conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Six: You can distinctly recall the smell of the blood of the man whom you had slain, mere days ago.  Since then, all has been in chaos.  The cycle of those three days brought rain and storms much analagous to the storm currently being unleashed upon your home.  That home, nestled deep into the moutnains and overlook the deep bog which makes the home of Sherlas, the one you worship, is now being flooded with supposed well-wishers.  One, in fact, from each of the Low Clans.
  
  Some are first born sons, or favored diplomats or shamans, or even chieftans, but each has clearly been attemtping to scope you out.  To understand you and learn more about yourself, as a person and a leader.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xerton: The man, Svanier, would act as a diplomat should. Conversing with the supposed guests individually, though doubtful he was of them. After speaking with two or three he would offer a speech to the masses. Taking in idea's as if he was completely interested, though his mind did traverse in his own thoughts for short periods of time. After some time he would rise and beckon all to listen, "Brothers and Sisters, we face a dilemma." He feet would carry him back and forth as he paced slowly, gazing out at the amassed group before him, "The worshipers of the lesser dragon, the worshipers of Rollux bring forth a terrible name for our tribes. These lesser beings are trouble for us. What say the masses to this problem?" Here he would pause, and await input from those before him.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Six: The knot of several dozen men, amounting nearly one hundred was silent a moment, in thought and reflection.
  They would seem, briefly, to converse amongst themselves, before one voice rang out.
  "They tarnish our name?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xerton: Svanier would offer one nod, "They do indeed. They make us seem as if we are cowards. As if we are the lesser offspring. They shame the name of our tribes!" A shallow, cruel smile plays over his lips, "Do we allow for such treatment of our tribes? No! We must retaliate!" He stops again, seeking their response to the newer, bolder thoughts.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Six: The gathered diplomats look amongst themselves, murmuring as another voice rings out from the now growing knot of men, as the numbers reach nearly fifty and one hundred, most of the men in the village at the time.
  "But how?  We haven't the strength yet."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xerton: He would bellow out a laugh, "Our divine dragon, Sherlas has spoken to me. Soon  our chance to strike will be here. Our hopes for victory will be greater. Thus, we need decide my brethren."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Six: This time, the call would be enough to knock Svanier back, as it came in unison, and with words all the same.
  "Then slay them when the time is right!"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xerton: Another laugh would bellow from his lips, "Then ready yourselves! Bring forth the best we have to offer. We have three days time to ready!" After he would roar out their mighty dragons name and blend into the crowd, wandering around as he traversed his mind, questioning their odds of winning.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Six: The past few days, spent in moving northwards, have gone by in a blur.  The wildlife has recently been far more placid than usual, moving about almost none, and you, by miracle, encountered no outcast-bandits, nor assassins from other tribes.  It was a long trek, taking nearly a week, and the crossing of the Northriver by raft was arduous and long, but finally yourself, as well as your village shaman, and a young slippery fellow, recommended to you by your right hand, have slipped into the village known as Arken.
  
  The village itself is large, nearly twice the size of your own, and half as grungy.  Though by no stretch could it be called clean.  There is the loud sound of metal against metal in the air, and a large building pours out heat and smoke.  It is from the aforementioned building that the smoke pours.
  
  Also in the air is the smell of tanning leather, and smoke from a large building with many souls within.
  
  The day itself is relatively bright, though the sun shines through a few thick, fluffy clouds which are fully white in color.  The temperature is entirely moderate, neither warm nor even slightly cool.  The wind blows gently enough that any stirrings of the hair's upon one's head would go unnoticed.