From the Hidden City (Warhammer Lizardmen Temple-City Quest)

[CuttleFish2.0]

It was done.

After nearly a week of near constant running.

Pausing only to loose shots and take a few hurried bites of waybread when time allowed.

Her arms and legs burned with exhaustion— the blessings of the Mother were powerful and potent, but even so there were limits to what a body could endure. The tips of her fingers were red and swollen from holding the string of her bow, sweating stinging as it beaded on her skiing; a faint tinge of crimson to it.

Rheameninthys could feel the relief of her sisters, it was a sighing breath on the wind. This was not the victory she had imagined when Thyanire had first come to babbling about multiple heads and stinking breath. None who lived besides the slopes of the Annulii held any loved for hydras, they were amongst the worst of the monsters which crawled from those magic blasted peaks, but those of Avelorn held a special enmity for them.

She had imagined a long, protracted campaign of desperate skirmishes across months. Not this. Not a madcap week of running followed by a single battle where she and her sisters would not even face the beast head on, but Rheameninthys did not regret asking Wik'keer'mal his aid.

Young Korianelle would recover quickly, her arm was good as new, though still weak from being regrown and she had only seen one of the ismuon go down without coming back up moments later. Two casualties was a remarkably low rate for such a small force. Especially to be done so quickly?

Alone, just her and her sisters Rheameninthys could have managed without any serious injuries, but it would have taken many more months, possibly more than a year to bring the hydra down and finish it off.

Now, less than a Season since they had set out it was done.

With slow, steady steps she made her way down the pile of crumbling trunks she had set herself atop and towards where the corpse of the hydra lay. Blood flowed from the stumps of its necks into great pools in spasmodic surges as its heart finally gave way.

Already the ismuon were beginning to swarm around the corpse like ants; curved, bronze knives glinting in their hands as the voice of Wik'keer'mal boomed out across the battlefield from where it was he was hidden.

"Hold, let our friends lay claim to their share."

Rheameninthys blinked at that. His voice had not boomed or echoed, but rather seemed to emerge from the air itself.

It was true enough that flesh of a hydra had many uses… but she had held no expectation of being able to make use of any of it. Each and every Sister knew how to dress a kill, but none amongst those who had come with her to this place had the skills to tan a hide or distill anything but the most common antivenoms. Many could mend a cloak or set dented armor, but there were no masters amongst their company.

Before she had thought to seek aid, her intention had been to simply burn most of the body, offering it to the Lord of Heavens as a fitting tribute— reserving only a portion, perhaps one of the heads or the heart, for the Earth Mother. Had her House been greater in number she might have tried to make the whole of the beast and offering, but sacrifices to the Goddess of Life and Fertility were not so straightforward as that. There were groves in Avelorn whose roots drank deeply of blood, but what cuttings they had here would be drowned by just one of the pools gathering about the corpse now.

As she neared the body, Rheameninthys spied Wik'keer'mal appearing from behind another set of sun-bleached piles of cracked trunks. Seated atop his stone palanquin he glided across the blood soaked earth, a thin cloud of bees buzzing around him.

He cut a strange figure amidst the ruin, with the untrampled forest behind him, his great half-lidded eyes as dark as the night sky and yet still giving off an otherworld glow. Light shined off skin that she knew to be significantly less slimy than it appeared. One of his hands raised towards her in greeting as the hexagonal tower of wood and paper boxes beside him pulsed briefly with green light that knit together each and every one of the bees flying through the air in a web of ghyran for an instant.

"We have little need of… I would ask only for the heart," she said as they finally came together.

"Heart, hmm," his lips pursed, "Utilised in regenerative talismans and potentially useful for consecration— " he shook his head, "It is yours. You are certain that is all?"

Rheameninthys nodded.

"Yes— "

Before the words were completely out of her mouth the waiting skinks began to descend on the corpse, knives flashing in the midday sun.

"We- ah, we couldn't make much use of anything else. Few of us are artisans of any note."

"Oh? Mmm," he licked his lips, "That is a shame, creation is one of the greatest joys in this world," Wik'keer'mal turned towards her, his broad face splitting into a grin that made him look vaguely comic, "Well, perhaps some of your number might like to take up some craft? I'm sure the artisan-priests would be quite overjoyed to have new students."

Several of the skinks working on the body paused for a moment, their own eyes flickering back at them for a moment before they resumed their work.

"Ah, y-yes, perhaps."

Whether they would be 'overjoyed' or not Rheameninthys was certain they would do it. That was the ways of things with the ismuon, the skinks and saurus and kroxigor jumped to do whatever Wik'keer'mal and his kind said. Not without hesitation.

Even with the little interaction she'd had with the other castes of the ismuon she'd seen plenty of doubt when given an order they did not understand. But it never seemed to be aimed at the slann. Even Her Serenity might have envied the obedience with which their orders were followed.

"Come now, let us observe. Such opportunities do not come often."

---

Evidently an intact hydra corpse was a rare acquisition indeed, going by Wik'keer'mal's fascination with every fresh bit of gore and gristle that was exposed by the glinting blades of his soldiers.

Dozens of skinks worked tirelessly, drawing their knives down along the sides of the chest, abdomen, necks, legs, and nail in slow methodical movements. For all that conversation amongst those dressing the beast was light it was remarkable how seamlessly the work went; each cut eventually met up with the ones next to it in what appeared to be a single, flowing slice and the whole of the hide was neatly separated out into only a dozen or so individual pieces.

Within half an hour's turn they were done.

Of course then came separating the hide from the muscle and fat beneath, which was a much more time consuming affair. In pairs or trios the skinks worked, one or two pulling back on the skin while the remaining skink sliced away connective tissue and muscle from the back of the hide.

Beneath the skin the hydras flesh was pale, the rosy color of the sun just peeking over the horizon.

Little different than the muscle of a freshly slaughtered bird,

Special care was taken where the skin had been pierced by bolt or blade not to tear it any further. All the many hands made quick work of the job, but it was still more than an hour before the skin was flensed from the flesh beneath, leaving glistening muscle expose to air. Then began tot he work of butchering the meat, for which several of the temple-guard were brought in, working with a handful of oversized knives of their own to cut through the meatier portions of the animal.

Of course at the same time several other skinks, these with considerably fancier headdresses of feathers and skulls— Rheaminthys' experience told her these were the elders and leaders of the caste, had been at work stripping the severed heads of the hydra down to the bone. Jaws were unceremoniously pried open and broken near the back so that several different portions could be worked on at once. While some of the skinks plucked out the eyes and stripped away the skin, others dislodged teeth, cut away the tongues, and sliced into the soft palate to get to the venom glands buried deeper within the skull.

Eventually even the brains of each heat were dug out from the skulls, pulled out through the mouths or from the back of the skulls in once case where the blow that had severed the head had cracked it open.

"Note the relative sizes," said Wik'keer'mal gesturing to the gelatinous, almost mucoidal, object in the hands of two skinks, "Each head seems to possess an overdeveloped olfactory bulb compared to its cortex and colliculus."

"Meaning?"

Rheameninthys knew much of the body— elven, animal, orcish, goblin, even human. But the words he used now were only vaguely familiar, from conversations she'd had with a Saphyrian Archmage visiting the Court of the Everyqueen.

There was a man who'd enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

With a gesture of one enormous hand the brain began to float out of the hands of the skinks, drawing short chirrups of surprise from both, closer to them. Long as her arm it was split down the long edge by a shallow valley and at one end flared out into four distinct lobes while the other end formed a pair of squashed ovals.

"See here," Wik'keer'mal pointed to the latter, "Olfactory bulb, much bigger than expected given nasal sensitivity in comparable species. In comparison the regions of higher cognitive functions are… reduced."

All together, the four other lobes were perhaps twice the size of the pair of structures taken together.

It did seem like quite a lot, especially assuming the naming was correct and it had something to do with smell. Then again, Rheameninthys knew little of such matters herself.

He would have been better served talking to one of Zlatlan's three new Archmages if he wanted to discuss such academic matters of biology. Though Rheameninthys doubted he would have gotten out of this without offering them considerably more than just the heart of the hydra, and those three certainly wouldn't have been able to keep ahead of the beast as it rampaged after them for nearly a week.

Thinking of their, purely imaginary, fates amused her for a moment before she shook gher thoughts clear and returned her attention to their conversation.

"Hydra are vicious and cunning, but they are still beasts."

Wik'keer'mal chuckled, "Comparable species, my dear Rhea. Individually any one of the brains would be sufficient for a creature of relatively similar mass at a smaller scale— and yet five heads, with reduced higher order neural structures. Why?"

"Magic," she said with a shrug, "During the Great Incursion the Winds blew strongly across the world. Much of what lived was twisted in the aftermath."

"Aethyric mutations are widespread, yes."

He floated the brain away, towards a row of bronze lined containers only a few steps away, then continued, "But unless in an environment for such high concentrations that the natural laws cease to matter; those mutations must be survivable. Or else they go extinct."

She frowned, uncertain where his point led. This was too far outside of her knowledge to give any meaningful guess.

Luckily she didn't need to guess, as Wik'keer'mal was only too happy to continue without her direct input.

"Synaptic communication between all five heads via the spinal nerves," here he gestured to where the skinks were pulling a thick white cord from between the vertebrae of one neck, "Would be quite slow, impinging smooth movement and coordination. Did the hydra look uncoordinated? Did it move jerkily, as if pulled in multiple directions?"

She shook her head. Hydra were deadly foes, capable of moving their bodies to devastating effect and striking out with all of their heads in seemingly perfect synchronicity and this one had been no different.

"Certainly not. How else then, might a creature, twisted by the Winds of Magic, coordinate its flesh and blood if not by the nerves of its body?"

Rheameninthys blinked at him; she knew something of nerves, knew that they carried the signals for pain and sensation across the body. That if cut they could leave affected limbs limp and lifeless.

It was a curious question which, when posed that way, suggested one potential answer.

"Do you suggest that the hydra uses magic t-to think?"

"Precisely, my dear Rhea," he laughed, "Though, in certain limited senses all souls- ah, forgive me, I stray a little far afield of the point.In any case it remains only a tantalizing theory— confirmation would require study of a live specimen… something of a difficult matter to arrange, especially when there are far better uses of time at hand."

Just a moment later a foul smell filled the air as the skinks began to separate the organs from one another, including the intestines. Wik'keer'mal watched her with some amusement for a moment before he suggested they take a stroll through the woods.

---

Qu'Qu-Kor, three more temple-guards, and a pair of Rheameninthy's sisters stalked through the woods ahead of them, sending those few creatures which had begun to creep back in after the commotion fleeing again. At this altitude the woodlands did not have the same humid character as those of the lowland jungles nearer to Zlatlan, they were much like those near the Forge back before the Great Catastrophe or those of Avelorn, which he knew from the memories of Atahuinqua.

"Are you reminded of home?"

Beside him Rheameninthys startled and turned towards him.

"I— "

"Walking amongst these woods," Wik'keer'mal continued, gesturing out at the trees around them, "Closer in resemblance to the forests of Avelorn than those nearer to Zlatlan, are they not?"

She blinked back at him a moment before turning to look over the forest around them and nodding hesitantly.

"In- in a manner, I suppose. Though these trees— they have never felt the light of Her Serenity, their spirits," Rheameninthys reached out to lay a hand on the pale bark of one nearby tree and leant in close, "Slumber still and dream of quiet growing."

"Do you miss it? I have asked you this before, I know."

She shook her head minutely and stepped back from the tree, her hand dropping away from its surface, "I miss Her Serenity," Rheamenithys looked out into the forest, her eyes searching out for a moment before she turned back to him.

"Did you know I was frightened when I learned I was to come here… frightened by the way my pulse quickened and my heart soared at the prospect. Frightened that she would look at me and see my secret betrayal and hate me."

A laugh escaped her throat, short and sharp, thick with something else beyond mirth.

"Fool that I was, she knew me better than I knew myself," straightening Rheameninthys turned to face him again, "No I do not miss it. All my life there I felt I was missing something and now I am closer to finding it, I can feel it out there somewhere. Waiting."

She turned away again, gazing out towards the horizon where the mountains peeked up into the sky through the shifting eaves of the forest. Towards the north.

Actions altered. Rheameninthy and her fellow Sister of Avelorn available for the defense of Zlatlan in case of attack.

Rheameninthys
- Type: Handmaiden of the Everqueen
— +5 to Warfare, +10 to Combat
- Skills:
— Warfare II (+20)
— Leadership I (+10)
— Navigation I (+10)
- Traits:
— Devoted to Isha: While not a priestess of the goddess, she is still ardently devoted to her in all her forms.
— ???: ???
- Equipment:
— Spirit Bow: Ranged Weapon. +10 to Combat while fighting at range. Even heavy armor fails in the face of a missile fired from this bow, only magic can protect from its blows.

Notes: I wanted to start work on this update earlier in the week but I fell ill Tuesday/Wednesday and only really started feeling up for writing on Friday, so… oh well.

No vote again. Next up is both Turtle Taming and Replacing a Tail, hopefully early next week. Comments, critique, etc.

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Day 18 Chotec's Season, 11642

Shore birds flew through the air, their calls echoing across the harbor. In the far distance one of Zlatlan's cruisers charted a course out towards the mouth of the Bay of Stars, setting out for a patrol up the coast past Nahuantl, while in the harbor itself several warmblood vessels sat at anchor, offloading the last of their goods.

Trade had lessened in recent years despite the arrival of the embassy and settling of relations with the Phoenix King, though it had not disappeared altogether. Perhaps because it had finally become apparent that Zlatlan itself had little use for most of the produce of warmblood industry. Or perhaps it was because of some other warmblood nonsense, Huatza-Botl did not much trust them to have sensible motivations.

Some ships still did a decent trade of nuum feathers and bronze daggers for raw timber and a trickle of metal ingots— despites its own supplies, the temple-city was always hungry for copper and tin as well as jewels. And with the embassy beginning to truly establish itself there was a minor uptick in traffic.

Zlatlan grew enough excess to supply it, two-hundred some extra mouths was nothing against stores meant to feed an entire temple-city in case of a protracted siege. Though, in another century or two the growing population of the temple-city itself would unbalance things enough on its own to be an issue; there was only so much to be done to feed such numbers off the available land within the walls of the temple-city. Still the embassy could have easily been fed. House Nadraion, though, did not find that sufficient, strange considering that Rheameninthys and her companions had been subsisting on them for decades.

Nevertheless that was a source of regular traffic.

Undoubtedly it would diminish in time, once construction had finished on the embassy itself. An even some decades off at least, given the pace of construction thus far— though the base of the central tower had already taken shape just a day's journey west of the harbor, on a spit of rocky land that had once been considered for the siting of of Zlatlan's own harbor fortress, it had thereafter stalled.

There was evidently some disagreement over the design. Evidently concerning how to best funnel the magical energies that blew in from the south.

As they stalked down from Zlatlan ahead of a column of skink scribes, kroxigor following closely on their tails, racks and racks of scrolls heavy on their shoulders they spied the second floor of the central tower going up for a third time. Perhaps this time it would stay up. Huatza-Botl had little attention to spare for the inconstancy of warmbloods though as they turned towards the harbor citadel.

BREAK

Over the next several months, Huatza-Botl and Xehtzaihl poured over ancient maps and old reports dating back decades and centuries, to even before the first sighting of the dragon turtles— millenia before the Great Catastrophe. Ancient archives had been delved on the command of Lords Huan'lza'qotl and Tzahuan, their attendants given precise instruction on where to search for the oldest records.

Even a small temple-city produced mountains of scrolls every year; tallies of supplies and reports of patrols and records of the dead. Summaries weapons forged and war beasts birthed. And so, so much more.

There was little that went on in a temple-city that was not recorded in some way.

Of course most such records could not survive ages written on reed paper, the scrolls upon which they were written lasted decades, perhaps a century or two unless specially prepared. Even then they might last a handful of centuries— if kept carefully.

Few would be. In truth most were of little interest after more than a few years; their relevance lost to the steady march of time, some skink scribes would collate the relevant statistics into fresh reports for the year, the decade, the century and then they would be forgotten. By most of the temple-city at least. Even for the most prosaic of reports their ultimate destination was the deep archives of the various temples of the city where specialized artisan-priests wielding the magic of hysh would etch each one onto great stone tablets; not in the common glyphs of zar'ximpati, but in minute, nearly invisible to the naked eye, grooves. Using delicate arrays of fine lenses and enchanted gold-bronze plates a single artisan-priest could transfer more than a hundred records onto a portion of stone smaller than their own hand.

Each and every temple held dozens of such tablets, the larger of them thousands. No scrap of knowledge which might aid the Great Plan could be lost.

But… not all knowledge was as equally likely to serve.

Once filled most tablets would never again be touched, left to sit in shadow til the true end of the world, but on occasion some would be pulled and the records extracted to be perused once again. Different sets of fine lenses and enchanted plates of gold-bronze were used to pull the once records from the stone tablets.

Finding the specific records was a time consuming process, requiring many hours. And then the records had to be transcribed onto new scrolls of reed paper.

This was exactly what was done for the oldest records of dragon turtle sightings, dozens of accounts across a span of more than four thousand years. Carefully copied out and then carried from Zlatlan to the harbor where Zehtzaihl and Huatza-Botl went over them themselves, alongside maps dating back to the first explorations of the continent, from the hands of the slann themselves rather than skink cartographers.

Using all the various reported sightings and what little was known of dragon turtle behavior, plus the many maps at their disposal the two were able to identify locations to begin searching for the creatures. Most consisted of lone isles and chains of islands in the deep ocean, but a few stretches of the coast up towards Tlaqua were also identified. In the end they found more than six dozen sites to investigate, spread across an area of ocean at least as large as Huitzacatlan between the mountain and the coast from the northern grasslands all the way to the tip of the continent.

Despite the maps' provenance… there was a significant degree of uncertainty regarding the precise locations. Until recent centuries the seas of the world had not been well explored, their secrets remaining only distant curiosities to more immediate concerns.

It would not simply be a matter of sailing out to a set of known coordinates and seeing if there were any signs of dragon turtles, in many cases the vessels sent out would need to search out each location in the first place. Caution would also need to be taken approaching, for while dragon turtles were more often curious, they were powerful beasts; easily capable of devastating even a cruiser. Huatza-Botl would sail with as many of the vessels as they could, their Leviathan-Bone Harpoon capable of bringing all but the largest dragon turtles to heel, but they had other duties as well.

Day 71 Tlanxla's Season, 11645

Rain beat down heavily over Zlatlan— heaving, dark grey clouds flashing as they sat overhead. Ittetuhlot marched slowly across the plaza, a gnarled tree branch in one hand just in case; the useless weight of muscle, scale, and bone hanging off their rear forcing them off balance with each step.

Just as they had begun to get used to walking without their tail, it had grown to a size that they noticed its presence again. But it did not move. And so instead of acting as a counterbalance it unbalanced them, threatening to send them toppling over to the left and right whenever they moved, only with deliberate, careful motion could they keep upright on the move.

Trying to run was out of the question.

It was with a gladness that they anticipated having control over the errant limb restored and so as Ittetuhlot ducked into the flame warmed entrance of the temple and began making their down into its depths their scales buzzed with energy. Their feet left wet marks upon the dry stone. Passing scribes and lesser priests they climbed with care down stairs, keeping one hand upon the wall.

At last, after several minutes they came to a chamber deep within the temple and passed beneath the gaze of a watching temple-guard with barely more than a twitch. Within was the figure of Lord Macuiltotec, his bright skin glowing in the light of the glyph-lamps.

"Ittetuhlot," he said, raising his one hand and clapping it against nothingness, "Step up if you will."

He gestured to a raised wooden platform to one side, around which were gathered several of the Lords attendants, dutifully ready with scrolls and tools of bronze and gold and obsinite whose purpose Ittetuhlot could not even guess.

Moving slowly across the room the skink chief made their way to the platform and clambered up the short stairs to stand at its center. Immediately the attendants began to scribble away on their scrolls as Lord Macuiltotec floated after them on his palanquin.

With a gesture from the slann they felt the tug of their useless tail lessen.

"Muscle mass slightly below expected."

Reaching out with his hand Macuiltotec ran a finger across their tail, plucking at a few here and there.

"Scale formation is without mutation or error, underlying skeletal structure is well-formed."

Ittetuhlot felt a brief tug, then, "Blood flow is good," there was another pause, then they felt the Lord slann turn their attention towards them, "Any pain? Unusual sensations?"

"No, Lord," they shook their head.

Pain was not unfamiliar to them; the burn of fever beneath their scales and the ache of bruised muscle, pulsings waves of agony from broken bones— Ittetuhlot had experienced many kinds in their long service to Zlatlan. Healing came with its own sorts of pains, but there had been none of that this time. Only the alien sensation of weight and pressure without true feeling.

Something almost like pain only came when the Revification Crystal was made to work its magic. And even then that was more like a pulling behind their eyes, a tension that strained against their skin and pressed their thoughts down to a point of mindlessness.

"Well, then… hmm, another season I think— another session to add more muscle mass and we will be ready for neural regrowth."

They nodded, time with the Revification Crystal was precious especially as the restoration of their lost limb evidently required more specialized control than usual. Something about preventing unregulated cell growth, according to the priests.

It had been more than half a year since their last session.

"Then another year or two, to fully acclimatize you to your restored limb and— "

Another clap, "Back to regular duties," he paused, "Unless… "

Ittetuhlot glanced back over their shoulder and saw Lord Macuiltotec looking at them, a gleam in their eye as his attendants spoke and prodded at their tail with long instruments. Blood welled up from small incisions in places and there were scales whose edges or surfaces had clearly been filed down.

"Lord?"

"You are surely aware that my own injury," the slann gestured to his own missing limb, "Has long given me an interest in the subject of prosthetics."

They knew nothing of the sort. Of course as Lord Macuiltotec had just told them of said interest so it hardly made a difference. Ittetuhlot nodded.

"Settling on a particular design has proved… troublesome, but it occurs that rather than a simple replacement of flesh and blood; something more robust and hardy might better suit your needs."

"I— " Ittetuhlot blinked slowly, uncertain, they had never given the matter any thought.

When an injury maimed in battle, it was either healed wholly in the field and left only scars or it killed. Accidents within the temple-city sometimes resulted in less deadly instances; a crushed finger or shattered leg, injuries which could result in permanent disfigurement but did not rise to the level of requiring full healing. Sometimes simple prosthetics were used, fingers of metal or stone, or a false leg to enable a return to normal labor.

There were rarer instances where important champions and heroes were gifted with sacred artifacts from the vaults of the temple-city to replace missing limbs or enhance existing ones. But they had never imagined such an opportunity.

"If you think it best, Lord."

Macuiltotec grinned broadly, his eyes shining, then he paused and let out a slow sigh.

"No, you know your duties best, Ittetuhlot. This choice is yours, I offer only possibilities."

They thought about that for a moment and nodded again, yes the duties of a skink chief were below the notice of a Mage-Lord such as Macuiltotec. It was only proper that Ittetuhlot advise him as to how best to use them in order to fulfill the Great Plan.

While undoubtedly the benefits of any artificial replacement would be potent indeed, it was a question of whether those resources, and the time of Lord Macuiltotec himself in fashioning it, would be better spent on other matters. Zlatlan was alone on Huitzacatlan, it could not draw aid from any other temple-city easily and so must safeguard all its resources.

But, without knowing exactly what sort of capabilities such a device would confer to them, it was difficult to judge the full benefits.

"What manner of… utility would this prosthetic be capable of?"

Macuiltotec smiled again, "Oh there are many options."

His palanquin floated back and with a wave of a hand several ghostly images appeared in the air between them. Each was a tail, some longer and thinner than their lost tail, others fatter and wider.

One appeared to be made entirely of bone, carved with sigils of obsinite and gold.

"Striking terror into those who oppose the Great Plan… "

Another looked to simply be a tail of flesh and blood, save for several plates of metal arrayed down the length each with an azure gem embedded in the center.

"... stunning and dazing those you face in close combat… "

Two more were thin, twisting things; one a long sinuous whipcord of metal that twisted and wrapped around the air and the other more blade than tail.

"... a tool to extend your reach, or a weapon with which to surprise your foes… "

It was the last that caught their attention the most. Shorter and stubbier than all the others, than even their own tail was currently, it was made entirely of gold and worked with the glyphs of the Old Ones.

"... a deeper bond."

[] Fear: a tail made of stegadon bone, imbued with the power of Caxuatn, Huanchi, and Itzl. +5 to Combat, and grants ability to temporarily induce fear and terror in a small radius.
[] Stun: plates of bronze-gold, embedded with azyr infused crystals that can briefly stun an enemy in close combat. +5 to Combat when dueling.
[] Tool: a dextrous tail of metal capable of grasping and manipulating. +5 to Combat.
[] Blade: segmented blades made this tail deadly in close combat. +10 to Combat when dueling.
[] Bond: Built around an artifact of the Old Ones, this tail bonds rider and mount at a deep level. Stegadon Rider becomes Stegadon Bond: +20 Warfare and Combat while riding a stegadon.
[] None: Only a tail of flesh and blood. Ittetuhlot gains Leadership I (+10) and the trait War Leader: +10 to Warfare while operating independently or semi-independently.

Notes: Not as early as I was originally hoping, but here it is. Comments, critique, etc. I would encourage the thread to think more about the narrative effects of each options more than the particular bonuses or traits changed/gained.

Given where Christmas falls this year, there may in fact still be an update next week, we'll see how things go.

2 hour Moratorium​

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Spoiler: Winning Votes

Tool won.

Day 71 Tlanxla's Season, 11645

Ittetuhlot stood for several moments, considering. Eyes flickering back and forth between the illusions hovering in front of their face, catching on the image of bronze-gold plates wedded to scaled flesh. Spasms of phantom sensations crawled up their spine.

Such a weapon might have prevented their injury to the uax, offering precious moments for Ittetuhlot to maneuver and bring them low before their blade could cut deep and leave its festering poisons.

Their eyes turned to the wedge of gold, shining glyphs of the Old Ones blazing jewel bright upon the gleaming, polished metal of the tail.

Or perhaps if they had been more aware of their surroundings, more deeply bonded to their stegadon they might not have been caught so unawares.

No. Ittetuhlot shook their head, even the mightiest of champions could fall in battle; under the weight of fire or to a knife in the back. It was deadly folly to inure themself against the last danger for the next was not bound to repeat it. Better to let such resources go towards more urgent needs.

"Lord," they said, shaking their head again, "Such works should be saved for greater champions than I."

Macuiltotec raised his right brow and fixed the skink chief with a long look. All at once the illusions suspended in the air before them began to fade away, disintegrating into scattering motes of light. With a wave of his hand he sent his attendants shuffling away from the two of them and drew his palanquin close.

"You are a Chief of Zlatlan, no?"

"Y-yes, Lord."

"Mmm, then is it my judgement you doubt? Cho'chuq axmundi," Macuiltotec whispered, his voice the rasp of blade against blade in Ittetuhlot's ears.

They could not help but cringe at the implication. Even the slann could not know everything and must sometimes be corrected on some point of fact or detail beneath their notice.

Few such moments were obvious. And yet, they were inevitable, especially in this fallen world; so each and every attendant to a slann waited in dread for the day they would be required to do their duty and enlighten a slann mage-lord on some misunderstanding or misapprehension. For what if they were wrong. It struck at a part of their soul, to even contemplate such a thing.

Ittetuhlot had stumbled forward, in pride and arrogance; stampeded headlong into just such a moment. They had dared to correct Lord Macuiltotec and be wrong in their correction.

Something that even the smallest human, elven, or dwarfen child would have recognized as shamed welled up in the skink chief. Heat crawled beneath their scales and the walls of the world collapsed inwards until all that was left was Ittetuhlot and Macuiltotec.

"No," they at last choked out after several moments.

There was a loud clap and a burst of air washed over Ittetuhlot's snout, filling their nostrils with the scent of ash and hot metal.

"Excellent," boomed Macuiltotec, "What then is your choice?"

Again the images of tails coalesced out of thin air around them; gold and bone and obsinite and scale, they span around the skink chief in a wide circle and as they circled the ghostly form of a skink faded into sight. Less definite than the illusions of the prosthetics, as the figure began to move— running, jumping, crawling, climbing, it was unmistakable as anyone save for Ittetuhlot.

Watching the images the skink chief began to consider. To move beyond the instinctive reaction that they were unworthy of such gifts and to appraise each option for its own merits and the ends to which they could put them to use in service of Zlatlan.

Ittetuhlot would never be a great champion; their place was to command from the back of a stegadon.

But they had never bonded with a mount, and never felt great affinity for the beasts. It was a skill they had cultivated over the centuries of their service to the temple-city and an artifact of the sort that Lord Macuiltotec described was surely better off in the care of someone more attuned to Lord Itzl.

And while they had of course led war parties and armies in service to the Great Plan, Ittetuhlot had just as often been called upon to build in its name. They were as adept in matter of construction as in warfare. Something with broader applications would more adroitly enhance their existing capabilities, allowing them to further serve Zlatlan, the slann, and the Great Plan as they already had been for their entire life.

"That one," Ittetuhlot pointed to the sinuous, thin tail dancing and gripping its way up and down invisible scaffolding.

In an instant the other four disappeared and the illusion in question blew up to almost lifelike proportions. Half again as long as their original (and existing) tail the image showed a series of progressively thinner cylinders joined by slim disks of darker material between that stretched and compressed as the tail bent in every direction. Even where it met the base of their spine it grew no wider than than a fist, which was a little more than half the width of their natural tail.

Day 78 Tlanxla's Season, 11645

It had taken years of searching, hundreds of patrols spread out across tens of thousands of square kilometers, and many many returns trips to the archive of Zlatlan to definitively pinpoint the nesting grounds of a pod of dragon turtles. Much of the issue had been that even with a decent notion of where to begin searching and the natural inquisitiveness of the creatures themselves, tracking dragon turtles was an exercise in frustration. Without the dedicated effort of an entire squadron of cruisers it was all but impossible to keep pace with a pod if they did not wish to be followed.

After all they could simply slip beneath the waves and change directions, not emerging for hours. Thus multiple pods had to be tracked over several seasons, narrowing the potential nest sites progressively as time went on.

Some few sites were found early on, but these were only the nests of small offshoot pods. Consisting of a handful of young dragon turtles. Not nearly enough to satisfy the needs of Zlatlan, perhaps in another few centuries they might serve. If they survived.

But at last one of the larger pods had been tracked back to its nesting site, an inlet north of Nahuantl and south of the Deaths-Head monoliths along the coast where an ancient crater had collapsed a small cave and created a large shaded cove. Led by an ancient specimen the pod was nearly sixty strong with several of those being hatchlings no more than a few years old.

At least four of the younger females— identifiable only because of it, were actively in the process of laying clutches of eggs in shallow nests dug into the sand.

Huatza-Botl watched one of them as she began to spread sand back over ten or so nearly half a meter large eggs.

Perhaps a third of those might make it to next year, and half of those could be expected to survive another decade. Dragon turtles only mated rarely by all evidence, though pods made frequent return trips to nesting sites, most of those did not see new clutches laid.

Scanning up along the beach they turned towards the leader of the pod, Huatza-Botl watched it lounging on a stretch of smoothed rock as it basked in the early afternoon sun.

Larger than a stegadon or bastiladon by a good margin, it was wider at the center than a frigate at the beam, and nearly half as long from tip to tail. Three great fins stretched out to either sides of its bulk; two set just behind the neck, just before the start of the ridged shell that formed the main body, swept back like the flukes of a whale each with a series of relatively small claws position , another pair sat at the rear and were shaped more like the rudders of a ship, and then two more in the middle longer than the first pair and extending out like wings.

At the back, stretching out behind the rear most flippers was a long tail, a quarter the length of the main body, that was tall and narrow like that of a kroxigor's.

From its head there was good cause to suspect draconic origin. It had the familiar elongated, sloping head of a true dragon, though widened more than a bit by smooth plates of bone— or perhaps horn, that gave its face an overall rounded shape. Dozens of sharp, curved teeth glistened in its mouth. And behind the head a short ruff of spines, connected by a membrane of thin skin.

"Uncertain sex," growled Huatza-Botl to the skink scribe crouched in the bush beside them.

Telling the sex of an individual dragon turtle, as with true dragons was quite difficult unless one witnessed the act of egg-laying. Size and general anatomy were, so far as was known, identical. Zlatlan had no records of any close studies, whether on live specimen or verified remains.

"Markings; significant scarring along right medial fin, broken shell segments on left posterior section— long since healed. One missing claw on the right anterior fin."

They listened to the scribbling for a moment.

"Estimated age between three and seven centuries."

It was fully grown, which if it followed draconic maturation rates gave the lower bound. Beyond that it was difficult to say how old the beast was, but from the lack of accumulated battle damage on its shell Huatza-Botl did not expect it to be truly ancient.

Especially as the depths of the world's oceans were filled with a great variety of monstrous denizens more than capable of taking on even a fully grown dragon. Those which had dared to braze the surface had been extinguished in the ordering of the world, but not even the slann could see into the true lightless depths of the worlds oceans. Such abominations did not venture out of the true deeps. On occasion the corpse of a leviathan or other beast would wash ashore, great gouges torn from its flesh and strange magics clinging to it.

---

Floating in the center of the chamber, Macuiltotec rotated a, long telekinetic cylinder along its horizontal axis. His feet dangled more than a meter above the floor as the steady burn of conjured flames lit the room in bands of rainbow. At one end three telekinetic bubbles fed gases heated to extreme temperatures into the cylinder where they reacted with one another deposited a dusting of fine particle chains on the inside of the telekinetic cylinder.

Two rings of arcane flames then melted the deposited dust into a solid layer of clear glass. This process repeated for long hours until a solid tube several centimeters thick had been generated.

Dismissing the telekinetic cylinder and arcane fires Macuiltotec examined the piece before him.

Longer than his own arm it bent the image of the chamber beyond when viewed from any side, but looking into it from either end revealed a crystal clear image. A small centimeter wide gap through the middle.

Strands of magic reached out to the tube, sinking into the glass and revealing the interior complexity. Most of the glass was relatively pure, with small quantities of inorganic compounds appearing sparsely in order to lower the refractive index of the material— concentrations were well within expectations, but there were also thin zones of other rare-earth materials in higher relative concentrations. These latter impurities would amplify the optical signals through the medium.

As part of his mind poured over the crystal, another part began the slow process of separating the chemical elements of the involved gasses out into more manageable forms. Within one bubble a faint shimmer began to appear on the bottom while a rime of yellowish crystals formed along the upper surface, frost forming on the outer surface of the bubble. In another thin fronds of white crystals speckled the interior.

Eventually the telekinetic bubbles unfolded releasing their small payloads into a series of capsules.

Macuiltotec conjured another series of arcane flames around the tube, turning both so that the glass cylinder stood with its ends facing vertically and the flames concentrated at one end.

Reaching out with his mind the slann began to draw the end of the crystal into a long, glass fiber no thicker than a warmblood hair. As the end neared the floor he looped it back around his body and drew it up into a coil. In just a few hours he had several lengths, each four meters long.

He would need many more to form the core of the signal medium that would give Ittetuhlot's tail the responsiveness necessary.

There was also the cladding to think of. Though similar in composition it would need to be arranged differently so that signals would properly transmit.

Day 23 Chotec's Season, 11646

Weeks later Huatza-Botl stood again in a familiar chamber within the harbor citadel before a great stone table on which a patchwork of maps had been stitched together to show the waters stretching from south past Zlatlan, near the horn of the continent, all the way north to the coast near Tlaqua. Colored inks showed the areas already searched by various vessels, the locations of islands annotated with dates visited and their courses marked with sightings. Carved wooden markers showed the last reported positions of the vessels themselves.

Dozens of skinks crowded around the edge of table, chattering and conferring— this was no longer simply a nexus for the organization of the effort to capture the dragon turtles but for all the patrols. It was the most comprehensive distillation of Zlatlan's sea-knowledge collected to date and had already seen several minor improvements to efficiency.

"It is confirmed," they said to Xehtzaihl, setting a marker in the shape of a dragon turtle shell down on roughly the location of the cove.

"Numbers?" asked the artisan-priest.

"Fifty-eight; thirty-seven adults and twenty-one juveniles."

"Workable numbers," Xehtzaihl said after a moment of thought, "You are confident they will return to the same location?"

"Yes. Tracking indicates consistent migratory pattern."

"Good, good. Then we have a year to decide how to integrate them with our existing fleet… "

Crafting the binding rituals would be a task for the priests. Their duty was to determine how the dragon turtles would serve Zlatlan— which would have an impact on the rituals themselves, and so must be determined from the outset.

This was a matter that Huatza-Botl and Xehtzaihl had both been considering for some years already, since the turn of the decade in fact. And with an actual population identified, the time to begin putting into place the necessary infrastructure and developing the doctrine that would be used.

With the limited number available, even assuming more pods could be captured in the future, there was only so much that could be done. There were practical limitations too. Though a juvenile dragon turtle was large enough for a saurus or skink to ride easily; they spent large portions of their lives in extended dives. Which meant an extremely limited pool of potential riders or severely restraining the manner in which they could be used.

"My favor still falls with the more limited option," said Xehtzaihl, "Whether or not draconic origin bears out, it maximizes utility to naval commanders while reducing total effort required."

"Low tactical value."

"But high strategic gain, similar efforts with feral Cold Ones have proven effective across multiple theatres."

It was not untrue, but then again unleashing feral packs of Cold Ones to harry approaching forces or strike at rear lines was somewhat different from trusting untamed dragon turtles to protect Zlatlan's naval assets. Commanders fighting on solid terrain had a wider variety tools at their disposal; regular Cold One cavalry, stegadon and bastiladon, and terradon flights.

And did not have to worry about attacks from below.

Dragon turtles commanded directly by either riders or crews would be able to target select with much higher variability and respond to the changing tides of battle much more readily. They could be act independently, deliver boarding forces, carry heavier weaponry, and keep pace with more complex maneuvers better. It would be more expensive in material and time and require force to be trained up to actually perform as crews and mounts.

Not insignificant considerations. But the benefits were extensive.

"More integrated forces better. Superior tactical and strategic flexibility, reducing force attrition."

Xehtzaihl let out a frustrated chitter at the familiar argument, though they nodded to acknowledge the point, it wasn't as if they were entirely ignorant of what such a force could accomplish. The artisan-priest simply approached the matter differently, the outlay of time and materials needed just to develop the equipment that would be needed would be significant. Not the mention what it would take to actually outfit the forces once the equipment and doctrine was developed.

"We can revisit the middle— "

Huatza-Botl let out a low growl, but turned away. There was a compromise option that sat somewhere in the middle of the two which satisfied neither of their view points.

Individual riders would be significantly cheaper to outfit than entire crews and if fitted to a similar role as carnosaurs played on the battlefield individual adult dragon turtles could still function in concert with the sailing vessels of the Servants of the Old Ones. Some of each of the benefits of the other options could be gained; such as greater tactical maneuverability and better command flexibility while keeping the overall costs lower. But many of them were lost as well; heavier weaponry was lost out on and the chance to deliver boarding parties, as well as the overall simplicity of using whole pods and the sheer numbers that came with them.

Day 57 Chotec's Season, 11646

Arrayed on the floor before him Macuiltotec surveyed the components of the prosthetic tail; thirty-seven metal progressively smaller metal tubes, the largest just exceeding the diameter of the bolt of a greatbow and the smallest about the thickness of a skink's finger. Each cylinder slightly narrowed at one end and flared at the other. There was also a large curving, triangular base plate fitted with a sunken ring for the narrow end of the largest tube to fit into with a diamond set into the center while on the other side was five thin silvery spines. Several holes in the plate where bolts would anchor it into bone sat empty. At the other end of the collection was a longer tube, only open at the narrow end, that ended in a slight hook; like the claw of a skink's finger.

Thirty-eight flat disks of dark, glossy material sat above, each one made from the sap of several different trees and plants— cured so that it was flexible and stretchable, holes punched out through their centers. And next to them was the braided lengths of crystal fibers, each covered in another thin layer of crystal fiber, wrapped in a sheath of reeds and bound together by gold bands inscribed with the glyphs of Uxmac, Huanchi, Tlanxla, and Xoloc. Intricate patterns of geometric designs linked each glyph.

Slowly, starting with the clawed end, Macuiltotec began to join the pieces together; first feeding the crystal fiber in, where it met a multifaceted lens that looked onto a small space, the surface inscribed with yet more glyphs and symbols and patterns. Tiny gems set into the glyphs and patterns gleamed with subtle enchantment.

Pushing the fiber cable through one of the gaskets he then fed it through the next part of the tail. At each he unthreaded part of the cable and wound it around a small spiral running along the inside of the piece, until it met with a single gem of its own. Gradually the tail began to take shape, forming a flexible length of metal that wound and coiled and twisted like a snake.

Day 71 Chotec's Season, 11646

Ittetuhlot stood, a season later to the day, in the center of the same chamber Lord Macuiltotec had first received them in on what might very well have been the same exact wood platform.

They were again being poked and prodded by the attendants of the slann lord in question. Hushed, chirping conversations about muscle mass and scale resiliency and blood pressure that meant nothing to the skink chief.

Macuiltotec himself sat a few meters away on his palanquin, his eyes closed in silent contemplation or meditation as his ruddy bulk shifted minutely with the slow rhythm of his breathing. Two more attendants stood behind him holding an enormous wooden case, sealed with three latches and three heavy locks of gold in the shape of snarling saurian maws.

There had been no additional sessions with the Revification Crystal, there was no need given that regrown flesh would be cut away to attach the prosthetic. Ittetuhlot swore they could feel an itch along the bottom of their tail for a moment. Such phantom sensations the priests had warned them of years ago, and repeated those warnings at every session after, they had been blessedly rare.

Ghosts of touch tickling down the spine of their tail, phantom aches in their muscles, electric little tingles that—

Lord Macuiltotec opened his eyes, and his gaze instantly fell upon Ittetuhlot. Inner fire lit the room and fixed the skink in place; they were falling and all around them was a wall of living flame from which a thousand eyes peered at them.

And then it was over as the slann's eyes slid off of them and something receded from the edges of the chamber, like the tide receding.

"Excellent," Macuiltotec's voice spoke in Ittetuhlot's ears, then aloud with a gesture of the two attendants behind him, "Present the chief with their new tail."

Scurrying forward the two skinks set the case before them and then undid all three locks and latches in several quick motions. Snapping up the lid revealed a long, slim shape in a bed of dried reed grass, a little longer than their arm, that more resembled the tail of a primate than one of the zar'kaix'khanx. Polished to a gleaming finish it practically glowed in the flickering torchlight that lit the room.

Reaching out gently, Ittetuhlot laid one hand on the base end where the 'tail' met a curving, triangular plate and found it surprisingly warm. More than a dozen slim bolts protruded from edges and corners of the plate, each set a different angle like a line of hasty fortifications against heavy cavalry.

"Your existing tail will be severed at the base, those bolts will be fixed to your tailbone."

Macuiltotec drew closer and with a wave of one hand lifted the prosthetic tail out of its case. His hand turned and the whole device spun on an invisible axis, until the back of the baseplate faced Ittetuhlot.

"Part of your tailbone will need to be shaved down, so that these pins," he pointed to the thin silver needles, "May interface with your spinal cord and translate the optical signals used by the prosthetic tail into electro-chemical ones."

"Some of the existing musculature will be salvaged in order to build up cushioning around the baseplate, along with portions of the dermis which will be encouraged to— "

[] Full Pods: Simple binding rituals will allow entire pods to be called to sail alongside formations of ships. Capable of acting as a harassing and scouting force that can be given simple commands.
- Makes use of adults and juveniles.
- Simplests and cheapest option.
- Gain 'Feral' Dragon Turtle Pods as a passive benefit to naval expeditions.
[] Riders and Hunters: Individual adult and juvenile dragon turtles will be bound, either to handlers or riders. Acting as heavy cavalry and mounts for individuals the dragon turtles presence will be felt on a battlefield as a lance.
- Makes use of adults and juveniles.
- Middle-ground option.
- Dragon turtles can serve as mounts and be taken as warbeasts on naval expeditions.
[] Heavy Pods: Adult dragon turtles will serve as mounts for priests, Scar-Veterans, or chiefs or outfitted with platforms and crews and act as heavy weapons platforms and boarding transports.
- Makes use of adults only.
- Most expensive, require additional action to finish.
- Dragon turtles can serve as mounts, be taken as warbeasts, and can mount Greatbows/Solar Engines/Revification Crystals.

Notes: There'll be another small update to wrap up a few loose ends on this, which I plan on having out by the end of the week. Next up after that, hopefully by Sunday, will be the start of Construction Assistance which will bring us into the end of the turn.

2 hour Moratorium​

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Spoiler: Winning Votes

Heavy Pods won.

Day 13 Potec's Season, 11648

Something almost like pain pulsed at the base of Ittetuhlot's spine, a ghostly sensation pulling at the back of their mind. Hot and insistent. Long gone muscles protested and complained, absent bones groaned, and missing tendons strained as gleaming bronze curled around the handle of the obsinite knife and lifted until it hovered over the skink chief's right shoulder.

It was better than it had been in the first few lunar months, when simply moving it had been white hot agony, better even than a two seasons ago when they couldn't even lift a short length of rope more than a few centimeters off the ground. Even as of last month the fine control to actually grip things had been beyond Ittetuhlot, sending sharp spikes of pain bad enough to break their concentration. Now they were able to grip and lift and maneuver with only dim and fading flashes of agony.

"And the pain?" asked Lord Macuiltotec from his palanquin just a few meters away.

"Minimal, Lord."

For a brief moment the slann watched them, his great eyes playing over their body with a searching gaze. But then he nodded and his broad mouth curved into a grin that lifted the skin of his cheeks.

"Excellent. Your soul still adjusts, but potential transmission across the cell-crystal interface is well within expected parameters. I will release the final control wards."

Macuiltotec waved his hand and a faint glow of light surrounded the base of their tail. Something let go and almost immediately the skink could feel the length of bronze that was their tail respond with a new ease, accompanied by a slight increase in the level of the pain.

Barely noticeable.

"Fine motor control will proceed rapidly," continued the slann, "And pneumasomatic pains should diminish similarly."

That gladdened Ittetuhlot, though the weight of the prosthetic had help with balance and in recent months regular motion had been easier as the tail responded more and more to their unconscious, they had still felt clumsy.

Part of them was also eager to really begin to make use of the prosthetic, a third limb promised to be a significant boon. But it would take time to really learn to make use of it.

Day 43 Chotec's Season, 11642

In ancient days; before the Great Catastrophe, before ruin and calamity, when the touch of the Old Ones still sat heavy upon all things it was possible, for those of the First Generation, to cast out their gaze to the furthest ends of the world. And beyond into the vast deepness beyond the world, to the sister and brother worlds of the solar system.

Even the lesser slann of later generations had been able to grasp the power flowing through the Geomantic Web to survey distant, untouched lands.

Of those in Zlatlan only Memre-Xoq had ever done so. While assisting Adohi-Tegha as the elder slann sought to refine his observations of Tlazcotl's Eye, Memre-Xoq had been tasked with finding locations suitable for additional observatories.

Though the effort had faltered before any structures were built— there had been a surge of fimir activity near the Forge of the Old Ones which had drawn Adohi-Tegha's attention, Memre-Xoq had located at least a dozen suitable locations. Some few had been north of Chuqitzan, beside the boiling sea and in the frozen peaks of the far north, others spread across the range running up the length of Huitzacatlan. Volcanic equatorial isles. Isolated peaks in the great forests east of Ulthuan.

He had found them everywhere.

Memre-Xoq well remembered speeding across the horizon, the span of the earth veering away below him as his spirit was pulled along by sympathetic resonance.

Such things were no longer safe. He doubted even the Geomantic Web of Chuqitzan would be able to properly safeguard their spirits, not without centuries spent carefully shepherding the necessary energies to fuel the spiritual wards. Countless aethyric predators— few with even distant ties to the Enemy, had been culled in the millenia before the Great Catastrophe.

Formless living shadows, filled with ancient hunger.

Shambling abominations of bone, rattling and creaking, growing by slow accumulation. Echoes of the thousand, innumerable wars that shaped the world even before the coming of the Old Ones. Primordial horrors grown fat on flesh and soul alike, forms twisted by need and unthinking magic.

Accretions of rock and dirt and sand and mud.

Malevolent winds, cutting and killing with a shrieking howl. Spirits of raging fire, hungry to feast upon a kindling world.

Creatures half-a-step into the aethyr, and true spirits anchored into the physical world by will alone; these were only some of the things which the slann had fought and slain. Few were a match even for the least of their number. But a slann who had slipped loose of their flesh to peer far and fast was vulnerable, without the wards provided by either the Geomantic Web itself or a ritual fed by it they could be gravely injured. Memre-Xoq shuddered at the thought, a wave of sick dread passing through him in a spasm.

Zlatlan could not support such wardings on even one slann let alone the five gathered for this occasion, not even with centuries of time to wait.

He doubted the dragon Draulir would give them centuries.

So they had turned to other means, lesser means. Scrying was a well known tool, used most often by the oracles and skink priests to organize patrols, plan plantings, set maintenance schedules, and even determine strategy on occasion, but even slann were known to dabble in the art. Though given the limitations— scrying required either physical proximity within several hundred kilometers or strong metaphysical links, such incidents were not common.

Alas that they had neither in this instance. Only a broad sketch of the general terrain and a rather… poetic description of who.

Thankfully there were ways to mitigate such issues.

And so, in five temples across the temple-city five slann sat before five pools of pristine water on a day painstakingly calculated, and divined to be as far from the prominence of the false moon as possible. Temple-guards stood at the ready should anything attempt to interfere. Silver moonlight lit each chamber through five systems of carefully arranged mirrors and shafts.

We are ready, Memre-Xoq thought to his brothers.

Indeed.

Yes, we are, came the replies of Telepi'oja and Chiccti respectively.

Spoiler: Scrying Rolls

Memre-Xoq Scrying - 21 + 30 (Memre-Xoq Magic) = 51
Telepi'oja Scrying - 31 + 20 (Telepi'oja Magic) = 51
Chiccti Scrying - 54 + 10 (Chiccti Magic) = 64
Hixha'zaq Scrying - 59 + 10 (Hixha-zaq Magic) = 69
Qu'ata'xamundi Scrying - 52 + 20 (Qu'ata'xamundi Magic) = 72

From the other two he felt only the pulse of acknowledgement, a brief pressure upon his soul as familiar as his own limb.

Without another word they set to work. Tendrils of hysh and azyr coiled around each of the mirrors closest to the pools in a complex of interlocking whirls and funnels. Space bent and the distance between mirrors shrank, spellwork racing along the conceptual links traced by moonlight until there was no difference between the aperture at the top of the chamber and that at the top of the pyramid. Brief ripples broke the placid surface of the pools, as the slann wove traceries of all eight Winds into the waters, aqshy setting off brief moments of cavitation as it consumed accumulated impurities.

In moments the mirror smooth surface of the pools had returned, showing the full, white-grey glow of Tlazcotl's Eye.

The same glow which fell on the lands east past the mountains and north past the seas over which roared the thunder and flashed the lightning of great storms. It was the same light, reflected here as it was there. Those same craters and valleys.

Here and there was the same to the moon, who showed the same face to both.

Memre-Xoq spoke a word which has no sound and no tone, though the world shuddered at its passing, and four other voices joined his. Somewhere deep and far away there was a deep grinding of stone upon stone and a tremor that reverberated up from out of the depths of their souls.

All around the chambers the shadows deepened and pressed inward. Where water met stone there burned a silver light and the waters bulged out of the pool like bubbles; straining, straining, straining. Until—

Collapse.

Up becomes down.

Reflection reflects reflection and the bulging water falls and falls, flipping like a spun coin until … it is still.

Unmoving.

Now in their mirror dark surface the plane of a barren wasteland under the moonlight, tufts of brush grass and woody shrubs dotted the landscape. Low hills appear over the horizon, scattered light burning on their crests, and beyond them the rushing rumble of a vast river— at least four times as wide as the Yuatek, a peer to the Amaxon of Chuqitzan. Large stone structures stretch out into its course like vast, chiseled teeth.

In a moment they are gone, the hills quickly falling away to the left as the rushing waters slip by beneath. Up ahead the jagged peaks of storm-wreathed mountains threaten to the right, while the bright and ashy glow of lava burns on the left.

Smoke curls into the sky, and a fall of light ash coats the ground in grey. Ringing steel peals go out across the water, the clanging of many hammers working in furious industry and to answer it from the right; out of the mountain depths the faint echoes of ancient voices raised in rhythmic chanting. Hammerbeats felt more in the soul than heard.

" —ngni!"

Gone again, the light and sounds fall away. Towers of vast stone rise to the left again, a plateau riven with crevices and narrow valleys, the sound of countless voices raised in cheer and anger and celebration. Light burning bright and merry.

Away again, up and up the coursing river.

Then away over a dark and blasted landscape, where fissures in the earth burn against the night their bubbling interior spewing droplets of molten lava meters high into the air. Broken, sawtoothed terrain interrupted only by strips of the land rendered into crude roads and the clusters of squat, wicked towers scattered across the landscape. Each burning bright into the night with flickering torchlight and roaring with the crash of hammers beating ceaselessly away.

Nodes of activity in a lifeless hell, each reaching out to one another like a vast mindless creature. And at the center a tower and a ziggurat, half-formed; one reaching only a handful of stories and the other a mix of worked stone and raw black rock that seethes with untamed hate

Now comes the danger, as one all five slann join their thoughts together. They do not step across the boundary of space and time, do not even edge close to it and their spirits remain firmly settled in flesh and bone; but they do press a single thought up against the dark, mirror glass surface of the pools. Wings and claws and teeth, scales lapis blue and blue-white. Moonsilver horns and the roar of thunder, a gale wind blown in.

Time bends and flexes too and the echoes of the past surface.

Somewhere a voice cries out in pain, the stench of ionization and seared meat. Blood and sweat and steel, commands shouted.

Roaring.

Hate.

Rage.

Disappointment.

Cruel laughter—

Red eyes turn, and out of the darkness a horned visage emerges; broad nostrils flare and let loose a gout of hateful flaming breath that shatters the pools.

As one Memre-Xoq, Telepi'oja, Chiccti, Hixha'zaq, and Qu'ata'xamundi are thrown back in their palanquins, blasted by a wave of searing aethyr. Wards that have sat unused for centuries suddenly light up, the inner walls of the chambers glowing gold as the magical equivalent of dozens of bolts of lightning are dumped in each chamber simultaneously. Metaphysical gates slam shut with a gong and the burning essence is turned away in a shower of golden glyphs.

When the aftershocks fade away moments later the chambers are left all but undisturbed. Temple-guards slowly scan the room, halberds held at the ready to catch any hidden assailant or stray spells but nothing manifests.

All that remains is ash-muddied water in the once pristine pools.

It will take many more years of meditation and discussion before much can be made of the events, but Zlatlan at least has something to say to Draulir when next they meet to fulfill its promise. Whether the dragon shall find it sufficient is another matter.

Day 63 Tlanxla's Season, 11647

Huatza-Botl cut through the water, barely even working their limbs as the Leviathan-Bone Harpoon in their hand drew them along a smooth, undulating series of arcs into the inlet. Sunlight danced above in the shallows but the shadows were deep around the Oldblood.

Shapes moved in the distance, tiny presences that danced off the awareness granted to them by the Harpoon.

Opening mouth and gills granted to them by the Blessing of Tzunki Huatza-Botl tasted the sea, its salty, musty tang filling their senses. More than dragon turtles lived here, though anything larger than an arm length had long since been driven off and below the familiar scents of muscle and crab and urchin… something else.

Something metallic and sharp.

Iron and nickel. Whatever fell to create the crater from which the inlet formed still lay buried shallowly beneath the rocky bed below. Turning their thoughts away, Huatza-Botl fixed their eyes upon the approaching shore and arced themselves upwards until they were barely skimming the sand until the gently lapping waves broke over their head.

It was still early in the day and most of the pod was only beginning to warm up under the rays of the sun. As the saurus rose up onto their feed and the seawater cascaded from their form like falling cloak, a few heads turned towards them, but before they could do more than let out squawks of alarm they raised the Leviathan-Bone Harpoon and called upon its magic. Few of the dragon turtles were larger than a stegadon, but then the Harpoon had never been intended to command so many creatures at once.

Huatza-Botl did not seek to command them, they sought only to forestall a stampede and for that the Harpoon was more than capable. Just.

Dragon turtles, whether or not they were true dragons, were still remarkably attune to the flows of the aethyr. As the magic of the Harpoon washed over the pod the eldest amongst them were alerted instantly, great draconic heads swinging about to fix the Oldblood with keen eyes.

Past hearing and sense there was a sound— a voice old as the mountains of crashing waves and booming thunder. It spoke. Promised. Oathed. Demanded. Though it said no words ever uttered by mortal mouths.

Huatza-Botl felt the Harpoon pulling on a part of themself they had never known to name, somewhere behind their eyes and down past their gut. Deeper than heart and lungs.

From amongst the crowd of dragon turtles the oldest and largest of them, that one which the saurus Oldblood had spied upon a year ago, looked out and locked eyes with them.

Another wordless sound, the echo of howling winds shaking tree boughs. Huatza-Botl felt the question lingering in that gaze, in those enormous dark eyes and out of their soul an answer bubbled. Half an image and half a thought. They gripped the Harpoon tightly, the bone of its haft thrumming in their hand, threatening to tear itself loose.

Before them stood the Bay of Stars beside the harbor of Zlatlan, the citadel standing proud atop its jut of rock, in whose waters swam great schools of fish. Up the coast, north of the mouth of the southern Red River, there was another smaller bay that sat within the bay where the jungle grew dense and the land rose to cliffs on two sides with a broad swathe of beach on the third.

Hills bounded the southern, beach side of the bay.

Safe and sheltered, rich in food and sunlight— deep waters ran from bay to bay to sea and under the watchful eyes of towering statues the way could be closed.

With a deep, creaking growl the dragon turtle bent its head, dipping low in a bobbing motion.

---

Huatza-Botl stood once more on the swaying deck of a vessel, a storm on the horizon had stirred the waves up, and looked back into the wake of their small flotilla.

There they spotted a trio of young dragon turtles, each as large as a kroxigor, playing; dipping and weaving out of the churn of water. Just a short ways off several adults watched cautiously, ready to intervene, most of their bulks were beneath the waves, but their heads and the tops of their shells stuck out enough to form their own smaller wakes.

Of the oldest and largest of the pod nothing had been seen since they had joined them several days ago, though if Huatza-Botl touched the Leviathan-Bone Harpoon and concentrated they could feel them out ahead of the flotilla.

Much remained to be determined… what manner of equipment would the dragon turtles carry? Platforms for weaponry, what sort of weapons would it be? Greatbows or Solar Engines? Something else yet unimagined? How would they be armored? What would their crews be composed of?

At minimum some adaptation of the Abyssal Exploration gear would be needed in order to allow the future crews to survive their service.

Each and more was a decision waiting to be made, material waiting to be designed and iterated on.

It would be the work of years just to begin, though some things would proceed more immediately than others. Warbeasts like stegadon obeyed their handlers and crews out of a mixture of training and subtle spells laid deep in their blood. In ancient days when the first temple-cities were being founded the first stegadon and terradon and Cold Ones and carnosaurs and all their like were found and ritually bound in great rituals.

All those born of those first few were bound by the same spells. Those rituals were still known to the priests and Mage-Lords of Zlatlan, they were simple things; requiring time more than vast reserves of energy, for they worked slowly and subtly. Adapting and reworking those rituals to work on dragon turtles would take time, but it had been done before for salamanders and razordon and Horned Ones.

And while those ritual spells would do their work on the young of the pod, they were less certain to work upon the adults. Careful enticement would be needed to induce them to be certain to obey. It would be a process more like the bonding of Cold One to rider than handler to stegadon, but it could be done, that too was known.

Actions Completed. New Action Unlocked.

Ittetuhlot gains Equipment: Tail of the Golden Monkey. Prosthetic Tail. +5 to Combat. A slim prosthetic tail made of bronze that is able to grasp objects and act like any other limb.

Notes: No vote. Start of Construction Assistance should hopefully be up either Sunday or late Monday, depending on how things go. Comments, critique, etc.

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Day 73 Chotec's Season, 11644

Sand crunched under foot in a shallow spray as two saurus leapt from the war canoe onto the broad beach, spears at the ready. Up ahead low grasses and shrubs clung to the edge of a sparse canopy of trees that separated the beach from the nearby section of the highway by a narrow strip. Pared away twice in the last century, first as the road was laid down and then again when the embassy took up residence, it was thin enough that only a troop of chameleon skinks could have reliably hidden within.

Awanbil'tat and Zille'mi carefully dropped into the lapping waters with much more care and were followed by another handful of saurus and a kroxigor. This close to the harbor, patrols were regular enough that heavier security was unneeded.

Moving onto and then along the highway the small party quickly comes upon the stretch of beaten dirt that marks the path to the embassy itself. Even from the base of the slight rise the upper edge of the palisade that guards the approach, early morning light glinting off the steel helmets and spears of the elves stationed atop it. It is a matter of less than half an hour to reach it, and as they are expected the gates are opened without challenge.

Standing in the broad… courtyard was perhaps overly generous a description, but Awanbil'tat was sure the warmbloods would make it true in the coming decades, Menalur of House Nadraion is ready to greet them. Backed by a pair of his own guards he smiled broadly, spreading his arm in a welcoming gesture.

"Priestess," he said, nodding to Zille'mi, then to Awabil'tat, "Chief. Welcome to the Tower of Sea Gold."

Zille'mi cocked her head, "An ambitious name."

"His Majesty has great hopes for the relationship between our peoples."

She doubted that, while the correspondence from Bel-Shanaar to Lord Wik'keer'mal could not have been said to be dismissive, it fell short of proper respect. She refrained from saying so and unsteady only nodded.

Menalur was similar in build and look to his son, Dorendril, tall and lithe in the way of most elves his hair was a shade lighter and kept more closely shorn to his head than his son's. His face though had the same rounded delicacy. Dressed in bright blue robes trimmed in green that were nearly the inverse of the livery of his guards, their shields emblazoned with the swooping white hawk of House Nadraion's emblem.

"Would you like to see the grounds of the embassy?"

Zille'mi knew the question was entirely rhetorical. Amongst elven warmbloods such offers were as expected of a host just as it was expected that the visitor would accept; an opportunity for a host to display their wealth and for the guest to comment upon it.

"Please," answered Awanabil'tat, just as she had coached him, "I— " he glanced towards Zille'mi, "We are eager to see all you have built."

Menalur smiled, bright and sunny as the sun overhead.

BREAK

Currently the totality of the embassy— besides the central tower, consisted of only a few scattered buildings stretched across the length and breadth of the rocky jut. Set beside the palisade was the barracks, a narrow three story building raised of local stone and topped by wooden shingles painted the same bright blue of Menalur's robes. It curved in a quarter circle towards the left edge of the spit. Rising overtop the palisade, with several covered bridges connecting to the walking running along the top from the second floor, the barracks was only hidden from view from the outside by the slope of the approach.

It was by far the most active and crowded section of the embassy, housing nearly half the entirety of the warmbloods living at the embassy within its walls. Though its walls could house nearly double its current number.

Past the barracks was a small workshop, itself also built with local stone, that would soon begin to produce all the finished products that were either too expensive or too quickly needed to import. Though small in this instance was a relative measure. Next to the scale of the workshops of Zlatlan, which could house hundreds of artisan-priests it would not even rank. Three master carpenters, each with two apprentices, a master blacksmith with an entire gaggle of apprentices, several potters, two glassblowers, and a number of other artisans who Menalur didn't even bother to point out inhabited the structure.

After that, around the 'back' of the tower base were a granary and warehouse. Stone and timber made up most of the contents of the latter, waiting to be put to use in raising the tower higher, watched over by a small handful of powerfully built, for elves, porters. Though it seemed much of the arduous labor was to be taken care of by a sprawling array of mechanisms and machines, at least within the warehouse. Beside it the tall roundel of local stone is much more active, servants from the barracks and the tower base and the workshop and elsewhere move to and fro, gathering food to feed the embassy.

Elsewhere, as it happens, is a pair of what Menalur names 'guest houses' but Awanbil'tat privately thinks of as halls. Each roughly as large as the workshop on the opposite side of the tower from them, they currently house the officers of the guard most of the House proper. These, as with the tower itself, have been erected with the expensive imported stone that trickles in with every supply shipment from Ulthuan.

White marble that shines brilliantly in the steady glare of the sun. It has apparently been enough to drive some of the local avians into occasional furies. Not that any of minor bruises and scratches that have resulted have deterred House Nadraion of its course.

Thus the octagonal tower of gleaming white marble rises in the center of the embassy… or will rise eventually. Built around a central spiralling staircase, two concentral hallways link a series of several rooms and halls which will eventually be the administrative center of the embassy, it is currently serving as housing for those too high-ranked to share living quarters and as storage for that deemed too sensitive for the warehouse. Menalur himself along with his closest aides and servants live out of rooms meant to show off the wealth of the Phoenix Crown and House Nadraion.

Twice the beginnings of the next level of the tower have been started and twice they have come back down again. On going arguments between the mages of House Nadraion guiding the construction threaten the third, and that is the limit of Menalur's patience for dithering on the matter he explains to Zille'mi and Awanbil'tat as they climb the skeletal scaffolding rising.

" …speed at which your embassy in Tor Anroc was raised."

Awanbil'tat wondered at that. While the work had been challenging in certain aspects it had been straightforward in actual execution.

Most of the greatest struggle had been with ensuring that the sacred geometries involved were arranged robustly enough that they could handle the flows of Winds involved. So close to the Vortex the worry had been that the fluctuations would be more volatile as the widespread flows of different Winds converged and intermixed. Some greater variance had been observed, but given the degree of curvature involved the local direction of fluctuation was lateral to the flow of the Winds. Physically.

The Vortex provided enough of a constant draw that the Winds could only truly significantly shift radially around a circle centered on the Vortex itself. Which had presented its own issue as the Winds had a much greater flow rate so close to the Vortex than Awanabil'tat was experienced with dealing with.

Zlatlan was not so close to the southern pole and the flows of the Winds were much slighter in comparison, less concentrated too as they dissipated over the bulk of the ocean. All magic eventually flowed towards the Vortex.

Only eventually though. First it flowed away from the poles, pushed in all directions by the inward rush of Winds from the gaping wounds in reality from the collapse of the Polar Gates. Without nearby ley lines or the Geomantic Web to guide it it could take a great deal of time to slowly wend its way towards Ulthuan. Long enough to stagnate and curdle into dhar when too many Winds gathered together in one place. Long enough to saturate countless locations and twist the life found there.

He would have thought the mages of Ulthuan, especially of a House supposedly so involved in the colonies of the warmbloods, would be well experienced at managing such flows.

Apparently not.

At the top of the scaffolding they found five warmblood mages overlooking the ongoing work.

"Lord Menalur," they all chorused, bowing slightly to the ambassador and offering Awanabil'tat and Zille'mi only the faintest of nods.

Three wore robes much like Menalur's, though of less fine make, bright blue edged with green or green edges with blue and all with some symbol of a swooping white hawk sewn onto them. Woodens staffs topped by a crescent moon, the grasping talon of a hawk in gold, and a crystal sphere swirling with the energies of hysh, chamon, ulgu, and azyr were clutched in their hands. Besides them the other two mages wore robes of deep purple and black and red turning to orange respectively, though only one of them held a staff of their own— the red robed mage held a staff of bronze that ended in golden Anoqeyån rune blazing with aqshy and chamon.

"Calith, Athanfin, and Fardrielle of House Nadraion," he gestured to the first three of the warmbloods, then began to turn to the other two before he was interrupted.

"Lord Uncle, we promise things we— "

"Teclanaera of House Kenraith, " he gestured to the darkly robed mage without a staff, trampling over the words of his own House, "And Thynaraeg of House Ulgalasson."

There was a brief moment of hesitation from the rest of the mages before the warmblood in the purple and black robes nodded again to the two skinks.

"Priestess," she said, then to Awabil'tat, "Pr- Chief."

"We understand you have been having some difficulty in your construction?" Zille'mi asked, tapping the end of her own staff against the wood of the scaffolding.

"Minor troubles," said the mage with the crescent moon staff.

His fellows nodded with him and the one with the hawk talon staff continued, "Magical flows… unfamiliarly in this place, you see… it caused several elements of our designs to be out of alignment with the optimal flows."

More nods. But not all nods, the red robed mage shook his head, "It is more than unfamiliar, Calith," he bit out, "We are missing elements, elsewise the adjustments to the placement of the window openings we tried would have resolved the issue with the snarls of ulgu and hysh we were getting."

"Just because your redesign did not resolve the issue does not mean we need to chase every rustle in the leaves."

"Rustle in the— I did not imagine that pull and Teclanaera did not conjure up a void in our geomancy," red robe point to the mage with the crystal topped staff.

"There have been a number of… challenges," said the mage with the crescent moon staff, "But," he added, glancing for a moment towards Menalur, "We have come to grips with them and have adjusted our designs to accommodate the differences."

Menalur frowned, "My pride in House Nadraion and our vassals is untarnished, but the tower must be finished."

"Though my House is well invested in the colonies," he continued, turning towards Zille'mi and Awabil'tat, "Few of us have spent much time there… it is my hope that more experienced hands can be brought to the task."

Awanabil'tat nodded, but Zille'mi cocked her head again. She did not think he meant the artisan-priests and mason of Zlatlan.

He wanted the Archmages Isobar, Amnil, and Tyrecmion. Why not ask for them directly then? Because it would be an insult, or so Menalur believed, likely because he would have been insulted if a similar request were put to him.

Zille'mi pondered the issue. She did not think the Archmages would be very enthused to be drawn into such a task, they had been drawn to Zlatlan with the promise of collaboration and opportunities to continue their studies. But so long as she and Awanabil'tat were committed to the task as well they might find it acceptable.

Of course she imagined that much of the credit for addressing the issues the construction had faced so far would be granted to the Archmages rather than to the expertise of Zlatlan, no matter the actual truth. But going ahead without involving the three of them would mean she and Awanabil'tat would need to navigate working alongside House Menalur alone, without the weight of three Archmages to push things.

[] Bring in the Archmages
[] Don't bring in the Archmages

Notes: Here we go, wasn't really able to get start on this when I wanted to. Still I half expected that, next few weeks (and weekends) are promising to be busy so there may be more delays in updates. Comments, critique, etc.

2 hour Moratorium​

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Spoiler: Winning Votes

Don't bring in the Archmages won.

Day 73 Chotec's Season, 11644

No.

Zille'mi decided she would not be drawn into such… playacting by the warmbloods. Months and seasons and years wasted in back and forth as the warmbloods 'consulted' with Isobar, Tyrecmion, and Amnil— who would ultimately consult with herself and Awanbil'tat and the other priests and masons of Zlatlan. Wasting time. Theirs, hers. Time which could be better spent on other tasks.

She could feel her tail stilling in agitation, so she forced it back into motion and took a deep breath before fixing her gaze on the warmbloods. Clenching her staff in hand she met their expectant expressions.

"We will aid you," Zille'mi said, gesturing to herself and Awanabil'tat beside her.

His tail twitched excitedly as he nodded enthusiastically.

"Your— ah," the architect stopped as he considered how to translate from zar'xim to eltharin before giving up and turning to Zille'mi, "Atax'pati?"

She thought a moment, "Memory-vision of… paths."

"Darlith'tal Ismuir," he repeated, "Sketches, designs, schematics of all you have done so far. We will require all of it."

Spoiler: Reaction

Elven Reaction - ??? + 20 (Zille'mi Diplomacy) - ??? = ???

Menalur barely reacted, his mouth twitching for an instant before it returned to its usual, smiling expression and he gave a shallow nod of his head. "Of course." Beside him the reactions of his mages were decidedly less well schooled.

For a moment all three of the mages wearing robes of House Nadraion colors, bristled; their postures drawing upright, hands flexing on the hafts of their staffs, and their eyes narrowing in her direction. But with Meanlur's words they each smothered those reactions behind placid, blank expressions, though some were quicker about it than others. Moon and crystal staff were soon pictures of acceptance, but talon staff (Calith, she thought he was named) wore a sneering contempt on his face for long enough for his patron to note it.

Teclanaera, swathed in her purple robes, only raised one finely sculpted eyebrow while beside her Thynaraeg wore an expression closer to resigned disappointment.

"You will have what you need," said Menalur, his eyes sweeping across the five mages.

After a moment all of them nodded, some choppily.

Chotec's Season to Caxuatn's Season, 11644

They were given rooms in one of the guest houses. Organized as a small fortress, with the outer rooms arranged around a small courtyard containing a central hall that rises two stories up, with the upper level composed of a trio of small rooms. Dozens could easily be fitted into the small complex and so the less than one dozen that comprise the party confine themselves to the central hall.

Though the escorting saurus and kroxigor make circuits around the outer rooms daily.

Within hours the first set papers arrived from the tower base. At the top were scattered and disconnected sketches of individual components, designs for windows and doorways and balconies annotated in at least seven different hands. Awanbil'tat could not read the runes of eltharin and so it fell to Zille'mi to translate for them both— judging the location secure enough she directed one of their saurus guards to request scribes from the harbor who could assist her. Most were discarded musing and little else. Scrawled notes from the mundane warmblood crafters noting where and why certain proposed designs were impossible, followed in some cases by notes from one or two of the mages describing how those limitations could be overcome, but mostly simply abandoned afterward.

After that there were several layers of more complete schematics on rolls of heavy parchment showing proposed designs for the upper levels of the tower. Smooth walled spires, sprouting narrow limbs from which sprain shoots of yet more towers. Towering pillars that rose up from the foundations of the base itself, their peaks topped by domes of crystal or massive braziers. Others rising trunklike from the center, rings of balconies placed evenly up their length and at a top a blank space marked only with the rune cadaith.

Progress was slow at first as Zille'mi had to go through each paper and translate the writing for Awanabil'tat, but then the requested scribes arrived and their pace nearly doubled.

Spoiler: Finding the Problem

Reading Plans - 82 + 20 (Zille'mi Construction) + 30 (Awanbil'tat Construction) - 5 (Eltharin Illiteracy) = 127
Where is the problem? - 37 + 10 (Zille'mi Divination) = 47
Geomantic Insight - 78+ 5 (Awanbil'tat Geomancy) = 83

It was clear soon enough that though their plans were confused and scattered, there was little fundamentally wrong with any of the proposed towers. From furiously scrawled notes on two pairs of drawings they could tell which had been started and then abandoned— a smooth walled variant and one of the dome topped behemoths. There were dozens of minor inefficiencies; places where angles were off slightly or where elements were too close together, sections that did nothing but take of space, connections between rooms longer or shorter than ideal.

Those sorts of things.

Nothing that should have caused the Winds of Magic to snarl— that was not the result of improper sacred geometries. Poorly constructed structures were most often simply neutral to the flow of magic through them.

Knots of magic, or snarls, as opposed to the usual pooling of magical energies, where magic flowed towards a point and concentrated tended to quickly turn into dhar as the inflowing energies trapped other energies between successive layers too fast for the naturally repellent properties of most aethyric energies to shunt them out of the snarled energy. Winds in particular were prone to forming dhar incredibly rapidly. Such knots or snarls were difficult to create by accident under most conditions.

Certain alignments of temples could form areas of low aethyric viscosity where the Winds and other magical energies more easily flowed together and the drag on magic from reality itself was felt lesser. Useful properties for a great many rituals and spells. And dangerous enough that Zlatlan was very careful to ensure such regions were entirely temporary in nature, controlled by slann or priests within the temples.

That indicated sabotage by one of the mages involved. Though for what purpose Zille'mi was unsure.

She was preparing to bring the matter to Menalur and let him deal with the consequences when Awanabil'tat stopped her. Laying a hand across her path his eyes remained firmly fixed on the schematic before him.

On it a proposed flow of magical energies was outlined in the neat, blocky handwriting of the mage Thynaraeg— over the last several weeks they had come to recognize each of the individual mages' hands along with at least a few of the mundane crafters. Though the latter not by name.

"Described flows… very high," he said.

That was something else they had noted so far, many of the intended enchantments of the tower were suitable for the high aethyr environment of Ulthuan, but inefficient for Huitzacatlan. None would outright fail to function. They simply would not function as well as desired.
She intended to alert them to the matter, but only once the underlying difficulties had been identified. After all, the inefficiency only mattered if they actually completed the tower.

"Yes, yes, I will warn them."

"No," he shook his head, pointing again to the central column of energy indicated on the paper, "High, but they did not complain of lack."

Zille'mi blinked. That was true, the mages had not complained of insufficient flows of magic. She'd thought at first that they simply hadn't noticed, but if they were capable of noting nascent snarls or voids in their construction they would have noticed a lower than expected flow of magic.

And that they hadn't meant that there wasn't.

But ambient levels of the Winds could not account for such a flow and drawing them in would have created obvious signs that even a saurus would have noted. Unless… they were tapping into the Geomantic Web somehow. It relatively close on its way from Zlatlan to Nahuantl, but not close enough for a—

Of course. Warmbloods though they were, she had been underestimating them too much. Each knew that they had little experience outside of Ulthuan, Menalur had said so himself, but they had ties to those that did and even if they could not come themselves they could be asked for advice, for information. She had been to Ulthuan, Zille'mi knew that they were able to tap into existing ley lines, she had seen the crude city-glyphs of Tor Anroc and Lothern and Tor Elyr.

It was obvious. In order to work as they were used to, they had grasped at the next source of raw power available to them; the ley lines. Ignorant of the fact that these were not the meandering ley lines of what the warmbloods called Elthin Arvan whose courses followed the natural geomantic faults of the world's crust.

Somehow their unintended geomantic tap had formed a resonance with other nearby portions of the Geomantic Web and induced a region of low aethyric viscosity. Exactly how depended on how they had done so, but that they had done so was obvious to Zille'mi now.

Spoiler: Reaction

Elven Reaction - ??? + 20 (Zille'mi Diplomacy) - ??? - ??? = ???

Alas that they were not forthcoming with the answers.

That indeed something had been done they readily admitted to but beyond that, the mages insisted that details of such workings were the sole property of the Ten Kingdoms, sacred secrets of Hoeth they could not divulge.

"Worry not," had opined Calith, "I can assure you, there is no worry of interference with whatever… artifacts reside in your city."

Zille'mi had nearly growled at that, but bit back on the instinct. Her tail still as a shadow she turned to Menalur but the Prince of Tiranoc only looked back pityingly.

He made a helpless motion, "Some secrets not even fealty can compel."

Sweeping her gaze across the assembled warmbloods she swallowed the words that wanted to spill from her tongue— that Lord Wik'keer'mal had taught them the greatest of their secrets. Such provocations would do no good though. And so instead she swept forward in a deep bow, nearly touching her snout to the marble of the room they were gathered in.

"I will take my leave."

When she straightened and turned, Zille'mi caught a glimpse of the deep frown on Menalur's face as his elven arrogance warred with his diplomatic acumen over whether the insult she had delivered was intended or not.

BREAK

Over the weeks that followed Zille'mi spent many hours each day in meditation and contemplation; her aethyric senses opened to their fullest and turned downwards against the shifting mass of Winds buried beneath tower base. Sensing magic through meters of earth was no great feat. Even when that magic was not actively doing anything beyond allowing more magic to flow upward through it, as Zille'mi suspected the enchantments beneath the tower were.

But she was not simply after direction and distance, no, she wanted details. Zille'mi wanted to be able to reconstruct the enchantment in enough detail, to dissect their spell work so thoroughly, that the warmbloods would be forced to listen.

Spoiler: Magical Investigation

Studying Magical Structure - 95 + 10 (Zille'mi Divination) + 5 (Awanbil'tat Geomancy) - 5 (Buried) = 105

Awanabil'tat proved immeasurably helpful, his own aethyric senses were paltry compared to her own, he was nearly deaf in comparison— being able only to perceive the Geomantic Web itself, but he had also attuned himself so exactingly to those energies that Awanabil'tat was able to detect details that she could not. She had had few better collaborators in all her years.

To her the energies of magic were color and shade, shadow and light; gossamer strands of rippling color that pulsed and shone. And through the meters and meters of rock Zille'mi was able to slowly, day by day, piece together an image of the enchantment below. Shifting spots of shadow and light gave her clues as to the arrangement of the various components of the enchantment, the ways in which they stretched and moved told her something of the interactions. Hues told her which Winds were involved and where they were used.

It was qhaysh that much was certain, though she had suspected it from the beginning. All eight Winds melded together seamlessly. Balanced against one another in a web of tensions that ensured no part could collapse into dhar without the whole unravelling. Hysh, chamon, and ghyran arranged in a column of toroidal matrices, braids of ulgu and azyr spiraling around cores of aqshy as they coiled through the center of the tori. Spars of ghur and shyish woven through the matrices and around the braids like chains.

Stretching down, down, down into the earth, towards the distant thrumming roil of the Geomantic Web.

Her senses could not pierce so far into the flesh of the world, not with enough clarity, to tell Zille'mi how the enchantment interacted with the Web though; there hundreds of meters of stone defeated her. But they did not defeat Awanabil'tat. His own well honed sense of the Geomantic Web proved superior.

Every day, as she meditated and opened her soul up to the aethyr he paced the perimeter of the tower, straining his own magical sense. He heard the magic of the Web in tones and voiceless choruses, felt the dissonance and harmony of its parts in his bones. Around and around he went listening to each basso hum and keening cry, attentive to the ache in his marrow.

In doing so Awanabil'tat was able to gain an understanding of how the enchantment placed on the foundations of the tower interacted with the ley line of the Geomantic Web. From a point deep below the tower to the ley line connecting Nahuantl and Zlatlan. Not quite perpendicular to the line vector of the ley line itself, this new link completed a particular sacred geometric form with the harbor citadel and the highway running along the shoreline. One with low aethyric viscosity.

Thankfully as the tower itself was not built out the effect was minor, centered on the tower itself— and likely the citadel and highway, waxing and waning with progress on the upper levels of the tower. It was a stupendously unlikely sequence of events. Only possible because the techniques used by the mages of House Nadraion relied on similar principles as those used by Zlatlan itself. Even with a complete tower the region of low aethyric viscosity would never have extended beyond the nearest ten meters around the tower, the citadel, and the highway; the effect could never have propagated over such an area. Not without a massively expanded Geomantic Web to draw on and further reinforcing points.

Zille'mi had planned simply to demonstrate to the mages that she understood their 'secret' spell by reconstructing it for them. Had. Awanabil'tat had a suggestion of his own that would more sharply puncture their warmblood egos and resolve the issue until more permanent adjustments could be made elsewhere to ensure it could not reoccur.

Day 31 Yuxa's Season, 11644

Weeks later Zille'mi and Awanabil'tat emerged from their loaned quarters flanked by saurus guards and trailed by a column of skink scribes and a trio of kroxigor, two of whom hefted a meter long object wrapped in a shroud of sailcloth silk between them. Making their way to the tower base they brushed past the warmblood guards at the entrance, aided by a small working of azyr to stun them, and marched right into the central chamber.

Though the rest of the tower was not yet complete, the floor at the center had already been finished with a mosaic of ten colored eltharin runes in a circle around a blank hexagonal tile. Awanabil'tat had noted the blank piece of flooring during his investigations and suggested that whatever intention the warmbloods might eventually have for it, it could be used for their own ends. Marking the center with her staff, Zille'mi gestured the three kroxigor forward and stepped back to let the architect put his own expertise to use.

Letting the cloth covering fall away revealed the pitch black of obsinite, capped at one end by a flat hexagon and tapering to a bronze-gold tipped point at the other.

All around the hammering of working warmblood crafters stopped, and a hush of whispers built. Distantly she heard shouting.

Two for the kroxigor raised the obsinite nail until it was standing tip down on the point she had marked, Awanabil'tat gestured to them and they turned it slightly. With a look the architect let her know it was in place.

"Drive," she said to the third kroxigor, stepping past its bulk and towards the nearest opening into the chamber.

With a huff the kroxigor lifted its great maul over its head and let it fall squarely on the cap of the nail. There was a crack as marble tile split and crack, slivers of stone went flying, sending the scribe ducking with anxious chitters and peppering the backs of the saurus standing guard in a circle around them. Shouts of dismay filled the chamber as the onlooking masons and carpenters and other workers watched another blow land, driving the nail centimeters more into the stone beneath the tile.

At the entrance more guards appeared and with them Menalur and two of the mages, Thynaraeg and one of the House Nadraion— Athanfin or Fardrielle, she did not remember which was which.

Another blow rang out and the nail sank further.

"Priestess, what is the meaning of this?" He demanded, striding forward as the kroxigor drove the obsinite nail yet again.

Beside him his mage was not nearly so composed, they gaped and choked out, "What— "

"This," she said, weaving azyr into the gentle currents of the chamber so that they amplified her voice, "Is your solution."

Her words echoed, reverberating through the air just over the beating of stone on obsinite so that none could claim not to have heard. Menalur frowned for a moment before he arched high one brow.

"Might not have some… consultation been appropriate before such hasty actions? Who knows what misunderstandings might arise otherwise."

Another blow and the nail sank further yet again, now only less than a quarter of a meter from the floor.

"Your mages' misunderstandings have already caused damage," she said, "We are repairing it. If you wish for our aid to be less hasty in the future," Zille'mi paused to let the last few blows drive the obsinite nail flush with the surrounding marble.

Awanabil'tat began to mutter hurried rites of consecration over the glyph of Tepok etched into the obsinite. Simple invocations which activated the magic within the stone, the words resonating with the aethyr itself.

"They would do well to consult Zlatlan before meddling with 'secrets.' "

Even as she spoke there was a thrum beneath their feet, a twisting in the air beyond the physical. With a crack the connection created by the warmblood enchantments snapped taut, aligning itself at a new angle. From the nail a pulse of magic burst out of the ground, washing over the entire chamber, enchanted tools and the staffs of the mages flared briefly before guttering out as the room was momentarily cast into darkness as even the sun above seemed to fade away.

Just as quickly the light returned and the glow of enchantment and magic returned to tool and staff. And from the nail a fountain of earthbound magic slowly rose into the air.

Action Complete.

Notes: No vote this time. I might be able to get the next turn up early this week, we'll see. Comment, critique, etc.

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Day 77 Tlanxla's Season, 11649

Dark clouds gathered out near the mouth of the Bay of Stars, they crawled across the sky with a ponderous slowness; heavy with the promise of rain they lay folded over each other like a bed of moss. Waters growing choppy with the howl of the winds bore the last dozen or so fishing vessels into safety within the harbor. Gangs of kroxigor waited to receive their hauls of fish and crab and other marine life as they pulled in and swiftly set about securing their ships.

All of this Zecxa noted absently as they stood atop the harbor citadel, the wind tugging at the blue and white feathers of their headdress. Azyr crackled through the air. When the first fat drops of rain began to fall they raised a staff of patinaed copper— tasting salt and iron on their tongue.

"Lord Tzunki!"

Gathering the Blue Wind around them they first wove it into a vaulted dome overhead before drawing out the ends in a zigzag of dendritic planes which formed two- three- four— five diamond lobes beneath it. Through the center they drew a line of Wind of Heaven like a spear.

Starry light lensed through the gaps between strands of azyr and refracted through the falling raindrops, casting the stone beneath their feet in bands of shifting rainbow light.

Other voices rose over the howling winds, lesser priests joining together in a chant as they too knit the Blue Wind together; thick tendrils of the Wind crawling up and out of the stone at the corners. Four strands of azyr touched and for an instant the winds stilled and the rain did not fall. Somewhere beyond hearing an ancient voice answered and the strands of magic snapped into place. Somewhere beyond hearing an ancient voice answered and the strands of magic snapped into place, bleeding away hazy intangibility as they turned along a new axis.

Wind once again howled across the flat topped pyramid and rain once again lashed at their scales. Overhead the storm grew in power and the partial glyph of Tzunki, those parts belonging to Lord Tzunki— Stormcaller and Windshaper pulsed with blue-white light.

Storms of this sort rarely came into the Bay of Stars, usually breaking against the coast near Nahuantl of the Guardian Statues of Ancient Gods. Those that did make it to Zlatlan usually took a course up from the south or down along the mountains to the east. These were no less of Tzunki than any other storm, but there was a potency to a storm rolling in off the ocean which made it more suitable for certain rituals.

Rituals which could be used to bolster certain aspects of a temple's sacred geometry, to strengthen wards, and feed other arcane mechanisms of the temple.

BREAK

Not so far away, just down the coast others struggled against the storm too. Though they did not seek to wrestles its mystical power to their own ends, but simply sought to avoid delicate work being ruined.

Oh there was no chance of even as mighty a storm as this bringing down the rising edifice of wood and stone, the masons and carpenters and mages of Ulthuan— and Tiranoc in particular knew their respective trades too well for that. But that did not mean that every part of it would necessarily survive intact. At least not without effort. In the days leading up to the arrival of the storm the craftsfolk of the embassy had labored day and night to finish what could be and secure what could not be against the winds and rain to come.

Layers of canvas wreathed the upper levels of the growing tower, lashed tightly to the wood and stone by thick ropes and sealed with petty spells well known to carpenters and masons both in every Kingdom. Though as every fishing village and local Guild had their own, ever so slightly (or not so slightly, truth be told) different version a number of fierce… disagreements inevitably broke out.

Meanwhile the proper mages of the embassy had busied themselves seeing to securing the more incorporeal elements of the growing tower. Azyr carried in the lightning and even winds of a storm was small, but the energy of the lightning itself, though not quite magical in nature, could be disruptive to the Winds. Parts of the enchantments laid into each level of the tower would only be shielded against such disruptions as construction progress and other enchantments could be laid on the stone above.

Poking through the layers of canvas, a number of metal rods rose like a thin crown atop the tower, barely visible from the ground they joined to lengths of wire that trailed down the wooden scaffolding that wound around the inner perimeter of the tower and down to the ground outside of the tower. Apprentices, hands full of heavy blankets, ready and waiting to smother any fires. Wherever the shroud of canvas did not reach the windows had been boarded up inside and out, or the shutters closed where they had been installed.

Everywhere preparations were made for the storm.

On the storm came, uncaring and unknowing; peels of thunder calling across the waves like the bray of a warhorn.

Turn 20

Select Five (5) Actions.
See Misc. for available characters.

Spoiler: Plan Guideline

Plans should look something like this:

[] Plan: A really creative plan name
- Project Action 1: Character A, Character B, Character C, …
- Project Action 2: Character D, Character E, Character F, …
- Expedition Action 3: Character G, Character H, Character I, …
— By Land
— 1 Carnosaur, a squad of Cold Ones, 4 Stegadon, …
Expedition Action 4: Character J, Character K, Character L, …
— By Sea
— Terradon flock, 8 bastiladon …
- Project Action 2: Character M, Character N, Character O, …
- Divination: # Xth Generation Slann, # Yth Generation Slann, … OR Slann P, Slann Q, …
- Meditation: # Xth Generation Slann, # Yth Generation Slann, … OR Slann R, Slann S, …
- Contemplating the Sequence: # Xth Generation Slann, # Yth Generation Slann, … OR Slann T, Slann U, Slann V, Slann W, …

Spoiler: Expedition Supply Costs

• Infantry
  • Saurus Band (1 Points)
  • Skink Cohort (0.25 Points)
  • Kroxigor Cohort (0.25 Points) (Requires: 0.25 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
• Cavalry
  • Horned One Squadron (4 Points) (Requires: 1 Points of Saurus Bands Each)
    • Max: 8 Points
  • Cold One Squadron (2 Points) (Requires: 2 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max: 8 Points
  • Terradon Squadron (1.5 Points) (Requires: 0.5 Point of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max: 9 Points
• Warbeasts
  • Carnosaurs (5 Points) (Requires: 0.5 Point of Skink Cohorts, 2 Points of Saurus Bands Each)
    • Max: 15 Points
  • Bastiladon (1.25 Points) (Requires: 0.25 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max: 15 Points
  • Stegadon (1.25 Points) (Requires: 0.5 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max : 15 Points
• Wargear
  • Solar Engine (1.5 Points) (Requires: 0.25 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max: 6 Points
  • Greatbow Howdah (0.25 Points)
    • Max: 6 Points
  • Revification Crystal (1.5 points) (Requires: 0.25 Points of Skink Cohorts Each)
    • Max: 3 Points
  • Black Egg (1 Point) (Requires 0.5 Points of Priests)
    • Max: 6 Points
• Special
  • Priest (0.5 Point) (Requires: 0.5 Points of Skink Cohorts, 2 Points of Saurus Bands)
    • Max: 2 Points
    • +10 Magic/+5 Warfare for Each Point on Expedition
  • Quetzl's Mirror Guardians (1.25 Points)
    • Max: 1.25 Points
    • +5 Warfare when Defending Locations
  • Quetli's Chosen (2 Points)
    • Max: 2 Points
    • + 15 Warfare against daemons and other chaos corrupted enemies.
  • Chameleon Skinks (1 Point) (Requires: 0.5 Points of Skink Cohorts)
    • Max: 1 Point
    • +30 Navigation (Land)/Tracking/+20 Perception on Expedition
    • Allows Assasination and Sabotage
  • Rheameninthys (3 Points) (Available for Actions tagged 'Elven Cooperation')
    • Max: 3 Points
  • Tyrecmion, Amnil, Isobar (2 Points) (LOCKED)
    • Max: 2 Points

Spoiler: Artifact Status

Temple of Tepok - Arcane Inference Engines.
Effects: Allows the study and further enhancement of artifacts of all types. Once an artifact has been enhanced the Engines are spent and must recharge for a turn.

Temple of Uxmac - Masterful Orrery of the Gods.
Effects: Divinations are more likely to succeed, whenever a prophecy is discovered roll a d10; on a 3 or lower the Orrery is spent and must recharge for a turn.

Grand Temple of Xholankha - Floating Gardens of Xholankha
Effects: Has a chance to produce research opportunities in the form of new and exotic flora and/or fauna. Any action researching flora, fauna, or the Wind of Ghyran is more likely ot succeed.

Temple of Xokha - Clinometer of Xokha.
Effects: Assigning the Clinometer of Xokha to any project tagged with 'Construction' adds half-again the highest characters 'Construction' skill to any relevant rollsl At the end of the turn it was used on, roll a d10 and on a 2 or lower the device is spent and must charge for a turn.

Temple of Huanchi - Crossroads of Huanchi.
Effects: During sieges allows rapid redeployment of elite forces across Zlatlan and remote activation of active internal defenses.

Assignable Characters

Spoiler: Skink

Awanabil'tat
Atahuinqua
Gif'a-Gahb
Ittetuhlot
Mai'xon
Poh'paloq
Xehtzaihl
Xilotl
Zille'mi

Spoiler: Saurus

Huatza-Botl
Khaxilitli
Loqtli
Qu'Qu-Kor

Available Slann

Spoiler: 3rd Generation

Macuiltotec of the Third Spawning
Wik'keer'mal of the Third Spawning (Always)

Spoiler: 4th Generation

Huaxi of the Fourth Spawning
Mextlep of the Fourth Spawning
Telepi'oja of the Fourth Spawning
Udhi-Tegha of the Fourth Spawning

Spoiler: 5th Generation

Alhuanti of the Fifth Spawning
Ecu'otta of the Fifth Spawning
Gar'ata'xamundi of the Fifth Spawning
Hixha'zaq of the Fifth Spawning
Huan'lza'qotl of the Fifth Spawning
Huanxi'otl of the Fifth Spawning
Lixhua of the Fifth Spawning
Qu'ahn'Oh of the Fifth Spawning
Qu'ata'xamundi of the Fifth Spawning
Tzahuan of the Fifth Spawning

Random Event! Pirate— the word is strange to you still. Raiding in war is known to you; for supplies, for material, to test the enemy's defenses, all these are sensible reasons. Necessity alters the balance of risk. Evidently pirates do not agree, possible injury or death is preferable to more stable forms of survival in their view.

It is good that Prince Menalur and the Phoenix King evidently agree with you that such elements ought to be eliminated, as recent word from the warmblood vessels making port at your harbor say pirates have returned to the area. They have not yet begun plying the waters closer to Zlatlan, so far remaining near to Tor Charath, the warmblood colony north of Tlaqua, but that is unlikely to remain true for long.

Whether these are as much the tools of the Enemy or not remains to be seen.

False Moon's Rise! Grim are the tidings from the heavens. Fell is the light of the False Moon whose touch twists the living and dead into abhorrent shapes, though some years yet remain before its burning gaze threatens the slann.

Development! Warmbloods flood south from the territory around Tlaqua, though their migrations so far have not yet taken them into the temple-city itself, small parties to occasionally encroach. Thus far the garrison has managed to deal with all, but the tide seems only to be increasing. Through the Vohlu you have heard they flee before those who wield frozen fire and steal children.

You may now assign Rheameninthys to any actions tagged with 'Elven Cooperation.'

Experimental Poolwork is a REQUIRED action this turn, it must be taken.

Expeditions: Danger and threats lurk beyond the walls of Zlatlan, the Enemy moves in the shadows and twists the work of the Old Ones to dark ends, but there is also opportunity. Send your forces and leaders beyond the local environs.

Northern Pressure: Though you bolstered the garrisons of Tlaqua and Cuexotl as well as you could, they could be reinforced further— temporarily. Sending forces to fortify them would also allow you to more directly investigate what is happening north of Tlaqua and why it has driven the warmbloods south in such great numbers. You have some idea, but few details.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Combat, Diplomacy? Multi-Stage. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 32.

Extended Naval Patrols: Send your patrols further out to seek out these pirates. This would bring your ships in contact with Tor Charath itself, you would need to gather further intelligence on the apparent movements of the pirates from the colony.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Navigation. Combat. Diplomacy. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 16.

Errant Spirit: More than a century has passed since the Carapace of Winds first came into your possession and you freed whatever spirit was trapped within. Perhaps it is time to seek out the spirit, see what manner of entity you have unleashed upon the world. Rheamninthys has proved herself willing and able to work alongside your forces and it is said that Avalorn is home to spirits similar to what you have glimpsed of this one.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Combat? Magic. Diplomacy? Navigation. Elven Cooperation. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 6.

Expedition to [Write-in]: While the other Temple-Cities stand all but empty, only garrisons even smaller than your own safeguarding them, that does not mean they ought to be abandoned. Your explorations via the Geomantic Web have revealed some of their state, but more direct visitations would be required to fully ascertain their conditions. Other opportunities also present themselves to you, some more distant than others.
Choose from:
- Teotiqua. Max Supply: 32
- Temple of Skulls. Max Supply: 24
- Draulir. Max Supply: 8.
- Write-In. Max Supply: Variable.
Character Limit: 5. Tags: Combat? Warfare? Diplomacy? Navigation? Requirements: None.

Developing Relations: It has been some years since you last sought contact amongst the further flung human communities. Some elements of Zlatlan's navy have passing interactions, but something more established may be in order. Especially matters around Tlaqua become more dire. To start though you will turn your focus on those nearer to Nahuantl and Cuexotl.
Character Limit: 5. Tags: Diplomacy, Combat, Multi-Stage. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 28.

Seeking Salamanders: During the Great Catastrophe some sections of your stable of warbeasts were devastated, leaving you without some warbeasts.Such as Salamanders. Salamanders can be remarkably nervous creatures even at the best of times and their first reaction is to set things alight; the combination led to many deaths and even injuries in the past. Still it is a gap in your toolset.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Navigation. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 32.

Curious Archmages: With their lunar observations concluded for the moment, the three elven archmages currently in residence at Zlatlan have noted the flows of the Winds of Magic of the continent behave quite differently to those of Elthin Arvan. In fact Tyrecmion, Amnil, and Isobar have noticed the presence of a strong concentration of the winds coming from the south and now wish to investigate. You of course know this relates to the monolith at the southern tip of the continent.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Combat? Exploration, Magic, Geomancy, Elven Cooperation. Requirements: Slann (1). Max Supply: 28.

Razordon Recon: During the Great Catastrophe some sections of your stable of warbeasts were devastated, leaving you without some warbeasts. Such as Razordon. Razordon for all their relatively small size compared to many of your other beasts have voracious appetites, it takes quite a bit of energy to produce the sheer volume of spines they do. They are useful though.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Navigation. Requirements: None. Max Supply: 32.

Projects: Temple-Cities grow slowly, but they do grow. There is much that needs to be done in order to ensure that Zlatlan is ready to meet the challenges of the world and if the servants of the Old ones are to fulfill the Great Plan they must meet those challenges.

More Spelunking: With the upper levels of the caverns explored, a number of entrances into lower portions have been identified. Beginning exploring the lower depths to see what threats and potential they hold.
Character Limit: 6. Tags: Navigation, Construction, Multi-Stage. Requirements: None.

Mechanization: Four in nine of your skinks, three in five of your kroxigor, and one in four of your war beasts at any one time find themselves dedicated to helping grow and feed Zlatlan. Plowing feels, hauling harvests, turning wheels to grind grain. Certain mechanisms are known which could be constructed in order to reduce reliance on brute labor practices. Others could be designed. There would be short term disruptions, but greater efficiency could free up significant portions of the labor force.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Construction. Research. Requirements: None.

Roots of Stone: While most of your artisan-priests and skink chiefs wort to impart the Vohlu with a more extensive knowledge base, an effort that has unfortunately been somewhat slow going, a few others have begun to teach them of magic. For the moment they have focused on the working of the Winds, for that is the magic they themselves can wield. Only a small handful of the warmbloods have managed to grasp anything beyond the pettiest spells. Now though it is time for lessons to begin on the other magics you wish for them to wield.
Expires in 8 Turns.
Character Limit: 5. Tags: Magic, Humans, Diplomacy, Elven Cooperation. Requirements: Slann (2), Wik'keer'mal.

*REQUIRED Experimental Pool Work: You know how to repair a Spawning Pool. if you were called upon to found a new temple-city, you could construct the required Spawning Pools, but never in the vast reaches of your memories, has a temple-city ever added pools. Here lies the limit of your knowledge, and now you can only speculate upon the possibilities… and the risks. So much energy flows through the Spawning Pools that any error could invite disaster, and you have little notion of what might constitute an 'error.'
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Construction, Research, 3rd Generation, Multi-Stage, Risky. Requirements: Slann (1).

Repurposing the Gate of Tides: Though your connection to the rest of the Geomantic Web has collapsed— the aethyric and arcane structures reduced to shattered hulks spewing half-made horrors with half-lives measured into fractions of seconds, the 'space' within Zlatlan's city-glyph remains. Once the arcane debris is cleaned up, it could be turned to other ends eventually.
- Seagates of Tzunki: Afford extreme control over the waters of the Bay of Stars, rendering Zlatlan all but unassailable from the water as well as turning it into a vast safe port of call in all but the worst of storms. Can also exert greater control over standing or flowing water within Zlatlan itself.
- Grand Temple of Xokha: Reconstruct the Temple of Xohka into a Grand Temple, similar in scale to the Grand Temple of Xholankha. Along with the existing benefits to divination, allows for real time monitoring of the territory surrounding Zlatlan— north to Nahuantl, south to the edge of the savannahs in the south of the continent, east to the coast opposite Zlatlan, and west out over the waters.
- Moonpool of Rigna: Construct a grand pool of still waters, whose bottom would be wrought in the image of the Eye of Tlazcotl, surrounded by arching pillars. Could be connected to a similar structure built in the distant temple of Rigna, allowing for direct communication with the goddess without having to travel to the other side of the continent.
- Write-In: Pending Approval, MUST ping QM first.
Character Limit: 3. Tags Construction, Research, Multi-Stage. Requirements: Slann (1).

Pre-Divine Metaphysics: In most aspects your understanding of the metaphysical laws that govern the Sea of Magic which lies beyond the bounds of the material world surpass those of all others save the Old Ones. Only that which warmbloods call gods eludes your understanding. And even so they are not proof against your interference, merely blank spots upon the canvas of your knowledge. Rectify that.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Research, 5th Generation. Requirements: Wik'keer'mal.

The City Below: Though the ground beneath Zlatlan has been minimally secured, the opportunity now presents itself to expand the temple-city itself into those winding labyrinthine caverns and tunnels, and in the process carving them into properly ordered and aligned extensions of Zlatlan. Doing so would double the capacity of the city, though it will be many centuries before that would become a worry.
Character Limit: 5. Tags: Construction, Navigation, Multi-Stage. Requirements: None.

Applied Aethyrbaric Combustion/Detonation: Wood from the Xiliqu tree acts as a conduit for Aqshy, but it's sap repels the Red Wind; these two properties together contribute to the tree's life-cycle, wherein a specimen absorbs more and more of the Wind until it reaches a critical density within the trunk of the tree and the ad hoc spell in the sap collapses, creating a violent explosion that launches it seeds great distance. There must be some use for these properties.
Suggest a Use (Optional):
- Write-In.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Research, 3rd Generation (1), 4th Generation (1). Requirements: Macuiltotect, Slann (2).

Unraveling Secrets of Sunken Crystals: On the precipice of being able to once again construct items such as Solar Engines and Revification Crystals it seems only sensible to explore what might be done with those crystals discovered in the aquifer below the Spawning Pool. After so long in the dark and lightless depths of those deep waters, what strange properties must they have developed?
Suggest a Use (Optional):
- Write-In.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Construction, Research, 5th Generation. Requirements: Slann (1).

Autonomic Labor-Saving Systems: Before the Great Catastrophe even lesser temple-cities, such as the Golden Tower of the Gods or the Temple of Skulls were filled to bursting. Hundreds of thousands marched beneath their banners, toiled in scattered mines and fields, and maintained the far-flung pieces of their portions of the Geomantic Web. So great were the numbers of skinks and saurus and kroxigor that once spawned, many did not set foot in the temple-city of their origin for decades at a time, living instead in networks of smaller settlements. Now there is only Zlatlan and a few tens of thousands. Where once the effort of many hands was sufficient, more efficient solutions must be sought to allow the temple-city to survive and thrive; magic must replace muscle where it can. As it stands only things like the Forge Districts, communal kitchens, larger craft shops, warehouses, and docks will benefit, but this is the first necessary step on a long journey.
Character Limit: 2. Tags: Constructs, Research, 3rd Generation. Requirements: Slann (1).

Making Them Ready for War: With a viable population of dragon turtles safely ensconced within secure territory it is not time to begin considering the details of what equipment they will be outfitted with, alongside that of their crews, and the finer points of how they will be used to further the Great Plan. Much will need to be done in order to make these beasts ready to find their place; binding rituals must be tailored, crew equipment designed and manufacturing begun, weapons adapted, and so on.
Character Limit: 3. Tags: Research, Combat. Requirements: Slann (2), Huatza-Botl.

Study [Artifact]: Such devices as are made by the mortal races of the world are of course easily understood by the mighty Slann, but not so with many of the greatest works of the Old Ones. With the Arcane Inference Engines of the Temple of Tepok awakened from their long dormancy it is once again possible to peer into the depths of those objects of power left behind by the Old Ones or derived from their teachings. Choose one to Study:
- Carapace of Winds. Character Limit: 2. Tags: Research, 3rd Generation. Requirements: Slann (2).
- Dorzug's Staff. Character Limit: 2. Tags: Research, ??? Generation. Requirements: Slann (2).

Artifact Enhancement: Certain enchanted objects in your possession may be further enhanced by your slann, changing their function or giving them new capabilities and benefits. This is no easy feat though and is dangerous, mistakes can lead to setbacks and even, rarely, the destruction of an artifact. Choose one:
- Fivefold Hive of Jade. Character Limit: 1. Tags: Research, 3rd Generation. Requirements: Wik'keer'mal.
- Disc of Yuxa. Character Limit: 2. Tags: Research, 2nd Generation. Requirements: Slann (2). Enhancement (Choose One): Supreme Lordship of the Heavens/Alignment of the Sacred Choir.

Repair an Artifact: Though you have yet to construct the facilities which would allow you to build such wonders anew you have sufficient knowledge to repair damaged Solar Engines, Revification Crystals, and even Engines of the Gods. Choose one:
- Damaged Solar Engine. Character Limit: 2. Tags: Construction, Research, 4th Generation. Requirements: Slann (2).
- Damaged Engine of the Gods. Character Limit: 3. Tags: Construction, Research, 2nd Generation. Requirements: Slann (3).

Temple Actions:
Chance of success scales with the number of slann assigned to each temple action. Can be focused on specific actions or outcomes, but doing so reduces overall chance of success.

*Temporary*
Guiding the Vohlu: While the bulk of the education of the Vohlu will be conducted by skinks and saurus, the occasional dedication of slann to the project in a more hands on capacity could be very fruitful.
*Temporary*

Divination: Read the heavens for a sign of what the future holds. Chance to gain one or more prophecies, or to aid an action this turn.
Meditation: Delve into memory and study the twisting strands of magic. Gain understanding of a prophecy.
Contemplating the Sequence: Seek understanding of the Great Plan. Chance to gain a deeper understanding of the mysteries of the world.

Note: Plans without Experimental Poolwork are not valid. Vote will likely be open at least through most of next week, possibly next weekend depending on my schedule. Please ask if you have questions, especially if you notice anything missing.

4 Hour Moratorium
Vote by Plan.​

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

North of Zlatlan, just past the mouth of the southern Red River there was a great cove cut into the shores of the Bay of Stars. Millenia ago, mere centuries after the slann of the First Generation shifted the orbit of the world and the vast continent-sized ice sheets had begun to retreat, the rushing waters had carved through the land and spilled out into the bay. Such was the volume of the melting waters and so swift their course that land that might have withstood ten-thousand millenia against a lesser river was carved away in only centuries.

But even before the Great Catastrophe the runoff from the retreating glaciers of the continental mountain range had begun to follow a new course and soon was only a mighty river rather than a titanic, continent-carving flood. It's new mouth not even a tenth the size.

Steep cliff faces towered over the cove, as it meandered in from the bay. Further back, near to the ancient mouth of the river long stretches of wide, sandy beaches lay at the feet of the cliffs where the dying river had deposited heaps of sand and gravel which had then been overlaid by white sands carried in on the tides. Smaller inlets dotted the sides of the cove, carved out in the millenia since, some even digging caves into the cliff sides. It was in one of these smaller offshoots that the pod of dragon turtles acquired in the previous decade had been established.

Along the northern edge of the inlet the ancient cliff face had stood on weaker soil and in centuries since its carving, part of it had collapsed to form a steep hill long since overgrown by the jungle. This was the first layer of defense. Dense foliage and undergrowth serving to hide the inlet from prying eyes. Meanwhile to the south a small system of sea caves had been dug out of the cliffs, affording an excellent position to construct a hidden set of landings and yards to store the future equipment of the dragon turtles. Work had not yet begun on such facilities, but would in time.

So far only a perimeter of boundary stones had been installed, each enchanted so that together they formed a subtle ward that would turn away beasts and unwary warmbloods. Against a determined enemy they would do little, but such intruders would then inevitably face either patrols from the assigned handlers or the dragon turtles themselves and both could retreat to the sea at need.

Handlers for the dragon turtles had been found from amongst the most experienced skinks that saw to the well being of stegadon, bastiladon, and carnosaur.

For the most part the dragon turtles preferred to hunt for their own food from the shoals of fish that made their home in the Bay of Stars and the waters just beyond its mouth, as well as the forests of kelp that grew thick in the deeper portions of both. But on occasion they deigned to allow the skinks to feet them, the youngest especially— and once battlefield injury, or illness, afflicted them it would be necessary to have ready supplies of food on hand. It was delicate work determining what foods they favored and what they would tolerate, centuries would be required before a complete understanding was developed. And then centuries more before it was mastered.

But even in just the few years that the skinks charged had had to begin their work they were already beginning to develop that understanding.

Day 8 Caxuatn's Season, 11650


Huatza-Botl prowled down the set of winding stone stairs dug into the hillside, behind them the skink in charge of the motley collection of handlers hurried to catch up. Their scales mottled yellow-green, a harness of leather straps clinging to their chest and upper thighs, tools and pouches dangling from loops. One eye covered by a leather patch and one clawed hand clutched the end of a long wooden pole slung over their shoulder. Spots of shadow and sunlight played across their shadows as the two of them made their way down towards the beach below.

"Progress?"

"Steady," said the handler as they caught up, "Most juveniles will accept food and grooming efforts."

"And the adults?"

They shook their head, "No."

Three years ago only a small handful would allow anyone but Huatza-Botl to approach without making threat displays; lifted heads and loud hissing. And even that only if the saurus had the Leviathan-Bone Harpoon.

More than a year ago the handlers had attempted to approach some of the youngest of the pod as the watching adult seemed to doze under the summer sun. Seemed, being the operative word. Before the group was within even a few meters it had rounded on them and let loose with a burst of boiling water from its mouth. Most of the handlers had been able to dodge out of the way. It had been nowhere near full power for an adult dragon turtle.

Most.

Their leader had been too close to move entirely out of the way and the near miss had been enough to burst an eyeball and scald half their face. Save for the eyepatch it was difficult to tell they had ever been injured.

"We've begun taking measures on some of the more sociable."

That was good. Significant growth still took place as a dragon turtle approached adulthood, and even beyond, but some juveniles were already large enough to mount something similar to a howdah. And the rough dimensions of their bodies remained mostly unaltered.

There would always be some need for adjustment to fit such equipment to individual beasts, it was true of bastiladon and stegadon, there was no reason it shouldn't be true of dragon turtles.

Near the base of the hill the jungle cover thinned out until it was only some low shrubs and grasses between them and the beach below where a handful of the pod lay spread across the sand, sunning themselves in the afternoon light. In the far distance Huatza-Botl spotted more of the dragon turtles dotting the other beaches of the inlet and even a few setting out to hunt in the waters of the Bay of Stars. Despite the relative chill of the season the dragon turtles were no less active. Perhaps they really were draconic in origin.

As they neared to within ten meters of the beach the nearest dragon turtles swung their heads about to fix their gazes on Huatza-Botl— or rather on the weapon in their hand. Though the Oldblood had not yet reached for the magic of the weapon. Dozens of dark eyes watched the two zar'kaix, listening for what no mortal ear could hear.

Day 52 Potec's Season, 11650

Spread out across the floor of the chamber were just over a dozen lengths of reed-pith paper, edges curling up and occasionally jostling in the breeze as steady spring sunlight streamed in through the wide trapezoidal windows. From beyond the sound of crashing waves and seabirds filters in, the scrape and crash and hubbub of activity faint beyond that. Stalking between individual lengths, their edge held down by carved stone, Huatza-Botl considered each design carefully.

All had the vague outline of a dragon turtle in command but from there they diverged, the backs of the beasts topped by highly detailed sketches; two-thirds were of some manner of platform and the other third a saddle. Notes scrawled across each schematic highlighted what still remained to be designed.

Most of it as it turned out.

Huatza-Botl had spent many lunar months travelling back and forth between this very chamber in the harbor citadel and inlet holding the pod of dragon turtles, collecting measurements with the handles and producing schematics with the scribes, iterating on the various designs in between their other duties. Thus far they had only settled on three categories of plans to bring forward. Crew platforms, designed to ferry Sea-Claws or skink sailors to their foes. Saddles for skink chiefs and priests, or for saurus champions to ride a dragon turtle into battle. Heavier platforms designed to mount Solar Engines or greatbows, though it was uncertain if the greatbows would survive the salty spray of the sea so close for so long. All were similar in principle, comprising a platform or set of platforms lashed to the shell of the dragon turtle or a saddle that would be set near the head of the beast where neck and shell met.

Even within those though there were… numerous options; some were little more than a howdah modified to sit on the broad shell of a dragon turtle, others were more like a cage than a platform, and others were several sets of platforms. Even the saddle designs had their own variations between those for saurus champions and those for skink chiefs or priests— the former was only a 'single' wide saddle with the potential to seat more than one, or to carry cargo, while the latter was a saddle connected to a small platform.

In the end some manner of equipment would be designed for each category. So long as it was functional. It only remained to decide where to start, that was a matter of priorities.

Or so at least Huatza-Botl had believed.

From the end of the chamber opposite portal looking out onto the harbor below and the Bay of Stars two figures emerged— each taller than Huatza-Botl, edging out the Oldblood by the length of bleach bone rising above their snout from the bone helms their bore, and deck in bronze-gold armor gleaming with enchantment. Wicked obsinite tipped halberds held in one hand and thick traditional quchi shields in the other. Their gazes swept the chamber and Huatza-Botl felt the assessing weight of their attentions measure them and then dismiss them.

Without a word both temple-guard stepped to the side of the shadowed doorway they had come through and began to stalk around the edge of the chamber. From behind them the prodigious bulk of a slann emerged, mottled red-orange flesh glistening as he floated forward atop his palanqin.

Lord Mextlep drifted in after him, his own deep blue-purple frame slighter compared to the other slann and his eyes shut in meditative contemplation.

Between them lay something curious and unexpected— a wooden carving of a dragon turtle as large as one of the temple-guards' shields with a strange protrusion of bronze across its back. Like a strange, bulbous fungus growing from the shell it bulged grotesquely it nearly doubled the height of the dragon turtle. A hexagonal section of bronze peeled away as the carving spun lazily through the air, revealing equal numbers of tiny wooden saurus and skinks within.

Lord Mextlep opened his eyes a slit and white light spilled across the floor for a moment before they shut again and the younger slann settled himself against the back of his palanquin. As the two drew to a stop and Tzula-Pec took up their own position behind the lords, the first pair of temple-guard made their way at last to the outer portal and posted themselves beside the entrance as two more temple-guard slipped in to the room and took up positions by the other door. His mouth splitting into a grin Macuiltotec raised his one hand and clapped it together with the air.

"Come now, Huatza-Botl, show us what you have."

---

Every basic category (Crew Platform, Champion Saddle, Weapon Platform) will eventually be produced according to your needs, this is just a decision on where you will start focusing. It will be some decades before Zlatlan has enough 'full equipment' for the dragon turtles.

But there is also the crew equipment to consider. Unfortunately you only have two options there; nothing or something expensive (though not as expensive as the original Abyssal Exploration Gear).

Pick Three (3):

[][PLATFORM] Crew Platform
- Carries Sea-Claws or skink sailors as passengers. Can be outfitted with dart guns.
[][PLATFORM] Champion Saddle (Priest/Chief)
- Carries a Chief or Priest into battle, with small crew of guards. Can be outfitted with dart guns.
[][PLATFORM] Champion Saddle (Scar-Veteran/Oldblood)
- Carries a Scar-Veteran or Oldblood into battle, with either cargo or up to two companions.
[][PLATFORM] Firing Platform (Greatbow?)
- Intended to mount a greatbow and firing crew, may possibly fail.
[][PLATFORM] Firing Platform (Solar Engine)
- Intended to mount a Solar Engine and firing crew.
[][PLATFORM] Crew Compartment
- Fully enclosed modification to all designs.
- Will allow all designs to freely submerge.
- Counts as Two (2) Choices.

Pick One (1):

[][CREW] None
- Leave crew without special nautical equipment
- Unless Crew Compartment is chosen, dragon turtles will be restricted to surface travel.
- Restriction does not apply to Priests and Champions with the Mark of Tzunki.
[][CREW] Adapt Abyssal Exploration Gear
- Allows crews to survive at limited depths and to freely exist Crew Compartments if chosen.

Notes: Bit shorter, but this is mostly setting the stage for the next portions where I'll get to describe the cool things you're building and how you go about getting new beasties into the fold. Comments, critique, etc.

2 hour Moratorium​

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Spoiler: Winning Votes

Crew Compartment, Crew Platform, and Adapt Abyssal Exploration Gear won.

Day 18 Chotec's Season, 11651

Mextlep sat in contemplation, the deep blue-purple color of his flesh near radiance as it was bathed by the white-brilliance of hysh. Across from him his brother slann, Macuiltotec, was as impatient as his favored Wind; one finger of his remaining hand tapping gently at the base of his palanquin, eyes fixed on the objects between them, spirit brushing against each piece. All twelve sets of the Abyssal Exploration Gear crafted decades ago by their younger brethren were arrayed between them— twelve crystal domes, twelve sets of fins, twelve masks, and twelve sets of bronze bands of varying sizes.

Each carefully balanced enchantment and piece designed to allow saurus and skin and kroxigor to plunge deep into the depths of the waters which had been revealed beneath the Spawning Pools of Dawning Revelation. They had not been used since the final explorations of those waters and the discovery of the geode in those depths. Now safely sealed off from the waters of the spawning pools themselves by a nearly meter thick wall and capped off by a heavy stone slab, the gear had been returned to the chamber in the bowels of the Temple of Tzunki to wait when next they might be used.

That was not today.

Outfitting even just the leader of each crew with a full suite of gear would be… not impossible. But it would take the attention of the slann themselves. An unacceptable use of their precious time.

So it was that Macuiltotec and Mextlep sought to simplify the design to something which the artisan-priests of Zlatlan could produce themselves, in numbers to outfit each crew. Neither had participated in the original creation of the gear but that hardly mattered; the designs were straightforward enough to understand.

Opening his eyes as he finished his meditations, Mextlep met the eyes of his brother.

In that instant their souls and minds met.

Previous use required explorations up to a depth of 60 meters. Magic gathered in the center of the chamber, brushing over the arrayed gear before collecting into a ghostly echo of one. Expected operational ranges for marine infantry remain significantly above that.

With a thought most of the bronze bands disappeared from the model and the faint impressions of glyphs and arcane geometries on those that remained shifted. Five remained; one about the torso and one at the end of each limb.

Combat demands unimpaired vision.

Crystal and bronze exploded outwards growing to fill the space between the two slann as the rest of the illusion shrank away into the shadows of the chamber. Revealing, as it came to dominate the space, the many thin layers sandwiched between networks of thin bronze spars arranged into a pentagonal pattern that flowed across the inner and outer surface of the head dome.

Magic flowed through the gaps between each layer of crystal, rendering even the murkiest depths visible. Arcane geometries and glyphs etched into the bronze-gold of the domes also gave them the strength to survive even strong blows without failing. But such capabilities came at a cost, in time and effort.

Ambient light should remain available under most conditions.

Reduced complexity, more rapid distribution— unit cohesion is capable of providing sufficient awareness.

Gone was the dome of crystal and bronze. In its place a mask of bronze appeared to fill the space, a broad fanning crest framing the smoothed curves of a helm fitted to the contours of a saurus' head with one broad strip of crystal spanning from eye to eye. Two great fangs extended to either side of where the breathing mask would go.

Excessive weight potentially hazardous in aquatic environments, they thought together. Risks drowning in case of exhaustion and separation from unit.

Bronze melted into shadow and wood. Resembling the stegadon skull helms of the temple-guard, or at least the forward portion of it, bronze teeth extending down the sides of the helm and past the line of the mouth while a single curved bronze horn stuck up from the front. Each eye was covered by a small crystal lens set into a ring of bronze-gold covered in glyphs. At the front a plate of bronze shaped like the beak of a stegadon shielded the fragile ray-cartilage mask from damage.

While the original sets of Gear had been made more with exploration in mind, these were intended for combat and survival. Meant to sustain kroxigor and skink and saurus as they fought those who might oppose the will of the Old Ones in even the smallest ways.

Mextlep had often seen saurus and kroxigor sink tooth and claw into their foes. And yet the current design left them without the ability.

Another thought wiped away the delicate structure of the facemask and brought the front third of the wooden helm down lower over the nostrils while simultaneously splitting the bronze beak into two, the bottom half gaining its own wooden frame that stretched back along the jaw. Several slits opened up along the front portion of the upper helm. Behind them, ribs of ray-cartilage were set against a grill of bronze.

Shrinking away the wood and bronze helm met with the form of the illusory saurus as it receded out of the shadows and took its place once again standing at the center of the chamber.

Mobility, high priority.

Along the legs and arms and tail the forms of the fins began to shift and bend. Moved up and down the limbs. Dozens of configurations flashed by, each differing only slightly from the last; strands of magic curled around the fins in a haze of blue-green energy that flowed and churned like a storm wracked sea.

Fins grew, stretching along the length of each arm before just as swiftly withering away until only a small fringe remained at the wrist. Webbing grew between fingers, and then over them to form enormous fins that melted back into shorter sections only between the fingers. Nearly the same process repeated for the fins along the legs, though the webbing that remained still extended a small bit past the end of each toe claw.

An enormous sail extended from the spine and then flowed down the length to the tail where it joined the existing fins and formed a broad paddle at the end. That then stretched itself up the length of the tail into a pair of dorsal and ventral fins running nearly the whole length of the tail.

Mextlep blinked as he felt Macuiltotec retreat from the pseudo-communion, the elder slann's blazing presence drawing away from his own. Protesting muscles responded sluggishly, nerves tingling as he filled his flesh once again.

Between them stood a saurus, absent scars or markings of blessings of any kind— five enchanted bronze bands decorated their form, elbows, ankles, and torso, a helm of bronze and wood shrouded their head, fins and webbing ran the length of their tail and broadened their hands and feet. But this was only the beginning. Only one iteration of at least four that needed to be created.

Kroxigor, skink, and skink priests still remained. Each with slightly different needs.

Yuxa's Season, 11651 to Potec's Season, 11655

Small numbers of crew gear had begun to emerge from the forge district sof Zlatlan, enough to outfit a crew of skinks and saurus each, with a smattering of gear for a handful of kroxigor. Huatza-Botl had inspected and tested a full suit, save for the helm, themself not two lunar months back.

It had taken some adjustment to be able to move smoothly outside of the water, but beneath the waves a set of the crew gear had allowed a squad of Sea-Claws to nearly match them. At least while they themselves were without a set. Donning their own gear had turned the tables once again.

Enchantments in each fin spread the force of every motion against a greater area than even the finds themselves while also enhancing the strength of those movements slightly. Increasing not only raw speed but also rotation in the water.

Amongst the more active Servants of the Old Ones the saurus had the least affinity for water, outside of those Blessed by Tzunki as Huatza-Botl was, and for skinks and kroxigor the equipment did not show so drastic an improvement in aquatic ability. But for saurus it allowed them to swim as naturally as any fish, once they had adjusted.

And though the safe depth for the crew gear was not nearly as great as that of the Abyssal Exploration Gear it was based on, it still represented an increase over the natural capabilities of all but the kroxigor. Even for the more hulking caste it made such travels less… troubling. Which allowed them to stay at depth for hours in many cases.

That was the work of Lords Macuiltotec and Mextlep, and the artisan-priests though.

For the last year Huatza-Botl had been concerned with finalizing the design of the sealed compartments which would be carried by the dragon turtles.

Months of back and forth with the shipwright and scribes of Zlatlan produced the first prototype; a flattened hemisphere of hexagonal bronze plates tall enough for a skink to stand upright, set into a frame of wood timbers, sealed by a mixture of wood pitch and bark fibers. Even before initial assembly it was clear it would never be fitted to any dragon turtle. It would simply be too heavy once filled with crew and fitted with equipment and supplies.

Redesigning the internal frame had shaved away some weight. And some clever enchantments had trimmed a little more but it was still not enough.

Finally, months after the process had begun Huatza-Botl begged audience with Lord Mextlep and Macuiltotec, which was quickly granted— both slann were engaged with the designing of the rituals which would bind the dragon turtles into service and so were nearby to the sea caves where the prototyping was being done. Meeting the slann atop the cliffs overlooking the cove they had requested guidance on how to fulfill their design given the difficulties so far faced.

And promptly been informed that they were not intended to use bronze; that had merely been the material at hand for the model.

That really it had not been quite that serious, they had only made it as a conceptual demonstration. It was not so much a design as it was an idea.

Which simplified a great many things.

Freed from the unintended constraint on the design the shipwrights and scribes had quickly began investigating other solutions. Huatza-Botl quickly found themself overseeing not one team but more than half a dozen as artisan-priest shipwrights and scribes congregated around their preferred solutions. Prototypes began to take shape wherever the space could be found, spreading out like skeletal barnacles across the sparse wooden dockyard that had been installed in the sea caves.

One resembled the hull of a coastal monitor flipped over, shrunken along its length and stretched at the beam. Another a hexagonal pyramid with the top cut off.

Some were made entirely of wood or wood clad with thin sheets of bronze. One particular team took melted resin, mixed it with organic fibers and layering it successive sheets of a certain bark. Others used high strength ceramics to reproduce the original design with much less weight.

It was these last attempts that bore the most fruit. While purely wooden designs proved feasible, at least during early testing, there was worry that shifting pressures would lead to warping as the compartments frequently submerged and rose out of the depths. Manufacture of ceramics did not even need to involve artisan-priests. Borrowing from the layered resin-fiber and bark design the ceramic tiles would be backed by a layer of the same bark impregnated by a polymer derived from a different resin and then a layer of treated nuum hide and then another layer of polymer-impregnated-bark. All of which would be set onto an ovoid wooden frame.

While the design lost out on some space relative to the original it could withstand as much damage without breach and saved significantly in weight. Not a small consideration given the plans to develop variants mounting either Solar Engines or some derivative of a greatbow in the future.

Hatches were placed two to each side of the compartment and one at the top, with the upper hatch opening into a smaller sealed chamber within the compartment connected to a pair of bellows so that small numbers of the crew could exit even while submerged… without flooding the whole compartment. Attachment to the shell of the dragon turtle was a trickier proposition. Though most juveniles had a shell thick enough to drill anchor sites into without causing immediate injury to the beast, any impact would risk injuring the beast.

Stegadon and bastiladon had been altered by the slann of the First Generation— their skeletal structures reinforced and rearranged, given thick, bony plates along their backs that would safely support direct connections. Until such transformations could be worked on the dragon turtles the compartments would need to be secured in other ways. Wooden beams running across the bottom width would be tied by thick ropes that ran over and beneath the dragon turtle, along with careful fitting to its shell, would have to serve to secure the compartment.

It was good that the Abyssal Exploration gear had been adapted, otherwise the dragon turtles might have been restricted to very shallow dives.

Mostly the dragon turtles would simply be trained to follow the fleet, with finer guidance for combat and precise navigation would be provided by a pair of pedals towards the front of the compartment, which was the wider section of the hemi-ovoid. Connected to a pair of bronze pads by woodend members, set to either side of the next, pressing on one pedal would indicate the direction of a turn, while pressing forward on both would indicate a dive and backward on both would indicate to rise.

Day 30 Tlanxla's Season, 11653

Increase estimated age of pod leader by ten percent.

Macuiltotec held the enormous panel of keratin before him and peeled off smaller flakes. Gusting winds bearing away the crumbling bits of shell before they could fall to the rocky ground beneath him. This was not the first scute he had examined, nor even the tenth. Over the last year and a half he had witnessed dozens of dragon turtles shed the outer layers of their shells.

Amongst the youngest of the pod he had seen several cycles as each increased rapidly in size. Some of the dragon turtles had barely been larger than a skink when they had arrived with the pod and now they were nearly the size of a saurus.

On the other hand, amongst the adults Macuiltotec had barely seen a handful of shedding cycles, some of them had not shed at all yet. None of the eldest of the beasts had even begun to show the first signs. Clearly the process slowed as the beasts grew and aged, that much had been suspected even before Huatza-Botl had found the pod, but the exact rate at which it slowed was only beginning to become clear.

Given the disparities in rates and the other evidence— sheer size and the way the Winds responded to the will of the pod leader. Far from deliberate manipulation, it nonetheless signalled that the beast had lived long enough and seen enough to begin touching the aethyr with intent if not control.

Dangerous if unchecked.

Thankfully the binding rituals he and Mextlep were designing would allow them to shape and control how such capability developed. For warbeasts the most common form was an instinctual layering of ghur through their flesh, strengthening scale and muscle, lending them greater ferocity in battle and sharpening their senses. But for the dragon turtles some elements of aqshy and azyr might also be beneficial.

Social bonds will override solitary hunting preferences, at once he had the image of an adult dragon turtle driving an injured ray into the waiting mouth of a smaller one.

Blood coiled through the water and kelp tore free as the younger dragon turtle tore its prey into chunks and gulped whole pieces down while the shadow of the adult circled overhead. Even juveniles went out alone to hunt down their meals, but evidently the bond between parent and child was strong enough to drive the adults to help their progeny.

At least for a time.

It was a useful observation, such bonds could be woven into the magic of the binding ritual.

Along with the clear social hierarchies of the pod, it would give them something off of which to build the necessary levels of obedience and attentiveness required of any war beast. To the dragon turtles the zar'kaix'khanx would become as parent and child and leader all at once.

Though solitary in hunting, dragon turtles held to a fairly clear pecking order. Size and age were clear factors, but so too were lineage; which at least loose groupings of seemingly related sub-pods identifiable within the whole. Those groupings only occasionally showed themselves though. More important and persistent was a hierarchy based on proximity to the main leader of the pod; age and size played less of a factor, there was a clear grouping of younger, fertile adults that were allowed to cluster close to the leader with their young (all either only recently hatched or younger juveniles). Then there was a larger outer circle composed of larger, older adults without obvious offspring that hovered at the edges of the leader's territory.

After that was all the others— older adults with their own offspring, juveniles, and a range of other adults.

Wik'keer'mal would have been able to discern more of their nature from such observations, but neither Macuiltotec or Mextlep had ever made any great study of living things. Such discoveries would have to come in time, as the dragon turtles were integrated into Zlatlan's forces more and more. For now their focus was upon the rituals.

It would only be another year or two before they first of them would begin, and by the end of the decade the first dragon turtles would enter the service of the temple-city.

Action Completed. Dragon Turtles now available as War Beasts. Sealed Crew Compartment now available as Wargear. Naval Crew Gear created, allowing crews to operated underwater up to several meters of depth indefinitely, and for limited periods of time at greater depths safely.

Sealed Crew Compartments can carry 12 skinks, 8 saurus, or 6 skinks and 3 kroxigor.

Expedition Supply Costs:

Dragon Turtle (1 Points) (Requires: 0.25 points of Sealed Crew Compartment each)
Max : 3 Points

Sealed Crew Compartment (0.25 Points)
Max: 0.50 Points

Notes: No vote this time. This one fought me, though part of that is probably because I am slightly sick. Comments, critique, etc. Next up is Pre-Divine Metaphysics and Mechanization.

 

[CuttleFish2.0]

Day 71 Chotec's Season, 11652

Merry buzzing filled the chamber as hundreds of bees flitted from flower to flower. Vines hung from wooden trellis and spilled down the walls, delicate buds opening to the light filtering in through the leaf crowded windows. Plans lay scattered around the perimeter of the room, filled with specimens from across the world— lineages of flora carefully cultivated across the centuries.

Some were unique in all the world, products of the experiments lasting generations.

Others were the last of their species, preserved against adaptation and mutation.

All were the personal property of Wik'keer'mal. Though this small collection of plants hardly represented his entire collection. That took up another dozen chambers scattered around the temple-city, each housing its own biome (or range of biomes when they could coexist) and attended by a handful of dedicated skinks.

Though specimen currently filling the chamber were an eclectic mix; several species of climbing vine from campaign far to the north of Huitzacatlan, marsh lilies from the lands to the north of Chuqitzan gathered during a campaign to wipe out the last strongholds of the giants there, a handful of mountain flowers from the settling of Chuqitzan, epiphytic orchids taken from isles to the east… on and on. Each collected while on some campaign or another during the early centuries of the ordering of the world.

None of course, originals.

Wik'keer'mal drew in a deep breath and filled his lungs, inhaling the scents of his garden with relish. Pollen, nectar, sap, and more; a dense collage of aromas assaulted his senses.

His mind turned to ancient memory. Stone walls receded, the light of the sun fading into a muted gray cast across the world. Gone was his palanquin and his beehives— mundane and magical, his feet once again touched the solid soil of the world, yet unstained by the corrosive touch of the Enemy in memory.

From the crest of a low hill overlooking a broad, flat river delta as it joins to the warm ocean beyond he stands and watches three slow moving rivers of scaled flesh wind their way across the marshy lowlands and rivers. Nearly three-hundred thousand bodies. Fully a fifth of the legions they have raised so far, gathered in one of their first true tests.

A young memory, he thought.

From a time before the division of the world and the creation of the World Pond. Before the Four and Fifth Spawnings. When the world was still dominated by the vast multi-kilometer thick ice sheets, visible even over the horizon back along the twisting course of the river.

Wik'keer'mal turned back to watching the marching legions.

Towering, tumbledown stone edifices dominate every corner of the delta. Reaching up from the muck and water like great anthills, spreading along a network of dirty tracks beaten into the land and lined by scattered fastnesses of rough timber. Lumbering beasts of gray, blubbery skin pulled great carts along them and through the sodden fields of tall grasses lying between each stone fortress-city.

Horns blew in the distance and figures fled, carts and beasts abandoned as rank upon rank of scaled warriors armed with gleaming bronze weapons and shrouded in protective magics spread out into the green country. Knots for resistance formed as the armies of the Old Ones worked their way closer and closer to the stone strongholds. Cyclopean warriors armed with stone clubs and wrapped in leather screamed defiance, slinging stones down from their towers, but against the overwhelming numbers arrayed against them it was not enough.

Most succumbed within hours, a few lasted scant days.

Wik'keer'mal remembers bringing down one tower himself that had proven particularly troublesome. Dug into a rocky outcrop of uplifted crust, with a bse of piled stone, and filled with near a hundred of the foe it had resisted the efforts of the saurus besieging it for nearly a week by the time he had called forth a roaring column of flame on top of it.

It took just two weeks for the legions to sweep away all resistance before them, save for the great strongholds. Each built of enormous stone slabs seemingly ripped directly out of the ground; some were up to twenty-meters long and five meters thick and seven meters wide. Stacked together to form a layered mound of spiralling levels, just less than a kilometer wide at the base, that reached up to forty-five meters in elevation.

Eleven strongholds, each one nestled up against the shore of the river or set at the top of the highest rise; smoke rising from chimneys across their slopes and tiers. More of the barrel-chested one-eyed warriors— little more than dark figures to the legions arrayed before each fortress-city, watched from darkened crevices and rough parapets. Armored in leather and beaten copper plates decorated with designs of eyes or curling loops or serpents, these were of a greater class than those encountered on the roads.

And from deep within, fierce wills contested the spells of the slann; blunting and batting aside each spell flung at the strongholds, crudely but effectively.

Wik'keer'mal recalled the first time he had felt his magic turned away just before it would have struck the rocky face of one of the upper levels of a stronghold half set into the river. His bolt of lightning had suddenly slipped from his grasp and rather than shattering rock it had wrenched up the side of the slope, and cast into the sky above the peak where it fractured into a frozen canopy of actinic branches.

Through reverberations in the aethyr he had felt the satisfaction of his opponent, cold and murky; rolling silently across his spirit like a fog bank. Mocking laughter echoing across the winds, and woven within it long gnarled fingers that sought to clasp his soul. To dig sharp nails of shadow and bewilderment into the stuff of his spirit and pry it open.

Clever, he thought, but the sort born out of long unchallenged arrogance. Watch, brother, we are nearly at the critical moment.

He felt Gar'ata'xamundi acknowledge his thought and the pressure of attention increased on the memory. Like hundreds of bees all at once alighting on his flesh all at once.

He had thrown off the attempt with a flex of his will, twisting and pulling apart the strands of magic that composed the spell.

Wik'keer'mal felt their fear through the memory, hot and sudden, as he reached back along the pathway of the spell. Slipping between the crude, but nonetheless effective, wards which lay across the outer faces of the stronghold and smashing aside the still awakening protections layered over the darkened chamber which lay near the peak he came face to spirit with a tall, figure shrouded in a dense cloak of dark black. It had the same, basic form as its lessers— two arms, two legs, a narrow pointed snout that sprouted large pointed teeth out the sides, a long tail, and a single eye set atop its snout. But from there it differed greatly with horns and dark, lanky strands of hair emerging from its head and a complete lack of knobbly, bony protrusions; instead simply the same smooth, ochre skin as the rest of its body.

One hand clutched a twisted length of wood, thrumming with unfamiliar magic. Its single great eye widened as he battered aside its defenses. Surrounding it in a circle holding their own staff were several more of the creatures, similar save for a lack of hair and height, each of them working the flow of magic through the chamber.

Before them a circle was carved into the floor into which were set a number of smooth, river polished, stones the size of one of their eyes. Each painted with strange glyphs and symbols of power. Unfamiliar but potent.

He had not given them much thought at the time, intent as he was upon his purpose; to deliver death. Wik'keer'mal aimed his spell at the creature's head and released the bolt of magical lightning through the extended fragment of his will.

Moving instinctively the creature shifted its staff into the path of his spell.

Foolish, he had thought then. Whatever skill and power it had attained could not be enough to face a Servant of the Old Ones in direct confronta—

And then the world exploded.

Something deeper and older rose up around the creature, a power cold like the deep winter chill and vast like the ink-black void. Rippling energy caught his spell and for a moment, seemed to hold it. But whatever power the creature had called upon, whatever protection it summoned, was no more ready to match Wik'keer'mal than the creature itself had been. Light and force flung the creature and its allies back, boiling away half its staff and two-thirds of one arm into thin clouds of icy-vapor as it did. And also sending Wik'keer'mal himself tumbling fully back into his body.

He stumbled, his body wavering at the psychic backlash as the fullness of his spirit was once again thrust fully into his body, gentle telekinetic pressure from the other slann kept him from falling. Blinking in shock Wik'keer'mal stared out over the rolling hills and rivers before turning back to the curved lens of air hovering in the air before him and the distant stronghold it showed.

Perched at the peak of the fortress-city was an expanding bubble of aethyric energy, its bottom edges crawling down the sides. A rain of shattered stone and debris bounded down the stone faces before it.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

Five seconds passed.

With a whistle of wind the bubble began to fall back towards the peak, rippling like the surface of a lake during heavy rain, its surface collapsed inwards. Dragged up the rocky sides of the stronghold it tore and frayed. Long streamers of energy peeled away, ends already disappearing back in the aethyr from whence they had come, until just before the bubble completely yielded it simply vanished into nothingness.

There was a deep rumble from within the stronghold, from below it.

And, unheard by the legions arrayed around it, but as loud as thunder to the assembled slann there was a psychic shriek of rage and frustration echoed out from the upper tier.

What followed was a new form of war.

Slann had crushed the petty, clumsy wielders of the aethyr of the small hairy creatures which eked out a living amongst the snow laden valleys, brought dragons low and carved out their hearts, shattered the alchemical artifice of the giants amongst and lain low their mountain citadels. Had drawn the lifeblood from great abyssal monsters as they had crawled from the murky depths before they could touch even one stone of Tlax.

But they had never contended with this, an enemy with not only the numbers but the puissance in the arcane to truly challenge them. Not even the greatest leaders of the strongholds could match a slann, but they had dozens of underlings each and had warred amongst themselves for generations; building up deep stores of power and artifacts upon which they now called. Land and river rose up against the legions of the Old Ones— whole waterways rising as serpents of living water to batter them, hills yawning open and swallowing whole units at a time.

At first it was manageable, it was only one stronghold. Only one coven of sorcerers.

But as the magical aftershocks spread and the other fortress-cities took note they too opened their deepest vaults and poured forth a tide of grief. Living storms that could pick up entire troops and fling their broken bodies kilometers away. Abominations of beast and plant and magic. Each added its own fresh evil.

Wik'keer'mal remembered each with vivid clarity. No other time besides the Great Catastrophe had been worse.

Disparate instances sharing common—

We have more to see.

---

Waves broke against shattered chunks of basalt tens of meters tall, bases encrusted with a rime of salt, white froth spraying into the air.

One day this peak, eldest and tallest of an entire submerged mountain range would be raised to form part of the floating island continent Ulthuan, transformed into a idyllic paradise and granted as a demesne to the favored creations of the Old Ones. But that day was not yet. Not in memory at least.

In memory it was only the largest of an island chain stretching out across the inland sea that dominated the southwestern section of the continent. Kept warm by fields of lava of the eastern shore heating the cold, glacial air that flows in over the continental sheets grinding south across the center of the land mass. One of nearly a dozen, though most measure only a scant few kilometers across.

Dense, foliage clings to the valleys and slopes of the island fed by the frequent storms that form as the colder southern air meets the warmer north eastern winds.

Wik'keer'mal remembers coming to this place, charged by Chiccotta himself— one of the Second, to investigate the creatures that called it home for their masters.

As the fading energies of the transportation finish dissipating he has already begun to weave a spell of concealment around himself and his guards. Two-hundred saurus, plucked directly from the reserves for the northern mountain campaign; more than enough to deal with the inhabitants of the island.

What possible threat could mammals be?

In the shadow of the two volcanoes, a network of villages had sprung up recently, spreading from the smaller islands further up the chain in the preceding centuries. Thousands of hairy, soft-skinned, warmblooded creatures living in clusters of crude timber frame dwellings linked together by beaten dirt roads under constant threat of being swallowed by the jungle. Far from the sandy beaches and the valleys full of prey, on the far side of the island, at the top of a sheer cliff Wik'keermal established his base. One small, squat temple, just large enough to house himself and his guard.

He would tear it down before all was done, cast the stone into the sea and regrow the jungle in its place.

From there he watched for years as they hunted and built, fought in petty wars (though giving the frenetic melees he witnessed them engage in that name was a gross overstatement) between themselves, and celebrated the small joys of their short lives and grieved insignificant tragedies.

Their clumsy attempts at civilization.

Missing the eager obedience of the lesser castes. With none of the careful deliberation and farsighted planning of the First and Second's efforts to found new temple-cities and expanding the Geomantic Web. Wik'keer'mal watched them stumble and blunder about; whole villages disappearing beneath a tide of mud and broken timber, splintering due to infighting and petty-private disagreements, or falling to disease and starvation— gradually swallowed by the jungle over the years. He saw them kill and fail, listening to the worst voice amongst them.

Their hairy, flattened faces inspired little confidence in Wik'keer'mal even in memory.

And yet, it was inconceivable for the Old Ones to hold interest in something without worth. So he continued to watch. And slowly, Wik'keer'mal grew to be… interested.

Began to understand what his distant masters saw in them. Or so he thought.

He recalled now one day, near the end of his study of the warmbloods, watching a party from one of the villages from the northern coast make the long, difficult trek into the volcanoes. Cooling waters brought on by the melting of the vast continental ice sheets far to the east had shifted the migratory patterns of several species of fish. This village was only the first of the many to begin to feel the sting of hunger.

After camping at the base of the main volcano for a night they began to climb up the steep sides of the living mountain. Steps had been carved into the slopes over the centuries, dozens of paths winding around the mountainside; some leading to caves or small ledges carved out of the volcano, places for lessers rituals and ceremonies, but most wound their way all the way to the peak, to the rim of the caldera itself.

This group had followed one of those paths, dressed in fresh grass skirts and bright feathers and arms wrapped around baskets laden with fresh fruit and dried meats. One amongst their number naked as they day they were born but for markings daubed onto their skin in white clay.

Every few hours they would stop by one of the stone… figures dotting the side of the trail and all chant around it for several minutes, voices rising and falling in a steady, practiced rhythm.

"————"

Memory blurred, a ringing emptiness replacing the words. He tried to focus and heard only silence, their lips moved but the air refused them, "————." With a frown, Wik'keer'mal turned to the stone figure, dark basalt bubbled and shifted, melting into the volcanic rock around it.

It was… something, vaguely in the shape of one of the warmbloods. But he could not make out its features or even tell if it was meant to be male or female.

He felt Gar'ata'xamundi's presence beside him, Brother?

What do you see? He asked.

Igneous stone, eighteen millenia old. Heavy weathering, partially worked.

You— Heat.

Wik'keer'mal felt heat upon his face. Not the heat of the sun or a fire, but the heat of molten stone racing toward him. Beneath his feet the mountain rumbled, though the loose rocks all around him did not move and he recalled no eruption from the time of this memory.

Distantly, echoing over the wind he heard the sound of metal on metal and felt a vast attention turned upon him. Only for an instant before it was gone.

Perhaps we have—

No. He dismissed Gar'ata'xamundi's concern, We continue.

He followed them up and up to the rim of the crater, where the great billowing columns of toxic smoke rose into the air. It was a place of potent, if untamed power, where the deep magic of the living earth itself rose up out of the depths to touch the world. There again the warmbloods began to chant, "————," tossing handfuls of fruits and nuts and dried meat into the fiery depths below until each basket was exhausted. From the back of the procession the one marked by white clay stepped forward in silence, those ahead moved aside without a word and those behind followed after them several steps behind.

As they neared the edge of the caldera a wisp of white fumes broke off from the column, coiling across the open air. Swirling embers in the smoke condensed into twin points of light, almost eyes.

Fumes and sacrifice reached the edge of the crater at the same time, the latter raising a hand to touch the tendril of smoke. And in the space between chants he watched the many souls of the party reach feeble fingers of will out to one another, then to the sacrifice and through them into the power in the smoke and fumes. Wik'keer'mal remembered the surge of magic which had boiled up through the lava below, the wash of heat and power which had accompanied the warmblood stepping off the edge of the crater and plummeting down below.

In a torrent it had sped down the mountainside, racing down the same paths the warmbloods had followed until it found the village and then the shore and splashed into the ocean. He remembered the swirling whirlpool of magic that had spread out into the waters where the villagers fished.

What he had not remembered, was the single word which had spilled from the lips of the sacrifice in the moment before their plunge.

"Wahao'au'lua."

---

Howling winds whipped flakes of snow as big as a hand across the icy landscape. All the world was shrouded in a white pall. Meter tall drifts of snow built where the land broke until the pressure of their own weight and the wind collapsed them, sending great tides of snow and ice careening across the frozen wasteland.

This was no natural blizzard, a singular will drove it. An ancient and terrible power which had laid claim to this patch of the world for eons uncounted.

And it was angry.

For now its rule was contested; light and heat burnt a hole through the storm, snow and ice vaporizing into wisps of steam in a circle two kilometers wide that stretched from the frozen ground to the heavens above. Shoots of green life peaking through the melting snow to meet the bright light of the sun. From deep within the storm its master roared in rage, a world shaking sound that echoed into the aethyr itself.

Wik'keer'mal flinched and his spell nearly slipped out from under his control, the wild magic he had only just begun to master wreathing in his grasp. Turning his senses inward he reasserted his hold, forcing this ghyran to do as he willed.

Certainly the battlefield utility was obvious— down below his magic knit together the shattered flesh of several saurus in seconds, but he remained doubtful of the larger use of these Winds.

Even minor lapses in control threatened to let the magic loose, and unlike the steady energy of his own psychic will and the power drawn up from the deep strata this magic had a fierce will of its own. He could feel leakage at the edges of his control, places where ghyran escaped his grasp. Only for a moment. But that was enough for grass shoots and green saplings to begin sprouting from beneath melting snow.

While above him Kwaaq of the First Spawning wove hysh, aqshy, and azyr in a blazing sphere of heavenly fire that pulsed light and heat every few heart beats. Glyphs of Chotec blazed around him as he held the enormous orb aloft and pushed by blizzard back centimeter by centimeter.

Another wave of slave-warriors emerged from the eastern perimeter of the blizzard; hundreds of fur wrapped warmbloods armed with shards of magical ice and accompanied by a scattered handful of mammoths and ice-bears. Magic lay heavy upon them, wound into their souls and weapons. Tethering them to each other and to the will driving the blizzard. Charging across the sun-warmed field they clashed with the legions of saurus below in a bloody melee that stained the icey landscape red with blood and gore.

Hours passed. Days. Neither slann flagged; bone and flesh knit together in an unceasing rhythm that bolstered crumbling lines and regenerated the shrinking reserves of fresh warriors, radiant light and fiery heat steadily rolled back the edge of the storm.

On and on came the seemingly endless tide of slave-warriors.

Until at last a vast, terrible shadow moved at the edge of the storm.

Circling, it roared challenge and rage. Answering cries rose from the slave-warriors below, their flesh bulging grotesquely as it darkened to a deep blue hue, and from the blizzard itself as the howling winds picked up speed. Spears of ice scythed through the air and the wall of the storm swelled like boiling water.

Bubbles of ice and snow rolled over one another, mushrooming to great size in moments before they burst all at once and vomiting forth the howling maw of a dragon.

Wings the size of sails flapped once, sending ice and wind raining down on the battlefield in a wave of death and destruction that touched its own slave-warriors as equally as it touched the legions of saurus. Glittering eyes swung across the sky and found Kwaaq Frozen fire spilled out from between sword-teeth, licking across the sky and freezing the air itself as it passed.

Memory stilled as Wik'keer'mal turned his attention from the dragon and to the battlefield below again.

From amongst the carnage wrought by its entrance, tiny wisps of aethyr rose towards the dragon, carried by oath-chains dug deep into each soul. And beyond, where the swarming crowds of slave-warriors charged across fields of slush and mud? Echoing battle cries offered up faith and devotion that were born up on icy winds.

Day 9 Yuxa's Season, 11657

'Divinity' it seems, Gar'ata'xamundi thought, is less a singular form of existence than a broad categorical grouping of related and convergent processes of accumulating aethyric weight.

Wik'keer'mal hummed his agreement, Quite widely arrived at, it seems.

Metaphysically self-reinforcing? Aethyrically attuned individuals accumulate power and are thus able to stabilize against competitors and more easily accumulate yet more.

Low density of pre-divine and divine entities suggests an aethyric minimum, before which the cycle is not yet self-sustaining.

Connected to presence of lesser tributary aethyrically attuned individuals?

Not only that, thought Wik'keer'mal, the power within the volcano— Wahao'au'lua, had seemed more sustained by the earthbound magic brought up with the magma.

He thought of the pantheon of the elves, of Zille'mi in the court of the Phoenix King. There had been other islands, other volcanoes, other fires. What had happened to them? Rigna proved that a god could survive without worshippers, though she also proved that in such a state the god would be quite vulnerable indeed.

Too little data, Gar'ata'xamundi thought, Pet spirits and fattened souls. That is all we have been truly witness to.

Further gathering may prove troublesome.

He did not think the elves would take kindly to attempts to probe their religious mysteries. Though given the experiences of Atahuinqua there might be more subtle methods of observation that could be tried.

Even beside the difficulties integrating the great spirits of the Vohlu with the Old Ones had so far presented, Wik'keer'mal had seen little evidence that Njat and Njem were more than stories. He doubted much could be learned from studying them at this point… though careful monitoring of the situation might offer particular enlightenment on the earliest stages of divine emergence.

At the moment the only tangible source of information was Rigna herself. And such investigations would necessarily need to be handled delicately, lest Zlatlan lose her as a potential resource. That would be unacceptable.

---

Action Complete. Perspective gained, actions altered.

Advance, evolve, or add a trait to one character of either Wik'keer'mal or Gar'ata'xamundi.

[] Wik'keer'mal
- [] Evolve Kindly Senior to Eager Tutor: +40 to Diplomacy with warmbloods.
- [] Gains Principles of Animism: +5 to Magic and Combat dealing with spirits.
- [] Write-in: Subject to QM approval.
[] Gar'ata'xamundi
- [] Gains Witness of the First: +15 to Magic using Hysh, Azyr, and Aqshy.
- [] Advance Diviner to Divination Specialist: +25 to Divination.
- [] Write-in: Subject to QM approval.

Notes: Bit longer than originally intended, but… well. Comments, critique, etc.

2 hour Moratorium​