- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Remind me again what the nature of Macuiltotec's injury is?
From the Hidden City (Warhammer Lizardmen Temple-City Quest)
- Thread starter CuttleFish2.0
- Start date
- Fantasy
CuttleFish2.0
Friendly neighborhood cuttlefish
- Location
- Seattle, Washington.
Missing an arm. Specifically below the elbow.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
That's a gauntlet, not a prosthetic.
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
That is a totally reasonable goal for him. Laser gun arms are badass and I feel like supporting Macuiltotec's choices here.
I'd call it "augmentation," but I'm pretty sure the average slann can already generate megawatt-class beam weapons without need a laser gun arm.
If we have to compromise the functionality of the laser gun arm as a hand, Macuiltotec can afford to accept that cost of doing business.
I'd call it "augmentation," but I'm pretty sure the average slann can already generate megawatt-class beam weapons without need a laser gun arm.
All the easier, then! Since it's a prosthetic, we'll have extra volume to play with when it comes time to duplicate the internals!
Plus, Macuiltotec's a slann. He's constantly surrounded by other lizardmen who wait on him hand and foot. And most of what he does "for a living" involves mental manipulation of magical forces for which purpose it wouldn't really matter all that much if he were a quadruple amputee.
If we have to compromise the functionality of the laser gun arm as a hand, Macuiltotec can afford to accept that cost of doing business.
Interlude - Fruits of Outreach
CuttleFish2.0
Friendly neighborhood cuttlefish
- Location
- Seattle, Washington.
Zlatlan was in something of an uproar on the day word arrived that sails had been sighted. Preparations for the cleansing of Tlaqua were well underway; a whole band of saurus was at practice with their new shields down in the plaza, the flicking and twisting tips of their spears blunted. Wooden hafts smacked against cured scale-hide and bounced away. Claws clicked and clacked across stone floors as warriors danced back and forth in complicated exchanges that fluidly crossed with the numerous other mock fights on going.
From atop his palanquin, down at the edge of the plaza, Macuiltotec watched on with rapt fascination and a discerning eye turned towards the construction of the shields themselves.
Wik'keer'mal wondered how long before his brother was asking the artisan-priest to fashion him a shield of his own, would it be before he journeyed to Tlaqua? Or after? Oh what a flurry of activity that would set off.
A messenger hurried up the steps to whisper urgently in one of his scribe's ear.
Not a moment later the scribe, Tehe'Tenq who had in such a short time since become one of his attendants experienced several regrettable difficulties, scurried over himself and bowed. His dangling gold earrings chimed at the motion.
"Lord," he kept himself bowed low, his eyes fixed on the floor just ahead of Wik'keer'mals feed. "Coastal patrols report sails sighted. From their bearing a least time course form Ulthuan is assumed."
On time then. A few months ago he had divined the likeliest dates for Thyriol's arrival in an errant dream; this fell well in line with the fifth most likely arrival date, not quite the speediest and not so tardy either. Which meant Thyriol had convinced himself this was not some trap of the enemy.
He'd have to interrogate what precisely had led to the conclusion.
Coming to the correct answer was all well and good but the method of deduction was also crucial, especially when dealing with the subtler aspects of chaos. It would be a good test of the efficacy of the program overall to see how well he remembered his lessons — warmbloods were all too prone to believing a wounded enemy was a defeated one — in the face of as large a victory as Caledor had won.
"Begin your preparations," he projected into the scribe's mind.
"Yes, Lord, at once."
Much had been learned from the encounter with Cicedhya and more complete plans laid in place in the aftermath in anticipation of future need, that those preparations were to pay off in such a short time was good fortune.
Accommodations could be arranged in advance and a wider variety of rations. Some light entertainment had even been prepared, though it had taken no fair amount of effort on his own part to explain the exact components to the skinks chosen for the task. He was not at all sure how the elves would receive the performance, and that alone was a novel experience, but it would be a wonder to see skinks putting their superlative flexibility to use in rather unconventional ways.
Oh but he did hope Thyriol brought along some more outgoing companions than Cicedhya had. Perhaps some students of his own? Or prospects at least.
Well, he would know for certain once he greeted his old student at the docks.
The ships were fine things indeed, of two the larger was half-again the size of the vessels which the previous group of elves had come in and wrought in the imitation of a great swan; its prow the head with stars in its eyes and the sweep of its wings shaped to mimic a crescent moon. It's smaller companion was comparatively plain in construction, but well made. Each bore a great banner emblazoned with the emblem of the Kingdom of Saphery.
Beside them the quartet of monitors acting as minders seemed strikingly insufficient. And the frigates at dock would have been badly outmatched, it was good that the hulls of three more had already been laid down.
He watched the elven ships gliding through the water, long oars rising and falling in near perfect synchronicity even between ships as they carefully angled towards the waiting docks. Their sails tucked tightly away. After many long moments the vessels finally pulled to a rest and were promptly swarmed by skinks hauling thick ropes to secure them against the tide and wind, the crews hesitantly aiding them in the task.
Next the gangway was raised and the first of the visitors at last began to disembark, guards in the livery of Saphery. It was some minutes before Wik'keer'mal spied the shock of red hair of his former student.
Two others accompanied him closely, an elven woman who eyed the swarming skinks suspiciously and a tall dark-haired male whose hands flexed to hold something as he fixed his gaze on the nearby kroxigor. Others stood apprehensively on the deck of the ship, a mixture of evident crew stripped down to the barest layers, some even going around without shirts, and others dressed in finer clothes hastily modified for the heat. Eyes roamed the docks, the nearby fort with its tall towers and thick walls, the enormous baskets piled with fish and the even larger stegadon waiting nearby to haul the loads down the road to Zlatlan. Suspicion, natural arrogance, and fascination warred in those minds.
With a loud clap of displacing air and a scintillating flash of light Wik'keer'mal dismissed the cloak of illusion he'd woven over himself, his five temple guard, and Zille'mi.
He could of course have ended it without the show, but it was important to draw all attention onto himself in these sorts of instances. It would either convince the ignorant among the assembled elves that he had transported himself in that very moment from some other place or demonstrate to those with the capability to perceive it how utterly a slann such as he could conceal themselves from their senses. Either one would serve.
Wik'keer'mal had timed it so that Thyriol stepped foot on stone as he appeared. Instantly all eyes were on him, a smirk graced his once pupil's face and his footsteps quickened ever so slightly. His companions and guards reacted a second too late and were forced to hurry to catch up.
Zille'mi glanced anxiously between their master and the elf the Prince as the latter came to a stop in front of the former. They opened their mouth.
"Lord Wik'keer'mal, Pri— "
He held up a thick hand to forestall the priest.
"You wear your hair longer, is this the style now amongst your folk?"
Thyriol blinked and reached up to touch his hair, "Ah, no, master," a moment later he dropped his hand. "My duties often do not allow time to arrange to have it shorn as I might have."
"Well, so long as it's well out of the way when you experiment. Dangerous bit of flammable material all that is; young Caledor had the right notion when he shaved himself bare."
"He actually- Caledor grew it back out later on."
"Did he now, hmm? Well and so I suppose his success has earned him an indulgence. Do you know his fate in full?"
A grimace and a shake, "No. Not in full. Reports from survivors of the battle of the Isle of the Dead were that he and his best students were trapped within the ritual site when the working was completed; as best as I may discern, from observations at a great distance, he and all those with him should be preserved into eternity. In what state I cannot say."
Thyriol let out a sigh.
"What he did… I do not understand the most of it and can see no way to pull him free without utterly undoing it all. My hope was that perhaps in coming you would- a foolish expectation."
"Do not lament, my student. We will discuss it more in time, and perhaps manage some insight. But enough of the accomplishments of others, you appear to have met no little success yourself."
Here Wik'keer'mal gestured to the larger of the two vessels, even at a distance it was simple to see the enchantments laid over its various components; those the hung on the furled sails to fill them with wind at will and the interlocking sheaves of power that lent strength to the timbers. Some of them even resembled the enchantments wrought on the stone keels of his own ships to lighten their weight. It was fine work and likely to be Thyriol's own. With closer examination he could have likely picked out the particular signature of his student's work.
Glancing back over his shoulder, the prince nodded and smiled.
"Oh yes, the Haste of Cindermane was something of a testbed for several concepts. Too intensive to see widespread use in Saphery's small fleet unfortunately. Still, it did help me develop the spells which are to be put to use in my seat when work begins in a few years; an entire city free to drift from one end of the kingdom to the other at need, held aloft to be nearly unnassailable."
"Ambitious, something more for us to discuss at length. But, you ought to have your people come ashore, while the city is not so far it is better that it be reached before nightfall."
He nodded and called back to the ship. A great burst of activity took over both vessels, at the end of which, more than two hours later, a part of nearly two hundred elves was assembled on the docks.
Thyriol introduced Wik'keer'mal to some few of them. Namely his primary attendant, Meloya, the same woman he had noted accompanying him at first; her own hair fell in an intricate braid down her back and her keen eyes took in everything with a wary mistrust tinged with uncertain apprehension. The other was a bodyguard, Vilan by name, who held himself with tension. Well built enough that he might even prove a challenge for a saurus warrior, his hands clearly ached to be holding a missing blade.
Several others were also introduced, students of Thyiol's who had accompanied him on the journey out of loyalty or perhaps ambitions of their own. None were of particular talent. But neither were any deficient enough to give him any pause or cause to comment.
There was not always the opportunity to wait for exceptional individuals to appear when selecting prospective students. Even mediocre materials could be fashioned into excellent tools by a dedicated and attentive enough teacher, Wik'keer'mal had learned that truth well enough in the earliest stages of his work.
Luggage was loaded trepidatiously onto waiting carts pulled by pairs of kroxigor and the entire party arrayed itself on the dirt road with Thyriol and Wik'keer'mal at the head.
That evening, once the visitors had been installed in an especially built compound located in one of the emptied barrios of Zlatlan, there was a feast. Unlike the previous instance, this time Lord Wik'keer'mal did attend.
Some special attention had been paid to preparing more varied dishes, it had not been missed that much of what had been laid out for Cicedhya's party had gone uneaten, so that these visitors would feel better at ease. That had involved roughy a dozen skinks experimenting for thousands of hours over the last several years based on a rough understanding of elven anatomy and physiology, making minute adjustments based on the eating habits of the wild pigs — technically the closest genetic relative available, though an extremely poor one — and the occasional insight from the Mage-Lord himself. At the very least no significant complaints had been noted.
Clearly the effort had not been entirely in vain as at least every dish was being picked at somewhat. Well. There would be plenty of other opportunities as the months went on to improve the recipes.
Arranging the exact length of time that the stay would last had been much of the meat of the conversation between Zille'mi and Thyriol all those decades ago. The initial hope had been for an entire decade at least, though Wik'keer'mal had never counted that likely, and in the end the length had come down to just seven months. Counting travel time from the perspective of the Prince the entire trip would last well over two years.
Everything that the slann wished to discuss would not be covered, it was simply too short a time, but the key elements could be.
Detailed information from Thyriol's own observations of the Vortex. Knowledge of the wider world, such as he had at least, and a much greater understanding of the political currents of Ulthuan. Connections and inroads to a place foreign and alien. Access and attention.
But that was for the months to come. Now was for the first ever attempt by skinks to put on any sort of performance for the purposes of entertainment; a dance and play modeled after the brief description of such events given by Cicedhya. Without the hours of complex poetry, as that art had proved too difficult for the skinks to master sufficiently for Wik'keer'mal's liking. Only short lines of simple description would be spoken.
The tale was to be of the founding of Zlatlan and the first ages of expansion upon the continent in the time before the warmblood races were created by the Old Ones, though such details were to be excluded. It was hoped to be innocuous enough not to arouse questions from the elves in attendance.
As the skinks took the central dais, wearing golden masks meant to represent the founding slann of the temple-city and covered in bright plumes meant to evoke the magical might of the same, Wik'keer'mal settled into his palanquin to watch both the performance and the reactions of the elves.
The next several months passed in a blur of activity; Thyriol and his companions were shown much of the city's repaired sections, though only allowed to enter a few temple's outer halls to see mundane antechambers and the like, and saw the industry of the skinks and kroxigor at work within the recently reestablished forge districts now producing simple weaponry. Some few hunting expeditions were also arranged so that the elves might see the breadth of animal life and take back trophies to display. By the end several crates were filled with the pelts, hides, tines, feathers, and heads of the beasts of the Southlands. A handful of bronze daggers and darts, enchanted with only the barest of magics to help them find gaps and fly straight respectively, were also furnished to the part.
Were the city to gain further access to Ulthuan the kingdoms would need to be enticed and so some measure of wealth displayed. It ran counter to good sense that the elves should deny the senior servants of the Old Ones anything in service of righting the world, but warmbloods were inconstant creatures and rarely prone to being persuaded by anything save bare violence or greed of one sort or another.
More feasts were of course had and the skill of the skink cooks did indeed improve dramatically in a short time. A few compliments were even delivered near the end of the stay.
By far though the subject which most absorbed the time of both Wik'keer'mal and Thyriol were their private discussion, usually held in the former's personal chambers within the Temple of Xholankha amidst the buzzing of his hives.
First of which were lengthy sessions concerning the Great Vortex enacted by Caledor and buttressed now by the Great Warding, though the latter Thyriol knew nothing about at first, and what both had observed from each. Raw magic flooded in through the collapsed polar gates, the now untamed wounds in reality vomiting forth such a deluge that nothing ordered could exist in their immediate vicinity without being unmade by it, and flowed across the world to become the various Winds of magic. Though transformed by its transition into the material it did not lose its dangerous and chaotic nature entirely and the vast amount of it still twisted and disordered countless things, places, and creatures. Without the Vortex it would have been impossible to survive the onslaught except by closing the former gates themselves.
A task impossible amidst the crush of neverborn let into the world.
But it was not simply the genius of Wik'keer'mal's former student which gave rise to the solution, it was in large part thanks to the nature of Ulthuan itself and the Isle of the Dead in particular that it worked at all. Immersed in the same pseudo-dimension in which the city-glyphs of the temple-cities existed it acted very much as a bridge between material and immaterial, this along with the considerable bulk of its underwater mass allowed it to act as an enormous and safe sink for the ambient magical energy.
Drawn along the same lines of power which the Old Ones had laid down in the primordial age of the world, the power could be safely grounded; a significant portion of which was funnelled back into the realms of chaos but much of it also went into the isle itself and through that into the broader landmass. In a very real sense Caledor's ritual had transformed the entirety of Ulthuan into a crude, poorly maintained, and distinctly wasteful temple-city. That he had understood enough of the basic principles to even attempt it was a credit.
That realization also promised any number of potential avenues for further reinforcement beyond the Great Warding. If the components of the isle's pseudo-glyph could be properly aligned… the potential was tantalizing, it would require cooperation of the various Princes, Princesses, and Kingdoms. Not something easily gained.
Perhaps more easily manageable, it was possible the Geomantic Web could accomplish something similar. Not of course the one centered around Zlatlan, it was much too small, but the Lustrian equivalent might find success and if even a fraction more magic could be siphoned out of the world it might well be worth the effort. But even that would require further study of the Vortex itself. For though the basic principles could be established at a distance, the precise functioning of the spell that Caledor had undertaken was opaque and with stakes such as these even minor missteps could not be afforded.
So then, some measure of access to Ulthuan would be needed even if the Kingdoms could not be convinced to accept aid and advice in matters of metaphysical construction techniques.
Thyriol was of course quick to accept the possibility of some help on that front. He better than any other of his Princely peers understood the limits of his knowledge and the capability of the slann and their skink priests. Except perhaps Yvraine the Everqueen. But that remained to be seen.
He also provided a much more in depth picture of the political reality of the isle than Cicedhya had, adding on where she had left things short and illuminating parts of the picture she had all but left blank. From his luggage he was even able to produce a map. Though he could not promise absolute completeness for any part of it save Saphery itself.
"Convincing the other Princes to agree to let my surveyors explore their lands has not been easy. Each seems to think I am after some hidden artifact," Thyriol said as his servants stretched out the map across the floor. "Though Prince Acthion of Yvresse assented some decades past, by the time of my return I should see the produce of that."
Wik'keer'mall took in the many details at a snap. But several skink scribes were also on hand to copy out the map.
"How many of these cities come from before the coming of chaos?"
"Seven? Tor Anlec was first raised by Aenerion himself and in truth Lothern was little more than a collection of fishing villages before the Incursion and though Tor Caled was not properly established until Caledor himself set down its initial footprint there was a settlement of some significance there."
Seven major points then for Caledor to construct his Ulthuan-glyph on. Not so many as these things went.
One day, as Thyriol was examining the Fivefold Hive of Jade — if he could discern even the major movements of its construction Wik'keer'mal would be well pleased with his progress — the slann sought out of his companions. Not the guard, for he barely left his Prince's side, but the attendant woman. Some questions it was better to put to those in one's service rather than the subject themselves.
He found her in one of the lower chambers of the temple which was open to the southern air. She sat with her back to the door and a tome propped open in her lap.
"Meloya of Saphery."
The elf in question started at his voice in her mind, jumping up out of the chair she'd brought and whirling around to fix him with unhappy eyes. Those same yes then danced around his form in search of the usual priest or other attendant and widened when none showed themselves, indeed there was only Qu'Qu-Kor at his back. Blood drained from her face and the rate of her heartbeat jumped up.
Ah. He'd not counted on such paranoia after so long and with the example of her Prince
"Peace, child. I have only some questions to ask," this time he spoke aloud with his mouth.
She barely relaxed at all.
"Y-you may ask, Lord Wik'keer'mal."
Perhaps he might try his hand at some humor to defuse her anxiety. It had worked on a number of his students during their first meetings.
"Please, you may dispense with the 'Lord.' No matter what my attendants may believe, I hardly need reminding of my position, I can bear not to hear it uttered with every sentence."
"Oh, no. You are peer- you were once Prince Thyriol's teacher. It would be nearly an insult to-"
He snorted, "Yes, and I am sure Thyriol never requires a little deflating every now and then."
"Doesn't he ju- " Meloya started with a quiet laugh, before catching herself and eyeing him even more suspiciously. "Your questions?"
Well, at least her gaze lacked the undercurrent of fear. Some slight distrust was only to be expected when he and his people were so alien to her, it was at least workable to continue.
"How fares Thyriol in truth?"
"Ah, I'm sorry, Lor- Wik'keer'mal. What do you mean?"
"He is a Prince, a position which carries no small amount of power and responsibility. And I have been gladdened to hear of his accomplishments and future plans, but what of the difficulties he has faced. The challenges, those he has not spoken of."
Warmbloods were such fragile things. Prone to instability and uncertain, Wik'keer'mal had learned to watch out for it while teaching them, but without near constant interaction it was all but impossible to do.
Meloya blinked back at him, then, "He is… that is, Prince Thyriol is well. For certain being Prince of a Kingdom is no small task and I know it has taxed him and left him for far too little time for his own personal studies but…"
She hesitated, seemingly struggling to find the appropriate words.
"It is for love of the land and its people that he struggles. Every stream and brook, copse and meandering field, hill and valley. He cherishes them all and delights in seeing Saphery raised higher by his work."
Wik'meer'mal smiled.
"Good."
A week before Thyriol's part was set to leave he came to his former teacher at night in his chamber. This visit was one that he had foreseen in a dream more than a month ago and awaited with no small anticipation; for it was a turning point of fate, though only a small one, it was a fulcrum upon which Wik'keer'mal could move the world in ways beyond even the limits his own prodigious mastery of divination to discern.
To turn one way was not folly, nor the other. Only inaction was a mistake.
So he waited, and when his student came he dismissed his attendants and waited.
"Master," said Thyriol as he entered. "We have discussed much these past months and we have always come back to the matter of the Vortex and the need for our two peoples to work with one another in its maintenance and further development."
"The first step of which must be greater understanding, yes."
He nodded.
"When I depart, I would ask that you send with me one of your mages — one of the skinks — and whatever protection they might need, to act as your eyes and ears and your hands."
This then was the choice.
[] Yes
- [] Who? (Must be a Skink Priest character with When Assigned benefits)
[] No
Note: now, I know this will seem like a fairly clear cut choice. Remember though that your ability to communicate with Ulthuan is inconsistent, any skink priest you send would necessarily be representative of the entirety of Ulthuan of your people. The Kingdoms are also not free from danger, the Annulii mountains regularly spit out monsters. But it is also a way to get immediate and direct observations on the magic of the Vortex and a corner of Ulthuan from eyes you can absolutely trust.
Now that the interlude is done work will continue on the turn results.
From atop his palanquin, down at the edge of the plaza, Macuiltotec watched on with rapt fascination and a discerning eye turned towards the construction of the shields themselves.
Wik'keer'mal wondered how long before his brother was asking the artisan-priest to fashion him a shield of his own, would it be before he journeyed to Tlaqua? Or after? Oh what a flurry of activity that would set off.
A messenger hurried up the steps to whisper urgently in one of his scribe's ear.
Not a moment later the scribe, Tehe'Tenq who had in such a short time since become one of his attendants experienced several regrettable difficulties, scurried over himself and bowed. His dangling gold earrings chimed at the motion.
"Lord," he kept himself bowed low, his eyes fixed on the floor just ahead of Wik'keer'mals feed. "Coastal patrols report sails sighted. From their bearing a least time course form Ulthuan is assumed."
On time then. A few months ago he had divined the likeliest dates for Thyriol's arrival in an errant dream; this fell well in line with the fifth most likely arrival date, not quite the speediest and not so tardy either. Which meant Thyriol had convinced himself this was not some trap of the enemy.
He'd have to interrogate what precisely had led to the conclusion.
Coming to the correct answer was all well and good but the method of deduction was also crucial, especially when dealing with the subtler aspects of chaos. It would be a good test of the efficacy of the program overall to see how well he remembered his lessons — warmbloods were all too prone to believing a wounded enemy was a defeated one — in the face of as large a victory as Caledor had won.
"Begin your preparations," he projected into the scribe's mind.
"Yes, Lord, at once."
Much had been learned from the encounter with Cicedhya and more complete plans laid in place in the aftermath in anticipation of future need, that those preparations were to pay off in such a short time was good fortune.
Accommodations could be arranged in advance and a wider variety of rations. Some light entertainment had even been prepared, though it had taken no fair amount of effort on his own part to explain the exact components to the skinks chosen for the task. He was not at all sure how the elves would receive the performance, and that alone was a novel experience, but it would be a wonder to see skinks putting their superlative flexibility to use in rather unconventional ways.
Oh but he did hope Thyriol brought along some more outgoing companions than Cicedhya had. Perhaps some students of his own? Or prospects at least.
Well, he would know for certain once he greeted his old student at the docks.
The ships were fine things indeed, of two the larger was half-again the size of the vessels which the previous group of elves had come in and wrought in the imitation of a great swan; its prow the head with stars in its eyes and the sweep of its wings shaped to mimic a crescent moon. It's smaller companion was comparatively plain in construction, but well made. Each bore a great banner emblazoned with the emblem of the Kingdom of Saphery.
Beside them the quartet of monitors acting as minders seemed strikingly insufficient. And the frigates at dock would have been badly outmatched, it was good that the hulls of three more had already been laid down.
He watched the elven ships gliding through the water, long oars rising and falling in near perfect synchronicity even between ships as they carefully angled towards the waiting docks. Their sails tucked tightly away. After many long moments the vessels finally pulled to a rest and were promptly swarmed by skinks hauling thick ropes to secure them against the tide and wind, the crews hesitantly aiding them in the task.
Next the gangway was raised and the first of the visitors at last began to disembark, guards in the livery of Saphery. It was some minutes before Wik'keer'mal spied the shock of red hair of his former student.
Two others accompanied him closely, an elven woman who eyed the swarming skinks suspiciously and a tall dark-haired male whose hands flexed to hold something as he fixed his gaze on the nearby kroxigor. Others stood apprehensively on the deck of the ship, a mixture of evident crew stripped down to the barest layers, some even going around without shirts, and others dressed in finer clothes hastily modified for the heat. Eyes roamed the docks, the nearby fort with its tall towers and thick walls, the enormous baskets piled with fish and the even larger stegadon waiting nearby to haul the loads down the road to Zlatlan. Suspicion, natural arrogance, and fascination warred in those minds.
With a loud clap of displacing air and a scintillating flash of light Wik'keer'mal dismissed the cloak of illusion he'd woven over himself, his five temple guard, and Zille'mi.
He could of course have ended it without the show, but it was important to draw all attention onto himself in these sorts of instances. It would either convince the ignorant among the assembled elves that he had transported himself in that very moment from some other place or demonstrate to those with the capability to perceive it how utterly a slann such as he could conceal themselves from their senses. Either one would serve.
Wik'keer'mal had timed it so that Thyriol stepped foot on stone as he appeared. Instantly all eyes were on him, a smirk graced his once pupil's face and his footsteps quickened ever so slightly. His companions and guards reacted a second too late and were forced to hurry to catch up.
Zille'mi glanced anxiously between their master and the elf the Prince as the latter came to a stop in front of the former. They opened their mouth.
"Lord Wik'keer'mal, Pri— "
He held up a thick hand to forestall the priest.
"You wear your hair longer, is this the style now amongst your folk?"
Thyriol blinked and reached up to touch his hair, "Ah, no, master," a moment later he dropped his hand. "My duties often do not allow time to arrange to have it shorn as I might have."
"Well, so long as it's well out of the way when you experiment. Dangerous bit of flammable material all that is; young Caledor had the right notion when he shaved himself bare."
"He actually- Caledor grew it back out later on."
"Did he now, hmm? Well and so I suppose his success has earned him an indulgence. Do you know his fate in full?"
A grimace and a shake, "No. Not in full. Reports from survivors of the battle of the Isle of the Dead were that he and his best students were trapped within the ritual site when the working was completed; as best as I may discern, from observations at a great distance, he and all those with him should be preserved into eternity. In what state I cannot say."
Thyriol let out a sigh.
"What he did… I do not understand the most of it and can see no way to pull him free without utterly undoing it all. My hope was that perhaps in coming you would- a foolish expectation."
"Do not lament, my student. We will discuss it more in time, and perhaps manage some insight. But enough of the accomplishments of others, you appear to have met no little success yourself."
Here Wik'keer'mal gestured to the larger of the two vessels, even at a distance it was simple to see the enchantments laid over its various components; those the hung on the furled sails to fill them with wind at will and the interlocking sheaves of power that lent strength to the timbers. Some of them even resembled the enchantments wrought on the stone keels of his own ships to lighten their weight. It was fine work and likely to be Thyriol's own. With closer examination he could have likely picked out the particular signature of his student's work.
Glancing back over his shoulder, the prince nodded and smiled.
"Oh yes, the Haste of Cindermane was something of a testbed for several concepts. Too intensive to see widespread use in Saphery's small fleet unfortunately. Still, it did help me develop the spells which are to be put to use in my seat when work begins in a few years; an entire city free to drift from one end of the kingdom to the other at need, held aloft to be nearly unnassailable."
"Ambitious, something more for us to discuss at length. But, you ought to have your people come ashore, while the city is not so far it is better that it be reached before nightfall."
He nodded and called back to the ship. A great burst of activity took over both vessels, at the end of which, more than two hours later, a part of nearly two hundred elves was assembled on the docks.
Thyriol introduced Wik'keer'mal to some few of them. Namely his primary attendant, Meloya, the same woman he had noted accompanying him at first; her own hair fell in an intricate braid down her back and her keen eyes took in everything with a wary mistrust tinged with uncertain apprehension. The other was a bodyguard, Vilan by name, who held himself with tension. Well built enough that he might even prove a challenge for a saurus warrior, his hands clearly ached to be holding a missing blade.
Several others were also introduced, students of Thyiol's who had accompanied him on the journey out of loyalty or perhaps ambitions of their own. None were of particular talent. But neither were any deficient enough to give him any pause or cause to comment.
There was not always the opportunity to wait for exceptional individuals to appear when selecting prospective students. Even mediocre materials could be fashioned into excellent tools by a dedicated and attentive enough teacher, Wik'keer'mal had learned that truth well enough in the earliest stages of his work.
Luggage was loaded trepidatiously onto waiting carts pulled by pairs of kroxigor and the entire party arrayed itself on the dirt road with Thyriol and Wik'keer'mal at the head.
That evening, once the visitors had been installed in an especially built compound located in one of the emptied barrios of Zlatlan, there was a feast. Unlike the previous instance, this time Lord Wik'keer'mal did attend.
Some special attention had been paid to preparing more varied dishes, it had not been missed that much of what had been laid out for Cicedhya's party had gone uneaten, so that these visitors would feel better at ease. That had involved roughy a dozen skinks experimenting for thousands of hours over the last several years based on a rough understanding of elven anatomy and physiology, making minute adjustments based on the eating habits of the wild pigs — technically the closest genetic relative available, though an extremely poor one — and the occasional insight from the Mage-Lord himself. At the very least no significant complaints had been noted.
Clearly the effort had not been entirely in vain as at least every dish was being picked at somewhat. Well. There would be plenty of other opportunities as the months went on to improve the recipes.
Arranging the exact length of time that the stay would last had been much of the meat of the conversation between Zille'mi and Thyriol all those decades ago. The initial hope had been for an entire decade at least, though Wik'keer'mal had never counted that likely, and in the end the length had come down to just seven months. Counting travel time from the perspective of the Prince the entire trip would last well over two years.
Everything that the slann wished to discuss would not be covered, it was simply too short a time, but the key elements could be.
Detailed information from Thyriol's own observations of the Vortex. Knowledge of the wider world, such as he had at least, and a much greater understanding of the political currents of Ulthuan. Connections and inroads to a place foreign and alien. Access and attention.
But that was for the months to come. Now was for the first ever attempt by skinks to put on any sort of performance for the purposes of entertainment; a dance and play modeled after the brief description of such events given by Cicedhya. Without the hours of complex poetry, as that art had proved too difficult for the skinks to master sufficiently for Wik'keer'mal's liking. Only short lines of simple description would be spoken.
The tale was to be of the founding of Zlatlan and the first ages of expansion upon the continent in the time before the warmblood races were created by the Old Ones, though such details were to be excluded. It was hoped to be innocuous enough not to arouse questions from the elves in attendance.
As the skinks took the central dais, wearing golden masks meant to represent the founding slann of the temple-city and covered in bright plumes meant to evoke the magical might of the same, Wik'keer'mal settled into his palanquin to watch both the performance and the reactions of the elves.
The next several months passed in a blur of activity; Thyriol and his companions were shown much of the city's repaired sections, though only allowed to enter a few temple's outer halls to see mundane antechambers and the like, and saw the industry of the skinks and kroxigor at work within the recently reestablished forge districts now producing simple weaponry. Some few hunting expeditions were also arranged so that the elves might see the breadth of animal life and take back trophies to display. By the end several crates were filled with the pelts, hides, tines, feathers, and heads of the beasts of the Southlands. A handful of bronze daggers and darts, enchanted with only the barest of magics to help them find gaps and fly straight respectively, were also furnished to the part.
Were the city to gain further access to Ulthuan the kingdoms would need to be enticed and so some measure of wealth displayed. It ran counter to good sense that the elves should deny the senior servants of the Old Ones anything in service of righting the world, but warmbloods were inconstant creatures and rarely prone to being persuaded by anything save bare violence or greed of one sort or another.
More feasts were of course had and the skill of the skink cooks did indeed improve dramatically in a short time. A few compliments were even delivered near the end of the stay.
By far though the subject which most absorbed the time of both Wik'keer'mal and Thyriol were their private discussion, usually held in the former's personal chambers within the Temple of Xholankha amidst the buzzing of his hives.
First of which were lengthy sessions concerning the Great Vortex enacted by Caledor and buttressed now by the Great Warding, though the latter Thyriol knew nothing about at first, and what both had observed from each. Raw magic flooded in through the collapsed polar gates, the now untamed wounds in reality vomiting forth such a deluge that nothing ordered could exist in their immediate vicinity without being unmade by it, and flowed across the world to become the various Winds of magic. Though transformed by its transition into the material it did not lose its dangerous and chaotic nature entirely and the vast amount of it still twisted and disordered countless things, places, and creatures. Without the Vortex it would have been impossible to survive the onslaught except by closing the former gates themselves.
A task impossible amidst the crush of neverborn let into the world.
But it was not simply the genius of Wik'keer'mal's former student which gave rise to the solution, it was in large part thanks to the nature of Ulthuan itself and the Isle of the Dead in particular that it worked at all. Immersed in the same pseudo-dimension in which the city-glyphs of the temple-cities existed it acted very much as a bridge between material and immaterial, this along with the considerable bulk of its underwater mass allowed it to act as an enormous and safe sink for the ambient magical energy.
Drawn along the same lines of power which the Old Ones had laid down in the primordial age of the world, the power could be safely grounded; a significant portion of which was funnelled back into the realms of chaos but much of it also went into the isle itself and through that into the broader landmass. In a very real sense Caledor's ritual had transformed the entirety of Ulthuan into a crude, poorly maintained, and distinctly wasteful temple-city. That he had understood enough of the basic principles to even attempt it was a credit.
That realization also promised any number of potential avenues for further reinforcement beyond the Great Warding. If the components of the isle's pseudo-glyph could be properly aligned… the potential was tantalizing, it would require cooperation of the various Princes, Princesses, and Kingdoms. Not something easily gained.
Perhaps more easily manageable, it was possible the Geomantic Web could accomplish something similar. Not of course the one centered around Zlatlan, it was much too small, but the Lustrian equivalent might find success and if even a fraction more magic could be siphoned out of the world it might well be worth the effort. But even that would require further study of the Vortex itself. For though the basic principles could be established at a distance, the precise functioning of the spell that Caledor had undertaken was opaque and with stakes such as these even minor missteps could not be afforded.
So then, some measure of access to Ulthuan would be needed even if the Kingdoms could not be convinced to accept aid and advice in matters of metaphysical construction techniques.
Thyriol was of course quick to accept the possibility of some help on that front. He better than any other of his Princely peers understood the limits of his knowledge and the capability of the slann and their skink priests. Except perhaps Yvraine the Everqueen. But that remained to be seen.
He also provided a much more in depth picture of the political reality of the isle than Cicedhya had, adding on where she had left things short and illuminating parts of the picture she had all but left blank. From his luggage he was even able to produce a map. Though he could not promise absolute completeness for any part of it save Saphery itself.
"Convincing the other Princes to agree to let my surveyors explore their lands has not been easy. Each seems to think I am after some hidden artifact," Thyriol said as his servants stretched out the map across the floor. "Though Prince Acthion of Yvresse assented some decades past, by the time of my return I should see the produce of that."
Wik'keer'mall took in the many details at a snap. But several skink scribes were also on hand to copy out the map.
"How many of these cities come from before the coming of chaos?"
"Seven? Tor Anlec was first raised by Aenerion himself and in truth Lothern was little more than a collection of fishing villages before the Incursion and though Tor Caled was not properly established until Caledor himself set down its initial footprint there was a settlement of some significance there."
Seven major points then for Caledor to construct his Ulthuan-glyph on. Not so many as these things went.
One day, as Thyriol was examining the Fivefold Hive of Jade — if he could discern even the major movements of its construction Wik'keer'mal would be well pleased with his progress — the slann sought out of his companions. Not the guard, for he barely left his Prince's side, but the attendant woman. Some questions it was better to put to those in one's service rather than the subject themselves.
He found her in one of the lower chambers of the temple which was open to the southern air. She sat with her back to the door and a tome propped open in her lap.
"Meloya of Saphery."
The elf in question started at his voice in her mind, jumping up out of the chair she'd brought and whirling around to fix him with unhappy eyes. Those same yes then danced around his form in search of the usual priest or other attendant and widened when none showed themselves, indeed there was only Qu'Qu-Kor at his back. Blood drained from her face and the rate of her heartbeat jumped up.
Ah. He'd not counted on such paranoia after so long and with the example of her Prince
"Peace, child. I have only some questions to ask," this time he spoke aloud with his mouth.
She barely relaxed at all.
"Y-you may ask, Lord Wik'keer'mal."
Perhaps he might try his hand at some humor to defuse her anxiety. It had worked on a number of his students during their first meetings.
"Please, you may dispense with the 'Lord.' No matter what my attendants may believe, I hardly need reminding of my position, I can bear not to hear it uttered with every sentence."
"Oh, no. You are peer- you were once Prince Thyriol's teacher. It would be nearly an insult to-"
He snorted, "Yes, and I am sure Thyriol never requires a little deflating every now and then."
"Doesn't he ju- " Meloya started with a quiet laugh, before catching herself and eyeing him even more suspiciously. "Your questions?"
Well, at least her gaze lacked the undercurrent of fear. Some slight distrust was only to be expected when he and his people were so alien to her, it was at least workable to continue.
"How fares Thyriol in truth?"
"Ah, I'm sorry, Lor- Wik'keer'mal. What do you mean?"
"He is a Prince, a position which carries no small amount of power and responsibility. And I have been gladdened to hear of his accomplishments and future plans, but what of the difficulties he has faced. The challenges, those he has not spoken of."
Warmbloods were such fragile things. Prone to instability and uncertain, Wik'keer'mal had learned to watch out for it while teaching them, but without near constant interaction it was all but impossible to do.
Meloya blinked back at him, then, "He is… that is, Prince Thyriol is well. For certain being Prince of a Kingdom is no small task and I know it has taxed him and left him for far too little time for his own personal studies but…"
She hesitated, seemingly struggling to find the appropriate words.
"It is for love of the land and its people that he struggles. Every stream and brook, copse and meandering field, hill and valley. He cherishes them all and delights in seeing Saphery raised higher by his work."
Wik'meer'mal smiled.
"Good."
A week before Thyriol's part was set to leave he came to his former teacher at night in his chamber. This visit was one that he had foreseen in a dream more than a month ago and awaited with no small anticipation; for it was a turning point of fate, though only a small one, it was a fulcrum upon which Wik'keer'mal could move the world in ways beyond even the limits his own prodigious mastery of divination to discern.
To turn one way was not folly, nor the other. Only inaction was a mistake.
So he waited, and when his student came he dismissed his attendants and waited.
"Master," said Thyriol as he entered. "We have discussed much these past months and we have always come back to the matter of the Vortex and the need for our two peoples to work with one another in its maintenance and further development."
"The first step of which must be greater understanding, yes."
He nodded.
"When I depart, I would ask that you send with me one of your mages — one of the skinks — and whatever protection they might need, to act as your eyes and ears and your hands."
This then was the choice.
[] Yes
- [] Who? (Must be a Skink Priest character with When Assigned benefits)
[] No
Note: now, I know this will seem like a fairly clear cut choice. Remember though that your ability to communicate with Ulthuan is inconsistent, any skink priest you send would necessarily be representative of the entirety of Ulthuan of your people. The Kingdoms are also not free from danger, the Annulii mountains regularly spit out monsters. But it is also a way to get immediate and direct observations on the magic of the Vortex and a corner of Ulthuan from eyes you can absolutely trust.
Now that the interlude is done work will continue on the turn results.
Kaboomatic
Where the Wild Things Are
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If he wasn't so useful to us, and also if he had magic, awanabil'tat would be literally perfect
- Pronouns
- He/Him
What a day...
In general, what new things has Thyriol learned, knowledge wise, about the world in relation to the Lizardmen and Old Ones?
In general, what new things has Thyriol learned, knowledge wise, about the world in relation to the Lizardmen and Old Ones?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Do artisan-priests count? Not set on anything, just Clarifying.
CuttleFish2.0
Friendly neighborhood cuttlefish
- Location
- Seattle, Washington.
General stuff about the other non-slann Lizardmen. Some surface details about the Geomantic Web, specifically in relation to how Caledor's Great Vortex sort of apes it. Not much on the subject of the Old Ones beyond passing casual references to specific Old Ones (he would have already known that the elves were in some sense 'created' by the Old Ones, though that piece of knowledge is not widely shared within elven society it was basically impossible to conceal when the slann were abducting and educating scattered elven geniuses).
No. Basically choose between Gif'a-Gahb and Atahuinqua to send. Or refuse.
Gif'a-Gahb seems to be the logical choice. He's the Diplomacy skink, right?
- Location
- USA
Atahuinqua
- Type: Priest
- Specialization: Oracle
- When Assigned:
-- +2 Dice to Stewardship Action
-- +1 Dice to Martial Action
-- Reroll Lowest Failure on Action
Gif'a-Gab
- Type: Priest
- Specialization: Heavens
- When Assigned:
-- Counts as a Slann Dice
-- +2 Dice to Stewardship Action
-- +1 Dice to Martial Action
Also really nice to see the interaction between Master and student. I would like to send one, probably Gif'a-Gab. Also at the very least this will hopefully open up a line between Saphrey and us and maybe from there to some or all of the other kingdoms.v
[X] Yes
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
- Type: Priest
- Specialization: Oracle
- When Assigned:
-- +2 Dice to Stewardship Action
-- +1 Dice to Martial Action
-- Reroll Lowest Failure on Action
Gif'a-Gab
- Type: Priest
- Specialization: Heavens
- When Assigned:
-- Counts as a Slann Dice
-- +2 Dice to Stewardship Action
-- +1 Dice to Martial Action
Also really nice to see the interaction between Master and student. I would like to send one, probably Gif'a-Gab. Also at the very least this will hopefully open up a line between Saphrey and us and maybe from there to some or all of the other kingdoms.v
[X] Yes
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
Well shit, Thyriol's research appears to have been the basis that Malekith's mage corps used to form the Black Arcs from during The Sundering.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Hmm, Gif'a-gab has the experience already, but he also would not benefit from his only other bonus, that of being a Slann dice.
Atahuinqua though still has his, and he has experience with oceanic travel and the importance of cooperation...
Atahuinqua though still has his, and he has experience with oceanic travel and the importance of cooperation...
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
[X] Yes
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
And if he is, where can we find several million other spirits similar to the one that rides him, to possess all the other ones?
- Location
- New York
[X] Yes
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
- [X] Gif'a-Gab
i think there all busy maintaining the Vortex or studying in Saphery.
- Location
- United Kingdom
[X] Yes
-[X] Atahuinqua
I think Divination will be more useful whilst they're there than a more general Heaven's focus, and it might impress the elves more.
Arrogance wasn't unexpected from the elves, and it's not like we're much better regardless of how deserved it is.
Good to see master and student reconnect.
-[X] Atahuinqua
I think Divination will be more useful whilst they're there than a more general Heaven's focus, and it might impress the elves more.
Arrogance wasn't unexpected from the elves, and it's not like we're much better regardless of how deserved it is.
Good to see master and student reconnect.