"Lost Continent: Flight From Muurdaan" (BeckonCall's FNB!)

[NorthOfOrdinary]

Beckoncall

Princess Charlotte tried her best to ignore the dream she had the night before. If it was a sign, there'd be another. Today, they had work to do. The Defenders of the Faith had succeeded in finding a suitable plot of land on the river. It even had honey and a set of docks.

The Reinen colonists were awoken at the crack of dawn. They were used to it. The work started almost immediately. Everyone pitched in to help pull the ship onto the sand where it was promptly torn apart plank by plank and hauled up the cliff side. Wagons were assembled as possible to ease the loads. The rigging was used to make ropes. The sails became stretchers and later, they'd become clothing. The lifeboats were kept for travel at their new site. Every man, woman, and child had a job to do.

"Great work everyone, the Lord of Purity will be pleased!" The Princess could be heard walking up and down the line, helping to encourage and organize her flock. "Get ready to move!" Someone began to play an accordion, but there was little dancing by anyone, not yet at least. "Lets go!"

The Reinen carried, wheeled, and dragged their goods as fast as the slowest person, which wasn't too bad, as they made their way up the beach and through the Platz in a parade of colorful colonists. Not a scrap was left behind for the exiles...except for a single keg of beer on Charlotte's insistence. They were friendly at least, and friends deserved gifts.

Across the plains the Reinen marched in a single-file train, with the Defenders of Faith leading the way. Only when they were close, did Charlotte allow for the fastest families to break away from the rest. The river was even better than she had expected. It may have looked humble now, but she could see the marks of its spring flood. The woods across the water looked homely, and she fully intended to expand across to them before Winter. The Reinen were children of the Lord of Purity, if this was their divine right, she believed they needn't worry about gnolls or wisps. The Elders were in agreeance. Oh glory, how that honey was on everyone's mind!

The order was given by Princess Charlotte to begin building, following the plans she had drafted with her tinkerers, and the ringing of hammers soon filled the sky. The hum of saws and the scraping of shovels signified the Reinen's first breakage of dirt in the new world. The honor went to Fitz Baker, an old volk man who would remember this day for the rest of his natural life. They all would.

The cottages, built simple (by Reinen standards), were crafted to last and erected one to a family. There'd be time for improvement later, and for now, every house looked the same. Princess Charlotte was happy to have her's finished. She did her best to help the others, running supplies and instructions between the tinkerers and the Volk. She may have been in charge, but she knew how to follow another's expertise when needed. The faster they set up shelter, the sooner they could prepare for the winter and explore the surrounding area.

Spoiler

It's time for the Reinen to begin making their new home!

-Finishing up their preparations, the Reinen disassemble their ship and carry the supplies with them to the new settlement site.

-The Reinen begin the task of erecting a town of cottages on the riverbank. A church too will be built for worshipping the Lord of Purity. Lumber will come from the ship, nearby trees, and whatever can be scrounged.

-Two Defenders of the Faith are tasked with exploring the far side of the river, with instructions not to stray too far.

-The Reinen are instructed to prepare their fields for crops that could grow in time to beat the first frost. Anything that wouldn't be harvestable in time is to be carefully stored until the next growing season.

- Princess Charlotte respectfully, and politely, declines the invitation to join in colonial government until a later time. She thanks the Attatolians and the High Born, but reminds them that establishing themselves first must take precedence until her flock's footing is stable.

 

[Beckoncall]

NorthOfOrdinary :

"What crops would grow before end of fall..." Fitz Baker wiped an already wet handkerchief over his already sweaty and worried brow.

"Cabbage and baby corns it is! Baby corns and cabbage the princess will have! Sauerkraut aplenty to keep thru winter!" The Obersts nodded in unison as if a play in sport were called, then rallied families to start their infant plots.

...All of this happened far behind Gerhard Trekmann and his Second, Enno Abel... the two defenders of the faith had been instructed to cross the river and scout it for the princess. The locals said crossing the river was pure foolishness -- land possessed by enemies, seen and unseen...

"The Princess would have these foes be seen then." Trekmann said.

"I ask the Lord of Purity speed us there and home, lest them that stop us need a grave." Abel replied. They pulled their creaking leathers tight and checked their gear a final time, before crossing into the riverbed...

...Reinen were already there, Volker Herbst was the first successful to "smoke out" a honey-hive, and he passed the Grim Defenders slices of honeycomb to take on their way. Trekmann held a bit above his head and took a gulp of sweet sustenance before handing back to Herbst... Abel took an extra big piece and chewed and spit the wax as they trudged across the river thigh-deep and emerged dry practically dry on the other side. The sun beamed down on them, but the dark wood beckoned ahead. They filled their canteens and parted branches and brambles for each other as they penetrated the exterior wood...

...It quickly became oddly dark for the time of day, or even with what they perceived the thickness of the canopy to be... the leaves seemed to all tilt with a dead wind to block the light around them, though it always seemed dappled and lighter either ahead or behind them.

They found the effects of would-be foes... but no foes to speak of. Shattered masks lay amid rocks, and bones -- mostly canine skulls, spines, and paws laid here or there where their bodies fell.

The Defenders Cocked each a pistol and cleared their way ahead with hatchet and hand... it got darker.

Enno Abel said to his comrade -- "The princess said we should not stray too far, sir."

"We have seen nothing -- nothing but what one would post as warning for the timid, that is." Gerhard replied.

Abel merely spit out another bit of chewed wax, took another great bite of honeycomb, and pouched it to cut back the brush ahead.

In the minutes that followed, the forest took another turn for the dark... many trees stood dead on their roots, but strangely no wood looked fallen or rotting in the area of the wood, as if it was petrified, or the termite and the moss feared to eat it. Despite the thinned foliage of the dotted dead woods, the forest grew no brighter. The sky looked as twilight, but the Defenders of the Faith had not been in the woods more than a couple of hours, hadn't they? Thats when they began to see the lights...

and the lights saw them, evidently... as they moved curiously toward them only to fall back quicker than they came, eluding a good view, eluding examination behind the trees, luring the men unconsciously onward... inward, deeper into the wood.

The bodies of gnolls were a common sight now... in their rotted leathers and gristly bone-mail, the skeletons of gnolls and mud-elves seemed frozen in fights all around them. skeletons so intact it seemed like stage-dressing -- how quick would bodies need to decay for the bones to lay perfectly positioned to tell they died strangling each other?

Abel's repeated aggrieved glances to Trekmann finally sunk in. They turned around... headed away from the wisps... but where they were first being lured forward, were they now being lured away? The lights teased them. The sky grew darker... they knew dark magic was afoot -- The bright sea of bright stars, the crisp night... it was morning moments ago. That's when they found the grove...

...Here, The banners of Gnolls and the icons of fallen masked folk (presumably the "mud elves" the locals warned them of) -- in the center of this large clearing which seemed to double as an arena-pitch for rivals that found themselves drawn into the center of the wood stood a dome of bent trees. Hugging them tight together were dead and twisted woods, binding together and warping the living oaks within into some kind of cairn or barrow-mound made of solid wood. They could see a door of green and ancient living wood -- that bled a deep-orange sap through the cracks in it's boards...

Upon the door was carved the symbol of a hand without a ring finger, with etchings that resembled wild hair that fell about it. Where the ring finger was missing, instead was a carving of a single eye, bleeding sap like tears -- as if it peered through the bones of the carving and into the souls of the Reinen...

It was then and there they saw the two brutish gnolls on the other side of the clearing. Wild eyed and starved -- they looked at once unfatigued and desperate. They rushed to the Reinen and drew their weapons. One of them licked his blade with a dry tounge, eyeing the men's canteens with the avarice exceeding that of any true bane they would have for interlopers into the wood.

"Sorry." The larger gnoll of the two said to Trekmann, the smaller second squaring up with Abel -- as if each faced their contemporaries... the lights swept in from all directions now, they were watching. The common spoken by the gnoll was formal and old by Muurdaan standards, and thus was well received in the ears of the learned defenders of the Reinen... Trekmann rested his thumb on the hammer of his pistol as he Gnoll continued to speak.

"We are sorry, men-fools. But if you didn't realize already you will after we've been slain. She won't let us leave. Not you, not us... but maybe if we give them a show -- why else would we have been held for so long until your sudden arrival? Maybe with a show the Witch of the Wispwood will let one side or the other go... We need your water anyway, and we have to take this chance. Prepare yourself, win or lose my packmate and I will be done with this place. Put down your gun, and fight not like coward -- or I fear even if we give her a row she'll not be satisfied... if we will not leave this glade alive, then I hope the bloodprice after our fury will pay escape, yours or mine."

The other Gnoll, clearly a subordinate, was not nearly as well spoken. "Come sorry now and kill for water, manfools. Sorry."

And the wind picked up, and the dead leaves crawled inward making a ring in the glade, as the ghost-lights danced overhead. The dead eye in the living wood supporated with sap now... wet with the anticipation of a show.

What would the Men do? What could they say but to stand and deliver steel or shot? To them, it felt like only thirty minutes had passed. To the Reinen perhaps not more than a thousand yards away it had been 10 hours, and they were overdue to return...

Summary: Awaiting response...

 

[NorthOfOrdinary]

Beckoncall

"Through the dark or light, through day or night," Both Defenders drew their blades and holstered their pistols. Trekkman started the Defender's prayer, and Abel soon joined him. "When the Lord starts calling, we answer his writ."

"Against evil's might, against sin's blight," Both men circled around the Gnolls, eyeing up their adversaries, searching for an opening. "We hope to purify, and make all things right."

"So when evil comes knocking, we hope the Lord gives us might," They were saddened that the gnolls, and this witch, were forcing battle upon them...but it didn't show. They had a duty to perform, and it would take death to stop them. "For him we stand, ready to fight."

They stood there, watching the fiends in silence with steely eyes, before Trekkman gave a war cry that could shake the dead, and both men charged forward against the gnoll. If all their souls were trapped, someone's would soon be free. For the Lord, For the Princess, For the Elder, Jawohl!

 

[Beckoncall]

Spacekitty General Deth Glitch :

"Two more factions, dwarves and crooks, for colony too many cooks?" :

Ambience:


"Land Ho!!!" the Muurdanian privateer Admiral shouted as he un-telescoped his spyglass and slid down the main-mast from the crows nest to tounge-lash his crew into action... He had flogged the first-mate the week before for sleeping on duty and had taken the business of NOT crashing into some godforsaken magical barrier as his personal and own, so eager was he to fulfill his contract of passage -- and to be done with it. He'd been paid triple scale, given bizarre and fragmented maps and charts, and ultimately told what he hoped was some kind of metaphor or exaggeration...

...that a BLOODY GREAT MAGICAL SHIELD threatened to flatten his ships and send their precious living cargo to the bottom of the ocean, when he would so much rather dump it at the designated place, tarry for as little as possible, His bodyguard -- nearly two dozen mercenaries from the company "Faith of the Rich" actually VOLUNTEERED to come on this two way trip with him... they had heard through underworld contacts that a banner of their company was stationed here... (STATIONED HERE?!) The captain mused bitterly as he continued his physical and metaphorical whipping of his staff as they reeled his flagship, and the rickety craft behind it, in line with the gap in the barrier... towards the beach, towards that hulking slope of sand... If the Underlords, or criminal syndicates, or whoever was REALLY behind this venture wanted to get themselves killed in a mythical sandbox they could do so -- he had no intentions of either he or any of his crew setting foot on the "lost continent" if that's what it actually was... He was getting the job done, skimming the cream from the slavers who came in tow, and then planned to seek a port of call far as far from the official Muurdain as possible, disband this crew with whatever wacky bar-tavern story they wanted to spin about it, and forget the whole ordeal...

...That's if he COULD forget it. He drew the line at aiding passage for Dark Elf assassins, and wouldn't take their money either to hire out his crew as some kind of blunt instrument to kill some supposed High Elf "War Criminal"... At least he could afford to say no to the Dark Elves... the Backers of the expedition -- an import/export front for organized crime syndicates in the Huitsi archepelagos -- made threats, veiled though they were that his next trip was to this broken hole in the world, or that an "unfortunate mutiny or bad meal" was in his immediate future...

...and then there were the DWARVES! They actually paid a handsome ransom to get IN on this voyage booked in part through their travel agents in... you guessed it, Sub-Muurdain organized crime. Dozens of 'em... and in front of them almost one hundred of those Fennicans sent by the syndicates themselves. Oh YES, he would be eager to burn the log-books after THIS voyage. At least the dwarves were quiet. Obviously used to more cramped and uncomfortable conditions than the hold of a ship could ever offer, they compensated for their lack of sea-legs with either grim meditations or what he assumed was the natural land-lubber escapism into drunkedness. They were good freight -- as he never had to really check on them.

...The Fennicans -- those lil' toothy, bright-eyed little furry buggers on the other hand... He wanted them all at arms length. They were like SAND -- they got into everything whether you wanted them to or not, and pretty much hopped all about the entire convoy like the entire voyage was their jungle-gym. They were like vermin who never left fingerprints or spoor -- the latter he had much to be thankful for. It unnerved even him however how fastidiously they removed all signs of their comings and goings though. They were like cheerful little shadows always up to no good. The Admiral had commented more than once to his command-crew that he'd be doing the world a service dumping the dirty-pawed little bastards here and never coming back. He stressed the last part. He'd smuggled passengers, slaves, and more questionable goods to all manner of dark corners -- but this leg had to be one of the worst... if he wasn't dirty himself he would have turned down this voyage six ways to saint's day -- but the syndicates had a way of using your past with them as leverage -- another reason to get out of the archipelagos and get himself and his ship lost, as soon as they could declare it in the scope of their duties.

He passed his Bo'sun -- visiting from one of the ships near to his -- which carried the luggage, supplies and yes NARCOTICS of his various passengers... another reason to be hung if he'd be caught half a word in on what they were really into for this voyage... The Bo'sun's kurt salute snapped him out of his capralallic train-of-thought.

"Rear craft got your course corrections and we'll all be through the barrier in hours. I've notified all our unofficial passengers that we're about to land but will not set foot portside except to load and unload cargo. The slavers have been told they have only a handful of days before we resupply and ship-shape before they conclude their business or get left behind. They're officially operating as merchants to this "new trading post" -- so they've got ledgers, goods, and the right papers to bring whatever godforsaken crap these lost bastards might be selling. I, like you Admiral will be glad to have my hands fully washed of this. I never want to see a fox again after this voyage, in or out of a stealthy pair of shoes... and don't go asking me about the dwarves -- no news is good news... as far as I'm concerned they're just most slaves for transport, they just don't see it that way... All passengers are forbidden above deck until we know the coast is clear..."

And that is how the voyage began for The Dwarven Firebeards and the "Fennican leisure and business interest" factions -- secret cargo dumped illegally on the most foreign of shores... If they had any business or even contact between them over the voyage, the Admiral and his crew would be thankful to never know. If this was some new world, some new colony, then they were disgorged... vomited... expelled out onto it.

...And if the Admiral was lucky, they'd all be dead come spring after a harsh winter.

SUMMARY: THE LAST OF THE NEW FACTIONS ARE DUMPED UNCEREMONIOUSLY IN THE NEW WORLD!

SpiralErrant Prince Vaethorion Elendithas Heyitsjiwon Enemy Standoo NorthOfOrdinary :

The "Slavers" are the first "Trade ship" to arrive at the new colony! -- they have of all things -- PEOPLE to sell the colony as well as all sorts of other supplies and sundries from the old world, if any faction is interested in buying -- news of this spreads fast, but I will post in greater detail soon... Influence and wealth may be used to gain colonists from the slavers and slaves, perhaps?!

 

[Spacekitty]

Beckoncall ((Response for arrival of main fleet will come tonight!))


With a soft click, Donti sent a bolt flying towards the downed thug. A sickening, hollow thud followed just a moment later. The fletched wooden shaft of the bolt protruded from the center of the goon’s forehead, vibrating almost comically from the force of impact. The goon uttered a soft, almost inaudible croak and his shuddering head leaned back, as if to look up at the bolt. His muscles seemed to tense for just a moment as he fought the oncoming darkness before his eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped down, dead. A ring of crimson blood formed around the shaft, a single droplet rolling down his face as if it were a tear.

“Shit…” Donti sighed, turning away from the now befallen thug to stare somewhere off in the distance. “Ah, well, what’s done is done…”. Turning back towards the body, he leaned down, retrieving his arrow and tossing a white cloth rag onto the gaping hole to prevent blood from spilling all over the ground. “Hide our friends here among the graves. Some of them look relatively fresh, it shouldn’t be a problem, eh. I’ll think of what to do next. We can’t stay here long though, least Sorkin come lookin for his thugs”.

His four subordinates nodded, Shaklay and the other two positioned themselves around the first body to pick it up and move it. That left Jonklov to tend to the seeping wound. The small white Fox looked around for a second in dejection and let out a soft whimper as he bent down to press his exposed paw against the now dirtied rag to prevent blood from spilling onto the ground where it would be hard to clean up. He grimaced as he felt the thug’s sticky life force soak through the cloth. Soon enough his white paw would be a sickly brown, matted with dried blood.

“Why do I have to clean up the blood?” He whined in a high pitched, almost feminine voice.

“Because you volunteered Jonky. No one asked you to, you just did it” Shalkay responded with in a mockingly pleasant voice as he and the other two hoisted up the body and starved moving it towards an open area of the graveyard.

Jonklav glared upwards at Shaklay as he followed them towards the clearing, still pressing the blood soaked cloth against wound. Already his furry paw was turning a sickly orange. He could feel the blood go between his claws and fingers. He kneaded his fingers uncomfortably, whimpering softly. “You guys force me to!” He protested. “If I didn’t you all would have let the stuff leak all over the place and Donti would have been mad.”

Shaklay merely shrugged and turned his attention to navigating the graveyard. “We coulda cleaned it” he replied in a cheery tone, a devilish smirk on his face. It was clear he enjoyed messing with the rather prissy Jonklav.

Jonklav huffed and muttered unintelligibly to himself. The quartet laid the body out in the clearing, laying a fresh cloth over the wound just in case. They then moved onto the second body, following a small pause in which Jonklav first demanded, then begged that someone else staunch the bleeding, not wanting to get his fur anymore matted. After some teasing and mocking to which Jonklav replied by screaming in the Finecians characteristic screech, the argument was resolved when Donti came over and smacked Jonklav, telling him to shut up and making Shaklay take on rag duty, which he did without complaining as he was too busy snickering and mocking the way Jonklav had squirmed and complained the entire time. Jonklav bit his tongue this time, still cringing from the back of Donti’s paw which while furry wasn’t nearly as soft as you’d think.

After the second body was moved into the place work began to hide the bodies, digging graves besides those that appeared freshest as the blend them in, dirty work which elicited more complaints from Jonklav. The bodies were lowered into the freshly dug holes and they were filled in and made to look older as to not raise suspicion. Any and all signs of what had happened here were erased. It was routine business really, the group had done so a hundred times before.

Once the deed was done, Jonklav stood off to the side, muttering softly to himself as he liked his clawed hands in an unsuccessful attempt to get the sticky dirt and mud out of his white fur. The little fellow, even small by Finecian standards at a humble 3 feet or so stood alone with his tall fluffy ears drooped, his tail hanging limply on the ground, collecting bits of dirt and dust. Shaklay approached him from behind until he stood just behind him. If Jonklav noticed his approach, he gave no sign of it, simply sticking to grooming himself meticulously.

“Oh don’t be such a kit” He teased, leaning down over the smaller Fox and wrapping his arms playfully around him.

Jonklav ignored him, wiggling himself out of the playful hug and walking around to be by himself.

Shaklay rolled his eyes. “Fine be that way kit. Just get ready to go. Donti wants us to go find the ship and see if the others have arrived. The rest are gonna find some food and figure out what's around”.

Jonklav ignored him once more, to which Shaklay replied with a knowing grin. “Boss want’s us to go full stealth mode. So that means lather up Jonky”.

Jonklav groaned. As a rare white furred Finecian he was characteristically visible and easy to spot. This was solved by coating his fur in mud- something he never did without protest. But given Donti was already pissed, there would be no if ands or buts this time around.

Spoiler: Moves summary

1. The bodies are hidden in the graveyard among whatever graves look the freshest. THe bodies are handled with care as to prevent blood from dripping everywhere and leaving evidence. All traces of the conflict and bodies ever being even moved is wiped away and the graves are blended in.
   
   
2. Jonklav and Shaklay are sent out to trace their journey back to the port and find the Reinen ship along with their own comrades
   
   
3. The rest are sent to explore the area and find food. They are to meet back up in an area near the graveyard, but not in it as to not be found by people who may be visiting it.
   
   
4. They will remain hidden from sight and not make contact with the locals.
   

 

[Beckoncall]

Spacekitty :


The bodies are hidden in the graveyard among whatever graves look the freshest. THe bodies are handled with care as to prevent blood from dripping everywhere and leaving evidence. All traces of the conflict and bodies ever being even moved is wiped away and the graves are blended in. :

-- "We almost forgot the box!" One of the hitmen half growled and half chuckled... (the crate and all other evidence is hidden with the bodies)


Jonklav and Shaklay are sent out to trace their journey back to the port and find the Reinen ship along with their own comrades/Finding Food :

By sunrise, they are are finally from the depression able to make out the Reinen ship, as well as to see their comrades coming into port. The Hit-team at this point are hidden in high ground in a nearby cul-de-sac, merrily munching on nuts fallen from a small orchard of nut-trees nestled away in the depression.

"This dirt's got clay in it. You can tell by the way it cakes on you." One of the hitmen purred, tossing another nut into the air and catching it inches behind him.

Jonklav whined at the dread of his thoughts made manifest, causing chunks of cracked nuts to fall from his smacking jaws and onto his filthy outfit.

Shaklay smiled. Their job so far looked to be in ruins, but at the very least an alibi had arrived. Pretty soon the Fennicans would be everywhere -- as well they should be, and after that moment it didn't matter where they were, hidden or not.

[/spoiler][/QUOTE]

 

[Enemy Standoo]

Beckoncall
NorthOfOrdinary

Already the lighthouse was taking shape in the wake of the garrison's founding. Elien was more than impressed with the shape their fledgling chapter house had taken. The small fort lacked the artistic grandeur and imposing silhouette of the monastic fortresses she had seen back in the old but it was a strong foundation for one to build on, the rest would follow. small as it may have been it was practically a palace compared to the ship they'd been forced to cram their sorry souls onto during their passage.

Elien had stood at the top of the lighthouse for a time, or what served as its top for now, and took in the sight of this prototype civilization as it spanned out before her. The squires were right, it is shaped like a foot. She pondered if anyone else had noticed it yet. As daunting as the implication was Elien had allow herself a silent smirk over the coincidence of it. The Attolian lordling had been quick to warn them not to step on toes and here they were piling masonry in the print of someone's smallest. The order had only just set foot in these lands and already they had found a trace of missing giants, monsters in the market square, and according to the local rumour mill there were even more waiting for them just beyond the wilds. Had a chapter master ever had to deal with such a potentially bizarre founding grounds?

At least the locals were easy to deal with for now. Wolff may have introduced himself with all the charm of a shameless sycophant but he was rational at least which was more than could be said for some of his blue blooded kind. She would have to inquire with Sir Abel if he knew anything of this Wolff Dynasty and what their history may have been among his countrymen. Elien didn't think it a coincidence that the order had recruited an Attolian knight of standing to come with them. The knowledge of who was sent along to the lost continent was practically common knowledge, no doubt the higher masters searched for any available recourse of knowledge that might lend an advantage. Abel's history with the Attolian courts and Magda's past affiliation with the dragon cult would need to be capatalised on soon enough.

What they didn't have any books or scrolls to prepare Elien on was the monstrosity she found in the market later that day.

By the sky if it hadn't gotten crowded around here since he last visited! Orm was standing with his axe resting in its usual place on his shoulder like a shepherd's crook like where it always lived. More people were coming round these parts day by day so he figured he may as well check some of it out, not that that was his main reason for coming down to these parts though. The fright they'd all had from those little elves falling ill from the mine and their close rescue by the combined efforts from all the healers had shaken the bull, opened him to what they were properly capable of as a group. More than anything... it reminded him of the crossing... of the simple four who had set out together in their boats and stood together against the giant from under the waves. It made him think back to when they thought this colony thing would be a great joining of wagons, of different folks coming together. None of it had lasted. Maeder disappeared and his folk scattered, Belanor was gone and only the young remained. Those other humans who'd helped the tyren get their boat had never made it. The feast of joining had never happened and in the place of those who'd stood by him like an equal they were left with these... strange types who all acted like kings without castles. It still sat poorly with Orm but a chief's tasks were not about his own tastes and there were still folk in the platz of a good cut. Though Orm would have been lying if he said he wasn't pleased to see more folks moving to their part of the neighborhood. He'd already sent Bruul and some of their folk to greet the new human settlers and offer a helping hand as they made homes. At least not all of them clung to the grey ways.

So he came down to the platz looking to talk and sit the way he had with the others. It was a pity they still hadn't fixed that blood fountain, no one was gunna be drinking from that soon. Maybe he'd talk to the silver elf first, they'd been less of a stand off and happier to talk. Besides, with tall the time he'd had to talk to the little woodlings Orm felt like he'd gotten a better hold of how their flightful minds worked.

It was a short look too, at least he thought. Like all tyren Orm's eyes weren't that strong at a distance and details that would have looked blatant to other folks were lost on him. What he saw looked like the elves from far off... it stood straight, thin, pale and it glistened like silver in the light. "Hello! Elf friend!" Orm bellowed in freshly confident common tongue, those lessons and the language square were paying off.

By the saints its coming right for me! Elien's hand instinctively reached for her sword as the black giant advanced on her, casting a shadow as dark as its ill kept fur. It took only a second heartbeat for her training to kick in and she repressed the instinctual panic. This wasn't the first of the minotaurs she'd seen wandering the square and the rest of the populace didn't seem too afraid of the animal wielding a weapon twice the length of a man.

"Um Elien, actually." She managed to offer awkwardly before remembering herself. "I am Elien Waters, chapter master of the distant tower of Saint Victoria." She added more sternly.

"Uugh?" Orm grunted as he got closer to the new arrival. Its hair wasn't as long as an elf... he gave a sniff of the air around it. Oh it was a human woman! Well that was an easy mistake. "Oooh I sorry. Sorry I say!" He offered, bowing his head as a way of being polite. "I am Orm. Chief of tyren... in hills. You wear bright metal... I thought... I greet you!"

So this is the brute they follow. Elien was swiftly beginning to form a poor opinion of the men that controlled this colony and this one looked to have the smallest helping of brains a leader could hope for. Not surprising given the savagery of his race. "I greet you also, Master Orm. I've heard word of your people and the settlement they've formed in the north. Hurun-taran, was it?"

"Taras! Hrun'Tarasssss!" Orm said between gritted teeth, the natural bass of his voice doing little to help him keep it down. "Is good land... lots of trees and stone... good place to live if you see it."

The beast's speech was so slow and faltering Elien wasn't sure if he'd somehow managed to offer an invitation to admire the huts they'd managed to cobble together. It was as if this Orm was searching for each word as he needed it in the emptiness of his head. "I thank you, Master Orm, but the chapter is still hard at work with our own dwelling construction and I must oversee the work of our builders and masons." She said, offering a placating smile.

Now that made Orm's ears perk up, literally. "Oooh you do stone work? Tyren want to learn stone work! You must show!"

And like that he was off! As usual Orm showed himself to be a bull that would rather DO than discuss. The silver human hold was easy to find, it was the newest building around and its pure white walls stood out even to his duller sight among all the greys of the platz town. That was another way they were like the elves, proving to Orm that he was right to think she was one of them. A crowd of old and young in odd clothes scattered from his path as Orm's stride took him right to the walls. Not the door... he had not interest in that.

"This is nice stone... nice and cool." He said, running his free hand over the surface of the lime walls. He didn't know the name.

Elien huffed in her plate suit as she frantically called off the other knights who had begun to warily circle Orm, justifiably thinking him a threat of some kind. Sirs Tarkus and Hawe had raised their masonry tools as makeshift weapons before begrudgingly lowering them at her quiet command. Elien was sure that if the minotaur actually noticed a physical threat he would have to be put down and she wasn't about to cause an incident so early into their time on these shores.

"It is, yes. It is an unfortunate thing that the entire structure could not be made up of such grandeur but our monk brothers and sister have done a fine job of sanctifying the masonry found within the ruins." Elien had to stop herself from raising her voice to the stupid thing for all the trouble it was causing yet she couldn't think of any way to make it leave.

"We have stone, lots of stone and earth!" Orm spun on the metal coated human, almost bowling her over in his excitment. These ones were building taller than any of the others he'd seen so far, maybe they could show the craft wagons the secrets to this building art. "You should come to Hrun'Taras, we give stone and earth and you teach building." His tail was wagging like a happy puppy at this point.

"That is most gracious of you, Master Orm, but I wouldn't want a people of your build to be forced into the earth's bowels to drag up amply available masonry on our behalf." The cranes from the Attolians would have to suffice, Elien wasn't about to risk having more of these things lumbering about a construction sight.

"Is easy." Orm shrugged. "We have magic mine, makes stone from plants and makes elfs sick. We already help... river humans and... d-dragon house." He motioned down to the church of Dracos down on the beach that the tyren had helped fund as the only bidders of their faith auction.

They helped build that den for the dragon cult? And river humans, does he mean the Reinen settlement? The other faiths were already viewing for the soul of the colony and it appeared they'd set their sights first on the tyren with their dim light of intelligence as it still waited for kindling. Well that was something Elien could not let stand. "Very well then, Master Orm, I shall accept your offer and once construction is done my master mason shall assist in the education of your own builders. Just as Saint Nash would have before them."

Orm grinned, baring his oddly human canine teeth and grabbed the human chieftain's arm for a hearty shake. "Is deal friend!"

Elien offered a strained smile and tried not to yelp as Orm nearly crushed her arm. Behind her the squires and monks marveled at the strange sight before them. "What did he say about magic rock plants?" One whispered.

Spoiler: Action summary

The Order of St. Victoria's construction is aided by:
The Attolian crane.
They are given access to the tyren stone and clay supply.
5 Unskilled tyren workers/ 5 Skilled tyren workers.

Tyren Action:
Bruul and some workers are sent to greet the Reinen and offer help in building their new settlement. The Reinen are also offered access to the stone made from the mine of vines. (5 Skilled, 5 unskilled)

 

[Spacekitty]

Beckoncall


Mr. Slavator stood on the wooden port of the new world, gazing about it with a seemingly pleasant smile and excited twinkle in his beady black eyes. The rather small and stout business man wore a fine green overcoat with golden buttons that oddly complemented his tan, cream colored fur. Beneath this coat he wore fine white cloth trousers and on top of his furry brow sat a white fedora with a green ribbon around its base. To top it all off was a rather plain bronze pinky ring on his right hand. Perhaps an odd mix of colors truly, but it gave him a distinct and dignified look none the less.

He was glad to have finally arrived in the new land and be given a chance to stretch his ageing limbs. The cramped confines of the bowels of the colony ship had lacked the privacy and comfortable amenities he had grown use to in the safehouses of the old world. He had even gone so far as to hire contractors to design and build some of them! Of course, this compromised their location, and so they had to be “quieted”. A pity truly, some of them were quite promising. But such is business.

Either way, life moves on. In escaping the restrains of the ship's lower decks he was greeted with an oddly beautiful promising sight. A relatively small, but working port none the less, a crane even to assist in the retrieval of goods! This all was protected by a large and well constructed seawall from which the delicious scent of fresh catch drifted. The smell made the mobsters large stomach growl. For the past weeks he had only stale bread, the occasional catch to sustain him and wine to drink. He had even lost a few pounds! Nothing fine eating couldn’t replace however. Beyond the bustle of the port was a steep incline, a stone building that likely belonged to colonists and the rest was hidden beyond the horizon. He was pleased to see the colony's construction was well under way. He could focus on the more important things like getting the cash flow started rather than constructing the basic infrastructure a proper civilization needed.

Speaking of cash flow, he had work to get done before he could even think of starting a project. First everything needed to be unloaded from the ship, a project that the sailors had already hastily gotten underway with an odd urgency. He noticed this, and needing to begin putting out an honest appearance to the people around him offered to help them but was curtly declined. It was probably for their better, many of his thugs were eager to get any last pickings they could. And by that they meant steal their transporters belongings, what hadn’t been stolen already of course. One thug in particular, a rather nosy bugger named Jonia was content on stealing the Admiral's sword and this would seemingly be her last chance.

The crew of the ship almost literally threw the Finecian company’s supplies to the port deck randomly, much to Salvator's annoyance. He had ensured they were packed in systematically as to expedite the start up process. They had just added another half day to get everything reorganized. He held his tongue however, instead decided to pleasantly thank them for their help, tossing a generous tip up to the workers in a small pouch.

Already displeased by the expected delay, his mood was further soured by a report from his hit team stating they had failed to acquire the requested materials for the Reinen ship, wherever it now lay as it seemingly had vanished from sight. To make matters worse a rival crime gang had already established a foothold in the region. The Coppersmiths, a not so friendly organization who provided direct competition to Salvator's own business. Needlessly to say the two were not on the best of terms. Especially considering the kidnap attempt and the subsequent killing of two Smithy thugs. Mr. Slavator would have to “speak” with this “Sorkin”.

But first, everything would need to be sorted, the area explored, a home base created and that damn Reinen folk found. He wanted that exploding black powder and he didn’t care how hard it would be to get. He had plans for it.

Mr. Slavator called to one of his Capos, informing the black trench coat wearing, top hat toting Mr. Mallothew to watch over the operation while he went to “get some air”. He intended on seeing the area for himself. One had to know the area and its people personally to be successful, and he had first impressions to make. He intended to at least introduce himself to the governing leaders of the town, whomever they might be. He was not alone however, a rather large, nasty looking troll and a smaller Jonti Capro trailed behind him, just incase Sorkin tried to be “funny” again.

Spoiler: Summary/Orders [LIST=1

[*]Everything is unloaded from the ship and stored somewhere on the docks, guarded by the brunt of the force including the 4 remaining trolls, the capos and remaining hitmen.


[*]Mr. Salvator sets off to find and meet the leaders of the colony, flanked by Illusionist/assassin Jonti and troll to impress, and more importantly intimidate Mr. Sorkin.


[*]Groups are sent off to gather information about the colony, its people and the surrounding area in general. He wants a map of the area, the local business/economy, factions and anything and everything that may prove useful to know. They will also be scouting for an area to call home. Anywhere near enough to the central area of the colony to conduct business but far enough away to avoid constant supervision is preferred with any sort of existing structure or foundation to serve as a base to expedite things is greatly appreciated.


[*]Once a suitable area if found, construction of a adequately sized warehouse/production facility will be started with company housing/burrows placed near it. The warehouse will have a large portion above ground level but an underground cellar for storage and...other purposes. Mr. Salvator's personal office will be down there along with a hidden escape route if possible. (Idk if I mentioned this but Finecians are natural diggers and many prefer to reside below ground like normal foxes).


[*]Donti and the hit team is instructed to find just where the Reinen and their gunpowder have gone to. The plan may have changed but the mission is still a go.

[/LIST]

 

[Spacekitty]

An addition I forgot to my previous post: Beckoncall

The Capo Mr. Salvator left in charge, Mr. Mallowthew is instructed to visit the "merchants" (The Slavers) to potentially "hire" some "indentured servants", among other things depending on what they have available.

 

[Spacekitty]

AN EDITED VERSION OF MY FIRST POST THAT NOW READS LIKE A STORY. Enjoy!\


The stinging, sour taste of gunpowder filled the air around the docks as the Reinen colony ship was unloaded, the kegs of the volatile black powder placed in a small pile separated from the rest as to minimize risk of ignition. The distance made little impact however on the smell as the strong ocean winds spread the scent over the entire docks. Most would find the scent unpleasant, but bearable. Even those working right next to the source of the stench got use to the smell rather quickly. Although many were curious as to what exactly was inside the barrels, most resolved to mind their own business, dismissing it as just another commodity the latest colonists had brought along with them. But there were five little furry creatures whose interest would not be satiated so quickly, nor would their sensitive noses get quite as use to the stink.

Fire. That was the only word that could describe the sensation Jonklav felt in his nostrils. It was as if someone had poured a jar of spices down his nose, and the pain was unsurprisingly, immense. He shot awake from his slumber, scratching desperately at his red hot nose with his paws. As he was about to let out a high pitched wail of pain he slammed his furry little head against the rather low and hard roof, causing a loud bang to resound in the port. Fortunately, this simply added to the cacophony of heavy crates being thrown to the ground Some where nearby someone shouted at unseen figures to be more careful.

The fox grabbed his mouth with both hands, silencing himself. He was still for a few seconds, his heart thundering in his chest, the sour taste of gunpowder seeping into his closed mouth. His large ears twitched to face ever changing directions, listening to the chaos around him. After a minute or so he was satisfied that no one had noticed and he let out a small sigh of relief. He turned his attention to the small wooden crate he found himself in, It was rather dark inside, the boards making up the container were almost seamlessly put together, the only source of light being a series of small holes on either side of the box. The meager openings provided limited lighting at best, which was made even worse as crates were piled around the container, blocking even more of the limited sunlight. But what light did find it’s way through the jungle of cargo was more than enough to allow the Finecian’s sensitive eyes to make out his cramped surroundings. Huddled in a small pile on one side of the crate were 4 sleeping forms not unlike himself. They were his comrades, fellow Fox people sent directly by the Dahi crime syndicate of the Huitsi archipelagos. They had been loaded into this wooden crate, drugged with a “stasis” potion that put the Finecian hitmen into an almost death like sleep. This was done to allow the team to survive the long journey they had undertaken when their brethren had forged Muurdaan seals on the crates which in turn had them loaded up onto the Reined colony ship which unknowingly transported them to the new world. This was timed to coincide with the arrival of the Dahi’s own colony ship lead by a Mr. Salvator. The idea was that the hit team would awake somewhere towards the end of their journey and crawl out of their cage in the cover of night to steal some Thunder Bolts and Thunder Dust, as their boss called it, and sneak it aboard the neighboring Finecian ship. Jonklav wasn’t 100% sure what they were for, all he knew was that Mr. Slavator was very keen on acquiring both. He hadn’t actually seen either himself, but his team had been given drawings and description of both. Unsurprisingly, the strong smell matched the description of the Thunder Dust. It wouldn’t be too hard to find it, only painful.

Determined to rid himself of the horrid smell before it joked him, Jonklav took his own copy of their mission, ripped it in two and crumbled each half up, sticking an end into his nose. This instantly relieved the burning sensation and he huffed contently. Now that his calamity had been dealt with, it was time to wake the others and go along with the mission. Only that when he crawled over to the huddled pile of cloaked fur he could not seem to wake a single one. He shook them and whispered as loud as he dared but to no avail. Not even a twitch of the ear or whisker in response. The small fennec yawned, the effects of the potion being slow to wear off. He arched his back and spread his limbs in a stretch. As he did so he noticed something sticky He paused, feeling himself through his loose black cloak. He was covered in sweat!

He whimpered to himself softly, rubbing his now sticky matted fur against the boards in an attempt to rid himself of the feel. This proved ineffective and the little fox could only be left to sit miserable and cramped while he waited for his companions to awake.

He wasn’t bored for long however, as soon the entire box shook as he felt himself and his friends being lifted from the ground. This wasn't necessarily call for alarm. The rearrangement of crates was likely as the Reinen needed to access different supplies. As long as they were given no reason to search the crate Jonklav and his team had nothing to worry about. Worry did come however, when unseen voices began arguing over their particular container.

"It's been mismarked, dear Reinen Friends” A deep, well spoken voice said from somewhere behind them. “This crate actually belongs to a business interest of mine and we are more than willing to remunerate (Jonklav could hear the jingle of coins) so that you forget this exchange…”.

Jonklav’s blue eyes opened wide. Whatever was going on was not good. If the Reinen agreed to the bribe him and his time would be taken who knows where and the mission would be jeopardized. Beyond that, the voiced seemed to know something was afoot with their forged label. Hopefully the Reinen felt otherwise...

Clearly not, as Jonklav could make out the sound of a coin filled bag being tossed and caught by an unseen, silent figure. The crate began to move, bobbing up and down in time with the steps of their captors.

"Why does Sorkin want this crate, eh? Looks like every other crate. why dis one?" A less articulate voice said from in front.

"Ours not to ask or wonder about anything Sorkin got in mind.” The same well read voice responded. “He wanted the wine, he got it. He wanted a ballista, he got it. He wants a crate full of fur-balls, he gets it. Funny he could even tell the hallmarks of Faenic trouble-makers...."

"Whats a Fennic trouble-maker?" The second voice asked.

"Competition for Sorkin, no doubt. He'll want to talk to these lads, get them in line."

Jonklav let out a soft shriek. They knew! He didn't know where they were taking him, but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out. The mission was already soiled as far as he was concerned, he just wanted to escape. Of course, he couldn't leave his friends behind. He crawled on top of his huddled friends, searching the pockets of their leader, a large (by Finecian standards at least) tan furred assassin named Donti for the antidote he had been given to wake everyone. He uncorked the vial, the distinctive pop lost among the huffing as their captors struggled to control the box as they brought it down hill. He administered it to the other four members of his crew, hoping to wake them up.

Either the antidote didn't work or too much of the blue liquid had dribbled out of their mouths (it was hard to get an unconscious person to drink) because only one, a black furred fox named Shaklay awoke. Jonklav hugged his friend and quickly filled his friend and on what was going on. Clearly it would be up to them to take on their captors, of which there were at least two.

They peered through the air holes to try and make out exactly where they were being taken. Sadly they couldn’t see where they were being taken, but the terrain through which they passed was evident. Brown, freshly turned dirt and grey blobs of stone neatly arranged in what seemed like rows. Gravestones, they were in a graveyard. As creepy as it way, it seemed they were merely passing through. Their captors had likely chosen this route as it seemed void of activity. Only the sound of them struggling to navigate the maze with the heavy crate could be heard.

"So how dangerous these Fennecs is, you reckon?" The first voice spoke in a less articulate more rural accent. Clearly his well spoken mannerisms had been but a guise to trick the Reinen.

"I reckon they AIN'T dangerous because Sorkin would send sods like us to move em if they were!" The second responded in the same slurred intelligent tone.

As they passed through the graveyard, a plan formulated in Jonklaas head. Their captors were clearly tired from carrying the heavy crate, and they seemed to believe them to be still asleep, or at least trapped in the crate. Something they were not, as the syndicate had had the foresight to build a release into the crate for just such an instance. Using this the pair could surprise their captors by leaping out and taking cover in the graveyard, From there with a little luck they could dispatch them quickly and quietly before they had to meet this “Sorkin”.

Taking a few moments to prepare, pre loading their underarm x-bows, rather andy small metal contraptions that rested under under their wrist, hidden by their loose fitting cloaks. The small metal device acted as a cross bow of sorts that shot a small dart at wherever the user pointed their arm. It had a short range and required both hands to reload, but it was silent and deadly when used correctly. After unclicking the safety on x-bows and ensuring the knives were prepared for use, the only thing left to do was go through with Jonklav’s make-shift plan.

Pressing the spring loaded release on the crate, the top swung outwards and out popped the two Finecians, easily jumping several feet away from their captors where they hit the ground almost simultaneously, rolling to take cover behind the gravestones.

The two men, who already look supremely tired from lugging away the crate, almost panicked on the spot, dropping the crate with a thud and looking around wildly. One whipped out a small dagger, cursing as he searched the graveyard with an unfixating wild gaze.

Jonklav crouched behind an unmarked slab of mossy stone that likely marked the resting place of a long forgotten nobody. His tiny heart beat rapidly in the small cavity his small frame provided. But he was not afraid, rather he was exhilarated by the game. His friend was somewhere along the other side, likely hidden behind the row of haphazardly placed stones and rotten crosses, awaiting his move. "Who the fuck were these guys" He cursed to himself. Everything was going down hill. The capo would not be pleased if they didn't get on board that ship... Slight panic filled him. The sip. It would be likely leaving shore soon. This would have to be quick.

He stood up from his hiding place, his under arm x-bow aimed at ready sending a bolt flying towards the closest goons chest. "Rein!' He shouted at the same time, the single word to keep the last alive but contained, for now.

The shot went wild, the effects of the drug not being fully worn off and disrupting his attempt to aim... but the thug was even WORSE at displacing himself. In his sloppy attempt to dodge the bolt he tripped, sending himself flying over a gravestone, the bolt solidly striking him in the shoulder.

"I surrender!" he gasped, one foot stuck on a contour of a tombstone.

The other thug considered his options, finally deciding to drop his knife and put his hands up. He dropped slowly to his knees, saying; "Professionals don't make a mess, lads -- let's not do anything we can't undo, eh?". He flashed a cocky smile, as if certain the implied warning would deter the Finecian hitmen.

"There's more than enough action in the new world (Jonklav looked up to see completely different constellations in the sky. They really had arrived in a new land.) for all of us... our boss just wants to make sure you know where our respective rungs are on the ladder! Don't SHOOT!"

Jonklav's friend, a black coated rogue who went by the name "Shaklay" (Shadow in Finecian) popped up just as Jonklav did, only he held his fire, aiming at the unharmed goon. He listened to him try to negotiate with a chilling lack of real expression. But once he was finished however, the left side of his face raised ever so slightly into a sly grin.

"Eh, you're half right. Professional do make messes- they just clean them up after" With that, he lets loose with his x-bow, sending a bolt straight for his heart. Immediately after without waiting for contact he sprung forward, a knife in hand. A second after the bolt thudded into the thug's chest a knife was in his throat, ripping his windpipe and severing the arteries that carried his life force from his now punctured heart to his brain.

The thug let out a soft, staggered gargle as he slumped to the ground, a handkerchief already placed to prevent his blood from spilling over the ground.

The second thug, still entangled on the tombstone cried out;

"Dragon's scat! PLEASE don't kill me!" He begged, before his face turned of that of an angry scowl."tap me, and you won't find sorkin until he gets a piece of you first!” He threatened before his expression turned soft once more. “this is all a misunderstanding! I want to live, and you don't want a turf war! P-p-PLEASE! Just listen to me!"

"I can arrange to have you put back on the ship!" He continued, talking at a mile a minute in an attempt to bargain for his life. "Bygones be bygones!" The thug struggled on the ground, attempting to stand. But it was clear his ankle had become horribly twisted in the fall.

Jonklav cursed again. DId they just start a potential turf war? The capo certainly wouldn't be pleased either way now... Might as well finish the job and "clean up". But first... just who WAS this Sorkin? He thought to himself.

He leaped onto the legs of the goon-now their captive-, a knife pointed towards his throat. "Oh shut it Whisker. Your boss ruined his chances when he decided to kidnap Salvator's strike team". Just as he was about to finish off the thug he yielded, calming himself. He had time to at least make it up to the capo by learning about their soon to be rival, the Reinen ship wouldn’t be going anywhere now that it had arrived at it’s destination. "But of course, perhaps we can make a bargain" He said in a suddenly light, almost pleasant tone". He withdrew his knife, at least openly. He made sure to crook it in his hand, ready to throw if needed. "Tell me who is this Sorkin?".


"MY boss.” The thug replied, stammering as he his body shook with fright. “You see, me and Tuskah (he looks wildly for his friend unseen from his ridiculous angle).... “We is exiles, you see? Tuskah! You there, pal?". Sweating profusely from not hearing anything, he continues.

“Most of the exiles is released prisoners or indentured servants who can't pay our debt, got us sent here.... ...some of us is real criminals, who the Muurd didn't want to have to worry about anymore… and then there's folks like Sorkin and Baez... who the Muurd would NEVER let go, but they snuck away on a ship, jes like you two spritely gentlemen!". "Sorkin Coppersmith!” He pipped up. He's old families!"

Shaklay grimaced. The Coppersmiths were a rival crime family. It seemed the mobs of the old world already have a foothold here... and an unfriendly one at that. "Smith boys are already here it seems eh. Boss figured we would have this land to urselves... Looks like we're gonna have to fight for it. I'll check on the others, you take good care of our friend her Jonk. He winked, clasping his friend on the shoulder as he went back towards the crate.

Joklav winked back with a genuine smile, patting his friends back shoulder as he left. Turning back to their captive he spat on his face. "Why do you smiths have to make everything so difficult. We could have coexisted perhaps..." Unlikely he thought to himself. Slavator didn't like competition.

Holding a knife to his throat, Jonklav asked another question. "Where are you guys set up and what are you dealing in?"

"If I tell you where Sorkin hangs his hat I might as well be dead... heck, you get back in the crate and we can still go there, you just won't know where we're headed... you don't go SEE sorkin. Sorkin SEES YOU." (he stammers a continuation...) "our deal? I'll spill… we got light protection and light redirection of some goods and taxes. it's a sweetheart deal and nobody knows we're here. You should see the glint we've pulled already! you could buy your own ship!"

"Sorkin's careful, which is why you won't... why you can't... find him. But if I don't report... I don't know what kind of racket you foxes have cooking... but I do know...."

"...That Sorkin is gonna expose it, Muck it up, or both."

"We can call it even... we tried to pull a fast one, you took away Tuskah. We're even!"

"You let me go, I'll make sure your crate winds up on the Reinen ship... you can do your own business and we'll establish a meeting on neutral ground down the line."

"How many of you is here did you say, pal?"

With the rest of the crew awake, they gathered around the downed thug. Surely it was an odd feeling to have 5 short furry men standing over you. Armed hitmen at that, who had just likely taken out your friend. "Maybe me and you can call it even, Donti, the head of the team replied. "But certainly your boss won't. I'm sorry pal, eh I truly am you know? Just business though. Thanks for your cooperation, but the meetings adjourned." He lets a bolt loose towards the thug's head"

THUNK.

Silence reigns in the graveyard....

 

[Beckoncall]

NorthOfOrdinary :

"For the Lord, For the Princess, For the Elder, Jawohl!"

The men had holstered their pistols and charged, rapiers and hatchets drawn. In the same moment, the gnolls crouched to all fours and pounced upon the faithful...

... Trekmann slid to the left, leaving a furrow in the dirt and wheeling around to see his opponent, the larger of the two, vault past him and after the grace of the spring saw that his foe was already winded. He advanced with hatchet raised and a flourish of his rapier, feinting and thrusting. The great gnoll threw it's weight into spinning around, slashing out with both claws, almost breaking his guard with the rapier, but doing nothing to stop the axe that came behind it. Bringing it down on his foe -- the creature howled in agony as it saw one of it's arms crippled by the spirited warrior facing him.

Enno however, was not so fortunate. His smaller but more graceful gnoll opponent's bound struck him square in the midriff, knocking the wind out of him and placing his foe standing above his guard, slashing down at him.

"Is that... my blood?" Enno thought to himself as he saw a crimson spray fly off of his prone body into the darkness. His leather was torn over his chest... a strange cold that was not from the bleak forest clearing swelled up in him -- a cold from the inside, he felt the trickling of his wound as he did all he could to protect himself, flailing at the claws and teeth that flashed above him. Defensive wounds on his arms... this was going badly. He could not find the wind in himself to fight AND call to his comrade, so he kept fighting... as fast as his legs would allow he kicked along the forest floor to get from under his opponent, crossing his weapons to deflect this aggressor... the three flurries of attack he repelled, and a fourth knocked his axe away and into the darkness...

Trekmann's foe breathed a long sigh, uttering again the word "Manfool..." before extending his neck a surprising length in full-open-jawed bite towards Gerhard's jugular...

...Just the opening he was waiting for, quite literally in fact. with perfect footwork he sprung two steps backward and then leaned forward in a beautiful example of a master fencer's lunge -- he could see the tip of his rapier, glistening with blood, FAR beyond the back of his would-be killers head. The beast-man's legs crumpled, and his hands twitched in a palsy of non-cortical spasms. The creature was dead it seemed LONG before it hit the ground, Trekkmann's weapon almost fluidly sliding back to an en garde position.

"BLAM!"

The now free hand of Enno Abel grabbed back for his sidearm and blasted his foe in the gut at point blank range.

"BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!" after each explosion tore through the night (even faintly heard back by their kin outside the wood) flintlock pistols fell into the dirt at either side of him. The creature had flown back several feet, but seemed it perfect disbelief of what had happened to it. Four shots, all center mass, all at close range. It's torso was utterly destroyed, it's last motions that of a desperate animal clutching it's unspooling entrails. Enno immediately fell back into the dirt, his rapier laid beside him where he discarded it in favor of his pistols. His blonde hair sprawled on the ground behind him, both it and his face felt splattered with blood -- this time NOT his own.

The battle ended almost as quickly as it began. Trekkman FLEW to the side of his companion, applying pressure to the wound and praying silently, Enno could read his lips though, and began to join him in the same prayer to spare his life. Seconds flew by in what seemed like a mile of gauze... Enno still just felt cold and wet -- but as long as he kept his prayer in time with his compatriot he would not let fear overtake him... it plucked at the back of his mind that his absence of fear might be a very bad sign...

Trekkman, however -- was not to be denied the fruits of his intent -- Enno might have looked like a mummy in a state of semi-undress, but he swore by all that was holy that Enno would live -- not because of his actions, but because he felt that the divine would will it so. Moments flew by with ferocious intent and precision, his hands switching from hack into heal in the same series of breaths. The dying gnoll, having given up on holding his stomach inside manually, seemed to lucidly watch Trekkman Minister to his friend's wounds as they prayed... with the lucidity of witnessing his final bits of existence, he watched unblinking. Moments later Enno would lose consciousness, but Gerhard was confident he was stable... a benefit that could not be said at all of their foes...

With the last of the bandages tied, he heard the whimper of Enno's fallen assailant, and he wheeled around once more with weapons raised... If the fight was not over until one side was dead -- a swift and final end was forthcoming.

Glancing off to his left, Trekmann could see a handful of forest-lights landing on the body of his slain foe. A couple of them bounced lazily upon the corpse, as if checking to see if it was truly dead. Meanwhile before he could close with Enno's enemy to finish the job, the still panting but horribly morally wounded gnoll was literally being SWARMED by the wisps, each pulling little bits of heat -- the steam rising in the cold night air from the creatures gaping wounds -- into itself. The beast was silent now, but it's eyes had gone from fascinated stare to sheer terror -- inside it's eyes Trekkman could see wisps were in there -- it's sunken eyes, nostrils and ears all leaked a sickly green glow...

...Trekkman waved away the wisps violently with one stroke of his rapier, but they either languidly bounced, as if fat on the gnoll's essence, or quickly darted back to harry their somehow still dying victim... then Trekkman saw something he could not believe. The Gnoll was silently praying... wordlessly in some mimicry of the rite he witnessed between him and Enno.

The creature was being flayed of it's soul, and maybe, just maybe -- this was it's way of requesting redemption. Trekkman began the litany again, but this time instead of saving a life, he swiftly and mercifully ended it. At the conclusion of the prayer, the now sanctified corpse of the gnoll seemed utterly repulsive to the wisps -- flying skyward or bouncing along the ground in a harried rush to distance from it.

It was THEN that the sap-bleeding door of the wooden barrow FLEW OPEN.

Trekmann had the chance to see, in the forest now darker than ever -- the mottled and mossy corpse of a woman laying on a plinth inside the tree-forged tomb... her leathery feet pointed out towards him, only to suddenly be obscured by the greenish and horrifying visage of the ghost of the wisp-wood witch herself.

Eyeless sockets BURNED with myriad wisp-fires, patchy and bedraggled hair -- impossibly long, splayed out in a corona behind her hideous and broken head. What remained of her gown -- seemingly one fit for a bride, was torn EVERYWHERE and hovered above the image of the translucent-green body in a strained attempt to maintain some function of propriety. The gown, and indeed the shade of the body it covered -- looked ravaged by a hundred bites. The largest, a gaping circular wound in the skull exposing part of her brainpan held within it bits of her broken garland of rotten flowers that adorned her brow in the antithesis of a crowning glory. Her hands wrung unnaturally fast in a rage ahead of her body -- infuriated with the deprivation of another soul... Trekkman could see that on her right hand, like in the carving -- her ring finger was missing -- broken half-way down in a stump that like the rest of her, seemed to leak a greenish FIRE. It was coming upon him when he grabbed his holy symbol and bid his Lord protect him, and Enno -- from this horror.

As it passed through him, he could feel the spell of the witch SHATTER against the aura of his faith -- and in a disorienting wind and warping of space he found himself standing outside the wood -- before the river -- holding Enno's limp but breathing body... feeling like he had run with it all night. Enno's heart beat in a frenzied fever-dream... as if he was still haunted by the witch that pursued them... but at least Trekkman still knew he'd live.

Fitz Baker, and indeed a complete search party, had gathered ready at this point to finally look for their kin they thought lost in the wood -- it had been all day and the sound of the guns had rallied them to come to the aid of their guardians!

Somehow less than an hour to the men had filled the whole day and night to the rest of the world. Trekkman knew, in some small way, he had defeated the witch to escape her clutches -- but he also knew in the same breath --

That he had FREED her. He could feel her getting stronger with each passing moment. A profanity to all that was holy... it was now loose in the wood.

Still holding Enno, with his kinfolk rushing to meet him -- Trekmann fell to his knees and lost consciousness. A tinge of fear rose in his heart before wakefulness left him... but he was a defender of the faith. Fear was indeed not what he really felt in his heart.

He felt regret. What... had they... done?!!

Then a blackness that would not release him until the moon was high in the sky once more.

A moon he alone would swear had a sickly green tinge to it...

 

[Beckoncall]

Things happening about town... (News to everyone)

Exile constables are on the lookout. Supposedly some organized crime is in town, and they intend to root it out, and deal with it as Dracos would -- with purifying flame and clenched talons. much big talk about a "gang war" in the 'platz, and where it would be best if it went down... a lot of it is tavern-talk, however. Attolian police are not pleased and despite sharing training -- the gap between them is evident.

Enemy Standoo :

With Tyren help specialized labor (ie: you can lift a keystone HOW BIG?) and the use of a crane, The garrison and lighthouse fully leverage the extra wealth put into it. The second story of the garrison has a "flying battlement" which is basically a wave-shaped rampart that severely impedes climbing. The Lighthouse is going up much faster than normal, and has lost less width than anticipated. The extra machine work and muscle allows much greater detail to be taken by the monks, and the structure gains a free elegant chapel which also serves as a library... however lean of texts.

Heyitsjiwon NorthOfOrdinary SpiralErrant :

Cassandra in a vision, Charlotte in a dream, and Shul in a stupor are contacted by some kind of spirit -- it is the voice of a child, as if it were spoken clearly from a glass of cold water:

"My time grows short! Stop the Slavers! I'm in a crate! FIND ME, I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM!"

_______________________________________________

Screaming and fighting has resumed in the wood east of the river. First it just sounded like gnolls or mud elves screaming, then clashing along the border of their territories resumed in full force. Many people report strange green lights in the wood.

____________________________________________

FORMAL COLONIAL GOVERNMENT DELCARED!

ISSUE: Widely recognized colonial flag is not associated with formal government, and every faction must sooner or later agree to support or deny the authority of the new law.

Colonial government is supported by:

Attolians, Highborn, St. Victorians. (All gain +1 influence)

The law on paper, surprisingly -- takes the best elements and advantages of Attolian "earned autonomy" and High-elf concessions for liberty of culture through demonstration in war -- will added flourishes from experts like a Castellan and a True historian of Muurdainian and common law. Anybody who knows what they are reading would acknowledge that the charter has full precedent and is a work of art -- if you wanted to demonstrate ample justification for almost absurd levels of autonomy NOT enjoyed by most peoples in the old world. (A Tyren would look at the charter and nearly FAINT with the rights and privileges therein) -- The document might evolve, but as such the constitution is basically confers the best perks of being a highborn or Attolian with regard to the Muurdain Empire, and is a pretty vanilla "law and order" document outside of that with nothing as yet very fishy about it.

ALL PLAYERS: You can SUPPORT the new constitution, DENY it, or ABSTAIN. Abstaining is assumed unless Support or Denial is stated. A government is only as strong as it is recognized.

Government is: Unstable. Most citizens don't even know at this point if the constitution is "really" the law. There's uncertainty about issues like slavery and trade in the future. Unless the Tyren-founded Colonial flag is associated with the new government, it is LIKELY a clash of ad hoc factional government will clash with constitutional law! There is a run on important supplies in case things get bad, and morale in colony drops slightly from uncertainty.

______________________________________________

Tyren help in building Reinen housing leads to a boom in available housing when combined with Attolian increases and other valves on pressure for space. Town morale improves as it is easy and affordable for all colonists to find homes. -- There is no denying that the Tyren have a hand in this across faction lines. (+1 influence for Tyren!)


...More to come. (check for updates!)

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

Beckoncall Heyitsjiwon Enemy Standoo


The High born district had been turned into a beautiful quarter and was continually being improved upon. The High Elves in their spare time (what little they had) had turned the ruins into a place of beauty. Collapsed columns became sculptures, old battered doors were turned into canvases, pockmarks in building structures became pots to plant fragrant plants in, tastefully painted murals decorated once drab walls, flowers festooned the walls and lines the streets. Trees were planted, both for food and for decoration. The district itself became very high end looking to the common observer, and became tolerable, even pleasant to the High Born accustomed to luxury and beauty. There was a feeling of magic in the air to anyone especially sensitive to phenomenon and even those who weren't. Elven runes, and inscriptions were on doorways, the strange writings were ancient and bound with protective magic. Structures that once had fallen into disrepair were repaired and improved on. Food was grown in vertical towers throughout the quarter, a well had been restored, and the quarter was becoming more exquisite to behold by the day.

Beautification of the High Born quarter was not the only intent, the structures were intended to be functional and designed to be defensive in nature. Ruined buildings were turned into walls, their roofs became battlements. There were passages built into the quarter with kill zones and streets leading to kill boxes. There were small battlements installed that looked like innocuous balconies, unobtrusive towers and shooting nest on buildings for archers to take positions, arrow slits for arrows to be fired from, walls had holes in them for spearman to thrust their spears if enemies attempted to storm the quarter through the narrowing approaches. It was discrete, but the fortified, beautiful High Elf quarter was slowly being turned into a fortress, with external walls of buildings tripled in thickness where possible from the inside. The High Born were a martial civilization and this was reflected in their approach to design of their quarter. The quarter was designed to be accessible from limited approaches, which were all designed to be lethal for any invaders. Streets were blocked off by stone walls and/or rubble from collapsed buildings. Gateways were erected and Elved by guard booths, gate booths, with murder holes in the ceilings above the two gates, and make shift towers (converted ruined buildings). Ruined buildings that were utilized to form walls near courtyards (cleared areas) in order to create killing fields. Houses that looked like charming buildings were in fact small keeps. The Manor was built up to serve as the main holdfast. Stumble steps were built to the higher points of the quarter. They were designed to cause less agile troops to stumble. Doors, fake, real, reinforced and hidden were installed for High Elven troops to move about and to deceive invaders. The defenses were somewhat makeshift for High Born standards, but effective nonetheless. It was a work in progress, as the High Born never stopped fortifying wherever they lived. The High Born Quarter was basically divided into two areas. An exclusively High Born area where only High born lived and mingled, a mixed area where wealthier colonist could live. The exclusive High Born area in the center was designed to be the last place to fall back and where the renovated Manor was located. Somewhere in the center of this place was where the Prince's throne room was. It was only known to the High Born and never referred to publicly. The Prince's location, comings and goings were not public knowledge. These defenses were designed to be as aesthetically appealing and unobtrusive as possible. However, anyone with a trained eye in the military most likely would notice the defensive measures. The Prince ordered the Quarter to be expanded to accommodate wealthier colonist and more Highborn in the future. This would be an ongoing endeavor.

(Note: The two quarters separation is designed to be discrete. It is explained diplomatically that the reasons for separate quarters is part of the Highborn culture and spiritual beliefs. Highborn prefer to be among their own people when they meditate and rest. It is not clear to non-Highborn how to access the Highborn exclusive area and this area is meant to be secure and private (magic is used to prevent unwanted access). This layout approximately reflects how their home capital is laid out but on a miniature scale)

The High Born did their best to improve overall colony security with the cooperation of the rest of the colonist as well, especially the Attolians. Wooden spikes were placed in the earth on the perimeters, ditches dug, earthen ramparts, and many of the more vulnerable approaches were blocked off to the Platz. (The colony defenses were being constantly upgraded and will be discussed in detail elsewhere).

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a beautiful, warm summer day, the High Elven Prince wearing, full shiny mithril plate was sparring with ten of his most adept sword masters in an attractive courtyard near buildings that had been turned into a barracks and training facilities located in the High Born only area of the quarter.

The drillmaster was on the sidelines barking orders in High Elvish to his men. “He is only one Elf, you are ten.” the Drillmaster said with slight exasperation. The Prince was enjoying the exercise more than his Sword Masters were, whom were taking a beating and becoming exasperated in the process. The Prince, smiling from ear to ear was moving gracefully in a blur of movement. His two swords were moving so fast that mortals could hardly see them move. The Prince was spinning, jumping, dodging, blocking, striking and using the greater number of opponents to his advantage. He was using the High Elven form of Martial arts and was using his feet as much as he was using his training swords. Swords came at him from all angles, nearly hitting, but the Prince would evade,block, kick and strike with his swords and feet time and time again. The scene around them was the same, as many other High Elves were taking part in a similar exercise with varying success. The High Elves knew that in battle they would often be outnumbered, and for this reason they practiced scenarios of being grossly outnumbered in combat.

The drill was interrupted by a High Elf spearman named Arandel on foot wearing Mithril Chainmail and a helm, he came to the courtyard running. The timing could not be more perfect as the Prince's opponents rushed him, the Prince with flourish did a back flip causing four of his sparring partners to crash into each other and the rest of his opponent get caught up in a pile of bodies. The Prince stopped toying with his opponents, and quickly dispatched each one of them with multiple blows of his swords to show that if real they would now all be dead. “Anticipate your enemies movements before you commit to your own” the Prince said sagaciously. His men groaned audibly and seemed to be grateful for the interruption. The Prince said “Remember, the more enemies, the greater advantage to use them against each other. You ten are dismissed, practice harder next time and the rest of you pay attention to your training, as you were.” The ten defeated Swordmasters collected themselves, bowed their heads politely, took their real swords and withdrew to lick their wounds and rest up.

Arandel gave the Prince a salute, and said “Cair, Amin Taren!” (“A ship My Prince”), our lookout on top of the Windmill has spied a ship approaching.” The Prince was putting on his belts with scabbards, his real swords and knives as he asked, “Let me guess, the Muurdan sent Cockroach people this time”, the Prince said sarcastically. What flag is the ship flying?” the Prince asked. “Order of St. Victoria my Lord”. Arandel replied with a dour face. The Prince also made a slighly sour face, “Cam-wetherins!” (“thieves!”) Oh, the thieves of our people's property are here. Perhaps, they came to return our people's possessions? I highly doubt that, but it's a pleasant thought nonetheless. They are here to loot our ancestors graves perhaps? It could be worse, at least they are not Fennecs.”


The Prince headed quickly, but calmly to the Windmill with Arandel in tow, and remarked offhand, “For humans, the Order of Saint Victoria are a relatively civilized lot, despite their tendencies to steal from our people. They think because they dug something up, that they then own it, when they could never rightfully take what is ours, no matter how many centuries or millennia it lay undisturbed.”

The Prince made is way through narrow passageways to leave the heart of the High Born quarter into the mixed area. Guards saluted him in the High Elven fashion. The Prince issued some random orders to High Elven archers he passed and headed to the Windmill which also served as a tower. After climbing the Windmill tower, the Prince observed he approaching ship. The Prince commanded, “Go notify the Linguist that new colonist are arriving and to go meet with them and offer our assistance. If the pattern holds true, these are not the only colonist that will be coming soon.”

The Windmill/gristmill, , was open for business and ready to process barley and wheat.

The Seawall, the port, the docks all filled the Prince with pride. They were completed to his satisfaction and he was grateful for the work the Attolians and Amaryans put in. The High Born were not lazy, but they also not the kind of people that enjoyed hard labor. To compensate the Amayrans, the Prince ordered larger sharks to be harvested for their God rot and large ceramic heaters to be made for the Amaryans to keep warm during winter. These would be offered as compensation for the Amaryan hard work.

The Highborn Artificer was curious about the effects of the God Rot and decided to experiment with it to see if he could extract oils for supplementals. It could be perhaps put in a capsule and combined with honey, it might be beneficial from a nutritive standpoint. First, it would need to be made sure it was not harmful non Amaryans and consumable by other races and/or themselves.

-Assign Artificer to make something from God Rot.

The Prince was pleased at the newly formed alliance between the Attolians and the High Born. The High Born needed all of the friends they could muster, and this was challenging their natural bigotry and snobbishness. Being intelligent creatures, the High Born knew that isolation would lead to their demise and must condition themselves to tolerate other races, no matter how distasteful they were to them. The Victorian Order, despite being grave robbers were orderly enough to be considered potential allies.

The “Runner” beasts the High Born found would need to be captured, trained, bred, turned into steeds for riding, lightweight beasts of burden and perhaps even food. The Prince ordered his tamer to proceed with this endeavor.

-Assign Tamer and 5 spearman (skilled laborers) to tame beasts for breeding, mounts, beast of burden and food.

The Prince ordered his High Born to contribute to the luxury guild artisan goods (sculptures, restored furniture, paintings, dovamon, clay heaters, and jewlery). Whatever, the Highborn did not have enough of he ordered all his people to craft more in their spare time and designated ten of his best craftselves to make a workshop to create artisan goods. Kilns would be needed to manufacture the heaters in quantity.

-Assign Engineer and five Spearman (skilled laborers) five archers (laborers) to make ceramics workshop and a forge to create artisan goods like ceramics and weapons.

The Mushroom and vegetable cultivations were going well and among them grew tropical melons which were welcomed by all. The seeds were collected and planted widely.

The areas discovered would need to be explored more. Especially, the crack with the interesting foliage. An expedition to explore it would be sent out, but considering all that needed to be explored in that area, a outpost would need to be established.

- Send Spy, with 15 countrymen Five Swordsman, 10 Skilled Spearman, 10 Archers to set up outpost in the NW. From there they will send out expeditions. This outpost will be hidden and the expeditions done discretely in muted colors.

AMENDED POST:


As the Highborn were assembling their expedition force, the Prince spoke to Caelis about the endeavor and the Attolians already had similar plans. The two factions have agreed to combine arms, and cooperate in setting up an outpost in the NW and exploring the area for more resources. In safety there are numbers. Additionally, messenger birds will be brought and the outpost will have rudimentary defenses built. A wooden palisade, ditches and a tower (or a lookout in a tree) to see anyone approaching. The Highborn still desires his location to be both defensible and a potential site for further settling with resources like water and food to be nearby if possible.


Did the Muddy lakes have fish? This would need to be found out.

The quarry was of particular interests. As was the Statue (a digging goliath of some sorts). Could the Automatons perhaps be repaired and/or woken up? Perhaps the finer work of excavating would awaken the digging statue?

The Outpost team would need to be sent to further investigate with knowledgable investigators to discover. Look for experts among other colonist willing to excavate. Perhaps the Attolian Geologist once finished looking for magical gems with Mage can help?

The Quartz and Coal the High Born expedition found were of extreme interest to the Prince and he ordered a detail to begin mining it. This he knew would be an endeavor that the Highborn needed help with. The Quartz and the Coal could both be used as forms of energy. The pulsating quartz could be perhaps harassed by the Artificer and used for power. At the very least they would be useful for making jewelry, glassware and windows. The coal could be used to for heating. The Prince would pay the laborers if willing to build a mine and mine the coal. The Prince (if someone could explain to the Amaryans) that the coal combined with the ceramic heaters could keep them warm and other colonist warm during the winter. The Prince was cautious about any potential threats in the area, and further exploration would be needed in the area.

Hire 20 Laborers (ideally with mining experience) to mine coal and quartz (with priority given to coal). Send 5 Swordsman, 5 skilled Spearman, 5 archers to assist with designing, building mine and provide security. See if the laborers could help form permanent mining operation. Also, seek out Amaryans to help (but do not endanger laborers or Highborn).

The Highborn join the Farmers guild and offer whatever mushrooms, melons, plants, herbs, vegetables they are growing and shark meat from the fishery.

The Prince asks Attolian commander to collaborate looking for magical gems ince Geologist is freed up. The War Mage and Geologist can work together. Send escorts of 5 spearman, 5 Swordmasters, 5 Archers.

No Highborn are to be idle. Send unassigned High Elves to where is needed most.

Summary:

-The Windmill/gristmill, , was open for business and ready to process barley and wheat.

-Assign Artificer to make something from God Rot.


-Assign Tamer and 5 spearman (skilled laborers) to tame beasts for breeding, mounts, beast of burden and food.

-Assign Engineer and five Spearman (skilled laborers) five archers (laborers) to make ceramics workshop and a forge to create artisan goods like ceramics and weapons.

-- Send Spy, with 15 countrymen Five Swordsman (commando/insurgency unit), 10 Skilled Spearman, 10 Archers to set up discrete outpost in the NW. From there they can send out expeditions. This outpost will be hidden and the expeditions done discretely in muted colors.

-The Outpost team will be sent to further investigate with knowledgable investigators to discover what the quarry is about. Look for experts among other colonist willing to excavate. Perhaps the Attolian Geologist once finished looking for magical gems with Mage can help?

- Hire 20 Laborers to mine coal and quartz (with priority given to coal). Send 5 Swordsman, 5 skilled Spearman, 5 archers to assist with designing, building mine and provide security. See if the laborers could help form permanent mining operation. Also, seek out Amaryans to help (but do not endanger laborers or Highborn).

-The Highborn join the Farmers guild and offer whatever mushrooms, melons, plants, herbs, vegetables they are growing and shark meat from the fishery.

-The Prince asks Attolian commander to collaborate looking for magical gems ince Geologist is freed up. The War Mage and Geologist can work together. Send escorts of 5 spearman, 5 Swordmasters, 5 Archers.

- Send Linguist and welcome party to greet new Colonist. Arrange meeting between Prince and faction head of Victorian Order regarding forming of government and any joint projects that might be advantageous between both factions.

-Highborn are interested in trade goods from the Slaver ship.

Ooc: Shaking the rust off from writing and trying to catch up. My next post will acknowledge other the new arrivals. This was an attempt to respond to what occurred during the summer. It's not my greatest post, but I got it done finally (it's 3:40am) what am I doing awake???
I will work on my imagery more next time. Good to be back!

 

[General Deth Glitch]

Grimdr Stonewall led his fellow dwarves out of the dark confines of the ship's hold and into the piercing light. Many held their eyes shut as the brightness assaulted their senses. Once the long and painful adjustment was over what they saw made Grimdr both glad and, indeed, sad. He was glad to see that he had no thrust his followers into a wilderness with nothing but the limited supplies they managed to ferry with them and that, should he falter or fail they would not be without hope. However, he knew this also meant that the Underlords had no doubt dug their claws deep into the colony, their chance of real freedom seemed farther off then it did moments earlier. Watching as their belongings were tossed onto the port with neither care nor consideration brought the small being close to rage, however he contained it and, with a curt nod, led his followers from the boat to the wooden port. One of the barrels received more damage then it could take and a small gash left a hole for objects to fall from. A few craftsmen gathered around it and moments later the hole was patched, atleast enough to allow them to transport their goods away from the sea and sky.

It was quite a sight. A line of dwarves, each with their weapons hanging about their person while a barrel sat behind their head where they held it. Not one dwarf spoke to anyone that was not of their kin and very few even spoke to them. They were quiet and moved with purpose. Only Grimdr seemed to even acknowledge the other creatures around them, nodding respectfully to those that let them pass and in reply to those that showed him the same respect. Soon they passed out of the port, bustling with the activity of coordinating the most recent shipments no doubt. It was then that they saw a temple. Assuming it would be to some vile god of darkness he nearly led his men swiftly passed until he took a second look. Saw its architecture and design. He felt certain it was devoted to his god. 'How can this be? How such a temple exist, not only exist but be given a significant location.' He wondered. It took little in the way of talking to have his men remain outside while he and a few of his most loyal following went inside. The rest of the dwarves remained outside, placing down their cargo and beginning to relax. Such a small symbol made this new world go from a vast daunting expansion of the Muurdaan, to a place where they may still hope. Could they really openly practise their faith? Could they truly start a new life here? Those who began doubting on the journey, doubting the odds, doubting the risk, doubting, even, Grimdr. Those people began to feel a new surge of certainty. It was with this new sense of hope that they, through squinting eyes at the brightness of the day, began to be more vocal. The craftsmen began to speak of what wonderful wears they would soon produce to the colony. The Soldiers began to talk about how this place may truly be a haven worth defending. Without the strict dwarven hierarchy of home and the laws of the mine, coupled with this new, untapped landmass of mountains and cliffs. Many began to speak of how every dwarf would live in their own great mountain hold. How one day they would all be living like the Dwarvern kings of old. One building. One small symbol of rebellion against the oppressive Muurdaan. Thats all it took. The felt hope once more.

Spoiler: Actions

• They onload their goods and march away from the shore
• Grimdr spots the temple and heads inside Beckoncall
• Seeing the Temple fills the Firebeards with hope

[Sorry it's not very long. Felt I needed to get this intro up and out there so those who want to respond can do so. After this I should be easily able to keep up more reasonable lengths. However with my isolationist dwarves there was only so much I could say before we start building our new underground EMPIRE (:< ]

 

[NorthOfOrdinary]

Charlotte marveled at the village that was rising around her, plank by plank. Bap! Bap! Bap! She held a nail for one of the Kesselflicken, as he hammered on house numbers to the already completed structures. "My Princess," He humbly pointed. "A great beast approaches!" The Defenders rushed to meet them.

It was no beast, she learned as the silhouettes drew closer, but rather minotaurs come to greet them...the Tyren they were called. "We cannot repay you and your people Bruul," Charlotte smiled softly. "But nevertheless, we would be most thankful for your help in building our settlement. You show signs of a pure heart."

They walked and talked with the Kesselflicken as they discussed their plans. "We want to continue to build outwards from the river, one cottage per family, and buildings such as workshops and barracks for our skilled believers. Paving the streets would be nice too." The tinkerer looked at the river. "Perhaps, we might build up the banks just a little to prevent spring flooding. We do still want to build a bri-"

Charlotte suddenly felt the breeze on her legs go cold. She hugged her arms close to her bosom and shivered. Something bad had happened. The two Defenders who she had sent into the forest finally returned with the search party she sent after them. One was being carried by the other, who was babbling on about what he had seen. Charlotte left Bruul and her Kesselflicken to continue discussing building plans. She had a job to do.

Her men carried the weak warrior into one of the already finished houses and laid him on the table, stripping bare his hair chest. A prayer was cast, for healing Enno's soul of the ailment that possessed him. Charlotte ran her fingers over his heart, using what healing magic she knew to try and bring him back. Trekkman was questioned once he could stand again, and the elders were gathered for a private meeting.

"A WITCH?!" Cried Helga Schultz, the eldest of the elders that night. "Aye! We should not live here!" Replied her friend, the old shoemaker, "We should have returned to our ship when we saw the blood fountain!" Charlotte would have none of it, and she was glad, that they were the only two of dissenting opinion to her own. They came around by the end.

"We are not leaving. This is our home now." Charlotte wasn't smiling anymore. "All who have true faith will be safe from this witch, have we not seen how the Lord of Purity spared the life of his warriors?" She stepped up onto the top of a fighting chair. "We make our stand here, no matter what evil may lurk in that wood. Come dawn, we work to purify it!!"

There was a chorus of ayes.

With the meeting finished, and a course of action being contemplated, the Reinen returned to work.

Orders:

Spoiler

The Tyren offer for aid in building is accepted graciously. Bruul is given word of the witch, so that he may warn his people. A keg of beer is sent with him as a thank-you gift.

The Reinen continue working to finish building houses and planting seeds. The settlement plans are drafted to not include a bridge, but rather, to add a simple defensive wall around the town.

At night, all Volk are to adhere to a curfew and lock their doors. Double guards are posted to watch for any witches, and to maintain torches in the streets.

The elder begin to pray each night, with hopes of blessing the town limits as a ward against evil.

 

[Prince Vaethorion]

Beckoncall NorthOfOrdinary Spacekitty General Deth Glitch Enemy Standoo @heyitsjwon SpiralErrant

More Ships arrive with more colonist.

Order of St. Victoria

The Prince in Mithril plate, wearing a greyish cloak strode on down to the lighthouse under construction in order to greet Newly arrived Order of St. Victoria. Accompanying the Prince was the beautifully fierce female High Elven tactician Ama handasse Marenven , and five Elite SwordMasters. The Prince was grateful for the arrival of a lawful faction. The matter of them being grave robbers would need to be addressed later. They were now part of a Government. The Prince admired the construction and the crane the Attolians lent them. He came to meet their leader and welcome them to the Colony. The Highborn offer assistance.

The Prince spoke in a somewhat thick High Elvish accent, but his common was of the educated, "Welcome Order of St. Victoria! We are here to assist you in settling in. My name is “Nikerym Ithil'quessir”, I am the Commander of the Highborn here in this colony. This is my Tactician Ama Handassse Marenven, she is an accomplished battle commander of a thousand battles or more." The lovely High Elven tactician nodded in acknowledgement, but the entire time maintained a very serious look on her face, her hand (unconsciously perhaps) rested on the pommel of her sword. The Prince continued, "The Lighthouse is coming along well, I see. I must offer a compliment. For a human made structure, it is not overly hideous and seems to be well crafted enough to not collapse until long after your death. (the Prince was surprised that his high praise was not met with the intended reaction). The Lighthouse is a welcome addition to the colony, especially considering the inferior vision and navigation skills of other races. When you are settled in we can have a more formal meeting and speak of pressing matters like defense, governance and crime. I am familiar with your history. We will not discuss the grave robbing of my people for now, but instead discuss the prowess your people have demonstrated in patrolling the Empires roads against banditry. Those skills are needed here and now, as there are criminals and thieves in our midst. Do not hesitate to ask if you have questions or needs that we can assist with. As of now, the Attolians the Highborn and yourselves are all that stands between complete lawlessness. Safe guard your possessions and keep an eye open for not just thieves, but enemy attack. Welcome!"

Reinen

The Prince does not know yet what to make of the Reinen. He had heard little of them. He heard they were simple people and very religious and found the Blood fountain distasteful. The Highborn also did not care for the Blood Fountain or blood magic either, and that was one commonality to work on. Knowing of their religiosity and not wanting to be called off too far from the Platz, the Prince ordered his Cleric and escort of 5 archers and five Spearman and five swordmasters to accompany the Cleric to greet the new faction at the river. The Highborn welcome them, offers them assistance and invites them to join the government.

The Cleric, carrying a crescent shaped spear and dressed in flowing blue robes, and a cloak approaches the Reinen accompanied by a dozen armored and armed High Elves. "Greetings, children of G-d, I am the priest of the Highborn. We have heard you are people of faith. Here you are free to practice your faith freely. We have some things in common for we also disdain the blood fountain, but unfortunately some of the colonist have fallen under it's spell. Welcome, but be warned that there are thieves among us. We working currently to thwart their efforts, and advise you to be vigilant. Let us know if you have any questions or need assistance. You are also invited to join the government. Again, welcome!"

Dwarves
The Prince was not overjoyed to hear of the arrival of Dwarves. He muttered something under his breath, and then resigned himself to the new reality and changing face of the colony. After Bulls, Lizards, Slave Masters, Rats, Gnolls, Mud Elves, fellow ancient Dwarves comparatively did not seem as bad as they did in the past. "at least they can make a decent weapon, and mine Mithril" the Prince said to the Battle Mage, his friend. "We thought Bulls were stubborn, but Dwarves... ". The Prince ordered an archer to act as messenger/herald. "Lets not startle the Dwarves by sending a armed retinue of elves. Well, again, at least they are not Fennec!" .

The Prince orders a single Highborn Archer to act as a herald and deliver a message to the Dwarves.

Dwarf Leader,
Many years of enmity have been shared by our ancient people. We are now in a world of new beginnings. For all of the differences Dwarf and Elf have, the one thing that we have in common is the persecution of our people by those who will remain nameless and a disdain for that entity. Here, in the new world, the various races and factions must work together or risk perishing. We must not pretend to be great friends or allies, but for the sake of the colony and my people, we Highborn are willing to put ancient grudges aside for the betterment of our people. We will not act with hostility, unless we are met with hostility.

Signed,

Lord Commander of the Highborn

Fennec

When the Prince heard the news of the arrival of Fennec he had a look of incredulity. The Prince exclaimed, "Fennecs, you are joking right?"
First Rats and now Fennecs. Before I thought the Muurdan was making fun, but now I know this is a big joke to them, or some kind of bizarre social experiment." The Linguist reminded the Prince of their famous drugs knowing that the Prince liked to partake. "The Fennec have their uses" the Linguist offered. The Prince said, "Yes, Winter is coming and Fox fur is warm." The Linguist said that the Prince should give them a chance and a warning perhaps. The Prince said "if one grubby Fox paw steals from a Highborn, so help me we will have a Fox hunt." The Linguist said "Calm down my Lord". The Rats whom we found to be disgusting have been a useful addition to the colony thus far. Yes, these races are natural thieves, but remember they are not much more developed than animals. They cannot help their natures, being animals.". The Prince seemed annoyed at the Linguist's calm rationale, but knew he was right. The Prince relented, "Fine, we shall be diplomatic. In the meantime, I want even more precaution made to secure our possessions. We already have been safeguarding against the Rats, but the Foxes are even more nasty, dishonest, ruthless, murderous, and thieving than the Rats. I want even more precautions, and higher security measures than before. Place even more enchantments protecting our items if need be, increase the locks, and patrols. We will work with the Attolians, and Order of Victorians to secure the colony from crime and organized crime. In the meantime I will send them a messenger.

The Prince also orders a single High born herald Archer to deliver a message to the Fennec.

Fennec,

Congratulations! Who knew that a bet between two drunken Elven mages would ever go so far? You have come a long way in your development as a sentient race. Pleasantries aside, Your mischief making and unsavory business exploits in the Old World are well known to our people and are not looked upon kindly. However, what happened in the new world is in the past. Here in the new world, Rat, Lizard, Bull, Human and Elf live side by side and work towards the betterment of the colony. We work together, because to not do so would be perilous to us all. There are many dangers here, but also many opportunities. There is wealth to obtain here and one can do so honestly. Yes, we know of your nature, and like other sentient animal races, natural instincts are a dominant force in your race. However, please understand that stealing here is far more serious than stealing in the old world. Commodities can mean life or death for the colonist. Law and order is needed for the colony to thrive. We want to make it clear (as we have to all colonist) that stealing, murder, cheating, swindling colonist, (the Highborn especially) will be looked at as an act of hostility and will be met with swift, sharp justice. That said, knowing of your race's desire to make money, good relations, doing fair business with the colonist and the Highborn especially could turn out to be very profitable for your race. The Highborn have an appreciation for some of your products and other colonist do as well. The Highborn do not want any misunderstandings. You are a businessman; blood is a big expense.

I want to congratulate you on your new business and I'm sure you'll do very well and good luck to you. Especially since your interests don't conflict with ours.

Thank you.

Lord Commander of the Highborn

Summary:
-The Prince, the tactician and five swordmasters go to Lighthouse to greet the Order of Victoria and offer assistance. Warn of thieving and ask help in fighting crime in the colony.

-The Cleric, 5 spearman, 5 Archers and 2 swordmasters are send to greet Reinen. Warn them of thieves. Offer assistance and invite to join government.

-An Archer acting as herald is sent to greet the Dwarves. A non-aggression pact is offered.

-An Archer acting as herald is sent to greet Fennec. The Fennec are warned not to steal of highborn and colonist, but also told that they could make a good profit in the colony having a legitimate business. There is little to no tolerance of crime in the colony.

-The Prince orders security to be tightened. (it was already made tight with the arrival of Rats, and after the attack by the Mud Elves, but efforts would be redoubled. Magic protection spells are to be even more complex if possible. More patrols are ordered. 5 spearman, 5 archers and 5 sword Masters are put on patrol.

-All factions are warned to look out for theft. A meeting by the government factions is called on combating organized crime and theft before it gets out of control.

 

[Spacekitty]

Prince Vaethorion


Things were getting underway as the sailors who had transported the Finecians finished unloading the last of their supplies, albeit when you throw things almost randomly like that taking longer than an hour would be ridiculous. Several groups of 5 skilled workers each had left a quarter hour ago, each designated with a different task by Mr. Salvator himself. Some would explore and make a rough map of the area, others would observe the factions that already called the place home and others yet would be searching for a place for themselves to call home. It took almost all of the companies limited amount of skilled workers to complete the tasks, Mr. Slavator and his capos not trusting the uneducated thugs with providing a reliable initial insight. Regardless one and half scores of unskilled thugs and a quarter score of trolls would be more than enough to guard and move their equipment to a more quiet and out of the way spot to the side of the docks while they awaited their scouts report. Mr. Salvator had left just moments earlier to make first impressions with the area's leaders. Just a moment too early it seemed as Mr. Mallothew noticed a figure approaching their now diminished party.

The figure was an elf, an archer of sorts as evident by the bow around his shoulder and the neatly filled quill on his back. As the Elf approached the company it drew out something from a pack it carried, a small scroll neatly wrapped. A letter evidently for them from the Elves. Mr. Mallothew, now in charge with Salvator’s leave, approached the Elf to receive the letter before he made it to their temporary camp. No guards followed him and Mr. Mallowthew appeared unarmed, not even the slightest hint of a blade disrupted the swagger of his fine black suit.

He greeted the almost comically taller Elf with a warm smile and a low bow, thanking the messenger earnestly and inviting him to stay at the camp, at least long enough for Mr. Mallowthew to write a response and perhaps even to enjoy a bit of FInecian hospitality. It was doubtful the Elf would accept the offer, given the Finecian’s not so pleasant reputation, and really Mr. Mallowthew cared not. It was a pleasantry, a show, nothing more.

A written response would be sent, either back with the Elven messenger of by the remaining hitman if not. Afterwards he could go to conduct business with the newly arrived “merchants”, a prospect the well dressed Finecian was quite excited for. Among other goods, he had hear that they were carrying slaves, a labor force the capos was eager to take advantage of.

After the pleasantries were over, Mallowthew read over the message, maintaining a pleasant look the entire time the Elf was around, despite the haughty, even insulting tone of the letter. He would hold his tongue, the Elves would get what they deserved in classic Finecian style- their wealth missing and knives in their backs. Using a fine quill pen, he wrote his response on a fresh piece of parchment.


“Dearest Friends,

It is my personal pleasure to greet your Prince* and people- even if only through these letters. Salavtor’s Fine Brews and Luxury Goods humbly thanks you for your welcome, surprisingly the only one as of yet. I find it odd no formal party has been sent with delegates from the other peoples here, I was sure your letter would at least be that of a joint welcome. Regardless, being welcomed by at least one party- highborn elves at that! -is at least a start. I’m sure in time we will have the chance to meet all inhabitants of this fledgling colony, a prospect all of our company are excited about.

Pleasantry aside, I feel I would be doing my people a grave injustice if I were not to try and clear up some misconceptions you seem to hold about my people. First and foremost we are not thieves, cheaters, murders or what have you. At least not more so than any other race here. We have our criminals and we have out saints. Even the highborns can say the same surely. Our reputation you will find is a mere stereotype, nothing more. The product of a loud minority of FInecians who have made their fortunes in the most unsavory of ways. We, as are most of our kind, are not like them. Rather we seek to make our gains with our paws open, no tricks, no games. Honest and fair. So you need not worry about any unpleasant business from us my friend. We will even be willing to help to sort of the crime that you tell of plaguing the colony. Theft and organized crime isn’t any good for anyone. Certainly not for entrepreneurial people such as ourselves!

If you believe us to be instinctual then know that our only instincts be in the art of business, where reliability and reputation is key above all else. That and the production of fine goods, of which you already seem to have a taste for. We Finecians share an appreciation for art and luxuries as you do. It is at least some sort of common ground we can both stand on. Fine Elven wines and Finecian herbals belong in the same stores, if not one shelf below yours!

We have no ill intentions. We came here to start a new for ourselves and our people. Expect no trouble from us, rather see us as a friendly neighbor, a caring friend even. In this new land we can all reinvent what it means to be who we are, forge a new way of life and come together for the betterment of all. Trade wine for wares, work for coin, things can be as they should.

And so, without further rambling, thank you and good luck to you and your people. I look forward to the day where we can look back on this presumptuous warning and heartily laugh to the toon of wine and herb.

Warmest Regards,
Mr. Mallowthew
Slavator’s Fine Brews and Luxury Goods Trade Co.

* Note by Beck: (Salvator and his closest capos know Prince Vaethorion is in fact a prince and NOT a commander as expressed because he'd refused a contract to assassinate him offered before departure. Whether this is a clever jab or ignorance that the prince's identity is a secret is not clear.)

 

[Heyitsjiwon]

Caelis walked around the Attolian housing district, down various roads. Things seemed to finally be coming together in the colony as most had adequate housing, and the Attolians had room to spare and had more houses ready to go up at a moment's notice. Plus, the food situation was secure as there were no concerns of supplies for the winter even with the new arrivals. The Order of St. Victoria and the Reinen were welcomed new colonists as not only were they human, they were people who stood for similar values as the Attolians. The Order, the High Elves, and the Attolians drafted a new constitution that granted power to a Colonial Government, and signified a proper, unified Colony. However, few knew the laws and even fewer were certain that the laws applied to them. The integrity of the new fledgling government depended on the acceptance of the legitimacy by the colonists, but so far only 3 faction leaders had formally accepted the government. There was much work to do to strengthen this new government, but for now. Caelis would do his best to enforce these laws in the platz and the depression.

He eventually found himself at the inn and saw the Exile Police force seemingly break up a fight... in a manner that seemed to be a group beatdown of the offenders. The Exile Police did help keep things in line, but the way that they enforced the peace involved disturbing the peace themselves. One of the "Policemen" turned and noticed Caelis and gave a salute "Hail, Lord Caelus! We're jus' breaking up a lil bar scrap. Nothin' to worr' about 'ere, shire!" as he gave a toothy grin before turning to give a swift kick at a poor sob's stomach. It appeared that the Exiles had learned about the Attolian salute and how to report and address to officers and leaders... perhaps they saw the Halberdiers and began to imitate them. But, there was much to do if the Exiles were to turn into a proper police force. As the beating died down, one of the Exile Policemen came up to Caelis and said "Hav' ye lord heard o' the new folk that came wit' the slavers? A 'ole bunch o' dwarves and some small fox lookin' people." "Dwarves and Fennecs?" Caelis already started to get a headache from thinking about it.

The dwarves, by themselves, were no problem. In fact, the Kingdom had a great relationship with many dwarf clans as they produced many fine goods and inventions that the Kingdom desired. However, their arrival would likely spark some tension with the High Elves, which was something that was concerning. This was meant to be a unified colony, but it appeared to continue to split as time continued. Then there were the Fennecs. They were a problem in the Kingdom when they first arrived as they exploited weaknesses in the Kingdom's commercial laws, and quickly produced the Kingdom's view of them as negative. However, not all Fennecs were criminals, but they certainly were a bit too cunning and swift for anyone to trust them. There were numerous successful Fennecs in the Kingdom who established respectable enterprises or were respected academics, but there were more who had been imprisoned for violating consumer protection laws, anti-fraud laws, or anti-trust laws. Not to mention the countless who were caught for having light, swift hands. For now, the Attolians would have to accept the fact that the Fennecs were here, but he would be very cautious of them. In fact, the recent disappearance of a quarter of Attolian medical supplies was alarming, and he couldn't help but feel a bit suspicious.

Caelis returned his attention and said "Very good, keep your eyes open and keep maintaining the peace." He turned and went on his way back to find his brother. They needed a stronger police force that had proper training. The Attolians led by example, and he expected that Lothar would be able to bring the Exiles Police into a proper police force. These men knew the lives of criminals better than the average Attolian, and would likely be able to notice things that an Attolian guard wouldn't.

 

[Beckoncall]

Prince Vaethorion SpiralErrant Heyitsjiwon Enemy Standoo

"Unity Desired, In ways clearly expressed"

The High elf delegation was as polite and diplomatic as they could muster -- something that did not come naturally to them considering the business at hand was forging lasting alliance with... Animals. But these animals were right, perhaps noble in their own way -- and the highborn saw that to not make certain overtures by now to draw the Tyren closer to their constellation's center was an invitation instead for them to feel alienated. The Delegates, lead by the Highborn Cleric, came to the learner's square and by hand and quill, dyed into the fabric of the offered flag of Tyren Unity the emblematic highborn star -- like that of a compass on a map, beside the more crude emblems of the other races.

The Cleric and delegation did this at in the presence of Bruul the War Mage, and Shul the... the highborn were not sure what he was a mage of. Everything the highborn said was spoken first in elven to the wood elves, who translated it to the Tyren so there would be no miscommunications. Bruul had learned enough elf (surprisingly!) that he could pick out certain important words and that the translation was true enough, true as he could tell, and not sugarcoated by the springborn... words like "One Nation", "Unity", "Togetherness" -- "It's dangerous to go alone, so take this." -- it seemed though while Bruul was uncertain where a heart on a highborn was (he had the opportunity to fight a highborn apprentice mage in his early contracts, but the condition he left them in did not lend itself to any understanding of anatomy) -- but if Highborn did indeed have hearts, they were in the right place in this speech.

They signed their identity to the Flag of "One Caravan" -- and then asked the Tyren to read THEIR definition of unity. A "Constitution for Colonial Government" -- Bruul knew what each of these words meant in common, but had never heard them together. He was no master of law, but reading the papers, they seemed utterly insane. If the Tyren committed to this document, in as much as the old world's law mattered or could be a model for the new world -- this document elevated them tremendous in the old-land pecking order they suffered under. Had they these rights in the old world, they could park their wagons anywhere and in certain places have expectation of protection, shelter, and even Succor on holy grounds. This was a law for HUMANS -- that was never offered to them that were not Muurdain, or those who bargained by grace of fate or highest cost in blood a negotiation for the value of their hearts. Only Uumush could look at such a document and truly understand it, but to Bruul it looked like a practical joke, or a lottery ticket, or a grim combination that bound them once again to the ways they left behind. Bruul was respectful, but he said he would take a copy of the document to his chief for consideration. Orm and the High shaman would have to look at it -- and Bruul wondered if they would even see the same things he did... Representatives? Councils? An invitation by the Attolians, "Highborn", and most presumptuously, the just arrived humans of the lighthouse. Their cleverness could be seen in the wording of certain things -- particularly that there was no distinctions by race or species, though culture was a more complex knot to read. One thing Bruul could see running through the document as it was explained was "Equals" -- If there was any advantage to be sought in these laws, the opportunity would be Tyren as much as human.

DECISION POINT: High Elves have signed their Sigil to the "Flag of one Caravan" -- they request equal recognition of the authority of their proposed constitution for a central colonial government.

 

[Beckoncall]

Heyitsjiwon NorthOfOrdinary SpiralErrant

Cassandra bolts up from her bed in a cold sweat, Just as charlotte is thrown awake in her own, though Charlotte is quickly calmed by the bars on her windows and the prayers for protection droning from downstairs -- She has been sharing a dream of a restless woman, young -- in the bridal gown of a Muurdain noble. She is running through a strangely familiar wood, chased by something great and terrible...

....They arrive in a clearing, where the woman does not fall -- she turns, DEFIANTLY at the shadow of horns that rise against the trees she faces. She goes to tear the ring off of her finger -- to throw it into the grass and bolt further into the wood. However on reaching for it she looks down to see her ring finger gone... torn at the joint. Her marble-esque complexion, blue with veins raised, dries to a leathery husk. Her gown melts away in what seems like a century and an instant of devoted moths, and her body begins to be wracked by wounds...

...NO...

... By BITES. The maiden's face, as the leather spreads over it and her eyes melt into green fiery pits last looks up to see the top of her own head caved in. As her lips rot away the grimace of hate is thrown like a pall over her new absence of a face... as her body is whipped -- no PULLED backwards onto a stone plinth in the clearing... the sky STROBES through endless nights and days as the "Barrow of Wood" related in Gerhard's story grows over the remains of the woman, who watches the rolling black and white of the sky close to a pinhole as her tomb grows around her...

...As the last of the moonlight leaves so does the fire in the Witch's eyes. In the voice of a the young girl, and the shrieking Ghost-witch both, Cassandra and Charlotte hear her scream:

"MY RING! HOW CAN I THROW DOWN THIS RING IF I CANNOT FIND IT!!!?"

___________________________________

Shul is shaken awake by a cacophony of his own spirits -- not truly sleeping, but more in a trance. The lesser spirits were disturbed it seemed, Torpid in a new current that as of yet is unable to pull them in. "Mrrhmmm", one of his oldest and most familiar (yet often inscrutable) spirits that followed him from the old world, spoke to him, breaking his trance...

"Shul, you have NO IDEA the size of this chicken, bull. Put your feelers out. That's a chicken, right? I mean... it was wearing white when it died, at least. Shul, Yes indeed you are peaking ol' Tyren friend... but catch these visions I'm getting from other empaths (showing him)... the ground isn't all dirt... just mostly... an' shiny bits too. This chicken is shiny and GREEN, Shul. Maybe not a chicken after all? Hey Shul? You take too many or is their such a thing as a chicken-frog? Because THAT would make a lot of sense right now, I mean.. if frogs are REALLY BIG. Pal, It's not like I don't mind you giving me this place to crash in the prime material plane... but sometimes the smoke in here is just toooooo heavy, Shul. Wow."

Mrrhmmm slipped back amid the swirling spirits... this was one hell of a trip...

 

[Beckoncall]

"Foxes are home! Oh, What a henhouse to guard!"

"Everything Unloaded" nodded the capo to the work crew. This was not something to be misunderstood. Everything that wasn't nailed down that might not be missed was squirreled away... from tin spoons to their "Admiral Captain's" sword (with a fine replica left in it's place, he should be well off at sea before he draws it to notice!) Even discarded jugs, dropped change... paintings and furniture to a level it was ALMOST blatantly obvious (The Captain had expected this much and had made the cost of "shrinkage" part of the contract of passage. The Capos knew this, and were calculating down to the penny how they could legitimize taking all that they could and a little extra, without passing the tipping point that the sailors or command-crew would not rather be rid of them then deal with it.

They left with 20% more crates than when they boarded... having taken some of the Captains repair lumber to make room for all the "Complementary Items" their voyage had so kindly provided. The Bosun was disgusted, practically pleaded to start a war right on the docks -- but the Admiral would have none of it.

"We've already likely killed them by dropping them here, Bosun -- if this accursed "new world" doesn't devour all these sorry souls whole, the fennec will quickly run out their welcome, I predict -- I swear by my Grandfather's sword!" The Admiral rested his hand on the hilt of his family weapon. It was a good day, he mused. The sword even felt lighter to him.

"Information about the colony" -- Also an order that was not misinterpreted. They quickly found out what the guilds were and what wares they sold, and where those wares came from. They estimated profits of various businesses and learned what the local tithes and newly drafted tax codes meant. They saw the 'Platz not as it was, but as it could be -- wondering where entertainment and vice could take roots... They quickly gathered as much intel about the surrounding lands from the locals and at the INN plied a variety of loose-lipped folk with ample drinks to get them talking, and when they were satisfied engineered a bar-brawl to cover their tracks... leaving minutes before "Exile Police" came and beat everyone senseless.

"Find a Place to Settle" -- They had considered several options... though Salvator was NOT excited at the prospect of finding some place to "hide in the wilds" -- they would buy or gather stone to build houses RIGHT AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE DEPRESSION... Seemed like a good idea, considering commerce's main route (if it wasn't the only route) seemed to pass through there. They were amazed there was any room to settle there at all -- it was like a birdcage with the latch left open and the parrots all pre-plucked! They rapidly went about improvising quick houses out of stacks of empty crates and tarp and tent material, the best being a kind of pavilion or medicine-show tent moored strongly against rocks overlooking the cliff -- where Salvator and his Capos could look down at the sea, the port, and most of all the depression... where they were most confident their rivals somehow, somewhere, continued to elude them. Most of the exiles were on the level, they figured, but the most cursory of scans hinted that for certain some were on the take. Extra Jewelry, New gold teeth, certain swagger... saying nothing... telling them everything. They could not tell what the organization of their rivals was, but they were beginning to smell it's "organs" -- the Temple of Dracos and the Graveyard Cul-de-sac were pieces of a puzzle... but a good one. Coppersmiths were clever -- and this Sorkin seemed not a rival to worry about, but not one to underestimate. When the time came his end would be swift... and whatever business he had going would be Fennec, and seamless in transition.

Where they chose, the entrance to the depression, was buffered on all sides by colonists that spent great sweat and resources mustering their defenses. The fennecs would have defenses of their own, but it would be veils of confusion, mist, and shadows. Who needs a wall when you have paranoid snoot-elves to your west making their house a deathtrap, a virtual salad-bar of human normies building walls and towers to your east, and a sewer full of crocodiles to the north that would LOVE to eat any aggressor before it ever reached them. Well, the Aymaran Croc-fellows were something to watch out for, but if they were rapid dogs, they would be positioned to be the Fennec's rabid dogs. Hilarious. All of this made the depression their henhouse -- once all the chickens had come home to roost, the Fennec guessed it would be easy enough and surgical to have a big dinner of "Fowl Play"...

The largest ramp into the depression was partly claimed by the highborn -- but they didn't have the audacity or greed to take it all, probably leaving as much of it for free use of other factions. "Why thank you" Donti thought... it will be great to have a share of any tarriff or tax for goods that pass through here! ...That would have to wait perhaps, but roots would grow strong on this cliff, in this ruin. Just more time, more dance, a little caper here, a little factional romance...

After the tents and cubes went up, a plan for building a warehouse near the depression ramp was put into action -- the Fennec had the supplies they needed, but with everyone so busy getting a lay of the land, and with all the excitement of a row brewing with a rival, little got done as far as the construction of said warehouse, much less underground burrows. Maybe after some good rest under the stars (or whipping and clipping by the Capos) the Fennec would get to this task with greater fervor... but not yet. Still, the crews were not fools -- larger basements were uncovered, excavated, or simply descended into and claimed. A humid cellar with a sewer drain seemed all perfect environment to begin to cultivate dream-soda-mold... if they could just control the temperature to make it hot enough, especially with winter coming... Fungi would grow well enough in the ruin as well, though some of the Businessmen wondered where they could secure arable land to grow sweet-leaf and other such goodies... what they brought wouldn't last forever, especially in a salty backwater that was running out of booze...

That was all good news... that and it was quickly learned with the maps where all the other faction leaders hung their socks, so to speak. If the boss wanted to address or visit any of them -- he'd know where he or his men could come a' knocking.... day or night! How wonderful!

NorthOfOrdinary :

The bad news was the Blackpowder the boss wanted was seemingly out of easy grasp. The hit-crew had "overslept" -- the Reinen to make matters worse stripped their ship like ants on a sausage and dragged everything inland... over open ground. High grass kept them hidden, but the Reinen had been both warned of thievery, and had a full alert because of some "Witch" they found in the woods.

...And the small window was only getting smaller -- the Reinen were building a wall around their settlement... it was a low defensive fortification now, only possible because they had so much labor to spare in their weirdly buoyant hearts. (Fanatics, the Fennec would say) -- the Tyren helped them build a mess of houses and instead of resting on their laurels they had already fortified the corners of their housing area and those walls would soon grow closed -- everything the Reinen valued the most, which doubtless included gunpowder, would be in the center of their camps... separating the Fennecs by hundreds of yards of at least as many torches. The damn Reinen in their alarmed seemed to burn almost as much wood to light as to build their houses. Man, the boss was going to be PISSED. The Capos wondered if somebody was going to get it if this became a missed opportunity.

Perhaps there was a silver lining though, thought Mr. Mallowthew, after his audience with a High elf emissary -- there were slavers in port, and slipping on a monocle for checking teeth and a pouch of Plat for high volume purchases, prepared to drop some wealth in this new part of the market...

(Offshore Trader post forthcoming!)

 

[NorthOfOrdinary]

"Dispatch riders, North to the Tyren...West to the Learning Square...and South the Platz. Seek out all who will listen, and tell them we are searching for this ring. If they inquire for a reason why, do not give them one."

Charlotte finished a drawing of the ring and finger as she had seen it in the dream. Sketched in ink, it didn't do the original picture in her mind any justice, but it did offer a better representation than words could describe.

The Reinen matriarch knew not to ignore nightmares, for they were often warnings. She had one before the Muurdan had come from her father.

Copying the sketch proved more difficult, but after waking the Kesselflicken, she found one good at drafting who could trace it easily. The Reinen had few horses, bred more for pulling farm tools than for couriers, but until they could breed more they would do. Three Defenders, including Trekkman who was eager to return to the fight, would set out to seek any news of the witch's ring.

"We must find this item soon," Charlotte warned, "For I fear it may be the key to stopping this witch."

"Then we will not delay," came Trekkman's stoic reply. Charlotte worried he may not be fit to return to duty so fast, but she wouldn't deny the warrior his service to the Lord of Purity. As soon as they had left, Charlotte dawned a cloak. She'd spend the rest of the night watching the river.

Orders:

Spoiler

Defenders are sent to the Tyren, the Learning Square, and the Platz to seek out information on the ring from any and all travelers. They are equipped with a drawing of the item.

 

[Beckoncall]

"Dispatch riders, North to the Tyren...West to the Learning Square...and South the Platz. Seek out all who will listen, and tell them we are searching for this ring. If they inquire for a reason why, do not give them one."

Charlotte finished a drawing of the ring and finger as she had seen it in the dream. Sketched in ink, it didn't do the original picture in her mind any justice, but it did offer a better representation than words could describe.

The Reinen matriarch knew not to ignore nightmares, for they were often warnings. She had one before the Muurdan had come from her father.

Copying the sketch proved more difficult, but after waking the Kesselflicken, she found one good at drafting who could trace it easily. The Reinen had few horses, bred more for pulling farm tools than for couriers, but until they could breed more they would do. Three Defenders, including Trekkman who was eager to return to the fight, would set out to seek any news of the witch's ring.

"We must find this item soon," Charlotte warned, "For I fear it may be the key to stopping this witch."

"Then we will not delay," came Trekkman's stoic reply. Charlotte worried he may not be fit to return to duty so fast, but she wouldn't deny the warrior his service to the Lord of Purity. As soon as they had left, Charlotte dawned a cloak. She'd spend the rest of the night watching the river.

Orders:

Spoiler

Defenders are sent to the Tyren, the Learning Square, and the Platz to seek out information on the ring from any and all travelers. They are equipped with a drawing of the item.

NorthOfOrdinary

Information comes quickly about this ring -- almost laughably so.

From peasants to police -- a story keeps coming back of a bony ringer with some precious ring on in... a gold band FREAKISHLY triggering the memory of everyone who looks at the drawings of the KesselFlicken... THAT ring was held as some kind of trophy by the standard-bearer of the mud-elf vanguard... it was supposedly a symbol of domination and fear. A Highborn Swordmaster had decapitated the rotten bastard in battle and the damn fingerbone -- hanging from a chain -- almost sailed off the damn cliffs in the fight. It showed up later in the triage area behind the battlefield, and put together with the rest of the spoils. Bone and all!

"Why the hell you askin' about a ring and a fingerbone, neighbors? Yer princess needs a wedding ring? Plenty of precious trinkets in tha market! Though admittedly we don't have a jeweler... ah well, see if one of the faction leaders will let you see the vault where all that treasure sits unused... DO NOT go without introductions... the vault looks bare, but it's a feeding spot for Aymaran brutes... don't believe me? there hasn't been a cappy from the sewer in that vault for three months. Three months if I mean even a day! GO WITH COMPANY!"

 

[Beckoncall]

Slavers post moved to bottom of thread for continuity...

 

[SpiralErrant]

Down at the beach the sands were swarming with more tyren than it'd seen since the day they made landfall. Their work on the fancy white tower had given the craft wagons more business down by the docks than usual but news had traveled fast about the new arrivals. Both those that planned to stay for a while and the merchants that came to ply their wares. Strangely enough news of their trade reached Hrun'Taras sooner than the messenger could travel, instead coming from Shul as he groggily woke from his latest stupor.

"There's somebody... a spirit somebody on the ship... w-w-we gotta get 'em off... I think."

Orm already had business down there with the bright knights. Business that would see him walking beside the crafter bulls and their long carts of stone and clay... now he'd bring warriors along with him.

The new arrivals and their escort

There certainly were a lot of them coming out of that hold, the minotaur pondered. He would have guessed that since they were each so small there was so much extra space for all of them. It was earlier in the day and the working tyren were happy to take this chance before the work had started to work the sleep out of their system and take a proper look at these new folk as they arrived proper out of their sea wagons.

First there were the fennec folk, small and quick and running all about the place so soft that half the bulls had to be careful not to trip or step on the little pups. These one's got underfoot worse than the elves did! Talking with them was a much easier thing than it was with the other colonists though, at least back when the tyren were still getting used to them. The two races may have been from far off places of the world from each other but they were merchant folks both, both the merchants of the beast races had each long since held the trade tongues that were born on the desert roads.

"Here come's the neighborhood, eh?" The minotaurs joked. "First the rat folks and now you lot, I ain't seen this many folk of the fur all in the same place as each other in a long time! That fits me to the ground! You fox lads have a safe trip over the blue? We got rocks and giant fish - you should see what it did to Rahg, I tell 'ya - one of the boats didn't even make it!" It lacked the formal nature of some of the other greetings that got offered about the place but the minotaurs that delt around the platz were quick to greet a people closer to their own kind and were closer to something they could understand.

Then there were the dwarves. To a tryren's eyes they looked like walking piles of metal from far off, like smaller versions of the walking armour at the sky hill. Up closer that changed quick as their forms were dominated by their long beards and the thick smell of earth and beer. There were quieter one's in speech but louder in step... broader too, not so easy to trip over. They seemed interested in the dragon house on the beach. Orm had never managed to work out if they worshiped a dragon or a god, from he knew of the two they were very different things but the boat dwellers talked about this Dracos like they were the same thing. Not that it mattered, he wasn't likely to meet either any time.

"You like the dragon church? We helped build that, well paid for it, was good buy for it I tell ya."