Fall of Year One
Mother Forest
The fall was a strange strange season for the tree beings. Near the beginning of the season, one of the healers catches a strange branch which fell from far above. It was falling on his patient at the time and the healer didn't want it to upset the patient. However, the healer was not a great catch and it grazed the afflicted druid. Immediately the dryad began to writhe and scream. Blue flowers blossomed across their branches where the thorns had been. Each one turning into a tiny flower. On the druid themselves, the crown of thorns twisted and writhed before dropping off the dryad. It fell to the ground and the dryad's eyes cleared. They had been cured. Though their ordeal was not over yet. They looked down at the crown as it bent and twisted into the shape of a starfish. It slid across the ground and the dryad it had been attached to gingerly picked it up, fearing it none at all. The healer advised against it, but the druid didn't listen. They explained to the healer the nature of the disease that had afflicted them and why the healing had not worked. Trapped within this starfish was a spirit of water, a nymph of sorts. It had been drawn into a terrible storm and it's body torn asunder. Part of it's spirit had become lodged in the dryad and the two had been in deep conversation. It seems that with no body of it's own, it's soul had mingled with the dryad's. Separated now, she mourns for the spirit, trapped alone in such a body. When the healer informs the dryad that the crown was killing her, she is unsurprised and saddened. Over the course of the season, the rest of the dryads are cured and a melancholy falls over the dryads as they watch what had quickly become part of their souls trapped into the bodies of the crown starfish. The starfish skitter along the ground and trees, consuming what they can, blind and skittish. The dryads pray to their Mother for guidance as tears flow from the holes in their soul.
The needlefolk are less affected. When they are cured of the storm sickness, their recovery is slower and less dramatic. Their bodies begin to clear of the black blight and over the course of the season they make a full recovery. This allows them to begin setting about their work. A system of marks are placed throughout the jungle, much to the chagrin of the local plant life. The trees become angry when carved, but despite their wild nature, can do little to stop the needlefolk. Furthermore, they have made many a venture to the sea to collect shells and grind them to dust by hand. The white powder, after being applied to the soil, helped significantly with acidity. Oddly enough, the crown of thorns starfish were attracted to these areas. Though, that may have been due to the planting of the dryads there.
Halfway through the season, the trees roots retracted, much to the confusion of your dryads. Their roots took hold and they were able to gain a foothold in the soil. Soon enough, their confusion was met with clarity. Monsoon season was upon you. Storms and rain battered the jungle and the dryads and needlefolk found themselves drenched on a daily basis. The rain washed away much of the acidity reducing powder, though, it seems the starfish were actually a boon in this regard. They lurked near the dryads, slowly devouring vegetation coming close to their clearings. However, their presence constantly reminded the dryads of the nature of the starfish plight.
Nyagic
When Snuggles was chosen as a servant of Nyagic, he was horribly confused. He had been a simple cat all his life, and loved only the sea, and the fish it provided him. The tastiest fish was the one which was caught through patience, he always said. Little did he know of his innate aptitude for magic. He had always known where to find the best fishing spots, and in part, that was due to his attunement to the winds and the waves. He seemed little interested in the ax, for the trees could provide him what he truly loved in this world. Fish. So he passed it off to his sister, who had been selling his extra catch for years. Within days, she had sold half the colony enough wood to build their houses. The amount of wood she was able to produce astounded the other colonists, and they were happy to buy the lumber. Until it came time to build their homes. They were not a strong people, and despite having large amounts of wood, they had no knowledge of building homes for themselves. What was erected were shoddy cabins of mud and logs. They kept the weather off at first, but about half way through the season, the storms came. Snuggles sensed the storms and stayed close to shore, but the scouts were caught up in the rain. For the remainder of the season, most all of the Nya were condemned to their leaky hovels and could only venture out in the few clear days. Luckily, sickness was avoided, but the nya have grown restless and unhappy with the abysmal rains and cramped damp quarters. Food is also in short supply, as the season has prevented much of the fishing industry from operating. With the changing of the seasons, the air is less hot, but it appears there is no end in sight as far as the rains are concerned.
Iyania
The chill winds blew down from the north, cool mountain air bringing the first hints of winter. It mixed with the warm air of the sea, and rain was common. For the majority of the season, the weather was poor. Most days the collection of mortals was trapped indoors. The rain and the wind had a way of seeping into their bones and chiling the soul. A few individuals came down with sickness as a result of the damp. Luckily it was nothing too dangerous, and in a few weeks, it had passed. Many gathered together in the larger buildings, where the fires roared and the conversation was good. During these conversations, a natural leader emerged from the masses. A Luca Mafwe. After hearing the word of Iyania, they set out to lead the humans as best as they could.
Luca organized several search and rescue missions using the main ship, travelling up and down the coast. The waters were choppy and the crew wore heavy leathers to keep the cold and water at bay. Over the course of the season, many more humans were found and told to venture north, or simply came aboard the ship. One such occasion they encountered a huge group of humans and gremlins travelling north, led by Celphine Bentsteel in coordination with a human ranger. Between the two of them, they had organized the chaos of the gremlins into a pilgrimage of metal and smoke. By the end of the season, the town had tripled in size.
By this point, the winds of winter were blowing across the ocean, and occasionally light snow had begun to fall. The increase in population and the reuniting of families and friends brought warmth and joy to the people, but the stores were low and they poor conditions made building new structures incredibly slow and dangerous.
Luca and the Ranger quickly became two leading figures in this budding society. Luca had come to know the location of iron veins nearby, placed their by Iyania and the forges kept the smiths warm. With the help of the Gremlins, a large workshop was constructed which served as a gathering place for the three races. It was warm and dry and could fit near three hundred at a time, and often did. Many a strange invention was created, including a giant tank nearby which the gremlins often threw whatever scraps they could into it. It’s oil lit lamps and brought further light and warmth to the settlement. The ranger, which seemed to be equally as cunning as the gremlins had led many a hunting party to gather food. With musket and machine, provided by the gremlins, hunting was decent, but with so many mouths to feed, it was an uphill battle.
This was made even more difficult as a few hundred foreigners appeared in the last month of the season. They brought food and lumber, but not nearly enough to feed more than themselves. This lead to tensions between the different groups.
The Great Wrench
Near the beginning of the season, the Great Wrench found a human who would be suitable to their goals. Never bothering to learn their name, he bless this ranger with leadership and she took to it in stride. A cunning individual, she could stride through forest, field, and city alike. She was very effective at finding humans and catfolk who had ventured inland away from the beach, and over the course of a month or two, had collected a large swath of those lost. Even finding a great number of gremlins as well. This was not unnoticed by Bentsteel, who had come to have heard in a dream that there was a human settlement up north. To hear that confirmed through the Ranger’s mouth, she knew the dream was from the Great Wrench. She proposed an agreement to the ranger. This city would grow cold over the winter, when the fuel ran out. They would travel north, together. The ranger, who had garnered the begrudging respect of many gremlins for her ability to use their weapons and uncharacteristic cunning, agreed.
Over the next month, Bentsteel, Brightglimmer, and the Ranger conspired to move north. The sounds of clanging metal and saws rang out day and night. What gadgets, gizmos, dohickies, and devices the gremlins could use were loaded onto ramshackle (and often hazardously powered) carts. Though these were few and far between at first, much of the settlement was broken down for parts, leaving empty shells behind when the labor outstretched the worth of materials. And thus, a great exodus travelled north to overwinter with the humans.
Arriving there was a strange moment. Gremlins rushed from the settlement to admire the workmanship of their fellows, who they hadn’t seen in months. To breathe in the sulfuric smoke of industry once more, well, it was a welcome change from the clean crisp air of the human settlement. They passed by tall humans fleeing the same smoke, running into the arms of friends and families with tears in their eyes. On all sides, it was a touching moment of reunion, in their respective ways.
The gremlins flourished for the remainder of the season. The oil provided by your artifact served as a constant dribble of fuel for the fires of industry. Human blacksmiths had forges, and by the end of the season, a huge community building had been built which kept the cold winds at bay with forge fire. Songs and epics were sung to the rhythm of hammers on steel. And much cooperation was accomplished between the smiths and inventors. While the ranger led many a hunting trip, the amount of food necessary for the growing city was simply not provided by the meat of the plains creatures. Additionally the Sciro and Icilantro brought fish and a rival knowledge of technology. Their preoccupation with safety made for poor and boring inventions, and many Gremlins come to scoff at the creations of these strange creatures. Going into winter, the stores are low, despite spirits being high. As the snow begins to fall, there is an ominous energy in the air.
Acter
This season went much better for your people than the last season. After exiting the swamp, your people traveled along the coast and shallow ocean nearby. Using their nets, enough fish were caught to feed the entire population throughout the season. At first the colonists were not well acquainted with the nets, but with time, they improved. Each ship developed their own strategies for catching fish and by the end of the season, two techniques had come into fruition. Given time, these would likely develop into decent fishing skills, but for now, the foundations were there. The season was pleasant at first. There was much fish to be caught, and the weather was clear. However, the weather fouled as the season progressed. The colonists discussed going ashore, but Jamx spoke out against it. In the days past, rumors of a great fishing spot had spread among the ships, and one had been foolhardy enough to seek it out. Unwilling to abandon them in favor port, the ships drifted south. The storms increased in frequency, and severity as they headed south, but in a week, the ship was discovered. They had caught something truly unusual. A strange mechanical object had been fished up from a deep crevice ruptured out from the continent itself. The trench was far deeper than the nets could reach, but fish gathered here in great numbers. Strange species existed here as well. A long eel which, while inedible, contained large ink sacs which, was theorized could be made into quill ink. A rough prototype that reeked of the ocean was developed, replenishing the supply which had long run dry. Large red fish with sharp teeth became a favorite. It was a dangerous fish to catch, often struggling for hours before being pulled up, and at one point, a net was lost to one of these beasts. Yet their abundance of sweet flesh was well worth the risk to many fishers. Strange urchins with a savory flavor could be boiled in salt water, and to the surprise of the novice cooks, became inedible. Yet the water itself, had been cleansed of all salt water. Yet most interesting of all was the strange shards of mechanical objects. They consisted of an unusual metal, which seemed neither to rust not degrade with time, holding it’s bluish sheen despite being ravaged by the tides for an unknown period of time. One device seemed to be an almost complete device. It was a blueish sphere which sported several interlocked rings which could be rotated and shifted around the orb. Several rings appeared to be missing or broken, and other shards were fished up, none of which seemed to be related to this specific device. Thus the weeks went by. The weather was less than favorable, a near constant dribble, interspaced with heavy storms which condemned the colonists to engine rooms where small fires were built to stave off the cold. With the engines in such poor condition, their furnaces were converted into makeshift hearths. Near the end of the season, the weather worsened significantly and Jamx, who had become a cultural leader, seen as, if not wise, calculating and compassionate enough to make good decisions, led them north. For the last two weeks of the season, they made port at a surprisingly large city. Hundreds of humans, gremlins, and even a spattering of Nya had built a city of metal and wood. The sciro and incilatro’s stores were decent, but not near enough to feed such masses. This raised suspicion, especially among the gremlins, who on a whole, disagreed fundamentally with your colonists methods of artifice. As the snow began to fall, and the water began to become more and more dangerous, tensions between your colonists and the city dwellers began to rise. Food was scarce for them, yet you had not even enough for yourselves to stay fed for the winter. Lumber was scarce for them, yet you had firewood left over from the season. Distrusting and hungry eyes turn to your people, some colder than the winter winds.
Grel'Chak
This season was rather uneventful for Grel’chak. The slimes lived, ate, and reproduced. This was their nature, and they knew not anything else. Strife for a slime was hunger. Strife for a slime was aridity. Strife for a slime was entrapment. And your slimes lived without strife this season. The rains began two weeks into the season and the slimes, in their own way, rejoiced at the good fortune. They travelled further than they had before and discovered much. The forgot equally as much, but that’s not entirely the point, Grel’chak remembered. To the southwest, they discovered several tribes of lizard people. Though several slimes were lost, the number of scale slimes grew to replace them as they devoured lone lizardmen who would foolishly engage the slimes in combat. Other beings were seen, flickers of them at least. They knew well enough to avoid the slimes. And soon enough it became clear why. As time went on, you noticed a strange feeling in some parts of the swamp. It was a force you felt was akin to your own, but at the same time, it was not yours. Much to your chagrin, there were slimes here. Large green things with little grace, and poor appetite for solid food. And they would not listen to you. They devoured several of your slimes, greedily and with gusto. Something had shielded them from you, a terrible feeling you had never encountered before. The realm of liquity was yours and yours alone… Wasn’t it?
Other slimes wandered towards other encampments. Nya were spotted floating in the sky, far beyond your reach. At one point, slimes ventured far south through the swamps. A vitality of sorts had drawn them there. Yet, when they drew near, you lost sight of them. You felt their souls devoured by something. You smell the ocean, and murky disease, and hear a terrible slurping before the souls of your mortals ascend into your slimy mass.
Throughout the season the yellow slimes, with your blessing, grew in number and variety. A strange divergence grew within them. Some stayed the same, which was unusual. Two other groups emerged. By far, the greatest group was the razor slimes. These yellow slimes had come to understand how to harden a thin blade of slime and whip it out at high speeds, either like a bladed whip, or as a slicing projectile. The second type of slime grew somehow more intelligent. The first signs of complex thought began to appear, the tiny glimmer of intelligence growing within them. As the fall came to an end, you were left with a dilemma, are these truly slimes anymore, and should they remain? Or should this anomaly be quenched immediately?
Juramanus
You feel your soul being torn between two divergent groups. It’s not entirely painful, but it is unpleasant. It feels as if there are two versions of you, overlapping, occupying the same space, but never mixing together completely. One version of you is felt by the priest. It is wise to your ways and the ways of your people. Perhaps it is even more pious than your true self. It’s hard to say through the distorted lense you find yourself occupying it. The other version is righteous, vindictive, and takes action. You feel the way the rebel muranid sees you. As a power to strike down those who abuse magic, and use it for their own ends. Magic is not something for the people to wield, and it’s power has already torn at least one people asunder. The two versions of you look down on the world, together and yet apart.
On the coast, you see the beginnings of a civilization. Houses are becoming better and better constructed and reinforced. Your supplies have greatly helped in this endeavor. Even the most astute muranids are surprised at their ingenuity and craftsmanship, believing themselves to be improving at engineering and conservation of resources. The priest smiles at the good spirits of the excited ratfolk. Food is still a major concern. You do bring forth some, but unlike the building supplies, they are devoured in days, if not hours of appearance. The lack of muskets and general lack of fishing skill has led to large expeditions onto the plains in search of food. Some larger beasts, the buffallamas especially. Their warm furs going towards crudely made coats as the season became colder and the frosts came on the morning dew. Ships are sent south, and they do come to see a huge settlement, but it is clear immediately that there is magic at work here. The heathens have clearly magical items in their possession and the crew, who are still rather suspicious of the priest, ask his guidance. The priest feels, correctly, that this was a trap. He advised them to avoid the southerners for now. If they did wield magic nefariously, in their current condition, the muranids could do little to fight back. The priest has gained a bit of rapport. By the end of the season, even a few creature comforts had been laid. Some stone hearths and fur rugs had been created and while they mostly went to the merchant barrons, several crewmembers came to acquire them as well. When the snows came, the situation was grave, but not hopeless. With the stores they have now, perhaps they could make it through the winter if hunting was favorable.
To the west, the rebels ventured through the endless plains. Hunting was good, and their muskets felled a great many beasts. Most interestingly was a strange flightless bird which seemed to have some sort of magical property to it’s feathers. It’s flesh was eaten and the accursed plumage was burned. They built for themselves leather and hide tents to stave off the winds, and the scrub and grass burned in their fire pits. This world was theirs to tame, and time and time again, they did so. Yet near the end of the season, perhaps they had met their match. The winter winds blew across the plains with such vigor that the tents shook and lost their structure, suddenly exposing many to the cold and snow. Seeking shelter, they had a decision to make. They had a wariness of the plainsfolk, who rode horses in the distance and avoided the ratfolk like the plague. Seeking their encampment was a dangerous roll of the dice in the frigid conditions. Ultimately, they decided to seek shelter in the caves, as the dawn of winter approached. What they found there, shocked them.
Dwarves
It had been four years, seven months, and sixteen days since the dwarf’s mining rig had fallen deep beneath the earth in a suddenly violent earthquake. Much of their company had been lost, and not just their men, but the literal company. With little resources, damaged mining rigs, and no way to return to the shallow earth, the dwarves realized with horror their predicament. They had lost the ability to dig. At least in any reasonable way. They could break through weak stone, but to try and navigate their way upwards, was to ask for certain death. Their only option? Forward through the darkness. For season after lightless season, they crept along. Rig after rig broke down, and without tools or supplies, they were scrapped and used to repair whatever other rigs could be repaired. Other sections were used for ammunition, as they were not alone down here. The strange beasts of the deep dark hungered for dwarf flesh, for the foolhardy hubris of one who digs too deep. And in many cases, they did. Over a hundred dwarves were lost in the first year, and in subsequent years, it was not much better. Strange trilobites gnawed on the rigs, and ceiling lurkers snatched lookouts from their posts. Even the earth rose up to assault them a few occasions. Yet, after all this time, they had not seen a living soul. Until today. One auspicious lookout found a tunnel leading upwards and saw, off in the distance, a gathering of ratfolk exiting the tunnel and building camp among the mushroom trees. Was their journey finally over? Or perhaps, it had just begun.
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Topic: Gods of New Eras IC (Read 3626 times)