That name's anachronistic. Bretonnia is named for the Bretonni, one of the many tribes that would migrate into the regional area of Britonnia/Empire/Kislev after the War of the Beard(some came down from the north via Kislev, others came up from the south through Blackfire Pass).
At this point, there's probably three different main names* for that part of the continent. The elf name(who are the main rulers of the land, at least before the War), the dwarf name, and the Belthani name(a peaceful and pastoral late neolithic/chalcolithic era people that had spread out from Tilea and lived in the lands not claimed by the elves or dwarfs).
*Much like how Tilea is probably just the Tylos name for the peninsula and the Dwarfs of Kavzar would have their own name and the elven cities in southern Tilea would have their own name.
[] Plan: Foundations and Connections
-[] Find permanent housing.
-[] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[] Hire a servant.
-[] Go to Petrification Day.
-[] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
Well, pretty much the only unique thing of my plan is to get a servant as early as possible. An extra set of hands could be vital in covering up our weak spots and possibly getting a little more done.
Huh, I think this might be the most creative Warhammer thread I've ever heard of. Cudos.
One thing though,
That name's anachronistic. Bretonnia is named for the Bretonni, one of the many tribes that would migrate into the regional area of Britonnia/Empire/Kislev after the War of the Beard(some came down from the north via Kislev, others came up from the south through Blackfire Pass).
At this point, there's probably three different main names* for that part of the continent. The elf name(who are the main rulers of the land, at least before the War), the dwarf name, and the Belthani name(a peaceful and pastoral late neolithic/chalcolithic era people that had spread out from Tilea and lived in the lands not claimed by the elves or dwarfs).
*Much like how Tilea is probably just the Tylos name for the peninsula and the Dwarfs of Kavzar would have their own name and the elven cities in southern Tilea would have their own name.
[] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[] Find permanent housing.
-[] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[] Assess the political situation.
-[] Go to Petrification Day.
-[] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
I prefer that plan. Assessing the political landscape is absolutely necessary if we want to have any impact. Doing so may allow us to choose an advantageous location for our service.
[X] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Assess the political situation.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
[X] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Assess the political situation.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
[X] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Assess the political situation.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
[X] Plan: Foundations and Connections
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Hire a servant.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
Scheduled vote count started by Graf Tzarogy on Jan 30, 2024 at 12:01 AM, finished with 14 posts and 14 votes.
[X] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Assess the political situation.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
[X] Plan: Foundations and Connections
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Hire a servant.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
[X] Plan: The Lay of the Land
-[X] Find permanent housing.
-[X] Connect with the Cult of Morr.
-[X] Assess the political situation.
-[X] Go to Petrification Day.
-[X] Attend the opening night of the Righteous Spear.
Heavy falls the shadow of death. The temples of Morr are not typically popular places, nor are their priests. Yet as you lean to push open the wrought iron gates of the Garden of Raven's Roost, the total absence of anyone unnerves you. You've always found the Roost claustrophobic. Space is at a premium in the city, and in the Cloisters especially, so the graves here are crammed together, some literally atop each other, as families choose to save money by not buying a new plot, but simply building a new crypt atop the old. In fact, the Garden hardly bears the title – there's not grass nor trees to be seen, the only vegetation the essential black roses. But at a closer look – they're wilting. You've never seen that before – even in your parish, even with your adversarial relationship with gardening, you managed to keep the sacred plant of Morr ever-blooming.
You approach the Roost proper. It is a squat, grey stone building, meant to invoke the entrance to an ancient burial mound. A single pitch-black door with a silver handle sits within a recessed archway, the only entrance. Above the door, an hourglass, and the words "Memento Mori". If there's one thing you couldn't critique your brothers on, they do know how to cultivate an atmosphere. You knock, once. The noise echoes down, down, into the underground catacombs below. There is what sounds like a sudden pattering of feet, but no answer. You try the handle – the door's unlocked. You proceed down a sloping downward stone hall, unadorned. Candles sit in niches on the walls, but only one in every five is lit, casting the temple in an eerie, dim glow. You feel a dull dread. Has it happened, somehow? Are you too late? You Look, and there is but a small comfort – the Roost is free from corruption, still held in the soothing cool of your God's sanctification – this place is not totally lost yet to Morr. You arrive in the main hall, a circular chamber filled with simple wooden benches, and a small stone plinth for preaching and funerary orations. On it, as you approach, there appears to be a half-eaten dinner of bread and garum, with a cup still full of small beer. Beside is well-worn copy of the Black Book – not quite Morrite scripture, but a guide to the practices and operations of the Cult.
You lean down to pick it up to see what your absent brother had been reading, when you hear another patter, and then a giggle behind you. You swing round and see emerging from a side corridor that you know leads to the cells and mess halls something that might have been a Priest of Morr. It is an elderly bald man in ragged grey robes. They would have been embroidered with skulls and hourglasses, but those have all been ripped out, leaving open seams and loose thread. He stinks of unwashing and rotting meat. His face is a rictus, his mind a whirlwind of Shyish, but what draws most focus is his eyes – absolute pitch black.
"Ding dong!" he shouts, as he advances on you.
You take a step back, and your back hits the plinth. "Peace, brother!"
"Brother – no, more, no siree. A layman's life for me! He! He!". The fellow laughs. He's a foot in front of you
"My – er, my mistake, sir. Might you tell me where I could find one?" Subtly as you can, you grab the breadknife sitting behind you.
He rushes forward, an inch from your face, and jabs you, hard, in the nose. "Right there you are, right here! A brother without brothers – ha! – hardly a brother at all! A tasty morsel, though" and at that he moves even closer, his breath in yours, his forehead smushing into your check, his arms in a vague embrace. "I'm so sorry you have to be eaten. But better me than a rat!" And then he bites your nose.
You scream and flail, bashing the man in the head with your knife. You open a thin wound on his scalp, which bleeds hard. It does not improve his smell. In his daze, you take the opportunity to hoist yourself backwards up onto the plinth. You spill garum right down your robe, but you manage to scrabble to the back of the room.
The former priest's head is soaked in blood now. He stares at you with animal intent, repeating, sing-song "God-Meat! God-Meat! God-Meat!".
You grab the candle from the wall, getting ready to snuff it and use your witchsight to get around him in the dark. You're, however. stopped in your brilliant plan by the crash of metal. Rushing into the room is a blond teenager in the scale armour of a poor legionnaire, wielding a pitch-black greatsword buzzing with the chill certainty of the Lord of the Dead. With but a (clumsy) strike in the air with the blade in the air, a cold gale blasts through the room. The would-be cannibal collapses, as you feel a terrible wave of drowsiness that you just push away.
You are covered in blood and fish sauce, and a child is now holding you at sword-point.
"I Regret To Inform You The Hall Of Auguries Is Closed!" the boy shouts, for no apparent reason.
You try to reply, "I wasn't – ".
"Dreamtalking is also shut!"
"I'm not interested in-"
"Funerary services are suspended!"
"I'm trying to- "
"PLEASE LEAVE!" – the boy's face is animal panic.
You put your hands up. "For the love of- I'm a brother, please! Let me help you! What happened to the fucking Roost!" For added effect, you pull out your sign of office, which, thank Ranald, wasn't broken – a silver hourglass with purple sand, crystals of the Wind of Death.
The boy's eyes bulge at the time piece. "A brother?!" he says, his voice riding higher in alarm. He drops suddenly to one knee. "Forgive me, your eminence, forgive my indiscretions!".
"Calm, calm, man – my name is Xenophon, and I'm not an eminence. Please stand up."
"With your leave, your E- Sir Xenophon – if that's proper."
"I'm not a noble either – Xenophon is fine, I have no titles. What's your name?"
"Pelops, if you'd please, and this- "he gestures to his sword "Is Last Rest. Forgive me, I know it's not my place to correct you, I know – but am not sure you are aware, sir – er, sorry – Xenophon – but you are titled."
"I'm sorry?"
"Per Chapter Three, section six, point seven of Black Book. You, milord, as the only sane Brother of Morr in the Twin Cities – I'm just a Shroudknight, you know, a layperson – you're the Raven of the Roost!"
You have a panic attack.
…
After Pelops has helped you recover from the shock of your unexpected promotion, you manage to drag the full story out of him. Three months ago, the clergy of the Cult of Morr began receiving visions. This is approximately in time to when you began to receive yours, and from Pelops' description, they were substantively similar, albeit less detailed, though you're not sure that not just because the boy wasn't told those specifics. After several months of gradually increasing portents, the higher leadership elected to perform a Great Prophecy, a particular miraculous ritual specified in the holy text the Songs of the Raven. A great magical working, the laws of Tylos required permission from the Senate to perform. This was begrudgingly granted, though with protests from Thunderdome about the so-called "grossly inaccurate quasi-daemonic scrying". These were assuaged by having a representative from Thunderdome attend and verify the safety of the ritual, that being a Master Steward of the Lodge of the Harvest Moon, one Parlenius Patrocline, head of the Bureau of Future Financial Forecasting.
The ritual went badly. Whether this was because of practitioner error or explicit sabotage on the part of Patrocline is unclear. Pelops favors the latter explanation, as do you – Morr is not a god (unlike some others you could name) that smites. Regardless of the mechanism of failure, it resulted in a magical backlash that collapsed the lower catacombs where the working was happening. Patrocline survived, as did about a third of the ritual participants. Unfortunately, the latter had been driven, as you had so personally experienced, homicidally insane. Patrocline, fascinatingly, seemed fine, and had beat a hasty retreat to his Lodge. The six crazed brothers were confined to their chambers with what portion of the Cult remained.
Then, they did what Pelops in his innocence calls a "strategic retreat" and to you is rank cowardice. You are aware that the Cult does not attract the best and brightest the Twin Cities has to offer. Anyone with an ounce of magical talent is taken by the Lodge, the Flame, or the Brotherhood. Anyone with any money goes out to the colonies or into the civil service. Even for the poor, the army offers better and steadier wages. That tends to live you with the desperate, the idiots, and the bizarre (you would personally place yourself in the second category). Regardless, you thought they were made of sterner stuff than the dismal display you now witness, where they, to a man, abandoned the Cities, leaving the care of a million souls to a child not even formally in the order, who they only promoted to a knight in order to leave him behind. Pelops insists they drew straws, but considering you are the followers of the God of Prophecy, you doubt that was as fair as he insists it was. You understand the fear – both from the visions, and the legal consequences of being party to a magical disaster of that magnitude, and that they had, as an organization, been almost literally decapitated – but – by the Gods!
For Pelops himself, he's an orphan, sixteen "and eight months!" That's eight years below formal adulthood and citizenship, which explains the panic. He is technically a ward of the state, and to be assigned one of the famously unpleasant public homes for wayward children. You have promised not to report him, which, combined with his natural obeisance towards authority, seems to have earned his undying gratitude. He was one of the children the Cult traditionally agreed to raise for payment from the state, something taken up both for recruitment and to flag falling tithes. That had apparently been canceled some years after you left, after some complaints about vice from Temple, so he had been the last Ward of Morr.
He refuses to explain where he got the sword, which he insists you refer to not by the general noun, but by "Last Rest". It appears to be the only thing of value (besides the boy himself), left in the temple. Your wonderful brothers seem to have raided the place in their retreat, leaving a half-stocked library, and an empty treasury. The cells where the Cult formally made their residence has been turned into a makeshift asylum. The cannibal got out when Pelops went in to deliver lunch (which he cooks!) and had to break up a fight. He hadn't even realized Brother Sanguine had gone till he heard the commotion.
In total, what you have gained from your visit to your Cult are three things. First, a title. You are the Raven of the Roost, not merely a priest of Morr, but the priest of Morr within the Twin Cities. This doesn't mean as much as it used to, with no brothers and no parishioners, but does afford you the right to address the Senate, though not for Senators to actually attend, and will allow to effectively secure an appointment with any other religious leader in the city outside of Temple. Second, you have gained a mostly abandoned building and associated graveyard. The lowest level is collapsed, and the level above is mostly prayer rooms (one of which Pelops is sleeping in) and a badly run psychiatric ward. You could live here, you suppose, and it'd be free, but it wouldn't be comfortable (unless you could somehow remove your brothers), and if anyone was trying to find you, it'd be the first place they'd look. Third, you effectively have gained a ward. As a Shroudknight, Pelops has declared it his absolute duty to defend you, despite your protests, and so you now have a child bodyguard. Morr, please give me strength.
Follower Gained: Pelops, Boy-Warrior
Followers are characters willing to assist you on your quest. They offer you particular advantages on each turn, from performing certain acts for you, to making others less risky.
Pelops' Bonus: You can assign Pelops to one Risky act each turn. So chosen, he will allow you to reroll once if you fail on your initial attempt at that Act, as he and Last Rest protect you from harm. He may also be assigned to some Ventures (though not the showing of the Righteous Spear, as he lacks a ticket). Do be aware, however, that he may be affected by the negative effects of a failed Risky act if assigned. Child endangerment – for the cause?
In the following days, you attempt to locate some variety of alternate accommodation, leaving Pelops to his ordinary duties of tending to the brothers. You feel a little bad at leaving him to it, but he refuses to allow you to assist, declaring "the Raven is not a servant!" – and you have little desire to nurse your former brothers, so you carry on.
You contract the services of a broker called Eustachius. He has oiled hair and an unctuous smile and a toga so pink it is verging on, but not quite the purple that only the Princeps is entitled to wear. He refers to everything as "a wonderful opportunity for a clever investor like you". You hate him.
The first seventeen places are located in the Cloisters or Circus, and are, without exception, the worst living arrangements you've ever witnessed. You are shown leaking basements, clear closets, and, at one point, just a palanquin, sitting out in someone's yard (which already had one resident!). After your displeasure is made clear, Eustachius misunderstands you in the opposite direction and takes you a variety of hideous manors in the Casbah. After contemplating why anyone would ever conceive of, much less build a drawer that added illusionary aromas to your silverware to "enhance taste profiles", you once again yell at Eustachius a bunch until he finally gets through his well-lacquered head that you want a place where someone might conceivable both want to live in and be able without an ancestral fortune.
The properties that fit that modest description (and only just) apparently number – in all the Twin Cities – three.
The first is a rather pleasant apartment in Elftown. The ordinary residents are out for a short sojourn to Athel Loren, albeit short for Elf-time, meaning a decade. The rent is cheap enough to not need you to have to struggle for money anytime soon, though the place poses some difficulties. Elftown has a curfew- the district is walled, and the gates sealed at 9pm. It will be very difficult to go out from here. Further, the remainder of the building is currently empty, but on inquiring with the doorman, you learn it is rented to a "Mordrin Fellheart" of Karond Kar. You've never met a Dark Elf, but you still can surmise it's a bit of an oddity to rent an entire building for no apparent reason half across the world.
The second is not technically a rental at all. Instead, it is a job position. The Senator for the Casbah, Jehdai Rubus Spania, or more correctly, his wife Suplicia, or even more accurately, their slave Morani, have advertised for an ornamental hermit. You are reasonably sure to get the position, insofar you are willing to give up your dignity as a cleric, which, considering the state of the Cult, is not much in the first place. You will get a fairly pleasant renovated artificial cave with bedroom, sitting-place and illusionary telegraph. You have no actual obligation to be present, merely give evidence of your existence to add mystery to the garden, bar at a particular event in two weeks time, a campaign party Suplicia is having for her husband. There, you are of course to read an obscure, tasteful text, and offer cryptic advice. In exchange, you get room, board, and a small stipend – not too bad, all things considered.
The third is canalboat in the Skavi. It is reasonably inexpensive, though you think you might have to take up some work in about a month or so to cover marina fees. It has the convenience of being locatable anywhere, so that you have no problem traversing the various districts at your leisure. It also has just a lovely, recently redone interior. As for counterpoints, it's terribly small, so you're unable to host or hide anybody, and bad weather would prove more difficult than the average residence to endure.
You could also stay in the Roost, which seems eminently questionable, though free and cavernous or continue staying in your hotel, in which case you'd need to take work this week or the next.
You left the Cities because of politics of a sort and are loathe to return to them. Yet that fact alone speaks to their importance. If you hope to do anything in this place, you must know the players on the board. You purchase every newspaper and pamphlet available to you and set to work.
The Twin Cities sit at the heart of a modest empire, rule over which is divided between an institution and a man. The prior, the Senate, governs internal affairs - taxation, infrastructure, social policy. The latter, the Princeps Suttar, deals with that external – the army and foreign policy. Both are elected, albeit in alternating years, and for this year, the Senate. It must also be noted that the Princeps may usurp the powers of the Senate in a time of emergency, given if a majority of attending Senators declare such. This power has been used only once, under the Princeps Aulas during a war with Khemri three decades back.
Elections are based on universal male suffrage for citizens. That is, any man over the age of twenty-five (though in a curiosity, there is technically no rule against electing a woman to office), who either owns property within either of the Twin Cities or is the direct descendant of one who did. You, therefore, having the vote, but only because of your parents, and your children, if they were to ever exist, would not. Each of the five districts of Kavzar and Tylos elect a single member each, along with Pleroma the House of Tyleus. Further, the Senate upon election appoints a special non-voting thirteenth member that represents the imperium outside the City, who must be a non-citizen.
The Princeps has built his career from steady victories against the barbarians in Armoria and Talia, defeating various tribes, taking them into slavery and opening their lands for colonization. Various articles warn of rising tensions with the Elven colonies lead by Tor Alessi and the furthest branch of the Karaz Ankor in Karak Izor. As the War of the Beard has raged, and Elvish and Dwarven power waned, the Princeps has taking advantage by conquering their wealthy, weak client states. A risky strategy, but as long the siege of Athel Maraya by the Fivefold Throng continues, and the Princeps stays attacking humans, there is little risk of immediate escalation.
Within the Twin Cities, his Grace is well-liked among the populace for the wealth he has created and glory he's won. He is personable, known for delivering news of the loss of his officers to their families directly. He, at least officially, appears to take little to no role in domestic politics beyond his continued building of the Tower. All the Princeps prior have added to it, as is their right, though they are legally required to rely on personal wealth to do it. This affords them a certain secrecy in the nature of their projects, tending to be revealed only at the end of term what glorious art or magical wonder has been created, though they have been great; the great shrine to Myrmidia Perfecta and the illusory telegraph system were both the projects of past Princeps. The High Lord Suttar is however notable in just how much money he appears to be putting into this pet project, and the degree of confidentiality surrounding it – not a leak in all the papers you can find.
The Senate is comparatively fractious. It is divided into two great factions, the Reds and the Whites. The Reds were purged under Princeps Aulus during the last emergency, and have only recently regained their strength, hence the current Senate is dominated by the Whites. Their positions (and their opinions of their opponents) are best understood in their own words.
Article:
WHAT WE BELIEVE
We populares or "Reds" have been subject to the most unbelievable calumnies from all sides, as the corrupt try to hold onto their gilded thrones in the face of the people's power. To ensure that every citizen is aware of our program, and not deluded by the inane mutterings of the optimates, we declare forthwith the following principles, which none can deny are the heart and soul of our every political act. 1. Work for Honest Pay
Every citizen of our fair cities must be able for a day's labour to put food on the table for him and his. To that end – a ban on the use of slaves within the Twin Cities. No longer shall barbarians take Tylosian jobs. Further, restoration of the grain dole, as during the time of the Princeps Aulus – free bread to every citizen, each and every day! 2. Land to the Solider
No longer shall the fatuous, slobbering officer class benefit against the common solider. We commend the Princeps in his humanity, but he must go further! No longer should veterans receive merely a "land certificate" that they can sell for pennies to a speculator. No! A return to direct land grants for all soldiers! If that means further war, so be it! The barbarian shall not prosper at the cost of the common man! 3. No Special Privileges to Wizards
No longer shall an accident of birth, some ineffable connexion to a Daemon-realm, mean glory and accolades. The Lodge, the Brotherhood, and the Flame must be taxed, and all the temples of all the Gods too. Why should they sit in floating palaces, while those below stumble? 4. An End to Alien Influences
We dare not name names, but we observe certain connexions with many in the Senate to the foreign courts of the Elder Races. We do not mean of course, our most loyal Sons of Skavor, who's antipathy to the hidebound and jealous nature of the Karaz Ankor is well known, nor our loyal Elf citizens. But it has been clear for some time as has been as if an occult hand was operating our politics, and we demand to reveal it, and see it be destroyed!
The truth will set you free. See our honest principles and vote Red!
Article:
AGAINST THE TRAITORS
Do you want to protect your family, your property, your fatherland?
The duplicitous foreigner "Odo" schemes to take it all away, to have our cities populated by the destitute from ever corner of the world.
He means to enslave the solider through TENANT FARMING – with the state as landlord.
He means to destroy the household through ABOLITION – with Shambles rabble to be your servants.
He means to take us into WAR – with both Elves and Dwarves.
He means for religion to be DESTROYED – for the temples to Order to be taxed to fund vagrants.
Defeat this vile villain! Save our Cities from Red Disaster. Keep the Steady Course!
No New Taxes - Vote White!
Below is a chart of the current composition of the Senate (designated by italics) and their challengers. Both Fafnir Fogfather and Flavius Betto are non-partisan, as is the Princeps Suttar.
At the end of the week, you travel to the Glimmering Realm. The way down is by boat, through a series of ever-descending canal locks. The crowds are such you're forced to share your vessel, which is ordinarily meant for just two, you and the captain. Your co-passenger happens to be dwarf, though clearly not a Skavorite. He lacks the geometric "tattoos" – really, lines of embedded gemstones - that the local dwarves favored and seemed to be in some way essential to their curious magic. No, your fellow visitor's skin is unmarred, what little you can see, for he is wrapped in a thick black robe that seems to disguise a sword on his hip that glimmers out of the corner of your eye with some unfamiliar magic. He does not speak, even in greeting, and you do not engage him.
The captain of your vessel, as is required by custom and law, is a Son of Skavor. You take your opportunity to study him. He is dressed, as most of his people, in a short tunic and leggings, with a thick cream cloak over one shoulder, fastened with a silver-and-obsidian pin. Embroidered on all his clothes are what one might at first take to be sequins, but are in fact, tiny gemstones – rubies and sapphires and topazes. What visible skin you see is decorated similarly – tiny red beryls form a strange shape each cheek: a triangle with a bottom that extends past its vertices, above which is a five-pointed (but uneven) star. His hands are gloved, but you think his fingertips are stone. He directs the ship through Dwarven sorcery. At the head of each of the boats is a gold mounting, in which he places a quarterstaff taller than his head, made of pure marble. The canal is cut thinly enough that edges of the quarterstaff touch both walls. Then, with but a gesture (a point forward), the edges of the pole meld into the wall, and then the staff lurches forward, dragging the boat along behind. Later and deeper into the cavern, when the walls widened, the Son of Skavor removed the pole, but then tapped one end to the wall. With another gesture – a come hither – he drew back the staff, with the stone of the wall following, so that it was now thrice its length. He then dipped it into the water, where it must have touched the bottom of the river you were progressing down, where it again began to drag forth – though with perfect smoothness – forward once more. In all of this, he said nothing. Instead, he hummed in a way difficult to describe; part physical, part magical – a single, deep, unsettling note, joined in endless, echoing chorus by all his brothers and sisters in front and behind.
You are shocked by the size of the chamber called the Glimmering Realm. It was the size of an entire district above, and probably large enough to host most of the Cities standing shoulder to shoulder. It is also almost unspeakably beautiful. The all the walls and ceiling were covered in a rainbow of crystal, the smallest the size of a horse. Hysh-lamps of polished brass had been hung throughout the room, making the gems glitter and spark, rendering the roof a glorious kaleidoscope, which reflected in the great lake below, then back from the crystals above, and below once more… The total effect was rather like standing in a room composed entirely of rose windows, all perfectly backlit by a glorious summer sun.
Scattered throughout the great lake were small islets, on which smaller crystals grew. Carved into these stones were little niches, lit by wax candles, in which petrified dwarves stood, each with their names carved above them. Every one, without exception, rested straight and tall, with the same inscrutable almost-grin on their faces, as if they were awaiting some pleasant surprise. Each island held a separate clan, the living members of which lavished with grave goods. Never have you seen such a quality of precious metals and stones – weapons and jewelry and tools – each masterfully made and placed caringly by its eternal caretaker.
At the very centre of the room was what appeared to be an endless pit, lined with a golden-dam wall, on which runes were written in diamond that you could not read, though they hurt to Look upon. Above the pit, hung on a gromril chain was what you would best describe as a throne of silver steel. Sitting on that throne was the Dwarf you had only seen in history books – Skavor the Great! The True Ancestor sat frozen eternal on his seat, turned to a stone so pale it seemed almost translucent. His eyes were shut, his face beatifically calm, his beard neatly braided, flowing down just past his knees. In his hands, he cradled a twelve-sided golden object, almost like a game die that hummed so loud with latent magical power it nearly drowned out the noise of anything else in the room.
The boats circled the pit. Your fellow passenger finally issues a grunt of interest and fixes his eyes on Skavor. Your captain, once he secures the boat by turning the mounting and resecuring the bargepole, then magically binding that to the lake floor, does the same. You quietly sip your provided mead (the promised refreshment) and wait for the service to begin. No less than a quarter hour later (during which not once has your fellow passenger, nor the captain broken their twin stares), horns ring out, as appearing out of the pit itself on a spike of raised earth that merges at his hip is Fafnir Fogfather, Grand Master of the Sons of Skavor.
He shouts. "HAIL, DAWI!" It echoes through out the room, the hum suddenly going silent at his great gravelly boom.
The room replies, with equal enthusiasm: "HAIL, GRAND MASTER!"
"We are here today to remember, to remember the Great Ancestor! HAIL SKAVOR!"
"HAIL SKAVOR!"
"Remember his wisdom and his courage! Remember how he told his family the future to come and watched as they failed to listen! Remember how he made ready to save his people against the daemonic horde! Remember how he went down to the deep earth and learned to make his flesh one with the world!"
At that, the whole cavern rumbles as Sonsm pulling off gloves and boots, dip their petrified extremities into the water and yank with all their occult power to connect themselves to the stone.
"Remember how he taught his children, and how his family ignored his learning! Remember how that saved them when the Great Wall fell! Remember how he was punished with exile, for the crime of living!"
You think you hear you co-passenger scoff. The rumbling quiets. Fifty boats have docked at the great golden dam around the pit, and a hundred elderly dwarves are helped off, each petrified up to their neck. Fafnir, in perfect silence, rises, bows deeply before the petrified Skavor, and then takes the artifact from his unmoving hands.
"Remember that injustice! Remember our vengeance! Remember that grudge!"
The elderly dwarves, with obvious effort, manipulate the stone of their frozen bodies to join hands in a perfect circle.
"We honor you, Great Skavor, and will see what was lost returned!"
He raises the crystal above his head.
"KHAZUKAN KAZAKIT-HA!" Fafnir screams, echoed by every dwarf in the chamber.
There is nothing – and then a deep, dark crashing from the pit, like the earth itself screaming in pain. It gets louder and louder, the sound of stone being ripped asunder. You see the dwarves encircled are rapidly petrifying, the stone rising up, past their chins and mouths and eyes.
You turn, as you hear your co-passenger has unsheathed he sword. He has risen up behind the captain, as if ready to attack him. He only just pauses when he notices you see.
Just then, there is sudden, deafening CRACK! and then a piercing whine as a huge plume of blue divine flame blasts out of the hole. The heat and steam blasts great waves across the lake, knocking everyone back, you and the captain and the other dwarf collapsing in a crazy pile of limbs; the sword falls into the lake, unnoticed.
You just rise to see Fafnir unfurl the great barrier of crystal he drew from the roof to protect himself and Skavor. Everything below his hips has been vaporized – drops of hot magma drip from his body where blood might drip from a man. The petrifying dwarves surrounding the pit have been melted into a great mass of black obsidian glass. Your captain is missing his fingers, them having shattered off with the force of the great explosion.
There is a moment where there is nothing but the sound of hissing steam.
Then Fafnir with a twist of his fingers draws a new set of legs out of a shining purple crystal on the roof, and begins to chant, soon joined by every Son in the chamber.
"We remember and will avenge. We remember and will avenge. WE REMEMBER AND WILL AVENGE!"
…
When you return to your inn room much later and empty your pockets, you find a small metal card. On one side is carved a Dwarven Rune – a square without a bottom side, topped with two triangles, and then a symbol that might be a plant or a fountain. On the other is an address in the Shambles. You look at it and think.
Your final occasion for the week is your attendance at the Righteous Spear. You mention this offhand to Pelops, who declares immediately that you should wear your "formal regalia". You have no idea what this means till he runs back from some ancient storeroom and presents a costume you're not sure any priest has worn in a century – a silver crown with black roses done in obsidian, and then a thick cloak of thousand of ravens' feathers. You must make a choice – if you wear this, you will unmistakably be The Priest of Morr. That has the benefit of status, but the disadvantage of recognizability. You could also simply dress generically formally, which would make you effectively anonymous, for better or for worse.
How do you go to the Grand Theatre?
[-] In full costume.
[-] In a plain white toga.
AN: Please enjoy! No plan vote this time. If there are any other questions about politics, the Sons of Skavor or the Twin Cities in general you think Xenophon would reasonably know, don't hesitate to ask.
uh I don't have time to comment on these post, do a deep anasylzi or anything or do lore post ect but god damm this is top notch fucking work here great charezation, great world building, great everything! really fanastic job
[-] The Roost (Cloisters)
think we should do the roost since the sancfited grounds will help stop any shengained with it and yes there mad lunatics but we were gonna need to get rid of the mad lunatics anyway to get the garden semi functioning again so we can start increaseing the influence again
