The Darkened Grove IC

[drack]

Character
Race
Player
ECL
Role within Realm



The Darkened Grove


Character
Race
Player
ECL
Role within Realm


The Martyr
Human
Drack
11
Ruler



GET OUT YOU BIG OLD CREEPY PEEPERS!

I SAID...
GET
OUT


Race: ?
Civilzation: ??
Governing Style: ??
Civic Style: ??
Religious Ideology: ??
Main Religion: ?


Just about all non-outsiders
Civilized
Despotic
Mercantile
None/Theoractic
None per say

Note, these effects HAVE been included above

Province
Terrain
Population Center
Production (T)
Total Production (=T*S*250)
Upkeep
Producing Trade?
Receiving Trade?


Schwartzkernholz
Rainforest
Village
8
3125
320.375
No
No



Building Name/type
Income Bonus
Upkeep


garrison
-
*1.25


Stone Circle(Level 6)
-
-


Crystal Pillar(Level 1)
-
-



Province
Terrain
Population Center
Production (T)
Total Production (=T*S*250)
Upkeep
Producing Trade?
Receiving Trade?


grunwald
Rainforest
Village
8
781.25
110
No
No


Weboftrees(not mine yet)
Rainforest
Thorp
1
62.5
100
no
no


Morgrut
Plains
Thorp
3
366.210938
100
No
No



Building Name/type
Income Bonus
Upkeep


Mine
*1.25
-


Market
-
*.9



Total Production: ?RP
Total Upkeep: ?RP
Banked: Reg ?RP King ?RP


4272.46094
530.375
is tabulated at the END of the season


MERCHANTS

Point Of Origin
Week Departure
Caravan Race
Land/Sea/Air
Destination
Hexes to travel through
RP Bonus if successful
Guard Units


RELIGION

#
Faith
Schwartzkernholz
grunwald
Morgrut
spiders
Total


1
Core Pantheon combined
1
1
2
1
5


2
R'ta'nakk'k the Ancient One
1
1
2
1
5


3
Sophia, the White Lady
1
1
9
1
12


4
Inautia, the Undead Lord
1
1
2
1
5


5
Sid'Jax/Wn'uf'cew Fn'yar
1
1
2
1
5


6
Nansuelbda
13
3
2
3
21


7
Eril, God of Travel, Shadows and Moonlight
1
1
1
1
4


8
Kyrrus, Lord of Chaos, Change, and Dreams
14
2
2
3
21


9
Dwarf Pantheon
1
1
1
1
4


10
Nordi the Smith, Dwarf All-Father
1
1
3
1
6


11
Evil Unity
14
2
3
3
22


12
The Dark Cabal
1
1
1
1
4


13
Good Unity Pantheon
14
1
3
3
21


14
Cult of Solana
1
1
1
1
1


15
Law Unity
14
2
3
3
22


16
Chaos Unity
14
2
3
3
22


17
The Changer of Ways
1
1
1
1
1


18
The Great Balance (Neutral Unity)
14
3
3
3
23


19
The Cult of the Darkness Below
1
1
1
1
4


20
Kayros - The Damned God (Evil)
2
2
2
2
8


21
Kayros - The Damned God (Neutral)
2
2
2
2
8


22
Tyrannus Nol Gathrik
2
2
2
2
8


23
Thoris Fire-Dreamer
1
1
1
1
4


24
Great Arachnid Hivemind
1
1
1
2
5


25
R'y'all'all'eth
1
1
1
1
4


26
Cult of Thanifex
1
1
1
1
4


27
Distrust the Gods/Dislike the Gods
14
3
3
3
23


28
Atheist (Gods don't exist)
2
2
2
2
22


29
Atheist (Gods don't exist, hungry grizzlies do.)
30
10
0
0
40


30
Atheist (Gods don't exist, but mother does)
0
0
0
9
9

[Stormageddon]

Deep in The Groove stood a circle of proud trees in a constant state of being alive and death. Their bark had long ago shed away leaving the natural wood showing. Even though these trees should have fallen and gone into decay for ages these trees have stayed untouched for ages. Within the circle of these trees where only light to touch the area was moonlight was a slime pit. An oily brown pool where even the maggots of the Groove would not tread.

It was midnight when the oily unmoved for centuries began to bubble and from the bubble burst a red headed woman naked as the day she was born in ages long past with wings that seem to be a hybrid of a bat and leaves of the trees themselves who landed on the back of the pool. Astoric last druid of the Groove sealed away for more season then a mortal could count prisons sentence had been terminated. She rises on legs shaking from years of not being used. She stretches out her wings and neck and vertebrata pop as the the stiffness of the imprisonment washes away.

It was good to be home.

The sentinel trees extend their branches to return the green dress to their ward that they have watched over throughout the centuries. As she dress Astoric took time to reflect upon her surroundings. How beautiful the Groove was; how magnificent. The other druids never quite understood Astoric's love for the place. As Astoric never understood their objects. The Groove was nature in its' true form live and death living together in harmony. The druids had wanted to flee the place in their ignorance, but Astoric had promoted the idea of staying and supporting the Groove. The conflict had come to a head and Astoric had not been the victory. The druids in their finite wisdom had decided not to kill her, but to sentence her to captivity for an determined amount of time.

Just then another bubble burst from the pool a shaggy black bear landed on the bank next to her.

Virna! It is good to see you old friend!

The bear answered with a gruff grunt. Virna always had been a bit grumpy and never sentimental, but a true ally none the less.

We have much time to make up for, old friend.

Astoric extends her hand and after a minute a butterfly lands gently on her hand. Astoric summons the power that nature itself felt fit to bestow in her and channels it into her tiny friend.

Go my friend. Find the master of the Groove and tell the master that Astoric druid of the Groove has arisen.

The insect dutifully flies away to track down the master.

Now their was nothing left to do but wait for an audience.

[drack]

An arc of lightening leaps from beside a nearby tree, incinerating the butterfly. Slowly it falls to the pool where swarms of water spiders hurry to devour it.

A deep and gruff, yet feminine voice speaks up. "There is no need to play at summons dear Astoric, the Grove has no master in this age, only the Martyr to guide us in our quest for balance. The forests have changed, and now there is nowhere that the insects will not covet, and nothing upon which you cannot feast. While the grove may have changed, may have grown old and withered into a cyst pool of life, the forest does not forget. You are expected."

The source of the voice is a bent backed old woman with gnarled teeth and the stench of death about her. Still, she had a feel of magic about her, perhaps as powerful as your own, and something about the way she looked at you... It was reminiscent of the first wave of undeads, before peace was ever conceived, back when undead were but countless sets of empty eyes staring up at you before either you or they were dead. Perhaps those eyes were with all undeads, or at least most, but death was different in the Grove, where all were immortal, and in which none could die. Perhaps she remembered too...

Slowly the woman raised a bent hand, flies buzzing about it, taking flight as the limb moves, and landing once more when it stops. Slowly a finger crooked, trapping an unsuspecting fly under the finger.

Taking in the garb of wilted leaves and spent nut shells the woman only smirks.

[Stormageddon]

For the first time Astoric takes a wide look at her surroundings. Indeed the Martyr has been busy. Incredibly busy. Astoric unfurls her wings and flies up and lands gently onto a branch of her tree warden. Warping her wings around her protectively. She speaks to the un-living creature below, because there is no one else to talk to.

It seems as though what you say is true, creature. Much has changed.

It was unnecessary to kill my messenger. You will not interfere with my magic again, or you will the full force of my displeasure. I play with what I wish and you, creature, can do the same.

You said I was expected? Expect by who?

[drack]

"What a pointless life to sentence a perfectly good blood mite to. I'd think you'd thank me for the favor, though I'll also warn you, I'm no young accolade to pay anyone, especially not when they've already worked themselves into my debt." The decrepit woman mutters to herself, crooking yet another finger, this time trapping a fly between her finger and her palm she crushes the life from it, careful not to crack it's outer shell to widely before tossing it into the waiting maw of a passing bat.

Slowly the woman turns, and begins walking through the woods, a strange glob of quicksilver dancing over her shoulder falls in behind her, following her as it twirls slowly through the air to and through as a cloud might sail through uncertain winds.

[Stormageddon]

Debt? What debt was could Astoric possibly owe this creature. It was ultimately curiosity that moved Astoric into action... Beside it's not like she had anywhere else to go. Astoric glided down to the forest floor for the first time feeling the slime of Groove drown her feet. What on earth is this stuff!? Much change had been done. Perhaps she had been a fool to want to stay? No, her brothers and sisters had been the fools. A peace could have been had. They gave up too early. Too ridge in their ways. Things might be different if they had stayed and were flexible to some changes.

Come Virna! The gruff beast grunted as she also move into the slime, and with that Astoric move to follow the creature and called after her.

Wait! What manner of debt do you think is owed?

[drack]

The old lady irritably snaps that she'd already mentioned the thanks owed for the destruction of the blood mote. Slowly she makes her way marching about the tall and ancient trees that stood through the whole of the fey's imprisonment, now riddled with all manner of nests, hives, and dens, each with a thick canopy blocking almost all light to the forest below. Slowly she treads through the deep swamps teeming with all manner of life and unlife that makes the fey's blood crawl at the thought. Across all surfaces a new black moss seems to have taken root, and a chaotic presence positive and negative energy cackling in the air can almost be felt as a tingle across the skin. Bats and insects seem to have become much more common, but in a land where the treants, giants, and the great green serpent dragons had ruled, the dragons seemed to be replaced by spiders so large as to nearly eat such dragons, webs woven so tightly under the three canopy as to catch anything that might have flown in from above as a meal, and several webs even came so low as under the water level, tripping an unwary passer were they not conscientious. That would enplane why the noble eagle and griffin had all but vanished from the woodlands, and these were but the first to be noticed with countless species rising and more still falling, new weeds and brushes growing through the woods where others had once been. A small group of hinkypunks float silently about you as an escort, giving off an eerie blue-white light which the misty woods seem to consume ravishingly, however they do nothing for all the uncomfortable warmth and humidity until at least solid land takes over, and soon after the edge of the treeline comes into sight.

The old lady does not go to the edge of the woods however, instead she approaches a tree at the base of which the disemboweled bodies of three elves and two lizardmen lie. As if propelled from a ballista, a massive beak shoots down, devouring each in turn until only odd lopped off bits such as fingers and toes, severed by the crushing force of the beak remain.

http://crowscare.keenspot.com/cover-crowscare.jpg

The creature is, unmistakably, a Roc. A bird beyond the proportions of any other, perched upon one of the higher branches of a gnarled tree. Its beady eyes survey the new arrivals as if still deciding if it had room. As the old lady stops at the base of the tree, the Roc lets out a terrible shriek, spreading its wings, and drifts heavily down to the forest floor to rest upon any remnants of its recent meal. Shrieking irritably at the newcomers, it flutters it's wings before turning it's head to the side as if they weren't worth it's concern.

A mass of veins upon it's back, however, shifts before dropping to the ground, the vegetation sweeping about as though it were but a simple cloak on a man under which only a stained animal skull can be seen.

[Stormageddon]

After the snapped comment from the confounding creature; the unliving seemed content to walk in silence. Which was ok by the Fey who was slowly feeling less and less chatty. How had this place come to be? Positive and negative energies existing in some sort of natural harmony? This place would take much studying before she could figure out the new rules which now seemed to govern the Groove. A sadness crept over the druid then. What was lost would never again be in the Groove.

Fey walked head down brooding in her own thoughts about what might have been. Only stopping to take mental notes of yet even more impossible things. It was in this state that the Fey came to the edge of the woods. Astoric's eyes widened as the her escort creature sliced into the corpses, and visibly jumped as the Roc landed. Here at least was an animal that was familiar to the Fey although she had never quite been this close to one.

Maybe she was brought here to feed to this bird. She started to envision grave stone.

Here lies Astoric: Druid of the Groove, Forest Merchant, and Noble Fey / Bird food.

The idea struck the Fey as humorous, and almost involuntary a short burst of laughter escaped from her lips which Astoric covered quickly with her hand. Oh god it was coming. With a short curse to her Fey heritage, Astoric of the Groove is overcome by the giggles. So much so that she barely notices as the mass of veins drops form the birds back.

[drack]

"Astoric." The vine creature greeted her. "I seen your sentence has come to an end, and you are once more free to walk through life and death. Is it not everything you had once imagined?"

[Stormageddon]

Astoric regains her composer and straightens herself. So it's not to be bird food.

It's... Not something I think anyone could have imagined. So much has changed... I think that it would take 2 lifetimes to fully warp my mind around around it. Everyone seems to know who I am? Pray tell who or what are you? I take it I'm not here to feed your pet.

[drack]

The man in vines chuckles. "I am the one who stayed behind, known to this era as the Martyr, and this charming woman who brought you through the woods is one of the Granthar sisters. They are a family of witches of some power that;s appeared while you were sealed away. They are sworn to my personal service, but I'd still advise caution as their curses are infamous. It is said that the eldest of them can even curse one never again to live nor die. Forget about me though, what of you, how did your imprisonment suit you?"

Catching sight of him, the amorphous blob of quicksilver skirts smoothly about the old woman's head to nuzzle gently against the Martyr's chest.

[Stormageddon]

Astoric finds a log to sit on brushing aside any thing on the log. She sits down lightly and crosses her legs.

It did not suit me very well at all. Cut off from both the material world and the dreamworld. Caught somewhere in between. I assure that being awake and asleep at the same time is a most unpleasant state... and there are "things" that live there that are beyond words of any language, and they are cruel. She spits out the word "things" like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Pray tell how long has it been?

[drack]

"Only the turn of an age or two or seven. What does it matter, time is rather insignificant in the Grove, not like in those mortal cities where time seems to determine their lives so much so as their precious little metals."

[Stormageddon]

"Only the turn of an age or two or seven. What does it matter, time is rather insignificant in the Grove, not like in those mortal cities where time seems to determine their lives so much so as their precious little metals."

Astoric nods with approval of the about the passage of time being meaningless. As one with the blood of immortals how long she actually might live had been a subject of much debate back in the Grove of Old, but thus far time had yet to touch her.

They do value there metals. Making it fun to loosen their coin purses. Back in Grove of Old I was master of coin. You'd be surprized on how people will under-estimate you because they think you savage.

[drack]

"I much prefer goods myself, but coin can be exchanged for goods, and if you'd rather return to bartering in their society there's a cart's worth of ash-bug shells that old Durrog collected." Durrog was a young forest giant.

[Stormageddon]

"I much prefer goods myself, but coin can be exchanged for goods, and if you'd rather return to bartering in their society there's a cart's worth of ash-bug shells that old Durrog collected." Durrog was a young forest giant.

Durrog is still inhabiting the grove? That is good to hear. Perhaps not all of which was is gone from the Grove. What of the others what fate befell my fellow druids? Do the Fey still inhabit the Grove? I must admit that returning to my old job does hold appeal to me. How fares the world of mortals?

[drack]

You know, it only occurred to me afterwards that you may or may not know of a "young" anything. =p


"Yes... and no. It is true that fey still inhabit the Darkened Grove, but many more overpopulate yet another grove to the west." The Martyr shrugs as if it bothered him less then it did. "It seems both the woodlands and the dead prosper these days."