286 Years ago, the Time of the Ancients had come to an end. Some may claim that the arrival of humanity was what put an end to their self-destructive struggles, others that the influx of the new people on the surface of Teros allowed the ancients slaves to finally throw off the yoke with the new technologies and ideas that came from a distant reality. For most still, that is ancient history, nothing more than songs and tales of the elders. Few were aware of the important this date would hold for their lives in the near future, even fewer still were able to see and interpret the signs that begun ever so subtle, only to lead to a thundering crescendo in the first weeks of spring.
The Cities of Villos and Dulkor, with their glorious and resplendent history were the first to note the changes. Tools and crystals that had fallen into a deep slumber were awakening: Hereditary Germark jewels were casting a warm light in their settings, while the holy instruments of Villos were bathing the congregations in ancients' lights that sent them into new frenzies of devotion and belief. In the crumbling theatres of Villos prophets were proclaiming the nearing end or the return of paradise with the Ancients – in the halls of Dulkor ancient glories were sung to and slaves were set to polishing their masters ancestral weapons and armours.
But while the city folk were marvelling at their ancient baubles, the Roving Fey tasted the change on the very air. Their existence, so closely tied to the mana that nourished and filled the land with life, was able to pick up both on something awakening deep beneath their feet, leading to new life sprouting on the sandy dunes and the oasis to grow ever more splendid – while also feeling a hint of something darker rising with it, echoing in the howling of the storms that were picking up across the interior of the coast.
But while to the Fey these changes were the repeat of an ancient cycle, the rising and falling of the mana levels and the life they gave with it, the Shepherds were less lucky. The storms were blowing mightily from the sandy dunes of the interior and their valleys and mountainsides were exposed to a dry and sandy wind that seemed to dry out and shrivel any living thing it touched. Only their homes could offer some shade from which they had to watch as their farms turned into wasteland – their only respite the ever livelier greenery deep in the cracks and valleys of the mountains, where their livestock found plentiful fodder at least. Still, as the bangs of hunger grew, so did the calls for the families to decide on actions to be undertaken.
As others sought safety, the Outcast Chorus threw itself into the dangers and storms with the abandon of those that had nothing left to lose. While many groups perished and disappeared among the dunes, others returned with trinkets and strange ancient items: telling tales of whole ruins rising from the sand or getting unearthed by the storms, their crystals shining ever so brightly even in the thick of the howling gales. This promised riches, dangers and fools who might head to the ruins among the dunes first. After all, what outcast ever got to where they are now with honest work?
Untouched by the worst and the best of the changes coming with Spring, Kyradar stood tall and confident among its merchant fleet and stretched across the shore it called its own. But even the guilds couldn't find peace between the eternal squabbling for prestige and dominance among them. Ships reported sightings of strange banners and unknown airships to the south, flying a banner that only the most far travelled of the city's captains recognized as the purple of a power and technologically advanced state far away in the south. What these newcomers wanted was ever unsure and there were dangers and troubles closer to home. In the outskirts of the city, those unable to afford a home close to the manacores were reporting spreading illnesses and mutations among the destitute exposed to the winds and the wild mana of Teros- worse than usual for spring time even.
The raw mana was ever so hostile to the human body and form, evolved as it had on a different planet and plane. But House Asteria was not thwarted by such elements. Carrying a mere Kings wealth in manacores, its menials, servants, engineers and technicians were enjoying purified mana, while their soldiers carried masks and enchanted suits to protect themselves out in the field. Their banners were held high by the mechanical warbots, the technomancer making sure these war machines were marching in tandem with the human companies. It was a force that the coast of Orthin had never seen before. But for all the wealth and technology, they were nothing but exiles, sent out to die, sent out to conquer in the name of the distant Emperor, whose image accompanied them on any coin, banner and projector. Even at this distant place they ought to never forget their Lord and Master.
And deep beneath the surface, below the crumbling remnants of a tower that once rose when the dunes were still verdant with life, ancient machinery was coming to life and as the mana started to pump again the Heart returned to life. Crystaline Caskets rose from their resting places, ancient Ishin stirred to life as the pilots entombed inside of them were awoken and the command system once more reached out to the bright and singular loyal minds belonging to it. Great warriors and leaders of a past age once more turned to life as alarms were blaring, and instruments were repeating warnings of corruption and foulness that was spreading on the winds and among the lines of mana that watered and enlivened the land. Dark Whispers had taken hold of ancient refugee and whole clades of warriors had to be destroyed as the darkness had twisted them in their sleep and turned them away from their true purpose. The Heart was beating, but it was a confused and hasty one, bereft of anything but the warning and the first order: to protect the masters.
The Tribes The Roving Fey - @Eater
Type: Tribe Confederation
Advantages: Desert Experts
Disadvantages: Slaver Raids
Size: 3
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 0
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
"The Sandworm" Collapse-Era Ishin
3 x Fey Warbands
2 x Outrider Companies
1 x Sorcerers Corps
The Shepherds - @Easter
Type: Family Groups
Advantages: Remote Households
Disadvantages: Overpopulation, Crop Failures
Size: 2
Prosperity: Suffering
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 2
Military:
2 x Utarok Companies
"The Oak" Arrival-Era Ishin
"The Promise" Ancient-Era Ishin
The Outcast Chorus - @kosi
Type: Bandits & Outcasts
Advantages: Renown Raiders
Disadvantages: Known Raiders
Size: 3
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
"Ravager" Fiend-Ishin
"Hatchet" Fiend-Ishin
"Butcher" Fiend-Ishin
6 x Outcast Warbands
The Cities Dulkor, City of Woe - @Azecreth
Type: Rapacious Republic
Advantages: Markets of Flesh
Disadvantages: Masters and Masses
Size: 6
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 8
Military:
"Gremaks Pride" - Collapse-Era Ishin
2 x House Companies
4 x Freeborn Militias
Kyradar, City of Silver - @cosmic_lonewolf
Type: Home of the Merchant Lords
Advantages: Long-Trade
Disadvantages: Feuding Guilds
Size: 6
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 3
Ancient Alloys: 10
Military:
"Phidin" - Collapse-Era Ishin
"Fortuna" - Arrival-Era Airship
8 x Guild Militias
Villos, City of the Ancients - @Princess_Hex
Type: Religious & Research Centre
Advantages: Wisdom of the Ancients
Disadvantages: Whispers of the Abyss
Size: 4
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 6
Military:
"Chains" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Cyber-Shaman Corps
2 x Holy Companies
2 x Zealot Militias
The Outsiders House Asteria, Imperial Memories - @Potato Anarchy
Type: Imperial Conquistadors
Advantages: Imperial Calling
Disadvantages: Stuck at the Periphery
Size: 3
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 20
Military:
"Dreamer" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Awoken" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Lepidus" - Arrival-Era Airship
"Gemellus" - Arrival-Era Airship
2 x Imperial Companies
1 x Warbot Company
1 x Technomancer Corps
The Heart, Awakening Gods - @Ceslas
Type: Awakened Sleepers
Advantages: Ancient Mastery
Disadvantages: Ancient Corruption
Size: 1
Prosperity: Resplendent
Manacores: 10
Ancient Alloys: 30
Military:
"ATD" Ancient-Era Ishin
"DCM" Ancient-Era Ishin
"PEM" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Sleeper Corps
1 x Infiltrator Corps
To many it is the City of Woe. Lives past through its gates to never emerge, fed into the grinding gears of magnificent constructs and symbols of the vanity of the architects. To others it is the First City, Greatest Among Equals. Chosen by the Ancients, their reward for their faithful service as their former creators departed into the stars.
Dulkor is guided by the steady hand of the Senate, comprised of houses which can trace their lineage back generations. Poets, warriors, scholars, every member of the Senate was brought to that point by their weight of their bloodline, even as they add their own contributions to the thriving society of the Gremak.
But many would seek to dismiss those, instead focusing on the slave trade, the backbone of Dulkor's workforce and economy. To this the Gremak who live in Dulkor are dismissive. It is a simple fact of nature that some are made superior, and some are made lesser. Why, then, should those who are lesser aspire to rise above their station?
This has only been bolstered by the arrival of Humanity. Their bodies are weak and feeble, unable to withstand the environment without machines to attune the natural mana of Teros. There is no denying that they are lesser. To say nothing of their culture. any noble Gremak will happily point out a Human who has been sold into bondage by another of his kind for the sake of some coin. At least in Dulkor their lives will have purpose as they toil in the fields and the mines, or work to build new monuments and infrastructure.
While it is true that Dulkor is ever eclipsed by Kyradar, to many of the noble houses this is of no concern. Kyradar is far away, and can never truly compare to the majesty of their own city. when one sees the splendor all around them now, what need is there to change?
The rain lashed against the curved glass dome of the council chamber, the rhythmic drumming a ceaseless reminder of the storm gathering both within and outside. Dim, flickering light from ancient glow-lamps reflected on the wet panes, casting long shadows across the room. The chamber was a cavernous space, designed to intimidate and inspire in equal measure.
Its structure was a semi-circle of seats, raised on polished platforms of dark mahogany, arranged like the fangs of some predatory beast. At the center of the arc, a single, elevated chair loomed over the others—her chair.
Mistress Alessa Virdan, the Silver Shark, sat poised like a queen surveying her domain. The title of council leader had been hard-won, not through charisma or brute force but with a labyrinthine weave of favors, threats, and quiet manipulations.
Around the room, smaller desks and chairs dotted the floor, a clear division of power between the council and those who petitioned them. Each clap of thunder reverberated through the chamber, a grim accompaniment to her musings.
Appearance is everything, she reminded herself as her fingers grazed the ancient alloy necklace that rested against her collarbone. It was a vanity piece, yes, but one that whispered of wealth, status, and secrets far older than any other member present could comprehend. Even the earrings she wore were a calculated choice—a subtle nod to her dominion as Guild Mistress of the Silversmiths' Consortium. To rule from the shadows required the right kind of illumination, and Alessa ensured her light dazzled and blinded in equal measure.
Her hands rested lightly on the arms of the chair, fingers adorned with rings of intricate silverwork that caught the faint light. Beneath her calm exterior, her mind danced with calculation. Every step, every word today had to be perfect.
No room for error. Not with Aurelys on the horizon, she thought, brushing aside a strand of her silver-threaded hair. Symbols mattered, and no one understood that better than her. She scanned her notes, written in an elegant, precise hand, the product of a week's worth of sleepless nights. Of countless visits and receptions. Hundreds of threads pulled to make a beautiful tapestry.
"Scripts rarely survive the performance," she murmured under her breath, but that is why she had made dozens of contingencies.
She pushed aside the script. Beneath it lay mirrors embedded in her desk, their surface reflecting the room with distorted clarity. One by one, the council members entered. She watched them arrive through the mirrors first, keeping her gaze fixed downwards at the pages that littered her desk as if uninterested.
Captain Dael Renvor entered first, as Alessa had anticipated. The Commander of the City Watch strode into the room with the crisp precision of a soldier, her uniform sharp, her expression sharper. Alessa's lips twitched into a faint smirk.
Dael is going to hate this. She'll fight me at every turn, but her sense of duty will bind her tighter than any chain.
The captain's eyes swept the room, her gaze landing briefly on Alessa before she moved to her seat. Alessa noted the way Dael's jaw tightened as she glanced toward Alessa's elevated seat.
She's going to hate this, Alessa thought with a flicker of amusement. But even Dael knows the value of unity—however reluctantly it must be forged.
Elias Forvar, the Merchant Prince, followed shortly after, his opulent robes a cascade of crimson and gold. Rings adorned his fingers, each one whispering of wealth and influence. He smiled at those who met his gaze, a predator playing at charm.
If Talia's information holds true, he'll be insufferably smug by the end of this meeting. A man like him can smell profit even in blood. But wealth is a fickle mistress. If he becomes too bold, he'll need reminding of who holds the leash.
Speaking of Talia, the leader of Kyradar's infamous underworld swept into the chamber next, her presence subtle yet magnetic. The leader of Shadows was clad in nondescript commoner's attire, the kind that blended into crowds and concealed knives. Yet it was her earrings—ancient alloy, matching Alessa's own—that drew the room's attention.
Whispers rose among the seated council members as they noticed her. Their unease deepened as their eyes shifted to her bodyguards, a man and a woman built like ironclad warships. Both were scarred and armored, their slab-like blades resting against their shoulders with casual menace. The armor, though scratched and battered, was unmistakably of Valley Giant origin—each plate a trophy from a conquered behemoth.
You're dangerous, Talia, Alessa mused, watching the subtle ripple of whispers as people noticed the earrings. Watching them discretely rearrangement themselves in a silent game of favors trying to get closer to Talia. At the wealth, beauty and power she represented. A snake loose in a cage of trapped mice. I wonder which of us will strike first.
Behind her entered Sorren "Ironbrand" Faltin and Yelena Korthis, an odd pairing that seemed to draw more attention than expected. Sorren, the old war hero, still had an aura of command despite his weathered face and stiff gait. Beside him, Yelena exuded a noble grace that made her stand out starkly in this chamber of merchants and pragmatists. She carried herself like a queen-in-exile, and Alessa couldn't help but admire the younger woman's resolve.
They'll convince the others to say yes. Sorren to inspire trust, Yelena to stoke fear. And once the council starts saying yes... it's so very hard to stop. Their resistance will crumble like a poorly cast alloy.
The final figure was Lorian "Stormforged" Dalorath, the blacksmith. His soot-stained clothes and weathered hands spoke of someone dragged straight from the forge. He looked as though he'd been sculpted from the molten metal he worked with, every movement deliberate and strong.
Perfect.
The chamber buzzed with conversation, the storm outside a chaotic backdrop to the rising din. But when the great doors groaned open once more, silence fell. Darius "Blooded Blade" Kelran stomped into the room, the hiss of the Ishin Phidin audible even through the rain. The towering ishin loomed in the open courtyard, its gleaming frame a reminder of Kyradar's fragile security. A subtle reminder that the only reason their enemies didn't attack them was his presence.
Darius's entrance was, as always, theatrical. He offered Alessa a subtle nod, his eyes gleaming with the pride and defiance she had come to expect from her godson.
Ah, Darius. Ever the warhorse. Even when you play no role in this council, you understand the power of presence. I taught you well.
Alessa rose, the acoustics of the chamber amplifying her voice as she greeted the assembly. "Esteemed council members and honored guests, you know why we have gathered here tonight. Reports of foreign banners—purple banners—spotted to the south. Unknown ships bearing their mark. Some among you have already whispered the name."
She let the word hang in the air for a moment, her gaze sweeping the room. "Aurelys."
A ripple of unease swept the chamber. She allowed the murmurs to linger for a moment before gesturing toward Yelena. "But rather than recite rumors, let us hear the truth from one who knows them best."
Yelena stood, her back straight, her hands clasped before her, the rain hammering the dome above as though in resonance with the storm of her words. Her voice, though steady, carried the weight of despair and warning—a voice forged by the fire of betrayal and tempered by years of exile.
"Honored council," she began, her tone measured, deliberate, "you know my name. You know my past. I am Yelena Korthis, a scion of a family crushed under the weight of Aurelys's hunger. I speak not as an outsider, but as someone who has seen the truth of them—lived it, suffered for it."
She allowed her gaze to sweep the room, meeting the eyes of those who dared to look back. "You must understand what we face. Aurelys is not a state in the way we think of nations. It is a machine. A ravenous, unfeeling engine that grinds everything in its path into fuel. Aurelys survives by war. Conquest is not their ambition; it is their existence. Its government is a parasitic machine that must constantly devour new lands to feed its own corrupt core. The longer they are allowed to stand unopposed, the stronger they will become. And when they come for Kyradar—and make no mistake, they will come for us—we will not be the first, nor the last. We will simply be the next."
"This is not a foe that can be reasoned with or delayed. They understand one language: strength. And if we are to survive, we must learn to speak it fluently. The time to act is now, before their banners fly over our walls and our children grow up as pawns in their endless war."
Her voice rose, an edge of fury bleeding into her words. "I know what many of you must think. That perhaps, if we offer terms, they will be appeased. That we can strike some grand accord that keeps our city safe while preserving our way of life. Let me be clear: no treaty with Aurelys has ever endured. Not one. Their emissaries come bearing gifts, speaking sweet promises of trade and prosperity. But their gifts are poisoned, and their promises are hollow. Every city that has bowed to their terms found itself shackled, its people enslaved, its wealth siphoned away to fuel the Aurelyan war machine."
"I have seen their hunger," she continued, her voice softer now. "I have felt their chains. I was a child when they came for us, their banners purple like a bruise upon the land. My father believed their emissary when they spoke of alliance, of mutual prosperity. He believed the lies, as so many did, until their warships darkened our seas. By then, it was too late. Our defenses crumbled. Our people fled, fought, or perished. Those who survived lived only to serve them."
She turned slightly, gesturing toward the domed ceiling, as if the distant echoes of her homeland's screams could still be heard. "Aurelys does not conquer lands. They conquer people. Your homes, your livelihoods, your very identities will become theirs. And when they are done stripping your city of its wealth, its culture, its spirit—they will move on, leaving behind nothing but ash and silence."
"Some of you may think that Kyradar is different. That we are strong. Independent. That our Ishin, our guilds, our ingenuity, will hold them at bay. I thought the same once. So did my family. The Korthis name once stood among the great houses of Aurelys. My ancestors wielded influence, power—resources beyond imagining. Now we are just another jewel in Aurelyan hoard."
"You do not bargain with Aurelys. You do not trust Aurelys. You do not wait for Aurelys to knock at your gates. You act now, or you seal the fate of this city and everyone within it. The question is not whether they will come—it is when. And when they do, they will come as a tide of steel and flame. You must decide now whether Kyradar will stand... or fall."
When she sat down, the chamber erupted. Voices clashed, some rising in panic, others demanding action. One guildmaster stood, his face red with fury.
"What can we do?" he shouted. "If what she says is true, we're doomed before we begin!"
"Enough!" Captain Dael's voice was a whip-crack, silencing the outburst. "Panic will serve no one."
Alessa waited a beat before standing once more. "Before we leap to conclusions," she said, "perhaps we should listen to Sorren 'Ironbrand' Faltin. After all, this is not the first time Kyradar has faced such odds."
The old soldier rose, his voice as strong as steel. "The rebellion succeeded not because we were stronger, but because we were smarter. My father spent his life learning our enemy better than his own reflection. If we are to survive Aurelys, we need intelligence—a network that sees beyond their masks and reveals the truth."
A tense silence followed his words, broken only by the rain against the glass dome.
"And who," a voice finally asked, trembling, "will lead such a network?"
Alessa's gaze swept across the council chamber, the polished marble floors glinting in the flickering glow of the mage-lamps. She steepled her fingers, her silver rings catching the light as she leaned forward slightly. Soren's words, gruff and direct as ever, hung in the air, and Alessa couldn't help but smirk internally. He had unwittingly set the stage for her next move. It was fortuitous—almost as if the stars themselves were aligning to smooth her path.
"An excellent observation, Soren," she said aloud, her voice carrying the perfect blend of poise and gravitas. "One that touches upon a matter I had intended to address today." She allowed a pause, letting the gathered guildmasters, captains, and merchants sit in silent anticipation.
The murmurs grew louder, and she raised a hand to quiet them. Her eyes swept over the gathered faces, a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and thinly veiled hostility. Finally, she turned toward a shadowed corner of the chamber. "It seems only fitting to invite an expert to this discussion. May I introduce our guest—Talia Karn, leader of the Shadows."
A ripple of tension passed through the room as a figure emerged from the shadows. Talia Karn—or Whisper, as many dared only to call her in hushed tones—moved with feline grace, her dark eyes gleaming as if she relished the collective discomfort. Dressed in muted tones that seemed to absorb the light, she offered a faint, almost amused nod to the council.
Alessa spoke before the brewing outbursts could find their voice. "I propose that the Shadows be raised to the rank of a guild."
The room exploded.
Voices overlapped in a cacophony of outrage, disbelief, and fury. Some councilors shot to their feet, pointing accusatory fingers, while others leaned across the table, attempting to shout over the din.
"Absurd!" Varros Kerin's bellow sliced through the cacophony. The Shipwright's Guildmaster's face was red as he slammed a fist against the table. "You propose giving legitimacy to criminals?"
"Not just criminals—spies, smugglers, assassins!" Yelena Korthis snapped, her sharp, noble features twisted in indignation.
"Preposterous!" shouted Chancellor Eridos, slamming his palm on the table. "Not in a decade has a new guild been formed, and you would suggest it now, with her of all people?"
Alessa leaned back in her chair, her expression serene despite the roiling tempest of voices. It was a storm she had expected—one she had meticulously prepared for. Her mind flitted through the alliances she had nurtured, the promises she had dangled like baubles before greedy hands.
Alessa sat back, steepling her fingers and watching the chaos with detached amusement. As alliances fractured and old grudges flared, she allowed the storm to rage. Let them argue, let them tear at one another—it would only sweeten the inevitable victory. But beneath her serene exterior, a flicker of unease began to stir. She cast a sidelong glance at Talia, who stood silent and composed, her expression inscrutable.
The shouting grew louder, threats and accusations flying like arrows. Alessa caught snippets of arguments:
"This would disrupt the balance of power!"
"They'd destabilize our trade routes—"
Through it all, Talia remained still, her icy composure untouched. Alessa's stomach tightened. Perhaps Talia wasn't as sharp as she believed. If the Shadows' leader failed to act decisively, Alessa would have to intervene. Yet a quiet voice in her mind reminded her to wait. This was a game of patience, and Talia was no novice.
The din subsided just enough for a single voice to cut through. And then—
Talia moved.
A single step forward, her presence slicing through the chaos like a blade. The room quieted, the sudden silence almost as deafening as the noise that had preceded it. Her voice, calm and low, was nonetheless imbued with an edge that commanded attention.
"Guildmaster Forvar," she began. "Might I address you directly?"
The choice was brilliant, Alessa realized. Elias had the most to gain from her proposition—and the most to lose if he opposed it. Winning him over would create a cascade of support.
Elias Forvar blinked, his calculating expression faltering for a moment before he nodded. "Speak your piece, Whisper."
Talia's tone was measured, almost conversational. "I've heard that your caravans face increasing risks as they expand into new territories. Bandits, rival merchants, unrest in border towns—it's a dangerous venture."
Elias leaned back in his chair, his expression cautious but intrigued. "Your point, Karn?"
Talia allowed a faint smile. "My network can provide information. The next big fashion trend, which crops will fail this season, the political mood of the cities you trade with—all the intelligence you need to double your profits. In exchange, my people merely request to accompany your caravans, blending in as merchants or travelers. A few shadows in the background, nothing more."
The room held its breath. Alessa watched as Elias's fingers tapped a thoughtful rhythm against the table. She knew that, behind his polished exterior, the Merchant Prince was already calculating the margins. The deal was too tempting—knowledge was currency, and Talia had offered him a fortune.
Finally, Elias nodded. "You have a deal."
Before the uproar could resume, Alessa seized the moment. "Then I move to call a vote. Those in favor of elevating the Shadows to guild status?"
The votes were cast, and to Alessa's satisfaction, all but one councilor raised their hands. Talia sank back into her seat, a feline smile gracing her lips, and Alessa allowed herself a private sigh of relief.
She rapped her gavel sharply, silencing the whispers that had begun to rise. "Order. It is clear that we must increase our city's defenses. Captain Dael, your assessment?"
Captain Dael Renvor stood, her posture rigid and her expression grim. "The militia is undertrained. The warships are undermanned. We lack proper armor, not because of funding but because there isn't enough on the market to buy."
"Our forges are outdated and without better tools, we simplycan't keep up with deman.," Lorian said, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. "It takes decades to produce a master, and attracting talent requires us to offer wages so high that profit is nonexistent. The contracts that bind my guild keep prices low, but they leave no room for reinvestment. If we want to supply the city's needs, the forges must be upgraded."
"Raising prices is not feasible," she said at last. "It would destabilize the economy.
Alessa considered his words, weighing the options. "Increasing your prices is out of the question. It would destabilize the market."
"Then allocate resources to upgrade the forges," Lorian countered. "Efficiency will compensate for cost."
After a brisk discussion, the council voted to approve the allocation of ancient alloy to the forges. The decision rippled through the room, and Alessa noted with satisfaction the grudging nods of approval. Progress, however contested, was being made.
The attention turned to Elias once more.
The merchant prince rose, a triumphant glint in his eye. "I have secured a deal with the Valley Giants. They've agreed to give us their Ishen the Oak's aid in an expedition to try explore the runes in exchange for a trade of provisions. I petition the council for a military escort to ensure the caravan's safety."
This request reignited the chamber's earlier chaos, transforming it into a maelstrom of clashing voices and clanging egos. For hours, the council became a battleground of debate and negotiation, where every word was a weapon and every gesture a calculated move. Alliances formed and dissolved with startling speed, shifting like quicksand beneath the weight of ambition and desperation.
The air grew thick with tension as impassioned speeches and fierce arguments filled the chamber. Promises were made, favors called in, and betrayals orchestrated—all in the pursuit of personal gain cloaked in the guise of civic duty. The chamber echoed with the steady rhythm of gavel strikes, each one struggling to impose order upon the unruly assembly.
Finally, after six grueling hours of wrangling, maneuvering, and strained diplomacy, the session staggered to its conclusion. The decisions had been made, though the room bore the scars of the battle it had endured.
Alessa, as always, meticulously noted each decision, her elegant script capturing every agreement and allocation with the precision of an artisan crafting a masterpiece.
The Shadows were elevated to guild status, their academy creation to be funded with two ancient alloy. Furthermore, the Shadows were granted a provisional council seat, contingent upon demonstrating measurable contributions to the city's prosperity and security over the next three years.
The forges were allocated three units of ancient alloy to facilitate their expansion and modernization, ensuring they could meet the city's growing demands. In addition, the council approved a slight increase in the smithing guild's prices. However, this adjustment came with a strict stipulation: all additional revenue generated from the price increase must be transparently reinvested into forge improvements, with mandatory updates to tools, furnaces, and training facilities every five years.
The militia's budget was tripled, providing the resources necessary to commission an entirely new fleet of warships, expand the acquisition of advanced weaponry, armor, and siege engines from local forges, and secure specialized equipment through strategic imports from allied nations and prominent trade hubs.
Elias was grudgingly granted a detachment of militia by Captain Dael Renvor to accompany his trade and research caravan to the Valley Giants. The concession, however, came with a significant price: Elias would fund a substantial portion of the newly increased budgets for both the City Watch and the Navy.
Once satisfied, she closed her notebook with a soft snap and rose gracefully, smoothing the folds of her gown. Though exhaustion tugged at her, she betrayed no hint of it, her every movement a study in composed strength. Her eyes, sharp as polished silver, swept the chamber, catching sight of Talia murmuring something into Elias's ear. The Merchant Prince tilted his head, a sly smirk curling his lips—a telltale sign of a shared understanding.
Their alliance was cemented, Alessa noted silently. A cornerstone in the intricate web she was weaving. The faintest hint of a smile ghosted across her lips as she turned toward the chamber doors. Let them think they held the reins for now. Alessa had long mastered the art of guiding a current while letting others believe it was their own.
She allowed herself a moment of quiet satisfaction. Kyradar was a city of intrigue, and today, she had ensured her hand remained firmly on the scales.
Excerpts from the writings of Artuna of Pelopli, a gremak mendicant warrior-monk, who wrote of a fey moot after being invited for saving a chief's favored daughter from slavers.
… All three of the major clans were present at the moot, with our party, led of course by Chief Baatan, being among the last to arrive. Elmee remained stuck to me like my own shadow, in spite of having traveled in her mother's company for almost a week to get here. She was still skittish after her brief brush with bondage, and bleated plaintively whenever I strayed too far from her side, though she invariably turned bright red in mortification moments after. I will admit, the soft pressure of her wool pressed up against my side as she clutched my arm was almost distracting enough to keep my attention away from the sights and sounds of the gathered fey.
Coming down the ridge it became clear that the extent of variation seen amongst fey in the cities was but a pale shadow of their true splendor. I had assumed that the Rockridge Clan, from which Chief Baatan and Elmee hailed, were as my traveling companions were: largely humanoid folk with sheep and goat features, and the occasional rock or mineral vein. I now saw that this was not the case at all, merely the product of spending time as shepherds high in the hills.
Some from Rockridge lived up to the name, animate rock, with mossy hair and silver eyes. Others were living trees, or deerlike folk of incredible grace from the sparse forests amidst the foothills. Countless other aspects in all manner of mixtures and variations gathered in that section of camp.
At the far edge, and mingling amicably with the members of the rockridge clan, were fey of the plains clan. These fey lived up to their name in that they were quite plain in comparison, at least in terms of the variety of obvious sources their bodies were formed from. There were some who were plant or elemental wind attuned, but the vast majority were some form of either ox or horsefolk. Centaurs were common, though so too were bipedal Minotaur like fey. I knew better than to take their placid and amicable demeanors for granted; plains clan outriders had a fearsome reputation everywhere around these parts.
The final clan kept more to themselves than the others. The desert scorpion clan were the most secretive of all the fey; few were ever seen by outsiders, largely because they were so effective at ambushing those slavers who strayed too far into their domain to the south that almost none returned alive.
The desert scorpions were peculiar in that nearly all of them had at least to some degree of arthropoidal element to their forms. Some had chitinous arms, legs or even a tail; the same variation as in the other clans still existed, but of weaker nature, like fabric left in the Sun…
From the notes of the historian and archivist Triangulum Three Inkwell, preparing to work on three different histories all at once: the official narratives of the Landing Chronicle, the more explicit and reflective Secret History of Asteria, and his private, particularly critical Shores of Ruin.
Dramatis Personae: An Imperial Court in Exile
Houses & Families
House Asteria
Oh, Asteria! How the mighty have fallen. Not just a great house, but one of the oldest, an Invasion House. Now, with them in exile, only House Selene remains at the top of Aurelian society, both old and great. Perhaps not unrelated to our new Emperor growing up Selene, not that I am allowed to write that even here. But Asteria is haughty, particularly a generation back; perhaps the Widow-Empress could have won her fight if not for the sheer number of nobles who were alienated by her father's acid wit and utter disregard for those he saw his lessers.
Traditionally cultured, educated, persuasive, tricky, and beautiful, Asteria is equally associated with archaeology and cosmetic surgery, stirring solidarity and vicious gossip. Their traditions on the battlefield are tied to cunning, pragmatism, chivalric flair, and a knack for alliance-building. During the Invasion they cultivated a broader array of native allies and local proxies then any other Great House, but over the centuries this had dwindled to a patronage network dominated by artists and technologists. Now, on these alien shores, their new head looks to that example as a model for survival and success, while dealing with a house culture wounded by his father's ego and his imperial sister's more idealistic vainglory.
House Hekate
A minor house during the Invasion who were made great for their conquests a generation later, Hekate as a whole did not fall from grace during the succession but several scions of their younger generation were closely associated with the Empress and sent as individuals into exile. Whether they will be disowned, form a cadet branch, or remain a dishonored but profitable wing of the family is still legally unsettled -- and how Hekate seeks to resolve that ambiguity may well vary depending on the fortunes of the Asterian expedition. In the meantime they form an odd faction at court, more prestigious and well-off than any of us from the minor houses, but without old patronage ties to the Asteria, and largely eclipsed by our leaders.
House Cygnus
Clients attached to Asteria since the invasion of this world, a military minor house long associated with the army. Cygnus took brutal casualties during the succession crisis, and even they are aware it was in no small part because of the ill-fated strategic instincts of their leader, Cygnus Six Needle. He remains at their head, walking wounded, half his children dead, his reputation shattered, his own mind stuck in a twitchy defensive crouch, without anyone quite able to replace him. How - or whether - Asteria fixes this problem seems like a significant inflection point for the near future. In the meantime, more and more people have stopped calling him 'Pin' and started calling him 'the Prick.'
House Triangulum
A minor house once attached to the fallen House Nilus, we have begun to question if perhaps we bear some curse that keeps striking down our patrons. Asteria loves us because they love surgeons, technomancers, authors, and poets, and we produce them repeatedly. In many ways, I find us ill-suited to this exile, but if there is anything my mother is good for, it is her attachment to adopting promising outsiders into the House, and perhaps that will be enough to help us adapt. In the meantime, we are the clerical backbone of the court, and by extension the custodians of its dignity in this dusty wasteland where we have few majestic trappings outside our traditions and our clothes.
House Vulpecula
A minor house founded mere decades before Asteria's fall, when the technomancer Eight Perihelion was given a noble title following the Crisis of Blue Fires for his role in smuggling the imperial children out of the palace to safety inside of quickly hollowed out warbots. The house retains their founder's association with technology, and sought to follow the model of other "techno-bureaucrat" minor houses (like mine) before the death of the emperor they had once saved led to Vulpecula's damnation. With a number of members adopted as adults, they retain a common touch for better and worse, and seem to be positioning themselves to take a lead role in Asteria's archaeological efforts as well as training the colony's next generation of technomancers.
Commanders, Pilots, and Military Miscellanea
Knight-Overcaptain Hekate 64 Antidote
64 Antidote, who will answer to 'Cure' from her lowest soldier but rarely from her peers, is an odd woman out at the Asterian court, but respected and surrounded by an air of tragedy. She was the first to reach us with news of the Widow-Empress's death, and her longtime friend and champion. No one will allow me to write about them, but many rumors place her as the empress's former lover. She's certainly melancholic and jagged at her broken edges, whatever the nature of their bond.
She would have towered over the Widow-Empress, and still has several inches on even our two Ishin-piloting Asteria scions; with a snake's fluid muscle and cold menace, black hair cropped close to her skull, she sticks out among Asteria's flower-warriors not because she lacks their presence but because hers is so harsh. She's highly experienced as an Ishin pilot and served as a Praetorian after years in the field, with famously fast and merciless reactions as a duelist or an invader, but the Dancer was wrecked at the Battle of Chalgat while the Empress died. 64 Antidote remains an implicit backup candidate if one of the other Ishins survives a battle short a pilot, but for now she is employed as a commander. That she was given the lead on the colony's first expedition into the far north demonstrated the exarch's trust in her...and put the highest-ranking member of House Hekate far away from the court's politics while initial consolidations of House Asteria's power could be completed.
Knight-Overcaptain Asteria 12 Sunrise
Once a captain of the Praetorian Guard and pilot of the Awoken, and Cure's bitter rival turned surprising ally turned ???? Friend??. Where the Empress and her Hekate companion shared a certain brooding intensity, 12 Sunrise is famously composed and understated, with an air of careless, effortless grace that many are tricked into believing reflects a genuine, languid tranquility rather than a carefully cultivated persona held in place by willpower and practice. Tall, lanky, blonde, and fit, she manages her appearance with the same disguised precision and elegant minimalism as her fighting in or out of an ishin. It's obnoxiously effective.
Now the pilot of the Dreamer, she is a political cipher to her father's court after so many years as a Praetorian - and particularly so, I think, to her father's generation. Others like me, closer in age, have more clues from shared friends and time at imperial schools. "Sunny" loves excellence in herself and her many consorts, and her ambition was once far more mercenary before the dizzying betrayals of the imperial court left her bitter, wary, and painfully aware that honor meant something to her. The succession crisis saw her transformed into a creature of viciously strong loyalties and remarkable chivalry under pressure. I am very curious to see what the new exiled 12 Sunrise builds out of the ruins of two previous versions of herself. Her personas are such marvelous creations.
Probably don't mention in either commissioned text that I was her consort during university.
Knight-Lieutenant Asteria Four Lightning
The younger brother of 12 Sunrise and son of the exarch, still at the Imperial Academy when the succession crisis broke out, Four Lightning briefly piloted the Dreamer following the death of his uncle, Knight-Commander Asteria 16 Scope in the Battle of Gurnaea before House Asteria surrendered to the Emperor's forces, and in the aftermath he and his sister switched ishin. It was judged better for the slightly shell-shocked novice to remain in the defender-ishin whose survivability depended less on pilot skill, and the Awoken's early deployments close to the Asterian encampment would be better suited to his development as a pilot and a war-leader. Few in the camp complain about the company of the tall, rugged blonde, the classic image of Asterian beauty matched with unusual amounts of both muscle and relaxed good humor -- he's unassuming and self-deprecating in a way his sister's 'woke up this way' perfection is not. He might be the most personally popular member of House Asteria left, save perhaps his father.
It is not entirely nepotism that lands him in this position; "Sparky" is a natural pilot with good instincts, closer to his mother's hotshot brio than his sister's perfectly timed precision or 64 Antidote's ruthless aggression. If he weren't, he would be too easily replaced by one of Cygnus's more ambitious scions or even a common technomancer. But it is undoubtedly his family's name that insulates him from the consequences of his absent-minded, dreamy detachment from life around him, which seems to be some kind of slowly spiraling coping mechanism with everything and everyone he lost during the succession crisis. The real question is if he develops any talent for command outside his ishin, or remains a piloting specialist and team mascot while others take command around (and over) him.
Leaders, Viziers, and Political Miscellanea
Asteria Eleven Alabaster, Asterian Prime & Colonial Exarch
Eleven Alabaster is perhaps an odd choice to be a conquistador, and also the reason for my greatest optimism about this expedition. His children's height and athleticism both clearly come from his wife, an Ishin pilot from House Fornax who died ten years before their exile; he gave them their fine features, sleek blonde hair, and cool amber eyes, while neither seem to have inherited his knack for court poetry, his love of the classics, or his mastery of mathematics. (The single hobby shared by all three of them appears to be strategy games like First Settlement and Gatekeeper.) He has spent his life as a courtier and an administrator, sometimes an artist, but while his sister was Empress he was twice sent to look over a general's shoulder and manage their finances while out on campaign, which is at least military experience of a practical and political sort.
"Glimmer," as he's been known since his youth, also seems to have inherited all the political modesty and delicacy that went missing in his imperious father and in his sister, the dead Widow-Empress. It was not enough to salvage her war effort or win back everyone his father alienated, but it was likely much of what won us this perilous exile over a more straightforward purge. He understands in a way too many nobles don't how to balance the ledgers of state, and is good at the art of speaking ledger and diplomacy at the same time without letting one ignore the other; helpful, I hope, for this land of merchant-princes and starving tribes, in a way the poetry and classical references likely will not be. If he has a flaw besides his infatuation with my cousin, it is likely some of that same caution; left to his own devices he would happily pursue conquest at the pace of a river cutting stone, as long as it could achieve maximum efficiency and manage risk down to a trickle. His commanders are good at pushing back on this instinctual slow path; it comes out more in the slowness with which he strangles some of his political rivals here rather than simply cutting their throats.
Vulpecula Six Razor, Vulpecula Prime
Eldest son of Eight Perihelion and part of the first generation of Vulpecula born into the name, Six Razor is well aware that he holds his seat only because he has proven himself smarter and more distinguished then his many adoptive aunts and uncles, who elected him on the journey here. A veteran of the technomancer corps still adjusting to the prosthetic leg he required after the Battle of Gurnaea. He is the clearest open voice at court for my generation, for everyone in between Cure and Sparky, while Eleven Alabaster is surrounded by bitter uncles and aunties obsessed with the old ways of the Empire. His particular fixation is technological collapse -- both avoiding ours and studying that of the ancients. He is always pushing for more expeditions, more schooling, and has a quixotic passion for offering cybernetics to the most promising children of the commons. He is going to come off so much better in the histories because they will not convey what a fucking bore he is. The only time he is vaguely interesting is when he is talking about history, which is at least a common activity.
Aquila One Agate, Aquila Second
If defeat has made her husband's failures obvious and inescapable, One Agate has only grown more smug and influential in exile. She is the most influential conservative in Glimmer's court for all that she takes no direct role; she is a hostess and a gossip, pushing back on choices she loathes not with advice or strategy but with tight-lipped disapproval, disparaging bon mots, and narrative...innovations. It is undoubtedly part of Aquila's ongoing political paralysis that she remains the likeliest candidate to replace her husband if he's ousted, and Eleven Alabaster doesn't want that any more than her younger rivals do. With any luck some angry native will mistake her for a cactus and cut her open for water.
Triangulum 71 Adze, Court Strategist & the Exarch's Consort
My cousin, the Exarch's favorite and spymaster. Classmate to his daughter (and me), I have to admit it was not just youth and beauty that let her talk her way into his bed but their shared intellectual tastes and strategic sensibilities. She is, at least, faster-moving than he is, better at judging the pace of conspiracy and policy, quick-witted and sharp-tongued, though she is much less talented at maintaining her own reputation at court and the affection of whole cohorts; she wins the ardent love of specific friends and patrons while the court in general resents her, which is why she is a strategist and not (yet?) a true leader. This whole Chronicle business is her brainchild, and might secure her place as my mother's successor if she figures out this business of being liked by the many and not just the few.
I like to think that if she'd seduced the Widow-Empress, instead, we could have simply won the succession crisis in the first place, and none of this would have been necessary.
The ringing of blades filled the air, matched only with the intense roar of the crowd as blood stained the sands red. The coliseum was a mighty structure, carved from white stone painstakingly harvested from the desert. Its arches and pillars spoke to the keen eye of its designer, with seating for a multitude of beings. The halls were dotted with intricate statues, likenesses of warriors past and carved pictures of great battles.
The Coliseum loomed over the city around it, a mighty structure which drew in citizens of all class and occupation for what happened within. Construction had taken years, and it was best not to dwell upon the bones of the fallen amidst the foundations.
No, the real focus of this place was the spectacle. A mighty arena of sand, for tests of endurance of strength. Where Gremak and other beings would test their might against each other as well as captured beasts from the wild desert beyond. Carnage, brutality, spectacle, all of these and more could be found here.
In the middle of the sand arena, a scarred Gremak hefted a curved blade and wooden shield as he eyed his opponents. There were three of them, yet he showed no fear in the face of these odds. Perhaps that was because of the fourth that had already fallen, a sign of the skill that he possessed in combat.
The quartet circled each other, before a brown scaled Gremak lunged forward. The scarred one blocked with his shield before striking low in turn. A flurry of blows followed before the attacker was struck with a quick slash and fell to the sand to join the one already there
The other two were quick to attack in tandem, coming in from opposite angles so as to use their numbers advantages to win the day. But the scarred warrior is undaunted as he turns to face the approaching threat. Blades clash, a shield is knocked aside by the swing of a powerful tail. None used their teeth, for this was a 'civilized' battle, a test of skill and strategy rather than the sort of blind melee that the slaves might engage in. Each contest had its place, but the fighters on the field were of a much higher caliber than that.
In a matter of minutes it was over, the scarred fighter left the only Gremak standing over his fallen opponents. "And there you have it," the announcer yelled. "Once again Sasharin has shown why he is the Champion of the Arena!"
Sasharin raised his blade high above his head, his gaze sweeping the crowd as he basked in the thunderous cheers of those watching.
While there might be concerns about the fate of the other combatants in different circumstances, this was an exhibition match more than anything else. They would live, if only to train and nurse their wounded pride for an inevitable rematch. There was no satisfaction in unceremoniously killing them as if they were common slaves.
And so Sasharin departed, while attendants emerged to carry the other combatants back into waiting rooms. Soon the next fight would begin, and the bloodshed would resume once more. Such was life in Dulkor.
She sighed as she walked past the knee-high wall and closed off one of the goat pins that dotted the valley's mountains, passing toiling kinsfolk and other giantfolk as they shifted rocks towards the wall or worked to shape them into place. Fitting the stones together like a giant puzzle, a luxury item that she had seen once or two while on mercenary work, they worked to layer rocks both width and length-wise to create a thick and tall wall that could withstand both angry beasts and strong winds. But after a moment of eyeing it, as she had done to many such walls, she shook her head. No, she wasn't building a wall right now. Her job was to lead the clan's warriors to work with the fey folk. Help protect them for a bit in exchange for some food.
It wasn't the least paying nor the most dishonorable job they had taken, which was nice. Luckily since they had settled the valley their pick of jobs was much more selective, their companies even going entire seasons without having to bloody their swords due to simply surviving off their land's bounty. But other times like these, they had to go out and find work lest the valley suffer. So, the clans pick up their swords and shields once again, strapping on old armor, and take to marching out of their home and off to do their bloody work. She just hoped this one would be quick and easy.
He leaned back, his back cracking loudly as he stretched. The hoe in his hands pointed straight into the air, its dirt-covered head flaking, forcing him to be careful lest his clothes end up with even more dirt than they had on already. He didn't need his wife getting pissed at him again for coming home from the new fields covered in mud and dirt, even if it was nearly impossible. He'll try his best, but he figured he would still be filthy by the end of the day. At least the less effort it took her to clean them would be the less time it took for her to stop being pissed.
Shaking the wry thought away he went back to tilling, the new farmland near the lake was far easier to work with than the rockier land nearer to the mountains, but they were being forced to try different plants to see what would take to this land. This means he's stuck walking back and forth between multiple plots of land to work on a variety of plants, knowing that quite a few of them are going to fail. But, the clan demands it and he's the best farmer they have, so it fell on him to deal with the matter if he didn't want some of the youngsters to muck it up. So he was stuck down here, away from home in the mountains to see if farming in the lowlands would be worthwhile for the giantfolk.
…He didn't know if he wanted it to be successful or not, it was a hell of a walk from the mountains to here after all.
Come, join the courageous who have no choice but to bet their entire world
That indeed, indeed, God is real.
I will lead you into the circle of the Beloved's cunning thieves,
Those playful royal rogues, the ones you can trust for true guidance –
Who can aid you in this blessed calamity of life.
Hafiz, trans. D. Ladinsky
=} The Shepards Return {=
The Shepards had moved into the mountains to leave the bloody work of mercenaries behind, to life their lives in peace and among family without dying for one employer or another. It was a beautiful dream one that lived on in every Shepard, reaffirmed by the happy burbling of the mountain streams, nurtured with each lovingly raised livestock and celebrated whenever the families came together for wedding and festivals. But like any dream it had to end and as the rainy clouds offered shade and much needed water, the gentle giants raised their old banners once more, clad themselves in the armour of their forebearers and raised the heavy axes and halberds that had even been able to hack apart lesser Ishin in the days of yore.
The young, the old and those whose mouth the families couldn't fed anymore took their leaves, marching off to join the Fey and the Merchant Princes, to fight so that their families might have to eat and that their children and children's-children may not go hungry as soon as another drought hit. These hopes were met. Even as their loved ones marched off to distant battles, the first wagons of food were beginning to arrive.
From the deserts came the colourful and ever mutable Fey, carrying dried meats and curd, as well as herding additional livestock into the mountains – their own fortunes ever adrift but trusting in the mana to sustain themselves. What they could share was of course dwarfed by the vast pots and sacks of grain, oils and lentils that Kyradar could spare. Their own poor might be starving, slowly dying from the lack of sustenance and cleared mana, but if the Merchant Princes put their mind to it, their granaries could sustain the Shepards ever more.
Seeking new Paths
With the herding unable to sustain the needs of the families, their heads began to push for other methods as well. The families were split on what to do: while half of them scoured the mountainside with their livestock in tow, searching for new plants and herbs that would supplement their diet, finding a few roots that silenced the worst of the hunger but did little else, the other half saw their salvation in the lake at the feet of the mountains they called home.
There was some conflict, the lakes shore long used by the few families that lived along it with their human farmhands, but under the weight and press of the hunger, the families established alongside it gave in and the lake was parcelled off. But this alone did not do much to offset the dangers the Shepards were experiencing.
On the mountainsides the few attempts to establish terraces were hard work and did take people from other tasks which were more necessary to feed their families. The imports did give the Shepards some breathing room, but even so taming the mountainsides to establish small gardens and farms was proving a back breaking labour that involved creating large walls of virgin stone to keep the earth and moisture in. It was a labour for years to come – but one that might bear eventual fruit.
In the lake the situation was just as hard: creating artificial islands was a work the families were ill-used to – and finding the material for it also proved hard when farmland was already so limited. When multiple people involved also came down with afflictions on the legs after spending the whole day in the shallow water of the lakes, work slowed down even more. Still, the families involved are still optimistic that things will progress.
Digging Deep
The new contacts towards Kyradar were used by the Shepards to draw trained and educated miners towards their mountains, allowing them to prospect with at least a modicum of understanding and not just a small measure of success. While this allowed them to dig deeper and smarter, it also meant that before too long the news that the Shepards had found heavy traces of Alloy in the mountains to their south was making its way towards Kyradar and from there across the rest of the coast. As it was a family had been lucky, finding broken pieces of ancient architecture and slivers of alloy in the remnants of an aged landslide, meaning that digging deeper might very well find either the crushed remnants of an installation that could be mined for alloys….or something more intact.
When the encountered ranks upon ranks of armed pilgrims from Villos they were glad their intentions were peaceful and many blessings were spoken over the broken earth with a feverish intensity.
=} Venerable and Faithful Villos stirrs {=
The City of countless cults of a multitude of Prophets and a sheer endless market of icons, holy symbols and reliquaries was more active than ever before. The great mass of humanity and beyond, the believers, the desperate and those who just went along with each new motion, were congregating throughout the city at open pits and caverns. With their hands, with shovels and whatever else they could find they were tearing into the mud and rubble, unearthing the decades and centuries that came before the city of Villos as they knew it today. Onlookers from all over the coast came to see the remnants of the city past getting dragged and drained, the forgotten chapels of old cults and the plundered remains of ancient warehouses getting found at the same time. Basements and cellars, waste pits and ancient tunnels, where hungry breasts delighted at the fresh meat getting presented to them for the first time. One can only wonder why the Council of the Prophets has engaged in such hazardous activities, why it had raised the spirits of the faithful and the cultists for such work.
There were of course rumours: that there was a prophecy and either a great beast or a great treasure slumbering beneath the city. When the activities inside of Villos started to die down as the last of the heavy rain clouds dispersed to be replaced by the merciless sun, the same rumours were left wondering if a great treasure had been found or if a false prophet had lost their head.
Stretching out a Helping Hand
Still, Villos did not merely busy itself with what was happening inside of its walls. Wanderers and Caravans were glad to find waystations and pathways established along the coast and throughout the desert: holy icons rising from ruins and zealots guarding passes with their bodies even as many of their numbers lost their lives to bandits and worse. But for all the lives lost, new faithful were drawn from the groups that made it to the city, their bodies and beliefs paving the way for ever new masses to make their way to the city and their home inside its walls. But new people also meant new issues and among the outskirts of the city clashes between new and old cults took place as surely as brawls between preachers and their flocks. But even as tension existed, the city was growing, the sounds of prayers and hymns growing louder and louder.
=} Blood and Silver flow freely in Kyradar {=
The City of Silver hadn't gotten its name solely for the coinage that circulated along the coast and boar its crest, but also because of the famous artisans and skilled craftsman that called it their home. Lorian "Stormforged" Dalorath was the face that all those with a modicum of power imagined when it came to this base of their wealth: sooth-stained and covered in the flakes and remnants of metalwork and more intricate ornament, deliberate yet strong in each movement. It was with some surprise, that he and his workshop were granted slivers of the cities alloy reserves – and it was with wonder that people watched them taking on new shapes under his hand.
Malleable, yet firm, they were used as centre pieces for a mechanism that translated the power of the flowing water into a firm hammer and for a series of ever more intricate tools that allowed for the expertly shaping of metals be it for jewellery or weaponry. These new metalworks, funded by the city, were soon busy supplying new armours and crossbows to the guild-militias, making sure that the city was ever secure – and its renown stayed on everyone's mind.
Blades in the Dark
But for all the superb craftsmanship it wasn't the arts that caught everyone's attention and fancy this season, but rather a most daring – some might say foolhardy – decision of the council: the Elevation of the Shadows to the ranks of a guild. Under the leadership of Talia Karn, simply known as the Whisper to her apprentices, the spies and assassins of the city formed their own guild, each full member identified by the coinage of alloy they bore on their body, each stamped with the crest of the city on one side and a dagger on the other. What followed was nothing less than a purge, over the span of multiple weeks the newly elevated Guild of Shadows cleaned Kyradars underworld by dagger and poison, publicly disembowelling those who rejected their generous offer of membership and feeding worthwhile information to the heads of the other guilds, whose grudging response remained just that: grudging.
While many criticized this brutality, the new Guildmistress would merely point out that her apprentices were cleaning the city of all those who would sell information to the bandits, the slavers and the newly arrived imperials. Curtailing moves by others to expand their information networks into the open merchant city.
Banquets across the Dunes
While Elias Forvar, the Merchant Prince, might have hired the Giants of the Shepards for an expedition into the unknown, this season saw him travel with splendour and style. It was not merely grain and lentils that he was bringing to the distant families: no, a man like him travelled with a whole court of musicians, artisans, hunters, cooks and tailors. Before they could help themselves, the freshly hired mercenaries found themselves drawn into a world of luxury and gilded splendour. It was as if Farvor was intent on keeping himself distracted from both the situation in the city and the mission at hand.
While all the Giants were hosted with utmost grace, it was of little surprise that the merchant prince found himself most fascinated by the "Oak" Ishin, the machine standing even taller than Phidin, suitable for the physique of the Utarok. The choiciest bits of meat, the best wine and of course the most precious of gifts were lavished by the prince upon the pilot Blair Stonefield, more than eager to see the Oak march, move, perform tricks and run through its battle stances. With the caravan slowly moving back towards Kyradar, the mercenaries found themselves in good company – and with people more than happy to commiserate about the extravagancies and little oddities of their employers.
=} The Fey Ride {=
The heat of the desert wasn't pleasant to the Utarok, but they stayed true to their word as food and livestock was making its way towards the north-east. Under the curious eyes of the Fey the long lines of their promised company made their way through the dunes, each step sinking into the sand, each stride bringing them closer to the homes of the Clans. Their heavy weapons and armour were heated beneath the sun, cloth swiftly procured to cover them, their bodies straining against the warmth as they gladly accepted any water offered. They were suffering for sure, but when asked they confirmed that they were ready to fight for the food the Fey had sent. Each glaive at their service was after all another wagon of food sent towards their home.
In contrast, the newly arrived House Asteria arrived in style and with all imperial splendour they could muster. They fey could only watch as the mighty keel of the Imperial Airship hovered over the oasis, banners of purple and gold unfurling in the glittering sun as a mighty Ishin dropped from its side and landed in the sands without missing a step. The Imperials seemed to spare no expenses when it came to wooing their newfound allies and the imperial rifleman assembled with utmost discipline, showing off their gleaming arms and polished masks, while sticking to the manacore of the Lepidus for good measure.
But it wasn't only a force of arms they brought to the Fey: alloy in the shape of coinage and jewellery exchanged hands, well-crafted bracers and bayonets of imperial make being gifted to the Warchiefs of the Desert Scorpion and Plains Clans. While these gifts and the more than overwhelming military forces offered to them were accepted, with some suspicions, the actions of the Imperial Expedition force quickly won them the respect of the Fey.
Underneath the Dunes
With the military support of House Asteria securing their home, the Clans of the Fey could pursue what interested first and foremost: the changes wrought upon the land they called home and the question of what was getting uncovered by the storms blowing fiercely over the dunes. Guided by their sorcerers, who knew the sands like no others, they moved along the edge of the mountain range, using it for shelter while traversing the hilly edges and ranging deep into the shifting dunes. Most of the time they were not successful in finding anything, most likely simply picking up hints and traces of deeply buried ruins.
Of course, the Utarok workers suffered most of all during this: freezing at the night and close to heat strokes on days, they were ever eager to hide themselves from the elements, with their Fey companions doing their best to lessen the strain on them. It was during one of these frequent breaks, that one of the workers hit stone when trying to dig up a waste pit. A few more probing pushes of the shovel and the excited workers called for the warriors and sorcerers accompanying them, who had ranged far to find the signal they had been trying to home in on.
Under the mighty arms of the Shepards, a crumbling layer of stone became visible. At first there was disappointment, for it clearly looked nothing like the architecture of the ancestors. But when they dug and cleaned more, they saw that this was only a tower of brick and stone, built ontop of older, ancient, foundations. The signs looked similar to those used by the cults of Villos and the workers were sure that they were looking at some kind of waystation or temple – built on top of an ancient facility. When digging into the foundations of the structure they indeed found the remnants of an elevator shaft, broken as if someone had torn it apart in the middle and filled with sand.
Still, a ruin was a ruin and the workers were motivated to dig deeper.
New Ruins: South West of the Northern Oasis
=} The Chorus Sings in Silence {=
For all the roughness of the terrain, the dunes of the interior were anything but lifeless – still, spotty were the reports that told of caravans which left their cargo somewhere in the desert. Even more seldom was actual actionable intelligence on the stashes that the Chorus called its Network and lifeblood. Between the storms the Chorus had sent outs its people, probing stashes and checking both on their size and their intactness – now their efforts to refurbish them were met with scrutiny by the new Guild of Shadows that was stretching out its shadowy grasp from the City of Kyradar, while the cartographers of House Asteria came ever dangerously close to some of them.
Still, no one knew the southern dunes as well as the Chorus and even the guides of the Fey were hard pressed to spot the hiding places the outcasts had left all over the place. As such the others were left guesses just how deep the reserves of the bandits and cutthroats were – and how far their grip reached.
Bloodied Axes
A helping hand, a pocket full of coin or maybe someone willing to take care of the smaller and larger issues plaguing a merchant's assistant or a herder's animals: that was enough to pull people into the web. And where coin and help was enough to get them in, the threat of discovered and the things they did take part in where enough to keep them committed with a few hints or aimed pieces of violence. All over the southern coast the bloody Axe gangs were leaving a trail of carnage and plundered caravans and it was clear to authorities both in Kyradar and Villos that these ambushes weren't crimes of passion, of sudden bandits storming over the dunes and hills, but rather planned and carefully designed ambushes that made sure that the few survivors spread the tales of terror that made sure that other caravans decided to safe their lives and not their cargo.
Who could say how many of these attacks were thanks to lose lips in taverns or paid stable hands counting the number of wagons and the time during which the caravans were paying for a stable in the city? What people knew was, that the Shadows were performing bloody purges, even as ever new horror stories of the gang praying upon the caravans between Kyradar and Villos made their rounds.
Sleepers Tombs
Nestled at the southern edges of the western mountain range a landslide had exposed dozens of more than man-sized orbs. The first travellers who spread the news about this had stumbled upon them by chance, each orb holding the body of a mummified sleeper: some kind of system failure must have gotten them in their long sleep. While a few slivers of alloy and artefacts were brought onto the bazaars and markets of the cities, any further expedition to this place ran into iron fisted and heavily armed wanderers, who had taken up residence at the landslide. From there on only a few select pieces turned up again with most merchants deciding that this must have been nothing more than a few disjointed pieces of an ancient graveyards for the ancients favoured servants.
=} Dulkor, The First City {=
The Proud and Ancient Senate of Dulkor found itself both well and a little badly informed at the same time, unknowing or maybe even uncaring that the noble House Asteria had hired the cities traditional unruly neighbours as their guides. Still, despite such news travelling across the coast, the gift laden caravan making its way south did not turn around. Moving its cargo, both living and otherwise, along the coastal roads proved remarkably safe, with the guards and envoys entrusted with it arriving at the southern coast and the landing post of House Asteria unmolested.
Even from a cursory gaze it was clear that the newcomers to the coast were not planning to stay at their landing spot: their supplies were secured but not spread out, no more lasting building was erected than reenforced tents. All in all, the camp more resembled an army than a colonizing effort, with strict linear layouts and even the children being dressed in uniform and well lasting fabrics and masks.
For the temporary nature of the camp, the Envoys of Dulkor were still welcomed with all due grace by Knight-Lieutenant Asteria Four Lightning. While they were unable to meet with the Prime Asteria for they were overseeing urgent business with the expedition forces, Asteria Four Lightning proved a welcoming host, their rank signifying their standing as both an officer and more importantly: an Ishin pilot. It might be of little surprise that much of the additional gifts ended up in their hands. While the pilots reaction to the existence of slaves among the caravan and the institution itself was one of regretful existence for the existence of such pitiful people who had no other calling, it seemed that the idea of Dulkor being based on human-slavery was a little discomforting to them. The Envoy of course emphasized the existence of the nouveau riche human traders among their own society, who owned large swathes of human slaves as well, but it did seem to unsettle the Imperials still.
They accepted the slaves of course, with all due grace and gifts of equal value – at least as far as the envoys could judge – were exchanged with the Knight-Lieutenant, hopefully smoothening the path for further diplomatic missions, while introducing the Senates Envoys to various military officials that dined with them and Asteria Four Lightning.
Toppled Edifices
The hills to the south of Dulkor held the great necropoli of the Senate Families, towering tombs that served as famed markers showcasing the history and achievements of the leading families, whose future grandeur was guaranteed by the glory of their ancestors. The location wasn't chosen at random, in the plains beneath these tombs were ancient markers, half sanded down by the winds of the desert, half overgrown thanks to the rains coming from the sea. Each stood as tall as an insulae, towering edifices holding the edicts of the ancients in unreadable letters and sometimes sparks of power made them glow with ethereal light.
A few weeks past the unthinkable happened: one of the stele toppled, its weight and base tearing apart the hill it was standing on and nearly crushing a nearby farmer with most of this land. It was the cried out tale of the mans widow that brought the expedition to the remote farmstead. The whole hill was crawling like an ant-hive: simple drones and towering golems of ancient make were patrolling the falling stele, which must have served akin to a lid on the installation that held them. Now that they had been disturbed they had begun to hunt down and kill all intelligent life in the perimeter, leading to many farmer and Shepards turning to the Senate for help…
…all the while the existence of such a strong defensive force was interpreted as a hint for the value of the installation and what might be inside of it.
Portents of Blood
The Gates of Dulkor saw frightening scenes during this season. Wounded and dying hunters and gatherers were dragging themselves to safety, their ranging for Fey to fuel the ever-eager markets of the city interrupted by what they claimed to be giant monster. With multiple groups coming back in a similar sorry state and many not even returning, it was clear that something had happened and among the tales it was clear that they had all been lured in Fey posing as easy pickings, before being set upon by giants of super-Gremak strength, that nearly tore them limb from limb. The most haunting of it all being that these armoured giants never uttered so much as a single word or battle cry even as they tore through the slaver parties.
But that wasn't the worst of it. The city had barely calmed down, before frightened merchants appeared before the Senate, reporting that they Fey had started to raid the caravans leaving for the estates around the city and the trade missions towards the south and beyond. As if ambushing the slavers hadn't been enough the Roving Fey were now attacking the lifeblood of the city, which only gave way for a call to action!
=} House Asteria, a Wildflowers last Dream {=
The Coast of Orthin is and has been dominated by the cities for the last centuries since the arrival of humanity. But since the rise of the merchant city and the flagging influence and military power of Dulkor, coupled with the ever fervent fights and zealous missions of the cults of Villos, the land in between has been changing hands and allegiances ever so often. At the southern coast this meant, that the arrival of House Asteria sparked hopes in the hearts of those seeking to escape the bloody raids and 'taxes' of the Chorus or the financial domination of the guilds of Kyradar, whose crafts and artisans were living figuratively and actually from the fruits of their surroundings.
The Guides of the Fey
But when it became clear that the ambitions of the noble house, guided by the Fey who had promised to help them seek out a place for settlement, was directed towards the southern of the three great lakes, the flood of people seeking safety from the Chorus increased rapidly. Hamlets, farmsteads, shepherds and those eking out a humble live at the edge of the dunes: all of them were subject to the force of their Chorus, their few weapon and brave warriors unable to stand up to the vast outcast network. In contrast to the despair many of them showed, the expedition of House Asteria was met with no resistance by the infamous bandits. At most some of the scouts and posts reported figures in the distance and the feeling of being watched – but that was it.
Reaching the lake, they found traces of camps and habitation but didn't run into any larger group than shepherds and nomads. Heading towards the mountains north of the lake they found a promising plateau: spacious enough to hold the entire House and with sheer cliffs on two sides that made it a natural citadel for a future city growing around it. But of course that was only one option, even if it was particularly promising despite the talks of a whole bandit army being somewhere out there.
Sticking to the southern coast, the scouts also found a promising natural harbour just south-west of the current camp. Large enough to hold the heavy ocean-going imperial vessels should they rely on them instead of their airships, it was a natural shelter – but also in direct rivalry to the established ports of Villos and Kyradar. A little less defencible the access to the ocean could be both strength or weakness depending on a possible enemy.
The Scouts also reported skittish meetings with a heavily armed force of Zealots hailing from Villos, who spent an uncomfortable long time staring and muttering at them, before turning around and returning home.
Chronicles of Old
For all the military might and for all the imperial splendour House Asteria showed off to those natives to these shores, there was one thing they all knew deep in their hearts: they were exiles far away from home. The Dream of Empire, the Dreams of the Wildflower Empire and now the Dream of the Heartwood Emperor would be dreamed without them. They were cast out, honourably as much as this could be said, sent out to conquer or die upon foreign shores far from the Grace that is Valerium, far from the fields and cities they called their homes.
But Prime Asteria could know that all those that had followed, members of the family, followers and clients, had done so because they valued the House above all else.
The chronicles of House Asteria moved through the camp with purpose, their tablets and styli ready, their eyes bright and their ears sharp: gathering and weaving the thousands of stories into the fate of a single House. Under their guidance great woven tapestries begun to be erected at the camp, each showing past splendours and future promises of the house, showing gruelling work and earned victory. Even for those who would never read the Landing Chronicles, the images would convey the message, would convey the singular fate they all shared.
And somewhere in the drawers of Asteria Prime a small manuscript was slowly growing, praise for Six Orchid, Imperator Prime Past, Protector of Humanity, Warden of the Starlit Charts gathered alongside the debts that the house would one day pay back in full. The Secret History of Asteria was gathering timeless triumph and unforgiving grievances, for the days yet to come.
The Tribes The Roving Fey - @Eater
Type: Tribe Confederation
Advantages: Desert Experts
Disadvantages: Slaver Raids
Size: 3+
Prosperity: Stable-
Manacores: 0
Ancient Alloys: 2
Military:
"The Sandworm" Collapse-Era Ishin
3 x Fey Warbands
2 x Outrider Companies
1 x Sorcerers Corps
The Shepherds - @Easter
Type: Family Groups
Advantages: Remote Households
Disadvantages: Overpopulation-, Crop Failures-
Size: 2-
Prosperity: Suffering++
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 2
Military:
2 x Utarok Companies
"The Oak" Arrival-Era Ishin
"The Promise" Ancient-Era Ishin
The Outcast Chorus - @kosi
Type: Bandits & Outcasts
Advantages: Renown Raiders+, The Network-, The Web--
Disadvantages: Known Raiders+
Size: 3+
Prosperity: Shortages+
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
"Ravager" Fiend-Ishin
"Hatchet" Fiend-Ishin
"Butcher" Fiend-Ishin
6 x Outcast Warbands
The Cities Dulkor, City of Woe - @Azecreth
Type: Rapacious Republic
Advantages: Markets of Flesh-
Disadvantages: Masters and Masses+
Size: 6
Prosperity: Shortages-
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 8
Military:
"Gremaks Pride" - Collapse-Era Ishin
2 x House Companies
4 x Freeborn Militias
Kyradar, City of Silver - @cosmic_lonewolf
Type: Home of the Merchant Lords
Advantages: Long-Trade+
Disadvantages: Feuding Guilds++
Size: 6
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 3
Ancient Alloys: 10
Military:
"Phidin" - Collapse-Era Ishin
"Fortuna" - Arrival-Era Airship
8 x Guild Militias
Villos, City of the Ancients - @Princess_Hex
Type: Religious & Research Centre
Advantages: Wisdom of the Ancients+
Disadvantages: Whispers of the Abyss+
Size: 4+
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 7
Military:
"Chains" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Cyber-Shaman Corps
2 x Holy Companies
2 x Zealot Militias
The Outsiders House Asteria, Imperial Memories - @Potato Anarchy
Type: Imperial Conquistadors
Advantages: Imperial Calling+
Disadvantages: Stuck at the Periphery-
Size: 3+
Prosperity: Stable+
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 18
Military:
"Dreamer" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Awoken" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Lepidus" - Arrival-Era Airship
"Gemellus" - Arrival-Era Airship
2 x Imperial Companies
1 x Warbot Company
1 x Technomancer Corps
The Heart, Awakening Gods - @Ceslas
Type: Awakened Sleepers
Advantages: Ancient Mastery+
Disadvantages: Ancient Corruption-
Size: 1+
Prosperity: Resplendent
Manacores: 10
Ancient Alloys: 30
Military:
"ATD" Ancient-Era Ishin
"DCM" Ancient-Era Ishin
"PEM" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Sleeper Corps
1 x Infiltrator Corps
The Senate building had been constructed in a bygone era, and although it had seen expansions the core structure remained the same. Tall columns spoke to the splendor of Dulkor, shining marble and stone that all but glowed in the sunlight. Even if the city's fortunes had fallen in recent years it seemed that nothing could reduce the splendor of the building that stood in the heart of Dulkor.
Such noble exterior did not indicate the true chaos going on within, however.
"It is an outrage! How can we feel safe with those things lurking out there?"
The words of the speaker on the floor earned a roar of approval from the Senators seated on the benches around him, accompanied by the slapping of tails upon stone. It was not often that debate became heated in the Senate, yet the events of recent months had all but guaranteed it. The outcome of the mission to House Asteria could be excused, and by all reasonable metrics it had gone well. But now their holdings, their caravans, were being attacked. And no one knew why.
"Kyradar must be behind this! They have always longed for our destruction and now they strike at the very lifeblood of our city," yelled Senator Ivar as he rose to his feet, a clenched fist extending into the air. An arch conservative, he was one of the most vocal opponents of Kyradar in the body.
His outburst caused another raucous moment as Senators yelled at and over each other. Not all agreed with his sentiment of course, but there were plenty of others who did or who found it convenient to do so.
This went on for several seconds longer before the sound of a gavel upon stone cut through the din. "Order! We will have order!" roared Consul Obereth. Also a long established figure on the political scene, his sharp gaze swept the room as he forced the body into some semblance of decorum. At the same time the speaker who had been on the floor made his way back to his seat so someone else could have the chance.
Another figure then stood, more unassuming in his demeanor as he took to the floor. While Senator Lecora was not the scion of the assembly that others were, he was nonetheless a level head. "Right now I think we would be best served focusing more on what we shall do about our current situation, rather than who may be responsible."
"I concur. The chair would look favorably on conversation related to practical solutions, " Obereth agreed with a rumble in his voice. There could be little disagreement to that, and as the fires of passion dimmed for the moment the Senate would set to work. This was not their first crisis, and just as Dulkor had endured before, it would continue to do so now.
He tapped a finger against the bench he was sitting on, the stone covered in a thin layer of wood standing steady despite his weight. His other hand ran through his beard, long red strands shifting smoothly as he thought deeply. Callum Longarm, head of his family, stared down at the chunk of alloy sitting in front of him, alongside a copy of the letter they had received from the west. Both had caused an uproar, simply for different reasons.
The alloy was an opportunity, the chance to bring wealth or strength to the Kin and humans of the valley. Be it traded or used here, either would bring great boons to the valley. So of course the families that held the land over which the alloy was found were delighted. They already called for more experts to be brought in and digging to begin, for smithies to be raised and the various secondary industries that make up alloy extraction and use to be started on. An overreach that was rejected by the other families of course, after all where the alloy had come from was still unknown. Scouts and prospectors would need to be sent to see if this was simply some remnants of ages past or if it was a full-blown facility, either of these possibilities required different approaches. Callum himself thought that caution was wise, much like the rest of the Utarok he held little love for the ancients or their still loyal slaves. Anything involving their once masters was something he was hesitant to charge into, no matter the potential profit.
His eyes next caught the tablet with the message inscribed, part warning and part demand. The tablet had caused an uproar amongst the Kin and humans alike. A city believing they could make demands from the Families within their own valley? It had nearly caused an incident, it was only thanks to cooler heads prevailing that a compromise could be reached. The city of faith wished to warn of danger and demand the sealing of such? Then they could send a team to help search for the source of the alloy, if it was truly a source of doom like they thought then it didn't hurt the Kin to allow its sealing. If it turned out to be a false prophecy? Then the Giants lost nothing.
Callum could easily admit he wasn't part of those calmer family heads, if only due to not being at that meeting. He had been busy with the new wall and making sure his family's support was dealt with properly, afterall he couldn't have the neighboring families to give more to the project than he did. That would be embarrassing!
"FUIL AIR SON NAN SPIORAD" Echoed across the battlefield as a great slab of metal crunched through a man's armor and bones like sticks, the giant wielding the sword's warcry reaching even the most distant of fighters in the formation and they were happy to echo those words.
"FUIL, FUIL, FUIL" Blood, Blood, Blood. A call for sacrifice, to take from their enemies and give to the spirits. A traditional call, one traced back to the first Utarok to break their chains. A call to rile the normally peaceful folk to battle, a reminder of what they fought for, and who had fought for them. They were the Utarok, they fight for Kin, for their Ancestors, for their Children, and that pushed them forward. A willingness to turn their powerful bodies to war rather than the shepherding and work of production that they prefer. To pick up their crude but deadly slab swords and the massive tower shields that turned them into a walking wall that crushed all before it.
Just as they were now, blood flowed freely as their swords and shields smashed down with deadly intent. Catching raiders here and there with devastating effect, though certainly not without the smaller folk getting their own hits in. Darting spears or swords hitting through the shield like to hit at the Utarok's legs and stomachs, areas that they try to protect but is left unarmored past a thick gambeson. Forcing them to retreat and switch out when any especially strong hit gets through and leaves them bleeding. Fortunately, the humans break before anything too permanent occurs, the giants letting the humans run and didn't even bother swiping at the backs of the humans still within striking range. Even hyped on blood lust a Utarok didn't enjoy battle nor truly desired to kill. The blood they sacrificed came only from those willingly fighting. So they let them run, if the fey chose to pick them off was their own prerogative, their job here was done.
The journey goes well so far, the dunes eaten up by the party's practiced gait. Even our Rockridge member Trin hasn't been having issues so far, though Kita and Pix joke that the little mouse will be snatched away by a bird, as she's such a 'tasty little snack'. Old Bolormaa scolds them, and whips the wind into their eyes. Trin, for her part, just laughs. Knowing her as I do it is clear she will have the last, as well as the first. We will see how things fare, but spirits are high and I am optimistic. A good group to spend a season with, even if our mission is a dark one.
I hope that you, future me, still share my appreciation for puns.
Supplies are the worst part of starting a ling trek like this, my pack cuts into my hump with its weight uncomfortably. At least we needn't worry about water with Bolormaa along. Though I suppose it's only Trin who will need all that much.
Day 5
The stars are truly lovely. To walk beneath the river, under the gaze of the huntress and piper is a blessing, and one I hope to never forget.
No issues supply/expedition wise.
It becomes clear that Kita and Pix are far more thirsty than anyone expected much to Trin's delight. It's amusing to see the little sips she gives them, and how oblivious the two are. Started a wager with Maa about how long it will be before they cotton on. I say Trin will get impatient and take them both within the week, but Maa thinks it will be a fortnight. More fool her!
Day 6
Have the sucking sensation that Maa has the bet. Trin having too much fun.
Day 10
Getting into the deep desert now, high dunes, high winds, sand shifting constantly. Slow going. Maybe two thirds of the way in. Can see the storms rearing majestic and tall all the way up to the stars ahead. Feel the mana swell. No 'taint' yet.
Day 12
Lost bet. T still going. Stll hpe, may 2 be wrng. Into storms prper, moving in lul, all roped together. May wait for calm spell. Sand evrywr cnt wrt wll.
Day 18?
Far enough in, finally. Mana raging all round us, like nothing I've ever felt. Maa is quiet, disquieted I think. Still, we'll all be relying on her to watch over us, so healthy caution is a good thing in my opinion. We're all hunkered down on a rocky ridge which rises some way above the sand. The last few days are a haze, the winds so rough we could barely sleep, moving when the winds died down a little. Sand so thick, no idea how long we were in the thick of it. It's clear now, so we'll be able to verify once the moon rises.
If it is later, the 20th day, I won't have to pay up!
Feast Day of the Orchid Empress
New Valerium, Orthin
"But Dad, I don't like the new bread," 48 Chariot whined, slapping the table as her face grew red. "I want sweet moon cakes. Like we always had before."
Sitting around a low table on piled rugs and blankets, in a tent where none of them can quite forget the sound of the desert winds beyond, the adults of the family exchange looks. Four sets of eyes are very tired and look like they also miss the sweet moon cakes. One set looks back, determined.
24 Chariot scoots over and straightens up his knees, looking down at his daughter with a slightly grim smile. "Little Wheel," he says, "you are not eating the new bread for yourself." She looks up at him, confused and suspicious about it. "You know that in the north, right now, there are fey children who don't have any bread to eat? Old or new?" She squints, checks flushed anew with embarrassment but slow to accept the point. "They don't even have a feast-day, and they certainly didn't get lifted up to an ishin's shoulder today to celebrate it."
For some reason this tickles a child's strong but fickle sense of justice more than the bread did. "They don't? Why aren't their ishin part of their...they have...festivals right? Like they don't have this feast-day but they must have feast days, sometime...even if it's less..." Her face is now furiously doing math.
"They only have one ishin and it is great and terrible and only knows war," 24 Chariot says, eyes going distant for a second as he remembers seeing it crest a dune in a sudden great spray of sand that sent slavers shouting and running. "It is...it's not an ishin for festivals. It keeps them safe, but it does not make them happy. It's..." He refocuses, and smiles back down at his daughter. "It is not something you climb for fun. It is not beautiful. It is the way they stay alive when the world is trying to kill them."
There is a moment of silence in the tent and all anyone can hear is the desert wind.
"You eat the new bread because those hungry fey kids can't right now," he says simply. "And if you don't grow up healthy and strong, you won't be able to help them or anyone else. Aligning the world can't be done on an empty stomach."
"Okay," Little Wheel says. "And I'm going to build them a prettier ishin."
"...ishin building, huh?" he says, casting a concerned glance to his wife.
"Yep! I'm going to be a master technomancer and fix everything broken and make new things!"
Sasharin found that the mustering camp was similar to the Coliseumin a lot of way. People telling you what to do, warriors bickering and playing games as they waited for the next event to come. A lot of Gremak and others who thought that they were more important than the actually were. The main change was the lack of stone walls around them and the food they ate, as well as the drilling.
Grunting, he ran a stone along the side of his curved blade, making sure that it was prepared for the conflict to come. As the champion of the arena he had been placed in one of the Free Companies when it was called to assemble, in preparation for the conflict to come. Rumors abounded about what they were actually be fighting, with some saying it would be against ancient machines while others talked about giants that could tear a Gremak apart with their bare hands.
Regardless of the dangers, while he was aware of the rumors he did not let himself worry too much about how truthful they might be. There was no point in worrying which foe you would fight next, all that mattered was victory. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was winning.
The sound of a horn filled the air, disrupting Sasharin's quiet routine. He sheathed his blade and slipped the stone he had been using into one of the pockets of his uniform before rising to his feet. He then joined the other soldiers in moving towards the open clearing where the horn had emanated from. It seemed that it was time for more drills, or perhaps they were finally going to get underway to whichever conflict they would be taking part in.
Personally he hoped it was the latter. A fighter could only wait so long for the match to begin before losing their edge, and that was the one thing he would not tolerate. Drawing near to the parade ground, he was met by the other three members of his claw as they also assembled. He gave them a dip of his head, eying each in turn. He had been made the leader of his claw, owing to his combat experience from in the arena. Two of the claw were Gremak, Velkor and Sternak, veteran fighters like him. The fourth was a Human, Uriel, a mercenary of some apparent renown. Sasharin didn't know much about that, but from what he'd seen Uriel could hold his own at least.
"Do you think it is time?" Velkor asked, his voice rasping as his lips worked past the jagged scar that had been carved from there to his cheek.
"I do not know," Sasharin admitted with a small shrug. They had heard the same rumors that he had, why reiterate what they were already aware of?
"I hope so," Uriel grunted as he walked at a faster step to keep up with the rest of the claw. "I don't mind getting paid to sit around and wait but I could be doing a whole bunch of other jobs right now."
That earned a barking laugh from Sternak. "Then why are you here, human?"
Uriel flashed Sternak a grin as they entered the open expanse where the other soldiers were gathering. "Senate laws, bad timing, take your pick." It was a sentiment that the others could not entirely disagree with, as their own circumstances meant that military service was not entirely voluntary regardless of how good they were at fighting. But here they were, and all they could do was survive it.
That was where the conversation ended as the claw formed up into ranks with other soldiers. Soon they would learn what the summons was for this time, and hopefully they would soon be underway to the fight that all of them had prepared for. The battle could not come soon enough.
Whether you wish to call it love or unmanly tenderness,
I confess my strength of mind is weakened by misery.
No one doubts Ulysses' worldly wisdom, but even he prayed
that he might see the smoke of his ancestral hearth again.
Our native soil draws all of us, by I know not
what sweetness, and never allows us to forget.
Where's better than Rome? Where's worse than cold Scythia?
Yet the homesick barbarian will still flee the City.
=} Blood on the Dunes - Of Senate and Fey {=
In the season past the Fey of the Roving Clan had raided the caravans and slavers of Dulkor with impudence, striking from the sands to the howling of their magic and the shower of their arrows and spears, only to fade away into the dunes once more as the dazzled caravan hands tried to make sense of what killed scores of them. But with the merchants laying their woes at the steps of the senate and the families of those killed calling out for revenger, the Senate could not stand idle.
At the head of two full House companies Gremaks Pride went to war. Born from the dark warning times of the Collapse the mighty Ishin was a work of art in its presentation and a source of deathless and tireless automaton, which fought for the city against all its enemy within and about. While the heavily armed and armoured companies flanked the mighty machine of the Ancients, the freeborn milita swarmed before and behind it, light armours and light weapons bought at their own coast serving as scouts and screen for their heavily equipped betters.
Thus, the forces of Dulkor were a gleaming trail of steel, bronze and gold that marched past the newly erected towers and into the Dunes that held the enemy. It was a provoking, a message and to the Fey not the kind of the target they had waited for.
Expecting the Gremak to swarm from their city like angry hornets, they had prepared for the small and brutal war that was so normal to them, to hit and ambush slavers across the dunes, to make them bleed for the attempts of throwing their people into bondage. Instead, they found themselves the pride and glory of Dulkor, its companies of steel and its Ishin itself.
While the Fey lived among the Dunes, the Gremak were used to them, able to march and fight under temperatures and in armours that would have left humans or giant cooked and barely able to function. As such they were able to endure the hardships and for generations they had faced the tricks of the Fey – as such they advanced eastwards, their light freeborn fighting with the Fey warbands opposing them, each side trying to deny the other information and eyes upon their movements. But by bad luck or maybe the wrath of the unseen darkness, the Gremak were able to divine the location of a tribe that supplied the Raiders under Warchief Our Dedien of the Plains Clan.
What followed was the defence of the Fey, trying to shield families and livestock fleeing from battle, against the unyielding fist of Dulkor. As many battles went it was hardly planned, for scouts of both sides ended up entangled and fighting in the early morning hours, having advanced further than they had initially planned.
With the enemies before them the House Companies of Dulkor advanced briskly, their shields and spears gleaming in challenge as they attacked in a thick column, barely changing their formation from march to attack. But in the soft grounds of the dunes their assault ground to a halt, wards and spells thrown up to deflect the arrows and magic of two scores of Fey Outriders, who were attacking under the command of their warchief and with their kin behind them.
Fast and nimble they forced the freeborn to retreat to their heavier armoured comrades, seeking protection from projects and the fear of being ridden down – making the soldiers of Dulkor huddle close to protect one another.
For most of these two hostile peoples history this was the moment where the endurance of the Gremak soldiers would be pitted against the resolve of the Fey, both sides engaging in long ranger duels of magic and arrows. But this time the Fey had something differently planned: led by Warchief Our Dedien, the Utarok Mercenaries, suffering under the heat of the midday sun and fresh to this bloody business of war were attacking. Their intend to break open the armoured turtle of the Gremak by the force of arms and bodies, but… their enemies had been prepared.
It was a gamble that wouldn't have a chance to succeed if the famous Sorcerers of the Fey were on the field – but as the sun crossed its Zenith there had been no sign of them yet. As such the Pilot of the Gremaks Pride begun the gamble Dulkor had prepared for this situation. As the Giant Mercenaries charged they were met by a thick dark smoke, the burning bundles of various plants, resin and dry wood carried forward by the Ishins mechanical dolls and even when their carriers were cut down they continued to burn.
The valiant assault of the Utarok Company ended in smoke, coughing and under the many synchronised blades of the Ishin. Warchief Our Dedien could only watch in horror as the mechanical dolls burst out of the smoke, hunting down the coughing and falling mercenaries, as the whole of the Gremak army went from its defensive into a sudden sprint towards the Fey. Seeing their giant mercenaries succumb to trickery the warbands took flight and the Outriders could only try to stem the tide, the battle lost and their mounts carrying them southwards, where Warchief Ey'skitte command promised safety.
When the evening sun set, the soldiers of Dulkor were victorious, the Fey raiders banished and their warband scattered. The Clan they had found might have been able to escape, but they had bound nearly the complete unit of Utarok Mercenaries into chains, the smoke having weakened but not killed them.
Under interrogation some of them were telling tales of some kind of secret the Fey were hoarding to the south, tales of workers and ruins. But they didn't know much and the army could not advance further. For the battle had taken its toll on their freeborn militia and without them the heavy core of the army was blind and instead of facing the Fey once more they returned to the city with the giants dragged between them in triumph.
=} The Shepherds Labour {=
Whereas the sheep and goat could find grasses and herbs between the boulders and the cliffs, it was far harder for their Shepards to find and establish their own nourishment across the mountainsides, even as the winds howled around them in ever greater agitation. Still, just like their goats the Utarok could be stubborn and enduring, and the powerful giants did not shrike away from hard work, even as more and more of the mouths they struggled to feed moved westwards or southwards to find mercenary work.
The presence of the Zealots from Villas did prove strangely handy, as their armed pilgrims hailed from many ways of life, and some had spent their years as farmers in the hills to the north-east of the city. Theirs was a different climate, a different work, but still some experiences and crops could be recommended and shared, even if only a handful of them were willing to move away from the dig site and visits the shores of the lake and the mountains proper.
As it stood, the Utarok were responsible for their own luck and while the knowledge gathered from the two southern citystates was useful, it fell to the Elders to plan the irrigation, lead their people in piling up the artificial islands in the lake and organise foraging parties in the mountains. It was a hard work, but results – but not harvests – were visible to everyone seeing the large natural stone terraces that were being erected to secure the livelihood of their people.
Explore the Alloy Source
There's a moment of near panic, as `The Promise` warned the garrison forces of the valley of having spotted another Ishin, followed by a score of armed pilgrims, suffering under the heat, but marching towards their homesteads with hymns and songs on their lips. Had it come to a battle the younger Ishin might have found its units hard pressed, but thankfully the elegant and polished Ishin that approached came in the name of peace – and purity.
Still, peace came at a tense prize as the praying and singing masses set up their camps around the Alloy Dig sites, choosing hills and vantage points that would allow them to easily cut off the site – and trap any workers inside of them. The only way to calm the kindred that were digging was to move the Promise and the garrison forces to match the strangers. Thus, two camps were overlooking the dig site in a standoff filled with songs, but a standoff, nonetheless.
Despite this the workers did great work, rolling away giant boulders, digging through the remnants of a landslide and finding more and more pieces of Alloy mixed in between the stone. What came next came as surprise to the Utarok: roughly strewn boulders gave way to bits and pieces of architecture. Broken columns, cracked arches, the signs of the enslavers were everywhere and as they dug they stopped making their way through natural debris and instead begun to unearth what was doubtlessly ruins of some kind.
It was when they finally made it to a towering door, bend by the weight of the stones but not broken, and the workers pushed it open. That things escalated swiftly: `The Promise` was suddenly howling in anguish, its pilot crying out in pain as its surface glowed, a voice repeating again and again that it was failing to establish connection… and then the zealots were on the move.
Descending from their camps on high, the armed pilgrims of Villos marched towards the door with a hymn on their lips and their Cyber-Shamans dancing at their forefront, swinging and attuning ancient artifacts to open doors and turn on the marvels left behind by the Ancients. And they felt the attention of something on them, something ancient and grand that was rapidly spreading its awareness outwards from the ruin – the great evil mayhap? For now, they blocked the entrance, and the Shamans began their rituals, finding corridors and rooms filled with the signs of fighting and the decayed and rusted remnants of the ancients servants which had slain one another.
The Utarok could only watch, barred from the ruins till `the extent of their taint` could be found. Till then only the Shamans were seen as able to brave it, in the mind of the pilgrims anyway.
New Ruin: Eastern Installation
Fortify the Passes
Only a year ago a system like the one envisioned by the elders to secure the passes would have been hard pressed with every hand needed to find food, but with the imports from Kyradar and the Fey, those who couldn't be used on the fields and pastures were instead sent towards the mountain passes, erecting small walls and towers hugging the natural cliff sides, natural fortresses and overlooks from which the surroundings could be observed. They might not be the vast fortifications of the southern cities, but they would make sure that their kin wouldn't be surprised in their beds and anyone trying to bypass them would find groups of armed Utarok in their back.
=} Fey, Braving Hardship {=
Even as the sounds of battle and the clash of arms resounded in the parts of the wild sprawling desert the Clans of the Roving Fey called their own, their more hospitable nature was on display in the northeast. Whole flocks of sheep, dried meat and quark were making their way towards the giants, in payment for their strong arms – be it for work or for war. Between these caravans and those send by the merchant city, the situation in the north-western valley relaxed a little as they went from the cusps of famine to a merely harsh time that they could weather – including the youngest and the oldest. This was a motivation that kept many of the Utarok working or fighting longer and harder, knowing that their presence was buying food for their families back home. And beneath the scorching sun they needed any motivation they could find for themselves.
Storm Chaser
Braving the winds gone wild, the scouts and riders of the Clans were traversing the ever-changing dunes of the great desert, following the sinister taste in the air, heading towards the interior of the great dunes. Along the way their group grew ever smaller, riders turned around, their bodies and minds suffering under the sickened Mana that was getting carried through the interior, seeking the safety of home. But the remaining groups pushed on, some clinging to what they had brought with themselves, other beginning to twist in new strange ways that left them humming under their breath or drawing strange glyphs into the sand seemingly without rhyme or reason.
What they found at the centre of the desert was a great towering ruin, a broken tower looking as if a giant hand had torn its length off the mighty base, leaving an imposing but broken stump behind. It wasn't the only place where the sickened Mana was rising from the ground – but the largest one they had found so far. It was as if the very dunes were breathing it out with each blast of the wine and it must have been the storms that had uncovered this structure.
But the ruin wasn't empty, from a distance your scouts could see hurriedly erected walls and ramshackle buildings, with cloaked figures that might be Gremak, humans or both scurrying around with a mix of salvaged and ancient weapons. Clearly whoever had found the place first was intending to stay.
A Passage to the Past
Both the fruits and the sentiment behind it were able to infuse new elan and motivation into the giant workers the Fey had hired. Under their firm hits stones came apart and their strong arms lifted barrel after barrel of debris and sand towards the surface, uncovering more and more of the facilities entrance. It became clear that the chapel built on top of it wasn't connected to the original entrance. Maybe it had been broken, maybe the fundament of the temple had destroyed it, either way one moved with little fanfare from the roughly hewn stones of a relatively recent ruin into the hallways and passages of the ancient facility itself.
And Ancient it was: the Utarok had heard stories and the Fey had seen the bits and pieces sold by wandering peddlers, but as the first of them ventured down into the ruin itself, they were met with a broken but still imposing sight: tall arched ceilings, magical light that turned on as soon as someone came closer…and rows of pods holding Sleepers that begun to awaken as soon as the facility had registered the intruders.
Without any attempt of communication the ancient warriors began to advance against their masters unruly slaves and playthings magic and robotics used to blast apart barricades erected by desperate workers; unyielding bodies withstanding the hits of pickaxes and shovels. Thery might have downed some of the lesser scores, but in the end the workers could only flee and hope that they weren't followed, riders desperate racing out to call for Clan warriors to come to their aid!
=} Villos, Seeing no Evil {=
Villos seldom saw the matters of mortals as a thing to intervene and pay much attention too, the city state remained strong in the purity of its prayers and the multitude of its ever-changing cults and prophets. As such there was little attention paid to the seemingly contradicting decision of reaching out an armoured hand to shield the Giants from the doom that waited beneath their feet – while at the same time looking through both ancient texts and their translation for the best way to deal with them should hostilities break out. Of course, such endeavours weren't limited to the giants to the north alone, the same was sought for the Fey.
When facing the Utarok the solution was relatively simple, to use their towering bodies against them. After the disappearance of the Ancients many of their people had remained in bondage, but as the more intricate implants and routines of the ancients had shut off or were actively falling at that time, texts about stop-gap solutions existed. Of particular interests were a series of poisons and herbs used to slow their bodies and inflict them with pain and worse. They could be used to dip arrows into them or great fires could be lit to blow the smoke in their direction. Either would serve as a debilitating condition that would see them crippled in the short term but recoverable for work in the long term.
With the Fey tactics needed to be more brutal and more aware of their weaknesses: pushing Fey from one mana-rich terrain into another could begin disrupting their self over the course of days, leading to a dip in their abilities and performance on their field as their instincts and reflexes struggled to keep up with the changes wrought upon their form. The gradualness of the process thus worked against them and if Fey armies could be pushed swiftly from terrain to terrain their bodies would be pushed under a greater stress to adapt. Of course the pet-handbook of the ancients also talked about using mana-infused instruments for discipline, with enchantments shaped to release foreign mana into the Feys form, working as a cross between a poisoned arrow and a nasty illness that would make them need to recover.
Generations of pilgrim writing also exposed various reports of combat between the faithful and their various neighbours, with many lessons drawn from the aged parchment.
Great Mission
With the routes secured missionaries and whole cults set out from Villos, their processions moving through villages and past homesteads with song, dance and sacrifices to be shared with the locals after the ceremonies. While they weren't welcomed everywhere with open arms, they tended to find spots and openings in the other cities that weren't yet claimed.
In rich Kyradar, shocked and its streets running with blood as its newest Guild continued to clean the city of foreign spies, the Cult of the Merciful Ancients found its home among those with nothing and those who gave ever so eagerly for the betterment of their fellow being. Before the season was over, the sermons were beginning to swell in numbers, as they were mandatory for the baths and food that were offered after. New groups of pilgrims were making their home eagerly, more than happy to meet their new fate.
In venerable Dulkor the noble Senate families had long since worshipped the ancestors and the Ancients to whose vassals they traced back their lines. Still, the sprawling city saw many people and the cults speakers found a captive audience among those freedman who had gotten neither riches nor standing in their service and were easily enticed by the idea of something greater than them allowing them to rise. As such it was among the poor but free that many missionaries found their converts.
House Asteria, fresh to the coast and not a worry of Villos, was building a city but hadn't finished yet, its territories plagued by raids and its people ever busy with creating a new home, as such the speakers merely found hospitality among the native farmers and villagers, who eagerly shared their worry at the unclear future before them. After all who knew if these people from distance shores would improve the situation or not?
=} Dulkor, Resplendent {=
With the merchants bemoaning their losses before the steps of the Senate and the plebs both worried and filled with unrest at the thought of Fey raiders beyond the gates, the Nobles of Dulkor took measure befitting the age and wealth of their city. For where others had fallen back to tribal musters, bands of zealots foaming from their mouths or the responsible citizens armed by their trades, Dulkor had retained standing forces as a mix of the cities own companies and noble guards seconded to them as the dynasts of noble Dulkor divided the higher ranks between them.
And thus the Senate had no issue finding the soldier to staff an growing network of towers and outposts around its city, re-using older structures and erecting new ones as necessary, for the soldiers of Dulkor had no farmland to till and no trade to return to, but the one with arms and armour. Intended to serve as both a deterrence and an early warning system should the Clans dare to approach the city, the network was erected in relative peace and found itself readied – but not triggered. For the Fey were pulling back into their deserts trying to escape the Wrath of venerable Dulkor by hiding behind their Dunes.
House Companies
A great commotion could be heard throughout Dulkor, the sounds of armoured plates grinding and clanking against another as ancestors' armours were pulled out of storages and equipped with resplendent plumes and ornate military cloaks. The pride and wealth of Dulkors nobles were parading through the streets at the head of their commands, scions of the major families shining and gleaming like the statues of the ancients, with shield and spear in their hands. Theirs were the new commands of the companies raised to combat the barbarous foes to the east, theirs was an unbroken tradition that spanned back to the favoured vassals and servants of the Ancients.
Today they marched before soldiers, warriors and killers: the houses had spared little expense to equip the new companies, hiring the best they could find – draining the city of men and wealth to create this shining bulwark. And still, under the cheers of the masses it was hard to imagine that the armies of Dulkor would return with anything but victory, their arms and men a step above what mere tribals could raise in turn.
These were men of bronze and iron – and they were ready to march for the glory and splendour of the city and thus their families.
Hosting Asteria
But the parade of the newly raised companies wasn't the only event taking place that captured the attention and imagination of the people of Dulkor. House Asteria, hailing from distant shores, had sent its soldiers to support the venerable Senates mission to the south and found its officers and nobles hosted as guests of honour. While the Senate might have found it disappointing that Exarch Asteria Eleven Alabaster had neither been the recipient of their initial invitation, nor found his way to the city itself, they were still able to make inroads with the military personnel of the strange Imperial House.
Overcaptain Vulpecula 32 Scope, Master Technomancer in charge of both the Technomancer Corps and Warbot Company sent to support Dulkor might be more interested in ancient ruins than galas, but while she could be guided through the sprawling collections of the Senate families, her subordinate officers found themselves whisked from even to event. While there was fighting to be done among the necropolis, the times between were filled with Banquets and Gladiatorial games, with noble intrigue and smaller private parties in the villas of Dulkors Nobility. As expected those of House Asteria found some relief in being introduced to the freed Humans who made up parts of the cities new wealth and with their conscience calmed they freely accepted gifts and wishes of friendship, in turn leaving small technological marvels or exchanging wines and spices from back home.
Among all the powers of the Orthin Coast, Dulkor had succeeded the most in both impressing and binding the officers of House Asteria with hospitality and friendship alike.
Banishing the Sleepers
With House Asteria being both generous with its help – and a little imposing when your people were confronted with the human-shaped imperial warbots – the cordon around the Automaton facility was held by two freeborn militias, their spears and magic enough to keep the ancient constructs from roaming. Only when the troops of House Asteria arrived, Overcaptain Vulpecula 32 Scope at their head and just about ready to burst with enthusiasm, did they advance.
With the Imperial Warbots forming the vanguard against the automated defences of the Ancients, the joint force made short work out of the flying and stomping constructs defending the entrance of what the Overcaptain happily declared to be some kind of Forge for war constructs dating back into the era of the Human Arrival. Alas, a first survey of the entrance area after disabling its defences also came back with the relative certainty that it was merely a forward outpost, a small scale installation from which the local fighting could be supported.
Still, no matter how small it was. It was still a chance to find artefacts and technologies of the Ancients.
=} The Chorus, Blood and Gold {=
House Asteria, Imperial and Ruthless, might have thought the interior of the coast empty, might have seen the lake as theirs for the taking – but nothing was further from the truth. Even as the Imperial Airship Gemellus majestically soared through the sky, hardier and more brutal beings were sticking to the ground and shadows, using techniques perfected against the pursuit of Kyradar to counter the new enemies with familiar techniques.
Knight-Lieutenant Asteria Four Lightning had been tasked with defending the new home his House had chosen and showing the local population that they were ready to defend them from what bandits were praying on them. And while his units easily dispersed the small riff-raff that had escape the notice and assimilation into the Chorus, they hadn't been tasked with fighting the bandit army, had even been ordered to evade any combat like that.
But the Chorus did not care.
The new city and its Asterian Forum needed many materials, from the riches brought from the homeland to glass and stone from quarries and workshops that had been established at the landing point to supply the expeditions growing responsibilities. Not all of it could be transported by airship, especially when they were reserved for military needs and diplomatic missions – as a result they traversed the coast and the hills by foot and on mounts, forming large and slow caravans: their load of treasure easily luring in greedy eyes. And thus it came as it had to: blood was spilled on the dunes, treasures were torn from cooling eyes and the song of the Chorus swelled with bloodlust and treasure, an triumphant tune, which left only bodies in its wake.
The Chorus had decided to extend a proper Orthin welcome to the new guests in their lands and happily acquainted House Asteria with the countless ways a live may be claimed. While soldiers were seldom targeted, the full brunt of the bandits brutality fell upon the civilians of House Asteria, be they recent arrivals or those who swore themselves to the newcomers to gain protection from the Chorus.
As the atrocities mounted Cygnus Six Needle, Cygnus Prime and only called "the Prick" by Knight-Lieutenant Asteria Four Lightning, tried to wrestle for control of the defence operation, jockeying thanks to the widespread prevalence of his family among the officer ranks – and only succeeded in throwing the defence into even more of a mess.
While the return of the Gemellus gave the raids some pause, House Asteria found itself bleeding people and wares, with the rifleman growing more and more dismayed at finding the bodies of friends and comrades with their eyes torn out, replaced by cold stones, or piled up under large banners topped with iron gauntlets.
The City was growing yes, but the riches were split between their destination and the rising Chorus.
Hubris and its Consequences
Kyradars underworld was bleeding, its dirty underbelly was emptying itself into the wastes and desert and with each pair of hands, with each weapon and each skilled mind that the city lost – the Chorus only grew. Waiting just beyond the patrols and the watchers, the Chorus awaited the fleeing and exiled with a simple choice: to join or to die in the wastes without any hand extending help to them.
Was it a surprise that many accepted?
And with them came information and axes to be led against the merchant city and the Bloody Axe Gangs reaped their way across the caravan routes, leaving hacked up bodies and their bloody sign in place to warn those that would come after not to resist. First Kyradar bled people, then blood and now the Chorus sings with the gold raided from these gaping wounds.
Excavating the Unknown
With the mighty Hatched pushing its way into the unknown the steel fisted members of the Iron Fist Guard spread deeper into the Sleeper Installation finding signs of battles long past. There were barricades that needed to be moved, traps to be defused and throughout all of it the outcasts walked over the bones and remains of past attackers and defenders. One side was easy enough to recognize: the Sleepers of the ancients, rusted and broken were a strange amalgam of alloy and bone – but strangely enough the bones looked oddly, as if they had been twisted but only made stronger for it. In contrast the other side had been human and only human at that, fielding spears and rusted guns, their broken breastplates bearing a sigil not unlike those flown by the invaders that had arrived at the shores recently.
It was clear from a first survey that this was only the beginning, that the facility was reaching deeper and still…the Iron Fists stopped in awe as they reached what must have once been an elevator shaft – and was now a very large and empty hole leading far far down. Propped up before it, seemingly in the last moments of battle and surrounding by the rusted remnants of ancient Sleepers was an Ishin. Rough yes, not a sleek and ancient, but rather a human design copied and derived from elegant forebearers.
It was pierced by a dozen lances, the energy having melted through the cockpit with the bones of the pilot gaping back through the holes, but those among your retinue who understood such things were sure there was plenty that could still be recovered from it and…so it was. 40% Parts for an Arrival-Era Ishin Recovered
=} Kyradar - Silver to Steel {=
Beyond the walls of Kyradar armies clashed and bandits preyed on the defenceless – and the guild had come together to make sure that all the turmoil and slaughter remained outside. For this purpose the treasury of the city was opened for the creation of what was dupped the wooden walls of Kyradar: a vast undertaking to import lumber from abroad to create a greater number of naval vessels and the money to hire a mass of labourers who were to be tasked with the creation of ditches, walls and moats with the idea of fortifying the city against any assault from the land.
Should it ever come to it, and Kyradar find itself besieged from without, the growing navy and the Airship Fortuna would need to make sure that the people had to eat, and the defender could combat any foe daring to strike the city walls. Still, there was always the hope that none would try and they might yet see peace during their lifetime for Kyradar.
Ambushing an Ishin
But for all the safety promised to the city itself, its merchant caravans continued to bleed and die beyond its gates. Beset by the brutal Axe Gangs the survivors returned to Kyradar missing limbs and fingers and telling tales of the fearless and brutal raiders that had made away with their cargo and animals. The situation was in such dire straits that it couldn't be ignored any longer and to the dismay of man one man choose to declare himself in charge of it: Elias Forvar, the Merchant Prince.
Riding his most expensive mount and leading a host of men made up by at least two Guild Militias paid for by his own money, he made for the desert and if it weren't for one thing this whole venture would have looked doomed from the start: "The Oak".
The last season had seen a friendship struck between the merchant prince and the Utarok pilot, one kept tight by gold, lavish gifts and freely flowing wine. Elias Forvar had spent admiring his friends control of the machine and had richly rewarded the Utarok smiths and repairmen that had followed the ancient south to do battle against the enemies of the Merchant City. And now the time for this had come.
The people watched the armed caravan disappear beyond the Dunes, hundreds of men and one ancient machine and believed in both the righteousness of their action and the invincibility of the machine. Thus it came as a great shock when the militias stumbled back into the city gates as a confused mess, smaller and larger groups arriving throughout the day, telling tales of nightly ambush and hollering demons with axes besetting them in their tents as they were sleeping. And while most of the men had escape the bandits ambush, there was no sign of the Merchant Prince, nor of the Giants Ishin.
It took two more days, scouts ranging out from the city and caravans shouting over the dunes, to find the half buried Ishin, bearing the slowly healing marks of weapons and magic blasted across the its armour. It took another day to organise a wagon and labourers to free it from the sand and pull it towards the city, where it could be opened…
…and everyone was greeted by the grief struck and nearly dehydrated form of the Merchant Prince Elias Forvar. With tear filled eyes he was able to share only a hint of his story: how he and his good friend had spent the night drinking and talking in his tent – only to be surprised by bandits storming through the entrance. How the Giant Mercenary had killed one with his stool and thrown three to the ground with the bench at the table, before getting stabbed with spears and arrows. With his friend bleeding out in his arms, Elias was able to stumble out of the tent, with the whole camp in chaos.
The Pilot was able to reach the "The Oak", its large, armoured form coming to life breaking the will of the bandits to continue fighting and even mortaly wounded he slew a score of the outlaws – before stumbling out of the Ishin and dying in Elias arms.
Driven by the return of more bandits and with his friend dead in his arms, the merchant prince had dared to mount the Ishin and used it to flee, piloting it towards Kyradar, where his own injuries nearly made him succumb to blood loss and dehydration.
Before loosing his consciousness again, he vowed before the people of the city to use the Ishin to bring Justice to the murderers of his friend!
Training the Militias
With the growing fear of the enemies beyond spreading throughout the city, it didn't take much to ask more of the Guild Militias and in the newly expanded and improved forges arms, armours and weapons were being produced at a refinement and cost that prior smiths could only envy. Still, both the cost involved and the time meant that more and more of the artisan masters were leaving the chosen units, only to be replaced by labourers and apprentices, whose presence could be missed and who were most eager for the additional pay that came with greatly expanded duties. Armed with their great new repeating crossbows, halberds and heavy armour they struck a fearsome image – but only time would tell if they truly could perform better than the militia beyond the city's walls.
Looking for the Ancient
While most of their comrades got to stay in the safety of the city or took part in the small and ill-fated expedition of the Merchant Prince, two units of militia moved along the coast, exploring the cliffs and descending in the water-worn caves below them. While they didn't find any ruin or anything that looked like one at least, their searches found traces of alloy that were washed up into the caves by the sea. Following these traces they found multiple barrels holding cut alloy, each barrel sealed with the stamp of an merchant house that went extinct after one of its trade expeditions didn't pay it..
…well, their loss was the cities gain today.
=} House Asteria, Building Home {=
The new City that House Asteria is settling will not simply be another settlement, nor a mere township. It won't lack in venerable traditions when compared to Dulkor, it shall not lack in riches when compared to the merchant city of Kyradar and it shall not appear any less timeless than the hallowed halls of Villos. The New city would be the first proper Imperial City at the coast of Orthin, one day rising to become its first city, the centre of a province and maybe even a centre of the Imperial Technomancers. Despite their exile the hopes for the future were boundless and the ambition to see the city realized as well.
Exarch Asteria Eleven Alabaster, leader of the House had a vision and from this came a plan, the idea of repeating the grand works of the imperial past and designing a whole city on the drawing board. Overseeing the planning himself, he started by figuring out where the roads would go, where the city would get its water, how the lake could be used both for the cities needs and its surroundings and where to lay down the city walls to give it safety without strangling its growth.
But while his personal project was the Asterian Forum, the awe-inspiring heart of the future city, over which he could plan, design and talk for days, there were a multidude of other tasks to undertake and he found a reliant and steadfast support in Vulpecula Six Razor, the Vulpecula Prime. The older ministers technomancer training and head for the practical and technical made him a perfect choice to work together with the engineers and work-crews that had been dispatched from Dulkor, their travel shortened by the retain of the airship.
Between the Vision of the Asteria Prime and the practical sensibilities of the Vulpecula Prime, the new city began to take shape throughout the first season. The whole plateau was covered in building sides with the first towers and mountains beginning to take shape while robotic, Gremak and human hands alike hacked away at the rock of the plateau and dug trenches next to the newly erected roads. Even if little was as of yet constructed, one was able to see the pattern of the city to come from an airship above.
Still, while the forces of House Asteria were succeeded in drawing the smaller settlements and hamlets around it closer, promising safety and prosperity, the Chorus struck back. With its brutal raids on caravans and farms alike spreading a feeling of deep insecurity and terror, the city wasn't growing as swiftly as it could and should.
An Outpost at the Coast, and new Friendship – Public
While most of the Houses attention was moving north towards the lake and the site of the city-to-be strong military forces remained at the coast, expanding the initial camp into the start of a harbour – one that proved to be necessary before the season was over. While the initial population of the harbour settlement was a mix of the newly arrived Imperials and locals who were hoping for a better life under this vast military protection, there was a sudden surge in population as multiple Imperial naval ships arrived in the harbour, barely holding together and bearing great damages. The unexpected guests identified themselves as supporters of the past Empress like the House Asteria – and like them they had been exiled by the new Emperor. Initially they had hoped to join Asteria in arriving at this coast, but a horrible storm had wrecked many of their ships and much of their families and treasures had been lost to the waves.
The survivors were from minor noble families, the kind of lineages that usually would have been able to hide from the Imperial wrath. Even more confusingly, they were exiled with not a single technomancer to their name and any family members they had with a talent for it had been adopted by 'loyalist' dynasties and retained in Imperial Service. From the sound of it some grand and wondrous new work was nearly ready for unveiling back in the homeland and the rumours alone were presenting it as the kind of invention that was going to lead to a new golden Era…under the emperor of course.
While the news from home were hardly surprising, the group at least easily joined those settling the harbour, the Primes of the surviving minor families swearing themselves to House Asteria in all their endeavours, now and forever.
They were a good example for the locals and before long House Asteria found itself entertaining mayors and alderman, family patriarch and millers who wanted to give their oaths in the hope of peace and prosperity.
Pathfinders – Public
Few Fey are willing to leave their Clans for long, but with rich payment promised and with House Asteria able to draw from the local settlements in turn, the barebones of a light Pathfinder Corps were raised before too long. It was, from its outset, a strange thing, a corps dedicated to both scouting and skirmish, but also to surviving in the desert and hunting down the enemies' eyes and ears. It was also the first unit to be raised on these shores, drawing from Fey, locals and Imperials alike – the result was a unit that was both vibrant and still untested. And still, with its banners held high, the Pathfinder Corps was ready to perform its service to House Asteria, come what may.
Protecting the Southern Coast
While the north of the area House Asteria was trying to claim was beset by brutal bandit assaults, the south enjoyed peace and quiet. Knight-Overcaptain Hekate 64 Antidote led their forces into multiple raids on hidden staches and hideouts of the Chorus, while Knight-Overcaptain Asteria 12 Sunrise was busy awing the local notables and impressing the strength and honour of the Imperial soldiers upon the uncertain locals. With no larger Chorus presence in their way, the coastline was quickly falling in line with House Asterias vision, recognizing that Ishin were power and they might be able to improve their lot – between the cities and beset by bandits – with the rule of these new and powerful strangers.
The Tribes
The Roving Fey - @Eater Type: Tribe Confederation
Advantages: Desert Experts
Disadvantages: Slaver Raids
Size: 3+
Prosperity: Stable-
Manacores: 0
Ancient Alloys: 2
Military:
"The Sandworm" Collapse-Era Ishin
2x Fey Warbands
1 x Fey Warband (Damaged)
2 x Outrider Companies
1 x Sorcerers Corps
The Shepherds - @Easter Type: Family Groups
Advantages: Remote Households, Pass-Outposts
Disadvantages: Overpopulation-, Crop Failures-
Size: 2-
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 4
Military:
1 x Utarok Companies
"The Promise" Ancient-Era Ishin
The Outcast Chorus - @kosi Type: Bandits & Outcasts
Advantages: Renown Raiders+, The Network-, The Web--
Disadvantages: Known Raiders+
Size: 3++
Prosperity: Shortages++
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
"Ravager" Fiend-Ishin
"Hatchet" Fiend-Ishin
"Butcher" Fiend-Ishin
6 x Outcast Warbands
40% Arrival-Era Ishin Parts
The Cities
Dulkor, City of Woe - @Azecreth Type: Rapacious Republic
Advantages: Markets of Flesh, (Limes)+
Disadvantages: Masters and Masses++
Size: 6--
Prosperity: Shortages--
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 8
Military:
"Gremaks Pride" - Collapse-Era Ishin
4 x House Companies
3 x Freeborn Militias
1 x Freeborn Militia (Scattered)
1 x Utarok Companies (in Chains)
Kyradar, City of Silver - @cosmic_lonewolf Type: Home of the Merchant Lords
Advantages: Long-Trade+, (Kyradars Wooden Walls)
Disadvantages: Feuding Guilds++
Size: 6
Prosperity: Suffering
Manacores: 3
Ancient Alloys: 1
Military:
"Phidin" - Collapse-Era Ishin
"The Oak" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Fortuna" - Arrival-Era Airship
2 x Guild Companies
6 x Guild Militias
Villos, City of the Ancients - @Princess_Hex Type: Religious & Research Centre
Advantages: Wisdom of the Ancients+
Disadvantages: Whispers of the Abyss+
Size: 4++
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 7
Military:
"Chains" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Cyber-Shaman Corps
2 x Holy Companies
2 x Zealot Militias
The Outsiders
House Asteria, Imperial Memories - @Potato Anarchy Type: Imperial Conquistadors
Advantages: Imperial Calling+, (Forum Asteria)++
Disadvantages: Stuck at the Periphery-, Dulkors Hospitability
Size: 4
Prosperity: Stable-
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 11
Military:
"Dreamer" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Awoken" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Lepidus" - Arrival-Era Airship
"Gemellus" - Arrival-Era Airship
2 x Imperial Companies
1 x Warbot Company
1 x Technomancer Corps
1 x Orthin Pathfinder Corps
The Heart, Awakening Gods - @Ceslas Type: Awakened Sleepers
Advantages: Ancient Mastery+
Disadvantages: Ancient Corruption-
Size: 1++
Prosperity: Resplendent
Manacores: 10
Ancient Alloys: 30
Military:
"ATD" Ancient-Era Ishin
"DCM" Ancient-Era Ishin
"PEM" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Sleeper Corps
1 x Infiltrator Corps
In the aftermath of the battle between the city of Dulkor and Fey forces, representatives of the Shepards approached the city regarding the fate of those who had been captured during the course of the recent campaign. Seeing an opportunity, the Senate designated its own representatives, and talks began.
After several days of negotiations, an agreement was reached. All hoped that it would bring short term peace between both sides, and allow them to focus their energies on more pressing issues.
All Utarok mercenaries employed by Fey clans currently in Dulkor custody will be released and returned to their homes.
The exchange will take place on neutral ground agreed to by both parties, and will occur within 2 weeks of the signing of this agreement.
The Shepards will pay Dulkor 1 Ancient Alloy
The Shepards agree that they will not knowingly employ their mercenaries in contracts which are directed against the city of Dulkor. This agreement shall remain in effect for two years.
This clause does not apply to indirect conflicts, or situations where the involvement of either party in an incident could not have been predicted beyond a reasonable doubt.
This agreement may be extended by the agreement of both parties if so agreed before it expires. Both parties maintain the right to request altered terms for any future renewals of this agreement.
[X] Senator Lecora of Dulkor
[ ] Patriarch Alfa of the Shepards @Easter
"The greatest lie Kyradar ever told its people was that they were free."
— Alessa Virdan, The Silver Shark
The stench of decay clung to the air like an unwelcome guest, its putrid embrace weaving through the crowded slums of Kyradar. Narrow alleys wove a labyrinth of despair, the cobblestones slick with filth and the echoes of coughing. Sallow faces peered from ragged curtains, their eyes sunken and hollow, their skin marred by the strange lesions that came from the mana starvation afflicting this district. It was a cancer of poverty, of mana-deprived souls slowly being consumed from within.
Rynan moved through the throng, his gait steady despite the beggars that tugged at his sleeve. He ignored them as best he could, his gaze fixed ahead, though his mind churned with the irony of it all. Kyradar had cast off the chains of Dulkor's tyranny, only to forge new ones for itself, gilded by greed and ambition. Freedom had brought prosperity for a select few, and squalor for the rest.
He pulled his coat tighter around him, its tailored fit a stark contrast to the rags around him. Why did he stay here? He had the means to leave. The stipend from the Guild of Daggers was generous enough to afford a modest flat in the cleaner parts of the city. Yet here he was, navigating this cesspit every day. Love was a fool's chain, and he wore it willingly.
At last, he reached the edge of the slums, where the streets widened and the buildings grew more structured, though no less oppressive. The wealthier part of the city loomed, its inhabitants blind to the plight just beyond their polished doors. The entrance to the school was hidden here, a nondescript door tucked between a bakery and a cobbler's shop.
The young man glanced around to ensure he wasn't followed before rapping on the door in a peculiar rhythm. It opened silently, revealing a narrow room lit by a single, flickering gas lamp. A door stood at either end, the one behind him shutting with a metallic finality.
"State your secret," came a voice, smooth and cold, as though emanating from the walls themselves.
This was the rule: entry demanded betrayal. A secret—painful, scandalous, or cruel—had to be offered as tribute. His classmates, the first group to be taken into this school, had learned this early. They were the experiment, the pioneers of a curriculum designed to sow mistrust and hatred. Each secret they unearthed over the past month was cataloged, measured, and judged. The grading was brutal and unspoken, but its stakes were clear: the one with the most valuable secrets would rise, while the rest languished in mediocrity.
And for those at the top? A mission awaited, the first real test of their training. The promise was intoxicating—a better placement in the Guild once they completed their time here. If they survived the mission, that is. If they performed well. The Guild did not reward failure; it erased it.
Rynan had bided his time, carefully choosing when and how to unleash the secrets he had hoarded. His strategy had paid off. He'd sacrificed much—friendships, trust, and his own conscience—but it had caught the attention of the one person who mattered: Guildmaster Talia.
He steeled himself, forcing his nerves to still. "Kars and Elith have been courting," he said. His voice was steady, rehearsed; secrets like this happened rarely; he was lucky to have gotten two in such quick succession. "They thought they were careful. Late-night meetings by the ruined fountain near the old church. They'd wait until the streets emptied, until even the rats were too tired to watch."
The voice was silent, but he knew better than to stop. The Guild of Daggers prized detail. Secrets whispered in half-measures were discarded like dull blades. He let his lips curve into a grim smile, savoring the memory of what he had seen. Something that would surely cause the pair that had been a thorn in his side much grief.
"They think no one noticed, but I saw them at the teahouse near the west gate, last week. Elith left with her hair undone. They were… indiscreet."
Silence reigned for a moment, the weight of the unseen judge bearing down on him. Then, with a hiss, the door ahead creaked open.
He stepped through, his heart pounding. The butterflies in his stomach stirred, anticipation and fear warring within him. Today was the day. Months of meticulous observation, every secret collected like a miser hoarding gold, all to spend them in this one glorious month. It had worked. Guildmaster Talia had summoned him personally.
The school spiraled downward, a maze of narrow corridors and dim lantern light. Guards in featureless masks patrolled silently, their movements mechanical. Runners darted past, their faces obscured by hooded cloaks, each one absorbed in their own mission. A figure in a jackal mask brushed by him, her gaze unreadable, and he pressed himself against the wall to let her pass. The masks unnerved him, their anonymity a constant reminder that trust here was an illusion.
At last, he reached the door to Guildmaster Talia's chamber. It was unadorned save for a brass plate, polished to a mirror shine. The door swung open before he could knock, the faintest creak of hinges announcing his arrival.
The room was vast, its centerpiece a long table of ebony wood. A roaring fire cast flickering shadows against the walls, where shelves of tomes and locked drawers promised endless secrets. But it was the floor that caught his eye. The polished glass stretched the length of the room, revealing the banquet hall below.
He froze, his blood turning to ice. That hall… It was where they ate, laughed, and mingled, thinking themselves unseen. The floor had always seemed solid from below, a smooth slab of black marble. But now, from above, he saw the truth. Every moment of levity, every careless whisper, had been observed.
"Enter," said a voice, soft and commanding.
Guildmaster Talia stood at the far end of the room, her silhouette outlined by the firelight. She wore no mask, her face sharp and striking, eyes like twin blades. She gestured to the chair across from her, her movements fluid as a predator's.
"Rynan," she said, her voice laced with an unnatural calm. "You've done well this past month."
He bowed low, the tension in his spine like a coiled spring. "Thank you, Guildmaster."
Her gloved hand gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit."
He obeyed, his pulse quickening as he sank into the chair. The glass floor beneath him felt icy, even through his boots. Talia leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table, her fingers steepled.
"Your secrets have been... delicious," she said, dragging the last word. "Enough to secure you this meeting. But before we discuss your mission, I want to hear the one that put you ahead."
Rynan's throat tightened. He had prepared for this, rehearsed every word, but the weight of her gaze drove his thoughts away. He swallowed hard and began.
"It was during the second week of the month," he said, his voice steady but quiet. "Ilver and Kaesa. They thought they were alone in the storage wing, near the armory. I followed them—purely out of curiosity at first."
He paused, gauging her reaction, but her face remained inscrutable. Emboldened, he continued.
"Ilver revealed something to her—something desperate," he said carefully. "He said he was planning to escape the guild. That he couldn't stand the constant paranoia anymore. Kaesa begged him to reconsider. She said..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "She said she'd help him. That they could leave together."
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Rynan resisted the urge to fidget under Talia's gaze.
"And?" she prompted, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
"They didn't know I was there," Rynan said. "But I stayed to see how it ended. Kaesa promised him they'd find a way out. But the next day..." He hesitated, savoring the moment. "She turned him in. I don't know what happened to him after that. He disappeared. I don't know why she turned him in. They were inseparable, as close a friend as they come... Survived a dozen years together in the slums or so the rumors have it."
Talia tilted her head, the firelight casting long shadows across her features, highlighting her masterfully done makeup. For a moment, Rynan thought he could hear faint laughter from below, but it was swallowed by the oppressive silence of the room. His heart pounded… He hadn't wanted to give this much detail. Kaesa had only told him and Ilver.
"Loyalty and betrayal," Talia murmured. "Two sides of the same coin. You've learned well, Rynan."
He inclined his head, his pulse racing. "Thank you, Guildmaster."
She leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the table. "You've earned your mission," she said finally. "It will be a test—not just of your skill, but of your understanding of what it means to serve the guild."
Guildmaster Talia let the silence stretch after her final words, allowing the weight of her command to settle fully on Rynan's shoulders. Then, with a deliberate, graceful motion, she slid a sealed envelope across the ebony table toward him. Its black wax seal was embossed with the unmistakable insignia of the Guild of Daggers—a coiled serpent poised to strike.
"Your task," she began, her tone carrying the air of inevitability, "is to find a way into Alessa Virdan's vaults. The Silver Shark's domain. You'll have one year to accomplish this."
Rynan's composure faltered, his breath hitching ever so slightly. He stared at the envelope, as though it might bite him. The Silver Shark vaults were infamous, guarded by layers of traps and heavy guard. It was said only Mistress Alessa herself knew the full extent of its protections.
"Guildmaster," he said cautiously, "that vault is... it's a fortress. Not even the most seasoned members of the Guild would attempt it without years of planning."
Talia inclined her head slightly, as though acknowledging his point. Her lips curled into a smile that was anything but reassuring. "Precisely why you have an entire year. And you won't be alone. Any of your classmates may be... persuaded to assist you." She tapped the envelope with a gloved finger. "Show them this if they hesitate."
Rynan's gaze flicked between the envelope and her face. His mind raced. Refusal wasn't an option, not here, not now. But to accept was to gamble everything—the mission, his life, the fragile alliances he'd built within the Guild.
"May I ask, Guildmaster," he said, his voice steady despite the roiling storm inside him, "why so little time? Missions like this are usually reserved for higher-ranking operatives, aren't they? And planned over several years, not one."
"Because the cards have fallen in our favor, Rynan. Alessa's grip is slipping. She's made enemies, both inside and outside her circle. If we move now, we can exploit the fractures before she has time to seal them. If we wait, she'll entrench herself further, and every advantage we currently hold will evaporate."
She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Alessa has sat in power for far too long. She's clever, shrewd, and utterly unyielding—qualities that make her a formidable adversary. But they also make her a poor puppet." Her fingers tapped the table rhythmically. "The Guild needs someone more... pliable in her position. Someone we can guide."
Rynan's breath caught as he realized the implications. This wasn't just a heist—it was a coup. A gambit to unseat one of the most powerful figures in the city and replace her with a pawn of the Guild's choosing. And they wanted him to set it in motion.
"But why me?" he pressed, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "Surely the higher-ranking members of the Guild—"
"—are too cautious," Talia interrupted smoothly. "Too accustomed to working without support. They'll overplan, hesitate, and by the time they're ready to act, Alessa will have shored up her defenses. You, Rynan, have something they don't."
She paused, letting the silence stretch until he felt compelled to respond. "And what's that?" he asked, wary of the answer.
"You're desperate enough to succeed. You understand the value of risk and reward. And most importantly, you're expendable."
The final word struck like a dagger, but Rynan masked his reaction. He couldn't afford to let her see the doubt, the fear. Instead, he nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. "I understand, Guildmaster."
"Do you?" she asked, leaning back in her chair. "Because this task isn't just a test of your skills. It's a test of your resolve. Your ability to see the bigger picture. To make sacrifices—of others, of yourself—when the situation demands it."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken threats. Rynan reached for the envelope, his fingers brushing the cold, polished surface.
"I won't fail," he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could second-guess them.
Talia's smile returned, cold and calculated. "Good. Then go. Begin your preparations. Remember, the Guild does not reward failure."
Rynan stood, the envelope clutched tightly in his hand. As he turned to leave, Talia's voice stopped him at the door.
"And Rynan," she called, her tone almost playful, "choose your allies wisely. Some secrets are best left buried. Others... can be fatal."
He didn't look back, didn't dare to meet her gaze again. The door closed behind him with a metallic thud, and the sound echoed in his ears as he descended the spiral corridors. The envelope seemed to grow heavier with each step.
Chanting echoed throughout the clearing. Dozens of elder Utarok, men and women both, stood amongst the grass within a circle of standing stones. Traditional kilts of various colors and patterns swished in the wind while the thick tunics above them continued their respective patterns while showing off the heavily tattooed forearms of the older Utarok. Their long braided and colorfully decorated hair swung to and fro as they chanted.
The guttural cries of outraged giants were a fearsome thing, it was the kind of sound that would put to flight a militia or levy to flight on the battlefield. It spoke of not just rage, but also determination. For when Utarok goes to battle they do not for bloodlust or greed, they do so so that they can return back home, free and allowed to enjoy their life. This is why Utarok are almost universally mercenaries, for they fight to make their life back home possible and for very few other reasons. They hold a determination in their heart, and it's what drives them to act as they must.
But one of those reasons is also one capable of driving any giant to rage. Agreements and deals with the Utarok are sacred, to make a deal is to not just abide by it but also agree to several principles that all Utarok believe in, all of which fall under the concept of hospitality. To not harm your employed mercenaries or vice versa, to not steal from them or sell them out. To the valley clans, there is no greater sin, after all their lore has it that the ancients enslaved them when the Utarok were invited into the Ancient's homes and trapped there. From then on forced to work away as simple menial slaves until the Ancients finally abandoned this realm. So to betray hospitality is not just treacherous, but also reminds the Utaroks' of their old masters.
As one can expect Kyrabar's deeds of not only assassinating the Oak's pilot, as the Giants believe that the merchant's tale is merely a pretense for the assassination of the pilot as the story makes little sense, the theft of the Inshin, and the rejection of returning of The Oak to the Valley Clans has enraged the Giants and brought them about to an action rarely done.
The Utarok of the Valley were swearing a Blood Oath, each matriarch and Patriarch of their respective clans were within the holy stone circle chanting out the ancient call that binds them to this oath. Under the gaze of their ancestors, each swore that the Oak would be returned or destroyed and those that stole it would weep blood. Be it a year or twenty generations, the Giants would work to clean this taint from their people's spirit. That betrayal would be answered in blood.
In the aftermath of the battle between the city of Dulkor and Fey forces, representatives of the Shepards approached the city regarding the fate of those who had been captured during the course of the recent campaign. Seeing an opportunity, the Senate designated its own representatives, and talks began.
After several days of negotiations, an agreement was reached. All hoped that it would bring short term peace between both sides, and allow them to focus their energies on more pressing issues.
All Utarok mercenaries employed by Fey clans currently in Dulkor custody will be released and returned to their homes.
The exchange will take place on neutral ground agreed to by both parties, and will occur within 2 weeks of the signing of this agreement.
The Shepards will pay Dulkor 1 Ancient Alloy
The Shepards agree that they will not knowingly employ their mercenaries in contracts which are directed against the city of Dulkor. This agreement shall remain in effect for two years.
This clause does not apply to indirect conflicts, or situations where the involvement of either party in an incident could not have been predicted beyond a reasonable doubt.
This agreement may be extended by the agreement of both parties if so agreed before it expires. Both parties maintain the right to request altered terms for any future renewals of this agreement.
[X] Senator Lecora of Dulkor
[ ] Patriarch Alfa of the Shepards @Easter
"Power is like fire. It consumes everything in its path, yet still, people chase it like moths to the flame."
—Varros Kerin, The Drowned One
The Guildmaster sat in silence, the weight of the city pressing against her like a knife at the throat. Beneath the transparent floor, dancers moved in practiced grace, their bodies weaving patterns like ghosts in a shallow grave, rehearsal for tonight's performance.
The long table stretched before her like a slab of polished bone, the candlelight licking at its darkened wood. Talia Karn, Whisperer of Death, spun a golden mask between her fingers, the cool metal catching the dim candlelight.
How many corpses had paved her path to this table? How much whispered poison had turned hands against each other? It was a question with no answer—only a reckoning.
Tonight was delicate. A single misstep, a single miscalculation, and all would crumble into ruin. The messengers had already been sent, carrying words like venom-laced daggers: Mistress Alessa Virdan, the Silver Shark, was no longer in power.
A lie. For now.
But lies had weight, and if whispered in the right ears, they could become truths. The city's merchants, crippled by raiders, had faltered, their debts breaking them like rotted planks beneath the waves. Thankfully the Merchant Prince, ever the opportunist, had seized what remained, binding the guilds under his banner.
But to further the issue, Alessa had moved shrewdly. Her most bitter foes who dreamed of her corpse hung from the docks—now they whispered in her ear like devoted disciples. Captain Dael Renvor. Lorian Dalorath, the great forgemaster. And the bitterest of them all, Varros Kerin, who had once sworn to see her drowned beneath her own fleet. Now he stood at her side, feeding her whispers of war.
Talia had no illusions about turning them. No, she had set her sights elsewhere. Prey that trembled beneath shadows, that recoiled from the scent of blood. The ones who bent the knee not out of loyalty, but out of fear.
She would not rule the city. That was never her aim. Let the fools in the light wear the crowns, let them bear the weight of blame when the knives came for them. She would remain in the dark, unseen and untouchable, the hand that moved the pieces.
A faint chime echoed through the chamber—a vibration through one of the hollowed pores in the stone walls. Someone had entered.
Talia did not move immediately. Instead, she lifted a metal tuning fork from the table and struck it against the wall. A low, resonant hum spread through the room.
Below, the dancers froze for half a breath before moving as one. Their skirts flared, embroidered mirrors catching the candlelight, turning the floor into a swirling sea of shifting color and fractured reflections.
She placed the golden mask over her face. Appearances were everything.
The city belonged to whoever had the nerve to claim it.
And tonight, Talia Karn intended to make sure that claim was hers.
She watched the dancers from her seat at the head of the long table, her fingers drumming softly against the polished surface.
It was an illusion of beauty, of grace—something fleeting and delicate.
Much like power.
A shadow moved in the archway, and she turned her masked face slightly, listening.
The ringing in the walls had ceased. The visitor had arrived.
"Master Amiel," Talia's voice coiled through the air. "You came quickly."
The man lowered his hood. Amiel Darros, Guildmaster of Weavers—an empire built on textiles, secrets, and the threads that connected both. His graying hair was neatly combed, his face lined with the weight of debts yet to be paid. He bowed shallowly, a merchant's bow—respectful but not subservient.
"I make it a habit to heed summons that come with such… delicate warnings," he said, his tone careful. "Though your messengers were rather dramatic in their delivery."
Talia tilted her head, amusement flickering in her dark eyes behind the mask. "Dramatic is the language of survival, Master Darros. And survival should be foremost on your mind."
The man's throat bobbed, but he held her gaze. "I assume this is about Mistress Virdan."
Talia stepped closer, the light catching the gilded edges of her mask, casting eerie reflections onto the walls. "Indeed. And more importantly, about what comes next."
Amiel exhaled sharply. "You know my position. My guild owes much to Alessa—our contracts with the Merchant Princes, our foothold in the southern trade routes. If you expect me to betray her, you—"
"Not betray," she corrected. "Merely… reconsider where your loyalty lies when the storm arrives."
Amiel's fingers twitched at his sides. "You speak as if the storm is inevitable."
Talia smiled beneath her mask. "Oh, Master Darros," she whispered, stepping close enough that he could see the gleam of her eyes through the slits. "It has already begun."
A second chime echoed through the walls—a visitor at the entrance. Another piece shifting on the board. Talia turned away, the meeting with Amiel far from over, but there were others to greet. Others to sway.
And as the next guest stepped through the doorway, the Whisperer of Death welcomed them with open arms.
The game was in motion.
And Talia Karn had never lost a game.
The doors swung open, and for the first time that evening, Talia Karn allowed surprise to touch her otherwise impassive mask.
Captain Dael Renvor entered first, her stride purposeful but lacking its usual sharpness. She moved like a woman carrying a weight too heavy to set down, her dark coat lined with the dampness of the city's ever-present mist. Her hand rested idly on the pommel of her saber, a gesture that spoke of either readiness or restraint. It was always hard to tell with Dael.
Beside her, Lorian Dalorath, the forgemaster, walked with the slow, deliberate pace of a man deep in thought. His thick arms, usually coated in soot from the forges, were unnaturally clean tonight, his coat crisp, his expression drawn. The presence of the two together was… interesting.
Her fingers curled around the stem of her glass. If Dael was here, alongside the Forgemaster, it meant either treachery or desperation. And if it were the former, she would not have entered so boldly. Still, the Captain's rigid stance, the sharpness of her gaze, carried the weight of a soldier prepared for war. Arrest, perhaps? But the presence of Lorian, always more inclined to forge alliances than break them, complicated the matter.
She set her glass down and leaned back. "Captain Renvor. Forgemaster Dalorath." The words carried a lazy amusement. "I must say, I expected you to be glued to Mistress Virdan's side. Yet here you stand, abandoning her so quickly."
Captain Dael snorted, shaking her head. "Abandoning?" A bitter chuckle followed. "The only thing Alessa's after is coin, Talia. She's not content with the power she already has—she wants war. Thats the only reason why Alessa poured coin into our forces."
Talia arched a brow. "I would have thought war would suit you, Captain. It would put the army in your hands."
"It's not my war." Dael's jaw tightened. "She's using the Merchant Prince's grudge against the raiders as an excuse, use his Ishin. If she wins, she'll be a hero. If she loses, it won't be her fleet burning—it will be the guild militias bleeding for her ambition."
Talia's fingers curled against the polished bone of the table. War. The very thing that made men desperate, that twisted alliances and turned cities into graveyards. The most profitable venture of all—if you were the one holding the right knives.
"And you, Captain?" Talia asked, raising a delicate brow. "I would think a war would serve you well. More soldiers, more power."
Dael's expression darkened. "More death. More chaos. The kind that even I can't control." Her fingers tapped against the hilt of her saber. "You think our army is strong? The militias still listen to their officers over their commanders. And those officers?" She let out a breath, slow and bitter. "Paid for with Alessa's coin. She owns them more than I ever will."
"Interesting," Talia murmured. She turned her gaze to Lorian. "And the Ishin? It seems… excessive for the Merchant Prince."
Lorian's voice was lower, measured. "He came to me personally. Commissioned devices to better control it."
Talia considered that, glancing at Master Amiel. The man was still watching the dancers below, his mind lost in their spinning silks and shimmering mirrors. A useful trait, for now.
Talia's lips curled beneath her mask. "Of course he has." She turned her gaze toward Master Amiel, who had been lost in the spectacle below, watching the dancers like a man drowning in silken waves.
She tapped the table with a single finger. "Sit."
As more arrived, the room thickened with whispered dealings. Guildmasters bartered over the corpse of a city not yet dead. Deals were struck in quiet corners. Promises etched in wine and candlelight.
Talia watched as deals were forged, as alliances shifted in real-time. She had always loved this—the way power ebbed and flowed, the way men and women fooled themselves into believing they were in control while she pulled the strings from the dark.
Yet beneath it all, the problem remained—Captain Dael could not refuse Alessa's war. Not entirely. The Guild Militias listened to their officers before their commanders, and most officers owed their training to the Silver Shark's coin. Even now, recent efforts to shift that balance had barely begun to mend the flaw.
And then, at last, he arrived.
The Merchant Prince entered without announcement, without fanfare, his mere presence enough to shift the air in the chamber. He nodded to Talia, a warm, knowing gesture, before taking his seat.
What followed was the sort of conversation Talia thrived on—deft, careful negotiations on who would gain what once the dust settled. Some fought for land, others for coin. Some, like Talia, fought for something far more valuable: control.
Then, a voice—sharp, cutting through the chamber's rising hum.
"And why, exactly, do any of you think you can win?" The speaker, a gaunt-faced merchant, spread his hands. "Alessa has an Ishin. The army, the navy—they are hers. Even the city's wealth bends to her will. The Merchant Princes store their gold in her vaults, their goods in her warehouses. She controls everything."
Another voice answered, slow, deliberate, as if explaining to a child. "We have both Fortuna and the Oak to counter Darius and his Ishin."
The merchant scoffed. "The Merchant Prince can barely wield Oak. And an airship? Please." His laughter was bitter. "A battle against the Silver Shark is not a battle at all. It's suicide."
Talia frowned.
She had hoped to keep this card hidden longer. Captain Dael knew. The Merchant Prince knew. Lorian, given his closeness with the Captain, had likely pieced it together. But the rest? They were meant to remain blind for now. She would need to put the guild on high alert. Making sure this tidbit didn't spread.
She sighed, tracing the rim of her glass. "Let's just say," she murmured, "Darius and I have been enjoying each other's company lately. And he is tired of living in his aunt's shadow."
Silence followed, thick and knowing.
The same merchant, ever a skeptic, leaned forward. "And the economy?"
The Merchant Prince spoke, voice calm. "It will take time. We turn the common men and women to our side, away from the Silver Shark. We bleed the guilds under her banner, slowly, carefully. It will not be fast, but it will be done. And her greed will ensure she keeps investing in her army—always preparing for the next war, never realizing she is already losing this one."
The night stretched long, so long that morning threatened to rise beyond the city's skyline. The dancers, having done their part in dulling the minds of weary conspirators, finally stepped away, vanishing like phantoms into the shadows.
They had dulled; the tired minds lured them. Talia had used it, had pressed at the weak points when their minds were too tired to resist.
Talia leaned back as the last guest departed.
The Merchant Prince lingered, pausing at the threshold. He did not turn to face her, only spoke over his shoulder.
"The food and water that the Cult of the Merciful Ancients provides for the common folk." A beat. "It must be poisoned."
Talia stilled.
He continued. "I cannot have anyone else appearing as a savior to them."
Scilicet et tempus veniet, cum finibus illis
agricola incurvo terram molitus aratro
exesa inveniet scabra robigine pila
aut gravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanis
grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossa
sepulchris.
Ay, and the time will come when there anigh,
Heaving the earth up with his curved plough,
Some swain will light on javelins by foul rust
Corroded, or with ponderous harrow strike
On empty helmets, while he gapes to see
Bones as of giants from the trench untombed.
Verg. georg. 1.493-497
=} Roving Fey - Poisoning the Land {=
As war raged across the Dunes, as raids and counterraids disturbed the sands with the bodies of the fallen, the Roving Fey decided to take their fight into a new dimension: skywards. Taking inspirations from the airships of other groups but lacking the kind of dense manacore that allowed them to rise with both speed and armour, the Fey instead relied on their natural advantages: their mutability and their ability to work the strands of magic into ever new patterns.
The result wasn't an airship, for it was neither sleek, nor armoured nor swift, but what the tribes dubbed a war-balloon. Large enough to hold a full unit of warriors, it was kept aloft by great fires and copious amount of magic being purred into it by the shamans. First and foremost it was thus a tool of mobility – and surprise. But at the same time the sky itself proofed less hospitable than your warriors had hoped for: strong winds often carrying different currents of Mana, impacting the balloons passengers more strongly if they didn't seek shelter on the ground. Still, the tribes had gained a mighty floating watchtower, able to peer down upon the slavers from the sky themselves.
Dark Awakenings
Gathering those changed and affected by the darkened mana proved…effective with some minders. While some fell into a stupor of kind, others only seemed to become more frantic, the glyphs and runes they were drawing becoming more and more complex as they began to work together, and a semblance of purpose returned to their hazy minds. But this purpose was as terrible as it was grand and when given the task by the Warchiefs to prepare themselves for war they demanded one thing to test their gylphs: Gremak prisoners, slavers and legionnaires alike.
Their was a certain irony to it, for the slavers had targeted the Fey for they are creatures of mana and nature, making them malleable and exotic to the unchanging Gremak. Now the very same slavers were dragged onto the glyphs and their blood spilled into the funnels in the baked sand, chants and knives rising in pitch…. before mana bursts from the bodies, liberated and ready to be used.
A Passage to the Past
Warchief Tasuuf did not waste any time: their Sandworm and Warbands led the charge against the Sleepers milling about the entrance of the ruins: swords, lances and the magic of the Sorcerers cutting through these ancient warriors as the Rockridge Clan took the lead in fighting the Sleepers back to the entrance of the installation. But as they pushed past the entry way, they found themselves beset by heavy guns and cannons, fixed defences that tore whole groups of the warsworn to ribbons, before the Sandworm could blast through them, allowing the remaining warriors to push past the defences and secure the first floor of the installation. While many lay slain, others have retreated deeper, intent on following their long gone Masters final orders.
=} The Heart - Fires and Smoke {=
The heart of the desert was alive, the caravans and wanderers that still braved the dunes, even as war and raids dominated the routes, talked of armed groups having erected outposts and minds, warding off anyone from coming too close, even if they just wanted to sell some provisions and the like. Bearing no banner and showing nothing but the glimpses of high-quality alloy beneath their robes and hoods, these strangers have seemingly taken over the remnants of an ancient ruin and the surrounding areas.
Securing the Relay
The air inside a monument of the Masters should be clear, devoid of imperfections, honed to keep the slaves in a harmonious mood and of a perfectly pleasant temperature. But he wayward servants the Infiltrator Cadre of The Heart had met at the side were showing sings of difficult breathing and describing the smell as 'cloying'. While the enhanced bodies and senses of the Cadre were immune to it, the self-proclaimed servants of the masters were struggling and lighting incenses to keep the air around them 'clean'. When the Cadre actually advanced – things started to get worse. The runes and signs of the Master's had not merely been left to the ravages of time, but rather been defaced and misaligned. The stone walls were not towering edifices to the timelessness of the masters creation but rather covered in strange alien scripture and weird signs – with piles of Sleeper implants and cortical spines left in front of them.
The wrongness of the installation only continued to grow as the infiltrators spread across the uppermost level, observing the remnants of their fellow servants desecrated and torn apart. And they did not have to wait long for those responsible to show. Once they might have been Gremak, lesser servants of the masters and other slaves, but what boiled out of the lower levels only had a few commonalities with the ancients' servants. Instead, their bodies had been twisted, claws and growths had formed natural armour and weapons, their mind utterly gone aside from the howling that they joined in when throwing themselves at the Sleepers.
In face of these numbers the Infiltrator Cadre had to give ground, rapidly pulling back and giving up the idea of reaching the control centre at the lowermost level without more support – instead they cut the connections leading upwards, softening and muffling the corrupting signal in the hope of this being enough to clear up the stream.
While half of the Infiltrators headed south, the rest moved North East, but found their travels hampered by a great many armed Fey and armed Gremak seemingly conducting war with one another. Battles, patrols and watchtowers made any progress a slow and careful thing, but your cadre was sure that the second key was beneath the large Gremak settlement the servant races called Dulkor.
Ishin Training
Those travellers still daring to travel close to the ancient ruins in the centre of the desert returned with tales of habitation, industry and most importantly: Ishin. Only spotted in the distance, running through weapon drills and the like, they were without doubt the machines of the ancients – at least two maybe even more in numbers. But anything more precise no one could quite claim for the moment.
Unbeknown to these onlookers, the Sleepers of the Heart were running their ancient machines through basic manoeuvres and more, technology last used in the days of the Ancients having emerged from the resting place of their pilots. The ATD was giving the impression of a localized storm, its currents able to disable or completely fry any opponent, while the DTM was climbing the crumbling walls of the Heart to inspect them for traces of the masters and damages that did not merely come from time. In comparison the PEM was pretty straight forward, its heavy gun crackling with energy before swiping through hole dunes like a scythe.
=} Shepherds - Coming Together {=
Distant but not untouched by the wars and plots of the great cities and people both free or mysterious, the Utarok had called for the meetings of the Clans, gathering at the shores of the lake with families and kin. There the elders led them in a nightly ritual, the eldest of each family line coming together to swear an oath of vengeance or satisfaction – to be pursued to avenge the dishonourable and treacherous action of the Merchants of Kyradar.
To be a single people of brethren,
To never part neither in danger nor distress.
To be free, as their forefathers had been,
rather seek death than bow beneath the yoke once more.
This was not a call for a blood expedition, nor was anyone under the belief that redress could be sought anytime soon. The Shepherds were swearing themselves under a common oath because the past seasons had shown that the world beyond their mountains was both dangerous and treacherous, filled with friends and those that merely appeared as friends to hide their bloody daggers. With the Food of the Fey flowing, with the prisoners of Dulkor returning, the Shepards were turning both inwards as they left the worst of the hunger behind and kept a watchful eye towards the outsides that sought their force of arms.
Farming at Home
The Shepards venture into the cutthroat world of mercenary work had been short, bloody and while an Ishin had been lost, the food that had come into the Utaroks valley from the outside had put an end to the famine that had gripped them and threatened to kill of whole swathes of the young and the elderly. For the first time in years many went hungry, but none starved. As such there was, for the first time in a long while, a surplus of strong arms and thus the Elders engaged in ever more ambitious projects to make sure that a famine such as this could never repeat just as easily with the hope that in the future none of their kin would have to go hungry again.
For now, this vision of the future necessitated a vast hole in the ground. Having chosen the lower ranges of the mountains, the Utarok began with the excavation of vast cisterns, digging into the natural stone and supporting this work with burned clay and other materials that they hoped would keep the water in these new basins. Dark and barely illuminated, they could be covered and would hopefully contain the waters of the coming seasons.
=} Dulkor - Covered in Glory, Crowned in Alloy {=
Exploring the Sleeper Facility
Even if the outbreak had been pushed back into the facility, this didn't mean that the defences had been overcome in their entirety. With the House Company spearheading the endeavour, the scholars and record keepers of Dulkor were pushing into the long-forgotten installation, taking notes and comparing with older sources – the sound of battle never far as brave and armoured legionaries rushed fixed turrets and hacked the ancient Sleepers to pieces. But even pushed back these ancient warriors were not helpless and the company found itself lured into a killzone of turrets, from which it only escaped thanks to the quick thinking of the scholars, who rerouted the power system of the defences and thus allowed the company to pull back in good order, but with painful losses among their first ranks.
Still, their losses were not in vain for the Scholars reported that the facility must have served as a war forge once, a minor production facility that served the Ancients military needs in the war-torn years of the collapse. Thus, it wasn't completely surprising, but fully amazing, that the expedition was able to find the remnants of not one, but two Ishin in the furthest reaches of the workshops. One must have been some kind of Collapse war machine, deep rends in its armour, showing where the regeneration of the Ishin had failed, the broken limbs discarded on the side like the amputated limbs of your own soldiers. The second one was under a half-eaten tarp, taken apart as if to study and never put together again as many of the parts had seemingly burned from the inside out.
As your scholars recovered the parts, the company fell back as well, content to secure the first floors prize – thoughts on descending into the final deeps of the installation paused till reinforcement was sent once more.
Vassalizing the Fey
With Victory on the battlefield resting on the laurels of Dulkors heavy infantry, the Senate was attempting to charm the Fey Clans living the closest to the city into giving up the armed fight and accept peace – in return for tribute they would send to the City of Woe. Using the momentum of their victory heavily armed groups of envoys were sent into the dunes by Dulkor, with the eventual goal of forming their own puffer against continued raiding. But these high aims were disappointing.
The patrols of the House companies were unable to find the Clans of the Fey again: they only found empty remnants of camps and small groups of the elderly and the very young who had been lost as their Clans began their track eastwards. The extend of the Feys determination became clearer when the legionaries visited known wells and oasis, finding all sources of water spoiled, with waste and bodies thrown into them.
While this wasn't going to be sustainable in the long run, the Clans were seemingly intent on putting their own puffer zone between themselves and the Legion – with only a few harrying patrols here and there showing their continued presence.
Convoy System
With the Clans giving up large swathes of their usual routes in the west, the merchants of Dulkor could breathe freely once more. With the military shielding them from any would be raider and the new watch towers allowing for the quick reaction of mobile forces, the caravans and goods were flowing freely once more, and the new capital House Asteria was building in the south was only increasing this traffic as the wealth of Dulkor grew once again!
=} Villos - On a Mission {=
The Original Servants, those blessed to have seen the Ancients themselves walk among them, chosen and uplifted by their hands, descended into a pit of roiling corruption. The Shamans attempting to follow them turned back as the very air seemed to strangle them, while the zealots prayed full of fervour at the gates to this darkened gate, beseeching the ancients to give their servants the strength to strike down the darkness. After two days, and sounds of terrible fighting, their prayers were answered. The faithful prostate themselves as the Original Servants stepped out of the darkness, their perfected forms showing the signs of battle and worse, with many casting off their clothing and coats to give the Servants a chance to cover their perfection before the imperfect eyes once again.
They had not banished the evil in full – but weakened it. It would need a more throughout purification at a later date, but while half of the Original Servants peeled off to head westwards, the remainder agreeing to accompany the forces of Villos back home. As such, even without them really planning it, it became something of a triumph: the zealots and the Ishin had headed out to find a great evil and now returned with those who had seen the Ancient with the eyes they crafted for them.
Pilgrims from all over the coast were joining the trek back home, praying and asking for blessings, while the militia of the city kept the Original Servants safe and sound from the demands of their lesser. As such they were moved through Villos itself to the amazement of large parts of the population with new rumours and cults springing up at their every step – before they were even guided into the chambers of the cold and plain church that would house them for the Trial of the Prophet.
For three whole days the entirety of Villos was awash with prayers and debates, the presence of the Original Servants meant that something truly world changing was in the air and everyone believed that something, everything, would change. Between prayers and festivals, chants and songs spanning the whole city, prophets and cults met and came together, all of them beseeching the gods and seeking one another's steadfastness to pray for the will of the Ancients to be known on the matter of those coming before the city as their messengers.
After three days and three nights had passed, the Voice convened, with the leaders of all the cults and all the flocks streaming together to hear the testimony of those who had not only sought answers from the Gods on the legitimacy of these Ancient Sleepers but had gotten them. While there were some who cautioned, who advised that the Servants of the Ancients, even if once favoured, were still favoured – most did endorse the legitimacy of the Ancient Servants as Messengers of the Gods. Their dreams had shown them that they had come to seal the danger that Villos had sought to close as well; their dreams showed them how they had once been uplifted from mere flesh by the arts and miracles of the Gods and thus the Voices decided to accept these Sleepers as who they claimed to be – and summoned them into their midst, for the whole City to be witness to.
When the gates of the church opened for the Original Servants, who were none worse to wear and the leaders and prophets of the cults gathered to listen to the words the ancients servants were to bestow. What followed – send a frenzy through the city, the words – simple and straightforward – carrying a power that fascinated all that heard them from the highest of the preachers to the most desperate of pilgrims:
"We have been awakened to secure dangerous items of the Masters. There is a dangerous device sealed with three keys. We are to secure the keys and to ensure no one unseals the device without the express permission of the Masters. Once done, we will secure the ancient sites, in particular those of our kin who remain uncorrupted and then repair the equipment necessary to restore contact to the Masters. They shall return, one day. The Faithful will be rewarded and elevated upon their return. Until then, they should avoid any conflicts that may keep them from the divine work entrusted to them."
While some were doubtful, many clamoured that this was a sign, that this was the explanation of the portends and that the full support of the city should be given to these most holy of servants!
Research the Amulet – Private
Research into the amulet progresses well: its alloy belongs to the most ancient of times, its surface is dotted with patterns the bare eye can't see and it carries a small charge that fluctuates as it is touched. Your scholars have little doubt: it is part of something bigger, something that needs to be added together. The true meaning of the find comes with the Ancient Servants that underwent the trials of the Prophets. Fate or maybe divine providence had made you find the very key they were seeking – or that is your scholar's firm belief. But if they were truly better suited to call the Ancients back down to these lands, was up to debate.
Recruitment
Maybe it was the presence of the Ancients own Servants and their promise of bringing back the Gods – maybe it was the fighting in the north and the strange newcomers at the coast, but as your call went out the streets that were full of those that had prayed and sung throughout the trials of the Prophet, they answered the call. Hundreds of pilgrims streamed to the depots to take up arms, zealots armed themselves in the alloys of the ancients and new Cybershamans were called out of their meditations and ponderings to walk the path of war. The armed zealots were standing ready, but the city was bleeding its craftsman and workers, as religious duty weighted more to them than the economic day to day of the city.
=} Kyradar - Tarnished Silver {=
While seemingly free of the wars and religious upheavals plaguing the other cities, Kyradar wasn't free of its own scandals. The bloody purges of the underworld, the raiding of their caravans – all of it turned the city dwellers attention inwards and suspicion was set on those who stood out, who upset the working of 'normal' society. When the sick and the elderly, as well as the children of the poor who had found support and some meals with the Cult of the Merciful Ancients started dying – foam before their mouths and with bloodshot eyes – the anger of the population soon turned towards the prophet from Villos and their flock. The pilgrims, who had come to the city with high hopes and for the betterment of their fellow being, found themselves struck down in the streets and drowned in their own public baths. Only with the support of the few still willing to thank them for the past season's mercy were a handful of them able to flee back to Villos, while the rest of their flock was slain by the mob.
Militia Improvements
Maybe these riots scared the merchants of the city enough to release further funding and precious alloy towards the militias, maybe some more shadowy forces were at play. What the people of Kyradar knew, was that soon armour-clad militias were pushing through the city's streets with shields and maces made from the ancient's alloy, gleaming silvery in the light as they cracked down on any rioters still daring to raise their head.
Convoy System
Even as the situation inside of the city continued to simmer below the boiling point, the situation outside of its walls was not any less tense. While the Fortuna was tasked with surveying the land, finding the plains ever changed since the strange new winds had begun to blow, the remaining militias were getting attached to the largest of caravan convoys – stretched to the breaking point of what the water wells and smaller settlements along the roads could host. And still, while the logistics were going to be the ruin of many merchants in the long run, it allowed for safe travels as the attacks by the bandits dwindled with each passing week, till it seemed as if they had been successful scared off.
Unbeknown to the Guilds thou, the Chorus had not intended to pull back its raiders fully, at least not yet. Instead, they had grouped up, had brought the full force of the axe gang together and set their sights on the large and heavily laden caravans moving towards House Asterias new building sites.
What followed after was a massacre: the valiant efforts by the militia to hold their ground shattered as a pieced together Ishin smashed into their lines, their crossbow bolts pinging off its hide, while the machine stormed into their midst with a roar, its manifold bladed instruments cutting through men and armour alike as the Ravager voiced the axe gangs hatred for this world in a storm of steel and vengeance.
When the Fortuna soared through the sky, carrying the Phidin and further reinforcements the bandits were already gone again, leaving nothing but the dead and the burned wagons as they retreated into their hiding places.
If there was one silver lining of the whole debacle, it was the surprising discovery of a large-scale sinkhole by the Fortuna when it flew to the side of battle. To call it a sinkhole didn't do it justice either. The whole ground seemed to have lowered on a scale that easily rivalled the city of Kyradar itself and only from air was this identifiable, while those on the ground were unable to see the sheer scope. With the militia deployed to the region, the guilds were able to find multiple farmers who claimed that the earth had shock a few moons ago, water sources had either dried out or been created overnight, with the farm animals spooked and more and more pieces of pottery and detritus coming out of the ground whenever they plowed the grounds.
Some villages even had whole collections of ancient pottery, not for the ancients but for the use of their servants and slaves of course, but uniform in sizes and well done in their appearance. To the farmers the recent shaking of the earth must have led to their growth, just like the rainy seasons brings to life the plains with fungi.
Both promising and worryingly thou: multiple wells had seemingly collapsed downwards, opening the way towards underground tunnels that must have been lost for generations. Many villages around them thou have been deserted with the farmers blaming a strange kind of miasma that comes out of the wells and sickens both animals and people. Thankfully moving away from it seemed to stop this suffering at the early stages – but with the worries rising, some people are thinking about just closing all the holes off again.
=} The Chorus - Fighting for a Home {=
An ancient philosopher once claimed that each and every society needs Justice, for even the worst band of robbers would find itself torn apart from the inside if there wasn't a sense of justice in the sharing of the spoils. The Chorus understood this and even as the Imperial and Guild forces hunted for them and their hiding places, they celebrated their successful raids in nightlong banquets, in which food, wine and all other means of bodily pleasure were flowing and available plentiful. But it wasn't just indulgence that bound them together, like each band of unlike siblings, comrades in suffering and success, they had their rites and rituals and for many who had flown to the bloody banners of the Chorus, these were the first they partook in. In nightly ceremonies, under the pale light of the moon, a share of each raids loot was buried beneath the earths and sands, a share to thank the very coast of Orthin for being their home, their shelter and their hunting grounds.
And what wasn't used for the rites that bound the gangs together, was split apart, hacked and molten, feed into the sprawling network that got information, supplies and recruits for the Chorus. From the desperate in Kyradar, to the disillusioned in Villos and now those running from the sharp knives of House Asteria: the Chorus welcomined them all by Tradition, Belief and Practicality.
Tallying Favours
To the inhabitants of the coast and to the merchants in particular, the Chorus burst into their world in an orgy of blood and fear only a few seasons past. To them the members of the Chorus are more beast than people, life to raid, murder and loot. But this was only one face of the Chorus, the bloody grimace it showed its victims and enemies. Behind this were the families, the young, the elderly, those who sought not to kill and loot but instead mended armour, crafted weapons and foraged scraps from the barren wilds the Chorus called its home.
Their roles as Ancillaries had been in the background, of little importance and note for most of the gangs. But that was when each of them was their own little violent microcosmos, when they fought and struggled each on their own. The Chorus was something bigger and was aiming to be something greater. The hands that sow, crafted and nurtured were given a voice, maybe not as loud as the voices guiding the spear and axe, but a voice, nonetheless.
Their realm was the ledger, the use of resources, the shift of supplies from one gang to another, the art of beginning to build something out of the loot the gangs brought home. Not coin or barter dominated these exchanges but trust and need, the trust to know that the other gangs would share if you needed it: the grand promise of the Chorus to be one voice among many, to sing not merely of survival, but of dominion over the wastes and hills forsaken by the cities.
Mysteries Below
The elevator shaft had stopped the Chorus in the last season, the darkness it was leading into gaping like a wide-open maw – but even this couldn't stop the Ironfist from digging deeper. With a system of ropes and pulleys they created a system by which a sturdy platform could be lowered towards the bottom of the shaft – but one of the first scouts to descend into the depths lost her footing and tumbled multiple storeys height, before crashing into the ground. When her comrades arrived she was unconsciousness and her skull close to shattered, her life destined to end in these dark tunnels…
…till a figure pushed out of the shadows. The scouts went for their weapons, but the wizened and hunched figure that stepped towards them raised all four of their cybernetic arms in a sign of peace. It was an ancient Sleeper, but one both marked by the passing of time and something more, as their form had strange growths in place, with the biggest being a hunched back, created by slightly glowing sacs that seemed to churn with an unknown liquid. And it was this liquid that it offered to the dying scout, her comrades understanding the intent and allowing it to approach – whereupon it cut into its sacs and fed the thick honey-like substance to the dying scout.
Over the next hours her state improved and soon she was standing again, despite the mortal wound she had taken. Strangely enough she seemed to bear a … connection to the ancient sleeper, giving word to their mute intent: they were the last of the vault's defenders, the rest of it had fallen to the human attackers in ages past. The attack had released a dangerous miasma among the lower levels, which had transmuted the defenders, making them stronger, hardier – able to sell their lives dearly, before the miasma struck down the humans. The liquid fed to the scout seemed to be related to this, as she seemed to grow…taller and stronger, her mood growing a little giddy at having survived near death and a hint of something firmer and scale-like growing under the skin of her reknitted skull. Still, the ancient made no hostile moves and simply asked to be helped out of the hole and possibly taken along – and as a sign of support showed your people the way to this levels armoury, holding the weapons and armours of the vaults defenders.
=} House Asteria - Baptising in Blood {=
Knight-Overcaptain Asteria 12 Sunrises mandate was clear: to find and destroy the base of the Chorus. This alone showed how shallow the understanding of the Houses new enemy truly was. For the Imperial Forces, led by the Pathfinders were able to find one such base – and then another and another. Truly it was then that the Imperials begun to understand why the pathfinders and the locals had spoken about a 'Web'. Still, this understanding didn't change the mission the Company was tasked with and with great gusto and even greater motivation did they start hitting these distributed bases, setting the torch to supply stations and winning back some of the stolen treasures of the last season.
When the pathfinders found another stockpile, this one to the west of where the new capital was to be erected bearing excavation tools and machinery of all things, it seemed to be just another raid on stolen goods, leading to the capture of craftsmen or followers of the Chorus. And it did, at least till the two hills surrounding the stockpile burst into life, trapping the Imperials in a dried-out wadi.
Knight-Overcaptain Asteria 12 Sunrise and Knight-Overcaptain Hekate 64 Antidote found themselves beset not only by bandits outnumbering their own infantry 2:1, even if the imperial magelocks were barking fire into the charging ranks and felling many of the outcasts clad in nothing but light armour, but also by the recognizable shapes of two Ishin.
The "Hatchet" and the "Butcher" Fiend-Ishins were leading the charge – and it was only thanks to the "Dreamer" that the ambush was blunted. Conjuring fleeting images of warriors, bright colours and lights that surprised and dazzled the bandits – it was able to give the infantry a chance to form up and open fire in ranks. But even the ancient human machine found itself hard pressed when opposing two Ishins, Asteria 12 Sunrises having to split their attention between the brutal spikes of the Butcher and the close combat weapons of the Hatchet. It was an Ishin, but the Hatcher was an Ishin butcher, its mismatched parts flowing fluidly – and deadly, forcing the Imperials back step by step.
The Imperial formation buckled, under the assault of the bandits and the oversized bolts of the butcher flung into its midst, but it didn't break. And the Dreamer, using its drones, was able to signal for help, which arrived with overheated engines as the sun began to set.
Overcaptain Cygnus Nine Bolt announced their presence with the bombardment of the bandits ranks, the airships heavy cannons scything through the ranks of the wasteland warriors, giving the company on the ground a much-needed break, while reinforcements began to land, spearheaded by the Awoken and its shield. But with the reinforcement arriving, the Chorus began to pull back. The Butchers fire forced the Lepidus back onto distance and the Ravager left the Dreamer with deep gouges in its armour before retreating as well. Only the cover of the night allowing them to disperse before the Airship Gemellus with further forces arrived to hunt them down.
No side had clearly won and the bodies of the fallen were left littered along the length and wide of the wadi. The Web was damaged but hadn't been shattered and House Asteria had begun to understand that they had settled nowhere less than right in the midst of what the Chorus claimed as their home.
Convoys and Walls
Whereas the last season had been one of hopes and dreams when it came to the construction of the new home for House Asteria, this season saw it put both manpower and resources into defence instead of construction. Stone originally reserved for the Forum was now quickly diverted towards walls and towers, defences hurriedly springing up on and around the plateau with labourers from the closest villages, enticed by the pay and the hope of one day living behind the walls in safety, being called upon to dig the moats and trenches that would keep the fortification safe.
While the news of the people reached the city-to-be before too long, the lack of a clear victory did not mean that the banditti's efforts didn't suffer. With their own losses in battle and the relentless search of the airship Lepidus under Overcaptain Cygnus Nine Bolt, the caravans enjoyed a newfound peace and safety – even if no one was sure how long this pause in raiding would hold.
It also allowed the Imperials to begin raising a first Auxiliary Warband, farmers and craftsman of the villages that had sworn themselves to the House and which brought an eclectic mix of heirloom weaponry to their service that was bolstered with a selection of surplus maglocks and other firearms that should hopefully give them an approximation real imperial infantries firepower.
Disappearing the Naysayers
Maybe it was the raids of the Chorus, maybe just the sinking realization of just how many dangers, ancient facilities and unruly tribes seemed to populate the region that the house was sent out to conquer. Whatever nudged the balance, it was enough for House Asteria to decide that the time of gentle asking and soft wooing in the territories that would be its new holdings was over. Triangulum 71 Adze, spymaster and strategist began with a sometimes covert, sometimes painfully overt campaign to purge the new territories from traitors, dissidents and naysayers.
The lucky ones were tried in settlements that stood loyal to the new rulers, executed before the eyes of the gathered communities for aiding bandits or endangering their homes. Others, especially those that had spoken out against the newcomer's rule, their ideals and ideas, simply vanished.
It was the last group that led to most of the distress and fear among the newly ruled villages with any outspoken disagreement towards House Asteria vanishing utterly.
The Tribes
The Roving Fey - @Eater Type: Tribe Confederation
Advantages: Desert Experts
Disadvantages: Slaver Raids
Size: 3-
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 0
Ancient Alloys: 4
Military:
"The Sandworm" Collapse-Era Ishin
2x Fey Warbands
1 x Fey Warband (Damaged)
1 x Husk Warband
2 x Outrider Companies
1 x Sorcerers Corps
1 x Dark Sorcerer Corps
1 x War-balloon
1 x Ancient Equipment
The Shepherds - @Easter Type: Family Groups
Advantages: Remote Households, Pass-Outposts
Disadvantages: Crop Failures--
Size: 2
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
1 x Utarok Companies
1 x Utarok Ishin Hunters
"The Promise" Ancient-Era Ishin
The Outcast Chorus - @kosi Type: Bandits & Outcasts
Advantages: Infamous Raiders, The Network-, The Web--
Disadvantages: Infamous Raiders
Size: 4
Prosperity: Stable
Manacores: 1
Ancient Alloys: 0
Military:
"Ravager" Fiend-Ishin
"Hatchet" Fiend-Ishin
"Butcher" Fiend-Ishin
3 x Outcast Warbands
2 x Outcast Warbands [Damaged]
1 x Outcast Warbands [Shattered]
40% Arrival-Era Ishin Parts
1 x Ancient Equipment
1 x Twisted Ancient Healer The Cities
Dulkor, City of Woe - @Azecreth Type: Rapacious Republic
Advantages: Markets of Flesh, (Limes)+
Disadvantages: Masters and Masses++
Size: 6
Prosperity: Shortages
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 8
Military:
"Gremaks Pride" - Collapse-Era Ishin
3 x House Companies
1 x House Companies (Damaged)
3 x Freeborn Militias
1 x Freeborn Militia (Damaged)
50% Collapse-Era Ishin Parts
25% Ancient Era Ishin Parts
Kyradar, City of Silver - @cosmic_lonewolf Type: Home of the Merchant Lords
Advantages: Long-Trade+, (Kyradars Wooden Walls)
Disadvantages: Feuding Guilds++
Size: 6-
Prosperity: Suffering--
Manacores: 3
Ancient Alloys: 1
Military:
"Phidin" - Collapse-Era Ishin
"The Oak" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Fortuna" - Arrival-Era Airship
4 x Guild Companies
2 x Guild Militias
2 x Guild Militias [Damaged]
Villos, City of the Ancients - @Princess_Hex Type: Religious & Research Centre
Advantages: Wisdom of the Ancients+
Disadvantages: Whispers of the Abyss+
Size: 4-
Prosperity: Shortages++
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 5
Military:
"Chains" Ancient-Era Ishin
2 x Cyber-Shaman Corps
3 x Holy Companies
4 x Zealot Militias
The Outsiders
House Asteria, Imperial Memories - @Potato Anarchy Type: Imperial Conquistadors
Advantages: Imperial Calling+, (Forum Asteria)++ , The Vanished
Disadvantages: Stuck at the Periphery-, Dulkors Hospitability, The Vanished
Size: 4--
Prosperity: Stable--
Manacores: 4
Ancient Alloys: 11
Military:
"Dreamer" Arrival-Era Ishin [Damaged]
"Awoken" Arrival-Era Ishin
"Lepidus" - Arrival-Era Airship
"Gemellus" - Arrival-Era Airship
1 x Imperial Companies
1 x Imperial Companies [Shattered]
1 x Warbot Company
1 x Technomancer Corps
1 x Orthin Pathfinder Corps
1 x Auxiliary Warband
The Heart, Awakening Gods - @Ceslas Type: Awakened Sleepers
Advantages: Ancient Mastery+
Disadvantages: Ancient Corruption-
Size: 2
Prosperity: Resplendent
Manacores: 10
Ancient Alloys: 30
Military:
"ATD" Ancient-Era Ishin
"DCM" Ancient-Era Ishin
"PEM" Ancient-Era Ishin
1 x Sleeper Corps
1 x Infiltrator Corps
Active Installation
Location: South of Dulkor
Discovered by: Dulkor Era: Collapse Type: Forge Danger: Active Defenders Depth: 2 Explored Depths: 1
Eastern Installation
Location: South of the lake
Discovered by: Shepards Era: Ancient Type: Relay Station Danger: Active Defenders/Corruption Depth: 4 Explored Depths: 0 Misc: Signal Muffled
It was a lovely night, the temperature pleasant and nary a cloud in the sky. Fires crackled, and music rose above the hubbub of conversation as well as the clinking of pewter and metal. Such parties were hardly unusual for Dulkor, and in fact there was a healthy culture developed around the activity as Senatorial families showed off their largess. Such gathers were also used to strike deals or to form rivalries, though the latter was usually not intentional.
In this particular case it was more of the same. But this party also served a much different purpose. For this party had some special guests attending, newcomers to the shores of their land that the Senate hoped to leave a good impression on.
The main party took place in a large banquet hall, chandeliers casting their glow down upon the patrons. Tables were filled with the finest foods prepared by hard working chefs, both cold and hot, and drink flowed freely. Cooked beasts, finely chopped vegetables, everything that one could ask for and then some.
Off to one side of the room was musical entertainment. A harp, the flute, the cornu, the tuba, playing in accompaniment to fill the air above the conversation. And in the center of it was Railen, singer of stories. An older Gremak whose scales bore the wear of age, his voice had not faded with age. For many years he had been employed by the host, and there were none better to entertain this evening.
"Ah, you'll love this one. It's about Chairon's hunt to slay a devious sea serpent." The speaker let out a boisterous laugh, taking a swig from his cup as he looked across the table to where a Human sat poking at the meal on his plate. The former was Izraq, a member of the family who were hosting this event. No doubt Chairon was a distant ancestor of his, or something like that.
The Imperial, a younger fellow by all appearance, looked over to the person sitting next to him. "What did you say this was again," asked Eight Pewter, uncertainty and curiosity audible in his tone.
The man he spoke to leaned over to take a look at his dish before gesturing towards the main portion of the meal with his index finger. "That is Goudot, an insect that lives near the deserts. You have to crack open an outer carapace to get at the softer insides, and they do have to be prepared carefully as they can secrete some slightly poisonous residue. But if you have a good chef who knows how to cook and season it properly, it is delicious."
While that did not seem to completely put Eight Pewter at ease, he nonetheless decided to concede to the wisdom of the locals. A modest bite rewarded that faith, the meat all but falling apart in his mouth as the blend of spices gave it a unique flavor.
The look on his face must have spoke volumes as those around him burst into laughter. "Now that's real First hospitality for you," Izraq remarked. "You won't find anything like it elsewhere." An exaggeration of course, but in the heat of the moment it was an easy boast to make.
"I suppose it isn't bad," Eight Pewter conceded. It was only one of many things he would experience as the night went on,And so he would be won over, like so many of House Asterias as they mingled with the citizens of Dulkor.
"Fire" barked across the mountain valley, following it came the sound of hissing wind and the cracking of stones on stone as numerous rocks pelted various boulders equally spread across the valley floor. The giants the stones originated from worked swiftly to take more stones from the large pouches on their waists before slotting them into their slings and firing again, their varying speed slowly creating a stream of shots rather than a volley as each of them went to work on their designated targets. Some rocks whizzed past their targets but for the most part, they hammered away a lifetime's experience lending accuracy to the Utarok's work, as they turned a shepherd's tool to a weapon of war. What once protected crops and herds turned to the task of death-dealing, it wasn't the first tool turned to the task of war and it wouldn't be the last.
Miles away to the south scores of clansmen and women worked to plant saplings across the edge of one of the artificial plateaus that dotted the mountainsides across the inside of the valley. The stone and dirt platform gained a distinct green ridge across the open-air sides as saplings were fully planted. The Utarok might not be experts in such works, but they knew the minimum about horticulture due to their experience with their various patrons over the years, It is partially what inspired them to finally settle down once they had known enough and had gathered enough funds to afford the initial supplies, and while they might not have gotten a massive use of it before the famine they still kept it alive in their minds for situations such as these. Though there was little clue on if the idea would actually work or not, sure they had seen how trees could hold a cliff together and all knew that being behind something weakens winds but would even a wall of trees hinder the great winds that stole the water form the land? Perhaps not, but it was better to work and try than simply rest on one's behind and bemoan their fate.
