Heirs of the New World: Tribes

[Reogan]

The Isle of Meeting has always been a shared and sacred space amongst every People. Beyond those who tend the place and keep it pure, there are no permanent inhabitants. Here, the trees grow thick and the land is rich with life. Thick moss coats every surface and the soft earth teems with insects. This great shrine enjoys a near constant peace, broken only when matters dire enough to cross the strongest boundaries between tribes come to light.

Now, more than ever, troubles have come. Or may be coming. The New People to the south. The Haughty Ones. The Curious Ones. The Warring Tribes. Whatever name is used for them, they certainly mean at least one thing: change. And change itself is good. The world is built on change. The changing seasons. The changing generations. But one must prepare for change. The winter brings change, and it is deadly unless preparation mitigates its cruelties.

The Isle swarms with more creatures than anyone living can recall. Many, many tribes sent their own representatives. The Spirit People sit with Cave People. The Sky People move about freely and without inspiring terror. Horned Ones, each claiming the title or blessing of Plains Lord sit sagely, saying little. Dark Ones restrain themselves from their natural impulse to violence, and more than a few Great Ones wander about, finding ready ears wherever they go. Even the White People, the most hated and feared of all races, are here, though none likely found word of the meeting through peaceful means. They, too, are treated as equal, if as a feared and hated equal.

There is no hierarchy. Some are afforded more respect, of course, for are not the Great Ones sages? Have not some done great acts? But, in the end, there is no vote and there is no order. Things are discussed. Dialogue is had. In the end, some will act and some will carry word of the discussion back to their tribes.

There are loud voices. Iyrghyik, a Dark One of impressive size and more impressive deeds (which his markings clearly show), moves from place to place insisting that open war is the only solution. The Haughty Ones are a blight. They bring death. A number of tribes--a number which varies from source to source but never vanishes--have met their ends in conflict with them. Thenos, a Horned One who was sent by his Plains Lord as the most worthy of his run, thinks that the New People need to be taught. They are like newborns and know not the ways of this land. There is yet a place for them. Ro, a Great One known by many to speak little and listen much, says simply "We can learn." He listens to the ensuing discussion before taking his three words to the next group.

You have overheard, but you have not been visited by these loudest voices. In the going and coming of various individuals, you suddenly find yourselves in a wholly new group, seated on a rough circle of stones and logs. You are an odd collection. Two of the Sky People and a White Person sit among you, all dangerous and only two fully trustworthy. One Spirit Person who has so much of the Warrior Spirit that he seems more beast than goblin. A Great One with eyes which seem to see something no one else can.

An orc passes by with a piece of news. Ships are arriving in force. The towns of the New People swell with numbers. Many set off into the lands of other tribes. And then the orc is gone.

You look at each other. There is much to discuss.

[glitterbaby]

The Spirit Person seems anxious. The anxious to mean he's possessing anxiety not the anxious to mean he's eager. He squirms on his rock/log, shooting inquisitive glances at the Sky People. Eventually he leans over the the Great One, whispering into her ear but forgetting to lower his voice.

In a deep, hoarse voice Grimmur inquires, "Longeye, are all Sky People same? Met some while back and were really bad and are more here. Need to know you safe."

[JBarca]

The Great One is big for her race, reaching over eight feet tall when she stands. Seated as she is, though, she merely looks ungainly; the low rock forces her knees up to her chest and her muscled arms hang loosely at her sides, fingers splayed out in the grass. Her flesh is mottled, like all of her people's, but it hangs loosely down her back. Atop her head sits a feathered mass that shifts strangely when she moves her head. She wears a leather skirt and vest, and a large staff leans against her back. Her white eyes blink, one at a time, as the Orc delivers its news.

When her traveling companion speaks, Krada tilts her head his way, twisting her chin away as though she were trying to point the top of her head toward the Goblin.

When she speaks, her gravelly voice cracks slightly, hinting at recent strain.

"The Sky People are like all others. They are themselves. We are safe here, friend. All are safe, here. So it has been, so it shall be."

She turns to look at the others in the little circle, nodding to each."I am Krada Timbokanathoni, known as Longeye. This one-" She gestures toward the Hobgoblin to whom she had been speaking. "- is Grimmur. Beastmaw. We are wanderers. He is a warrior, I am a traveling worker of small aid-magics, warding hexes, and reactive dweomers."

She stops suddenly and looks around the circle expectantly.

[zabbarot]

Speaks-with-Silence's eyes flashed wide momentarily with mild surprise. She would not have expected the big one to be blessed with magic. Those she had previously encountered tended to capitalize on their great strength, not that it helped them against the White Tribe. Strong food was still food after all, but this one was interesting. She should be eaten last.

"This one is known as Speak-With-Silence," she said, gesturing to herself with one painted hand before continuing, "a shaman of the White People. Is it true that we are gathered to decide the fate of the pink skins?" Her voice was deep and guttural, but feminine in it's own way.

She tapped her toes as she looked around camp. She was eager, very eager, to learn more of the pink skins. She had never tasted one before, but if asked she would guess they were something like pigs. It was unlikely that anyone would ask.

[Geckus]

Greeza is a small and sleek reptilian with extremely fine, glossy black scales and deep-set dim red eyes that are nearly invisible unless they catch the light just right. He has a slightly hunched posture, as if he were about to drop to all fours, and chitinous plates run from his shoulders down to the back of his hands. He wears an odd assortment of clothing and items; a metallic torc in the shape of twinned dragons twists around his throat, a belt of thick purple scales about his waist, a shirt of coarse brown fur than seems to fade in and out of existence pokes out from around the edges of a shirt of very fine chain (blackened to match his scales), and a light harness to attach his possessions to - which amounts to little more than a dagger and several clay bottles. A darkwood shield rests against the log he is perched upon.

The dark-hued Sky Person's bobs up and down as his gaze flicks between the others seated at this circle, occasionally snapping around to look behind himself when others pass nearby. His head stills and he gazes intently at the Great One as she names herself a worker of magic; though most of the time, he watches the White One - no other tribe would be as likely to break the peace of this sacred place. "Blacktongue, of the Blackscale tribe, is this one's name among other tribes."

In response to Speak-With-Silence's questions, he offers, "All will speak, but the eldest and wisest will decide, yes?"

[ImperatorV]

Vrazvarar's eyes moved, abruptly, from one member of the conference to another as he made his first judgements. The spirit person seemed timid, but maybe not weak. The great one was a spellslinger, but not of combat magics if what he said was true. Disappointing. The white person was the most interesting, she moved like a killer; a worthy opponent, or perhaps companion (strange times these were, using the other tribes as something besides sacrifice). And not much was known of the white people, so he could fulfill his role of information gathering as well. The other sky person seemed typical.

Ah, it appeared to be his turn to introduce himself. He holds himself a little higher, resisting the urge to throw his cloak of skins over his arm. He had quickly learned that such dramatic gestures, or indeed any attempt to show off his killing skills, were not well received here. Strange, the priest-elder had said he would perhaps be better liked then others.

Vrazvarar, of the Fives Fires tribe, swordfighter, hexer, and bringer of sacrifices to Mistress Tiamat.

He glanced around.

It seems to me we lack information on these new people. It is hard to make a decision without knowing yes?

[glitterbaby]

Grimmur seems pacified by his large friend's tone and he settles in his seat a bit, slightly ashamed at his ignorance. His ears do perk, however, at the words of the White Person and again of Blacktongue. Is this a new way to refer to oneself? I thought it only a dialect at first when the White Person said it but the Sky Person seems to have confirmed it.

"Th- This one agrees. When hunting, this one watches prey first to see if thing has limp or if very fast. This one can get kill better then and not waste time if it too fast." His broken common suggests it being a second language more than stupidity, although it doesn't seem to be accented to hint at a first language. As he finishes his lips form a proud grin and he looks up towards his friend out of instinct.

[JBarca]

Krada shakes her head as the others speak.

"Who is to say that we are to decide their fate? Perhaps they are, even now, deciding ours?They are here, we are here. Conflict, Beastmaw, need not be our response. It may be that they are no more different than you from her." She gestures toward Speaks-with-Silence.

"I'm interested. I was guided here, and the spirits are pulling me toward the new people. But not for violence. Not yet."

[Geckus]

"Perhaps you speak correctly, Great One, but it is said that they wander uninvited into the lands of other tribes - does that not speak of a desire for conflict to you?" Casting his gaze across the others, he adds, "Would any of your tribes be willing to allow another to cross their range so? Though this one is no Elder to speak for his tribe, I do not think it likely the Blackscale tribe would."

"Surely those tribes closest to the New People know more of them, Vrazvarar." Greeza slips momentarily into his native speech when addressing his fellow Sky Person, but quickly catches himself and returns to the common native tongue. "Whether the New People are friend or enemy, knowledge of them is needed, yes. Those who range closest to them must be willing to share or trade what they know."

[zabbarot]

Speaks-with-Silence is quick to nod her head in agreement with Krada-food, but likely not for the reasons she would hope. In Speaks' mind Grimmur-food and the pink beasts were both food and therefore equally unlike herself. Food has nothing in common with People. At least Grimmur-food understood the hunt.

The information shared by Greeza-food was more interesting though. The pink beasts thought they could go where they please. Did they not know that this was the domain of the People? Food must stick to it's homeland so that the People may find it when they are hungry. It was the way of things. Now the food seeks to fight amongst itself. This can not stand. Food must know it's place.

"Who has met the pink skins? This one would like to speak with them. You can follow if you wish." She stood. She was lithe and, at barely seven feet tall, small for a gnoll.

[JBarca]

Longeye smiles widely, almost manically.

"The Sky People are offended by others transgression upon their lands?

"Ah, but yes. Ask around we shall."

The Goliath grabs her staff and stands, allowing her to look over the heads of almost all present.

Knowledge Geography and Local, I suppose? Which tribes would be closest to the newcomers?
Geo [roll0]
Local [roll1]

[glitterbaby]

Beastmaw looks down at Longeye's correction, ashamed of his ignorance. When his friend stands he follows suit. His stature is surprising as he stands at just over seven feet tall. He looks to Longeye expectantly.

[Reogan]

You don't exactly know specifics, but you know that the water tribes of the Cave People are greatest in those southern reaches where the newcomers have taken root. Spirit People are universally present, and surely at least a few of the Horned Ones' runs are near the cities. The Horned Ones have the strongest organization of this bunch, the Spirit People the loosest.

All around you, similar groups of unusual friendliness are talking. In few do there seem to be any members holding a clear position of authority over others, though some seem to be trying to gain them. Around a few groups, where the old and wise have gathered, a small, respectfully quiet crowd has formed. Sometimes people move from group to group; the Great Ones do this the most. On the fringes, single-species gatherings seem to be discussing what they have learned or what they intend to do. All is peace.

[JBarca]

Longeye stands, deep in thought for a moment. She then seeks out the largest Horned One she can spot, and approaches. If s/he's in conversation, she'll listen in for a bit before joining. Otherwise, she'll simply stride up and smile.
"Greetings, Horned One! I'm called Longeye. I think I'd like to talk to you."

[Reogan]

The largest in sight is two groups away. As you approach, she's listening to a Spirit Person's passionate speech, but she gives you her attention when you stop. She stands, massive, though not of your height, and bows her head towards you.

"Hail, Longeye. I am Wresh, Plains Lord of the Pitched Run."

She waits for you to speak, for it is, of course, the place of the Great One to control conversation.

[JBarca]

Krada considers for a moment, then nods in agreement. With what she is agreeing, though, is hard to say.

"Very true, Plains Lord. Now. What do you know of the new people? My conversations so far have left me with little knowledge and more than a little curiosity. I imagine you have at least some words with those near the farsailors?"

[Geckus]

Greeza watches as first the White One states her desire to speak with those who have met the New People, and Longeye and her Spirit Person guardian move away to pursue the same goal.

Two who seek the same knowledge, and I too must learn more of these new peoples, be eyes and ears for the Eldest. Respect...they will speak more freely with the Great One than to one of the White One or one of the Blackscale, yes? So hasty, but so it must be at times.

After glancing momentarily at the others around the circle where he sat, Greeza slips away when fewest eyes are upon him. Moving like a shadow, he stalks after the pair, head bobbing and tongue flicking out to taste the air as he traces their passage through the crowd. Finding them speaking with one of the Plains Lords, he settles in nearby to listen, shaded from the sun and easy sight by a heavy log currently unused by the gathered groups.

[Reogan]

"I have. It is said that they are varied. Some are lithe and some sturdy. Some trade and some kill. Many were displaced by their settlements. Some here claim they bring light, some claim they bring war."

The Horned One pauses, considering.

"I would have to say... I must say that they are not as we are." She speaks with the finality of one passing a death sentence. "This is not the place for them. Whatever their true intent, it will come to war before they grow much more. The Plains Lords have adjusted our runs to avoid conflict, but the Spirit and Cave Peoples of the coast are not so flexible. They cannot stand, though. Not alone."

[zabbarot]

Speaks-With-Silence was content to follow the tall one and listen for now. She was well aware of Food's tendency to shy away from the appearance of People. It was instinctual. They were blameless in this, but it made speaking with them unnecessarily difficult. It was why most of the White People wrote them off as inarticulate and not worth speaking to in the first place.

The cave people cannot hold their own though? This was surprising news. "The pink skins come in large number then? Or are they very strong? How do they fight?"

[Reogan]

Wresh stands a little taller and tenses as Speaks-with-Silence approaches, but does not break the peace of the Isle.

"They are many and their ways strange. They are mighty in deceit and they are endless in number. Or, rather, their numbers are always refreshed by the White Sails. They do not respect the opponent on the battlefield. In that way, White Person, they are like your kind. Ferocity paired with abandon. But only when they are not kind. Which is not your way."

This is said with no disrespect. All acknowledge the savagery of White People. It is, indeed, a point of pride with some of the race.

[ImperatorV]

Vrazvarar, up till now unnoticed due to being less then half the size of most, speaks up.

You say they do not respect their opponent in battle. What do you mean by this? What is it in their fighting that shows disrespect?

Some of the races had strange concepts of respect, or honor. He had to be sure if the new people were really dishonorable by his true code.

[JBarca]

Krada looks interested when Wresh mentions the inability of the tribes to stand alone, but she does not have a chance to ask before the conversation moves on.

She barely seems to be paying attention as the other discuss strength and combat, though, in truth, she is listening intently.

[Reogan]

Wresh turns to the kobold.

"They are like the White People. They will attack the sleeping and the lame as much as they will the ready and armed. They seek victory by any means, not victory with honor. Not even the best of them will ever earn respect among the Horned Ones, I think. Some, perhaps, are not filled with malevolence. But I believe all still hold their dagger while they give gifts with their spare hands. They may not mean only ill, but they never mean well."

Typical Horned One speech, really.

[zabbarot]

Rage course through Speaks-With-Silence temporarily, and her nostrils flared despite her composure. Food thinks People seek victory. It is not a contest. It is a hunt. Battle for glory and domination was something that could only happen between People. She calmed herself before speaking.

"Where can this one find the Watery Cave f... people who have met the pink beasts?"

[Reogan]

Wresh points out a Cave Person not too far away. He is not massive, which likely means he's no warrior.

"If I am not mistaken, and I may well be since all those people look the same, he hails from an affected tribe."

[JBarca]

Krada smirks at the mention on "honor," but says nothing.

Your absolute phrases are odd, Wresh, Plains Lord of the Pitched Run. Perhaps the dagger is a gift as well?" She smiles, nods her thanks, and moves toward the indicated Cave Person, and greets him in the same way as she did Wresh, before asking the same question (complete with the non sequitur).

[Reogan]

Phrel, as the Cave Person introduces himself to be, does not mince words. "The Invaders are murderers and oathbreakers. They come with chains for the young and fire for the old. The Marshflow brother tribe disappeared and they were in its place. We must drive them out before they drive us out."

[JBarca]

Krada nods.

Are you and yours alone in this? Surely you cannot mean to stand against them all alone?"

[Reogan]

"If we wanted to die alone we would. I am here to teach the threat and to seed war. Some are not happy with the plan. Others are. It is the way of things. We will all fight eventually. We should now."

The Cave Person glances around at your group.

"Will you join us?"

[zabbarot]

"What are your numbers? Who are your allies? This one will not go heedlessly to death." Speaks-With-Silence shook her head, "If we join you it must be after much consideration. Tall-Krada, what will you advise?"

Speaks understood the way food thought. They would follow the tall one. The tall one must be made to feel like the leader then. Speaks-With-Silence would be patient.

[Reogan]

"The tribe is forty-three. The response here is much of 'wait and see' and 'I will confer with tribe.' This does not save the land. This makes the land weak. We fight now or we die."

[JBarca]

Longeye closes her eyes for a few seconds, leans forward as through listening intently, then nods decisively.

"To the coast. If we investigate, we can feel a further response." Krada steps away and raises her voice to be heard by those nearby, though she does not quite shout.

"Phrel, your words are wise and they have swayed me. I, Krada Longeye Timbokanathoni, Great One of the north, will accompany you to your home to investigate. I cannot speak for the spirits yet, so I will say no more."

She nods, walks back to the circle of stones and logs, and sits, waiting.

[glitterbaby]

Grimmur seems relieved in Krada's decision. Doing something is always better than doing nothing. He then addresses the rest of the company (Speaks, Vrazvarar, Greeza, and Phrel, not the entire island).

"This one walks with Longeye, she is wise."

[Reogan]

"And the rest of you?"

[zabbarot]

"If that is Longeye's decision this one will follow as well."

Yes, soon they should trust Speaks-With-Silence.

[Reogan]

"If it is three, it is three. You will come back with us?"

He glances around.

"If I find anymore us to come?"

[Geckus]

Greeza rolls the idea around in his brain before voicing his reply, "An Elder must approve before this one can stray so far from where the Blackscale live, but I will ask. The knowledge to be gained is worth the risk of one."

[Reogan]

The eldest Sky Person of the Blackscales who has come here is Ykrik, a wizened old kobold with a bad reputation for casting spells a bit too strong on people a but too undeserving. His wisdom is as vast as his temper is short, though, and he agrees that you ought to go, if you can keep the tribe informed. You're advised to travel around a year, should nothing force you back or to stay, and then to return and teach.

While he waits for the Sky Person to secure permissions, Phrel continues to travel around the Isle, preaching his cause. A fair number seem sympathetic to him, but most do not agree strongly enough to join him. Of those who do, they all insist they have to speak with elders and councils back home with their tribe. He returns to you as Greeza does, and he asks if you'll be willing to leave the next morning.

[JBarca]

Longeye nods.

"I will remain here until departure; the stars must be observed this night. Call on me when you are prepared."

[Geckus]

Greeza keeps his head down and eyes averted as he speaks with the elder, out of respect for his reputation as well as his seniority. "This one thanks you for your wisdom, elder Ykrik. This one hopes that his service shall prove of value to the tribe." After taking two steps back from the elder, so as to avoid doing him the disrespect of turning his back on him, Greeza scampers off in search of the others who had sought to learn more of the New People.


Finding the group almost at the same time as Phrel returns, Greeza worms his way through the milling People to slip up beside the Cave Person. "The elder has agreed; this one will go with you when you return to your people."

[Reogan]

Phrel's return brings one more to the party: a Sky Person a particularly off-putting appearance. The Cave Person does not seem to be happy with this turn out.

"The tribes are deaf to the cries of wisdom. They are content to wait for doom to come to them as it is already beginning to come to us. But they will learn. For now, we sleep. I want to leave before first light. Sky People, I trust you to hold your peace with the rest of us for the length of our journey. White Person, you must as well, though none will trust you. Betrayal from anyone," he does not look away from Speaks-with-Silence, "is death."

He makes his way to the edge of the gathering, leading you to where he has cleared enough ground for a hundred to sleep. The mean portion the party takes up only seems to depress him, and he does not speak as he eats. Eventually, he goes to sleep, encouraging you to do the same. As a waxing crescent moon rises above the landscape, both sleep and conversation seem to beckon you.

[antoin]

After ravenously eating the rest of his food, the disfigured Sky Person sits a little bit away from the rest of the group. His eyes are mismatched - one red, one black - and as they scan the rest of the party, one can sense that he is nervous, a bit like a cornered animal. His body is quite tense, ready to either run or attack at any moment. After sitting like this for a little while, his bodily tension seems to ease, but his eyes lose none of their watchfulness. His mouth does not open once, and it looks like sleep will not be coming easily to him tonight.

[glitterbaby]

Grimmur looks the new Sky Person over, studying him for a moment. A smile makes it's way across his face as he walks over and sits down next to him. "You don't look like your people. This one doesn't either. We are the same."

[antoin]

Clearly uncomfortable but not hostile, he shifts away a little bit, leaving a 5-foot space in between them. He seems perplexed, more so by the situation than by Grimmur himself. When he speaks, his voice is rather quiet and hoarse, and one gets the sense that it is a voice seldom used.
"My people? I have no people. I have walked alone under the cold stars, the roasting sun, and yet no people have decided...nay, dared to call me their own. Not since my youth has anyone pretended at that. Is it the same...for you? What are you called? And more importantly, what do you call yourself?"

[glitterbaby]

"Then we ARE the same! This one is Beastmaw but I call me Grimmur sometimes too. This one has been alone since before I can remember. This one just recently found Longeye here and we've been friends ever since, we walk together."

Grimmur doesn't speak as one without intelligence, rather one without language.

[zabbarot]

Speaks-with-silence met Phrel's warning with only a cold stare. Why should food think it has the right to tell People what to do? It was a small annoyance though, and there were bigger fish to fry so long as she was patient.

"This one will turn in for the night." With that she found a comfortable spot to lay down her gear and curl up to rest.

[JBarca]

The Goliath smiles at Grimmur's excitement, then points to herself.

"I am Krada Timbokanathoni, called Longeye. A pleasure, little one."

She falls backward to lie on her back, ready for sleep.

[antoin]

"Well met, strangers. What other people call me is not polite to repeat. I have taken for myself the name Kyrmthil, also Wyrmblade. If we are to leave before first light, I think I must rest my eyes. We shall speak more in the morn."

Kyrmthil seems a bit more at ease with the group, but looks very much like he is processing everything around him carefully. He slowly reclines to sleep, hand near his weapon.

[JBarca]

Longeye waves toward the newest member of the group. "Rest well, Gildedtongue. The same for all of you."

[Geckus]

Greeza bobs his head in response to Phrel's warning; it was typical of dealing with the Cave People.

Watching the new Sky Person in silence, Greeza tastes the air, seeking the scent of it's tribe; it spoke well enough, but the mere sight of it filled him with some unease.

Amongst the Blackscale, such a one would have been stilled at birth...but not all of the many tribes are as close to the ways of the Mother as we. No matter; it is not my place to correct the failings of lesser tribes.

Finding himself a secure space to curl up in a small hollow beneath one of the great logs used for benches during the day's talks, Greeza eventually slips into a light, guarded rest.

[Reogan]

The morning dawns in rain and fog. Phrel checks with a few more creatures, but all seem determined to return to their own tribes to discuss the cause rather than joining the fight immediately. Sighing, Phrel returns to the group, saying nothing, but merely pacing impatiently until everyone is prepared. He leads you to the southern edge of the Isle, where the Watchers wait.

The Watchers big by native standards, but not huge. Perhaps nine feet tall, these long, lanky creatures are a pale white with long desiccated hair the same color as their flesh. Though nude, they appear neither male nor female. Though slender, they are said to have untold strength. Though their heads have what appears to be a mouth, they have never been seen to speak nor to eat. The Watcher guard the Isle of Meeting, and only by their will can any enter, for they are the Masters of the Inland Sea.

The Watchers have canoes, and when the party enters, they row. From your location at the southeasternmost tip of the island, it's nine miles across the water to the mainland. The entire journey seems to carry the fog with you. When you step out onto the shore, the Watchers are already rowing away. As they do, the fog leaves with them.

In its place is smoke. Somewhere south, beyond at least on shielding stand of trees, something big is burning.

"Go around or investigate?"

[antoin]

Kyrmthil takes a step forward, suspicious. He sniffs a little, and looks intently to see what the burning thing is or was. He also scans the area and listens for anyone who might have started the fire.

Spot 14
Listen 9

[Geckus]

After the long ride in the Watcher's canoes, Greeza is happy to have his feet once more upon the ground. Even if it was not the familiar caves and tunnels of his mountain home, at least here he could hide and stalk if needed. The rising cloud of smoke revealed as the Watcher's fog retreats is an unwelcome sign, but one that he does not feel should be ignored.

"Better to risk and know than travel blindly past."

[Reogan]

At this distance, it's impossible to see or hear anything more. There are no clear signs of arsonists in the immediate vicinity, and no signs of storms from which lightning might have come.

Phrel nods, and waves the group onwards. A cautious journey leads you safely to the edge of the trees, through which you can hear the popping of burning wood. Every once in a while, you catch the acrid scent of burning flesh. You know you're close, but nothing is visible through the underbrush. Based on the sounds, you can't be much more than 100 feet away.

"Maybe," whispers Phrel, "We should jus-"

A loud, infant cry from ahead cuts him off. Something laughs a deep laugh.

[JBarca]

Longeye nods at the Watchers before leaving, clearly intending some sort of familiar greeting, and again as they depart.

At the cry from ahead, the Goliath looks more than a little surprised.

"Fires are no places for babies, if you ask me. Shall we?" She begins to move forward, holding her quarterstaff at the ready.

[Geckus]

As he moves into the trees, Greeza slips into the undergrowth like a shadow, a dark ghost that flits from cover to cover. His black tongue lashes out to taste the air, scenting the smoke and burning meat, and his dim red eyes search the boughs for anything that might prove a danger as he advances towards the sounds and smells ahead.

Let us see what brings such a fire so close to the Isle.

Hide [roll0]
Move SIlently [roll1]
Spot [roll2]

[zabbarot]

Speaks-with-Silence followed a short distance behind the party. The dark paint around her eyes was running, drawing lines through the white skull pattern that marked her face. Today the spirit's influence had been too strong. She failed to bury it's influence, and now she was forced to feel it's sorrow. It was pathetic, constantly crying over every little thing.

"Gaaaah, shut up. Shut up. Shut up," she hissed quietly, grasping her skull. If this spirit didn't have such powerful magic she would never let it in. Sometimes there is a price to be paid, and she accepted that, though only grudgingly and definitely with more than a hint of indignation.

She took a deep breath of the smoke, and her ears piqued at the sound of the cry. Her heart was filled with the joy of the hunt. And then immediately, sorrow and more tears. This damnable spirit. He saps the joy out of everything.

"We run to the rescue? Or let the little one scout?" She spoke quietly while jogging a bit to keep up with their advance.

[glitterbaby]

Grimmur advances with the party, near the head but also near Krada, indecisive. He continues through the burning forest cautiously, his attention snapping to every sign of life he sees or hears. The moment he hears the child's scream, however, he breaks. A wild fury burns in the eyes of the usually passive beast. He drops to all fours and sprints in the direction of the scream, moving with a tremendous haste.

[Reogan]

The line of trees comes to an abrupt end, and as Grimmur bursts through, he finds himself on the outskirts of what was once a small tribe's home. Now, a few of the structures are aflame, and the rest seem ravaged. A great fire burns in the center of the ring of huts--pushing seven feet in diameter, it looks like someone dumped all of the wood the tribe had stockpiled into the one blaze. It does not burn only wood, though. Black and charred, slowly sinking into the ashes, skulls and other bones. One or two bodies lie on the ground--how may there are is uncertain because they're ore an assortment of bones and organs than intact bodies.

At the fire's edge sit those who are surely responsible. Two White People stand at the fire's edge, apparently delighting in the pain of an infant Cave Person, whom they seem to have slowly been pushing towards the flames. THe young creature shields its face from the flames. It seems past tears now.

Upon your entrance, the White People are immediately battle ready, one in hide armor drawing her battleaxe, and the other, wearing chain mail, drawing nothing.


http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap1.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap1.png.html)
The forest costs double movement whenever you enter a forest tile, so a straight advance from Krada would cost three movement to get out, not four.
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]

[Geckus]

Greeza blinks in surprise as the large Spirit Person, the one called Beastmaw, rushes forward. He considers momentarily that it might be his tribe ahead, but no, the Spirit Person had spoken of being alone for some time.

We do not know what lies in wait...it is madness to charge in so.

Though slightly concerned at losing the advantage of surprise and at the loss of a chance to observe what lay ahead and plan a course of action, he slips quickly through the trees and underbrush to circle around for a better view and position from which he might dispense his venom if needed. As he stalks through the foliage, Greeze calls upon the bound spirits of the plains dogs to ease his passage through the densest part of the undergrowth, slipping from beneath the leaves of a large bush directly to the shadows at the base of a large tree without physically crossing the space between.

Move action to head 15' east to T18, Standard action to Teleport 20' east to X18. 2 essentia invested in Blink Shirt
Hide [roll0] includes -5 penalty for movement speed
Move Silently [roll1] includes -5 penalty for movement speed

[Reogan]

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap2.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap2.png.html)
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]


Though the White People sniff and glance around, it's apparent that they believe the entirety of the threat lies in the direction of Grimmur. A sneer forms on the mouth of the one in hide.

[JBarca]

Krada hurries after her companion, intent on preventing him from becoming overwhelmed. As she does so, she intones a spell and touches her feathery hat, which sprouts wings and takes flight, circling up into the air. As she nears Grimmur, she pull forth her staff and readies it, waiting for the coming foe.

Casting Shocking Grasp, giving it to Hat to cast. Move action to S14, drawing Quarterstaff as I go.
Hat will go 25 feet up and circle around, directly above the hut beginning at S11.

[antoin]

Kyrmthil moves forward, enraged at the actions of the White People and thirsty for blood. As he moves forward, a silvery glow slowly grows around his whole body and his spiked chain flicks back and forth in his hands.

Move to O17, drawing spiked chain (however one draws a spiked chain, that is).
Cast Mage Armor on myself.
Lick lips in preparation for battle.

[Reogan]

With surprising speed, the hide-armored White Person runs towards Grimmur, avoiding stepping on the child more by luck than intent. Her attention seems fixed entirely on the bestial Spirit Person until a shout from her companion--mate?--seems to shake her from her focus.

He's mine!

She stops entirely for a split second halfway to her original target, and nods, blinking. When her eyes open, they are a solid black, and she roars, spittle flying from her maw. Hefting her axe in both hands, she charges the last ten feet, striking at Krada. Her axe connects sharply, perhaps cutting deeply into the Great One's shoulder, perhaps into her neck. She falls as her attacker gives a mad laugh.

Battleaxe to-hit: [roll0] Damage: [roll1]

During this, the other White Person steps closer and pulls at a chain around his neck, revealing a carved bone symbol. He hefts it in the air and cries out words that sound blasphemous in any tongue, pointing at Grimmur, who can feel his bones beginning to stiffen as though they were stone. Despite his best attempts, he can't move. The White Person who cast the spell begins to laugh as hell, discordant with his mate.

Will save: [roll2] (You may attempt to break this each turn with a new save. This is a full round action)

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap3.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap3.png.html)

Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]

[glitterbaby]

Grimmur attempts to shrug off the magic.

[roll0]

[Reogan]

The laughter of the magic-wielding White Person ratchets up half an octave as his victim remains frozen in place.

SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]

[zabbarot]

Speaks-with-Silence charges forward. Focalor wracks her with guilt over the child, which only fills her with rage. With one hand she grabs a chain around her neck raising a necklace of inscribed bones. She shakes it violently, setting it rattling, and calling down lightning from the sky.

THIS ONE IS ON A MISSION FROM OUR LORD. FLEE, FOLLOW, OR DIE!

Move Action - 30 feet Diagonal to V12
Standard Action - Focalor's Lightning Strike 3d6 to enemy within 40ft, DC14: Reflex half. Target: spell casting white person

[Reogan]

The White Person's laughter is cut short as he leaps to the side at the same moment as the bolt strikes. For a split second, the creature is illuminated in negative light, becoming the link between lightning and earth. Somehow managing to find his footing as he lands, he snarls, fur madly on end and burnt. He might not have dodged the bolt, but it's clear he will have his revenge.

[roll0]

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap4.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap4.png.html)

Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----

[Geckus]

Though he does not like the idea of moving across the open ground where he could easily be seen, Greeza scampers out of the tree-line towards the nearest of the huts. Circling away from the axe wielding White Person and keeping his body low to the ground, he peers around the far edge of the hut.

There. Let that one taste the venom of the Blacktongue.

With a practiced motion of his lashing tongue, Greeza launches a hissing globe of acid towards his target.


Transfer 2 essentia to Dissolving Spittle, Move action to Y12, Standard action to use dissolving spittle.

Ranged Touch Attack on cWP
Damage [roll]3d6+1d6 acid damage plus skirmish

Hide [roll1] includes -20 penalty for stealth sniping

[Reogan]

The White Person screams in pain as the acid strikes him in the face and begins to burn into him, the fur discoloring quickly and almost melting. His left eyelid blinks rapidly, working to keep his eye clean, and so even as he looks about wildly, he clearly has no idea whence the attack came.

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap5.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap5.png.html)

Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]

[antoin]

Kyrmthil runs up and around the Hut/Hat to X9. His eyes lock on to the infant child cave person creature.
"We all have our day to die. Not this day for you, little one."

[Reogan]

Seeing a new threat, the White Person hefts her battleaxe and deftly steps forward, swinging twice at Speaks-with-Silence. Her axe connects one time, and her laughter grows.

Battleaxe: [roll0] Crit Confirm: [roll1] Damage: [roll2]
Battleaxe again: [roll]1d20+2[roll] Crit Confirm: [roll3] Damage: [roll4]
(Aura of Sadness was factored in)


At the same time, her mate steps away from Speak-with-Silence and lays a hand on himself, muttering in a language which never was. His wounds instantly lessen, though to a smaller degree than anyone seemed to expect.

[roll5]

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap6.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap6.png.html)

Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]

[glitterbaby]

A blank-faced Grimmur once again attempts to throw off the spell effecting him so.

Will: [roll0]

With a great roar the beast-man throws off the spell, an recently familiar rage refills his eyes.

[zabbarot]

With another growl Speaks-with-Silence belches forth a ghastly cloud of blinding gas in her attackers face, while reaching for her weapon.


Move Action: Draw +1 Morningstar
Standard Action: Focalor's Breath - Blind 1 target in 30ft for 1 round. Fort Negates DC14. Enemy is still under the effects of Aura of Sadness.

[Geckus]

Greeza scampers across the open ground in a low crouch, very nearly dropping to all fours. His gaze twitches back and forth between the two as he slips past the other Sky Person and the Spirit Folk child, hissing with displeasure at having to be so out in the open. As he rounds the fire, feeling the heat of it against his scales, he spits another blob of acid at the White Person, hoping to disable him quickly.

His magic fails him, yes. Such is the price of stealing that which belongs rightfully to the Black Mother.


Move to W7, Dissolving Spittle at cWP. 2 essentia invested in DS.

Ranged touch attack [roll0]
Damage [roll1]

[Reogan]

The White Person's laughter rises madly with Speaks-with-Silence's attack, but quickly falls away as the murderer is overcome with a coughing fit. Tears stream from her eyes, but they glare right at her opponent, clearly undimmed.

[roll0] Yes, I factored in the Aura.

Meanwhile, the spellcasting White Person begins waving his hands and crying out in a loud voice. His words sound like metal scraping rock, and a faint glow emanates from his fingertips. He laughs and laughs, his body wracked with spasms as the magic builds. He stares all the while at Speaks with Silence. And then he falls prone, a hole burning into the back of his neck where the acid struck him.

http://i1168.photobucket.com/albums/r484/Reogan/Tribesmap7.png (http://s1168.photobucket.com/user/Reogan/media/Tribesmap7.png.html)
Krd: (1d20+5)[13]
Kyr: (1d20+6)[10]
hWP: (1d20+5)[7]
cWP: (1d20+3)[7]
Grm: (1d20+2)[4]
SwS: (1d20+0)[4]
-----Round End-----
Grz: (1d20+3)[21]

[antoin]

Seeing the plight of the party, Kyrmthil stops on his way to the baby, muttering a quick consolation as he jumps back, spins his spiked chain, and lashes out at the chain mail Stupid Person.

Five-foot step to W10.
Full attack cWP's brains out with the spiked chain
Attack 1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Attack 2: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]