Empire! 6 - The Commandments At Glaondi Yejon

[Silent_Interim]

Glaondi Yejon is not a land of remarkable beauty, unless one is fond of windswept rock, sand, and dirt. It is understandable that the society of the Smiaurskotor is one that lives mostly underground. Who, after all, would want to stay on the surface of an island like this?

The answer, it turns out, is the Scrim. While limestone guards keep careful watch even inside the tunnels of the Ugglos, the Scrim make their own homes above, with the same stubbornness that forges mountains. Their squat stone houses, ugly but practical, break up the landscape, accompanied a constant flurry of activity, as the new Scrim masters of this land come and go about their business.

Grandest among these structures is a crude copy of the Thunspeaker’s palace in Thun, though few if any among those of the Isles would recognize it. All they would see is a building towering over those around it, with grand arches and domes, and a spacious interior full of yet more Scrim.

Today, those Scrim are preparing to receive guests. A banquet table is laid out in the main hall, with imported luxuries of wine and truffles, along with more local fare. Throughout the hall, Scrim guards stand ready for any trouble that may come. Warspeaker Steady-Hand, known locally as Dances-With-Bees, circulates in finest bronze battle-smithed armor, spear in hand. trailed by Holn, her faithful translator. At the far end stand two Scrim, watching over the proceedings. One is a well-known figure in the area after they led the Scrim conquest of the area but a few years ago, Tulao, made of the mysterious and magical ember stone.
The other is an unknown here, a figure made of white marble and wearing a small wooden mask- a very unusual affectation for the Scrim. As the guests begin to filter in, the marble Scrim begins to orate in a booming voice, speaking the tongue of the Ugglos with surprising fluency. Truthseers from the local tower, one of the few things left untouched by the invasion, stand ready to translate for those who need it.

“In my brief time visiting this place, I have had the opportunity to learn much of the history of your Isles. It is quite fascinating. The Daezirn seem a gentle people, one I would have enjoyed meeting, I do not doubt. Alas, they are gone. But their legacy lives on, in people such as those of this fair isle...”

The guards gently corrall new arrivals towards the banquet table.

[Torv]

Early Arrivals

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild

Life in the Oceanforge continued much the same after the invasion. There were a few Scrim standing in the way as they overlooked things but Balvodur didn’t mind. Not really. She could still craft tools with the namesake viridian glow of the forge and the guards brought exciting tales of far away lands and items of power, sadly they didn’t have any of their own. She would’ve liked to study one and see what the Malachitehornets would do if she threw it in the forge.

At least this banquet promised to be interesting, the carving on the Scrim still marvelled her and many of the attendants had some of the best she’d seen so far. She finds herself ensnared by the two at the far end of the long before they begin to speak, the glimmering on one of the rock bodies seemingly having a life of its own. Tearing her eyes away from the bodies she instead look at their artistic faces and approaches. While maintaining eye contact she bows ninety degrees, spinning her head a hundred and eighty to do so.

It pleases me that you’ve learnt of our history and craft alike. The Daezirn was a mighty people, their smith’s capabilities something we still strive to reach. But we’ve had time to learn of Mamut too. I find the tales of cursed daggers and plants woven from nightmares utterly intriguing. Should you ever possess such an item I’d welcome the challenge to spin it a new story without nightmares and curses in it.




The Daezirn Integrity Cult
A short Ugglo entered the grand hall, a woven basket at his back. His eyes darted from person to person, as he approached the centre of the room. Well there he locked eyes with the towering marble being at the end, or at least the point where their eyes should be had they been made of flesh. Willing them to notice him he removed the basket from his back and flung it upside down, never once looking away. The smattering of engraved skulls splintering on the floor echoed throughout the room, as he broke into a run on all fours towards the entrance.

Should one take the time to puzzle together the pieces and then decode the convoluted artform that is formal writing among the conceited experts of Styinn the skulls would tell a long tale best summarized as:

Daezirn is ours, get your filthy Mamut fingers off it and never return. Screw you.
Best regards,

The Daezirn Integrity Cult

Saviours of the Isles
Custodians of all that is holy and right
Founders of the proper ways
And so on




Vyrndori of the Sagu Guild

Vyrndori had waited for months, finally all the oppressors had gathered in one place. They had come at daytime, afraid to meet the full might of the Sagu and their knowledge during the night, butchering all resistance and destroying decades of history to fit their bumbling bodies into the slender, previously beautiful, tunnels.

Secluding himself deep in the twisting under the ridges in long forgotten tunnels he had starved, while slowly building up a resistance. If only they could unite the land-dwellers would stand no chance, after all this was their land since centuries back and the Daezirn’s for eons before that. Satisfied with his gathering of the Sagu’s elite they hid behind newly built stone houses.

A foreign voice boomed from the building looming over them, speaking of the Daezirn and their legacy as it was their own. The time was now, before they could pollute history further, the betrayer telling them of it needed to die. Seizing their sharpened wooden spears two dozen Sagu finally charged towards the tall and fortified building, their ribs countable from a distance.





Late Arrivals

Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites

Wishes to be saved from the Integrity Cultists and practice her religion in peace.



Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild

Wishes to see the Isle unified and their homeland found.



Vinolygur of the Skota Guild

Wishes to establish a new home away from the madness of Glaondi Yejon.

[Silent_Interim]

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild

Life in the Oceanforge continued much the same after the invasion. There were a few Scrim standing in the way as they overlooked things but Balvodur didn’t mind. Not really. She could still craft tools with the namesake viridian glow of the forge and the guards brought exciting tales of far away lands and items of power, sadly they didn’t have any of their own. She would’ve liked to study one and see what the Malachitehornets would do if she threw it in the forge.

At least this banquet promised to be interesting, the carving on the Scrim still marvelled her and many of the attendants had some of the best she’d seen so far. She finds herself ensnared by the two at the far end of the long before they begin to speak, the glimmering on one of the rock bodies seemingly having a life of its own. Tearing her eyes away from the bodies she instead look at their artistic faces and approaches. While maintaining eye contact she bows ninety degrees, spinning her head a hundred and eighty to do so.

It pleases me that you’ve learnt of our history and craft alike. The Daezirn was a mighty people, their smith’s capabilities something we still strive to reach. But we’ve had time to learn of Mamut too. I find the tales of cursed daggers and plants woven from nightmares utterly intriguing. Should you ever possess such an item I’d welcome the challenge to spin it a new story without nightmares and curses in it.
Ever so slightly, the speaker bows to Balvodur. As they do, a glint of blue-green light shows out from underneath the wooden mask. Abruptly, they shift back upright before resuming the speech.

"Legacy is important, especially to us who understand it most. We Scrim understand legacy better than any, for we know the legacy of stone, whether the carving or the carved. Many of flesh imagine that their works will last forever, and that what is carved in stone is eternal. They do not understand that what is eternal is not the stone, but the course the river took within it. Eternity is found in actions, not in mere works."

“So our attention turns not as that of lesser kings, to great towers that remind the rabble of their power, or as that of the idle and satiated rich to the hoarding of wealth, but to here, to the Isles, and to potential. The potential for what?”



The Daezirn Integrity Cult
A short Ugglo entered the grand hall, a woven basket at his back. His eyes darted from person to person, as he approached the centre of the room. Well there he locked eyes with the towering marble being at the end, or at least the point where their eyes should be had they been made of flesh. Willing them to notice him he removed the basket from his back and flung it upside down, never once looking away. The smattering of engraved skulls splintering on the floor echoed throughout the room, as he broke into a run on all fours towards the entrance.

Should one take the time to puzzle together the pieces and then decode the convoluted artform that is formal writing among the conceited experts of Styinn the skulls would tell a long tale best summarized as:

Daezirn is ours, get your filthy Mamut fingers off it and never return. Screw you.
Best regards,

The Daezirn Integrity Cult

Saviours of the Isles
Custodians of all that is holy and right
Founders of the proper ways
And so on

Guards move to bar the path of the fleeing individual as the speaker pauses in their oration to descend from the dais at the end of the hall, bending down to pick up and examine one of the many skulls that lay cracked upon the ground.

“What a fragile thing the past is. We would be served well by remembering that while history is important, it is not enough to carry our weight alone. If I were to step on this skull, it would splinter into fragments, like clay beneath a hammer, like stone over centuries beneath pounding waves. It is so much easier to destroy than to create. So much easier too, to fear and hate, than it is to love. Some are prejudiced against us. Let me tell you why they are wrong.

“The Daezirn crafted a mighty empire, spanning the width and breadth of these isles, one now dead but whose legacy lives on still, much stronger than brittle bone. Some think us outsiders, despoilers, ravagers of that legacy. Let me tell you the truth, plain and simple. We are no outsiders. We love this land, and its people.”



Vyrndori of the Sagu Guild

Vyrndori had waited for months, finally all the oppressors had gathered in one place. They had come at daytime, afraid to meet the full might of the Sagu and their knowledge during the night, butchering all resistance and destroying decades of history to fit their bumbling bodies into the slender, previously beautiful, tunnels.

Secluding himself deep in the twisting under the ridges in long forgotten tunnels he had starved, while slowly building up a resistance. If only they could unite the land-dwellers would stand no chance, after all this was their land since centuries back and the Daezirn’s for eons before that. Satisfied with his gathering of the Sagu’s elite they hid behind newly built stone houses.

A foreign voice boomed from the building looming over them, speaking of the Daezirn and their legacy as it was their own. The time was now, before they could pollute history further, the betrayer telling them of it needed to die. Seizing their sharpened wooden spears two dozen Sagu finally charged towards the tall and fortified building, their ribs countable from a distance.
At the sound of commotion outside, Steady-Hand rushes outdoors, followed by a dozen of the Scrim guards inside. When she sees the sight before her, there is no smile on her face. Nor is there grim determination. Her face is as impassive as the stone soldiers she leads. The speech continues as she leaves, though it does not fade from her ears.

“Look around this hall. See the limestone carvings that walk among this land, and understand- we are the very stone beneath your feet. We are the will of Ember made manifest. Are we not heirs to all empires, to all legacies?"

Before the two-dozen starved Sagu even reach the battle line arrayed before them, their numbers have shrunk dramatically. From hidden vantage points atop the hall, archers with the finest bows known to the world have cut the two dozen to a mere half a dozen.

The remaining six continue their blind charge anyway. Steady-Hand makes eye contact as the leading Ugglo continues the reckless and doomed attack. She does not sigh, because Watchers do not sigh, and nor do Warspeakers.

Instead, she does her duty.

"We would see the vision of the Daezirn restored. We would see all its peoples made greater, and ourselves made greater still by their virtue."

As the Ugglo lunges the final distance, Steady-Hand does not bother to dodge. She grabs her opponent’s spear with one hand and pulls him onto hers with the other, burying it deep in the foe’s gut. His momentum carries his body forward, but she shoves it back, letting it hit the ground with a meaty thud. Around her, similar fates befall the few survivors.

She stares down at the twitching, gurgling body before her, as it desperately claws at her feet. Idly, she snaps the pathetic sharpened pole that he had been using for a spear, kneeling down. She drives both halves into the body, and the death rattles subside.

We represent Unity, a path forward. It is Unity that built this hall, that gives us our great gifts, and it is Unity that will carry us forward.”

She brushes herself off before standing, using both hands to extract her spear, leaving the broken halves of his impaled. She drops back to one knee, first cleaning her spear-point with some of the fine sandy dirt from the ground, then picking up the body of the Ugglo leader. She wipes her face with a bloody hand, leaving red marks across her white fur. And it is impossible to tell if a teardrop escaped her eye before she stands, body slung over one shoulder, and returns to the hall.

The sight of her is almost frightening, bloody corpse held over one shoulder. The speech-giver takes it in stride, though, beckoning her up to where they stand at the foot of the dais. Her gait and gaze give no hint of her weariness, as she marches up to stand alongside them.

“Join us, and you will be a part of our tale, woven into the fabric of our future. Resist...”

Steady-Hand drops the body to the ground, where it lies limp, battered and broken.

“...and you will meet the fate of all who resist the inevitable.”

[Tychris1]

Merlyn had lurked upon The End for many weeks. The great carved boat was stained with ash and salt and stranger things best left unmentioned in its maiden voyage from the coast of Tarandi. It was perhaps the greatest work of woodcraft the denizens of the Carrion Ward had ever constructed, wood torn from the skystruck tree, and plucked from the Heartsoul that had acted as the Sovereign Wyrm's nursery. But to Merlyn it was just a great giant dead thing and all things broke. Bent and cracked and burned. The wood may not yet feel as it once did, but it would still cry out if put to the torch, and its inert nature could be teased to a crackling life of raw emotion with infectious behavior. They had been practicing their trance, an art taught to all Shan of youth, and one that frustrated the young Wyrmkin. A cadre of elven rowers and sailors were bustling around them, loyal servants long sequestering their true ruler, and attended further by a kettle of Vultures perching on the dread foremast looming overhead. The great protruding structure was almost entirely made from the skystruck tree and in the gloom of twilight the crew of The End would remark as to seeing its shadow still despite the change in composition. The chaotic waves of the ocean constantly tossed the vessel about, great surges of spraying ocean foam blanketing one side or the other, and punctuated with the stinging shattering of lightning in the skies above.

Ageless-Lion had initially refused the prospect of sailing such a voyage and as one sleepless night bled into another they began to wish they had stuck by that principle. The great hulking beast was draped in a tattered cloth bearing the insignia of the Blackguard Beasts, his one shield from the elements that abounded, and the crews one protection from his grumbling complaints. Morgan on the other hand had been far more chipper about the whole endeavor, laughing and joking with the foreign elves in a pidgeon speak of her proper royal tongue and the Shani's own dialect, and employing her heroic strength to great effect during the entire endeavor. At one point an Orca had gotten close to the vessel and before the Shan aboard could attempt to reason with it the Headhunter had already leaped aboard it and began to ride the great beast to death. She never understood why they were distraught.

"Are we almost there yet." The Ruin Ruler hissed without opening their eyes, legs crossed underneath them, and hands held tightly in meditation.
"Tears-With-Comets says he saw land not too far away, my terrible star." Morgan responded without hesitancy, carving and sharpening the tip of her whale bone spear.
"I see fire..."
"Hmm?"
"Inside the mountain..."
"Ah, very good your majesty."

Tears-With-Comets and Lost-In-Rain perched themselves at the top of the skystruck foremast, gazing with keen eyes at the horizon where they beheld a bloodied yet serviceable dock. Tears-With-Comets had retained his resplendent cloak of white feathers yet his shriveled yellow face had been cracked with lashing lightning and eyes that melted like glowing blue molten orbs. Lost-In-Rains gray feathers retained their coloration aswell but from a transfiguration to stone that defied air itself, constantly weeping rain, and black tar like tears streaming from the empty cavities of his skull.
"Where do you think we're going?" Tears-With-Comets mused, swiveling his neck so one eye looked to the heavens above and the other to the island ahead
"I was going to go get some corpses on the pier." Lost-In-Rain retorted
"I mean in a cosmic sense, brother, what is the sum total of mortal consciousness and the spirit? Where does this current end?"
"I still feel it has something to do with those bodies piling on the pier."
"Good enough for me."

They took to a wing. Flowing with the island's drafts and natural air currents, they peeled off as they got closer and closer, banking around the spectacle, and taking a vantage point high overhead. At last, The End had sliced into position taking a vacant spot on the docks. Merlyn flinched, eyes twitching as the boat lurched to a halt, and stood with barely constrained contempt within their fel eyes. Their eyes swept over the rest of the vessels present, remarking upon the similarities of their design, and stopping to gaze upon one particularly remarkable hull. They scratched at their chin, narrowing their eyes as they sniffed at the strange raw power emanating from it, and then shrugged as they took their first steps since entering their personal ship. Cape flowing behind them, a raccoon made of razor-sharp quills and bloody meat held up the edge of the material, and gingerly stepped behind the royal teen growling and hacking praise in a sing-song voice. Fluffing their collar with one hand, Merlyn waved with the other and steadily made their way to the great replica of Thun at the head of a royal host. They had apparently walked into quite a mess as Ugglo bodies were bled and piled brutally. Merlyn softly clapped, nodding their head at the sight, and taking one finger to daub in a river of blood that streamed past their boots. Tasting the blood Merlyn scrunched their face in a somatic review of the sanguine liquid, swishing it around for a second taste, and then nodding their head in a final assessment. "Commoner blood, a little sweet, diet consisting primarily of.... mangoes?" They stuck their tongue out as if in the hope of divining some other property "I accept!" Merlyn spread their hands wide and at that Tears-With-Comets and Lost-In-Rain descended to begin picking over an Ugglo corpse.

[Torv]

Ever so slightly, the speaker bows to Balvodur. As they do, a glint of blue-green light shows out from underneath the wooden mask. Abruptly, they shift back upright before resuming the speech.

"Legacy is important, especially to us who understand it most. We Scrim understand legacy better than any, for we know the legacy of stone, whether the carving or the carved. Many of flesh imagine that their works will last forever, and that what is carved in stone is eternal. They do not understand that what is eternal is not the stone, but the course the river took within it. Eternity is found in actions, not in mere works."

“So our attention turns not as that of lesser kings, to great towers that remind the rabble of their power, or as that of the idle and satiated rich to the hoarding of wealth, but to here, to the Isles, and to potential. The potential for what?”


Guards move to bar the path of the fleeing individual as the speaker pauses in their oration to descend from the dais at the end of the hall, bending down to pick up and examine one of the many skulls that lay cracked upon the ground.

“What a fragile thing the past is. We would be served well by remembering that while history is important, it is not enough to carry our weight alone. If I were to step on this skull, it would splinter into fragments, like clay beneath a hammer, like stone over centuries beneath pounding waves. It is so much easier to destroy than to create. So much easier too, to fear and hate, than it is to love. Some are prejudiced against us. Let me tell you why they are wrong.

The Daezirn Integrity Cult

Vitlous runs straight into the intercepting guards. Hearing the oration from behind him he shouts
"Long live the Daezirn! Death to the surface-dwellers!"
Before throwing his body to the side, now with a bone knife in his hand. He puts his full weight behind it, as he tries to pierce through the Scrim guards.



“The Daezirn crafted a mighty empire, spanning the width and breadth of these isles, one now dead but whose legacy lives on still, much stronger than brittle bone. Some think us outsiders, despoilers, ravagers of that legacy. Let me tell you the truth, plain and simple. We are no outsiders. We love this land, and its people.”


At the sound of commotion outside, Steady-Hand rushes outdoors, followed by a dozen of the Scrim guards inside. When she sees the sight before her, there is no smile on her face. Nor is there grim determination. Her face is as impassive as the stone soldiers she leads. The speech continues as she leaves, though it does not fade from her ears.

“Look around this hall. See the limestone carvings that walk among this land, and understand- we are the very stone beneath your feet. We are the will of Ember made manifest. Are we not heirs to all empires, to all legacies?"

Before the two-dozen starved Sagu even reach the battle line arrayed before them, their numbers have shrunk dramatically. From hidden vantage points atop the hall, archers with the finest bows known to the world have cut the two dozen to a mere half a dozen.

The remaining six continue their blind charge anyway. Steady-Hand makes eye contact as the leading Ugglo continues the reckless and doomed attack. She does not sigh, because Watchers do not sigh, and nor do Warspeakers.

Instead, she does her duty.

"We would see the vision of the Daezirn restored. We would see all its peoples made greater, and ourselves made greater still by their virtue."

As the Ugglo lunges the final distance, Steady-Hand does not bother to dodge. She grabs her opponent’s spear with one hand and pulls him onto hers with the other, burying it deep in the foe’s gut. His momentum carries his body forward, but she shoves it back, letting it hit the ground with a meaty thud. Around her, similar fates befall the few survivors.

She stares down at the twitching, gurgling body before her, as it desperately claws at her feet. Idly, she snaps the pathetic sharpened pole that he had been using for a spear, kneeling down. She drives both halves into the body, and the death rattles subside.

We represent Unity, a path forward. It is Unity that built this hall, that gives us our great gifts, and it is Unity that will carry us forward.”

She brushes herself off before standing, using both hands to extract her spear, leaving the broken halves of his impaled. She drops back to one knee, first cleaning her spear-point with some of the fine sandy dirt from the ground, then picking up the body of the Ugglo leader. She wipes her face with a bloody hand, leaving red marks across her white fur. And it is impossible to tell if a teardrop escaped her eye before she stands, body slung over one shoulder, and returns to the hall.

The sight of her is almost frightening, bloody corpse held over one shoulder. The speech-giver takes it in stride, though, beckoning her up to where they stand at the foot of the dais. Her gait and gaze give no hint of her weariness, as she marches up to stand alongside them.

“Join us, and you will be a part of our tale, woven into the fabric of our future. Resist...”

Steady-Hand drops the body to the ground, where it lies limp, battered and broken.

“...and you will meet the fate of all who resist the inevitable.”

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
Balvodur looked on in disgust as the skulls cracked on the floor. Binding memories to objects were her craft. It did not last forever but if she were lucky someone would be inspired by it and write their own tale, letting the original live on in a new form. Seeing stories shattered before anyone could read them filled her with sorrow. She remembered Holfviti and his cries for unity, it seemed his successors did not know when or where to stop in order to achieve it. Neither did the Scrim’s words ring true, she wondered which Sagu had told them of their origin legends. Only they could get it so very wrong.

"The Deazirn’s legacy lives on but it is nothing to strive after. Look at the memories crushed because they didn’t fit the mould. See the deaths caused by impossible goals. Hear the ravings of lunatics.

The Daezirn did craft a mighty empire. It was one were every person had a role and served it to perfection or were cast aside. We forged tools worthy of legends, never once did we use them except as target practice when there were imperfections. Now we have an exceptional forge of our own.

History paints the successful in a warm light. Some of us chose to remember the truth. If you wish for Unity rather than subservience carve your own story, do not follow grooves from the past."




Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites

As Vyrndori’s body hits the ground a group of five Galtur steps through the entrance, having walked around the bodies outside. Wearing thin tunicas over their sooty black fur one of them steps forward, a white streak of fur visible on her shoulder. Taking the room in stride her eyes fall on the skulls, their distinct jawline marking them as her own kin. The masked figure standing with one of her brethren’s broken head in her hand and the impaled body of one of their adversaries at her feet paints a grim picture. Motioning for her followers to draw back towards the entrance she takes the marble being’s words in stride.

"You speak of unity, yet we were met by bloodshed at your doorstep. You speak of legacy, yet you threaten to crush one of our kin under your foot. You speak of the Daezirn and their greatness, yet we have seen nothing but destruction and prejudice in their wake.
You claim to be of this land. Its lust for murdering everything different than itself already seems to have reached your core. In this you are right.
We came here seeking a new beginning for our community under the moon, away from ramblings of the Daezirn’s legacy and their true virtues.
I see now that we were foolish."

[Silent_Interim]

The Daezirn Integrity Cult

Vitlous runs straight into the intercepting guards. Hearing the oration from behind him he shouts
"Long live the Daezirn! Death to the surface-dwellers!"
Before throwing his body to the side, now with a bone knife in his hand. He puts his full weight behind it, as he tries to pierce through the Scrim guards.
The knife breaks as it slams into inches of stone, and very shortly, the hand follows suit. Before the interloper even has a chance to cry out, their torso is crushed, a second guard from behind has crushed him with a heavy club. The body is carried away swiftly.

Their speech done, the orator begins to move through the hall, to greet guests individually.



Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
Balvodur looked on in disgust as the skulls cracked on the floor. Binding memories to objects were her craft. It did not last forever but if she were lucky someone would be inspired by it and write their own tale, letting the original live on in a new form. Seeing stories shattered before anyone could read them filled her with sorrow. She remembered Holfviti and his cries for unity, it seemed his successors did not know when or where to stop in order to achieve it. Neither did the Scrim’s words ring true, she wondered which Sagu had told them of their origin legends. Only they could get it so very wrong.

"The Deazirn’s legacy lives on but it is nothing to strive after. Look at the memories crushed because they didn’t fit the mould. See the deaths caused by impossible goals. Hear the ravings of lunatics.

The Daezirn did craft a mighty empire. It was one were every person had a role and served it to perfection or were cast aside. We forged tools worthy of legends, never once did we use them except as target practice when there were imperfections. Now we have an exceptional forge of our own.

History paints the successful in a warm light. Some of us chose to remember the truth. If you wish for Unity rather than subservience carve your own story, do not follow grooves from the past."
The speaker bows again, more deeply this time, as they approach Baldovur. As they draw close, the glint of pyroemeralds through the eyeholes of the mask become unmistakeable, two glinting dots shining out. "I am Scrimspeaker Lejah. I hear your words, and I do not doubt them- but I fear you have misunderstood what it means to be heir to such a legacy. You are a smith, yes? So you understand something of craftsmanship. Know, then, that there is no higher art than the crafting of a tale. Consider the story of the Daezirn as... a kind of ore, and my words, a furnace. You fear for the fate of the imperfect, but there is no imperfection in our fable, not because we cast it out, but because we call it by a different name. It is the nature of you children of life to strive. We admire this. We value striving over perfection.

"You tell me to carve my own tale? Every Scrim is a tale told by stone to itself, an imperfect stone, dragged into the light by its fellows, striving for the betterment of itself and others. Where many go wrong is that they strive alone, when they could do so much more by striving together."



Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites

As Vyrndori’s body hits the ground a group of five Galtur steps through the entrance, having walked around the bodies outside. Wearing thin tunicas over their sooty black fur one of them steps forward, a white streak of fur visible on her shoulder. Taking the room in stride her eyes fall on the skulls, their distinct jawline marking them as her own kin. The masked figure standing with one of her brethren’s broken head in her hand and the impaled body of one of their adversaries at her feet paints a grim picture. Motioning for her followers to draw back towards the entrance she takes the marble being’s words in stride.

"You speak of unity, yet we were met by bloodshed at your doorstep. You speak of legacy, yet you threaten to crush one of our kin under your foot. You speak of the Daezirn and their greatness, yet we have seen nothing but destruction and prejudice in their wake.
You claim to be of this land. Its lust for murdering everything different than itself already seems to have reached your core. In this you are right.
We came here seeking a new beginning for our community under the moon, away from ramblings of the Daezirn’s legacy and their true virtues.
I see now that we were foolish."
Lejah raises their hands, empty, in a gesture of peace as they begin to approach down the hall. "I fear that you have misunderstood my words. I threaten nothing; it would be a travesty to destroy history, and it would bring me no joy or profit to do so. You misunderstand too if you think I hate my enemy. Unity does not mean hatred for the Other; it means there is no Other. I love my enemy, and had I the flesh, I would weep for their passing. Those outside, we did not choose to fight them. They came at us, heedless of consequence, wishing death upon us. I never wished death upon them. "

"Others may take a narrow view of the legacy of the Daezirn. They do not understand Unity. They imagine, when they consider these isles united, that these isles should be alone in their unity. But that is not unity. And that is not our vision. I would not recreate the empire of the Daezirn; I would make our own in its wake, and I would learn the lessons of history."

"But I am not so proud as to believe myself beyond reproach. You are not the only one to speak of the destruction and prejudice of the Daezirn. This is not what I would take from their legacy. It saddens me greatly that this is what you think of me, but I understand now my error. When I speak of the virtues of the Daezirn, you hear the words of the so-called "Integrity" cult. Know that they are enemies to our vision. Please, before you leave, and abandon this endeavour- let me speak to you personally. I know the plight of your people, the injustices you have faced. I would help you. But I cannot do that unless you are willing to listen to me."

They stand at a respectful distance, one hand outstretched.

[Torv]

They took to a wing. Flowing with the island's drafts and natural air currents, they peeled off as they got closer and closer, banking around the spectacle, and taking a vantage point high overhead. At last, The End had sliced into position taking a vacant spot on the docks. Merlyn flinched, eyes twitching as the boat lurched to a halt, and stood with barely constrained contempt within their fel eyes. Their eyes swept over the rest of the vessels present, remarking upon the similarities of their design, and stopping to gaze upon one particularly remarkable hull. They scratched at their chin, narrowing their eyes as they sniffed at the strange raw power emanating from it, and then shrugged as they took their first steps since entering their personal ship. Cape flowing behind them, a raccoon made of razor-sharp quills and bloody meat held up the edge of the material, and gingerly stepped behind the royal teen growling and hacking praise in a sing-song voice. Fluffing their collar with one hand, Merlyn waved with the other and steadily made their way to the great replica of Thun at the head of a royal host. They had apparently walked into quite a mess as Ugglo bodies were bled and piled brutally. Merlyn softly clapped, nodding their head at the sight, and taking one finger to daub in a river of blood that streamed past their boots. Tasting the blood Merlyn scrunched their face in a somatic review of the sanguine liquid, swishing it around for a second taste, and then nodding their head in a final assessment. "Commoner blood, a little sweet, diet consisting primarily of.... mangoes?" They stuck their tongue out as if in the hope of divining some other property "I accept!" Merlyn spread their hands wide and at that Tears-With-Comets and Lost-In-Rain descended to begin picking over an Ugglo corpse.

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Arriving from the north on her own Krafuhofi’s catamaran were dwarfed by the treasure ships already resting in the dock, one of them with beautiful Styinn carvings along its hull. She wished she had the time to study them, another time perhaps, the way they flowed seemed so oddly familiar. Stepping of her vessel she walked with the sway of the sea in her steps, relying on her wooden staff to stay upright. Approaching the newly built settlement she aimed for the tallest building, coming to a halt as she was met by the sight of her dead guildmembers.

On them sat two birds, if they could still be called that, picking them apart. Watching over them was a human child in an oversized cape, a racoon holding it up as it sung her praise. Blood dripped from the childs finger. Krafuhofi binked. The child remained. She closed her eyes. The racoons hymn rang through her ears. She opened her eyes. Tar seeped from one of the birds’ skull. She continued on the path, catching the child’s eyes with her own as she did so. Drowning in the abyss she saw she bowed deeply, twisting her head further than any human could to maintain the bond, sinking deeper into blackness. Unwinding herself and taking the final steps she settled for looking at the humans odd ears, a shiver running through her as she thought of the ruin in the child’s eyes.

"I am Krafuhofi, Mystorinn of the Sagu-guild I would kindly request that you and your entourage leave the bones of my fellow guildmembers alone, once you have sated your appetites."

She let out a deep exhale, taking a step back as she awaited a response from the death infused animals.




The speaker bows again, more deeply this time, as they approach Baldovur. As they draw close, the glint of pyroemeralds through the eyeholes of the mask become unmistakeable, two glinting dots shining out. "I am Scrimspeaker Lejah. I hear your words, and I do not doubt them- but I fear you have misunderstood what it means to be heir to such a legacy. You are a smith, yes? So you understand something of craftsmanship. Know, then, that there is no higher art than the crafting of a tale. Consider the story of the Daezirn as... a kind of ore, and my words, a furnace. You fear for the fate of the imperfect, but there is no imperfection in our fable, not because we cast it out, but because we call it by a different name. It is the nature of you children of life to strive. We admire this. We value striving over perfection.

"You tell me to carve my own tale? Every Scrim is a tale told by stone to itself, an imperfect stone, dragged into the light by its fellows, striving for the betterment of itself and others. Where many go wrong is that they strive alone, when they could do so much more by striving together."

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
The sound of bones breaking and the squelch of crushed flesh was not lost on Baldvodur, as the madmen met a deserving end. There was a satisfaction in seeing a craftsman carrying out their work with elegant efficiency. Her mind at ease she met the Scrimspeaker’s eyes during their bow, recognizing their green shimmer.

"I’m a smith, yes. Mystorinn Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild, Bal outside of lengthy speeches. The crafting of tales is an art I’m familiar with. Ores less so, they are sparse here and few other guilds see it fit to sail elsewhere. You, Scrimspeaker, already seem to have weaved a part of this land into you. The art of your carvings is similar to our own way of forging, the materials still imperfect. Getting our hands on ores would be delightful and perhaps in this we could strive together."



[qoute]Lejah raises their hands, empty, in a gesture of peace as they begin to approach down the hall. "I fear that you have misunderstood my words. I threaten nothing; it would be a travesty to destroy history, and it would bring me no joy or profit to do so. You misunderstand too if you think I hate my enemy. Unity does not mean hatred for the Other; it means there is no Other. I love my enemy, and had I the flesh, I would weep for their passing. Those outside, we did not choose to fight them. They came at us, heedless of consequence, wishing death upon us. I never wished death upon them. "

"Others may take a narrow view of the legacy of the Daezirn. They do not understand Unity. They imagine, when they consider these isles united, that these isles should be alone in their unity. But that is not unity. And that is not our vision. I would not recreate the empire of the Daezirn; I would make our own in its wake, and I would learn the lessons of history."

"But I am not so proud as to believe myself beyond reproach. You are not the only one to speak of the destruction and prejudice of the Daezirn. This is not what I would take from their legacy. It saddens me greatly that this is what you think of me, but I understand now my error. When I speak of the virtues of the Daezirn, you hear the words of the so-called "Integrity" cult. Know that they are enemies to our vision. Please, before you leave, and abandon this endeavour- let me speak to you personally. I know the plight of your people, the injustices you have faced. I would help you. But I cannot do that unless you are willing to listen to me."

They stand at a respectful distance, one hand outstretched.[/quote]

Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Really looking at the being before her for the first time Salin notices that the carvings on its body is not Styinn but something else. Their eyes glimmer behind the mask but if it is with sympathy or deceit she cannot tell, she has never seen eyes like this before. Staring into them she bends her thoracic spine, while craning her neck to maintain eye contact. Straightening slowly to consider the Scrim’s words she takes another few steps forward.

"I am Salin of Siryno Yejor. It is intriguing to hear invaders talk of unity with the invaded."

"Why inflict harm on your own body? If there is no other in unity, why slay your enemy? You had the opportunity to subdue them and try to mend the chasm, why then choose death? Just like the Blight chills it surrounding some people sow dissent around them. Would you not say those are other, opposed to the very concept of unity?"

"It soothes me to hear that you do not seek to recreate empires of the past, too many have warped such goals in their own image. Yet I do not know of your own vision, you speak at length of unity and greatness but never mention the path there. Would unity see us accepting each other way of life or forsaking the moons loving light for the way of the mountains? Would greatness see us sending our young to meaningless deaths in faraway lands or would it see us protected by armies from every corner of the world?"

"Answer this and we will listen, then we might talk of help. I have no interest in exchanging a legacy of death for a vision of the same."

[LapisCattis]

"Is...this a bad time?"

A meeting began with bloodshed and multiple groups looking as though they were on the verge of trading more blows was not what Anya had anticipated, despite the violent rumors that the few still-operational vessels had shared, and Anya found herself regretting volunteering for this event that she thought would take her away from the grim reminder of constant sickness in the Isles. Even she had not escaped unscathed, her normally glossy silver fur was lank and patchy, combed as best as possible to cover the scars and signs of pox. Her moss was still unrecovered, her favored dazzling pattern of interweaving luminescent purple, green, and blue moss that would cross from the top of her skull, around her neck, across her torso and splitting to the outer sides of both legs was broken and dim. Her voice was hoarse and her movements stiff still, yet she was one of the healthiest Avicennians at present.

Blunt claws nervously grasped the basket holding the presentation gifts - a collection of delicately carved shark and moa bones, imbued with glowmoss to glow in multicolored patterns. She was no longer sure if she should give them out or simply run back to her vessel and crew. The others smelled the blood and saw impending doom and quickly agreed to remain in position in case they needed a speedy getaway.

Anya swallowed and tried again, directing her voice and the positions of Formal Greetings and Anxiety to the Truthseer translator.
"Is this the correct place for the meeting? Should I come back later?"

[Silent_Interim]

Merlyn had lurked upon The End for many weeks. The great carved boat was stained with ash and salt and stranger things best left unmentioned in its maiden voyage from the coast of Tarandi. It was perhaps the greatest work of woodcraft the denizens of the Carrion Ward had ever constructed, wood torn from the skystruck tree, and plucked from the Heartsoul that had acted as the Sovereign Wyrm's nursery. But to Merlyn it was just a great giant dead thing and all things broke. Bent and cracked and burned. The wood may not yet feel as it once did, but it would still cry out if put to the torch, and its inert nature could be teased to a crackling life of raw emotion with infectious behavior. They had been practicing their trance, an art taught to all Shan of youth, and one that frustrated the young Wyrmkin. A cadre of elven rowers and sailors were bustling around them, loyal servants long sequestering their true ruler, and attended further by a kettle of Vultures perching on the dread foremast looming overhead. The great protruding structure was almost entirely made from the skystruck tree and in the gloom of twilight the crew of The End would remark as to seeing its shadow still despite the change in composition. The chaotic waves of the ocean constantly tossed the vessel about, great surges of spraying ocean foam blanketing one side or the other, and punctuated with the stinging shattering of lightning in the skies above.

Ageless-Lion had initially refused the prospect of sailing such a voyage and as one sleepless night bled into another they began to wish they had stuck by that principle. The great hulking beast was draped in a tattered cloth bearing the insignia of the Blackguard Beasts, his one shield from the elements that abounded, and the crews one protection from his grumbling complaints. Morgan on the other hand had been far more chipper about the whole endeavor, laughing and joking with the foreign elves in a pidgeon speak of her proper royal tongue and the Shani's own dialect, and employing her heroic strength to great effect during the entire endeavor. At one point an Orca had gotten close to the vessel and before the Shan aboard could attempt to reason with it the Headhunter had already leaped aboard it and began to ride the great beast to death. She never understood why they were distraught.

"Are we almost there yet." The Ruin Ruler hissed without opening their eyes, legs crossed underneath them, and hands held tightly in meditation.
"Tears-With-Comets says he saw land not too far away, my terrible star." Morgan responded without hesitancy, carving and sharpening the tip of her whale bone spear.
"I see fire..."
"Hmm?"
"Inside the mountain..."
"Ah, very good your majesty."

Tears-With-Comets and Lost-In-Rain perched themselves at the top of the skystruck foremast, gazing with keen eyes at the horizon where they beheld a bloodied yet serviceable dock. Tears-With-Comets had retained his resplendent cloak of white feathers yet his shriveled yellow face had been cracked with lashing lightning and eyes that melted like glowing blue molten orbs. Lost-In-Rains gray feathers retained their coloration aswell but from a transfiguration to stone that defied air itself, constantly weeping rain, and black tar like tears streaming from the empty cavities of his skull.
"Where do you think we're going?" Tears-With-Comets mused, swiveling his neck so one eye looked to the heavens above and the other to the island ahead
"I was going to go get some corpses on the pier." Lost-In-Rain retorted
"I mean in a cosmic sense, brother, what is the sum total of mortal consciousness and the spirit? Where does this current end?"
"I still feel it has something to do with those bodies piling on the pier."
"Good enough for me."

They took to a wing. Flowing with the island's drafts and natural air currents, they peeled off as they got closer and closer, banking around the spectacle, and taking a vantage point high overhead. At last, The End had sliced into position taking a vacant spot on the docks. Merlyn flinched, eyes twitching as the boat lurched to a halt, and stood with barely constrained contempt within their fel eyes. Their eyes swept over the rest of the vessels present, remarking upon the similarities of their design, and stopping to gaze upon one particularly remarkable hull. They scratched at their chin, narrowing their eyes as they sniffed at the strange raw power emanating from it, and then shrugged as they took their first steps since entering their personal ship. Cape flowing behind them, a raccoon made of razor-sharp quills and bloody meat held up the edge of the material, and gingerly stepped behind the royal teen growling and hacking praise in a sing-song voice. Fluffing their collar with one hand, Merlyn waved with the other and steadily made their way to the great replica of Thun at the head of a royal host. They had apparently walked into quite a mess as Ugglo bodies were bled and piled brutally. Merlyn softly clapped, nodding their head at the sight, and taking one finger to daub in a river of blood that streamed past their boots. Tasting the blood Merlyn scrunched their face in a somatic review of the sanguine liquid, swishing it around for a second taste, and then nodding their head in a final assessment. "Commoner blood, a little sweet, diet consisting primarily of.... mangoes?" They stuck their tongue out as if in the hope of divining some other property "I accept!" Merlyn spread their hands wide and at that Tears-With-Comets and Lost-In-Rain descended to begin picking over an Ugglo corpse.




Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Arriving from the north on her own Krafuhofi’s catamaran were dwarfed by the treasure ships already resting in the dock, one of them with beautiful Styinn carvings along its hull. She wished she had the time to study them, another time perhaps, the way they flowed seemed so oddly familiar. Stepping of her vessel she walked with the sway of the sea in her steps, relying on her wooden staff to stay upright. Approaching the newly built settlement she aimed for the tallest building, coming to a halt as she was met by the sight of her dead guildmembers.

On them sat two birds, if they could still be called that, picking them apart. Watching over them was a human child in an oversized cape, a racoon holding it up as it sung her praise. Blood dripped from the childs finger. Krafuhofi binked. The child remained. She closed her eyes. The racoons hymn rang through her ears. She opened her eyes. Tar seeped from one of the birds’ skull. She continued on the path, catching the child’s eyes with her own as she did so. Drowning in the abyss she saw she bowed deeply, twisting her head further than any human could to maintain the bond, sinking deeper into blackness. Unwinding herself and taking the final steps she settled for looking at the humans odd ears, a shiver running through her as she thought of the ruin in the child’s eyes.

"I am Krafuhofi, Mystorinn of the Sagu-guild I would kindly request that you and your entourage leave the bones of my fellow guildmembers alone, once you have sated your appetites."

She let out a deep exhale, taking a step back as she awaited a response from the death infused animals.
As Lejah moves between guests, a guard from outside rushes to their side, rumbling quietly in rocky Thun-tongue. Lejah nods, before following outside.

They watch the scene unfolding before them for a moment, as guards gather behind them, Steady-Hand at their head, still bloody from her battle. They then descend the steps leading up to the palace, remaining at a safe distance from the new arrivals, watching warily for any sign of trouble.




Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
The sound of bones breaking and the squelch of crushed flesh was not lost on Baldvodur, as the madmen met a deserving end. There was a satisfaction in seeing a craftsman carrying out their work with elegant efficiency. Her mind at ease she met the Scrimspeaker’s eyes during their bow, recognizing their green shimmer.

"I’m a smith, yes. Mystorinn Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild, Bal outside of lengthy speeches. The crafting of tales is an art I’m familiar with. Ores less so, they are sparse here and few other guilds see it fit to sail elsewhere. You, Scrimspeaker, already seem to have weaved a part of this land into you. The art of your carvings is similar to our own way of forging, the materials still imperfect. Getting our hands on ores would be delightful and perhaps in this we could strive together."

"Ah, you have spotted my new eye-stones." Lejah taps the gems through the holes in the mask. "Not strictly necessary for seeing, but I found them simply irresistible. Many of my fellows have taken to the stones, too. Control of the trade of them has brought a great supply of them to Thun, and they are most wonderfully efficient as sources of light. Many a worker wears them hammered into their stone, the better to work in dark places or at night. I hear that the Thunspeaker has ordered the lighting in the original palace, of which this one is a mere shadow, replaced with them. And of course, they are as good for the soul as their less dazzling cousins we mine in the South."

"But I get away from myself. A bad habit. Please know, Mystorinn Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild, that it would bring me nothing but joy to help bring ore to your smiths. I have seen the ocean-forge, and I believe it could be the site of even greater marvels than have already been crafted there, if only the right materials were brought. But alas, beauty comes at a price. My Thunspeaker will not assent to any aid, to any sharing, without first securing what it is they want. And what they want is nothing less than unwavering fealty. If a message of fealty is not what I send back to Thun, you may trust that the only metal that will return will be blades for the shedding of blood."



Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Really looking at the being before her for the first time Salin notices that the carvings on its body is not Styinn but something else. Their eyes glimmer behind the mask but if it is with sympathy or deceit she cannot tell, she has never seen eyes like this before. Staring into them she bends her thoracic spine, while craning her neck to maintain eye contact. Straightening slowly to consider the Scrim’s words she takes another few steps forward.

"I am Salin of Siryno Yejor. It is intriguing to hear invaders talk of unity with the invaded."

"Why inflict harm on your own body? If there is no other in unity, why slay your enemy? You had the opportunity to subdue them and try to mend the chasm, why then choose death? Just like the Blight chills it surrounding some people sow dissent around them. Would you not say those are other, opposed to the very concept of unity?"

"It soothes me to hear that you do not seek to recreate empires of the past, too many have warped such goals in their own image. Yet I do not know of your own vision, you speak at length of unity and greatness but never mention the path there. Would unity see us accepting each other way of life or forsaking the moons loving light for the way of the mountains? Would greatness see us sending our young to meaningless deaths in faraway lands or would it see us protected by armies from every corner of the world?"

"Answer this and we will listen, then we might talk of help. I have no interest in exchanging a legacy of death for a vision of the same."

Lowering their hand, Lejah takes a few careful, measured steps closer. "First, you must understand that as we do not live the way you do, we do not die the way you do. It is difficult for us to comprehend a fear of death, because we lack such a thing for ourselves. Certainly an early dissolution is inconvenient, but every Scrim knows that when they cease to be Scrim, they will simply be stone once again, and that is no fate to fear.

"The ones who attacked us today, they too did not fear death, or if they did, they feared it less than the alternative. I am a diplomat and a broker by trade, but I do not believe I could have swayed the hearts of the ones who came before us today. If I believed otherwise, I might have acted otherwise. But I did not. You have felt the persecution of ones such as they- do you truly believe there was any other choice for us, aside from whether we struck this foe down on this day or another?

"I would give to you a proverb I learned in my sojourns of years past. 'Left foot and right foot dance alike, but neither hears the piper's tune.' It is more beautiful in its original tongue, but the sentiment translates well enough. Simply because one does not act in the will of unity does not mean one cannot be part of its vision. Dissent is a part of unity. If this seems a contradiction, I am afraid I have no easy answers. I am no wise one or philosopher. I trust in the vision of the Thunspeaker, because I know that it is my vision also.

"I know, though, that that vision asks nothing of your hearts, your minds, or your children. You would be free to practice whatever faith you choose, under our rule; I am here representing the Thunspeaker, not the Trinity. We have no need of your sons and daughters for soldiers; there are many more who would come to us willingly. And should you need our protection, we will grant it, and though our armies march only from our homes, they will be a bulwark, if you should need it.

"Our vision is not death. Our vision is harmony. I will not pretend to you that blood will not be spilled along the path; I hope only that you will see that as much or more would be spilled without our hands to help."


"Is...this a bad time?"

A meeting began with bloodshed and multiple groups looking as though they were on the verge of trading more blows was not what Anya had anticipated, despite the violent rumors that the few still-operational vessels had shared, and Anya found herself regretting volunteering for this event that she thought would take her away from the grim reminder of constant sickness in the Isles. Even she had not escaped unscathed, her normally glossy silver fur was lank and patchy, combed as best as possible to cover the scars and signs of pox. Her moss was still unrecovered, her favored dazzling pattern of interweaving luminescent purple, green, and blue moss that would cross from the top of her skull, around her neck, across her torso and splitting to the outer sides of both legs was broken and dim. Her voice was hoarse and her movements stiff still, yet she was one of the healthiest Avicennians at present.

Blunt claws nervously grasped the basket holding the presentation gifts - a collection of delicately carved shark and moa bones, imbued with glowmoss to glow in multicolored patterns. She was no longer sure if she should give them out or simply run back to her vessel and crew. The others smelled the blood and saw impending doom and quickly agreed to remain in position in case they needed a speedy getaway.

Anya swallowed and tried again, directing her voice and the positions of Formal Greetings and Anxiety to the Truthseer translator.
"Is this the correct place for the meeting? Should I come back later?"

Lejah approaches the newcomer from behind as she walks up to the Truthseer, doing their best to make their footfalls clearly audible, before gently tapping her on the shoulder. "You are indeed in the correct place. I apologize for the carnage, there was an... altercation, and we have not yet had the opportunity to clean. They have, I fear, made poor hosts of us. Please, come- I am Scrimspeaker Lejah, and I would share our bounties with you." They make an expansive gesture towards the banquet table.


Meanwhile...
As Lejah circulates amongst the other guests, Tulao begins rounding up guards and servants, barking orders like grinding rocks in Thun-tongue. "Get that body out of here! Someone get outside and begin cleaning up the mess! Thiln, pick up these skulls and put them somewhere discreet! You, make yourself useful and fetch some wine for our guests!" All around, Scrim begin moving to their tasks, rushing to fulfill their appointed duties. The body of the Integrity Cultist is whisked away, along with the skulls and basket they had flung to the ground. Wine is brought in large quantities

[Torv]

"Ah, you have spotted my new eye-stones." Lejah taps the gems through the holes in the mask. "Not strictly necessary for seeing, but I found them simply irresistible. Many of my fellows have taken to the stones, too. Control of the trade of them has brought a great supply of them to Thun, and they are most wonderfully efficient as sources of light. Many a worker wears them hammered into their stone, the better to work in dark places or at night. I hear that the Thunspeaker has ordered the lighting in the original palace, of which this one is a mere shadow, replaced with them. And of course, they are as good for the soul as their less dazzling cousins we mine in the South."

"But I get away from myself. A bad habit. Please know, Mystorinn Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild, that it would bring me nothing but joy to help bring ore to your smiths. I have seen the ocean-forge, and I believe it could be the site of even greater marvels than have already been crafted there, if only the right materials were brought. But alas, beauty comes at a price. My Thunspeaker will not assent to any aid, to any sharing, without first securing what it is they want. And what they want is nothing less than unwavering fealty. If a message of fealty is not what I send back to Thun, you may trust that the only metal that will return will be blades for the shedding of blood."

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
“I see.” Balvodur were silent for a moment, letting the conversation be filled by the frantic sounds of the grand hall being restored to its previously pristine condition.

“The Smiajor-guild will not swear fealty quickly, our past still haunts us. Neither is it something I personally have an interest for. In the now you would merely use our craft, not understand it, with time that might change. Your carvings are beautiful but they lack the structure to make anything else than your kin come truly alive.”

“The efficiency displayed here when dealing with matters is however something Glaondi Yejon would need for us to practice our craft unhindered and not fettered to one place. There might be another path for us to walk on together in the now. We have more pyroemeralds around the forge than we need, extracting them from the winding tunnels would be a small task. While the forge remains unusable without extensive training we’ve heard rumors of malign items in the world. We’d be willing to write them new tales for you, should your kin stay here and keep the order.”

As long as SCR owns R75 and allows the Smiajor-guild to stay in the Oceanforge they offer to:

Support a buyout of pyroemeralds.

Help SCR with a GP for Styinn, if they wish for it.

Cleanse any cursed artifacts for the price of one treasure per action invested, paid upon completion.

If the artifact is not in the SCR’s ownership they can charge whatever on top of the Smiajor-guilds price, as owners of the locale.

Accepting the above does not include the vassalization of SMI.




Lowering their hand, Lejah takes a few careful, measured steps closer. "First, you must understand that as we do not live the way you do, we do not die the way you do. It is difficult for us to comprehend a fear of death, because we lack such a thing for ourselves. Certainly an early dissolution is inconvenient, but every Scrim knows that when they cease to be Scrim, they will simply be stone once again, and that is no fate to fear.

"The ones who attacked us today, they too did not fear death, or if they did, they feared it less than the alternative. I am a diplomat and a broker by trade, but I do not believe I could have swayed the hearts of the ones who came before us today. If I believed otherwise, I might have acted otherwise. But I did not. You have felt the persecution of ones such as they- do you truly believe there was any other choice for us, aside from whether we struck this foe down on this day or another?

"I would give to you a proverb I learned in my sojourns of years past. 'Left foot and right foot dance alike, but neither hears the piper's tune.' It is more beautiful in its original tongue, but the sentiment translates well enough. Simply because one does not act in the will of unity does not mean one cannot be part of its vision. Dissent is a part of unity. If this seems a contradiction, I am afraid I have no easy answers. I am no wise one or philosopher. I trust in the vision of the Thunspeaker, because I know that it is my vision also.

"I know, though, that that vision asks nothing of your hearts, your minds, or your children. You would be free to practice whatever faith you choose, under our rule; I am here representing the Thunspeaker, not the Trinity. We have no need of your sons and daughters for soldiers; there are many more who would come to us willingly. And should you need our protection, we will grant it, and though our armies march only from our homes, they will be a bulwark, if you should need it.

"Our vision is not death. Our vision is harmony. I will not pretend to you that blood will not be spilled along the path; I hope only that you will see that as much or more would be spilled without our hands to help."

Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Taking in the Scrimspeaker’s words Salin bows deeper, letting her entire back follow in the motion, still looking at the glimmering eyes while she does so.

“It seems I have misjudged you, for that I apologize. Our understanding of unity is not the same, I would have struck down any foe with an opposing conviction followed with the same zeal as the Integrity Cult. But I would not consider them part of unity as I did so, that is indeed a contradiction but one of semantics more than intent.”

“The vision of the Thunspeaker aligns with my understanding of unity, even if your choice of words does not. Regrettable as it is blood will always be spilled when something does not fit in. This vision you speak of may have a place for us after all. We will listen, what aid is it that you wish to offer?”

[Zayuz]

The Night Kingdom
Shortly after the RUIN delegation makes their greetings with the Scrim and islanders.

Not all who arrived bore invitations. A set of wings beat high above the proceedings, watching and waiting as the Daezirn considered their position against the vast armies of the Scrim - as the aptly named End bore the remnants of RUIN to stranger shores. Fascinating though the negotiations between Scrim and islander were, this is what the King truly sought - the ship that carried his young aunt/uncle (I do not know a gender neutral way to phrase this particular bloodline relationship) to safety. With a practiced finesse, the giant owl dives from the sky and outstretches its sixteen feet of wingspan to catch itself and its rider before meeting the corpses below with predatory talons. The rider dismounts, giving the bird a bird a friendly scratch under the neck and turning to face his kin.

Iorwerth was a half-elf, still in his twenties with sharp ears and sharper, twisting horns. His dark brown hair endures to his shoulders and goes no further, a crown of silver imbued with sapphire crest atop his head. It matches his dark blue snake-eyes, a gift from the serpentine side of his family and signifier of natural premonitions. The weapon he carried at his side was a none too humble flame-tongue from the markets of DAN...

"There you are, Merlyn." The young king says with a confident grin. "You've come a long way and through hostile waters. I'd have send a fleet to intercept on my behalf, but our sailors have fared the worst against the plagues and Ākāro is faster besides. It is... Exhilarating to finally meet you in person." His eyes scan the others who accompany Merlyn, giving them a respectful nod of his head.

[Tychris1]

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Arriving from the north on her own Krafuhofi’s catamaran were dwarfed by the treasure ships already resting in the dock, one of them with beautiful Styinn carvings along its hull. She wished she had the time to study them, another time perhaps, the way they flowed seemed so oddly familiar. Stepping of her vessel she walked with the sway of the sea in her steps, relying on her wooden staff to stay upright. Approaching the newly built settlement she aimed for the tallest building, coming to a halt as she was met by the sight of her dead guildmembers.

On them sat two birds, if they could still be called that, picking them apart. Watching over them was a human child in an oversized cape, a racoon holding it up as it sung her praise. Blood dripped from the childs finger. Krafuhofi binked. The child remained. She closed her eyes. The racoons hymn rang through her ears. She opened her eyes. Tar seeped from one of the birds’ skull. She continued on the path, catching the child’s eyes with her own as she did so. Drowning in the abyss she saw she bowed deeply, twisting her head further than any human could to maintain the bond, sinking deeper into blackness. Unwinding herself and taking the final steps she settled for looking at the humans odd ears, a shiver running through her as she thought of the ruin in the child’s eyes.

"I am Krafuhofi, Mystorinn of the Sagu-guild I would kindly request that you and your entourage leave the bones of my fellow guildmembers alone, once you have sated your appetites."

She let out a deep exhale, taking a step back as she awaited a response from the death infused animals.




As Lejah moves between guests, a guard from outside rushes to their side, rumbling quietly in rocky Thun-tongue. Lejah nods, before following outside.

They watch the scene unfolding before them for a moment, as guards gather behind them, Steady-Hand at their head, still bloody from her battle. They then descend the steps leading up to the palace, remaining at a safe distance from the new arrivals, watching warily for any sign of trouble.


"What a strange creature..." Morgan examined the bowing entity with cold black eyes. The Blood Elf was a stoic figure, lithe yet muscular, and standing a head over her charge (Though eye level with Merlyn's horns). Her skin was pale as moonlight, hair like the twinkling light of stars, and her thin yet pronounced brows and tear ducts gave a heightened level of facial expression she normally put to great use. She was bedecked in the white armor of her Paladin heritage, covered in a darkly stained shawl looted from shipping merchants, and now painted with the symbol of her new station as a Blackguard Beast. The curling tongue of the feral beasts head barely visible beneath the lightly tattered fabric. "Shall I dispose of this nuisance, My Divine Despoiler?" She pointed a single sharp finger at Krafuhofi, clearly still contemplating the worth of this creature, and Merlyn quickly waved her off. "That won't be necessary, my bloody hand." Merlyn lowered their hand down to touch Krafuhofi, gently guiding their head up so that they may look each other eye to eye, and the Ugglo gazed upon two portals straight into the yawning abyss of endless chaos. A hungry fire flickering deep within the reflective surface of the horned elf's eyes.

A small smile stretched across their face.

"Why do you care what my subjects do with the bones of such? Do you hold some special significance for those brittle rattling things? Or perhaps you have a taste for the essence of life itself as well. I enjoy suckling from such shattered gifts myself." Merlyn's voice was soft at first though as they began to chuckle a supernatural multiplicative quality coalesced around it and the sound of crackling fire echoed in their speech "I WILL GRANT YOU THIS BOON TODAY, KRAFUHOFI OF SAGU-GUILD. CONSIDER YOURSELF MOST FORTUNATE IN MATTERS OF LIFE AND UTTER OBLITERATION. SO SAYS THE KING OF CHAOS." Merlyn's voice once more stripped into a haughty lilting tone as they patted the side of Krafuhofi's head and waved Lost-In-Rain and Tears-With-Comets away. Ageless-Lion had piled onto the feast, carefully stripping flesh from bone with a battered barbed tongue hundreds of years old, and stared at the Ugglo with clear boredom.


The Night Kingdom
Shortly after the RUIN delegation makes their greetings with the Scrim and islanders.

Not all who arrived bore invitations. A set of wings beat high above the proceedings, watching and waiting as the Daezirn considered their position against the vast armies of the Scrim - as the aptly named End bore the remnants of RUIN to stranger shores. Fascinating though the negotiations between Scrim and islander were, this is what the King truly sought - the ship that carried his young aunt/uncle (I do not know a gender neutral way to phrase this particular bloodline relationship) to safety. With a practiced finesse, the giant owl dives from the sky and outstretches its sixteen feet of wingspan to catch itself and its rider before meeting the corpses below with predatory talons. The rider dismounts, giving the bird a bird a friendly scratch under the neck and turning to face his kin.

Iorwerth was a half-elf, still in his twenties with sharp ears and sharper, twisting horns. His dark brown hair endures to his shoulders and goes no further, a crown of silver imbued with sapphire crest atop his head. It matches his dark blue snake-eyes, a gift from the serpentine side of his family and signifier of natural premonitions. The weapon he carried at his side was a none too humble flame-tongue from the markets of DAN...

"There you are, Merlyn." The young king says with a confident grin. "You've come a long way and through hostile waters. I'd have send a fleet to intercept on my behalf, but our sailors have fared the worst against the plagues and Ākāro is faster besides. It is... Exhilarating to finally meet you in person." His eyes scan the others who accompany Merlyn, giving them a respectful nod of his head.

Merlyn's smile stretched from ear to pointed ear. Their nephew was a thing of legend. The Ruinous Ruler looked up at their older nephew with twinkling red comets for eyes. "THE GLORY IS ALL MINE NEPHEW. MY SPIES AND ROYAL ADVISORS DID NOT DO YOU JUSTICE. COME, EMBRACE YOUR AUNCLE!" Merlyn threw their whole weight into hugging Iorwerth as hard as they could, cackling all the while, and then peeling away to pose and show off their kin to all around. "IORWERTH YOU'VE GOTTEN SO BIG AND STRONG!" Merlyn proclaimed with beaming pride and absolute certainty in spite of this being their ostensibly first meeting "IT IS A JOYOUS CATASTROPHE WHEN OUR FLESH MAY MEET YET IN TRUTH MY SPIRIT HAS BEEN WITH YOU FOR FAR LONGER! EVERY BLADE YOU HAVE DRAWN MY WAITING HAND, THE GASP OF DYING SOLDIERS MY APPROVING WHISPER, AND THE CRACKLE OF BURNING ENEMIES MY WARM EMBRACE! MY MORTAL EYES MAY BEHOLD YOU NOW BUT DEEP WITHIN MY UNCONSCIOUS SOUL I KNOW I HAVE GAZED UPON YOUR WONDROUS WRATH FOR SOME TIME! NO DISTANCE COULD SEPARATE THE TERRIBLE COMET OF MY EXISTENCE FROM THE NIGHT SKY OF YOUR DESTINY! WHAT STARTED AT THE CLAWS OF MY ROYAL COUNSEL FREEING QUEEN AND KING OF MAMUT I SHALL FINISH TODAY!"

Merlyn brandished their scepter and slammed it on the ground, bringing to attention a Kettle of warped Vultures that perched around them, and brought Ageless-Lion to a level of investment previously alien to his demeanor. They all began to kneel in tandem with the Horned Horror save Morgan who still stood at attention protectively with a hand to her obscured waist.

"Oh gracious man with blessed crown
Upon my knee now bending down
I do here swear for all kinds to see
My spirit, my heart, and my great army
I hold my hand in times of strife
A fire to warm your entire life
I dance through a hundred worlds
But now I seek to dance in thirds
My soul, blazing comet bound in meat
A royal allocution I proudly treat
To you, my kin, of distant shore
A star in your Night Sky forevermore"

[Torv]

"What a strange creature..." Morgan examined the bowing entity with cold black eyes. The Blood Elf was a stoic figure, lithe yet muscular, and standing a head over her charge (Though eye level with Merlyn's horns). Her skin was pale as moonlight, hair like the twinkling light of stars, and her thin yet pronounced brows and tear ducts gave a heightened level of facial expression she normally put to great use. She was bedecked in the white armor of her Paladin heritage, covered in a darkly stained shawl looted from shipping merchants, and now painted with the symbol of her new station as a Blackguard Beast. The curling tongue of the feral beasts head barely visible beneath the lightly tattered fabric. "Shall I dispose of this nuisance, My Divine Despoiler?" She pointed a single sharp finger at Krafuhofi, clearly still contemplating the worth of this creature, and Merlyn quickly waved her off. "That won't be necessary, my bloody hand." Merlyn lowered their hand down to touch Krafuhofi, gently guiding their head up so that they may look each other eye to eye, and the Ugglo gazed upon two portals straight into the yawning abyss of endless chaos. A hungry fire flickering deep within the reflective surface of the horned elf's eyes.

A small smile stretched across their face.

"Why do you care what my subjects do with the bones of such? Do you hold some special significance for those brittle rattling things? Or perhaps you have a taste for the essence of life itself as well. I enjoy suckling from such shattered gifts myself." Merlyn's voice was soft at first though as they began to chuckle a supernatural multiplicative quality coalesced around it and the sound of crackling fire echoed in their speech "I WILL GRANT YOU THIS BOON TODAY, KRAFUHOFI OF SAGU-GUILD. CONSIDER YOURSELF MOST FORTUNATE IN MATTERS OF LIFE AND UTTER OBLITERATION. SO SAYS THE KING OF CHAOS." Merlyn's voice once more stripped into a haughty lilting tone as they patted the side of Krafuhofi's head and waved Lost-In-Rain and Tears-With-Comets away. Ageless-Lion had piled onto the feast, carefully stripping flesh from bone with a battered barbed tongue hundreds of years old, and stared at the Ugglo with clear boredom.



Merlyn's smile stretched from ear to pointed ear. Their nephew was a thing of legend. The Ruinous Ruler looked up at their older nephew with twinkling red comets for eyes. "THE GLORY IS ALL MINE NEPHEW. MY SPIES AND ROYAL ADVISORS DID NOT DO YOU JUSTICE. COME, EMBRACE YOUR AUNCLE!" Merlyn threw their whole weight into hugging Iorwerth as hard as they could, cackling all the while, and then peeling away to pose and show off their kin to all around. "IORWERTH YOU'VE GOTTEN SO BIG AND STRONG!" Merlyn proclaimed with beaming pride and absolute certainty in spite of this being their ostensibly first meeting "IT IS A JOYOUS CATASTROPHE WHEN OUR FLESH MAY MEET YET IN TRUTH MY SPIRIT HAS BEEN WITH YOU FOR FAR LONGER! EVERY BLADE YOU HAVE DRAWN MY WAITING HAND, THE GASP OF DYING SOLDIERS MY APPROVING WHISPER, AND THE CRACKLE OF BURNING ENEMIES MY WARM EMBRACE! MY MORTAL EYES MAY BEHOLD YOU NOW BUT DEEP WITHIN MY UNCONSCIOUS SOUL I KNOW I HAVE GAZED UPON YOUR WONDROUS WRATH FOR SOME TIME! NO DISTANCE COULD SEPARATE THE TERRIBLE COMET OF MY EXISTENCE FROM THE NIGHT SKY OF YOUR DESTINY! WHAT STARTED AT THE CLAWS OF MY ROYAL COUNSEL FREEING QUEEN AND KING OF MAMUT I SHALL FINISH TODAY!"

Merlyn brandished their scepter and slammed it on the ground, bringing to attention a Kettle of warped Vultures that perched around them, and brought Ageless-Lion to a level of investment previously alien to his demeanor. They all began to kneel in tandem with the Horned Horror save Morgan who still stood at attention protectively with a hand to her obscured waist.

"Oh gracious man with blessed crown
Upon my knee now bending down
I do here swear for all kinds to see
My spirit, my heart, and my great army
I hold my hand in times of strife
A fire to warm your entire life
I dance through a hundred worlds
But now I seek to dance in thirds
My soul, blazing comet bound in meat
A royal allocution I proudly treat
To you, my kin, of distant shore
A star in your Night Sky forevermore"

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Krafuhofi was lost, wandering in the depth of the abyss, flame flickering at her heels. Words echoed in the distance, distorted by the ever shifting landscape, fires crackling down from above. Her head flung to the side and suddenly she was standing before the dead bodies of her kin again. Flinching as a giant winged beast pierces them under its weight she stares at the feet of the entity before her. No longer seeing the death infused animals feasting on the corpses she considers her request fulfilled, unable to remember the voice over the howling flames of obliteration.

Bowing deeply she begins making her retreat towards the hall, nearly running backwards in her eagerness to get somewhere else. Hurrying past the guards in front of the palace she enters the grand hall, quickly hiding behind nearest cover and watching over the room. Not seeing any more of the beasts from outside her gaze falls on a white Scrim, seemingly in charge. Staring at the wooden mask she straightens herself and paces through the room, bowing until her torso is aligned with the floor when she gets closer, looking into the shining green eyes.

“Greetings, I am Mystorinn Krafuhofi of the Sagu-guild, here to see Storhusbandi Vyrndori of the same. I seem unable to find him, he is a few hands taller than me and would be carrying a staff similar to my own. With no intention of being rude he would most likely have expressed his distaste for your kin’s complete lack comprehension for our culture if he was here.”





Even as it buckles under the yoke of the Scrim, a new terror arises in Glaondi Yejon. It begins with a shudder in the earth, sending cascades of dust through the Smiaurskotor tunnels, until the surface of the island cracks at its center. Foil, oily blood pools from the coffin-sized rent in the earth, as a bower of thorns and rotting flowers pushes free into the open air. Tearing free of this sudden growth is something that must once have been of the Smiaurskotor, but whose flesh now bears innumerable thorns sprouting from granite-hard skin the color of freshly spilled blood. Only the eyes are unchanged, for Nofn's devotion was madness before her rebirth. Standing tall upon elongated limbs, she is hailed by a passing Scrim, only to tear the stony construct's head free of its body with a strike of jagged talons. Nofn, it seems, has returned to her people.

[Nofn returns to the Smiaurskotor as the Knight of Thorns. So tainted by the Blight, Nofn may only be used for destructive purposes, and only against kingdoms not favored by Artavazd's will. In any round she is not directed, Nofn will act of her own accord to spread the Blight as she sees fit.]

Not all who arrived bore invitations. A set of wings beat high above the proceedings, watching and waiting as the Daezirn considered their position against the vast armies of the Scrim - as the aptly named End bore the remnants of RUIN to stranger shores. Fascinating though the negotiations between Scrim and islander were, this is what the King truly sought - the ship that carried his young aunt/uncle (I do not know a gender neutral way to phrase this particular bloodline relationship) to safety. With a practiced finesse, the giant owl dives from the sky and outstretches its sixteen feet of wingspan to catch itself and its rider before meeting the corpses below with predatory talons. The rider dismounts, giving the bird a bird a friendly scratch under the neck and turning to face his kin.

Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Tossing the Scrim’s head aside Nofn looks around. Her homeland was changed, it no longer belonged to her kin, a new settlement rose on the horizon and Scrim walked along the paths. It mattered little those who followed her lords walked along other paths, with a home in their real of enlightenment. How she yearned to close her eyes and visit it again, but she had been woken; her duties now laid elsewhere.

The faint traces of blood and ruination draws her towards the settlement, a trace oily blood and rotting flowers left behind her as she shakes of the remains of her slumber. Awake she stretches her new limbs, jagged talons leaving grooves in the ground as she seizes it with all four. Leaping forward the wind howls in her ears, pushing forward the traces of the frigid ocean flows around her, the hardness of her skin rivalling that of the Scrim she passes. But none of them tops her color, that of fresh intestines and crushed bones, with the darkest heartblood seeping through.

Aware a new yearning grows within her, the rush of her new body still intoxicating her, she needs to share it. Finding the bodies near the tallest of the new buildings she lunges and rips one out from under the bird sitting atop them. Ripping the flesh over her crimson thorns they darken as the corpse dries. When she flings the empty husk aside moments later her eyes are those of an eclipse, engorged charcoal pupils surrounded by a rim of fiery orange.


As Lejah moves between guests, a guard from outside rushes to their side, rumbling quietly in rocky Thun-tongue. Lejah nods, before following outside.

They watch the scene unfolding before them for a moment, as guards gather behind them, Steady-Hand at their head, still bloody from her battle. They then descend the steps leading up to the palace, remaining at a safe distance from the new arrivals, watching warily for any sign of trouble.

Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Walking toward Steady-Hand Nofn stares down at her, absentmindedly engraving a bone with her talons in the left hand. Dipping her head below her shoulder she glares at the guard with deep orange eyes, a thorn scraping against the back of her head as she does so. Standing upright she speaks in a low voice.

“I want to see my sister.”

[Silent_Interim]

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
“I see.” Balvodur were silent for a moment, letting the conversation be filled by the frantic sounds of the grand hall being restored to its previously pristine condition.

“The Smiajor-guild will not swear fealty quickly, our past still haunts us. Neither is it something I personally have an interest for. In the now you would merely use our craft, not understand it, with time that might change. Your carvings are beautiful but they lack the structure to make anything else than your kin come truly alive.”

“The efficiency displayed here when dealing with matters is however something Glaondi Yejon would need for us to practice our craft unhindered and not fettered to one place. There might be another path for us to walk on together in the now. We have more pyroemeralds around the forge than we need, extracting them from the winding tunnels would be a small task. While the forge remains unusable without extensive training we’ve heard rumors of malign items in the world. We’d be willing to write them new tales for you, should your kin stay here and keep the order.”

As long as SCR owns R75 and allows the Smiajor-guild to stay in the Oceanforge they offer to:

Support a buyout of pyroemeralds.

Help SCR with a GP for Styinn, if they wish for it.

Cleanse any cursed artifacts for the price of one treasure per action invested, paid upon completion.

If the artifact is not in the SCR’s ownership they can charge whatever on top of the Smiajor-guilds price, as owners of the locale.

Accepting the above does not include the vassalization of SMI.

Lejah makes a sound like a quiet avalanche. "You say your guild will be slow to swear fealty. How slow? The Thunspeaker will be patient if I tell them that is what is required. I can buy your protection for a few years, but I would need to be assured that after those years elapsed, I could bring them what they desire. Understand that the alternative is that you do not deal with me, but with those such as Tulao, who will not be nearly as accommodating as I. Rest assured, I have no desire for violence, but there is a reason both warriors and diplomats serve Thun."




Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Taking in the Scrimspeaker’s words Salin bows deeper, letting her entire back follow in the motion, still looking at the glimmering eyes while she does so.

“It seems I have misjudged you, for that I apologize. Our understanding of unity is not the same, I would have struck down any foe with an opposing conviction followed with the same zeal as the Integrity Cult. But I would not consider them part of unity as I did so, that is indeed a contradiction but one of semantics more than intent.”

“The vision of the Thunspeaker aligns with my understanding of unity, even if your choice of words does not. Regrettable as it is blood will always be spilled when something does not fit in. This vision you speak of may have a place for us after all. We will listen, what aid is it that you wish to offer?”


"Whatever aid you should need that we are able to provide. I understand the Integrity Cult has given you much trouble. We could assist- our watch-keepers do not need sleep, and with the aid of falcons they hunt from the sky as well as the ground. In addition, we have many lands where you could no doubt find peace well beyond the reach of the Cult or any other with ill designs upon you. And if there is something else we can do, I am certain that it can be arranged.

"Of course, these things come with a price. Guards must be fed, falconers must be trained, and finest bronze armor does not pay for itself. These are not costs you need to bear... but you would have to provide something. Unity means everyone offers something. You could offer us your fealty."


"What a strange creature..." Morgan examined the bowing entity with cold black eyes. The Blood Elf was a stoic figure, lithe yet muscular, and standing a head over her charge (Though eye level with Merlyn's horns). Her skin was pale as moonlight, hair like the twinkling light of stars, and her thin yet pronounced brows and tear ducts gave a heightened level of facial expression she normally put to great use. She was bedecked in the white armor of her Paladin heritage, covered in a darkly stained shawl looted from shipping merchants, and now painted with the symbol of her new station as a Blackguard Beast. The curling tongue of the feral beasts head barely visible beneath the lightly tattered fabric. "Shall I dispose of this nuisance, My Divine Despoiler?" She pointed a single sharp finger at Krafuhofi, clearly still contemplating the worth of this creature, and Merlyn quickly waved her off. "That won't be necessary, my bloody hand." Merlyn lowered their hand down to touch Krafuhofi, gently guiding their head up so that they may look each other eye to eye, and the Ugglo gazed upon two portals straight into the yawning abyss of endless chaos. A hungry fire flickering deep within the reflective surface of the horned elf's eyes.

A small smile stretched across their face.

"Why do you care what my subjects do with the bones of such? Do you hold some special significance for those brittle rattling things? Or perhaps you have a taste for the essence of life itself as well. I enjoy suckling from such shattered gifts myself." Merlyn's voice was soft at first though as they began to chuckle a supernatural multiplicative quality coalesced around it and the sound of crackling fire echoed in their speech "I WILL GRANT YOU THIS BOON TODAY, KRAFUHOFI OF SAGU-GUILD. CONSIDER YOURSELF MOST FORTUNATE IN MATTERS OF LIFE AND UTTER OBLITERATION. SO SAYS THE KING OF CHAOS." Merlyn's voice once more stripped into a haughty lilting tone as they patted the side of Krafuhofi's head and waved Lost-In-Rain and Tears-With-Comets away. Ageless-Lion had piled onto the feast, carefully stripping flesh from bone with a battered barbed tongue hundreds of years old, and stared at the Ugglo with clear boredom.



Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Krafuhofi was lost, wandering in the depth of the abyss, flame flickering at her heels. Words echoed in the distance, distorted by the ever shifting landscape, fires crackling down from above. Her head flung to the side and suddenly she was standing before the dead bodies of her kin again. Flinching as a giant winged beast pierces them under its weight she stares at the feet of the entity before her. No longer seeing the death infused animals feasting on the corpses she considers her request fulfilled, unable to remember the voice over the howling flames of obliteration.

Bowing deeply she begins making her retreat towards the hall, nearly running backwards in her eagerness to get somewhere else. Hurrying past the guards in front of the palace she enters the grand hall, quickly hiding behind nearest cover and watching over the room. Not seeing any more of the beasts from outside her gaze falls on a white Scrim, seemingly in charge. Staring at the wooden mask she straightens herself and paces through the room, bowing until her torso is aligned with the floor when she gets closer, looking into the shining green eyes.

“Greetings, I am Mystorinn Krafuhofi of the Sagu-guild, here to see Storhusbandi Vyrndori of the same. I seem unable to find him, he is a few hands taller than me and would be carrying a staff similar to my own. With no intention of being rude he would most likely have expressed his distaste for your kin’s complete lack comprehension for our culture if he was here.”

"And my greetings to you. I am Scrimspeaker Lejah. I apologize, but there are no guests here by such a name, and I have no recollection of any bearing such a staff. You are welcome to wait for his arrival, if you wish, and I do believe that I have some matters worth discussing with you as long as you are waiting."

As Lejah speaks, a servant emerges from a back room, carrying the corpse of the leader of the attackers from earlier. Gingerly, they bear it forward, followed by another servant carrying the two fragments of the spear he carried.



Outside, earlier...

As Krafuhofi scurries inside, Lejah approaches Merlyn, though they remain a short distance away, and guards crowd around them. "Hail, 'King of Chaos.' Your reputation precedes you. I would ask you what your purpose here is. There are many places one such as yourself could sail, and I know of no reason for this island to be one of them. You will forgive my bluntness, but you are a dangerous man to associate with. You have made many enemies, some of whom are friends to the Unity."




Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Walking toward Steady-Hand Nofn stares down at her, absentmindedly engraving a bone with her talons in the left hand. Dipping her head below her shoulder she glares at the guard with deep orange eyes, a thorn scraping against the back of her head as she does so. Standing upright she speaks in a low voice.

“I want to see my sister.”[/QUOTE]



Steady-Hand does not react to the words. Gaze cool, she considers the strange visage before her. After a few moments, the basalt translator Holn moves around to sign a translation to her. For a few moments, her eyes flick between old friend and interloper. She then shrugs, signing something one-handed to Holn, who translates for Nofn's benefit.

"And why should we care?"

[Torv]

Lejah makes a sound like a quiet avalanche. "You say your guild will be slow to swear fealty. How slow? The Thunspeaker will be patient if I tell them that is what is required. I can buy your protection for a few years, but I would need to be assured that after those years elapsed, I could bring them what they desire. Understand that the alternative is that you do not deal with me, but with those such as Tulao, who will not be nearly as accommodating as I. Rest assured, I have no desire for violence, but there is a reason both warriors and diplomats serve Thun."

Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild
"Fealty is not a word I’d use when talking with the other Mystorinn of the Smiajor-guild. If your kin were to learn our craft they could perhaps become a part of the guild and in time earn our allegiance. Becoming a Somtvinno smith isn’t easy though they’d need to learn the intricacies of our world slinging first, even with help it’d take true dedication to understand it in less than a decade. That display of will alone might be enough for the forgemasters to take them on as apprentices and make something truly great. Otherwise the bond is sure to strengthen over time, as our ways merge. I don’t wish for further bloodshed but fear that many of my companions would defend known paths rather than taking a step towards unknown greatness."
The Smiajor-guild offers to vassalize once SCR has completed a script change to Styinn, for as long as they own R75 (Glaondi Yejon).

If SCR chooses to undertake the GP with Faith SMI will contribute with two (2) actions in round 23 and one (1) action in round 24.

Should SCR complete the project in round 23 the Smiajor-guild will offer to forge an artifact at SCR’s behest, additional payment in the form of treasure might be asked for.

Should SCR undertake the project as any other action type than faith they will most likely not receive any help from SMI.




"Whatever aid you should need that we are able to provide. I understand the Integrity Cult has given you much trouble. We could assist- our watch-keepers do not need sleep, and with the aid of falcons they hunt from the sky as well as the ground. In addition, we have many lands where you could no doubt find peace well beyond the reach of the Cult or any other with ill designs upon you. And if there is something else we can do, I am certain that it can be arranged.

"Of course, these things come with a price. Guards must be fed, falconers must be trained, and finest bronze armor does not pay for itself. These are not costs you need to bear... but you would have to provide something. Unity means everyone offers something. You could offer us your fealty."

Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Salin’s eyes light up as she hears the Scrimspeaker’s words. It is with barely contained relief in her voice she responds.

"Many of us are bound to our homeland by age-old ties. Few would wish to leave it if it was at all possible to stay. In a kind world only those responsible for the suffering would be brought to justice. I do realize that might not be possible, it is for that outcome you have watchers and falconers I imagine."

"Seeing you deal with the Integrity Cult in an orderly manner would earn you our loyalty. We have grown weary of promises for a better future over recent years, in this case you will need to let your kin’s actions speak instead of their words. Should you need living quarters for this task we would be happy to provide them."
If region 78 is converted to WoE the Siryno Eaudanites will vassalize and/or give their region to the ultimately responsible party (I.e making deals with others to get it converted is accepted).

Alternatively the Eaudanites will give their region to SCR and vassalize to them once the holy site has been purged.




"And my greetings to you. I am Scrimspeaker Lejah. I apologize, but there are no guests here by such a name, and I have no recollection of any bearing such a staff. You are welcome to wait for his arrival, if you wish, and I do believe that I have some matters worth discussing with you as long as you are waiting."

As Lejah speaks, a servant emerges from a back room, carrying the corpse of the leader of the attackers from earlier. Gingerly, they bear it forward, followed by another servant carrying the two fragments of the spear he carried.

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Krafuhofi saw a dead body being carried behind Lejah and recognized the familiar patterns on the spear carried by another attendant behind it. The corpses outside of the entrance suddenly made sense. Vyrndori had not grown any less zealous in his convictions during her absence it seemed. Reconsidering her stance she bowed again, shallower than last time.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Krafuhofi intermediate Storhusbandi of the Sagu-guild. Vyrndori unfortunately seems to have run into his own spear. I apologize for any mess sputtering blood might have caused. On behalf of the remaining Sagu-guild I will listen to any matters you feel worth discussing, until matters of importance calls me elsewhere."





Steady-Hand does not react to the words. Gaze cool, she considers the strange visage before her. After a few moments, the basalt translator Holn moves around to sign a translation to her. For a few moments, her eyes flick between old friend and interloper. She then shrugs, signing something one-handed to Holn, who translates for Nofn's benefit.

"And why should we care?"

Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Snapping the bone in her left hand she begins to twirl the pieces between her fingers, the talons of her feet flexing in the ground.

"Most of you may be made out of stone but I still see the life flowing through them, invisible strands permeating their very being, lusting to be ripped out of them and extinguished. You should not care. I hunger. My hands itches to tear your lungs out, my thorns to drink your last breath, my legs to run rampant. It would be joy. I care. My homeland still seems pretty with life in it, tell your guards to let me pass into the Oceanforge and it will remain so. Flesh or stone matters not, after I feed they are dead. It is so very hard to stop, do not make me begin."

[xanxosttheslaad]

A Bozul cautiously approaches Steady-Hand and her late friend's twin, hovering at eye level a respectful distance away. She begins signing.
"Nofn? Is that you? I have heard many a story from your sister in my time working alongside her. I am Visulu, Master Smith of the Ocean Forge. Koltholf is my warmest friend. Together, we have made many a great work of Styinn and of smithing."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts, summoning all her capacity for tact. She moves backward and upward ever so slightly, as if readying an escape, before continuing.
"I know Koltholf to be very brave. Demon-cousins invaded Ogrontir, my home isle, and she sailed to their aid. Their touch poisoned her body, and the blood of demons flowed through her. As her last act, she invoked the magic of the Ocean Forge once more, to cleanse the Isles of the demons within her. I'm sorry, Nofn, but your sister died. Her story will be told and retold, and she has been succeeded by . . . new creatures, cleansed of demons. I will gladly show you the beauty of the Forge, your sister's often and final home, and the new project I have begun in her honor."
Visulu remains on edge, unsure of whether her words will placate or enrage her dear friend's twin.

[TheDarkDM]

Halted in her path and forced to convers with some mewling lesser thing of a malformed bloodline, Nofn feels the wind rise at her back. Blowing from the south, it is bitter cold even for the grim land of Glaondi Yejon, and beneath its rising howl a voice reaching only to her ears.

Kill them. Kill them all.

[Torv]

Nofn crushes the bones in her hands, her jailor's voice echoing in her head. She is the Thorned Knight. The Knight feeds. It serves. The beasts body tensed, ready to pounce and sink its thorns into nearest pray. Every fiber lusting to suckle them empty of their life. It being demanded.

A gentle voice sings in its ears. Pathetic furball, begging to be drained. Babbling in fear. No. Praising Koltholf, its sister. This was its homeland, Nofn would not let the valleys be filled with husks. Opening her mouth no words come from the beast's lungs. She breathes, unclenches her talons, its thorns still screaming for sustenance.

"I am . . . Nofn . . . take me to . . . Kolt"

Tears stream down from her eyes, now rings of fire again, over the beasts ruff chin. Its muscles strained, as Nofnlousmythvitodurkarndrypiskip makes her plea.

[Tychris1]

As Krafuhofi scurries inside, Lejah approaches Merlyn, though they remain a short distance away, and guards crowd around them. "Hail, 'King of Chaos.' Your reputation precedes you. I would ask you what your purpose here is. There are many places one such as yourself could sail, and I know of no reason for this island to be one of them. You will forgive my bluntness, but you are a dangerous man to associate with. You have made many enemies, some of whom are friends to the Unity."


”Just brief repairs on my way to Mamut. Local scenic detour. IT HAS BEEN CENTURIES SINCE I HAVE HAD EYES WITH WHICH TO SEE AND FLESH WITH WHICH TO FEEL! I am a wandering trailing star by nature, to see all that the world has to offer, THAT IS GOOD! I am no man, stranger, I am the very fire that burns in the hearts of your guards paradoxically poised to puncture me. THIS CAGE OF MEAT AND SINEW IS BUT THE MORTAL VESSEL AND VOICE OF THE WYRM. Now, my royal viziers,” Merlyn gestured with a casual two finger hand swipe to the carrion birds feasting around them “Have informed me this gathering is some form of royal averment? My blood DEMANDS proper action! IT BOILS FOR IT! ARE YOU READY TO BE BLESSED?”

[Zayuz]

Merlyn's smile stretched from ear to pointed ear. Their nephew was a thing of legend. The Ruinous Ruler looked up at their older nephew with twinkling red comets for eyes. "THE GLORY IS ALL MINE NEPHEW. MY SPIES AND ROYAL ADVISORS DID NOT DO YOU JUSTICE. COME, EMBRACE YOUR AUNCLE!" Merlyn threw their whole weight into hugging Iorwerth as hard as they could, cackling all the while, and then peeling away to pose and show off their kin to all around. "IORWERTH YOU'VE GOTTEN SO BIG AND STRONG!" Merlyn proclaimed with beaming pride and absolute certainty in spite of this being their ostensibly first meeting "IT IS A JOYOUS CATASTROPHE WHEN OUR FLESH MAY MEET YET IN TRUTH MY SPIRIT HAS BEEN WITH YOU FOR FAR LONGER! EVERY BLADE YOU HAVE DRAWN MY WAITING HAND, THE GASP OF DYING SOLDIERS MY APPROVING WHISPER, AND THE CRACKLE OF BURNING ENEMIES MY WARM EMBRACE! MY MORTAL EYES MAY BEHOLD YOU NOW BUT DEEP WITHIN MY UNCONSCIOUS SOUL I KNOW I HAVE GAZED UPON YOUR WONDROUS WRATH FOR SOME TIME! NO DISTANCE COULD SEPARATE THE TERRIBLE COMET OF MY EXISTENCE FROM THE NIGHT SKY OF YOUR DESTINY! WHAT STARTED AT THE CLAWS OF MY ROYAL COUNSEL FREEING QUEEN AND KING OF MAMUT I SHALL FINISH TODAY!"

Merlyn brandished their scepter and slammed it on the ground, bringing to attention a Kettle of warped Vultures that perched around them, and brought Ageless-Lion to a level of investment previously alien to his demeanor. They all began to kneel in tandem with the Horned Horror save Morgan who still stood at attention protectively with a hand to her obscured waist.

"Oh gracious man with blessed crown
Upon my knee now bending down
I do here swear for all kinds to see
My spirit, my heart, and my great army
I hold my hand in times of strife
A fire to warm your entire life
I dance through a hundred worlds
But now I seek to dance in thirds
My soul, blazing comet bound in meat
A royal allocution I proudly treat
To you, my kin, of distant shore
A star in your Night Sky forevermore"

While at first taken completely off guard by the tight embrace of his relative, discomfort gives way to amusement, and then laughter. Clearly Merlyn wanted to make a show of their union, so why not? "MERLYN, MY STAR, OUR ASCENTIONS TO GREATNESS HAVE BEEN RIFE WITH DEATH AND DESTRUCTION! WE AS LEADERS WERE BORN IN WAR AND STRIFE. OUR HORNS GROW LONG FROM THE ENEMIES WE VANIQUSH, THE BLOOD WE SPILL, AND THE FAMILY WE SHARE OUR VICTORIES WITH. WITH POWER GIVEN TO ME BY THE GREATEST OF THE TRINITY'S LIGHT I DO BESTOW YOU, MY SPECTACULAR AUNCLE YOUR RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONG MY SKIES. AS ALLY IN FAITH AND FLESH LET ALL WITNESS THE BONDS OF BLOOD OVERCOMING THE BALANCE OF LIFE AND DESTRUCTION, A TEMPERANCE YET UNKNOWN TO THE WORLD THAT WILL BRING POWER ETERNAL TO US AND OURS."

Clearing his throat after all his impromptu yelling, Iorwerth unsheathed his flaming blade, and tapped it just above the shoulder of his auncle. Then the other, then raised it to the sky. "I declare you, Merlyn, son of the Horned King, with the power granted to me above the church and as the Breaker of Shields, to be ruler of Hrathgan and the Hraban peoples, and vassal to the Night Kingdom! May you live as long as your father, and twice as well. Rise, as a ruler of Mamut!"

With a step back, the King sheathes his blade and looks over the assembled crowd. Though none of his own had been there to see it, it was at least clear to the public that RUIN was to be under his protection, and word would spread - of that he was sure.



Nofn crushes the bones in her hands, her jailor's voice echoing in her head. She is the Thorned Knight. The Knight feeds. It serves. The beasts body tensed, ready to pounce and sink its thorns into nearest pray. Every fiber lusting to suckle them empty of their life. It being demanded.

A gentle voice sings in its ears. Pathetic furball, begging to be drained. Babbling in fear. No. Praising Koltholf, its sister. This was its homeland, Nofn would not let the valleys be filled with husks. Opening her mouth no words come from the beast's lungs. She breathes, unclenches her talons, its thorns still screaming for sustenance.

"I am . . . Nofn . . . take me to . . . Kolt"

Tears stream down from her eyes, now rings of fire again, over the beasts ruff chin. Its muscles strained, as Nofnlousmythvitodurkarndrypiskip makes her plea.

A not so distant Iorwerth approaches and steps closer to the blighted hero than the Bozul wisely dare. With flame-tongue at the ready, the young ruler's pose is a defensive one. Surprisingly, he speaks the language of the isles. Addressing mostly the Bozul and the guard, he says "This is not the first blight corruption that has touched someone once loved by their people. In Mamut, we saved Chepri from its clutches by making her apprentice to Thorn and bathing her in radiance, and her gifts have brought the Sundom countless victories - we could seek his aid once again now that he is reborn, if this Nofn shows the will to resist these unholy callings. Otherwise..." He flicks his blade, whose flames light the corpses beneath them. This time his gaze is entirely aimed at Nofn. "We had best deal with this threat where it stands. Do you truly wish to meet your sister, scion of the nightmare king?" There is no joy to his words, but the elven bloodlust within him swells...

OOC: Iorwerth will duel Nofn if you wish! He's M10 with no artifacts.

[Torv]

Nofn of the Hroythslo cult

"Yes. Show me. I need to move."

Ecstasy still pumps through the beast's veins. The taste of blood, still warm, lingering in its thorns. It craves more. Nofn craves more, her mind soaked in the rush. Standing still is pain, letting go is devastation. She longs for her sister, to stretch her limbs and flow over the dunes. To embrace her friends in hugd and cry out her frustration, to pierce their flesh and bathe in life. To let blood flow over body and its thorns sprout into flowers. To kill them all.

"I am moving. Stay away."

[Silent_Interim]

Balvodur of the Smiajor-guild
"Fealty is not a word I’d use when talking with the other Mystorinn of the Smiajor-guild. If your kin were to learn our craft they could perhaps become a part of the guild and in time earn our allegiance. Becoming a Somtvinno smith isn’t easy though they’d need to learn the intricacies of our world slinging first, even with help it’d take true dedication to understand it in less than a decade. That display of will alone might be enough for the forgemasters to take them on as apprentices and make something truly great. Otherwise the bond is sure to strengthen over time, as our ways merge. I don’t wish for further bloodshed but fear that many of my companions would defend known paths rather than taking a step towards unknown greatness."
The Smiajor-guild offers to vassalize once SCR has completed a script change to Styinn, for as long as they own R75 (Glaondi Yejon).

If SCR chooses to undertake the GP with Faith SMI will contribute with two (2) actions in round 23 and one (1) action in round 24.

Should SCR complete the project in round 23 the Smiajor-guild will offer to forge an artifact at SCR’s behest, additional payment in the form of treasure might be asked for.

Should SCR undertake the project as any other action type than faith they will most likely not receive any help from SMI.

“I... appreciate your willingness to assist, but I do not know what I can promise. I will advise the Thunspeaker, but the undertakings you desire... they will take time. Thun can be slow to move in matters such as these. It will not take the thousand years of the carving of a river through a valley, but it will take time nonetheless.

“In the meantime, I encourage you to take part of our generosity. The food provided is, I am assured, excellent. Unless there are other matters you wish to discuss with me...?”



Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Salin’s eyes light up as she hears the Scrimspeaker’s words. It is with barely contained relief in her voice she responds.

"Many of us are bound to our homeland by age-old ties. Few would wish to leave it if it was at all possible to stay. In a kind world only those responsible for the suffering would be brought to justice. I do realize that might not be possible, it is for that outcome you have watchers and falconers I imagine."

"Seeing you deal with the Integrity Cult in an orderly manner would earn you our loyalty. We have grown weary of promises for a better future over recent years, in this case you will need to let your kin’s actions speak instead of their words. Should you need living quarters for this task we would be happy to provide them."
If region 78 is converted to WoE the Siryno Eaudanites will vassalize and/or give their region to the ultimately responsible party (I.e making deals with others to get it converted is accepted).

Alternatively the Eaudanites will give their region to SCR and vassalize to them once the holy site has been purged.

Lejah bows. “I will see to it within the hour. The order shall be given, and the undertaking will be made. Though it sorrows me that it holds little favour with you, you have my word, and my word is my bond. May I be cast out of Thun and made no more a Scrim if it is otherwise.”



Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Krafuhofi saw a dead body being carried behind Lejah and recognized the familiar patterns on the spear carried by another attendant behind it. The corpses outside of the entrance suddenly made sense. Vyrndori had not grown any less zealous in his convictions during her absence it seemed. Reconsidering her stance she bowed again, shallower than last time.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Krafuhofi intermediate Storhusbandi of the Sagu-guild. Vyrndori unfortunately seems to have run into his own spear. I apologize for any mess sputtering blood might have caused. On behalf of the remaining Sagu-guild I will listen to any matters you feel worth discussing, until matters of importance calls me elsewhere."

“Ah. Well, how regrettable for Vyrndori. Apologies for the circumstances of your advancement, I am afraid that he attempted to strike first. Tell me, Krafuhofi, how do you feel about unity? About working with your fellow to achieve greater heights than either of you could hope to achieve alone?”



Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Snapping the bone in her left hand she begins to twirl the pieces between her fingers, the talons of her feet flexing in the ground.

"Most of you may be made out of stone but I still see the life flowing through them, invisible strands permeating their very being, lusting to be ripped out of them and extinguished. You should not care. I hunger. My hands itches to tear your lungs out, my thorns to drink your last breath, my legs to run rampant. It would be joy. I care. My homeland still seems pretty with life in it, tell your guards to let me pass into the Oceanforge and it will remain so. Flesh or stone matters not, after I feed they are dead. It is so very hard to stop, do not make me begin."


A Bozul cautiously approaches Steady-Hand and her late friend's twin, hovering at eye level a respectful distance away. She begins signing.
"Nofn? Is that you? I have heard many a story from your sister in my time working alongside her. I am Visulu, Master Smith of the Ocean Forge. Koltholf is my warmest friend. Together, we have made many a great work of Styinn and of smithing."
She pauses, gathering her thoughts, summoning all her capacity for tact. She moves backward and upward ever so slightly, as if readying an escape, before continuing.
"I know Koltholf to be very brave. Demon-cousins invaded Ogrontir, my home isle, and she sailed to their aid. Their touch poisoned her body, and the blood of demons flowed through her. As her last act, she invoked the magic of the Ocean Forge once more, to cleanse the Isles of the demons within her. I'm sorry, Nofn, but your sister died. Her story will be told and retold, and she has been succeeded by . . . new creatures, cleansed of demons. I will gladly show you the beauty of the Forge, your sister's often and final home, and the new project I have begun in her honor."
Visulu remains on edge, unsure of whether her words will placate or enrage her dear friend's twin.



Nofn crushes the bones in her hands, her jailor's voice echoing in her head. She is the Thorned Knight. The Knight feeds. It serves. The beasts body tensed, ready to pounce and sink its thorns into nearest pray. Every fiber lusting to suckle them empty of their life. It being demanded.

A gentle voice sings in its ears. Pathetic furball, begging to be drained. Babbling in fear. No. Praising Koltholf, its sister. This was its homeland, Nofn would not let the valleys be filled with husks. Opening her mouth no words come from the beast's lungs. She breathes, unclenches her talons, its thorns still screaming for sustenance.

"I am . . . Nofn . . . take me to . . . Kolt"

Tears stream down from her eyes, now rings of fire again, over the beasts ruff chin. Its muscles strained, as Nofnlousmythvitodurkarndrypiskip makes her plea.


A not so distant Iorwerth approaches and steps closer to the blighted hero than the Bozul wisely dare. With flame-tongue at the ready, the young ruler's pose is a defensive one. Surprisingly, he speaks the language of the isles. Addressing mostly the Bozul and the guard, he says "This is not the first blight corruption that has touched someone once loved by their people. In Mamut, we saved Chepri from its clutches by making her apprentice to Thorn and bathing her in radiance, and her gifts have brought the Sundom countless victories - we could seek his aid once again now that he is reborn, if this Nofn shows the will to resist these unholy callings. Otherwise..." He flicks his blade, whose flames light the corpses beneath them. This time his gaze is entirely aimed at Nofn. "We had best deal with this threat where it stands. Do you truly wish to meet your sister, scion of the nightmare king?" There is no joy to his words, but the elven bloodlust within him swells...

OOC: Iorwerth will duel Nofn if you wish! He's M10 with no artifacts.



Nofn of the Hroythslo cult

"Yes. Show me. I need to move."

Ecstasy still pumps through the beast's veins. The taste of blood, still warm, lingering in its thorns. It craves more. Nofn craves more, her mind soaked in the rush. Standing still is pain, letting go is devastation. She longs for her sister, to stretch her limbs and flow over the dunes. To embrace her friends in hugd and cry out her frustration, to pierce their flesh and bathe in life. To let blood flow over body and its thorns sprout into flowers. To kill them all.

"I am moving. Stay away."


Steady-Hand looks on warily as the conversation progresses, Holn occasionally signing translation to her that her eyes flick over to read. As Iorwerth approaches and begins to make his threat, she turns away from Nofn and steps towards him, shaking her head slightly and raising an open palm flat, in a gesture not part of the Watcher signs, but borrowed from Scrim- a gesture to stop. Behind her, Holn begins to speak.

“This one is protected by guest-rite, Night-King. The bonds between our people may be strong, but the penalties for violating our laws are clear, and they make no exception for royalty. Blighted, nightmare-child, or otherwise, this one is our guest in this land, as are you.”

Steady-Hand maintains her grip on her spear, not brandishing or gesturing, tensed for action, staring at Iorwerth while keeping Nofn firmly in her peripheral vision, ready to move in any direction at a moment’s notice.

Anyone initiating violence will find Steady-Hand supporting their intended target.


”Just brief repairs on my way to Mamut. Local scenic detour. IT HAS BEEN CENTURIES SINCE I HAVE HAD EYES WITH WHICH TO SEE AND FLESH WITH WHICH TO FEEL! I am a wandering trailing star by nature, to see all that the world has to offer, THAT IS GOOD! I am no man, stranger, I am the very fire that burns in the hearts of your guards paradoxically poised to puncture me. THIS CAGE OF MEAT AND SINEW IS BUT THE MORTAL VESSEL AND VOICE OF THE WYRM. Now, my royal viziers,” Merlyn gestured with a casual two finger hand swipe to the carrion birds feasting around them “Have informed me this is some form of royal averment? My blood DEMANDS proper action! IT BOILS FOR IT! ARE YOU READY TO BE BLESSED?”

Lejah considers the elf before them. "I am Scrimspeaker Lejah, and I care little for the demands of your blood. I will not receive your blessing, for I already have a lord whose blessings are mine, and they are more than sufficient.” Their tone is cool and even as they speak. “You were not invited here, and your welcome draws short like light at the end of sunset. There is little of beauty here, unless you consider the labours of civilization beautiful, which I am told you do not. I suggest you leave, unless you have some other business here. You are mistaken if you believe there is any fire that burns in the heart of a Scrim, for the spark that we thrive on is cold crystal, and it is driven by duty, not mere passion.”

[LapisCattis]

[SPOILER=A Gentle Arrival]

Lejah approaches the newcomer from behind as she walks up to the Truthseer, doing their best to make their footfalls clearly audible, before gently tapping her on the shoulder. "You are indeed in the correct place. I apologize for the carnage, there was an... altercation, and we have not yet had the opportunity to clean. They have, I fear, made poor hosts of us. Please, come- I am Scrimspeaker Lejah, and I would share our bounties with you." They make an expansive gesture towards the banquet table.



Unsure if the feelings she’s experiencing at the confirmation are ones of relief or even heightened anxiety, Anya does know that she wishes to get farther from the commotions outside and moves to the table, addressing Scrimspeaker Lejah and doing her best to avoid knocking into others with her movements as she dance-speaks.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Scrimspeaker. I am happy to present these gifts on behalf of my people, and the Gleams of Avicennia. The bone is from the moa, a large bird we brought to our isles from farther shores, and the pattern inscribes small stories and instructions to our dances, but they are also simply decorative.”

Looking over the…curious exterior of the Scrim, she feels emboldened to make her next comment.

“If you or your people would like to grow and cultivate your own moss, I am allowed to also organize shipments if you are interested in establishing trade. The patterns could be quite…striking on you.

As long as you come in peace, the Scrim are welcome to explore our new city, Luma. It should be completed soon and as our islands recover from the plague, we are fervently exploring and establishing new trade routes. We hope to become a hub of trade in Daezirn, and all who come in friendship are welcome to take part.”




Steady-Hand looks on warily as the conversation progresses, Holn occasionally signing translation to her that her eyes flick over to read. As Iorwerth approaches and begins to make his threat, she turns away from Nofn and steps towards him, shaking her head slightly and raising an open palm flat, in a gesture not part of the Watcher signs, but borrowed from Scrim- a gesture to stop. Behind her, Holn begins to speak.

“This one is protected by guest-rite, Night-King. The bonds between our people may be strong, but the penalties for violating our laws are clear, and they make no exception for royalty. Blighted, nightmare-child, or otherwise, this one is our guest in this land, as are you.”

Steady-Hand maintains her grip on her spear, not brandishing or gesturing, tensed for action, staring at Iorwerth while keeping Nofn firmly in her peripheral vision, ready to move in any direction at a moment’s notice.



With tension so thick it feels like the nutritious algae paste that Anya runs through her fur every month, every fiber of her being screaming for her to run grows impatient and tired instead, still afraid but now reckless and willing to take a chance. Her basket of gifts still hangs from her forearm and (only shaking somewhat), she extends one of the carved, glowing bones to this Nofn, looking at the newcomers as she holds the item delicately in her tremoring claws.

“Please. I know little of your conflicts, but you would all honor me to accept these gifts from my people. Let us talk.”

[xanxosttheslaad]

A second Bozul emerges from the crowd, approaching Scrimspeaker Lejah at the banquet table. She sees that the room is filled with the creatures of stories. That says little about those creatures, and more about her, though: Yerorra is a young Bozul worker. In its fragile state, Bozul has sent a proxy to represent their interests. Since her birth only a few seasons ago, Yerorra has been raised on the tale of Bozul, and she knows it better than any other mortal being, although her knowledge is entirely secondhand. She hovers at eye level a respectful distance away from the strange creatures around her, those her ancestors first met in stories, and formally addresses Lejah in the Bozul dance-speak.

"Greeting, Scrimspeaker! I am Yerorra, speaker for Bozul. Your spoken words today carried the same beauty and majesty as the grand tale of Bozul, as it is written and re-written and told and re-told by creatures and stones alike in the vast realm of Ogrontir.

You have said that we of flesh do not truly understand eternity, but eternity is as integral to Bozul as it seems to be to the Unity. We craft great works, intricate carvings telling our tale, but we do not pretend that these works will live on and sing our songs of their own accord. Rather, our carvings are but part of our tale, and play a part in its retelling and its growth. At its core, Bozul stories are a necessity, so that one such as myself, who fills but a small space and time, may know and become one with their legacy and their birthright. If deprived of their tale, Bozuls have forgotten their role, being turned by parasitic false queens that prey upon such disconnected hives. Our works, by aiding our communal memory, help make the tales they hold of our kingdom as much greater as is the unity of Bozul.

Their being written into the stone of Daezirn itself is also not itself a play at eternity, but something that cements our presence in the present. Styinn is a magical script, whose natural home is the Daezirn Isles. When used to write stories, it can have a mystical influence, and those stories are called upon to manifest. This magic has played no small role in the great feats of my ancestors, and what splendor and wonder has accompanied our tale thusfar. Our numerous Styinn murals also aid in the continued telling of our tale, as a reference for its more complete recounting back to the world, a ritual which we conduct periodically, as it gets longer and more grand.

One of the greatest forms of the Bozul tale is Drynosm, where it is presented in a ceremony of song and dance performed by the entire hive. It is a most beautiful sight, one that predates even the union of the hives of Ogrontir by the storied Wife-Queens Under the Snow, and one that we would be most grateful for you to witness, as a Scrim with such kind and beautiful words. It contains all of our history and legend, stretching as far back as our joint memory.

Several new memories have been added to it, I have been told, by The Watcher of the Bozul tale, including the earliest, which is now the opening to each Drynosm. This story tells of a hive, hidden within the hollow of a snowy tree-trunk, and of workers serving their queen by doing their duties to the hive, making cells, gathering nectar, and brewing honey. These Bozul-ancestors did not know what we know today of proceedings outside of their hive, and their hive was not as strong as ours has been, but they worked industriously as one, and eventually their story grew into the grand tale of Bozul.

Our tale has already been interwoven with several others, forming the closest of friends and allies, and dearest of memories. These past several years, though, plague has made more difficult the interactions and friendships that have become so vital to us. We have learned that our tale grows stronger and grander when it is joined by others, and becomes part of a larger tale, but recently adversity has seemed to come up again and again in our tale. Your Unity is thus all the more enticing, as you demonstrate its remarkable strength and majesty here. Bozul would be honored to share their tale with the Scrimthun Unity, and to begin to tell an ever grander tale of their Unity."

——————————

Outside, Visulu sees other creatures approaching and addressing Nofn, who seems to be struggling intensely against the demon-blood flowing through her. Repeatedly, the heart and flesh within her had requested to see her late sister, and to leave. Visulu, eager to prevent further bloodshed, begins buzzing in the direction of the Ocean Forge, maintaining a safe distance, preparing to jump out of the way if necessary, and looking back to keep an eye out and see if Nofn is following her. She addresses her with an abundance of politeness and patience, not wanting to offend or enrage.

"I can lead you to the Ocean Forge, friend, and to your sister. It's just over this way."

[Torv]

“I... appreciate your willingness to assist, but I do not know what I can promise. I will advise the Thunspeaker, but the undertakings you desire... they will take time. Thun can be slow to move in matters such as these. It will not take the thousand years of the carving of a river through a valley, but it will take time nonetheless.

“In the meantime, I encourage you to take part of our generosity. The food provided is, I am assured, excellent. Unless there are other matters you wish to discuss with me...?”

Balvodur of the Smiajor Guild
"I’ll take your word on the food, the aesthetic of it’s beautiful but the taste will be lost on me I’m afraid. Requiring time to adapt is understandable and it’s no small thing I’m asking of you. We would be overjoyed to see your kin learn our ways quickly but for most the willingness to try is just as, if not more, valuable. There are many things I’d wish to learn from your culture but there will hopefully be time for that in years to come. For now I need to discuss matters with my guild, I thank you for your time."

Balvodur looked at the pyroemeralds behind the wooden mask and touched her ears to the corresponding shoulder before making beginning to walk away towards the food and other Ugglos.




Lejah bows. “I will see to it within the hour. The order shall be given, and the undertaking will be made. Though it sorrows me that it holds little favour with you, you have my word, and my word is my bond. May I be cast out of Thun and made no more a Scrim if it is otherwise.”

Salin of the Siryno Eaudanites
Tears of relief waters Salin’s eyes as she responds.
"I thank from the depth of my heart; this is truly a kindness. Excuse me while I share the news with my traveling companions. Thank you. Again."

Salin bows and then stretches the definition of what could be considered a proper speed to walk at during grand events as she reunites with her pack.




“Ah. Well, how regrettable for Vyrndori. Apologies for the circumstances of your advancement, I am afraid that he attempted to strike first. Tell me, Krafuhofi, how do you feel about unity? About working with your fellow to achieve greater heights than either of you could hope to achieve alone?”

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
"True unity is something of great interest to us, if you wish to join our vision the Sagu-guild would welcome you warmly. Uniting Daezirn in faith is something we have worked for decades on, we would of course need Glaondi Yejon under our control to continue the work. Then you might join us on our path to enlightenment and become a true part of the isles."

The Sagu-guild will vassalize if:
R75 is returned to SMI
SCR learns Styinn
All regions in Daezirn are allowed to remain or be converted to Glyemo




With tension so thick it feels like the nutritious algae paste that Anya runs through her fur every month, every fiber of her being screaming for her to run grows impatient and tired instead, still afraid but now reckless and willing to take a chance. Her basket of gifts still hangs from her forearm and (only shaking somewhat), she extends one of the carved, glowing bones to this Nofn, looking at the newcomers as she holds the item delicately in her tremoring claws.

“Please. I know little of your conflicts, but you would all honor me to accept these gifts from my people. Let us talk.”

Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Another furball mewls, extending a tribute of sustenance. Nofn’s body trembles and her left arms jerk, seizing the bone and her talons rasping against Anya’s claws.
“Please, no.”

Kolt’s furball begins to fly away. Nofn lunges after it, digging limbs deep into the ground as she moves. The hunt boils her blood, move, attack, miss, shatter the ground, dig out limbs, move, attack, do not hit it. The beast’s body moves of its own in the pursuit, obeying Nofn’s singular focus; Miss.





Vinolygur of the Skota Guild
Vinolygur came from the harbour, Glaondi Yejon had not become any saner in their absence. He walked past fiery beasts and littered corpses on his way to the grand hall, weary guards standing outside of it. No surprise there, keeping the peace here meant treading on madness every day and hoping nothing snapped under your feet. The Scrim had done an admirable job so far, most of the important people still seemed to be alive and the murmur of voices was one of pleasantries rather than ravings from lunatics.

Approaching the white marble Scrim at the dais Vinolygur bows deeply in the usual neck breaking greeting of the Ugglos. "I am Vinolygur, Husbandi of the Skota-guild. I have returned to Gloandi Yejon at your summon though I do not yet know what it is that you wish to speak of. Know that while many may wish you ill as an outsider the Skota-guild hosts no such delusions. Your competence has already been proven through actions. I have gathered that gifts are customary in your lands; I am afraid I bring no such things with me but hope the promise of prosperity from future relations will suffice."




Scrim vassalization progress: 2/4 or Eaudanite jank

[Silent_Interim]

Unsure if the feelings she’s experiencing at the confirmation are ones of relief or even heightened anxiety, Anya does know that she wishes to get farther from the commotions outside and moves to the table, addressing Scrimspeaker Lejah and doing her best to avoid knocking into others with her movements as she dance-speaks.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Scrimspeaker. I am happy to present these gifts on behalf of my people, and the Gleams of Avicennia. The bone is from the moa, a large bird we brought to our isles from farther shores, and the pattern inscribes small stories and instructions to our dances, but they are also simply decorative.”

Looking over the…curious exterior of the Scrim, she feels emboldened to make her next comment.

“If you or your people would like to grow and cultivate your own moss, I am allowed to also organize shipments if you are interested in establishing trade. The patterns could be quite…striking on you.

As long as you come in peace, the Scrim are welcome to explore our new city, Luma. It should be completed soon and as our islands recover from the plague, we are fervently exploring and establishing new trade routes. We hope to become a hub of trade in Daezirn, and all who come in friendship are welcome to take part.”
Lejah takes one of the bones gingerly, inspecting it from a variety of angles. They bow slightly, setting it down on the banquet table before they begin their own dance-speech, clumsy by comparison, but still understandable. It is beautiful. I am grateful for this gift.

"I am also grateful to hear that you are willing to work in a spirit of co-operation and trade. Many neglect such affairs, to their own loss. I admit, I wish our present Thunspeaker would renew our efforts to expand Thun's commercial ventures, but alas, other matters occupy our attention. I hope I will have the opportunity to visit your fair isles, and that you will consider us when matters of trade come up."


A second Bozul emerges from the crowd, approaching Scrimspeaker Lejah at the banquet table. She sees that the room is filled with the creatures of stories. That says little about those creatures, and more about her, though: Yerorra is a young Bozul worker. In its fragile state, Bozul has sent a proxy to represent their interests. Since her birth only a few seasons ago, Yerorra has been raised on the tale of Bozul, and she knows it better than any other mortal being, although her knowledge is entirely secondhand. She hovers at eye level a respectful distance away from the strange creatures around her, those her ancestors first met in stories, and formally addresses Lejah in the Bozul dance-speak.

"Greeting, Scrimspeaker! I am Yerorra, speaker for Bozul. Your spoken words today carried the same beauty and majesty as the grand tale of Bozul, as it is written and re-written and told and re-told by creatures and stones alike in the vast realm of Ogrontir.

You have said that we of flesh do not truly understand eternity, but eternity is as integral to Bozul as it seems to be to the Unity. We craft great works, intricate carvings telling our tale, but we do not pretend that these works will live on and sing our songs of their own accord. Rather, our carvings are but part of our tale, and play a part in its retelling and its growth. At its core, Bozul stories are a necessity, so that one such as myself, who fills but a small space and time, may know and become one with their legacy and their birthright. If deprived of their tale, Bozuls have forgotten their role, being turned by parasitic false queens that prey upon such disconnected hives. Our works, by aiding our communal memory, help make the tales they hold of our kingdom as much greater as is the unity of Bozul.

Their being written into the stone of Daezirn itself is also not itself a play at eternity, but something that cements our presence in the present. Styinn is a magical script, whose natural home is the Daezirn Isles. When used to write stories, it can have a mystical influence, and those stories are called upon to manifest. This magic has played no small role in the great feats of my ancestors, and what splendor and wonder has accompanied our tale thusfar. Our numerous Styinn murals also aid in the continued telling of our tale, as a reference for its more complete recounting back to the world, a ritual which we conduct periodically, as it gets longer and more grand.

One of the greatest forms of the Bozul tale is Drynosm, where it is presented in a ceremony of song and dance performed by the entire hive. It is a most beautiful sight, one that predates even the union of the hives of Ogrontir by the storied Wife-Queens Under the Snow, and one that we would be most grateful for you to witness, as a Scrim with such kind and beautiful words. It contains all of our history and legend, stretching as far back as our joint memory.

Several new memories have been added to it, I have been told, by The Watcher of the Bozul tale, including the earliest, which is now the opening to each Drynosm. This story tells of a hive, hidden within the hollow of a snowy tree-trunk, and of workers serving their queen by doing their duties to the hive, making cells, gathering nectar, and brewing honey. These Bozul-ancestors did not know what we know today of proceedings outside of their hive, and their hive was not as strong as ours has been, but they worked industriously as one, and eventually their story grew into the grand tale of Bozul.

Our tale has already been interwoven with several others, forming the closest of friends and allies, and dearest of memories. These past several years, though, plague has made more difficult the interactions and friendships that have become so vital to us. We have learned that our tale grows stronger and grander when it is joined by others, and becomes part of a larger tale, but recently adversity has seemed to come up again and again in our tale. Your Unity is thus all the more enticing, as you demonstrate its remarkable strength and majesty here. Bozul would be honored to share their tale with the Scrimthun Unity, and to begin to tell an ever grander tale of their Unity."
Lejah stands perfectly still for several stunned moments, before moving into a halting, clumsy dance, clearly shaken.

"You have reminded me of a lesson today, one I had not realized I had forgotten. The children of life are always surprising. Truly, I do not think I have heard any describe these things so beautifully as you have. The honor of sharing our tales will be a great one for all parties."



Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
"True unity is something of great interest to us, if you wish to join our vision the Sagu-guild would welcome you warmly. Uniting Daezirn in faith is something we have worked for decades on, we would of course need Glaondi Yejon under our control to continue the work. Then you might join us on our path to enlightenment and become a true part of the isles."

The Sagu-guild will vassalize if:
R75 is returned to SMI
SCR learns Styinn
All regions in Daezirn are allowed to remain or be converted to Glyemo

Lejah bows. "It seems I was mistaken, and we have nothing to speak of at all. You may, of course, avail yourself of our hospitality still." With that, they turn and walk away.


With tension so thick it feels like the nutritious algae paste that Anya runs through her fur every month, every fiber of her being screaming for her to run grows impatient and tired instead, still afraid but now reckless and willing to take a chance. Her basket of gifts still hangs from her forearm and (only shaking somewhat), she extends one of the carved, glowing bones to this Nofn, looking at the newcomers as she holds the item delicately in her tremoring claws.

“Please. I know little of your conflicts, but you would all honor me to accept these gifts from my people. Let us talk.”



Outside, Visulu sees other creatures approaching and addressing Nofn, who seems to be struggling intensely against the demon-blood flowing through her. Repeatedly, the heart and flesh within her had requested to see her late sister, and to leave. Visulu, eager to prevent further bloodshed, begins buzzing in the direction of the Ocean Forge, maintaining a safe distance, preparing to jump out of the way if necessary, and looking back to keep an eye out and see if Nofn is following her. She addresses her with an abundance of politeness and patience, not wanting to offend or enrage.

"I can lead you to the Ocean Forge, friend, and to your sister. It's just over this way."



Nofn of the Hroythslo Cult
Another furball mewls, extending a tribute of sustenance. Nofn’s body trembles and her left arms jerk, seizing the bone and her talons rasping against Anya’s claws.
“Please, no.”

Kolt’s furball begins to fly away. Nofn lunges after it, digging limbs deep into the ground as she moves. The hunt boils her blood, move, attack, miss, shatter the ground, dig out limbs, move, attack, do not hit it. The beast’s body moves of its own in the pursuit, obeying Nofn’s singular focus; Miss.
Steady-Hand's grip on her spear tightens as Nofn snatches the bone from Anya, but the tension leaves her as the strange misshapen thing lumbers away in an ungainly fashion. As the Bozul and Ugglo fade into the distance, she visibly relaxes, nodding briefly to those remaining before she turns to head back into the palace.



Vinolygur of the Skota Guild
Vinolygur came from the harbour, Glaondi Yejon had not become any saner in their absence. He walked past fiery beasts and littered corpses on his way to the grand hall, weary guards standing outside of it. No surprise there, keeping the peace here meant treading on madness every day and hoping nothing snapped under your feet. The Scrim had done an admirable job so far, most of the important people still seemed to be alive and the murmur of voices was one of pleasantries rather than ravings from lunatics.

Approaching the white marble Scrim at the dais Vinolygur bows deeply in the usual neck breaking greeting of the Ugglos. "I am Vinolygur, Husbandi of the Skota-guild. I have returned to Gloandi Yejon at your summon though I do not yet know what it is that you wish to speak of. Know that while many may wish you ill as an outsider the Skota-guild hosts no such delusions. Your competence has already been proven through actions. I have gathered that gifts are customary in your lands; I am afraid I bring no such things with me but hope the promise of prosperity from future relations will suffice."

"No gifts are needed, Vinolygur. I wish to speak simply of what we may do for each other. I am glad to hear we may speak plainly and as equals, not as outsider to local. It is my hope that, through co-operation, we may all find greater prosperity. I am glad, too, that you consider our competence proven. Perhaps then you will trust my word when I say that we can provide whatever you may need, if our price is met."

[Torv]

Lejah bows. "It seems I was mistaken, and we have nothing to speak of at all. You may, of course, avail yourself of our hospitality still." With that, they turn and walk away.

Krafuhofi of the Sagu Guild
Krafuhofi scoffs at the stones around her, not recognizing the true values of the land they are carved from. “It seems so, I hope you find your stay here enjoyable.”
With that Krafuhofi turns around and marches away from the waste of time behind her.




"No gifts are needed, Vinolygur. I wish to speak simply of what we may do for each other. I am glad to hear we may speak plainly and as equals, not as outsider to local. It is my hope that, through co-operation, we may all find greater prosperity. I am glad, too, that you consider our competence proven. Perhaps then you will trust my word when I say that we can provide whatever you may need, if our price is met."

Vinolygur of the Skota Guild
"You are already doing a commendable work at keeping this land of lunatics sane, but we do not wish to return to it, it is fated to cycle into madness once more despite anyone’s best efforts. What we need is a new home for all the sane of our kin, far away from here. We seek to introduce ourselves to the wider world, living in a land with messages of hate and bigotry carved into every other wall would defeat the purpose. For this we would be eternally grateful, and few prices would be too great."

[Silent_Interim]

Vinolygur of the Skota Guild
"You are already doing a commendable work at keeping this land of lunatics sane, but we do not wish to return to it, it is fated to cycle into madness once more despite anyone’s best efforts. What we need is a new home for all the sane of our kin, far away from here. We seek to introduce ourselves to the wider world, living in a land with messages of hate and bigotry carved into every other wall would defeat the purpose. For this we would be eternally grateful, and few prices would be too great."

"I would caution you that the Unity takes promises of eternal gratitude seriously. It is a sad thing to be forced to exodus from your homeland, but if it is the will of you and yours, we will freely assist if you will give us your fealty. In the short term, you may consider our shores to be your homes. Varai-Lades is a beautiful island, but this, I think, may not be a satisfying solution in the longer view. At this moment, affairs both internal and pertinent to all of Ember occupy Thun's attention, but once those concerns have passed, I do not doubt that we will be able to help you find a land you may call your own, where you can master your own destiny. Indeed, I will promise you that we will do what we can to give you a home of your own."

[Torv]

“Outright lies and plain murders are the way of the Sagu-guild. We are sailors by nature, the sea is our home, what shores we rest at matters less. Twice now we have changed them the caretakers of the lands found themselves consumed by madness, by any luck a shore provided by the land itself will not fall to the same fate. For now we are content to sail between the isles and mend relations that were previously broken, if you offer us respite from towering waves and harsh winds on Varai-Lades we will gratefully accept it. As you are connected to the land, so too does the ocean call to us. For the gift of sane and safe harbours we will provide you safe passages over our fickle home, together we might explore more of the world than each of us could do on our own.”

Vinolygor bends his neck, so that his ears can touch the shoulders, before making a swift and shallow bow, looking at the floor.
“Our fealty resides with the Unity.”