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Fantasy Kingdom Death - Main - IC

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Pat Pat :
The Ciun create commerce with currency. This will be worth bonus culture points in the next generation, and the hope of dealings shifts relations between peoples from what can be taken to what can be bought. (Civility in the cresh increases) though strange tendrils of thought began to invade the wisest and most skilled of the Ciun... something was wrong... mightily wrong... new people had been appearing in smaller numbers in the cresh and psychic turbulence was palpable beyond the waterline. What could this mean?

Twist Twist :
With the "First Faith" declared, a militant energy fell over the people of the Nihtur Bloodline. Just like everything else... peace was hopeless, and they would need to be prepared to face the hostilities of that which was to come. The Nihtur shuffled about normally in a manner comfortable -- but when the time came to fight the roots and the parasites gave them great strength and agility. The symbiosis with the plants of this dark world deepend, and the creepers and taproots of the vile jestertrees seemed to burrow underground wherever significant numbers of the Nihtur walked... (Nihtur gain "Sulthis Support" -- in the strictest sense this is familiar plants aiding them in offense and defense when in groups of 20 or more)

Eliasdagood Eliasdagood
Gold is new, a popular in the quarry -- as such they quickly acquire all that which they need: passable tools, weapons and armor, surplus food, and pure water. Where there were shortages, there was now fulfillment, where there was need, there was now use. Control of Gold shifted as it exchanged and changed hands, but the Singers were still the true Goldmavins... if this would continue into the future remained a question...
The Singers were also able to get new heights in obedience and training from the dog-like creatures of the quarry. They obtained their own specimens from among the most willful, and made them into smart and faithful pets. Singers Gain "Festrog Faithful."

Crocodile Crocodile :
Likewise the Troupe had done well in their initial trading with the community of the quarry and lesser extent glasswall, sharing tales of doom and labor both find and burly for exchange in the weapons, armor, clothing and tools they needed. Needs were met and shortages cured and the travelling larder was filled. It was indeed also with some great interest that the Troupe was met, their strange ways and fearful message inspiring some of the most recent arrivals to the Cresh to join them.
Troup gains 5 population, 1 unit of gold, 2 units of obsidian, and a unit of quartz.
 
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.

Eostre ran a finger and thumb over the individual beads of the pearl necklace draped around her neck, rotating it's length entire for good luck before concealing the jewelry under her clothes and rising from bed to watch the Ciun painstakingly copying the contents of the clay tablets, all destined for shattering by her hand, onto the blank pages of books that will usurp them once she had read through the works one last time. The collection of knowledge that once took up all the shelves of the Quarry library will become a much lighter, and more compact, burden to bear when the Cresh is abandoned.

She envied her people. Were she only... Born rather than awakened, raised instead of surviving, and taught what she discovered... There would be more to the rest of her life than reaching for a bright light at the end of a narrowing hall. Generations will come after her, and they will have what the witch that bore them was denied.
 
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Zahra Epimoni
Mistress of the Pit

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The darkness of the cresh was lit by an orange glow. It was not the vaunted lighthouse of the Quarry, it was not the fabled 'sun' from memories long forgotten, it was not the lights of a monster in the sky, no, it was something more mundane and yet far more awful. It was a consuming fire that licked and tore its way through the slave quarters, that consumed warehouse after warehouse. The fire consumed the innocent and wicked alike as screams filled the air, the smell of burning flesh wafted its way through Glasswall, the scent spreading to every nook and cranny. It was the fire of a misguided faith and its foolish followers. It was the fire of slaves that burned their own, driven by those who cared not for them. Zahra stood upon the outskirts of the bamboo pavilion and watched.

She could have given the order, tried to save them, tried to protect more of Glasswall, but she didn't. As her dark, swollen eyes watched the spread of fire, watched as people screamed and flailed, their bodies alight, their fat bubbling and streaming down the sides of their charred flesh, Zahra smiled [Cruel]. Her thin, broken lips pulling back over her teeth, the orange glow of the fire reflected off her face giving her a particular demonic visage. The slaves of Glasswall had been an issue. An issue she had inherited from her mother, Zahra had intended to slowly phase them out. Releasing a system where they could climb to freedom and from there they could climb to becoming true Epimoni. By slowing down the rate of those that became slaves and slowly lowering the standards to freedom, she had hoped to remove slaves and incorporate them into the Epimoni by the next generation [Smart]... However, this worked as well [Cruel]. In some ways, it worked better. If the slaves had managed to become Epimoni, they would have brought their misbegotten belief of the 'Inner Light' with them. A cancer that would have eaten away at the strength of the Tyrant Throne, but now? Now they burned. Now the Epimoni were reminded of the treachery of the 'False Messiah'. In the past, his followers had attempted to usurp the throne, and now they attempted to do so again. It would become clear to all of Glasswall that the 'Inner Light' and its False Messiah can never be trusted [Smart]. An inelegant solution, but Zahra could not deny its effectiveness. Perhaps this is what Amaraa of the Quarry found so enjoyable about fire? How it seemed to purify and cleanse [Cruel].

Zahra strained her ears as she tried to listen. Past the flicking flames, past the screams, to the sobs. The begging. The pleading. For salvation. For their False Messiah. For the Inner Light. And their reward? Pain, silence and death [Cruel]. The poor fools, they thought they were fighting for something, for someone, but they weren't. They never had been. They were pawns in a larger game, puppets of those who could not care less about any of them [Smart]. There would be no aid, no salvation, and the best part, the one who had burned them, was their own. This fire was started not by the Epimoni, but by slaves so desperate to save their own skins, they were willing to kill every man, woman and child they called 'family'. The very people they claimed to fight for, now lay burning by their very hands. And the people who started the fire? Cut down in the Cresh, alone, terrified, in the dark, left with nothing but sorrow and regret. A fitting end for traitors [Cruel].

Who were the puppeteers though? Zahra had no doubt the 'False Messiah' and his pets were behind it. They had spread their faith to the slaves, and it was his name that was on their lips when they died. From the reports, it seemed some of the slaves also used slingstaffs, and from her memory of the battle with the Grimmory, the only people that used that was the Messiah and his people [Smart]. It was odd as those were the only weapons that weren't scavenged obsidian shanks and spears [Smart]. A primitive weapon for a primitive, worthless belief. Their armor had eluded Zahra for some time. Why had they had such well crafted armor, even if it was such a basic material, if they were also using such impoverished weaponry? But the speeches at the election, where the rats were so quick to throw the others to the Rex, had revealed much. Deep down, Zahra now believed that both Amaraa of the Xygaras and the followers of Agread were likely both supplying and encouraging the slaves, but perhaps were unaware that the other was doing the same [Smart]. The Agread had given them slingstaffs and were likely looking for other means of acquiring more weaponry for them while Amaraa supplied them with armor [Smart]. It would explain why Amaraa had given such outrageous and foolish offers when she attempted to bid for the Black Queen's support. She had believed that the slave uprising would be more devastating then it was, that it would be a roaring inferno instead of a whimpering flicker. She offered cooperation with one hand and in the other held a dagger. For all their misbegotten words on 'Hope', it seemed they truly believed in something more pragmatic. It was sad, and amusing, that Yaas of the Vivaldi clan seemed to be the only one to truly believe in Hope [Smart, Cruel], she almost pitted the Forgelord, to believe in a lie like the rest, but their religion of Hope was far more useful to her then the Inner Light.

Yes, it was likely both parties were involved in the slave rebellion, but Zahra had no plans on punishing either. The Agread had punished themselves, lost their foothold in her kingdom and now they would be more resilient to their nonsensical beliefs in the future, and Amaraa.. Well, she was protected by the fact the usefulness of Yaas outweighed the annoyance Zahra felt towards the woman, and their misbegotten belief would prove useful in fighting the machinations of the False Messiah in the future [Smart]. Her eyes drifted to the horizon, towards the Quarry, the lighthouse visible even over the orange glow. The election had been amusing. In truth, in did not matter to Zahra all that much who won it. She would have come out ahead regardless, but Yaas winning did give the most direct benefit. Soon she would accomplish yet another thing her mother could not. Soon she would further cement herself as her better. Soon her mother would be little more then a forgotten memory, a woman who was surpassed by the child she could never bring herself to love [Cruel/Insecure].

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

Build Expedition Supplies on mass (Labor support from Azon [Croc])
For future expeditions beyond the Cresh, a large stockpile will be created and maintained. Standard things like woven baskets and back baskets, leathers, wagons, bamboo water containers, preserved food, spider cages, medical wraps, tools and the like will be stored. However, some special things will also be created to make life on a caravan a bit easier such as bamboo/fiber fittings that can be used with leather and/or silk to quickly set up tents and awnings along with bundles of tied bamboo and bamboo/fiber fittings that can be used to quickly create mantlets that can be used as quick fortifications for camps. Zahra aims to create not just enough for the Epimoni, but hopefully enough to supply the Seia and Marion clans too.
 
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Azon Sikander
The Troupe Master
Herald of Exodus




Azon sat in the trade camp the Troupe had built around their stage where day and night they continued to spread the words of doom to any who would listen. His amber glasses focused on working silk thread into clothing. He had not expected such demand for the skills of sewing but it was to the profit of his people. His followers had gained members and there was trade. They were building up their stockpiles even as they spent much of the items they were bringing in. His own people would soon have fine silk clothing even as there was work to make cloth for others in both Quarry and Glasswall. He frowns and pauses in his sewing, giving his fingers a break as he sighs and runs his hand along his bald head. Only recently had the entire Troupe shaved their heads bald again in ritual to gather the hair for stuffing and use in their dolls. Hair was a resource like anything else these days and Azon was a clever man when it came to solving problems.

Quarry had been a curious people to engage with, only now though he had heard of terrible bloodletting going on. The peoples inside had set upon one another and he had felt tempted to take a side with the Singers... but the leader of the Quarry had traded fairly and at least listened to the message of doom. The Troupe had taken to calling the coming horror something more visceral, to give it form to the people of the Cresh. So now they called it the Hunger. It seemed though that even before this insanity within the Cresh, they would have wasted lives in some crazed assault upon another rogue band in the Cresh. Instead, fighting had come to them internally and the Troupe had to stay above it all. He needed tools promised to him by those in the Quarry to arm and equip his people for the Exodus. All that mattered was the warning of the Hunger and their preparations to depart these lands before the turning of a lifetime. Before the Hunger came for them all.

Glasswall had been amusing and curious with its singular Queen. She had listened to the message of the Hunger and taken it seriously if not fully believing it. Azon was happy to see that at least but pitied those who would likely remain behind in foolishness. The vassals of Glasswall had been good trade partners, providing much needed materials as well to the Troupe for services and goods they had traded for elsewhere. Azon had elected to be wise and warn the Queen of her cursed mark, prepared even to aid in its removal to forge friendship with that grim woman for the sake of their peoples. Obsidian flowed as did meat which even now fed them while the rest was being preserved for the coming of the Exodus both the refine the practice and have something ready.

Warning was given to more nomadic peoples as well that had come to trade or speak. Azon hoped they would listen and depart when the Troupe did but there was little more to do than treat them like the others. Trade and warning. They had allowed a shaman amongst them when he came to visit as he seemed not to be an issue. Azon though warned his people of the dangers of letting a local belief taking roon amongst them. The Quarry was a bloody display of what it could cause and he had used it thusly. The shaman was treated kindly and respected, even employed in his services, yet now there was caution in taking to heart any local teachings. If their message of the Hunger was listened to politely, though would do the same for the Shaman's words or any others.

Perhaps I was too ambitious in warning them all, but I had to try. My people must be known as honest traders and speakers of truth. I cannot afford to be seen as a liar when the time of Exodus continues to come closer. Even now I'm sacrificing so much to ensure our own needs are better. Dolls traded I would never have parted with before, even as I make far superior ones to fill the gap. I cannot even help those who have helped me... for all are trading fairly and I cannot afford to pick a local side. My side is the Troupe. These people are just other souls who I am giving the chance to save themselves... If they can't be bothered to listen? They can die to the Hunger.

Azon ran his hand along his bald head again and got up to go check on the assembly of the new dolls. He would have to handle that as priority while their labor dolls were prepared over time and clothing pulled together. Exodus was coming and the Troupe would be ready. With that thought, Azon grabs his sewing kit to get to work even as he gathers several of his closest followers to teach them and give orders to make preparations for a final kindness to the Cresh.

Action
Creation of 10 Pearlescent Living Dolls (2 Pearls, 2 Liferoot)​
 
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The Nihtur Bloodline

Spora

(The first)

Henchmen

(The Filthy Priest)
Di Dru

(The Maniac)
Rockblade


Key

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

Artistic: Yellow
Delusional: Rose


Spora was tired from her trek across the barren black lands of the Cresh, her weathered body drained of energy as new life ripened inside her. Her travels, however, had bore much fruit. One such boon, being her current minder, Rockblade.

Seemingly set in his ways by the massive blade of stone he carried with him, the vicious Vivaldi had forgone the recent developments made by his egotistical clansmen and their forge. Championing the old ways, Rockblade crafted his tools with rigorous hammering and great stamina, making him an exceptional physical specimen. Though his original motivation was irrelevant to Spora, be it retribution or belief, it didn't matter now. With the JesterTrees already having plans for him, RockBlade was now to be one of many new initiates.

With their lamentable leaders lost in their pointless plans of self indulgence, Spora had merely approached the Quarry's populace with the truth. A truth the people had quite easily accepted, without their Leaders interference.

And so the First Faith would gradually grow in this dark world, like the true masters of this world did, it's new followers soon to embrace their subservience to the plants of the Penumbra and the gifts it did bestow.


Spora could feel her bonds with the JesterTrees strengthening and deepening, the flora festering inside her calling out to it's brethren, declaring each man, woman and child of the Nihtur who carried them within as one of it's own. The First Faith and its followers were steadily achieving true symbiosis with the JesterTrees.

But there was more plant life out there....

Whispering to her, calling her name......

Within these woods and beyond, the Plants of the Penumbra waited for the arrival of the First Faith and the Nihtur.
Weak and withered, there was not much she could do in these final days. Except perhaps be a beacon for the fauna...

Their way of life was enshrined in these woods now, a malfeasant memorial to future generations. And a suitable grave for the first.



The Nihtur seek out and GATHER the native and surrounding plant life and fauna of the Jesterwoods, seeking to harness and deepen their bonds with their unique ecosystem. (Plant Kinship used)
 
Jozef Xygaras
The Abyss Watches Back - The Black Shepard
1656984053380.png


  • A spark in the dark. Tendrils of darkness carries the spark down. The Jag, a middle of many others, cut by a giant claw. Two crags and ravine. Within that rocky, root filled ravine the spark landed in a human silhouette. Not of a woman, but of a man. Darkness began to fill with the light making a clear grey. Purple energy flooded the area, towering until it faded leaving a brownish, blackish haired youth breathed in its place. Seemingly human. Each hair, each pore, each freckle; all aligned and prepared to specifications. A human body? Who would know? And the youth cared not. Coughing ensured with blood and mucus being expelled from the body. Though, none of it necessary and thus of no concern. Heavy breath after heavy breath, the young man flopped down on his back, wagging his fingers and toes. His eyes focused out in the pitch black darkness. He remembered the danger, and sprang to his feet. Yet while many would use their dexterity, the young man dissolved into smoke and saw the dark as light, scanning the landscape. Nothing nearby. Safety for now. Though, that would likely change. When, is the million dollar question. But, no one waits this long. And the young man in his nudity became increasingly comfortable in the dark, in being able to see nothing.

    Step, step, step; the stone firmly cck'd against his feet. He stretched his arms as a raiment of shadows slipped down. Shadows danced around him as the shirt skittered across his chest, merging at the middle with the smell of jasmine meeting the nose. At his feet, darkness gripped his ankles and hunched up his legs like a caterpillar, forming trousers akin to Jeans. A wave rushed over his back, forming into a collared coat. Woven like it was made of wool, but its misty nature, as with the other garments, indicates its true nature as a figment of darkness grafted to skin and flesh. He held his body in a pose, as if to show its beauty. But, none could see, including himself. But, the mind's eye is quite capable, even now. A grin full of teeth formed in his face. A tear formed in his right eye as he held them closed... A breath, a sigh, then to breath again. Clenched fists, sudden turns of the head, and a soft "Agread" left the lips. Then, more thoughts began to flood until he felt an important decision his mother made. Archon. A strange concept. How did she know? That didn't matter. She was the mentally... flexible one. He was sure she found out one way or another. Maybe the black hand offered the idea? He wasn't sure, but he felt something missing. The hand lacked conviction to the vision. And he shivered in disappointment. But, the hand knew. And maybe that was the plan, to prove his worthiness, to prove his faith in the vision? The young man scantly knew the answers to these questions. All he knew, he was not whole on that side. And he felt its presence nearby, in a group of lantern bearers.

    Supposedly, the lanterns provided for the survival of humanity. Our youth wasn't particularly interested in that. It would not take a wise guy to see that his affinity with the darkness would lead to such a position. But, people are stupid. Oh, everyone knew that, at least once someone said something stupid. But, that matters not. Jozef knew better than to stay alone. There was no reason to do so. Wasn't that a good quality of humanity? Being able work together and overcoming the odds together? Oh the smiles formed in this moment. Chasing the lights, Jozef became one with smoke, climbing out of the ravine and approaching the lights he saw. His chosen few and his other part awaited them. Well, the chosen few for now.
    -----------------------
    -----------------------
    Jozef formed from smoke inside the dark bubble as another exited. A blonde haired youth, of a thicker build and brown eyes. Stumbling and waving his arms beside Jozef, Jozef caught the youth's back. With a pat and smile, Jozef ignited a light with his powers so that they could see. The air was still and smelled of earth. A small trickle of water could be faintly heard from the surface, rain? Or imagination? The scene faded to black despite it all as Jozef's purple eyes focused on the blonde haired face beside him. He took a deep breath letting his chest rise and fall. A strange feeling, a tightness in the chest. But, tense felt alien now. Moments forgoing their terse sensations for more detailed ones. The feeling of hair on his skin, warmth, and the simple sigh of relief filled Jozef's mind as he silently watched in a still.

    "Are you okay?" A silky voice with vibrations of chocolate with a tint of static from a television. An echo called back as well. Not from the stone walls, but from the voice itself. Listening deeper: the plucking of arrows, the strums of a lute, the washes of waves on sand, a laugh, and more infinitely changing with the flections of Jozef's voice. There was hesitation in his voice, as he looked to have lost air. Gasping with not a fear or panic in his eyes. He placed his hand on the blonde's shoulder, "Lukas?"

    A cough, a tremble across the body and a deep, heavy lean across Jozef's shoulders, "Yeah. Feel..."

    "Weak?"

    "A little. Did something stupid."

    "On brand so far." Jozef snickered.

    "Yea, yea, I know... Thanks." Lukas laid his head back. "Where you come from anyway?"

    "I..."

    Lukas sat up, "It doesn't matter. You told me you keep me safe, and looks like you did with the others. And this place is pretty cool. You living in here?"

    Jozef whispered, "Yeah."

    Lukas smirked, scooting over to the wall of the bubble. Jozef sat beside, looking out into the black. Thinking Lukas would panic, the Black Shepard wrapped his arm around his shoulders only to be dragged into an embrace and a strong smooch on the cheek. While the ensuing blushing would be invisible to both parties, Lukas was a person, not people. And thus, he was not an idiot. Lukas, with his tired arms, laid Jozef on top of him, letting the stone of the bubble support him and keep him upright. Jozef's dark raiments receded, leaving skin to skin. Warmth to warmth, blonde to brown, and honesty to honesty. Jozef's legs wrapped around, letting a deep embrace and beating hearts fill the space between.

    A cold chill and Jozef fell out. A sudden realization, a flash of his mother's memories. An ooze of darkness flooded from Jozef's skin. A sense of rage, mystique, of intrigue flooded over Jozef, but two arms wrapped around his neck and yanked him down. A nuzzle of checks and foreheads heralded the converge of lips.

    "Happy birthday my Shepard."

    Jozef paused, "Love is a strange thing, when it spooks you with a glance."

    Lukas raked through Jozef's hair as one head rested on forearms, the other on chest. Open eyes lulled into closed ones, breaths slowed, and muscles relaxed.

    Yet, in the background, swirling shadows plucked and flew in the air. Even in sleep, the shadow relentless, restless. Rings of sinking ships echoed the bubble; no water, no ship. Only what could be calls with no response. Investigations and probes into the sounds of the bubble as others took their rest. The light had its time. Now the shadow would start to enact its machinations, hopefully with the light's honeyed words and purpose.
 

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