News, Views, Rants and Raves that you want to give to the world in character.

Mossrock
A small grotto, Spring

The music that echoed all about the rocky inlet and over the waters of the great lake seemed chaotic and tuneless at first. It was only after one listened to it for some time that the intricate rhythm resolved itself, weaving end over end amid the motely assemblage of instruments now being played around a roaring bonfire.

There were a few fiddles, a hurdy-gurdy, and a recorder like wind instrument mixed among them, but always the deep, thrumming echo of the large drum that rattled nearby clayware and diaphragms alike.

The people that danced and capered around the crackling blaze on the beach were mostly young and mostly Human, from toddlers grinning excitedly as they bounced up and down, to rambunctious children, teenagers and the more free spirited adults. And all about them in the flickering shadows was the less boisterous crowd, the elderly, the men at their drink and low conversation, the pregnant and the introverted.

They lined railings and sat with their legs dangling over gunwales, they smoked pipes and watched the smoke and the sparks. The muttered about the weather. They were dirty, despite leading lives so near the water, and they were a rough, sunburned, hard-bitten crowd. But they were happy, happy swaddled in their many layers of coarse clothing, happy to be surrounded by friends and family.

On the periphery of the gathering, where the lapping of the little lakeside waves could still be heard. Where the insects buzzed and the fish jumped were a knot of older, grizzled men talking among themselves. They all seemed half drunk, with sour breath, ruddy cheeks and glazed eyes, but they spoke with deadly seriousness.

"But their 'aint been a prophecy in nigh on...a 'undred years." a one eyed man said, the socket bare to the night air and his thick wavy locks falling about his bearded face. "En they were made by all them old Druids, 'an their like is long dead'n gone...just got the pretenders left in them Groves up north."

"Aye, but the Council's sayin it's the real thing, same as the old ones. Gonna be wrote down'n tracked, and taught to the Heads and the Chief's an all that, they've got to know'm all ye know, the one's that aint come to pass yet'n any case..." Replied a thick framed man with a bald pate and an impressive mustache.

"What's it said?" asked a lean, whipcord of a man pointedly. He had a severe look to him, deep set mirthless eyes and his hair down across one shoulder in an intricate braid.

"Says that the heaven's are all line'n up as it were, that the hum of the earth's getting louder, says it's all...quickening." the mustachioed man told them, his mysterious tone a little overly theatrical for current company.

"Oi, 'vast yer riddles...what's quickenin'? The days gettin' shorter or sum'n like that?" the severe man snapped.

"Just...life I guess, they says that we've been livin' in a Golden Age, and that all sort's a things are gonna happen real quick like. Big migrations, an' bloody wars and discoveries and the like. Folks travelin and seein' things that ain't been seen in ages. Thing's et might never been seen et all I guess." The big, red faced man shrugged defensively.

"Don't sound good then...not to me. Figures, first prophecy we get in generations an' it turns out to be some...ill omen." the one eyed man turned his head and spat, then shook his head as if to ward off some bad luck. The others nodded, or grunted their agreement. Some drew on pipes, others drunk deep from their crude clay mugs.

And behind them the cheerful music played, and the young people danced, and the waves lapped languidly upon the shoreline.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:19, Mon 10 May 2021.

Ice Bay
The Temple of the Moon

The sound of hooves thundered over hard packed dirt and stirred newly forming mud puddles violently as the large elk charged through the large entrance in the palisade. The figure atop it swung her leg over the creatures rump and slid down with practiced ease. A trio of women wielding spears of various designs approached but the figure held up a forestalling hand. She moved to the elk's head and pulled it down to but her forehead against its playfully, "Thank you, friend."

She then turned fierce amethyst eyes on the female warriors. A flick of her hands and they fell in behind her as she moved toward one of the several long houses in the enclosed area. Compared to the Temple of Velkith in the north, it was not so grand, but it was the beating heart of her people.

She pushed aside the hides which blocked the entrance to the large, central building and paused inside to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. She shrugged her heavy fur cloak over her shoulder and felt the sweat on her breast as a disturbed wind blew through her shirt. Soon, as spring beat back winter, such garments would become too heavy. She'd miss the weighty presence of the mantle and the brisk chill of Biegkegaellies' winds. But spring was time for other things: passions, fighting, and building.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw the shrine to the sisters at the back. She made the sign of the sisters, bent her knee slightly, then faced the statue of Sarakka and bowed her head as her lips moved in prayer. She heard the murmuring of her subordinates behind her and was comforted by their piety. Each statue was twice the height of an Isreitha and made from materials unique to the goddess: wood clothed in flowers for Sarakka who held a spear, stone clothed in furs for Juksakka who bore a flensing knife, and simple perch with an owl atop it for Jabme-akka as the ice sculpture was half-melted now and would be reformed anew by geomorphists soon to melt again and again in an endless cycle. Finishing her prayer, she then moved to the left and out another door to march briskly across the muddy ground toward the second largest building of the temple.

Inside was a set of benches arrange triangularly with three tiers on each side. She wondered if her people had ever or would ever fill them. For now, they were all but empty. She scanned the assembled elders dourly. A cushion on Velkith's benches near to the High Priestess' own benches sat empty. Kukidush had been absent from such gatherings for two centuries now. Him and his Ice Walkers sat on their islands even in winters now. Her lips pressed tightly together. Only old Rallo, the venerable Green Knight, sat in attendance. There were but three High Priestesses sat on the blue benches. Only three women had spent their lives in service to the sisters. She felt a twinge of guilt as she had abandoned the progress to remain among those devoted to Sarakka. The High Priestesses of Jabme-akka were important but few. The third set of benches bore but a single Grand Master who was stretched out on the highest bench fast asleep.

She strode to the fire and thumped her spear loudly. She waited for the various elders to arrange themselves. Finally, old Magya motioned her to speak, "I bring news from the north. The Dawn Elves have proposed terms." She drew a roll of something from her cloak. "They call it parchment. More fragile than antler or bone. The terms of the deal are on it in the Summer Tongue." She handed the scroll to an attendant who transferred it to Magya, the eldest of the High Priestesses. The ancient elf unrolled the fragile paper and read the old words slowly. She set the scroll down beside her and motioned Fohlulleng to continue. "Goblins have breached the borders of our forest." At that, Old Rallo sat up straighter, "I suggest the rangers and my own Spear-sisters form up to deal with the matter."

Finally, the ancient crone spoke in a papery, wind like voice, "Indeed. Rallo, see to it? Fohlulleng, gather a cadre of your sisters. See the goblins from our lands, peacefully if possible violently if needed."

The Lady Isha Vasarzha sat on a cushion beneath the green tinged light seeping gently through the skylight.  She stretched out a naked, beautifully pointed foot and smiled at the array of brightly painted dishes in which her morning meal had been served.

Before her, Karim Silverbird, the most renowned bard in the realm at that time, strummed in concentrated delight upon his lute.  "They threaten the gnomes", he said.  "The gnomes have always been dear little fellows and most welcoming as well as welcomed.  And this is without the existential threat posed by the goblins."

The Lady wrinkled her nose attractively and asked, "Tell me of the goblins, Karim.  What do we know of them?"

"The goblins, my Lady?  Why the goblins are ferocious and they have been on those plains for far too long.  They are a threat to everyone."

"And what do they look like?  Are they attractive?"

"Attractive my Lady?  Most certainly not, they are hideous but why is this relevant?"

"Go with the marines and with Fatima and Mahud.  Speak to the gnomes.  Show them our beauty and defend them from these goblins of which you speak."

The first expedition of the "Mageguard" Proctors left with a significant amount of fanfare. They'd never been deployed before en mass so far from the college, and while no formal warfare was planned, there were no current relationship with the strange underground creatures they would be near, and the forest itself could hold all sorts of hidden dangers.

The uniforms of the mage guard would not be what one would expect from infantry: the thick robes and cloth armor worn by their warriors were enhanced with every enchantment and alchemical advantage known to man, and the large shields carried could deflect all manner of ranged attacks. The Mageguard generally remained within the city except on small training excercises, and so their black uniforms still held their ebony flash, and cantrips still repelled the dust from their uniforms.

Of course, their weapons were not what enemies of the Collegium should fear from the mage guard. In the guard, every troop in five was an acomplished mage. While no archmagi, attacking enemies would find all manner of calamities falling upon them from low level magic.

And then, at the center, were the true threats.

Archmage Katherineken von Kúnßhain and Geomancer Tyleke von Trossingen likely had more magical power than the rest of the petty mages combined. The Arhcmage had served as Dean twice, but had retired to concentrate on her studies. Already there were whispers that she'd unlocked secrets of immortality and was ageless beneath her veils. Tyleke was a prodigy, having completed his Doctorate at the unheard of age of 17. While he was too young to be a department head, his talents were unparalleled.

Katherineken's magically augmented voice easily reached the assembled troops and onlookers, a veritable parade of students and alumni in their students and scholars robes. Outside the green of the collegium's grounds, the main street of the city teemed with Townies in their tunics (and the latest invention: 'pants' worn by the wealthy ones) went to see them off.

The cheers were palatable, though an undercurrent of resentment could be felt towards the poorer section of town as they marched: the tax increase had been announced the day before to fund this expedition, and the engineering core which would follow the city's troops to the proposed outpost site. Well, it was for the people. The economic departments had been certain that this tax would pay for itself very quickly under most of their models. The townies could not possibly understand the complexity of their expansion of course, but they would thank the Council and Omesha once the rewards of their scholarship began to cycle into the city: vast beasts to perform labor, new materials and foods, and a permanent camp of lumber for building.

But the cost would be felt immediately. So many mages and engineers were syphoned off that the city would have to initiate some rationing. Summoned foodstuffs and fresh water were now for emergencies only, and several minor feast days had been cancelled. The council's wisdom would guide all, so long as they kept their diligent study. This was the only rational course, and they had to have the strength to see it through.

As the sun faded over the horizon a deep sound emanated from the northern jungles. Deep within the trees laid the city of Mons Luna where the sound repeated, the sound of drums. They were heard throughout the city, a variety of percussive instruments that played a complex melody. There was a buzz among the citizens as they talked about what could be said, for tonight the lords gathered.

In a small room near the center of the city, in a building high above the surface in the trees, a group of elves sat in a circle. Each elf wore armor made of a combination of hide, bone, and enchanted wood in an intricate pattern. Most were fashioned to fit the motif of a certain nocturnal predator. These armors were rarely worn, they were more ceremonial than practical, but they projected the status of those who wore them. These were the apex of the Luna Doreith nation. Between them were the husks of several unfortunate souls that had failed one too many times, a sacrifice to show respect for the lords who had traveled to the city for the meeting.

One of the largest there, an elf adorned with hides of a panther, had eaten his fill and resisted the urge to pace the room. "The food is finished. Now why do you bring us here Olalar?" He asked bluntly, a fact that surprised little.

Another elf, clad in armor that mimicked the appearance of a dire bat, stood and looked around the room. "I have brought you here Gorred, as well as the others, to address the lizards that live to the north of Luna Doreith." He paused for a moment to see several others nod in understanding. "We have tolerated their presence while we established our presence here, but the time for tolerance is finished. The troglodytes are weak and will suffer the fate that all those who are weak share, servitude or death." Outside in the city the drums of war continued their song as rows of soldiers below on the surface gathered to march to Forlond.

Image Source: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/6A9Q6
Duke Mikolaj Król, Lord Commander of the armies of The Radiant Order, and the head of the last noble house in Lightforge, rode astride his horse in front of his gathered men. This was the place where he was most comfortable, and where he had the most control and freedom in his life. He always felt safer heading toward battle, or fighting in one, then he did back home. He was the head of household of the last great noble house in Lightforge. A century ago, the city had unshackled itself from the rulership of its old king, and most of the noble families alive at the time had sided against the rebellion. They were all killed, leaving only three noble houses remaining. The houses retained their power and lands due to the loyalty their patrons at the time inspired in their troops, and it was those same troops who did much of the murdering of the other houses. The clergy needed them. The guilds needed them, and over the following decades, those families had cemented their place at the seat of the Sacred Council's table.

The position of 'Lord Commander' was now one of only two inherited titles remaining in the government, and although he had little direct decision-making power on the council, the Lord Commander could still act as a tie-breaker vote. As such, he was forced to constantly play political games back home, and the tenuous place he and his family had in the eyes of the people was only maintained so long as he could maintain the appearance of absolute neutrality. One false move, and his title could be used against him; weaponized in the eyes of a populace who had grown accustomed to theocratic-syndicalist representation. Ostensibly his station, wealth, and influence existed as a means to represent a form of 'Holy Order': one of many examples of government that humans used to organize themselves, like all the different positions on the council, but his was particularly anachronistic. The populace had little stomach for a man who did not labor himself to earn all that he owned, so Mikolaj and his kin had to constantly prove their worth to the nation by having the appearance of being the 'perfect man'. An amazing leader, warrior, and scholar. He had to be everything, and his reputation as a 'moral man' also had to be flawless.

Or else he would be consumed in the only arena in which he was at a disadvantage: politics.

But at the head of an army? Where he was now? Surrounded by men who loved and respected him? He was safe. Even once the blood started spilling, he would be more at peace than any other time in his life, so he couldn't help but smile! The Order was mobilizing against the goblins, making deals with neighbors, and looking outward to expand for the first time in decades. He would be a busy man for the next few years, and he was looking forward to having every excuse he needed to stay far, far away from the capitol!

"Captain." Mikolaj slowed his mount, a Lyshart-bred horse from his families' personal stables, which was barded in the same heavy lamellar and chain that he was. He resumed his pace again once he was riding next to the leader of the cavalry troop who marched behind him. Captain Szymansk. "Begin dividing the formation into squads and screening our flanks, we're nearly there. You know the plan."
"It will be done, Lord Commander!" The man gave a curt nod, then galloped away to start giving more specific orders to his his lieutenants down the column.
Mikolaj kept his pace while he scanned the horizon. The whole region was lightly forested, and out here the farming hamlets were few and far between. This was the edge of goblin country, to be sure.

The little bastards were cowardly and weak, but dangerous in large enough numbers. He knew from experience that they would always prefer to run and hide, rather than face an organized cavalry charge, so he elected to use his men to 'corral' them while he and a team of his best troops would ride straight through the middle of their territory and hunt them down with the aid of a few blood-hounds. It would be as though they were out on a fox-hunt, except these foxes would be armed!

It wouldn't be a particularly glorious battle, but it would good practice, and exercise, and a much-welcomed distraction from his life. A working vacation. Exactly what he needed.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:13, Wed 12 May 2021.

The sun had barely broken the horizon when the council of guilds met for their seasonal gathering.  There was a lot to discuss, what with their new found interest in the lands outside of their traditional lands.

First though, it was time to partake in breakfast.  The city chefs had incorporated the samples of vanilla bean and sugar from the Infinite Collegium and Ma'hellas into the bread and it was agreed that these items made for an excellent compliment to the pineapples and papaya normally served with breakfast.

The Free Holds had also authorized trading silver to the Federated Sons.  Metal was in high demand these days although most knives and weapons were made of wood and stone.  Flint and Obsidian were taken from the nearby mountain range along with the denser woods..

 Finn, the leader of the Animal Trainer's guild, looked forward to trying the sweet and spicy dish his wife wanted to try at lunch before the siesta.  Tonight during the evening rainstorms Finn would teach about the animals and their uses to the school children, looking for minds suited to train for his guild.  His eldest son had just been accepted to the Educator/Librarian Guild to be trained as a Bard and the Halfling father could not have been happier.

Taking a sip of his coffee, he let the ground settle as he heard the issues from the leader of Quarrytown.  There appeared to be Bounders impacting productivity and threatening the city.  If they moved into the coffee fields they would seriously threatened their coffee supply, which was becoming their number one export.

They would have to be dealt with, either they surrendered and joined their society or became carrion for the jaguars.   The Outbounders were probably another attempt by the Ormyrr from Guggish to destabilize the Halflings.  Many of their brothers and sisters had been taken as slaves over the centuries although with the taming of elephants the slugs were more subtle these days.

The armies of Moot and Coral Bay would join to trap and force their hand while the Elephants were deployed in the fields themselves to discourage their advancement.  The Elephants would start building a road from Moot to Coral Bay to shorten the trip between them to a season.

The Masseuse's guild wanted to work withe the Educator/Library guild on a new publication for each city called the Kama Sutra.  The work was discussed and eventually approved.  It was hoped that the new resource would increase the growth of the population.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:04, Thu 13 May 2021.

The time has come to have portraits painted for display in the Palace of Isole.

The Visionary :  Lady Isha Vasarzha


The Swashbuckler: Mahud Firefly


The Bard: Karim Silvertongue (OOC: I may have stolen this from Franz Hals)


The Diplomat: Fatima

Bex
Docks
The smell of sea salt and fish clings to everyone in the Docks. Sand and grit cover everything. Even the streets are nothing but hard-packed sand. The wooden buildings, stained with salt and grime, stand at odd angles from one another because each one is sinking slowly into the sand.

The streets bustle from sunup until well after midnight with sailors and all manner of folk that support the shipping industry: dockworkers, shipwrights, carpenters, warehouse personnel, and so on. These are hardworking folk with rough demeanours. Most of them, particularly the sailors just off their ships, are looking for strong drink and entertainment when they’re not working. This is no place for the fastidious or the easily offended.

All sorts of ships come into Bex Harbor. Most are fishing vessels; dozens go out every morning and bring back nets laden with the catch of the day. Merchant vessels, coasters, galleys, and sailing ships of all kinds also come into the Docks carrying passengers and cargo.

Numerous letters are sent to sailors and traders throughout the land, and a number of warning buoys are put up. This is less a formal announcement than more just a public service, disseminated among the traders who ply the coast.

The coastal waters around the Collegium are VERY dangerous, due to the presence of large sharp coral reefs just below the water in areas that were very hard to expect. The well-marked trade routes should be fine, but it is not recommended that the area past should be explored by boat without Collegium water-adept assistance.
Plans are underway to construct a magical lighthouse that will make travel safe, but this may take some time to accomplish as the magical components required are very expensive.

In addition, a plethora of scientific papers on the properties of coral reefs and beds are released by the Collegium's zoological department, followed by a number of experiments looking for practical applications ranging from medical uses to industrial ones. Engineers have already begun to process it into mortar, and farmers have found it's helpful as a fertilizer. Alchemists have been less talkative above the possibilities as they quietly compete to release studies.

The people in little boats, men, women and little children stopped when they saw the city on the beach.  "We can't settle there", said Goran Butterfly.

"No", said Dara Goldfinch, "And those elves look too tough to fight and too fierce to ask nicely.  Shall we turn back home?"

"We'll never make it", said Goran.  "Maybe we'll make it as far as that low lying island we saw on the way."

"But it has no resources"

Goran grew as fierce as his people could and said quietly. "Then we will make it beautiful."

Image Source: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/ELqg8e
Dame Alina Cybul sat astride her horse as she and her aides left through the gates of Redbanks and started on the rough road heading northeast. It was barely a road really; more like a trail packed-down by years of passing feet and hooves that just happened to all be going in the same direction. Someday a more formal road would have to be constructed here, but for now the hard-packed earth would suffice. Trade was hardly a thing out here anyway; it was more efficient to carry goods by water, leaving only the odd farmer and lonely hermit to wander these paths.

Alina had a mission that was fairly simple: to travel east to observe the military maneuvers taking place around Boscai and Ricai. She was to aid in battle against the goblins if it came to it, and to specifically aid the Theocracy in their efforts. After a week or so gentle travel, she had arrived either too-late or too-early for the war, and had seen little action as a result. At least, she hadn't seen any action worth reporting. It was frustrating to her, but nothing could be done about it. She was a warrior at heart, and wanted to do her part in the battle against the goblins, but she had learned years ago that there was no shame in seeking battle, but finding only peace. As long as one was doing their best to serve the Light, then one could not be blamed when one found boredom instead of action.

She and her aides remained in the area for some months, patrolling the little-used roads in the area until the spring warmed into summer and she received new orders. The goblins were moving west, and so would she. They had a slain a small number of the foul-little creatures; mostly just light patrols and stragglers fleeing from the larger conflict. They had also handled a boar or two, and feasted-well in the forests as a result. All-in-all it was not time-wasted, but she was anxious to attend other duties and perhaps sleep in a real bed.

In the Borderlands

Fohlulleng crouched in front of the goblin and shook her head, "It is unwise to make us prove what we say. The Isreitha might have a reputation as peaceful, but we are also honest. If we claim something true, I would advise belief." She squatted there for a while longer staring out at the celebrating goblins and smiled. She had no distrust of these people. They wished to revel and enjoy life; she could understand that. But their kind was not welcomed in the Great Forest; it angered the gods. She was just opening her mouth to add more when one of her shield maidens rushed to her side.

The words whispered in her ear made her face burn. She shot up straight. A height few other elven races could claim towered over the goblin and her glinting eyes stared down at the being, "Well, easy enough then. An opportunity has arisen to prove our word. We shall return to speak of this again."

She stormed back toward her still, majestic mount and swung into the saddles, "More? Servants of the Hag? I won't have it! The Wompy Rumpus want proof? They shall have it. You..." She motioned to another aid, "Find Eddar and his cohort. Have them approach the goblins from the north. We'll come from the south. Crush them. Let those who will flee into the plains but not the forest. Any goblins foot defiling our forest will receive no mercy."

The females around her all blanched at the violent words but rushed to give her orders. Fohlulleng brought a large copper horn to her lips and sounded a long, loud, brazen note. For the first time in living memory, the Isreitha went to war.

---

Port Vilar

Ingrid the Lesser strode across the bridge with confidence she could not feel. The forests and tundras she had grown up on were always hard beneath her feet. Perhaps the Ice Walkers clan understood living on soft land, but not her own clan. She had been born among the northern clans, the Tree Shadows clans, and had spent her youth herding elk, trapping smaller animals, and occasionally fishing on the coast. Mostly, it was the last one which had earned her this place.

She'd spent yearly a century travelling with and loving an elf from the coastal families and had developed a knack for fish. Smoking, drying, salting, pickling: there were many techniques the Isreitha used to preserve fish caught in the warm months for the long winters.

So, imagine the surprise of the elves when a staple such as this was of interest to the Dawn Elves. So much interest they were willing to trade the hard, bright metal called iron for it. Still, Isreitha smiths were struggling to find any use for the metal, but it was worth the effort. Any self-respecting Isreitha family group had a surplus of fish and pelts. Trading some to their cousins for the metal and good relations was a good plan.

Still, Ingrid did not like these bridges and the soft, swampy soil. Any time the ground gave beneath her feet, she felt a tiny moment of panic that she would sink into the blackness. She made the sign of the moon to ward off Stalla. Since she had been stationed at the trading post outside Port Vilar though, she had heard stories of the Dawn Elves' moon goddess. She gazed up to the pale sun hanging in the southern sky and clicked her tongue as her gaze drifted to the Temple of the Sun. The Isreitha held no regard for the sun. Their mother was the moon; their father Velkith the Hunter. Their kin were the Klenik. Even their own families mirrored this. Still, a curiosity burned in her and she set foot on yet another soft, marshy island to hurry to yet another swaying bridge.

At her heals strode her nieces. They accompanied her to learn: the Eosian tongue, diplomacy, and general things about the wider world. At just 60 and 40 winters each, they still wore their hair loose without braids or decoration. Igrid's own hair hung in several elaborate braids containing colored stones, bits of carved bone, and copper jewelry. All their bodies were wrapped in furs and leather. Clothes made from plants were a luxury and novelty among their tribes meant for grandmothers and elders.

Finally, they arrived at the front of the temple of the moon where Ingrid folded her arms into her sleeves. She said nothing but waited for the guide the Eosians said they would send. The eldest of her nieces stood at her side, her arms laden with a coat made of marten furs. The younger niece stood a pace back and played with some copper beads on her vest as she waited humming a song in Isreithan. The song sounded like the cracking and crashing of glaciers in the dead of winter. Isreitha music often imitated the sounds of nature rather than contain lyrics in a spoken language. Their own dialect of the ancient elven language had adopted many of these sounds as well.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:05, Wed 23 June 2021.

Oswigi

The inhabitants of Oswigi, the affable newt like Euften people's, had not known what to make of the the large, low river vessel, crammed to the gunnels with armed Tortles when it first arrived.

Their leader, a massively built Tortle by the name of "Konuun the Broad" had offered protection against the Goblin tribes massing to the south east beyond the river. At the same time the somewhat gruff warrior had made it clear that if the people of Oswigi would prefer to remain uninvolved, and unprotected, that the vessel would gladly depart back to its home waters.

In a little less than a week, the Euften had apparently decided to accept the offer of help.

The Tortles disembarked, lumbering, stolid and lacking any kind of uniformity or even regimentation when they began to construct a temporary shore based camp, and the beginnings of fortifications...mostly palisade and trench.

They were a motley crew, organized as a "Clan", although individually they were each fulfilling obligatory service as part of the Pact. Families that had no fit young people to contribute could do so via coin or trade goods as part of their taxes, but given that taxes as a whole had been reduced for the first time in several years, few Families found the modest contribution onerous.

Although the Tortles were larger, more stoic and we're obviously made up of the more fit and martially inclined members of their people, they were also Reptilian, and as such they did not seem so strange as other might have among the Euften.

In fact they largely seemed to wish to be left to themselves, and only came into town to trade, mostly for food, or for the occasional entertainment.

Public opinion seemed to be split on if the Goblins would cross the river at all.

What did they have to gain?

The rumors that another Clan of Tortles having been raised in Mossrock lent credence to the argument. That the ship could ferry them across in short order, should the need arise.

But others believed that the Hag Queen had her own mysterious pursuits, and that if ordered to do so, the crafty goblin folk would happily answer the challenge perceived to have been offered by Moss Rock's intervention.

For now, the Tortles continued to entrench, and to bask in the warm summer sun in their free hours, and to spend their pay on the treats and diversions Oswigi could provide.


This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Wed 23 June 2021.

"Now what?", asked Dara Goldfinch, looking around the island of Chaldony where the settlers had come to rest. "What did I say?  No resources."

Goran Butterfly shrugged.  "There is sand and sea and beautiful beaches.  Where there is sand, there can be glass.  Where there is sea and glass, there can be salt.  There are people.  We can make beauty from nothing.  When we have built that nothing, perhaps we can trade with those elves in Kiburon.  Our beautiful nothings for their lavender perhaps?  Or we can become a haven for artists."

Dara smiled.  "You are wise, Goran as well as talented."