the cheap. In addition we've heard vicious lies and mud-slinging propagated by those hungry for power and following a political agenda by the Xygaras platform. They claim we armed and pushed the rebellion in the Glasswall when it was in fact they who gave the rebels manifested armor and encouraged them to rebel. I did not want to see their blood spilled senselessly like that and sought to implement a diplomatic solution with the Vivaldi until the rebellion happened due to the encouragement of the Xygaras' bloody, red hands. Surely the words and wild claims of the Xygaras should be taken as the blind truth. However, even more recently we have even seen and heard of outside influence by the Tyrant on our election in support of the Vivaldi platform with the appearances of vassals of the Tyrant in order to skew the results of the election. The benefactor has sadly seemingly sold her soul and that of the Quarry in an attempt to grasp political power and likely military aid in their crusade against the Jesterwood, a shining beacon of example as to how free and fair this election truly is.

    We've heard from others use of incendiary language and actions to express views that have the potential not only to widen the divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and goodness of the Quarry, and that rightly offend the faithful and non-faithful alike.

    But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren't simply controversial. They weren't simply a leader's efforts to speak and lash out against perceived threats. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of the Quarry — a view that sees subversion as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with the Quarry above all that we know is right with the Quarry; a view that sees the conflicts as rooted primarily in the actions of friends and allies, instead of emanating from perverse and hateful ideologies that seek to divide us.

    As such, these views are not only wrong, but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; religiously and politically charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - hostile beings such as the Grimmory, limited resources, the looming threat of tyranny, religious tension, and the need to expand beyond the fishbowl known as the Cresh - problems that are neither Argean, Nikoist or Vivaldist, but rather problems that confront us all.

    I would not be running for leadership if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of people want for the Quarry. I would not have pushed for a fair and free election if I did not believe in the people of the Quarry. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation — the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this first of many elections. That is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many people in the prior generation have come to realize over the course of the decades since a group of humans banded together to fight the darkness in the Cresh, there is nothing to fear but fear itself."
     
    The Nihtur Bloodline

    Spora

    (The first)

    Key

    Disciplined: Green
    Clear Headed: Light Blue
    Misguided: Grey
    Corrupter: Red
    Dissociated: Dark Blue

    Trailing along a path of fire, the plants following at her feet burned by her lanterns light, Spora entered the Quarry. With word travelling far and wide among the cresh, about elections going on within, the First of the Nihtur came to continue what the Man who Stands had so zealously started. With the residents all out to watch and listen, was it not the perfect time to state her cause among these fair and free speeches.

    Adorned in bone and feather, her leather cuirass tight around her bulging stomach, Spora kept her gaze high as she was bathed in unnatural light. Use to the darkness of her burrow, or the smoky shine of her pyres, her eyes would take time to adjust to this false brilliance.

    Walking towards a great hub of activity, Spora took to the stage and spoke.

    "Your candidates speeches are pointless. This election an exercise in futility. Your need for mediation meaningless. None of this matters against the darkness and its circle of death. Within these walls you think you can escape darkness? Escape death? Within this hole of hubris, you have faced death so many times, your Light a beacon to it and your Hope a wanting wall against it and though you survive, we all ultimately perish in the end."

    Unconsciously her hand drifted to the leathery and mummified one of her hero so long ago, hanging from her neck, entwining her fingers with his for a few moments once more before vacantly letting go.

    "So why prolong your suffering. Your agony. Accept your ephemeral existence as to what it is. Futile. Embrace it! You may strike down one horror, but there will always be more, far worse within the darkness. The only constant in this world for man is death."

    "But one thing stands apart, above the blood and destruction, feeding upon it unflinchingly, without care or regard for life's meaningless struggle. The Plants of the Penumbra. Even amongst you now, stands a towering example.    " Spora pointed at the beanstalk with her long, painted black nails "Free from struggle and hardship, this plant gives to you great gifts, only seeking and wanting your eventual demise to nourish its roots and grow stronger. A fitting purpose for a fleeting thing such as Man."

    " I am the First of the Nihtur, the First Faith that all religion stems from. Met with bigotry and persecution at the hands of your Leaders, they have taken the truth that i preach and twisted it for their purpose." Her long grey hair, stemmed with red and green, brushed against her shoulders as she looked upon the crowd, with aged, squinting eyes " The Inner Light, that which guides you from fear? The corruption of the real truth, the embracing of death and the nourishment your body provides for the fauna. And Hope. The believing of something more for the future. A malfeasance of the freedom from hardship and struggle by simply accepting your fate as nothing within this world. "

    "There is no leader. No Light. No Hope that can save you from the denizens of the darkness. Look upon me and learn the truth."

    Unbuckling her Cuirass and letting her rags fall at her feet in the vast light that was the Quarry, Spora's tattooed body, engraved with her insipid idealogy, would teach all that looked upon her the nihilism of the Nihtur, the First and true Faith.    ​
     
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    Anaya of the Singers sits quietly in the crowd, watching the speeches with a tired, almost bored expression. They speak much of what they have done, little of what they will do. And some of them take quite some time to talk about what the others do incorrectly. Philosophical arguments, not plans.

    And this last one... Anaya has seen horrors, certainly. And she understands the will to incorporate into the natural world that already exists here. And that is where the similarities stop. This woman is utterly mad, just the sound of her speaking of such despair as any kind of salvation makes her skin crawl.

    She fiddles with one of her many rings, trying to calm herself. She needs to learn where these people live, and never go within three miles if she can help it. Her people must never come in contact with... whatever this is. Such madness could be contagious for all she knows.

    She sighs, staying seated, as much as she would like to get up and leave. She needs to watch the responses to this insanity.

    Her people are doing their usual, trading gold or help teaching animals for things they need. Tools and weapons, or supplies to make them, more interesting food, perhaps even new friends. She might have them stay longer, to see how this pans out. While they don't live there, the leadership of this settlement may be important to their dealings going forward.

    Singers are interested in trade with the quarry, offering gold and animal handling services
     
    The Troupe moves into the Cresh, beholding the land and those who might live there. The twenty followers move, their heads shaved bald and following the Troupe Master as he guides them on into the Cresh with a grim expression. Moving with the living souls and followers was a host of some twenty man-sized puppets sewn together from materials scavenged on their journey to this place. The puppets lurch about with an eerie solidity that spoke of stuffing and perhaps bone used to build their frames. Their bodies held together by masterful stitching and sewing so that whatever stuffing they had did not leak out.

    For now the Troupe marched on further into the Cresh, not hiding their presence and instead would send word to Glasswall and Quarry of a desire to talk and trade. They weren't a large group by comparison of followers, but the puppets moved with intent to defend them. They seemed to use the strange dolls/puppets as beasts of burden as well, carrying loaded tirelessly so that the living could focus more on keeping watch or gathering materials for their leader.

    Azon Sikander adjusts the amber glasses he wore, carrying along a finely made kit in his right hand. His lantern was in his left to provide light while a sharp stone was kept stashed for easy access. He felt his bald head in a thoughtful gesture and frowns as he sees this place. This doomed place. He had gathered word from those whose paths he crossed of the strange land. He had heard of Glasswall and its Queen. Word had come as well of the Quarry and its election.

    "Alas, my friends, we must be the heralds. This lot is too busy squabbling over power," declared Azon to his followers.

    The Troupe began to erect a plinth from what material they found between the two locations along what might be a main road or path between them. They must spread their word even as they worked to make connections and find supplies to trade for even if it was by renting out puppet labor or their own skills in the working of needles and sewing. No signs of hostility were made, only pleas of a crowd to gather round and listen of the dread tale they must tell. Any who stopped would be welcomed, offered trade of Liferoot and then invited to hear the dire news.

    "Awaken, children of the Cresh! Know that the time of life in this place is coming to an end! We have seen it, the doom that comes to your lands! We have seen the eggs pouring forth into the waters, the terrible beasts that will erupt from them! You are no longer safe here! Rally yourselves! Save yourselves! Travel from this place before the DOOM is birthed and this land consumed! Gather up your lives and goods, gather up your courage! There will be no survival come the turn of a lifespan in this place! We are not mad, we have seen the DOOM and come to warn you!"

    So declared Azon and his followers at their waypoint, hoping any would hear their warning.

    Some also have asked for 'Those Who Sing', curious about meeting their leader.
     
    Trektek Trektek

    Down in the Forge, the Great Yaas was working a giant block of quartz, decorated and reinforced with Wyrmbone.

    Kent Kent Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon :

    With the Argead in presence, meditation swiftly turned towards to mind in the Hall of Eternal fire. Opening the first "eye of the wind" as the Argead called it, enabled the shamans to see, more or less, in the dark (30 feet dim vision in darkness) -- many secrets danced before them... but they lacked the mana to chase and realize them. One thing they all noted, was that the prison they had built for the Seg's consciousness was dissolving. Either into some form of death, or back to the creature that projected it, they were unsure... but when their meditations were concluded, the prison was empty. This was a jail for a LIVING specimen, not a projection inhabiting another individual... It was typical that the Seg would not be undone so easily... (though it had been cursed) -- those in attendence would know the Seg was whole again... and perhaps an even greater threat...

    Auriel Maza Auriel Maza :
    For her part, Amaraa and her followers rebuilt the lighthouse in a similar grandeur to that of her father. The design was different, shedding it's light mainly in the quarry, and it was covered in spikes and deterrents to keep the ubiquitous flyers off of the thing.

    The ring of red herbs was planted outside the walls as an early warning system and had already in places begun to thrive. Soon enough, any breach from the ground could be seen incoming, if not traced outgoing...

    Heyitsjiwon Heyitsjiwon -- when he was done treating with the shamans Kent Kent -- the Argead went back to the scene of the battle of the grimmory and the Bisontaur.
    There, in a ball of rusted disintigrating iron were three spheres the size of peaches, but pulled like taffy slowly returning their spherical shape. This was PRISTINE MATTER (tier 6 material) ... but what could be done with it, and what was it doing in some capsule below the ground?
    The followers of the Argead felt they were being observed.... or more to the point something was TRYING to observe them... they moved away from the area quickly, As unbeknownst to them THE SEG drooled at their passing, then scrabbled through the scree to an approaching human...
     
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