World of Illidia - IC

Tasper smiled an almost prideful smile and leaned back her chair onto two legs. It had been awhile since she had told anyone about the wonderful place she lived on. She sat forward in her seat, the legs on the chair hitting the floor with soft clicks and thumps. She put her clawed hands on the table, trying to build suspense. Tasper was excited, the young humans seemed to be taking interest in her home.

She looked from boy to boy, locking eyes with them. "It's true! I live high up in the air on a floating continent right above the ocean!" Tasper was using her hands to strengthen the meaning of her words. "And would you believe it? All the way up there on that piece of land are lakes! And towns and trees!" Tasper slowed down at this point, as to not get scolded for working up the young humans.

Ko sat quietly, pondering both his answer, and what could allow the island to float. His answer had the ring of truth, though not necessarily the truth he wanted. If multiple spells held the continent aloft, why didn't they decay? Why couldn't they be detected, and perhaps even altered, by mages? And what powered them? Of course it was possible to craft a spell that took the ambient magic from the air, turning the area around it into essentially a giant engine to keep it going, but that only worked with small spells, not keeping an entire continent afloat. If that were the source of the magic than every species would become incapable of accessing magic within... at least an hours flight.

So the spell must have a power source, but something undetectable. And, given the number of caverns that crawled about inside the massive rock, nothing physically present, either. Perhaps it was hidden in that waves below, or perhaps farther down, beneath the rocks of the ocean floor. But no, transmitting power that far would be impossible to make untraceable. someone would have noticed the thread of magic connecting the two, and investigated. So it had to be within... but not within. Perhaps the rocks themselves held some power? Or maybe he was looking at it wrong. Maybe the spell had simply had a godly amount of magic pumped into it at it's casting, and somehow become self-replicating.

He frowned, though, and dismissed the though. A magical singularity would have effected the whole world by now, and thus seem to have no effect, because it's effect would be the norm. Unless, of course, the spell's effect had separated it from the rest of the planet, and thus kept it from effecting more things? Well, there was an easy enough way to test that- bring a rock from somewhere else, place it on the ground for several weeks, just to be sure that it has enough time for the spell, if it can, to spread to the rock, and then touch it to the side of the continent. Many rocks had been observed floating exactly like that- barely in contact with the continent- so if the magic had somehow made it's way into the rock, it would, theoretically, stay attached. Or at least fall slower.

The whole smithy looked like they'd forgotten to pay the magic bill, so the company had turned it off. Also, the heat bill, and the light bill. It was downright spooky, and Ahlat didn't like it one bit. Nothing that was anything good just plain sucked the life out of a room like that. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he picked up a hammer.

"Dusi, don't be alarmed, but I think something is very, very wrong here. I just thought you should know, but Thrembul might be in trouble, and so might we. I'm going to go look for Thrembul, and I'd appreciate if you could join me."

With that, he walked over to the doorway and peered through, waiting for a response from Dusi before going any further.

~~~~~~

"Yes, as soon as possible," Syrrynon replied. "There is much to do today, and I should like to get started."

Last night had been a late one, drawing up plans and sketches for a new Marrangha project; something utilitarian, but challenging in its own way: combining a female goat with the appropriate glands from some of silkworms, to create a relatively innocuous creature that gave silk fibers instead of milk. There would be a lot of logistical problems for it, like how would the young be fed when the mothers' teats were making inedible fibers, but it was a promising prospect; the resultant animal would be much easier to wrangle than silkworms, and hopefully more productive, thus giving his company an edge in the market. Really, that was all he knew how to do for the business; he hadn't inherited his father's knack for money, so other people had been brought in to do that for him. As such, business was doing well, but not as well as it had been under his father; everyone knew that, Syrrynon included.

But first, for today, there would be the business of Prostrator S'rylvis. As soon as that sand-blasted justrali – ah, there it was – brought his breakfast, he'd be off.

Syrrynon took his time eating, letting himself wake up a little; not blaming the servant's slowness for making him late, but for forcing him to wait. Then, once he was dressed, he was off.

“I don’t like the sound of that…” said Dusi, now immediately fumbling with his hauberk. Danger was not something he was hoping to deal with today of all days, and definitely not without already being armored. “I’ll... Catch up. Just as soon… as I’m done.”

Dusi was, however, not one to back from a challenge. He’d have gone to save the Forge master’s life even had Ahlat not requested it. Granted being armed as poorly as he was wasn’t going to make this easy for him, and the help of Ahlat himself would be most appreciated. He had to admit… it’d gotten far too spooky in here. His fear response was thankfully battle hardened, despite his cowardice when it truly mattered.

It wouldn’t take long for him to get the chain into position alone, and with that much done, the gauntlets and grieves were much less important. He’d strap the former on as they went, and the latter he would leave behind. Greed crept up in the back of his mind despite his forced altruism, and he had a simple thought. I’d better get something out of this…

"Good. Just stick close." Ahlat ducked through the doorway and headed first for where he slept. There, he stuck his hammer in his belt and traded it for his seax, which he was a bit more familiar with. From there, he began to sweep through the house, calling softly (or rather, as softly as a minotaur could) for Thrembul.

Katyusha paled imperceptibly - or, rather, imperceptibly to all but present company - at Rhen's words. In truth, she had never considered the dangers of her journey, only the exciting prospect of leaving home for the unknown, and suspected that Rhen knew this. Hoping desperately that her outward composure remained carefree, she cleared her throat, and was silent.

By and by, Katyusha found a question to ask and the courage to ask it. "Rhen," she began, and with no small amount of hesitation. "We have known each other for quite some time now, and I suspect that you know me, and everyone, more than you have ever let on..."

She paused for a moment. A lump in her cheek showed where her tongue prodded about in cautious thought. "You also know, I suppose, what exactly I wish most to ask of you - you who are knowledgeable in the nature of the beyond world - but I will not ask it, and can not, for I dread what you will say of it. I must find my parents, Rhen." With this, Katyusha made eye contact, having been looking off to the right in fake study of the Ice Sanctuary.

Slowly and deliberately, hoping to seem as confident as possible, Katyusha continued. "Instead, then, I must ask you this. Do I leave Dall with the blessing of my old friend, and this independent of that of the Snow Mistresses?"

Katyusha's facade of confidence sewed seeds of the real, genuine thing inside of her. She lifted her chin up a fraction, but did not dare to smile for her uncertainty of Rhen's response. Studying his face, she found him as inscrutable as ever. "I understand if you can not answer."

AHLAT and DUSI

The returning hail, coming from one of the upper levels, although it has the distinct ring of both Thembul's voice and manner, doesn't fill you with much confidence:

"Keep calm, Ahlat! Everything has gone horribly wrong!"

There is a sudden and total absence of noise...followed by the most ungodly shrieking sound. Although it subsides in seconds, it continues to ring in your ears long afterwards - and when you take your hands away from them, your palms are speckled with blood.

"Relax and carry on!" Thembul's voice, vastly fainter now, calls out. "You should stay basically fine at a distance! Unless the halls set up a resonance, in which case I'm shouting to the dead!"

**********

ETSIJA

"Oh no, oh no no no no!"

You see where this is going at once.

"If I'm pointing you in the right direction, it'll be because I'm ahead of you and showing you just where to go."

You knew it.

"You want in, start to hang back in an hour then start climbing. I'll meet you in the canopy and we'll head off!"

**********

HAI

"For your help sera, I'll brew one free and the cheaper at half the price," Tollah offers with a smile. "A mere twenty-five ships. Or I'll take two dragons if you have the coin - not so much gold was minted last year as was silver."

Twenty-five silver coins - or two golden ones - is extremely reasonable for potions of that potency, especially if Tollah's reputation is not exaggerated. The book, on the other hand, might be considerably more expensive. After all, if it contains instructions for brewing and mixing such tonics, then anyone who got their hands on a copy could potentially become a business rival.

"Of course I do have other options available if you would prefer to peruse those?"

**********

KATYUSHA

"She will wish you all the luck in the world if she is truly a friend," Rhen answers without hesitation. "Even if she doesn't use as many words. Try one final embrace before you turn and walk away - you will know then if her blessing is with you. As for the other blessing...ceremony mostly, but I will put in a good word with Cri'ila. She owes me."

Cri'ila!? A more formidable i'karen never existed save in legend. She has long been held up as the ideal Snow Mistress, a creature aloof from mere mortals and a speaker to the gods themselves - a keeper of the oldest ways, the most sacred traditions, unassailable in word or deed.

Your adult, practical mind is entirely aware all this is a combination of humour-exaggerated hyperbole and a lot of genuine respect. Your childhood memories of all the rumours and stories flying about her and the other Snow Mistresses assert they are entirely accurate. For even Rhen to have such influence with Cri'ila is astonishing. No doubt, you realise, due to something he must have done upon returning from the outer lands...

**********

KO

"Ahem, student Ko!" Your lecturer's stern voice snaps you out of your reverie. "You do realise you are the last one left? Unless you wish to repeat this session with the lower classes?"

You see that you are, indeed, the last of the group still in the room. It is a little embarrassing, especially as Vulpa has no choice but look in your direction - and the gleaming whiteness of his blind eyes washes over you even though he cannot possibly see where you are. It is more unsettling than embarrassing, overall.

Then his beak opens again: "Perhaps the student has had an insight he wishes to discuss?"

Your lecturer almost starts to frown, then wisely shuts up. Vulpa, as with all hamakei, has neither temper nor impatience, yet somehow the slightest word of reproach can crush a spirit just as readily as the most tempestuous fury. So if Vulpa wants to make the next lot of students late, Vulpa will get the next lot of students late.

**********

SYRRYNON

As soon as you step outside, you brace yourself against the sudden chill, mentally cursing the fluctuating aberrations in the Expansion Project - an ambitious effort by the most talented wizards to forcibly grow the deserts and artificially raise the world's temperature to a single glorious norm, that unfortunately tended to result in sudden drops in temperature with each major experimental casting.

The mammals noticeably loved such events, all the more reason to avoid them. Still, it never become too cold here - in places like Sturrak, though, where the level of skill was somewhat lower overall, actual rain had been reported to fall as a side-effect of similar attempts! Quite embarrassing, aside from being a nightmare to clear up...

And there, exactly where you knew he would be, stands Elocutor K'hitssatha, his hood already open and flushed, tongue lolling irreverently. Inwardly you curse, heaping venom and agonies upon him, rending his flesh. Outwardly, you maintain a calm and polite visage, even as he meets your gaze and laughs with his eyes. Even before he was Elocutor, K'hitssatha was never especially fond of you.

"A less warm start to the day, Syrrynon." You notice the absence of your inherited title 'Barterer' with irritation, another arrogance of this wretch. "Might we see the skins of i'karen and toa-suo on the stalls of Krrstal someday, or perhaps a new servitor race to harvest for its furred hide?"

You are sure he is veiling insults at your interest in marrangha, typically the domain of dedicated mages and priests with the time to develop the art properly, but as yet he hasn't technically crossed the line for you to strike him. A kassistra occupying a position so high as Elocutor - dangerous, think many including yourself, but he is still technically subordinate to you if he pushes too far or hard. You notice several of the other caarth passing by are eyeing your exchange with interest.

Will this one be the moment we have been waiting for? they are thinking as plainly as if they had voiced it. Will this dialogue end with reason enough to punish his presumptions?

**********

TASPAR

"And what do you do up there all day?" Folar pressed eagerly, eyes shining. "Are there farmers and hunters and so on up on your world as well?"

"Hmph, I'm more interested in what sort of heroes and leaders you have!" Ravdah counters. "We had one minotaur pass through here once, claimed the serachrin look to men with the heads of vultures for guidance and haven't gone to war themselves since some long-ago age when demons still walked Illidia."

"Ravdah!" his mother hisses, frowning. "Be polite!"

You notice, however, that all three of the male humans are looking interested - even if Crillo is trying to hide it.

**********

VARN

Walker in misted lands, walker in fog
Beset by voices, more vicious than dogs
We watch you, walker in the trees
We watch you, waiting for your pleas

In some distant part of your mind, a warning bell sounds and you instinctively leap to one side. A cruel spear, formed out of bone and clearly tipped with poison, bursts from the earth where you had stood and hangs motionless in the air for over a second before fading from view. You have knowledge of this type of binding magic, but never before have you seen it performed so effectively at range before. The last doubts in your mind are dispelled: you are being played with by at least one mako shaman.

That was but one small step for man
Yet not too small for its old band
Soon all pain will-

"-akch, just suffer!"

Another spear, this one utterly mundane, hurtles out of the undergrowth to your left, impaling itself in the tree-trunk next to your head. The bark blackens immediately as the foul poison goes to work and a further guttural cry of frustration sounds as the mako realises it missed. Your warrior's training is already narrowing down its hiding place quickly...

**********

VOKKY

Merkil scratched his head, not quite in understanding, but getting there. The orc, however, growls angrily and hurls a bone at you. This turns out to be a spectacularly bad idea, since he has no accuracy whatsoever and hits Merkil in the face instead. The troll's expression doesn't change for several seconds as his tiny brain processes what just happened - whilst the orc suddenly looks panicked and is falling over itself trying to get away.

You wonder if it would be entertaining enough to be worth using your spells and slow down the idiot long enough for Merkil to get up and pound him into oblivion. Nobody around here would bat an eyelid at another bout of infighting, least of all the orc's allies. Another peculiarity of their kind that no decent goblin would exhibit.

Tasper laughed, her laughter sounding almost like the cackle of a goose. She had turned to the female human. "No worries madam. You hatchling's questions are no bother to me." Tasper tapped her taloned toes against the floorboards for a few moments, deciding which question she should answer first. She decided to go with the younger looking of the two human children, Folar, the one that asked about what she did in her home. She gave out another honky laugh.

"Well yes we do have farming and hunting, but those are more like things to do when you are working." Tasper leaned back in her chair. "We also mine up there but it's a risky business." Tasper clicked her nails against the table. "And then there are the really fun things, like sings and dancing!" Tasper paused. "Oh and painting and writing, two of my favorite things."

"That's pretty much it, unless you like being a bit risky." Her voice turned slightly darker, as if trying to spook the children. "Something my friends and I like to do is stand with our backs to the edge of the land and fall backwards. The point of the game is to get as close to the water below without wussing out and spreading your wings!" Maybe she shouldn't have told the children of such a dangerous game.

Tasper then answered the slightly touchier subject brought up by the other child, Ravdah. Tasper wasn't one to bring up minotaurs as she wasn't very found of them. She tried to keep polite. "Ah yes...minotaurs..." She quickly steered away from them. "Many of my land do believe that the great beings that watch over up do posses the heads of vultures, and other great avians." That was all she really had to say on the matter.

Thinking so much about her homeland made her miss her friends and family, but she had gone on this journey for a reason and wasn't about to just fly on back.

"Thank, you. But...." Hai began. He was unsure if he wanted the potions now, he hasn't seen the price of the book. Above all else he wanted the book, since he's already going to get a potion for free he was going to choose the Chattermatter's Liqeur. He leaned closer to Tollah, and smirked, "I want to know how much the book cost." If the book was out of reach he was going to buy the brew and be on his way, he didn't want to be like that elf that held up the line before him.

Varn took in a deep breath as he took a brief moment to regain his composure. He had jumped just a little when the spear had suddenly flown from the nearby underbrush; it had surprised him, but on the other hand it had given away their position so he had a general idea of their location. Varn cautiously advances towards they bushes where he had heard the noise. In a sudden spark of an idea, Varn kicked a mound full of dirt and sand at the bush in some attempt to disorientate the hidden mako before unsheathing the large claymore from his back, ready to strike if another move was made.

"Yield," commanded the once knight, "or I swear to the gods themselves and demons alike that I will use your entrails to hang the rest of your kind!"

***

Vokky silently laughed to himself, and decided not to intervene much more. While tempting, he had little to no reason to waste the effort of casting a spell on the fat bellied orc. Chances are, that orc wouldn't be able to run as fast scared as Merkil could angry. The orc, if lucky, likely had five minutes at most to live if he were to dash as fast as he could and climb up the tallest tree. Perhaps he would have Merkil spare him, just to plant the seed of fear in the imbecile. Of course he'd wait to see the look on his face.

The goblin turned t innocently look at the Merkil the troll. "What? Are you just going to take that from him?" Vokky asked him. This was to at least jump start Merkil's brain, so he could realize he should be pounding on the orc instead of just sitting there.

"Keep calm, everything has gone horribly wrong." If there were ever seven words that went together less reassuringly, then Ahlat had never heard them. That being said, he was perfectly content to stay at as much distance as was necessary. Thrembul had said that whatever it was had turned sour, but he had also indicated that getting closer would make it worse for everybody. Also something about a resonance, but Ahlat was no expert in acoustics or the supernatural, so that part went more or less over his head.

All indications pointed to packing a panic bag being a very good idea. So he waved Dusi back with him and started hastily tossing things into a burlap sack: his other pants, his cloak, some cured food from the pantry, what personal savings he had (he wouldn't dream of touching the till until he was certain Thrembul was dead; anything else would be a dishonor), the head of his axe, and an unsold chain hauberk that more or less fit him. All this was tied to the end of the axe-shaft, and thus was assembled the vast majority of Ahlat's relevant personal effects. Now came the really scary part: the waiting.


~~~~~

I'll have that animal on my operating table any day of the week, Syrrynon thought. The audacity of the little worm was almost but not quite enough for Syrrynon to tackle him and knife the bastard. No, composure would hurt him more than brawling here. Brawling was what he wanted. If he stooped immediately to that level, he would be no better than the esteemed Elecutor.

Syrrynon chuckled and smiled mirthlessly, the sort of smile that would have a non-reptile's knees knocking together. "Nonsense, my good kassistra. Why should I make another mindless beast? They'll just give that official station as well."

He let the less-veiled insult sit there, waiting for the Elecutor to make the next move and hopefully take the bait. If he struck a nerve enough to make him overstep, he'd have most of the other Caarth in earshot on his side. It not, there was always next time. There would always be.

Dusi still cupped his ears as he followed Ahlat, in the event another shriek pelted them. He had absolutely no idea what was going on here, and the concept of panic seemed really smart right about now. It was only his lack of knowledge on the situation that stopped him from panicking efficiently.

“What’s going on here?!” was all he could think to shout, as Ahlat packed. There was nothing else he could do, it seemed. So often the forces of nature or magic told a man that he was but a man, and that he would do nothing worthwhile here. The dwarf hopefully had this under control, because if he didn’t, all Dusi knew he could do about the situation was run… at least until he saw something he could kill. “Is this normal?” he said, trying to calm himself down.

The name - Cri'ila! - passed like molasses from Katyusha's ears to her brain, briefly stunning her when it finally registered. Her brow furrowed, and she pursed her lips, searching Rhen's face with her full, widened gaze for some sign of jest. There was not, however, any surplus of mirth to suggest this. When Katyusha next spoke, it was with an awed stutter.

"I... Cri'ila! Friend, I cannot ask you to do this for me, but I am truly honored! I will... Certainly, certainly I will take your advice!" Katyusha gave something that might have been a panicked bow, then righted herself.

Cri'ila.

To think that a long-time friend and acquaintance, even one so intangible as Rhen, had ties in such high places... The thought was overwhelming, and - multiplied by her imminent excursion - convinced Katyusha that her life had entered an entirely new, dream-like stage. She grinned in joking disbelief, shaking her head at the ground. Of course, of course Rhen knew Cri'ila - Cri'ila! - and she owed him a favor! It was a miracle of self-control that prevented her from laughing out loud, not in refusal to believe Rhen, but in mirthful acknowledgement that if Cri'ila would owe anyone in Dall a favor, it would be him.

Eyebrows still stretched with absurdity, Katyusha gave a short sigh. "Forgive my rudeness, but I simply must ask. How is it, concisely, that one becomes so wise and well-traveled, Rhen?"

"I wouldn't call it normal, exactly. He does the odd enchantment experiment every now and again," Ahlat shouted over his own ringing ears, "But I'd hardly call this normal, else I doubt I'd be preparing for the worst. If I were you, I'd make sure you had everything you came with."

It sounded like Ahlat had no confidence in Thrembul, and in most cases he usually did; the real problem was that Thrembul was usually confident in himself, and his last message had seemed to be less "brashly witty" and more "wisecracking while everything rapidly fell apart."

AHLAT and DUSI

As you talk, another distant scream hits you, though thankfully it is cut off early and leaves you only with a minor ache this time. After a few seconds, Thembul's voice can be heard shouting:

"That was supposed to choke you! No! Don't you dare!"

Whatever is going on does not sound close to being resolved.

**********

HAI

Tollah hesitates. "The book? Ah. Well...that is personal property, but you could find a copy at First Edition. Head down that street, go past the florist and look for the building with a door but no windows. The only books they don't sell or source are those forbidden by law - and which they can still point you in the right direction of. Loopholes, eh?"

**********

KATYUSHA

"Listen well to others, be sure to do your research and never hesitate to kill."

Rhen's matter-of-fact answer seems to take him back in time, his eyes no longer focusing on you, but on some past event or events. A couple of seconds later, he is back with you in the streets of Dall, smiling: same old Rhen. But now you can see another side to him - the side that had to leave the comforting security of Dall, the side that found itself struggling to understand a world entirely foreign to him, the side that had to kill or die.

Suddenly, he angles his weapon down: "You see my spear? See how the handle is almost clear, the head almost coloured and frosted over? You shouldn't. It should all be the same. But the head of my spear has tasted blood and worse. It is forever darkened. It is a memory I cannot forget, a memory of a hundred battles. Dall is safe, Katyusha. The world beyond is not...and unlike you, I did not have a friend who knew to warn me of that."

**********

SYRRYNON

The Elocutor twiches momentarily, allowing the merest flash of injury to cross his features, before resuming his false pleasantry, almost dancing before you in the curious way of his kind. Something about his eyes seem off to you, though, as if he is looking beyond you - wise enough, since a kassistra who tried to use their gaze on a caarth would merit summary execution.

"Yet are not the mindless the most suitable for the work that needs to be done?" is the enquiry next made. "Are not the crude mammals we press into the glorious service of Her Scaled Majesty improved by the stripping away of their free will? That which has no mind is surely the most malleable of servants, unable even to consider rebellion."

You piece together the situation just in time and dodge to one side, just before a large pickaxe slams into the ground where you stood. At the same moment an arrow shoots past you, the whistle cut off as it digs deep into flesh. You spare only a single glance to confirm your suspicion - one of the new slaves being sent to the mines - and then look back at Elocutor K'hitssatha, no longer dancing and his hood closed.

"Ssssss, a tragedy thankfully averted," he hisses to you. "But you see, my assertion is so proved. That creature still believed it was its own entity and tried to murder you, knowing that would be the death of it. You should be more careful, Syrrynon, not to leave your back open to passing slaves. Farewell."

With that, the kassistra simply begins to slither off, upper body held high as though he had won some great victory. In a sense, he has - you know full well that he hypnotized that slave, using your own hatred of him to distract you until it was almost too late. Only your quick wits and reflexes, and the ever-welcome attention of the soldiers, saved your hide then...but from a slave, not from the Elocutor himself.

Unfortunately, as is evinced by the disappointed looks of your fellow caarth, they were fooled as well, though they too recognize what just happened. Turning angry scowls at the departing back of the Elocutor, they return to going about their business, a few muttering unpleasant things under their breath.

One day, K'hitssatha is going to overreach himself, those mutterings seemed to say. And on that day, no trickery will avail him...

**********

TASPAR

Folar smiles as you talk, his grin growing wider and wider with each passing sentence until, without a word or even looking his way, he just extends his open hand towards his brother - who, you now notice, has been frowning. After a couple of seconds, Ravdah sighs and drops a carved wood charm into Folar's hand.

"What have I told you two about gambling on guests' stories?" Crillo admonishes, though in a tone that suggests he has given up on his sons' listening to this lesson. "We are not the city-bred loons who can't resist simple temptations such as that!"

His wife coughs meaningfully. "No offence intended, dear."

"Uh-huh. Of course not. Now, you men go and make yourselves useful. The wood won't cut itself and the dogs need to get back to the sheep. If our feathered friend wants to led a hand - wing? My apologies - then show him the ropes. Unless he would rather be on his way or help me churn some butter for dinner."

The two boys are off almost before their mother has finished talking, though Crillo pauses a moment to scrape up the last of the morning stew. You remind yourself that the day for these farmers started long before you woke - what was breakfast for you was lunch for them, and they have work to be getting on with. It is a strange way of life for one such as you.

**********

VARN

Rustling in the bushes gives away the mako's position before you actually see it, but when it stumbles out and stands in front of you, there is little doubt that you have been the victim of one of their wandering shamans, patrolling their territory for outsiders. It isn't the illusory voices or the conjured spear that convince you as to this, so much as the fact that the mako is 'dressed' only in ritual scars and stringed bones.

"Been a long time since I feasted on man-flesh," the mako gargles, a forked tongue as long as your arm dangling from its twisted mouth. "Succulent little elven witch last month. Some fool dwarves before that, but no human for very long time. I will peel you and wear your skin as marriage cloth!"

Even you had never really believed the mako practiced such a foul custom - widely said to have died out with the last organised cults of the Unspoken Triad some seven hundred years ago - but it seems as though it still survives among these savages.

**********

VOKKY

Merkil's eyes widen with sudden - if extremely narrow - understanding and he rises to his feet with more speed than you might expect for someone so large. The orc gets all of twenty feet before Merkil's immense stride and equally immense reach catch up to him. There is a brief squeal, the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bones, and both halves of the rude orc are unceremoniously dropped.

"Orcs break easy," Merkil complains as he trudges back to you. "Orcs give no fun in fights now. Why not Aharn take us place with big, tough enemy? Aharn want Merkil bored here? Is not fair."

Horribly, the huge troll looks about ready to cry - although that is nothing compared to the ugliness if he actually does begin to bawl.

"Hm. Thank you, merchant. I'll buy the two brews."

Hai smiled. Tollah didn't want to sell him the book, which was understandable he is the shop keeper. He sells what he wants to who he wants. Though, he was kind enough to tell him where to go if he wanted to find a book of the class. As out of character as it sounded Hai felt like it'd be the right thing to buy the brews and go investigate the book store. He reached into the pockets of his robe and handed Tollah the Twenty-five silver coins that were required to pay for the brew.

Concerned, Katyusha narrowed her eyes. She spent another moment locked in eye contact with Rhen, attempting to discern the nature of the ordeal he had endured in his time outside Dall. What she saw in those eyes in the instant before he resumed his everyday, cheerful self, though vague, frightened her.

Katyusha swallowed and steeled her face. "I shall... take this wisdom to heart, friend Rhen. Thank you. I will think of you kindly and often in my travels." Clasping her hands behind her back, Katyusha dipped her head and bowed in a gesture of respect. "I should be going now, surely. The Snow Mistresses await."

“I…”, began Dusi about to confirm that yes, he’d his things, when the second scream his ears. The fact that it didn’t cause blood was nice, but immediately following Thembul’s remarks to what could in his mind only have been Thembul himself, well… Dusi couldn’t just stand here.

Ignoring every fiber of his cowardice ridden being to bolt for the door, and hope they could sort this out, that cowardice is the very thing that had up to this point cost him his high life of importance, his wealth, and what love he could say he’d had up to that point. No. He would not give up just because of a little sound that was going to kill him.

“You know… we have to go in there, right?” said Dusi, shooting Ahlat a reluctant glance. His body shuddered as he turned. Fear would try to stop him from making the next move… but he could not let fear win, as he drew his sickle shakily in one hand, paused for a moment, and began to charge towards the source of the noise.

“Don’t worry, I’m coming to save you!”, were all that he could shout to reassure the forgemaster.

Tasper had laughed. Humans were surely strange creatures. They had such strange customs, or at least the younger ones did. You mean, gambling in things such as stories? How odd. She put this to memory to add this little custom to your journal once you leave. She gave a slight bow of her head, a respectful thing to do when excusing yourself. "As much as I feel obligated to stay and help you complete your household chores I must be on my way."

Tasper stretched her wings a bit. "I have been here for for too long, I have overstayed my welcome." She stood up from her chair, pushing it back under the table. "I would like to gather my possessions and leave when it's most convenient for your family."

She scooped up her two pads of paper on the table, taking a moment to glace at the pad of paper with the drawing of the family on it. It was almost complete, it just needed the last minute details. (Me assuming that she was allowed to go get her stuff) Tasper walked into the room she had been staying in for the last few days, retrieving the bag she had, with straps that wouldn't interfere with flying. She walked back into the dining room, ready to bid farewell to the family.

Varn was, if anything, slightly off put by the mako's threats. He didn't think even these pests would be capable of such barbaric mannerisms, but even more, he doubted that these creatures had a sense of humor. This being the case, he was reassured of their foul nature. This does not mean, however, he was discouraged and doubted his own prowess. With a careful eye, he calculated the mako's position, and the possible maneuvers it would make.

Varn lunged forward, making a diagonal slash with his claymore. He expected the wretch to be too slow to avoid the momentum fueled blade. The only escape routes he could think of the mako making was away from the blade, which was the path it was already taken, or towards him. In which case, he could easily overpower it hand-to-hand.

Still though, no man has seen a mako in a while. His knowledge of them and their abilities were limited.

*

The goblin watched the troll tear apart the orc with ease. Vokky frowned, upset that the slaughter was not dragged out as long as it could have been. As he watched the broken body of the orc, his blood oozing from each end, the gore covered entrails having promptly fallen from body that held them, he sympathized with Merkil when he expressed his restlessness. Vokky agreed; Aharn has left many orcs, and goblins, and trolls alike with nothing as he put their traditional way of life at stake. Had he really though? He killed the warchief, and took the banner. But through what means? An honorable duel? No, and it had outraged many orcoids. The many mounds of ash were proof of that. Vokky would kill Aharn himself, with the very means in which he has killed the previous warchief if he were capable of such things... this is why Vokky had to leave.

"Merkil," Vokky said softly, as opposed to his usual gruff self, "perhaps you can. I will be leaving soon, a far ways from the tribe. I would like you to come with me."

Vokky's choppy teeth ripped into a leg of mutton, its juices rolling down his chin.

"I don't know know what to expect. But maybe you'll find something big."

Ahlat watched Dusi prepare to charge in and sighed. He knew Dusi was right, but going in would probably get them killed. He rather liked his skin and having it stay on him intact was high on his list of priorities. However, history had little place for those who endeavored to simply not die, and if Dusi managed to save Thrembul alone, they'd hear no end of it. If one or both of them died, woulf Ahlat really be able to live with himself afterwards?

He plucked himself up, drew his seax, and lifted down Thrembul's shield as the nearest serviceable item, and with that, he charged after Dusi.

~~~~~

Syrrynon stared in shock for several seconds at what had just happened. Had the little wretch really just tried to kill him? That settled it! The feud was on! But it wouldn't be too overt, no need to stoop to his opponent's level immediately, no. But he'd get a slip-up out of him eventually. He'd just need to pick his bystanders more carefully.

But there was little to do just standing there, watching an overpromoted beast slither off into the sunrise. He gave a nod to the soldier who had taken the shot, then went about talking to Prostrator S'rylvis.

AHLAT and DUSI

As you rapidly close the distance, you begin to hear sounds more traditionally linked to combat - the sharp clanging of metal on metal, the heavy thuds of a body hitting the floor, the grunts of effort and pain - but with an increasingly bizarre running monologue by Thembul: 'I spent three months on that axe, damn you!' ; 'Put that sting away or so help me!' ; 'Ice?! Of all the possible - yai-wouch that's cold!' ; 'How do you not die from that twice?' and 'That was my favorite sheepswool tunic, you bitch!' being the more notable highlights.

When, at last, you burst into the chamber from which these sounds emanate, the sight that greets your eyes is - in a way, worse than you'd thought - as Thembul struggles to maintain his stranglehold on a writhing, twisted shape that looks vaguely like a dwarf. If, that is, dwarves had ash-grey skin stretched tight over their bones, matted tresses of hair, covered in pus-oozing lesions and smelt rather like a plague pit.

Thembul sees the pair of you soon enough. "Run, you idiots! This fiend has nullified nearly all of the power in my forge. I can't hold her down forever!"

Whatever he is wrestling with rears up suddenly, careening from side to side on withered, bloodied legs and smashes itself and Thembul bodily into the wall, though the forgemaster hangs on grimly. The few tattered rags it wears are not enough to preserve modesty, if such a monster could be said to have any, and your stomachs cannot help but churn as you too recognise it for a female.

Its hair momentarily falls away from its face, revealing a furious hunger held at bay mainly by the hammer that has been partially shoved down its throat, and in a flash of understanding, you realise that this creature is a banshee - or possibly an extremely close cousin - and that it was the cause of the horrific screams that battered you earlier.

**********

HAI

Tollah thanks you for your custom, quickly - but carefully, with a master's eye - mixes up the potions you asked for and gives you directions again for the First Edition store before moving on to his next customer. As it is still fairly early in the day, you don't have to worry about the time, though certainly going straight there would get that business over and done with. Towelen is a big city though - there will always be something going on or something of interest or use to you within.

**********

KATYUSHA

"Indeed, the Festival will begin in earnest soon enough," Rhen acknowledges, righting his spear carefully. "If you want to catch them in time for the first ceremonies and blessings then you'd better hurry - though it won't give me time to talk to Cri'ila, my duties won't release me until the third round. Still, you won't have to face the disapproval of your friend if you go now - or get to say goodbye...life and death are just full of tough choices, eh?"

With that morose understatement, Rhen disappears into the crowd, already surging towards the heart of Dall, leaving you to make a painful decision.

**********

SYRRYNON

It is easy enough to find the Prostrator - as ever, head tilted and tongue kinked in submissive poses before Arbiter Scirrniliss, along with most of the several dozen other Prostrators affiliated with the man - but less easy to get a moment to speak with her, not least because both she appears to be in a relatively heated discussion with the Arbiter on some topic relevant to her field of expertise (you assume that 'projections of induced anemo-ammu propogatory experiments concerning the reversal of antistabilization predispositions in the immediate erimographical points of contention' is relevant to weather studies, but most of even the generalities elude you!).

"In which instance, Prostrator, does this provide a net benefit?" the Arbiter inquires, after a particularly long and complex assertion. "The level of required minimum investment in this enterprise is by no means an insignificant one."

S'rylvis acknowledges this with a rhythmic humming even as she offers her retort, clearly impressing the other Prostrators - for whom this sort of display is an art form, along with such individuals as Elocutors, Legislators, Namers and those of the priestly orders - with her vocal skill. It is exceptionally difficult to maintain one vocalisation whilst initiating another entirely separate one and even the Arbiter takes note of this effort.

"My accepted proposal would ensure accurate forecast models for the next seventeen hundred years," she asserts forcefully. "In which instance, Arbiter, the benefit would be for the caarth people to resuming our f*****g of everyone. So to speak."

The expression 'As sophisticated as camel-shit' comes to mind. Prostrator S'rylvis had clearly built up to the obscenity, using both her deferential tone and advanced vocabulary to ensure the maximum possible effect of her words. The other Prostrators are thrown, a couple scraping their tongues against their upper jaws in distaste, but the most important person, Arbiter Scirrniliss, makes no pretense at hiding his appreciation of the maneuvre.

"The proposal of Prostrator S'rylvis is approved as a C2-priority," he announces with the typical finality of all Arbiters. "And the next proposal..."

Smiling fiercely, triumphantly, S'rylvis turns and backs out of the crowd as the Arbiter continues his work. Once in the open, she pauses a moment to adjust her robes, face upturned to the sun. Even standing still and silent, you can see the savage joy coursing through her at this hard-won victory, and know that she is offering up a prayer to Sithera in thanks.

**********

TASPAR

"We are sorry to see you go, but of course wish you all the best of luck in your travels. Ah yes, one last thing - if you are heading northwards to Gunthartaz or taking a shortcut on your way to Ger, be wary of bandits. There have been reports of a wandering group of orcs and such in the area. If your destination is Towelen though, you should be fine as long as you stay on the road and don't cross into any of the wooded areas: Tinidal is a peaceful land, but only because the things that live out of the cities are happy enough staying in their old lairs."

**********

VARN

The mako dodges your swing with surprising nimbleness, wrapping its tongue around the blade and tensing. For a moment you feel the competing force, then the sharp edge of the claymore starts to dig into soft flesh. Horribly, the mako just gurgles with sick laughter as its tongue is severed in multiple places, the pieces still sticking along your weapon and gradually oozing their way up towards the hilt, possessed of their own will.

"You have not killed with that in a long time, human!" it growls, as the blooded tip of its wounded tongue congeals. "Only taste is scabbard and oil - maybe I will bury your sword in your guts, taste your blood and last meal at the same time."

All the while it gloats, the mako neither approaches nor retreats from you, merely delighting in the slow advance of its split tongues up your claymore towards your hands. Though it is clearly using magic somewhere along the line here, at this point you honestly aren't sure just on what!

**********

VOKKY

"Vokky going to leave Aharn?" Merkil frowns at the thought. "Aharn not be cross at that? He say to Merkil many times he want Vokky as new shaman, though Vokky no Ramatu."

Certainly that was true. Ramatu was the shaman, or witchdoctor, or wise man, or any number of other names (not all pleasant and fewer still polite) of the original tribe; very old and vastly more shrewd than he let on to more than a precious few - such as Vokky, who knew the tricky shaman was a genuine necromancer, not merely a diviner of secrets.

Still, it was interesting that Aharn would tell Merkil - of all people! - that he was thinking of offering Vokky that same position in his own, diminishing group. The role of shaman was a very important one and even more dangerous, for it meant standing in direct opposition to the leader of the tribe, who wielded physical rather than spiritual power, thereby ensuring balance was maintained.

Hai nodded and said thank you back to Tollah, before placing the potions in a pouch hanging off his robe. This was the start of his training as a Mage, all he needed now was that book, after which he was off to find a master. The only real issue he was going to face was that he knew of little true masters of the magical arts--- let alone any that would take in someone who's barely past beginner at the magical arts.


Shortly after storing his potions, he stepped out of line to proceed to the building. Wading through the crowds of people, of various races, and shapes. All in one town. Hai made sure to keep his distance, as his business wasn't with them. After some marching he reached the First Edition Store, the first thing he did was inhale and open the door.




((Can you describe the building for me?))

Respectfully silent, Katyusha watched as Rhen was swallowed by the crowd of meandering revelers that were now beginning to flood the streets in force. She found that she did not want to move from that spot for a very long time, so she simply stood - staring - as the people, dressed in bright clothes and laughing with merry conversation, flowed around her stagnancy as smoothly as water.

By and by, Katyusha was able to wrench herself away from her empty reverie. Blinking, she fought a lump of panic that had gripped her by the throat.

"Perhaps I should just go now," she mused, shambling through the crowd with her head downturned to avoid any familiar gazes. "Perhaps I will die, and my friend will be better off without a goodbye. I am no Rhen, that is certain, and I have no ..."

She lifted her eyes briefly to the magnificent tapestry being woven in the sky. The sheer scale of such beauty helped to calm her, even with the daunting silence of the Ice Sanctuary dominating the skyline. Katyusha managed a weak smile.

"No," she breathed, "I think I will do things the right and proper way. To have memories of painful goodbyes is better than to have painful regrets." And with that, she began a purposeful march towards the Ice Sanctuary.

"Don't worry, Thrembul, we're here to save you!" Ahlat shouted. He snorted once and locked eyes with the Banshee, pawing the ground once with a hoof to test traction. Then he raised the shield, presented his horns, held his knife in close with the tip pointed forwards, and charged the Banshee with everything he had, aiming for the window. At the very least, he hoped he could get the banshee to release Thrembul and stagger it enough for someone to do something. At best, he'd shove the thing straight out the window, where hopefully he would stop before falling out himself, grab the window frame, or something, and the banshee would fall a few stories and go fatally rolling down the mountainside.

~~~~~
Syrrynon gave the Prostrator a moment to finish her prayer, then approached. "Prostrator S'rylvis," he said as he bowed in greeting. "I am Barterer Syrrynon Senkazon. I didn't catch quite everything that was said, but I assume there has been an important breakthrough in the weather project?"

As someone whose business was dependent distinctly on the weather and where the boundary of the desert was, Syrrynon made it his business to keep up with the weather project as appropriate.