[X][PLAN] Some of the men are going on a hunt. You haven't been blooded yet and it might be worthwhile to join in.
Junglecore doesn't seem like the power most suited to iron and steel production. Especially with how little experience we have with it.
I'd suggest going on a hunt and creating a talisman or staff using materials from our first kill, empowered into a Focus, and built based on the principles of our other skills.
Magic and spritual power may not be the same, but it should help. And that should let us do some cool druid type stuff, if low level.
The supernatural is a better route to power at this point than mundane or sci-fi tech. I'd recommend making the talisman, then shaping a section of the forest to empower nature based supernatural powers: Plants grown certain ways in certain places, menhirs with carvings evoking nature, arrangements of stones, small hidden shrines, decorations on trees. Fantasy forest type stuff.
The reason I suggested iron/steel is that it's a way of getting this village back on their feet. I'm less interested in power for power's sake and more interested in helping this community be sustainable. By lifting them up, we can lift ourselves up. It's also a way of empowering the region, since once they can start trading tools and weapons they can help everyone improve their standard of living and prepare a defense against the raiders.
Also, it's something to do while we roll until we get lucky.
Fire. A contained fire. Most likely from some form of chimney.
...
In the distance, across a number of fields demarcated by stones, you can make the silhouettes of several conical roofs sticking out over a larger wooden wall among the crops.
You are immediately struck with the fact that several of the homes are damaged, with large holes blasted out of the structures. Other homes have patches that seem newer than others. You even note that one of the fields has been entirely overrun.
Beyond that, you see that one of the destroyed buildings seems to have been a basic forge of some kind, with the remains of the forge of some kind and several pieces of metal packed under some loose covers.
Eventually, you run into the woman who had given you the food earlier, and after some small talk, you ask them about the damage to the town.
The woman looks sadly at one of the destroyed buildings before rallying herself.
"The Evil God Conaing stole us away from our homeland generations ago when the Tuatha de Danann drove him and the other Fomorians away. He traps us here and lets us grow so that he may hunt us for sport. Every thirteen years, his servants ride out of the forest and pillage and plunder, taking what they wish."
She shook her head sadly, "You must be from far away to have escaped the wrath of the Hunt. This damage was from almost a decade ago when the magical chariots came to drive us from our homes. I was nearly taken then, but I hid deep in a cave in the woods until they left."
Something vaglue celtic, leaning towards norse, these guys are descended from pre-roman celts, pretty far back too, since they reference the power change from the fomorians to the Tuatha de Danann
...
This village used to produce a lot of metalwork, which you now believe to be due to the iron-rich soil brought down by these streams, there's likely true hematite or a similar ore to the north-east where this river is flowing from, but you would have to spend days to reach it since it's definitely some ways over the horizon since iron tends to deposit in mountain chains where sedementary rock is pushed up.
Beyond that they trade in wool and woven goods primarily, with wood and pottery as a secondary source of income. The occasional surplus of smoked meat and the like is sometimes brought along by traders as specialty goods. Milk and whatnot doesn't travel well, but they do a good deal in cheese.
They grow oats and barley locally, as well as a variety of locally sources fruits and vegetables while foraging for most everything else.
They bring in weapons, mostly, as well as non-perishable foods like wheat and nuts, as well as large quantities of salt, since they live so far away from anything resembling the sea. Also they used to brin in copper, tin and other non-native ores.
3. Which implies a tech level of early iron age celtic, with loss of knowledge and tradition from raids every 13 years, and the limited trading opportunities of an island. (While I work with archeologists in my research job, I won't contaminate the thread without you folks asking for specific research. Happy to share resources or insights from the single dig I've been on if you folks are interested.) This also implies that this village has functioned effectively on the oral tradition and traditional apprenticeships, rather than a written tradition. It could be suggested that they've *lost* the idea of bricks-for-houses (and don't have pressing environmental needs for insulation.)
3a. Looms are dated from 5 BCE, so that fits in with celtic post-apoc iron age (600 BCE - 43 CE) with... vigorous handwaving.
3b. My trying to bring in Victorian norms was ... utterly wrong.
@harnackam based on this, what do you think about a plan of us *teaching* the villagers junglecore after the hunt? They seem to be at the right tech level for it. Happy to change my vote. I don't think we're going to have enough capital from trading to make the trade route worth it.
What do you think of:
[X][PLAN] Some of the men are going on a hunt. You haven't been blooded yet and it might be worthwhile to join in. See how compatible the village's knowledge and beliefs are with junglecore while making small talk on the hunt.
(hopefully it picks up this one and not my prior. Anyone have details on how this vote-system works?)
This implies a character for the omake: the dead smith's apprentice. Probably injured in the raid. Smith died, apprentice was far too young to pick up the essential knowledge.
--- Omake: cold tea and insufficient cake.
Last night, the refectory, Senán [1] and Mrs mac Cairill were sitting near the flickering light of the stew-pot's fire. A good breeze from outside wicking the smoke out the top of the roof. The cook and her "helper" resting after the remains of the day. A lamed boy, freshly grown into adulthood was not a usual kitchenhand. But Eimhir made do. The lad, Senán, was supposed to be a smith -- bright, keen, dutiful, the son of some late dear friends. His apprenticeship barely started when Conaing came through. He had the brave bad luck to be in the smithy and wasn't scared enough to run fast enough away from his master's side. The biting weapons, "elfshot" some called them, bit deep into the young lad. By the time the rest of the village returned, the lad was barely clinging to life. No friends, no family, no master. Work was found, kindness less so. The village had little room for those who could not hunt or weave or farm well.
A seed cake baked over the still-warm coals before the washing-up was started was the perfect incentive to work quickly, Mrs mac Cairill told herself. Dawdling would be rewarded with a burnt cake. Though, considering the state of the stew tonight, that young newcomer had distracted herself well. Perhaps an incentive could be found for one of her talents. A glance down at her cold tea and the remains of the seed cake. The tea wouldn't keep -- dregs spilled over the smouldering coals to douse them. The seed cake, made with the last of the honey from the night before -- quickly wrapped in the leaf it was baked in [2], and put away to avoid wandering hands. The lad never noticed, bless his heart. "Young Senán, put yourself to bed, you hear? You've helped enough for one day. In the morning, I want you to be knapping spearpoints from the flint. Hunting is hard on them and we don't have enough iron to go around."
"Yes mam." The customary tug of the lad's forelock. Getting long, something would have to be done.
Oats added to the pot, water topped up. The gruel would be food enough in the morning.
The next morning after the village was fed and watered -- that young slip of a girl wandered in bold as you please. One of the village's baskets overflowing with ... too much bounty for this time of the year. "We thanks you, young miss. Pray tell, I hope you roamed far and wide for that bounty, otherwise you're costing us next year's berries."
The response was evasive but easily checked. The girl did not have the air of a liar, but one overwhelmed by her own thoughts. A feeling that, most privately, Mrs mac Cairill could most certainly empathise with. Trust, but verify, her late husband always said, and so she would.
An eyebrow raised and a mild approving nod. Taking down last night's seed cake, Eimhir, set two places in the rude hut. Tea and old cake and quiet words about the forest. Softly softly the hunter must creep. Mustn't move too quickly and scare this bounty away. Mustn't be bitten if this "bounty" be elfshot in disguise. Softly. Softly. And with tea and measured kindness will the measure of this slip of a girl be taken.
[X][PLAN] Some of the men are going on a hunt. You haven't been blooded yet and it might be worthwhile to join in. See how compatible the village's knowledge and beliefs are with junglecore while making small talk on the hunt.
A woman coming along on a hunt isn't entirely unheard of though you coming along without an invite and actually participating is harder for the men to accept. Still, your casual disregard of their immediate protests and your reputation for quiet stubbornness has them quickly give up.
So, before long, you are outfitted with a slightly rusty spear and and are making small-talk as you head out into the woods.
Your spear isn't actually in any worse shape than anyone else's but you manage to sneak away for a few moments in order to quickly take a file to it to make sure it is as sharp as it can be.
As you talk to the others, you learn that the locals do perform a form of druidism, believing that spirits of all kinds live within nature that they can entreaty. You know this to be true, though don't have to restrain your surprise at the way they do so. It is very different to what you know, distant, in a way.
They are interested to learn how you do things differently.
You eventually come across the trail of a:
[][HUNT] Aurochs
[][HUNT] Elk
[][HUNT] Wolf
[][HUNT] Brown bear
A/N:
The doubles tickled me, so you get a choice of what your first hunt is.
Last night, the refectory, Senán [1] and Mrs mac Cairill were sitting near the flickering light of the stew-pot's fire. A good breeze from outside wicking the smoke out the top of the roof. The cook and her "helper" resting after the remains of the day. A lamed boy, freshly grown into adulthood was not a usual kitchenhand. But Eimhir made do. The lad, Senán, was supposed to be a smith -- bright, keen, dutiful, the son of some late dear friends. His apprenticeship barely started when Conaing came through. He had the brave bad luck to be in the smithy and wasn't scared enough to run fast enough away from his master's side. The biting weapons, "elfshot" some called them, bit deep into the young lad. By the time the rest of the village returned, the lad was barely clinging to life. No friends, no family, no master. Work was found, kindness less so. The village had little room for those who could not hunt or weave or farm well.
A seed cake baked over the still-warm coals before the washing-up was started was the perfect incentive to work quickly, Mrs mac Cairill told herself. Dawdling would be rewarded with a burnt cake. Though, considering the state of the stew tonight, that young newcomer had distracted herself well. Perhaps an incentive could be found for one of her talents. A glance down at her cold tea and the remains of the seed cake. The tea wouldn't keep -- dregs spilled over the smouldering coals to douse them. The seed cake, made with the last of the honey from the night before -- quickly wrapped in the leaf it was baked in [2], and put away to avoid wandering hands. The lad never noticed, bless his heart. "Young Senán, put yourself to bed, you hear? You've helped enough for one day. In the morning, I want you to be knapping spearpoints from the flint. Hunting is hard on them and we don't have enough iron to go around."
"Yes mam." The customary tug of the lad's forelock. Getting long, something would have to be done.
Oats added to the pot, water topped up. The gruel would be food enough in the morning.
The next morning after the village was fed and watered -- that young slip of a girl wandered in bold as you please. One of the village's baskets overflowing with ... too much bounty for this time of the year. "We thanks you, young miss. Pray tell, I hope you roamed far and wide for that bounty, otherwise you're costing us next year's berries."
The response was evasive but easily checked. The girl did not have the air of a liar, but one overwhelmed by her own thoughts. A feeling that, most privately, Mrs mac Cairill could most certainly empathise with. Trust, but verify, her late husband always said, and so she would.
An eyebrow raised and a mild approving nod. Taking down last night's seed cake, Eimhir, set two places in the rude hut. Tea and old cake and quiet words about the forest. Softly softly the hunter must creep. Mustn't move too quickly and scare this bounty away. Mustn't be bitten if this "bounty" be elfshot in disguise. Softly. Softly. And with tea and measured kindness will the measure of this slip of a girl be taken.
During the hunt, we should continue exploring how junglecore might be most compatible with this community. If we manage to land an elk, we should make sure to be deeply involved in the butchery, using junglecore to the extent accepted by the rest of the hunt. (The output doubling of the meat and lard and suet (hard kidney fat) and -- especially -- preservation techniques should be explained through the intervention of spirits. "These are the gifts I was blessed with" sort of thing.)
You find your target's trail with ease, guided by whispers only you can hear. Your keen eyes picking out hints as to it's passage.
Your hands search the ground for a simple atlatl as you stalk through the undergrowth, moving with a soundless ease that unsettles those you move alongside.
You eventually split off from the main party, informing them that you were close and you didn't want to tip off your prey. So, as the signs of the elk's passage grows more recent, you carefully glide through the bushes, barely making a sound. Scents fill your nose and spirits fill your ears as the leaves part silently in front of you.
Eventually, you spot your target, a six-point buck grazing in the center of a clearing.
You move.
Almost faster than your own thoughts, the spear flies through the air, piercing into creature's ribs. It slides free as the creature bolts, leaving a trail of blood for you to follow as you take a brisk walk through the forest. It tries to escape you, bolting every time you get close, but the wound is too drastic and you aren't even winded as you finally pin it down.
You call out to the rest of your small party and borrow a knife to put the beast out of it's misery and drag it back to town.
You kill is clean, and you set about processing it. The meat heads to Mrs. Mac Cairill to be made into tonight's dinner as the others slowly filter back with their catches.
Your desire to keep the bones is respected, leaving you with the mostly intact skeleton of your first kill.
As you eat the flesh of your first kill, you feel yourself become slightly stronger, but mostly faster as you take on the benefits of your hunt.
As you ponder your next moves you feel yourself reach out into that other place once more.
Perk 1: Garage (100)
You can stow away vehicles in a perfectly valid extradimensional space that will keep them in the same condition as when you put them away. Summoning or dismissing a summon takes several seconds of focus. Your Vehicles are automatically stored in your Garage when you receive those perks.
[][PERK1] Keep
[][PERK1] Leave
Perk 2: Downsizing (300)
You can choose to have your works shrink, halving in size along every dimension
[][PERK2] Keep
[][PERK2] Leave
You adjust your plans to take your new abilities into account.
[][PLAN] Create a focus for yourself using some of the Elk skeleton.
[][PLAN] Work on your smeltery again.
[][PLAN] Reveal your ability to blacksmith to the smith's wife to try and convince her to allow you to take over the village forge.
[][PLAN] There's a trading expedition planned for a couple weeks from now, make a few things so that you can join in.
[][PLAN] Write-in
Will anything stored in the vehicle go with it, such as the contents of a cart or carriage, or in a car trunk? Can it be alive, like a crate of chickens? Will things age or stay the same, like could we use it to store meat or keep veggies fresh?
[X][PERK2] Leave
Can we size them back up or is the change permanent?
[X][PLAN] Create a focus for yourself using part of the Elk skeleton.
Will anything stored in the vehicle go with it, such as the contents of a cart or carriage, or in a car trunk? Can it be alive, like a crate of chickens? Will things age or stay the same, like could we use it to store meat or keep veggies fresh?
The trunks will retain it's contents, but time will pass, so living things will eventually starve and organic stuff will decay. The 'same condition' thing was actually a specification against self-repair.
[X][PERK1] Keep
[X][PERK2] Leave
[X][PLAN] There's a trading expedition planned for a couple weeks from now, make a few things so that you can join in.
