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Gunpowder Gods: a Quest of Young Gods and New Lands

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[x] Plan: Get to know your people
-[x] Put your followers to work.
--[x] Organize and prepare followers. There are all sorts among your followers. By organizing and recording their skills and previous professions, the colony will be able to get set up that much faster.
-[x] Keep up spirits.
--[x] With your presence. You will go among your followers and tend to their concerns, as a worthy mistress is expected to.
-[x] Get to know a follower.
--[x] Asgorat and Tama. The dragon and her lover are a curious pair. You would do well to learn just who the leaders of your most potent military asset are. You may write-in specific actions or topics to discuss if you wish.
 
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Voyager: II
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    • [X] Plan Getting Started
    -[] Put your followers to work.
    --[] Naval drills.     The crew are fine, but a disparate lot of fishermen, marines, pirates, merchantmen and others. They must learn to work together, and the best way to do so is to put them to work together.
    --[] Organize and prepare followers. There are all sorts among your followers. By organizing and recording their skills and previous professions, the colony will be able to get set up that much faster.
    -[] Get to know a follower.
    --[] Annetta Barbator, Representative of the WTC.     The trading company scion seems like a shrewd and ambitious young woman. You could take the time to get to know her further.
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    The crews of your ships work harder than ever to earn their keep in the days of your voyage. There are drills and hours of training until everyone knows their place and task as well as seasoned sailors, until the guns fire in constant rhythm, until the ship flies on the face of the waters like never before. Or so you'd like to say. In truth, veteran sailors are not made in a week. There is definite improvement, though - those with no experience learn enough to be useful instead of useless aboard ships. That is a greater gain than one might think.

    +Asset: Small Fleet upgraded.

    You have Annetta see to making something useful out of those not suitable to be sailors. Men and women from many walks of life have joined your followers. There are farmers, fishermen, artisans, smiths, weavers, soldiers, tanners, herbalists, shipwrights and many others, often with children and spouses. Each must find their place and a role in the new colony. Frontier life has no room for idle hands.

    She is a deft hand in this kind of work. She picks out suitable underlings and soon has various groups formed based on profession or skillset. Each person is recorded and listed in her books. Paybooks and ledgers of goods appear so instantly it almost seems like divine power at work to you. Such things are a necessity for modern nations, she explains, and the foundation of every lasting realm. It will go a long way in setting up the colony, or so she tells you.

    +Colony: Colonial Administration.

    ***
    ​
    Annetta makes time from her duties for a meeting in her makeshift office. Piles of parchment almost cover a compact wooden desk and the petite woman behind it from view. The organization of your followers has kept the Company woman busy, it seems. Her man Bastien, evidently a scribe, sits in an even more cramped spot on a stool in the corner. He shoves a bound scroll into a bag at your entrance and ties it closed tightly. Another of Annetta's people sneaks past you to take it and scurry off to some other part of the ship. The near-constant nature of mortal work has always fascinated you, so you are almost sorry to see them stop.

    Annetta stands up and spreads her arms in a welcoming gesture. 'My lady of ships, you honor me,' she says. 'Bastien, give us the room. And bring out the wine. The best wine, you fool man.'

    The scribe scowls but hurries to obey. You are left alone in the small room with your new advisor. You take Bastien's stool for yourself. It's hardly a seat fit for the divine, but you are a goddess of ships. They do not always offer great comforts. There is a place and time for luxury, and a ship at work is not it.

    'It is well we could meet, Annetta Barbator. We have not spoken enough.'

    'So it is, and I would much desire us to be friends. You would hear me speak of myself, I take it? I have expected as much. Where to begin?' Annetta says, but expects no answer from you. She leans back in her chair. 'I was born in a small village near Gris, a poor little place, though at least we had a god to call our own - Muria the Rosy, Goddess of Olives. In truth I remember little of it. My father was a sailor; my mother wove and kept the house. The sea took father one summer. Mother could not feed us all, so she sold me and my sisters to a passing scholar to do with as he would.'

    Her tone is impassive, emotionless, but you could not imagine such a fate. Mortal parents are supposed to take care of their children. Their strength is in their families and community. They should grow in love and comfort. You know it is not always the case, but it pains you nevertheless to hear it from this woman's mouth. If Annetta senses your unease, she pays it no heed.

    'This scholar served the Company. He taught us letters and the running of his household. He fed us and clothed us and saw that we were not troubled by much. This was in Navia, by the Sundered Sea. It was a very pretty place to spend one's childhood, by the sun-kissed waters...'

    A touch of emotion enters her voice, but it is not quite fondness. There is something almost like anger to it, a tensing of her shoulders and a tightening of her lips.

    'A generous man.'

    'So I thought. But as we came of age, we understood he wanted things from us we were not willing to give. I was already apprenticed to the Company at this time. I gave all my time to that work so I might avoid him. My younger sisters were... not so fortunate.'

    She lets that hang there with real anger in her eyes. Bastien chooses this moment to enter with the wine and a pair of cups. He fills them to the brim with a lack of experience that sees drops spill on the parchment on the table. For that Annetta sends him out of the door with a curse and a kick. Bastien looks much like a dog sent running with its tail between its legs then.

    A note of satisfaction enters her voice. 'Ah, but in time I rose in the company. I was good and I played the game very well, so soon I had climbed the ranks to the point where I far surpassed him. When he made the mistake of thinking our connection entitled him to some grand reward, I saw to it he was disgraced and abandoned by his friends. Eventually I had him exiled to a frozen waste of a Company station in the far north. I believe he took his own life there.'

    The wine is sweet and with a hint of berries in the mixture. It is nothing like Joyous Bossam's creations, but you have come to appreciate the craftsmanship of mortal work. This bottle is the work of many mortal minds and bodies, of long toil and effort. Divine power simply makes things be - there is little challenge involved. Mortals rarely understand the wonder of their work. You offer your compliments for the vintage.

    'What is the point of my story? I suppose it is that I work hard to get where I need to be, that I am patient, and that if you fuck with me, I will ruin you,' Annetta says, with a pleased sip of her own wine quite at odds with the sudden obscenity. 'Deal with me fairly and we will be fast friends. We have made certain promises to one another. I will uphold my side and work to advance your interests; I only expect you to do the same in return.'

    'You are bold to speak so to a goddess.'

    'So I am told. But this new age is one of gods and men. It is not best to go forward as - not equals, perhaps, but as partners who may speak openly to one another? There is enough bowing and pleading in the world as it is. Must the New World be so much like the Old?'

    'On that, we are in agreement,' you say after a moment. 'You speak of your interests. What would you have of me?'

    'To strengthen the position of the Westerlies Trading Company and weaken that of its rivals. Our end goal is nothing short of a monopoly over trade with the New World. We would see every ship carrying goods over the great sea be of the Company, every port a Company port, every god a friend of Astor,' Annetta says. 'That is in the long term. For now, we must swiftly locate and exploit what riches lay in this new land. There are rivals who must return home empty-handed. Already they plot their moves against us. They would sink our venture before it has even begun. If they dared act openly now, they would. Rest assured the attacks will come once we are across the sea.'

    Those are grand demands. The Company's gift to you, the Writ of Authority, is a powerful tool, but they ask much in return. You do not enjoy the thought of fighting trade wars for others, but from the sound of it Annetta thinks that those wars will come to you regardless. Or at least she wants you to think so. You are inclined to believe her. Trade companies and their patron gods have fought bloody conflicts across the Old World, and beyond the light of civilization they will undoubtedly become only more savage. You are glad you did not give away Asgorat and her brood.

    Annetta eyes you. 'There. What I am after, as honestly as I am able to tell it. If you support the Company in this, we will bring great wealth and power to you. If you intend to betray us, well - make sure you land a killing blow on the first try, or you will not survive the reprisal.'

    'Peace, Annetta Barbator. We have bound our fortunes together. You have sworn to follow me; I have sworn to protect you. I am no oathbreaker. We will rise or fall together.'

    The woman nods slowly. 'So it is. Shall we drink to that?' she asks, pouring new cups before you make any answer. She smiles. 'It is bad luck to open a bottle without finishing it whole. And I am sure you have many stories to tell...'

    The night is a pleasant one after that. It proves to be the last one of its kind before your arrival.

    ***
    ​
    On the dawn of the seventeenth day, the leading ship hoists up a welcome line of colors. There is only one thing they can signify: land sighted. Soon every eye is upon the unbroken blue line of the horizon. It takes a good hour before you see it – a speck of green reaching up against the cloudless sky. It grows steadily, a singular jungle-cloaked peak breaking out of the waves. It is land, true land. The New World awaits.

    The eager mood that comes upon the armada is tangible. You consult the maps. This must be the Sunken Isle, named so for the curious depression in the center, flooded long ago by the sea. It is only the harbinger of the great and unexplored continent waiting ahead. It should be only an hour's voyage from here to its shores if the wind holds, and the gods will ensure that it does.

    The armada passes the island in good order. The sky is clear and the sun hot on your backs. Curious birds pass overhead and enormous beasts bask in the water. Sweet, tantalizing scents linger on the wind. The crew are in good cheer, singing to the sea-creatures as is their custom.

    The continent comes into view, claiming its dominion from the sea. It looms as verdant jungle and slick rock cliffs, mist-shrouded mountains promising further wonders inland. Telescopes come out and fix upon a tremendous waterfall thundering into the sea above a a stretch of sandy shore. The mortal crew and officers prove unable to contain their mirth and excitement. You allow it, given the circumstances.

    'My lady?' Annetta says from your side. 'I've received a report from one of the lookouts. It appears that a ship has veered off-course. It is making all sail away from the fleet.'

    'Indeed? Which ship would this be?'

    'The vessel of Mirk,' Annetta says. The hint of a frown betrays her unease. 'The god of secrets.'

    Curious behavior. What does he know that you do not?

    The wind picks up with renewed force. The sails shake and crewmen clutch at their hats. There are storm clouds on the horizon beyond the mountains, moving quickly.

    'Too quickly,' you note, frowning. 'That cannot be natural.'

    The wind grows in intensity, driving the storm before it. Darkness creeps forth to engulf the sky. An immense curtain of rain sweeps over the jungle and begins its approach towards the armada. Calls go out around you, orders being barked. Surprise and unease make themselves known in the voices of your officers, but they tend to their tasks nevertheless. The training of the past days ensures everyone knows their place.

    The clouds are heavy, towering, as high as the mountains they shadow. They spark lightning in blinding arcs, offering forth a rumble of thunder like cannons fired in challenge.

    Around the armada, your brethren draw upon their birthright. They know danger when they see it.

    You feel immense, terrible power gather – and there are gods on the horizon. They come out of the clouds as one, as an unified line of giants. The sight of them steals your breath away. They are titanic in size and monstrous in form. Age weighs heavily upon them, beyond anything you have ever felt. Gods are born, they grow, and they pass on in ascension. That is the natural order of things. Yet the things you see before you – you know without doubt they have broken that chain. They have lingered. They have swollen.

    A vast, ethereal spider crawls forth into the water, its flesh shifting like mist or haze. The sky burns red with the passing of a massive serpent of fire, circling with its jaws outstretched, spitting flames. The jungle is cloven asunder by the shape of a towering feathered panther loping into view. Above, something with the form of a golden man in a meditative pose with open hands held in front hovers in place. Three heads with seven eyes each float some ways above its neck. A giant of withered flesh tight over bone staggers into the sea, broken black pits carved where eyes should be. Something much like blood pours from their depths.

    Still more in their wake, still more coming out of the storm, but you have little time to study them. The carnage begins.

    The front ranks of the armada go first. Twisting pillars of fire lash out from the serpent and set them alight, sails torched and crew turned to ash in the span of heartbeats. The sea boils, something eating through the god-blessed hulls of ships and flooding them from below. A black wave of something like tar spreads in the water. Men it touches scream until the waters swallow them. Black clouds of insects descend in their wake, covering entire ships from view. Invisible blows shatter masts and cave in proud bows.

    Gods and men fight back, but the attack is too sudden, too much. Where one horror is blunted and one blow turned away, there is another already falling. Grand ships are blown apart and their gods sundered from their decks. Flame-wreathed splinters of wood and iron tear through air and flesh.

    It takes a moment for it to reach the next ranks. The ocean itself rebels against your presence. The waters fall, revealing howling maelstorms. Thundering tsunami waves crash ships into one another and send them flying in shattered pieces. Smoke from burning ships begins to cover the view, making it hard to tell what's happening. It fails to cover the terrible, bloated gods of this land from view, though. They are only approaching.

    Your crew is in a panic, tormented by swarms of biting insects and the whip-like wind scourging the deck. Pillars of flame veer closer, casting intense heat into the air. The armada is in shock. Soon it will be in chaos. Ships are trying to turn around, but little short of a miracle can restore order among their mortals now. The gods themselves do not appear to comport themselves any better. Divine voices ring out above the din, some calling for aid, others launching inane challenges, a few still demanding direction and orders. Iktoka surfaces in a panic, the deep rumble of its voice carrying through the din. Above, the dragons beat desperately to stay in the air.

    You catch sight of a familiar ship in the middle ranks. Its colors have gone up. Form battle line; follow; advance on enemy. You take a precious second to read them again to confirm you're not seeing things. The ship is Ghist's, the war god's. The blood of Rootless Sunder thinks to challenge these titans? You cannot suppress the urge to laugh, or perhaps it is more of a manic giggle. Few appear to be following his signals. Their intent is to flee and survive, and you understand that well. Cannot Ghist feel the primordial power within these abominations? Cannot he see he has no chance of victory? Even with all of you united, how could you ever triumph here?

    At the same time, an iron conviction seizes you. These terrors are unlike anything you expected, but you knew there would be opposition. You will not give in now. You will not forsake the dream. They cannot take your destiny from you. The destruction has not yet reached your ships - there is still a chance to salvage this.

    The smoke hides Ghist from view. You grow aware of voices calling to you, calling for orders. Calling for your decision. The destruction unfolding around you promises only death. There is only one course of action. You know what must be done.

    [] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.
    [] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    -[] North. Many ships have broken for the north, seeking refuge at some distant shore. You will join them in their escape. It is said there is forest and hills to the north, and perhaps colder lands beyond.
    -[] Turn back. You cannot go home – but you must get away from these monstrous titans and this land of nightmares. You hope to find safety in the lush wilds of the Sunken Isle for now.

    Use Act(s)? You currently possess 3/3 Acts.

    [] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    [] No. You will escape this hell without wasting your power.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • [x] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[x] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn.     We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
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    I'm inclined to put up a fight before we withdraw. Our dominion surely will be of use in maneuvering the armada and restoring some cohesion in the ranks.
     
    Photomajig said:
    Must the New World be so much like the New?'
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    "Like the Old", perhaps?

    ...I kinda want to stand and fight. We are not properly equipped for it though. Perhaps Iktoka could have something suitable for the occasion?

    Hey, if those Gods have secret weaknesses, now would be the time to whip out the Compass. Big guys must have big secrets, right?

    We could use the Act to try and coordinate, have our voice carry over the chaos and mayhem, and perhaps sway a few more gods to our side.

    [x] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.

    [x] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    -[x] Have your voice carry over the battlefield and try to convince more Gods to fight, and coordinate what remains of the armada to the best of your abilities. Gain divine awareness of the battlefield or any other perk that you think could help make a combat unit out of this herd of cats.

    Our ships aren't suited for fighting, but maybe we could organize those that are?
     
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    Nevill said:
    [] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.

    [] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    -[ ] Have your voice carry over the battlefield and try to convince more Gods to fight, and coordinate what remains of the armada to the best of your abilities.

    Our ships aren't suited for fighting, but maybe we could organie those that are?
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    Since just having your voice carry far is a fairly weak Act, you could expand this to also gaining divine awareness of the battlefield to aid in coordinating the ships, or something else in that vein.
     
    Fighting would be suicide. The old gods of our homeland are hopelessly beyond us and have Acts to spare; how much more power would these gods have, who are yet older still? No, we ought to get out of here and expect to take some hits on the way out.

    [x] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[x] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn.     We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
    Sure, why not?

    [x] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[x] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn.     We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
    Now hold on, this could be our titanomachy.

    We shouldn't assume hopelessness just because they outclass us. The option to fight wouldn't be there if the fight could not, in theory, be won.

    Only an asshole would do that, and Photomajig is harsh sometimes, yeah, but they've never done anything that fully like...fucks us.
     
    MrGazzer said:
    Now hold on, this could be our titanomachy.

    We shouldn't assume hopelessness just because they outclass us. The option to fight wouldn't be there if the fight could not, in theory, be won.

    Only an asshole would do that, and Photomajig is harsh sometimes, yeah, but they've never done anything that fully like...fucks us.
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    The don't just outclass us. These elder gods outclass us by even more than the already overwhelming gap between us and the old gods, and have struck while our people are both unprepared for battle and weary from travel. They have claimed the element of surprise and have sown discord in our ranks. We are disadvantaged in power, in circumstance, and in tactics. This fight is as lost as they come, let's not throw away our people and our ships on the delusion that we cannot lose everything.
     
    [x] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[x] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn.     We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
    @Photomajig Do we know hows Ghist's power compare to both ours, and the enemy gods? In-character, why do we think he's chosen to stand and fight - because he's too stubborn to retreat, or because he thinks he can win?

    OOC, are there any benefits from fighting gods? Can it allow us to claim some of their divine power if we win? Or is the only reason to fight so that we can keep heading on the planned course?
     
    Ptolemy said:
    @Photomajig Do we know hows Ghist's power compare to both ours, and the enemy gods? In-character, why do we think he's chosen to stand and fight - because he's too stubborn to retreat, or because he thinks he can win?

    OOC, are there any benefits from fighting gods? Can it allow us to claim some of their divine power if we win? Or is the only reason to fight so that we can keep heading on the planned course?
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    Click to shrink...

    Ghist is a god of Battle and the spawn of the God of Deicide. His Acts will likely be more powerful than yours in this situation. You don't know him that well in-character, but you've gotten the impression he's not the most cautious soul. Perhaps he thinks his example will get all of the young gods to follow. Even then it seems like a foolhardy plan at best, but Ghist may have more insight into this than you. Alone, you don't think he stands a chance.

    You can steal power from gods you kill, but this is considered to be much like cannibalism among gods. Desperate times, of course, and if no-one finds out... That said, Vestra doesn't know quite how to go about doing so. Simply driving them back, hurting them, saving the fleet, or simply winning glory by showing your bravery are all valid reasons to fight as well.
     
    [X] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.

    [X] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    -[X] Have your voice carry over the battlefield and try to convince more Gods to fight, and coordinate what remains of the armada to the best of your abilities.
     
    [X] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[X] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn.     We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
    [X] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.

    [X] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    -[X] Invocation of the Hurricanes Eye: your father was the very wind and you are the sails, smite these bloated divinities with a hurricane of your power with the fleet at its eye and push to the shore.
     
    [X] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[X] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn. We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
    [X] Fight. Ghist cannot possibly triumph alone, but with the aid of others...? The power in these titans far surpasses yours, but you will not run from battle.

    [X] Yes. Describe your Act and what you are attempting to accomplish.
    -[X] Have your voice carry over the battlefield and try to convince more Gods to fight, and coordinate what remains of the armada to the best of your abilities.
     
    [X] Flee. There is no hope of victory. There must be a way out, a refuge from these horrors.
    -[X] South. The god of secrets turned south. He must have had a reason – you will follow in his wake. It is said there is jungle and vast plains further in the south.
    [X] Yes.
    -[X] The Song of Sails Untorn. We are the Goddess of Sails, and our sails shall not fail us. So long as our voice holds, no vessel in our fleet will fall behind no matter how torn and battered they become, short of complete destruction.
     
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