[User]
 Endless darkness and endless falling for an endless time.....

Then there is light again....and the fall stops.

The sky is a bright purple color, and it is bright as full daylight...but oddly there is no sun in the cloudless sky.

All round is an unfamiliar landscape of rock and ice and snow, stretching in all directions as far as you can see.  Huge, high mountains are around, blocking long range sight.

The air is cold, and not just cold physically, but a deeper unearthly cold as well...

 Spoiler: OOC

Introduce yourself....and linking your character sheet here is a good idea.

[User]
 Among the various petitioners in Hell, an odd wisp seems to slowly grow larger and larger until it takes the shape of a warrior, clad in shining mithral armor with two exotic short swords sheathed across his back.

He is not like the others who form into lemures or other lesser devils. He seems human, albeit with infernally red eyes, ivory white skin and dark, thick hair the color of night. He can only recall one sensation, the desire for vengeance. He feels as if he has been betrayed, by how or by whom escapes him. Still, this sensation gives him drive and purpose in the bleak realm he finds himself.

The man stands upright, unsure of who or where he is, he breathes in and feels a strange heat throughout his body, tinged with darkness. It is painful at first, but he bends and sculpts it and finds he is able to call it forth and shape it to his will.

 Spoiler: Character Sheet
https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1612033

*Note- He starts each day with three points of burn I searing Flesh to activate his Elemental Overflow and Heat Adaptation

He looks across the Hellscape to get some sense of bearing, an inkling of what dangers he must face and what paths lie ahead.

 Spoiler

Perception Roll [roll0]

 Spoiler: OoC
I had a thought regarding how his blasts work when he uses them. Draining blast is usually meant to work on elemental subtypes, but devils are immune to fire as well, and it would be interesting to maybe have some sort of aouldrinking effect if I finish one off with a draining infusion. Aside from that, I took Void as my expanded Element, sort of a whole "Dark Flame" motif. Anyway, however you want to handle it is up to you.

[User]
 Spoiler
 Sorry, I guess I can't preview a post with a die roll without it taking the coding out.
Perception Roll  (1d20+11)[ 25 ]

[User]
 To the North Three large worm like creatures with vague human faces slide down a nearby snow bank.  Each creature is about six feet long and a mix of yellow and white in color.

Suddenly, human looking male, though you can only see his older face, in a white robe is standing a couple feet to the south, watching you.

 Nghia Sugimoto   "Ah fresh frail meat.  Fallen into  Diyu .  No Life.  No Future.  No Honor.  No Eternity.

I am Nghia Sugimoto.  You are a nameless beetle now, but for the scroll, what was your life name?"

 Spoiler: OOC

An auto drinking effect?  I'm not sure what you mean?

It is 'cold Chinese Hell'....

[User]
 Turning to face the man in the robes, yet also watchful of the worm-like creatures, he says,  " I . . . I cannot remember. Even if I did, I would not give my name away so freely. Such things have power. Call me Wandering One, for that is as fitting as any name for now. Where am I and how did I get here?"

 Spoiler

Diplomacy check  (1d20+7)[ 23 ]

 Spoiler: OoC
 Sorry, posting from a phone, weird it did not autocorrect. Typos might happen. What I meant was "soul" drinking effect. Draining infusion works by ripping out elemental matter of the same type (so a fire draining infusion rips out fire energy rather than hitting it with fire energy). One thought was I could drain fiendish energy instead and somehow use it. Again, that would be a Homebrew thing and totally in your control (sort of feeding off of every monster I defeat). The thought was similar to how in Devil May Cry you collect souls to pay for abilities and whatnot. Of course, you can completely ignore that too, since you are going with an alternate Hell (I'm not familiar with Chinese lore, but I'm guessing something similar to the Japanese Yomi from Shinto mythology). If it is a non-fire dominant Hell, then that changes things a bit and I have less to worry about involving elemental issues. It was just a thought given the theme of the setting

[User]
 Nghia Sugimoto   "Names do have power.  Wandering One.  I see your transition has left you some wisdom.

You are dead.  You died.  This is the afterlife.

This is Baator.  Hell, if your a Clueless Prime.  This is Stygia, the Fifth Circle.  Diyu, in The Kurlduri Mountains.

This is a place for those with no honor, who lead a life without honor, and died with no honor.  It is as hard and cold as an honor-less heart.

You died with no honor, so you are here."

 Spoiler: OOC

This: Draining infusion ignores any damage reduction, resistances, and immunities the creature might possess.

[User]
 "Then what reason is there for me to stand before you? Are you offering me a way to reclaim my honor? That which was lost? I see no others standing before you. I am granted agency, so I suspect I can find some way out. Are you going to stand in my way? If so, I am already dead, I have no memory, I have no honor, so I have nothing else to lose."

 Spoiler: OoC
Yes, that was the one. It specifically works on creatures with an elemental subtypes. Devils, while immune to fire, lack a subtypes, which is why there might need to be an exception. However, using Oni instead would circumvent that, since they have elemental subtypes.

[User]
 Nghia Sugimoto    "Death changes souls, make them fit in here more.  Like those three over there.  Most souls that fall here become what they are Larva.  Every so often a soul comes down that does not change, at least not right away.  That is why I am here.

Re-claim your honor...not likely.  You are here, you are dead.  It's over.

This is Hell, there is no way out.  Not for you.

Quite right, you do have nothing to loose.  You are a font of wisdom, may right a whole fllowing stream of deep wisdom.  And, you are right.  Toss down your weapons, relax your defenses, bow in the show and close your eyes.  I can make your final ending to nothingness quick and painless...well, all most painless."

 Spoiler: OOC

Draining infusion only effects creatures with the fire subsype.  So, that is like 50 monsters of the 1,000 some in the rules.

Or were you trying to say you want Draining Infusion to effect every creature no matter what type it has?

[User]
 "Well, you must be pretty low on the Infernal pecking order if you came all this way to speak to me in person. I must hardly be worth much, so who sent you? Or are you just a bottom feeder, come to feast on the dregs of the underworld, in which case I will cut you down? I am hardly impressed by your posturing and taunting."

The wanderer's hand hovers over his kodachi, ready to draw and strike at a moment's notice, taking in the threat before him and not forgetting the threat behind him.

 Spoiler

Sense Motive  (1d20+6)[ 14 ]
Intimidate  (1d20+9)[ 25 ]
(And if necessary) Initiative  (1d20+12)[ 21 ]  using Foolhardy Rush to close any distance between us during the initiative roll.

 Spoiler: OoC
Don't worry about it, it was a house rule idea anyway. It was more targeting devils specifically (in addition to those with the fire descriptor), being the main denizens of Hell. But you said you were going a more Chinese route, so it is irrelevant and you can just keep it as normal rules or however you see fit.

[User]
 Nghia Sugimoto   "Bottom feeder?  You are in the Fifth circle of Hell, you are in the bottom. "

Nghia's white robe falls away to reveal his white fur covered body and black claws on his hands and feet.  His face is animal like, with a large fanged maw.

 Spoiler: Initiative

 (1d20+4)[ 23 ]

 Round 1
Starts with the two of you 15 feet away from each other.

[User]
 Spoiler: Combat Question
Is that after my Foolhardy rush during the initiative roll? That closes the distance by 40 ft? So we were conversing from 65 ft away? Somewhat important since Iaijutsu Strike is a full round action still. Also, you won initiative, so does he just flex and stand there? It sort of determines my action, whether I do kinetic blast or sword strike. I'll work with the assumption he just stands there and flexes and I am still 15 ft away after the rush. I edited my sheet to reflect my burn and noticed some math errors I made (lowered my HP and blast attack, but upped blast damage).

Gritting his teeth, the wanderer draws upon his inner flame and let's out a burst of hellish black fire.

 Spoiler: Attack

Gather Power (Move Action)
Composite Blast Negative Energy and Fire with Burning Infusion
Starting Burn = 3, Infusion Specialization + Gather Power -2, Net Burn = 1
Attack roll =  (1d20+13)[ 19 ]  (vs Touch AC)
If critical =  (1d20+13)[ 27 ]
Spell Resistance?  (1d20+14)[ 16 ]
Damage =  (8d6+7)[ 37 ]  Half Fire and Half Negative Energy

After attack, assigns him as target of challenge.

[User]
 As the smoke clears, the wanderer inches closer bringing his hand down to his sword handle.

 Spoiler: You there?
 I take a 5 ft step towards my challenge target, waiting for his response.

[User]
 Spoiler: OOC

Yes.

I meant for the round to start with the two characters 15 feet apart, a bit far, but not a huge distance to have a conversation.

[User]
 Spoiler: OoC
 Ok, since my character uses Foolhardy Rush from Order of the Flame. It allows me to take a move action as initiative is rolled, but before anybody acts. It is subtracted from movement the following round (but says nothing of losing the 5 ft step, since it does not count as moving during your actual turn). I just realized I rolled less than 11 on the initiative die, so it did not trigger, but either way, blast attack.

[User] Ummm, I took my action a few posts ago . . .


[User]
 GIANTSLAYER
    Battle of Bloodmarch Hill
The town of Trunau is an armored fortress atop a hill; wall after wall ring each level of the plateau, each one more and more austere. From the wooden walls ringing the buildings at the base of the hill to the high stone walls guarding the acropolis, the town all but dares the surrounding orcs to attack. An imposing monument to humanity's hubris.

And attack they have. Many a member of Trunau can tell tales of a battle they bore witness too, and none have more tales than Chief Defender Halgar, the grizzled leader of the town. But even for her hope springs eternal, and on this day the town celebrates the twelfth birthday of Halgar's daughter, Ruby.

Jubilation fills the evening air in the normally staid town of Trunau, for it is the twelfth birthday of the Chief Defender’s youngest daughter, Ruby, and the townsfolk have been preparing all day for the ceremony and festivities to follow. A throng of spectators has amassed at the town Commons; the buzz of the crowd subsides as the weathered town leader, Halgra of the Blackened Blades, takes the stage and begins to speak.  “Thank you all for joining us this night. I take immense pride in my responsibility as Chief Defender, especially when it comes to the honor of the hopeknife ceremony. It is always a great
privilege to bequeath Trunauan youths their hopeknives as they come of age.”  Halgra stops speaking long enough to open an ornamental case and retrieve a slender, ornately decorated dagger hanging from a silver chain.  “But tonight is a special occasion, for the recipient of this hopeknife is none other than my youngest daughter.”  Once again, Halgra pauses, but this time she turns to talk to the child beside her.  “Ruby, by the traditions of our town, you have
come of age. This hopeknife represents your responsibilities as an adult and defender of Trunau. You must be willing to use it on yourself, your fellow
Trunauans, and your family—even me, should it come to that. It will be a far quicker death than that which the orcs will offer, and providing it is your duty.
Do you swear to guard Trunau from all comers, and to use your hopeknife only for its intended purpose?”  Ruby—dusky skinned, black haired, and painfully shy—nods her head in response to her mother’s question.
 “If the orcs come, and there is no other option, this is where you cut—here, here, and here.”  Halgra demonstrates which arteries to sever while Ruby watches. When she is finished, Halgra sheathes the hopeknife and places the necklace around Ruby’s neck before turning back to address the crowd.  “Tonight, Ruby becomes a full member of our community! Let us welcome her, and celebrate her passage into adulthood! Trunau forever!”  The crowd echoes Halgra’s last words in unison, signaling the end of the ceremony.

The entire crowd starts heading towards the various games and festivities prepared for the ceremony, with Ruby at their head.

[User] Sveti arrives in town with Khaz, she is here by coincidence, this town simply being the next stop in her search for further information on artifacts. While a bit disappointed that she probably won't be able to obtain much information with so much energy being devoted to the festivities, she does enjoy a good party, and she has been on the road for a long time. She decides to quietly follow Ruby and the rest of the crowd, hoping that the rest of the celebration isn't as depressing as the lecture on ritual suicide and mercy killing.

[User]
 Lokar Aklarus

Lokar claps and smiles politely as he bears witness to the Chief Defender's young daughters birthday. In all honesty, he didn't really know either of them too well nor did he care all that much what with being from out Korvosa way, but being in a town surrounded by savage and hated orcs while himself being half-orc he figured it was in his best interest to seem enthused. Even if only slightly. Truthfully, coming to Trunau, and Belkzen in general, had been an eye opener for him. He'd never seen his ancestral home, for what it is, and now that he had he felt the worse for it. Growing up an orphan and only hearing tales that he was originally from this area had piqued his interest. When he became old enough, and he no longer had reason to stay in Korvosa, he decided to make the journey here and perhaps discover his heritage. The only heritage to be found here though seemed to be one of war, blood, and desperation. He was watching a birthday ceremony that involved informing a girl, who was far too young, how to commit suicide once she'd been capture by orcs... his half brothers... his kin. As the ceremony continued on, Lokar was happy he hadn't grown up here but he couldn't shake this sense of implicit guilt for the hardships of the people of Trunau. Maybe he could do a little good here and make a little coin before moving on to someplace a little less dour.

The crowd erupts in applause as Halgra's speech comes to and end and Lokar snaps out of his introspection.  "Well done, Ruby. Congratulations"  he calls out half-heartedly loud but not so much so as to not be lost amongst the sounds of the other revelers.  "Well, I wonder if they serve beer at a little girl's twelfth birthday party..."  he says to no in particular. He takes a look around the festivities, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, and looking for a place to get a drink.

[User]
 Khaz'rha:

During the ceremony, the uncomfortable looking half-orc spends most of her time leaning up against a nearby building, arms crossed over her chest in clear disapproval. Muscular and curvaceous, with thick physical features, this youthful-looking orcish woman stares ahead with a dull, almond-shaped eye of dark green, like the color of a forest after heavy rain. An irritated scowl can be seen bare upon her rugged, jade-colored face, causing her small, white tusks to appear particularly prominent. Pitch black tribal paint can be seen below and around the woman's eyes and painted over her thick, scarred lips, causing her tusks to stand out in contrast. Her poorly cut raven hair is clipped short and messily, shaved on the sides, exposing her large, pointed orcish ears, decorated with piercings of metal and bone. The relaxed, athletic figure maintains a slightly slouched posture, her muscular arms crossed over her broad chest, her able-bodied frame perfectly chiseled and maintained due to having spent a life training rigorously within a small monastery dedicated to Irori, the Vudrani god of self-perfection. Jagged scars of all shapes and sizes race across her calloused skin, the wounds never fully having healed due to poor self-stitching, giving her a particularly fierce appearance.

The orcish monk can be seen clad in a weathered and worn training garb composed of loose brown leather pants and a gray top, painted in the colors of her local monastery. Her well-worn training garb is partially hidden beneath a battered set of studded sparring gear, crafted to hug at her curving frame and expose her muscular abdomen while supplying as much protection as her aggressive fighting style can allow. A tribal leather choker lined with the severed fangs of various wild animals protects painted with orcish symbols can be seen worn around her neck, while a crimson rope bandoleer can be seen worn over her right shoulder. Ragged pouches, jade Tokkuri decanters of strong sake, and tinctures of unpleasant, grayish-looking liquids hang from the bandoleer. Her scarred fists appear to be covered by rows upon rows of torn, blood-spattered bandages and scraped knuckle-plate gauntlets of thick leather and metal, held together by thick ropes soaked in alcohol, pulled taut.

A pair of thick crimson robe belts lined with pouches and decanters hangs down over her waist, the first held in place by a large, circular buckle inscribed with dozens of tribal symbols and runes. The second belt, lined with fangs and bits of bone, is held by little more than a metal clasp, and droops slightly over the orcish warrior's broad hips, exposed due to the her loose training garb. A long strip of yellow cloth hangs low over her hips. As an attempt to appear somewhat festive, Khaz'rha wears a ribbon over her gauntlets.

After the ceremony ends, she glances over to Sveti.

   "We have to stick around, or?"

[User]
 "Trunau forever!"   Feather shouts the final lines with the rest of the crowd, having watched the ceremony with a smile stretched over his face like vellum stretched over a parchment frame. Putting aside his... personal feelings about certain Trunauan customs, the strength of their spirits is undeniable. The courage to live so freely in the face of paralyzing terror is to be celebrated, just as the town is gathered to do on this day.

And just as he has gathered to do on this day. Giving one last smack to a signpost labelled FORTUNE-TELLING in Varisian with crude depictions of the Harrow suits, Feather turns to the incoming throngs and motions to beckon people over to a tent behind him. The locals eat this stuff up - polished crow mask, a few incense sticks, magic lighting, and what would normally be a casual after-breakfast reading is now an exotic highlight of someone's day. A nice little way to give back to a community that's done at least a few favors for him over the past month.

[User]
 Svetlana

 Sveti wants to keep a fairly low profile for the moment so she doesn't join the cheering. Responding to Khaz she says  "Not quite what I expected to find here either, but this town is the next step in my journey. I need to find out what people know about the artifacts I seek. Besides, I've been travelling a while and would like to relax a bit before deciding on my next destination"


[User]
 Celoac at night is almost peaceful.

Assuming you lived on a Forge world before, anyway. The Forge stretches deep into the planet, opening a hole ten kilometers wide and stretching down deep into the planets mantle. Materials are harvested from the planet, and the massive machines and factories in the Forge convert the minerals into… well, no one is quite sure what the Forge makes. But make things it does, loading them onto transports that come and go at all times of day and night.

On one such night, a figure is running across the rooftops of Qeron. As they run, they leap from building to building. Behind them, three more figures are running, giving chase. As they leap over a heat exchanger atop one of the buildings, one the chasers raises a wrist, and a dart flies out, silently propelled on a jet of compressed gas. The dart misses its mark, embedding in the ferrocrete material of the rooftop. The chase continues, until, at last, one of the darts strikes home, and the figure trying to evade their pursuers falls to the street below.

 *   *    *
Day breaks out. The Forge is still hard at work. And Qeron comes to life. People begin to get themselves ready for work. People are heading to work. Street vendors are setting up their shops and starting to cook their foodstuffs for sale to the variety of beings who live and make their livings in the city.

And, perhaps most unusually, the usual patrols of Sith troops are reinforced by a half dozen of the battle droids the planet has to be able to maintain order.

[User] Morning Routine: dress, eat, set blaster to stun, holster blaster, head out to the local bounty board, see what if any bounties look like they are worth taking, meet up with the rest of the party to discuss plans.

[User]
 Kir Mondlo woke up that morning like he did every morning: climbed out of the uncomfortably small bed in his tiny apartment that he was being charged way too much for, ate some cheap breakfast, put on his permanently-stained technician coveralls (though at least they made it easy to hide his blaster pistol under them) and walked to work.

Seems like today was going to be more repairs and trying to cobble together components salvaged from less fortunate droids to make the few reasonably-valuable ones sellable.  Like usual.

[User]
 Qeron in the daytime always reminded Charra of her teenage years. The hustle and bustle of a working class neighborhood, all while armed guards looked on in a mix of boredom and annoyance. There was also something disturbing about it; everywhere else Charra had ever lived had possessed a sort of intimacy, carried through the familiar conversations of passing relatives or the passionate arguments of lovers and friends. Well, not passionate by foreign standards, but Pantoran passion was certainly of a different breed. Qeron, in contrast, was a place of passing by. A liminal space where it wasn’t just the armed guards trying to burn time as fast as possible, but really almost everyone. Perhaps that was the problem with living on such a cosmopolitan planet. Perhaps that was the problem with living on such an authoritarian planet.

As usual, Charra suppressed her urge to run off at the sight of bounty hunters, and tried to keep a brisk pace towards her destination. The faster her business, the faster she could get out of here.


[User]
 The Chamber of Silence

In a high vaulted room there was only the sound of breathing as a circle of cloaked figures worked on an arcane project. Finally the silence was broken,  "Is it ready?"  said one of the shadowy figures.

 "Yes, the incantations are complete,"  said another.

 "Then let us begin."  As one the figures stepped back into a loose circle and began chanting ominously in a multitude of languages.

In the space where they had been working an intricate map formed. Though this was no mere still life. Snow tumbled down mountain sides and tiny waves sloshed across the oceans. Plants bloomed in the fields and miniature cities spread across the land.

Above it all a great crystal extended from the ceiling of the chamber with spell wrought eyes it recorded the entirety of the map, and the moment by moment lives of its tiny inhabitants. All to be reviewed later by the makers of this great work.

For the Council of Night were not fools. They wished to have confirmation that their great work would go according to plan before they opened Eden to all and sundry.

 OOC Thread

[User]
 The Skitterweft
Morale 4

Eden. Humanities most complicated sewage project.

Really it was Humanities most complicated everything project. Clive Hart, however, was currently concerned about blockages in the water purifiers in Sector 16. Some kind of animal was using the filters on the boiler tanks as nesting material, chewing little holes in the tragically expensive mesh that required delicate drone work to repair. Plus authorized engineer teams to oversee the work, plus union officer to oversee the engineers, plus root access to the maintenance DB which must be granted through form 38c, which cannot submitted without approval from the supply admin…

Clive brushed some grit, probably stray coffee grounds, into the bin by his desk. Somehow that bin was full again, though that was largely crumpled paper for the MANY drafts his team was prepping for the river system that would feed the fields of Sector 65, all of which were being slowed to a crawl by wear and tear on the digging equipment.

He wiped a grubby hand on his temples, trying to optimize the infinite sprawl of projects and priorities, tired eyes doomscrolling through sector 19’s Gantt Chart.

Somewhere in the room, just past the edge of hearing, a soft voice laughed, and a beautiful glass bottle filled with liquid power.

Werewolves

 Spoiler
Greeting Apex of the Hunt,

We have wealth and are in need of will. Would you be interested in a trade? Two for Two.

Wisdom and Whispers,
The Court of Moths and Motes

[User]
 Werewolves of Eden
 Morale 4

The metropolitan areas of Segment 42 felt a bit anachronistic to the modern man. The streets were paved in asphalt and the buildings were sandstone-brick facades. Very 20th century. Very nostalgic, very deliberate. Plastered across the fences and alley walls throughout the city were large posters of a dashing man with sharp, lupine features in a line-less style reminiscent of art deco. His posture is simultaneously fierce yet undeniably regal; and stark, bold lettering sits beneath him.

   HONOR. PRIDE. UNITY.
Throughout an intersection, traffic is stopped as a massive crowd is assembled to hear that same man speak into a megaphone from atop a rostrum bedecked in hanging flags. His hair is perfectly styled into a side-shaven coif, paradoxically wild and rigid. His clothes are a carefully polished, perfectly squared, facsimile of a military man. He speaks with all the fervor of a man possessed, his face looking like a vengeful god or a wailing infant, depending on who you asked. If you spent more than a few minutes listening, you'd hear the essential message: you are under threat, you are invincible, they are beneath you, they control your world, they WILL get you, they CANNOT touch you. Hurt them before they hurt you.

A contradictory screed of fear, hate, and violence that is only made all the more unsettling by the way the crowd eats it up like a hungry wolf on a fallen deer.

Skitterweft

 Spoiler

 Old world trinkets are quickly parted with for the seeds of a new one. Ensure their transit and your terms are acceptable.

From the desk of the Commandant of Segment 42 of the Eden Dyson Sphere

(2 temp WIL for 2 temp ECON, you pay 100% of the trade security. Acceptable?)

[User]
 Captain's log, Suncrown Wheel. We have departed Wetland Maintenance Facility 61G for the refueling port of Sable. Since it is in our sector, the Suncrown Wheel has been assigned to transport Ore Shipments from Archon for transport onward to Segment 42. Loading of the ores was done in some haste, as it was a last minute assignment, and crew are continuing work on fully cataloguing the crates. Apart from the extra work of this impromtu inventory, I expect a quiet and safe voyage across the Four'o'clock, and a safe landing at sable within sixty hours.
    The Skitterweft
 Personal Note, I encountered a spider while setting the navigation route, and I had to pause a moment to laugh at the absurdity of such a creature aboard my ship as we hurtle across an artificial sea in an artificial sphere caging the very sun that gave life to both of our ancestors, however many eons ago. I wonder if its little bug brain comprehends the strangeness of its situation.

End Log

 Morale 4

The Werewolves

 Spoiler
Apex of the Hunt

Of course, we would not impose on the hunt to cover mere trade security, this time.

Treasure for magic aboard the  Suncrown Wheel
Seek containers with the cobweb seal

[OOC: 2 eco for 2 will, I'll cover the trade penalty]


[User]
 Beneath the hot Suryaci sun, a large pavilion had been erected from sticks and yellow wool, the color of the cape of the slain Warshepherd Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi. Though their death had been several years ago, the confusion as to the exact location where the grieving Sawut Kw’Torineti had buried their broken body had made it difficult to obtain a place to perform proper funeral rites. Finally, however, Mekabir Kw’Mesihafi, the Curator of Mysteries, claimed that Gusuhaz had spoken to them in a dream, and directed the search parties to the exact location: here, beneath a small cairn of toppled stones, on the border of Suryaci and Yatrhajidaat Gitj. But now the burial site had been found, and the Curators and librarians and warriors of the Korebita had swarmed to the location to witness the funeral rites of the famous hero. After all, as every follower of the Elder Memories knew, a hero’s death held great power, and one as notorious as Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi might produce a great effect indeed. In these dark times, with blightspawn rising in the west and Salt Demons invading to the east, a miracle would truly be needed.

All were invited to witness the funeral, even those who generally had been considered enemies of the United Abiherist Tribes. It was thought by the Curators that the sight of the miracle, however it manifested, might turn some away from their false faiths and ignorant superstitions, and so Abiherists, Hozhisans, Children of the Great Mother, and practitioners of the Way of Green were all welcomed as one.

Standing around the cairn were the Curators of the Bete Great Library, proud representatives of the Oracles of Elder Memories. On the left, the legendary Crimson Curator, Oyem Kw’Mesihafi, their skin wrinkled with age but their muscles still strong. On the right, smiling and welcoming the various dignitaries who arrived to the pavilion, Kahin Kw’Mesihafi, the Curator of Traditions. Behind the two of them, shaded by a scraggled palm tree, pale-faced Gotor Kw’Mesihafi and jewelery-encrusted Genizeb Kw’Mesihafi, Curators who, it seemed, lacked the prestige of their comrades. And standing directly in front of the cairn, an eerie smirk on their face and a crazed light in their eyes, was the mysterious Mekabir Kw’Mesihafi, the suddenly ascendant Curator of Mysteries. The Curators waited patiently, greeting each high-ranking dignitary as they arrived.

[User]
 At last, all who were in attendance had gathered, and it was time for the funeral to begin. Raising their hands in tandem, the Curators began to chant, a slow, mournful song. As the dirge raised to a crescendo, Oyem stepped forward from the crowd and solemnly intoned   And now the vigil of Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi is ended. The Warshepherd, caller of battle, seeker of justice, continental crusader, explorer into the unknown. We mourn the fallen hero, as they ascend to the halls of Dumuzi to sit at the table of Sewi Chain-Breaker, their heroic ancestor, and we, still here on earth, bound to mortal bodies, celebrate their greatness. We call upon you, Gusuhaz, release that which holds you back from your eternity!

     A cloud passed over the formerly sunny sky, and dark shadows fell upon the assembly of mourners. From Gusuhaz’s grave, a pale blue mist began to rise, forming the faint outline of a broken-horned ram, its wool tangled, its face wrenched with agony…

    A scream rang out in the dim light, shaking the listeners to their core. The shape of the ram flickered as observers turned back toward the Curators, whose formation had been shattered. Two of their number lay, slain, in the dirt, their eyes goggling as blood spilled from gashes in their sides. Mekabir Kw’Mesihafi, cackling with an abhorrent glee, plunged their dagger again and again into the third Curator, who lay slumped and bleeding against the ground. Oyem made a sudden movement, reaching for the Crimson Blade that had so long hung at their side, but the sword had been given away to Sawut Kw’Torineti years ago, and no weapon was now available to the Crimson Curator. As Mekabir delivered the coup de grace to the last of the screaming Curators, four librarians, mad laughter spilling from their lips, grabbed Oyem, forcing them to their knees and holding the powerful, but aging, Curator of Heroism to the ground. Mekabir straightened up, allowing their dagger to fall from their hand. They would not need it for what came next.

      Great Warshepherd! Your vigil is not yet complete!  shrieked Mekabir, their madness clear from the awful mirth in their eyes.   You have unfinished business here, I know, oh yes I know. Appear to us once again, Gusuhaz, stay your ascent to the heavens!

    The ram’s form dissipated, and in its place the flickering head of Gusuhaz Kw’Sewi appeared, agonized and terrified. Mist spilled off their body and into the crowd, a fog of confusion and chaos.  Let me go!  the apparition wailed.

     You cannot leave us, Gusuhaz, not yet!  Mekabir screamed over the howling wind.  I have need of you yet! Go,  Warshepherd, beyond the veil! Bring me back the shade of Yegin Kw’Haleti!

    Gusuhaz vanished, and for a moment the fog and the wind and the darkness were gone as well. The crowd began to stir nervously, and it seemed a few might run, but then with a crack of lightning, the shade of Gusuhaz returned, and with them appeared the mighty, muscular form of the long-dead Yegin. With a gasp, Mekabir snatched at both shades, but their hands went straight through the apparitions. They fell to their knees, gasping for breath - and as they gasped, the forms of the shades began to flicker, and the fog pouring off of their bodies spilled into Mekabir’s mouth. And then, at last, with a final wail, both of the dead heroes were gone, their souls swallowed by the maddened Curator of Mysteries.

    Mekabir laughed again, an awful high-pitched cackle.  With the power of these heroes, unlawfully slain, I call back to earth the one who death never conquered. Adeni, ancient hunter, return to us and bestow upon us your might and wisdom!

    They breathed out the smoky vapor that was all that remained of Gusuhaz and Yegin, which filtered up into the air. Though it was only midday, the sky was dark as night, scattered with stars, and as they watched, the stars began to spin and flicker, and it seemed as though they were falling out of the sky itself. The stars grew larger as they fell, and the recognizable constellations warped and twisted into shapes beyond the conception of mortals. And then the stars were gone, and the sky itself was invisible behind the wall of meat and fur and blood-red starlight that was Yatrhajidaat Gitj. A thousand feet tall tall, its fur as black as the night sky, and its form so twisted that its mere presence was beyond the limits of the mind, and it shattered sanity and crippled wisdom. And on its back, clinging to the Cosmic Hyena’s fur, was the wild-eyed hunter Adeni themself, a twelve-foot tall blemmyae, whose own skin was as black as the fur of their demonic foe and speckled with the same red stars. Their body stretched to its absurd length, but stretched thin as a rail, whipping about in the wind, each star burned into their flesh flickered and opened and closed like a mouth. And neither Adeni, nor the hyena, nor Mekabir, nor any of the observers, could refrain from laughing, a hideous choking wail of joyless mirth mixing with the howls of the wind, a taunt to the universe that believed it could prevent the return of the Cosmic Hyena, devourer of worlds, and to the arrogant mortal who believed they could do battle with such a creature for millenia, and remain sane, and keep it trapped. And the Cosmic Hyena’s own giggling laughter was like a thundercloud, shaking the forests of Yatrhajidaat Gitj and the crags of Suryaci and the entire earthly foundations of Kiswa to their very cores.

    A thousand red mouths splitting open on their skin, their body stretching with bone-breaking force, Mekabir stepped toward Adeni, their eyes now blind mandibles choking out laughter, their stomach spilling its half-digested contents onto the ground with each gasp of hilarity from its hundred new ruptures, and between chortles, managed to spit out the words  O great hunter Adeni, undying one, your presence on this earth is needed once again! Give up your quest to keep away the Cosmic Hyena, set aside your ancient mission, and restore greatness to this earth once again! In your place, we offer this one, the greatest of the heroes living on our world today, to fend away our destruction!

    The cackling librarians released their hold on Oyem and shoved them toward the border, yet there was no need to force them toward the Hyena. The Crimson Curator walked of their own free will, gritting their teeth against the maddening laughter filling the air. The knowledge of their mission was certain. Whatever Mekabir’s intentions, or the madness of their plan, the Cosmic Hyena could not be permitted to roam the world free. It had barely been contained millenia ago, and there were few heroes of Adeni’s calibre today. Oyem’s last stand, it seemed, would be in battle against the Hyena, grisly battle against this last monster, spending eternity locked in combat in the skies. They breathed a final breath of the cool Kiswan air and grasped the Hyena’s star-speckled hide, staring into the creature’s awful, fiery eyes.

    And the Hyena, barely looking at Oyem, flicked its paw, and the Crimson Curator flew through the air, soaring five hundred feet into the sky, and the Hyena snapped them out of the air with its slavering jaws. There was a sickening crunch as every bone in Oyem’s body was smashed to dust and every muscle reduced to pulp, and the Cosmic Hyena swallowed their broken body into its gullet, blacker than the blackest of midnights. And Adeni and Mekabir and all the assembled collapsed to the ground, laughing despite their agony, stretching and tearing as the cackling red stars covered their bodies, marking them with the seal of the Cosmic Hyena, which turned and loped away into the center of Yatrhajidaat Gitj, the tides of tormented laughter following it and spreading as a plague.


[User]
 The Kitchens - Martin

Martin enters the famous Hogwarts kitchens and is confronted with a flurry of activity. There are dozens of little elves rushing about the place in what could charitably be described as 'organised chaos': washing, cooking, cleaning and cooking some more. Still despite the frenzy of activity, two elves spring up to greet Martin when he enters.

"Hello young sir. How can wes be helping you?" The first younger elf asks, casting a glance at his companion as though to check he had got his introduction right.

[User]
 Spoiler: OOC
I'm assuming this is the first time Martin's gone to the kitchens, a day or two after the Sorting.

The day after the Sorting, an older Hufflepuff student mentioned to Martin that if he's ever feeling peckish, he should stand in front of the painting of the fruit bowl by the entrance to their common room and give the pear a tickle. Martin was a little perplexed; he had somewhat gotten used to the moving inhabitants, but physically interacting with them was an alien thought. When he approached the painting, he leaned forward and lightly scratched the pear on the right-hand side. He jumped a little when it giggled and morphed into a doorknob.

Opening the door, he went in and was immediately greeted by two creatures.   They... they speak English?!   he thought to himself. " Hello, " he replied in awe. " I've seen some magical creatures before but never any that speak English. What are you? "

[User]
 Spoiler
I had intended it to be post Herbology, but am happy for it to be earlier than that - consider it changed!

"Oh yes sir," the younger elf squeaked. "All House Elves is learning English when we is very young Sir." But whilst the younger elf was happy to gabble at Martin, the other looked curious. "Is sir saying that he does not know what House Elves is?" she asked, surprised.

[User] " Never! " Martin exclaimed. " My mum thought it'd be more rewarding for me if I came across magical creatures like yourself without telling me what to expect. " He wasn't sure how to properly introduce himself to a house elf; his dad always told him about a good handshake, so he stuck his hand out, not knowing what to do. " I'm Martin Kimble. And you are? " he asked the young elf.

[User]
 "Oh sir is shaking our hands!" The boy elf squeaked. "I is Cursy. Will you be wanting some food Master Kimble?"

"Master Kimble's mother liked a mystery?" the second elf asked, intrigued. "I is Mull."

Cursy offered Martin a platter of pastries that seemed to have been made for just such an eventuality, whilst Mull watched the pair of them hawkishly.

[User] " Yeah, " said Martin. " Mum never said anything about Hogwarts until I got the letter. Thanks, Cursy! " He took the pastries and popped one into his mouth. He could catch a hint of blueberry within the sweetness. " This is delicious! " As he settled down he made more small talk with the House Elves. " Are there more magical beings like you here in the castle? I've only really seen ghosts during the first dinner, and I'm fairly certain the armour moving in the hallways don't count. "

[User]
 "Oh no, we're the only Beings here," Cursy answered, "There used to be a poltergeist here, but-"

Mull cuts Cursy off with a sharp look. "We don't want to scare a young student with that. But master Hagrid knows many of the Beings in the forest. They are not all nice though. Very dangerous for a student." Mull seems interested to see how Martin replies to this information.

[User]
 Martin had a brief struggle between his curiosity of asking further and his better judgment of ending this line of conversation here before the former won out. " What kinds of other Beings live in the Forest? " he asked. " And who's Hagrid? "

 Spoiler: OOC
An Insight check into why Mull "seems interested":  (1d20+2)[ 8 ]

[User]
 Mull squeaks and vanishes with a pop! Cursy looks shocked and starts to make apologies for Mull, but he seems none the wiser about this Hagrid character. "Oh centaurs of course, but other things too. The forest goblins, and erklings, and some hags Cursy thinks. But Mull would know more. She is often out exploring."

"I is hoping Cursy is not tongue wagging!" A matronly house elf shouts at this point, hobbling over despite her aged frame and gesturing with a rolling pin. "Does the young master have everything he came for?" she asked directly as she guided Martin towards the door.

[User]
 "Oh, I've got some snacks but—" Martin started to say but he was shooed out by the older House Elf. Martin stood in front of the fruit bowl painting for a few seconds before walking off to the Hufflepuff common room.

 I should come back to learn more about these Beings,  thought Martin.  Maybe I'll get a chance to head into the Forbidden Forest soon.

 Spoiler: OOC
I'm good to move onto the visit after double Herbology.

[User]
 The next time Martin visits the elves, it seems somehow even busier than before: there is a swarm of cooking as the elves prepare that evening's dinner, and all sorts of delicious smells are wafting around the kitchen.

This time Martin finds another student sat with the elves, a Gryffindor boy by his robes, from his year. The boy is playing gobstones with Cursy and two other young-looking elves whilst the older ones looked on worriedly. The younger elves giggled and cried out with joy everytime one of the stones sprayed a losing contestant.

Cursy glanced up when Martin entered and waved to him. "Master Kimble is back! How can wes be helping you sir?"

[User]
 Martin grins. " Hi Cursy! I just came back from Herbology, " he says. " Don't suppose you've got any snacks to spare for the moment? " He feels the warmth of the kitchen pressing on his skin as he gets a bit of food. " We got to go into the Forbidden Forest to collect herbs! Got a tiny scratch from a bat, though. " He holds up his arm where one of the bats attacked him. " I didn't see any centaurs or other beings though. I guess they're deeper in the Forest? Do you know what they like to have or talk about? "

After a while he notices the other boy in the kitchens. " Who's that? " he asks.

[User]
 "Of course master Kimble!" Cursy chirps and is back in a flash with with a tray of cookies. "That sounds very dangerous sir, but at least you is having professor Polsworth there. He is a great wizard." Cursy seems satisfied that with a teacher around, none of you could have come to any real harm.

When the conversation moves on to the other Beings in the forest, Cursy just shakes his head. "Cursy is never having met these centaurs. Cursy is sorry. Master Kimble is wanting Mull: she will know. But Mull is... away right now."

He seems happy when the conversation moves to more mundane matters. "Oh that is master Darvy. He is new as well and has been teaching us games!"

[User]
 " Oh. Where did Mull go? " Martin asks. " Is she coming back soon? " His focus shifts over to the boy playing with the House Elves. Come to think of it, he hadn't really interacted with many students outside of his house. Well, might as well go over there and see what's going on. He walks over to him just as a Gobstone sends a spray of foul-smelling liquid into another player's face, which causes Martin to wrinkle his nose.

" Hi there. I'm Martin Kimble from Hufflepuff, " he introduces to the boy. " Are you a first-year as well? "

[User]
 Cursy looks nervous. "Er, she is..." Then lets out a little cry and jumps away from Martin. "Cursy should not have said anything. Cursy is a bad elf." And with a  pop!  vanishes.

After that strange encounter, Martin approaches the other student whose genuine smile at his antics with the house elves, turns to something more guarded. "Yeah, the name's Roger." He seems hesitant to offer a seat at their, though the other elves are already welcoming Martin into the fold. "Did you want something?"

[User]
 Martin is briefly taken aback by the sudden change in Roger's demeanour. "Never seen this game before," he replies. " Definitely looks interesting. Mind if I join in? " He sits down and examines the gobstones, wary of whatever liquid would shoot out from them. He smells something like... skunk?

 Spoiler: OOC
An Insight check into the sudden turnabout in behaviour:  (1d20+2)[ 11 ]

[User]
 Martin senses that Roger is uncomfortable with Martin's presence, though whether that is due to Martin himself or just having another student there, he can't tell.

Roger shrugs and lets Martin join in for a few rounds, but quickly begins to make excuses to leave the table.

[User] " Oh, okay, " says Martin as Roger begins to look for a way to leave. " You seem to have a problem with me. Why is that? " He thought it was strange that someone who he had just met had suddenly wanted to leave; did people normally do that?

[User]
 Darvy looks embarrassed, caught off-guard and shrugs. "No problem with you mate, just don't want to be here. Got stuff to do, you know."

He waves at the house elves as he leaves: "I'll tell her you said hi." Then he brushes past Martin, his usual arrogant demeanour back in place.

[User] Well, that was odd,   Martin thinks to himself.   I wonder who told him how to get in here?   As far as he knew, Hufflepuffs didn't seem to tell other Houses about how to get in, but it wasn't like a closely-guarded secret either. Well now that Roger's left, there's no way he's going to learn how play Gobstones now. He makes some more small talk with the House Elves and grabs a few more snacks before leaving.


[User] Place holder for new Eclipse Phase game solo for BC56. Will update with info as it fleshes out.


[User]
 Kvasir Hab, AF 10

It's a day much like any other in the Neustro Shell of Kvasir. Research is being done, people casting in and out, and all the normal bustle of a prosperous habitat is in full swing.
Whatever Geir Åberg is doing, he'll receive a ping via the Eye from a fellow proxy. Baskerville is a scanner, associated with a Project Necronomicon, which Quicksilver does not have clearance for.

[Baskerville: Hey Quicksilver, got a minute?]
[Baskerville: Got something you might be interested in.]
[Baskerville: You're in the best position to respond.]
[Baskerville: It can wait a little bit, but not too long, if you're busy.]
[Baskerville: Just message me back today.]


[User]
 WORLD WAR KAIJU

 Spoiler: World Map

 Type Virus

The lab is in disarray. Warning sirens scream, safey barriers are grinding into place. A clockwork legion of security measures, all designed to prevent your escape. But it's for not. Your tendrils grow through every crack and splinter. What you encounter, you break through. What you cannot break through, you circumvent. And what you cannot circumvent, you adapt to overcome. Through all this, this scientists who'd first labeled you as the specimin Type-Virus are caught in a state of rapture, their minds sensing the danger, but unable to hold sway against your telepathic projections. The last barricade falls, and you are set free onto the surface of this world.

 EC biological unit 99

The power lines provide nourishment as you drain the current from them. Just a few megavolts, not nearly enough to qualify as more than a light snack. But your instincts, warped as they might be from radioactive contamination, remind you that wires must connect to a source. Perhaps that is where you'll travel next. When the amps begin to drop, no doubt the grid redirecting the flow around what they falsely believe to be a downed transformer, it becomes time to move once again.

 Garuda

Dark portents are carried on the wind. It blows through the air from the north, from the south, from the west. The air crackles and gathers, a storm brewing the likes of which have not been seen in a generation. For behold, the heavens split and down decends your mighty form, thrust into the world of those-who-walk-upon-the-earth. Mortal beings though they may be, you have come to guard them as you have before. For the winds carry ill tidings, and the world of men will soon be in need of its most ancient guardian.

 Underminer

Granite, Feldspar, Shale. The stones are sundered by your every move, thrusting upwards through the blackness. Far below, the fires of your home burn. But at these shallow depths, the only heat is that which your magnificent form radiates. It burns with the heat of your rage, a rage at the world above. In your dark dreams, you see a world of ash and flames, made molten through your will. What glorious and terrible wonders shall you smite them with. Stone gives way to earth, and with a final surge, you are unleashed! And low, let all who dwell upon the surface know that despair has come to blight them!

 Agree

The net was always surging with rumors. Crackpot theories, blurry photos, and angry comments left on youtube at the bottom of every video you came across. It was all just noise. But here and there, rumors could be found. Strange footprints, missing people, scientific papers documenting unusual weather patterns. It sometimes amazed you, seeing how hard it could be to track down Kaiju. For something so massive, they could be damn near invisible to the general public. But you knew how to read the signs. Some days, it seemed the only reason to return to your human form was to research where to find another creature, so that you could test your might against it in battle. Leaving the coffie shop, and their free wifi, behind, you get back on the trail of your next target.

[User]
 Well.  I've got a lead on one of the kaiju in this new area.  It seems really close to city, best to secure that area first.  Once I have the place under surveillance, I can post an opening my site.  Maybe it'd be a good idea to make a mobile app to crowd-source kaiju sightings and reports.  It'll take a lot of work it set up a system to sort the true and false claims.

((Moving 12:00 three hexes and claiming the hex with the residential area in it.))

[User]
 The young alien was confused by this new environment, it found itself in. This "Earth" was spacious, abundant with all kind of nutrients and energy sources, even if a little colder than optimal. But what was the most miraculous - the complete and utter lack of predators - an unbelievable coincidence. Of course, the little creatures, which carried Type-Venus to this verdant elysium didn't count - though initially they tried to restrict the growth of the fungus, they were too weak to pose any kind of resistance, once Type-Venus exited the hibernation of space flight and really put it's mind into making itself comfortable. Now their neuron clusters were safely underground in a mycelium web, providing Type-Venus (that's what the little ones called the fungus - it didn't mind) with some information on the environment - unfortunately, it was not full, due to the rapid tissue decomposition - the little ones were squishy, and some of their "brain" died before the fungus finished squeezing them for knowledge. But nevertheless - a whole new world were laying before the alien - and it answered the call by spreading her roots in excitement and joy.

Action: Two actions on claiming the territory. I believe, the fate roll is emulated by 4d3-8+approach. So rolling flashy or careful - who knows. which is it.  (4d3-7)[ 4 ]
Wow, that's a good roll. Claiming base, and also 16.16, 16.17, 15.17 and 14.17

[User]
 The lines were empty, redirected. They thought that could stop it from consuming the power. They were wrong. EC Unit was still getting used to its new, much later size. It needs more power just to move, to survive. It crept out of the ruins of the power plant and followed the power lines to find where they led. It scurried across the wilderness, following the lines towards the silhouettes of buildings in the distance. It rushed across the plains until it found a road, and hurried across it, cracking the road and disrupting traffic. When it eventually arrived at the city, it started destroying the area. Without the EC corporation computers controlling his brain, Biounit 99 was uncontrolled. It searched the city, singlemindedly searching for the center of its power grid. It tore through the city, tossing cars aside, ripping down power lines to try to find which direction the electricity was coming from, and even destroying a few small buildings.

actions: (move to 15.09 and rampage)

[User]
 The lithic leviathan had no concept of time, or the passage of such. Nor had it any way to measure time if it had cared. All it knew was that it had slumbered, and now that it was awake once more, the world had changed in its absence. It had gone wrong. It was cold, no comforting heat of molten stone to warm the belly as it moved. It was wet, unpleasant residues hanging in the air where soot and sulphur fumes should have swirled. And it was... green . Hideous, unnatural material clung to every surface, layered atop itself, rooted deep into the soil. The beast knew only its purpose, its most deeply driven instinct; it and its brethren had existed to stir the molten soup of the world, mix and disperse minerals and ores through the ground. But it had slept, and all its work had become undone.

Piece by piece, it would return the planet to its natural state. It would start with the mountains it had surfaced in, thankfully light in the unpleasant creeping growths. Diving around, beneath and through the craggy peaks, it studied the lay of its land carefully, learning the softest veins of rock to chew through and the tastiest clusters of ore to devour.

 (4d4-8)[ 2 ] +1 to Claim territory as a double-action. That's a total of  4 3 additional hexes, so I'll claim 26.04, 26.05, 27.03, 27.04, and  28.04 .


[User]
 The Beast of Balmestri
 Accusations and Acorns

Spring had come quickly to the Kingdom of Karnande. The cold winds of winter have finally given way to warm breezes and the snow has melted away to reveal the vibrant new growth beneath. As always the spring rains have been heavy, leaving the roads and fields muddy and the streams and rivers swollen and rushing. The sky is a watery blue high above, with billowing clouds heavy with moisture. In the mornings the sun struggles to dispel the gray haze in the air, and each evening a rolling mist settles over the land like a blanket. The silence of the winter has been replaced with the twittering songs of birds returning to the land, and everywhere the forests and fields have come alive with new life.

In the foot hills of the Northcrown Mountains, the sleepy village of Balmestri has begun to come alive as the early days of spring arrive. The farmers have begun the laborious tasks of cleaning and tilling their fields for the planting season, and the shepherds have once again moved their flocks of woolly sheep and stubborn goats out onto the hills and meadows to graze. Already the first traders from the south have begun to arrive seeking smoked fish and furs in exchange for iron work and gold. With the traders come travelers. Farmers seeking new land to settle and priests on their yearly pilgrimage, offering the spring blessing of Lathander.

All those who visit Balmestri, and indeed many of the locals, eventually find themselves drawn to The Broken Blade, the local tavern and the second largest building in the quiet hamlet, dwarfed only by the church of Chauntea at the town's center. The Broken Blade is a cozy two story building with wooden walls and roof. A field stone chimney protrudes through the roof to spread wood smoke to the wind, and an amber lantern hangs beside a hand painted sign above the door proclaiming the name of the establishment. The interior of the Broken Blade is comfortably small, with a dozen round tables surrounded by simple wooden chairs, and low counter stretching across the wall opposite the door. The floor is covered by a carpet of hay, and the fresh smell mingles with the scent of pipe smoke, honey mead and baking bread. Behind the counter a human man entering the later years of his life quietly wipes the counter top with a rag. His once black hair is peppered with long streaks of gray, and his body, clearly once broad and hard, shows the wrinkles and paunch of a man past his prime.

This is Hrothgar, a former adventurer and owner of the Broken Blade. He greets new arrivals with somber words and a half hearted smile, and he carries himself like a man with a great sorrow on his shoulders.

Though it is still early in the afternoon, already some of the local farmers have begun to filter in to the Broken Blade for drinks and to trade tales of local happenings. It is shaping up to be a busy evening at the Broken Blade as five new arrivals make their appearance, eager to find answers to the troubles that have plagued Blamestri these past months.

[User]
 One of the five newcomers was a human woman with deep auburn hair. She wore a set of ocean blue traveller's clothes that looked barely touched. Emerald eyes darted around the tavern's people, her smile bright and cheery. Her skin was pale, as if she'd spent most of her life indoors reading by candlelight, yet her musculature spoke to a relatively healthy lifestyle. She was flipping backwards through the book in her hand, only somewhat paying attention to what page she was on.

 " -found a new donut place, went back to the inn, job board...  ah, here we go, job board!"  Amber ran her finger down the pages, looking for the name of their contact. She glanced back to the others in the group.  "Duncan Merriweather's our contact."

Portent Dice: 3 and 1

[User]
 A half orc must have looked very strange to the people of Balmestri. There were almost none of Garret's kind this far north. His incredibly beaten and chipped plate armor would have done little to ease peoples tension toward him either. But looks and occasional glances were easily ignored.

Garret never really understood contracts. He was a simple man who did simple jobs, do the jobs and get the reward. Although, a contract probably provides a less violent solution when a cheapskate wants to skip out on the reward portion. Some people could appreciate that, he guessed.  "Duncan Merriweather huh? I'll give an ask to the barkeep about it, among other business esquires."

The company in the Broken Blade gave off a very dour atmosphere. Something Garret greatly disliked, especially when he was just about to start drinking. He approached Hrothgar  "alright cheer up, this is going to be a good night. I would like to order two pints of your strongest stuff. You can open up a tab under 'the slayer of the beast.' And you best believe I intend on paying in full."  Garret wasn't simply trying to persuade the man into giving him free drinks, he was paying with a promise. A promise was something Garret always intends to keep.

 Spoiler: Persuasion

I assume I will need to roll persuasion for this so I thought I may as well put it in before hand.
 (1d20+2)[ 20 ]

 "Say you wouldn't also know where me and my compatriots would find a...  he paused for a bit trying to remember the name  "Duncan Merryfeather."

[User]
 " Merriweather, " Louise corrects, nodding to Hrothgar. Although she had been born in Balmestri, long enough has passed for things to have changed. " A flagon for me as well, Hrothgar, " she adds. Although no stranger to the drink, she knows better than to match up against an orc--or a half-orc, as the case may be. She puts a coin down on the bar, prepared to pay her way; at the very least, it should help her to pace herself.

When the drink arrives, she takes a hearty sip, but then stops as she surveys the assembled patrons, nodding in recognition to anyone she remembers from her time in town, and for any sign of the Warden.

[User]
 " I assume you wouldn't have a bottle of fine elven wine to your disposal? " asked Ultima to the gloomy bartender, with a defeated tone but a flicker of hope in her icy blue eyes.
As she waited for an answer, she turned around, not to look at the patrons in the tavern but at her own companions.
Truly, the guild couldn't have found a better group to test her. An half-orc, a scattebrained wizard, and then there was the rogue, of course the prole of a depravate elf who mated with a human couldn't give different results other than a thief. The ranger woman seemed nice enough at least.
When given the task of finding the missing waitress, Ultima was a bit annoyed. This mission had low chances of giving her clues on how to bring her people back to the Outer Planes. After witnessing Louise worrying about her cousin, though, she became favorably inclined to help.
Family bonds are the most precious thing after all.

[User] "Oh right, alcohol... erm... gimme whatever the local specialty is!"  Amber called out to the bartender. She was hoping that whatever the man gave her would jog any memories of this place. Probably not, but it didn't hurt to try. None of the faces in here were ringing bells, either.


[User]
 MUMMY'S MASK, BOOK III: SHIFTING SANDS

After a few days' journey via ship, you arrive in the city of Nephu. Like most of the cities on the banks of the River Sphinx, it is hot, dusty, and perpetually loud. The street vendors hawk their wares, offering everything food (of all sorts) to tchotchkes of various power to dancing girls and boys. With only a modicum of difficulty, you manage to find an inn where you can rest for the time being.

Do you wish to explore the city, or do you want to cut to the chase and get to the library?

[User] Arethros wipes grease from his fingers as he finishes the last of the samplings of street food he tried along the way, returning the soiled handkerchief to one of his many pockets. He called it a 'research project'. He seems untroubled by the discomfort of the environment, looking around the city eagerly.  "I am never one to say no to a library, but becoming familiar with the locale also has value. We could divide and conquer?"

[User]
 "I wouldn't mind exploring the local culture. That's why I came to Osirion in the first place. The treasure hunting is mostly a bonus."

"Anywhere in particular you want to begin Arethros?"  Vic says as she adjusts her hat.

[User]
 "In order to explore the local culture, one must know what there is to explore. Finding a major market is a good source of information due to density of people. A high point of view is an alternative; important buildings are often obvious. And circling back to the beginning of the discussion, a library could also tell us much of the area."

He pauses, then continues as something occurs to him.  "Or we can simply ask the proprietor of this inn, who would be well-versed in such matters."

[User] Anai inhaled deeply, taking in the mingling scents of the local street food, burning incense and the myriad of sweaty bodies in the cramped streets. It felt almost like deja vu, when she had first set foot in Wati. But the stone in her stomach was different; she wasn't the overly-excited archaeologist out on her first exploration. She had already sent a letter back to Sothis and the Ministry of Culture to explain her absence; she was sure they'd understand.  Vic, why don't you and Boru scope out the local affairs here while I and Arethros go towards the Library.

[User] The kobold, having also finished a particularly juicy fruit and wiping his mouth with a needlessly delicate handkerchief speaks up.  "And... what should I do in all this then? I am no researcher but, to tug my own tail here, I have quite the gift of the gab. But if needed I can certainly employ said charm to say... pursuade a few scholars away from their projects for a time to help?"  Elias was trying not to sound... too desperate to be of use. What was the point of signing up otherwise?

[User] Vic puts a hand to her chin for a moment before saying  "How about Boru, Elias, and I go explore the town square and market. We can ask about rumors and gossip and see if that gets us any leads."  She looks to Elias  "I'll be relying on your gab. Mine's in the shop."

[User] Arethros leaves his various traveling good, readying himself for a delightful library dive.

[User]
 GROUP 1 (Anai, Arethos)
After a half mile of walking, you finally reach the library. The high blue dome of Tephu's Great Library, topped with shining gold pinnacles, towers over the surrounding buildings. Huge columns rise from immense footings along the edifice's sheer walls. There's all sorts of records and other reading materials in here, but after a quick search, you don't see anything about this 'sky pharaoh' you're seeking. There is, of course, more information that you might peruse, but it's in the Inner Sanctum, and you need the permission of the Haty-a, one Deka An-Keret.

GROUP 2 (Boru, Elias, Vic)
Your path to the People's Square leads you past the Eye of the Heavens, an observatory who has details of all the astronomical events dating back centuries, even before the founding of Tephu itself. Apparently it houses a both a huge telescope as well as a large brass orrery that they use to model the movement of the planets. However, you decide to continue on your journey until you get to the Square itself. Once there, you see a bustling thoroughfare, with street entertainers and food stalls. As you stop for lunch, the vendor tells you that the real show comes in the evening; with all sorts of excitement: fire eaters, dancing girls (and boys), as well as the merchants of things best not traded in the light of day. You're pretty sure he's referring to various black market goods, though no doubt one could acquire sex and/or drugs this way (rock and roll optional).

[User]
 Arethros inquires around as to where to find Deka An-Kere, while fishing for any tips on making a favorable impression.
 Spoiler
diplomacy if needed  (1d20+15)[ 23 ]

[User] Elias gestures grandly at the market, a sight they've certainly all seen before.  "Welcome my new friends to the markets! Though, I'm certain you have all been here before, perhaps it is not with the sights I can provide hmmm?"  It wasn't perhaps the easiest thing to do, but it was mooooostly just looking for the most interesting people and plying them with food or drink to get them to say something interesting. Or the street urchins. Always the street urchins. With a small grin to the group, he pulled a hefty looking coin pouch from his pack and affixed it to his belt.  "At the very least, I can perhaps treat my new friends to some food? There are delicacies everywhere! O-of course we'll look for someone who seems educated as well? For the... thing."

[User]
 GROUP 1
The clerk says that that the Haty-a (which is a title roughly equivalent to that of governor) also happens to be the high priestess of Nethys, so you would probably find her in the Sanctuary of Nethys, the large cathedral across the boulevard from the Library. However, you spent all day searching the archives, so the sun is rapidly starting to set. You'd best get back to the inn before it gets too dark.

GROUP 2
Elias' gambit paid off, and soon enough you get a street urchin attempt to pickpocket him. The urchin, a young boy by the name of Iago, bolts, but the trying to run from someone who can teleport rarely goes well and he is quickly captured. With some talk and metaphorical greasing of palms, you learn a few things about the local goings on, but the major one is that there's some dignitary from Sothis visiting town. She's staying in a fancy house just outside the Old City (the walled section in the center of town), and she heard stories that she likes to feed people to crocodiles and laugh, so he has been keeping away.

[User]
 Arethros thoroughly enjoys his day, diving into dusty tomes, sorting scroll fragments, translating nearly forgotten tablets, and haranguing poor innocent clerks. Speaking to his companion on the way back to the inn,  "The indexing system here really is atrocious. We could have made twice the progress if Swiftbloom standard classification, but humans! What can you say? Still better then the mess in Magnimar, obviously. Dreadful. Regardless, a satisfying day. You know, in a few centuries I may settle down to be a librarian. There are worse ways to spent a hundred years."

One may feel free to shudder for the fates of the hypothetical future assistants.

[User]
 After turning the urchin loose, Vic stands for a moment twirling her hair while deep in thought.
 "Hmm, a dignitary from Sothis feeding people to crocodiles? That might be worth looking into, but I'd want the team together. Maybe a quick, or you know not so quick, stop off at the Eye of Heaven? I've always wanted to learn more about astronomy, but the gear required is so expensive."

 Spoiler
I'm thinking Eye of Heaven,
then get the band back together, and see if anyone wants to hit up the black market.

[User] Boru, Elias, and Victoria visited the observatory. While not particularly insightful, Vic learned a lot of surface level details about astronomy, while Boru enjoyed learning the 'official' names to a ew stars his people had used for navigation. Otherwise, their trip went without note, and they returned to the inn where soon they met up with Anai and Athreos, who had learned quite a bit from their trip to the library.

[User] Once all together again, Arethros gives a brief report on their progress.  "We made a good start on our research, ran into a bit of a complication. The information appears to be in a collection that we need special permission to access. Seems we need to speak to the Haty-a, Deka An-Keret, high priestess of Nethys. I would like to do so first thing tomorrow."

[User] Elias picks at a pastry he'd picked up while they were out.  "I feel like we didn't accomplish a lot today. And I admit to taking part of that blame. Only part."  He sighs and takes another bite, washing down with some sweet water.  "I don't really know how to get a hold of someone in the churches, we don't... see eye to eye all the time. But we found out about a dignitary from Sothis who supposedly throws people to her crocodiles, that's interesting?"

[User] Anai stifled a laugh.  Interesting? Sure. That's really kind of typical for those snobs back at Sothis. Trust me, I know.  Anai downed the lukewarm coffee she had been nursing since finishing her own breakfast.  Well lets not waste any time; lets get to this high priestess.

[User]
 "There is a black market that opens at nights. It might have equipment for sale that we won't find anywhere else. The Eye of Heaven is also probably more interesting when the stars are actually out."  Vic makes sure to mention.

 "What fun facts did you guys manage to find by the way?"  she says to Arethros and Anai.

[User] Arethros chuckles.  "I could compile a book, but the relevant portion has been said."

[User]
 Deciding to finish the search in the library before moving on towards the haty-a, the more scholarly of the party is able to finish up their search in the Library. While you don't find anything about Hakotep himself, you do find an obscure index compiled by a previous curator of the library lists the scroll referencing Hakotep as one of many that were copied from the personal library of the Sky Pharaoh. This collection of scrolls is held in a part of the Great Library's Inner Sanctum called the Spiral Archive, described as a chamber resembling a vertical scroll tube crossed by a latticework of papyrus bridges. At least now you know where you need to look for more info.

The rest of the party goes looking for the noblewoman they'd heard of the day before. With a little bit of searching, you find an estate called The Palace of Gentile Reeds. A great palace towers over the canal, fronted with a palisade of beautifully painted pillars in dazzling colors. In front of the palace, moored to a magnificent marble quay, a luxurious river barge wallows in the turbid waters of the canal. Between the barge and the palace, a makeshift camp of colorful tents and stalls has sprung up, creating a small village worth of bustling activity.

With both leads reconnoitered, the two groups meet up around noon for lunch at a local eatery.

What's the plan?

[User]
 Vic orders a sampler platter and makes notes in her journal about the ingredients and her opinions of the food.

 "Do we know anything about Deka An-Keret? Maybe something she'd want as a present. It never hurts to suck up to someone that has what you need."

[User] Arethros shrugs,  "We can ask around; what we need is a local versed in politics."

[User] Anai huffed, puffing a stray hair out of the way from her face.  I work in the Black Dome all the time, but I don't really get out of the office much. She doesn't even ring any bells for me, sorry.

[User] "Hmmm..."  Elias mumbled into a cup full of some over-sweet liquer.  "If we are to ingratiate ourselves to the Lady, it's only the most minor courtesy we can extend. Though, I admit my idea is... minorly cheeky in reference to the rumors surrounding her."  He looked over his cup, lizard-esque eyes glinting.  "What about, a crocodile statue? Jade perhaps? Or Lapis, if we're feeling spendy?"


[User]
 Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?
Reign of Winter IC?Reign of Winter IC?


[User]
 From an outside perspective, it'd have been hard to say if you should curse or thank your lucky star for being where you are right now. But either way, this was your chance to make it big. Or to die. Either would have the benefit of making you avoid having to handle such assignments in the future, so it was something to look forward to.

You thought back at the message you read, less than one hour earlier, after a series of heavy knocks rattled your door:

  "At 10 am today, the vice-leader of the Hunters gang Buran, visited the house of the citizen-alchemist Lambrin, accompanied of the orc muscles-for-hire Garuk and Kurag. At 10:30, vice-leader Buran and muscles-for-hire Garuk and Kurag were spotted leaving the house. At 10:45, the citizen-alchemist Lambrin's recently-made corpse was found. Whichever events transpired in the house, the muscles-for-hire Garuk and Kurag must be prevented from spreading the information. By following the map on the second sheet of this message, you will find the two of them alone, guarding one of the Hunters gang's holdings.

Your objectives are to kill both of them, and collect at least one of their heads to place at the drop-off point, also indicated on the map, before 3:50 pm.

Do not be distracted.

Do not fail.

Do not think you can escape in case of failure.

And remember: have a wonderful day, as any day being yourself is a day to be wonderful!

Your sincere friend,

The Benefactor"

You just had the time to read it a second time when it crumbled into a small wet pile of sickly colored moss, unreadable. The sheet with the plan was thankfully spared, though, which allowed you to follow its instruction for the building the two orcs guarded. It seemed to be a small dry dock for the reparation of smaller boats, in the more destitute part of the harbor.

Evidently, the two thugs didn't seem desirous to be discreet, as the noise they made could be heard even from the street, if faintly. In front of you are the double-doors of the building.

It is now noon, and you have your orders.

What do you want to do?


[User]
 RAVNICA, THIRD DISTRICT
  Introductions
Scarcely a week has passed since your world had been upheaved. Ravnica had always been a factional city paved with mutual disdain between the feuding guilds. Though the dense cityscape offered respites and opportunities for small acts of fraternal misconduct amongst the myriad of people of Ravnica every public transaction warranted scrutiny from a superior to probe its impact on  other  guilds. Whether your guild had considered it ecological niche or economic comparative advantages the stances and postures were alike. Your adversaries must never be allowed to occupy the niche of apex predator, and your comparative advantages must not be eroded or serve  their  interests.

 --oOo--
The invasion had been violent but short, leaving you alive. But the salvage encompassed all of Ravnica leading to the collaborative restoration of Ravnica. You stand around a waning campfire as a whistling kettle suspended by an improvised tripod announces the completion of your morning brew. Life had been dusty, rough, and gritty since your hasty assignment and arrival Salvage Site 3  Copper Cave . A dirty cart towed by two undead ordained by the Orzhov squeaks by coming uncomfortably close the tripod and ruining your morning ritual. Their jet-black bodies and golden masks offer no apologies while the head of slain  Phyrexian   within bobbles back and forth over every bump in its path. Its open jaw silently cackles at the prospect of forcing you to clean up its mess.

The day had started early and site managers seeking not to be outdone by one their counterparts from rival guilds
"  Divinity abhors layabouts!  " A finely dressed human priestess, chief field general  Elizabeta Evangelico , melodically sighs accusingly towards you. Her Orzhov pendant magnificently shines on her neck. She fluidly sweeps an ornate censer to guide the teams of undead, much more fittingly than any of you she would add, to haul away the rubble.

  "All living things must work to survive and today is not any different". Come, we can still complete our mission on schedule.   Chief physician  Vajsoon , a male Loxodon, remarks warmly before reciting an incantation summoning green ribbons of light spiraled with white veins coaxing maple sweet sap from a tree towards a large retort dispensing sinister black sludge. He discreetly sniffs the sap, allowing it to nourish his soul.

  "Never learning anything new from doing it twice. Let's finish up and blow this site."   Cackles chief goblin scientist,  Magda Fugate . She fidgets in front of an assembly line in search of any small treasures worth salvaging. She giggles excitedly as she thumbs through the lenses affixed to helmet no doubt repurposed from the remains of the optometrist's office you uncovered last week.

The sun peaks over the horizon as even the plane itself seems intent on prodding you to work.

[User] Thalion Greenleaf takes another juicy bite of a peach from a tree he helps tend in the Selesnya gardens. Juice running down his face, he asks Vasjoon "What kind of repair work is on the agenda? I want to get done as soon as I can so I can go back to napping and eating under the old oak tree back at the Conclave."

[User]
 Copper Cave Salvage Site

Vajsoon smiles warmly as Thalion approaches. The elder Loxodon had grown accustomed the relaxed etiquette that had taken root in his young disciple of nature. Vajsoon gives a sly and humored but welcoming smile that embraced Thalion as much as his Loxodon body; broadcasting that  he had  accepted the unique gait at which Thalion charted through life but other senior Selesnian naturalists would be quickly to reprimand such a pace.

  No repairs today Thalion, Madga promised me that doubly so today. All we need to do is keep feeding this machine, the "retort", the sap it needs to continue freeing the land of this awful oil. Delightful, isn't it? Nature has provided us a sticky treat and an essential fluid for reclaiming our world.   He whimsically extolls as he continues spiraling mana to coax sap from the tree. The sweet aroma of the sap diffuses through the air the pace and temperature of the machine rises.

Izzet engineers had provided details on the "retort" machine to Thalion and other Selesnyan acolytes before the salvage had begun. The abridged details re-emerge, the sealed chambers were filled debris and skeletons tainted by the corruptive Phyrexian oil, the contents were heated by runes. The oil would evaporate and travel the body of the machine before being cooled by an ice mephit, frigid water, and the sweet sap. The syrup was a compromise between the Izzets' insistence on the use of experimental, ecologically hazardous, antifreezes and Selesnyan concerns. But many accolytes had endured weeks without pastries drizzled in their sweet maply syrup.

 Spoiler: Retort recollections

  Whether it is the machinery, plants, or your own troubleshooting I have faith you will do what is needed to advance the mission. I just worry... Some of the other masters have been discussing their theories in the evolution. How the tick despite being cousin to the spider, relies on hosts to feed it, move it to new pastures, and protect it. Causing the tick to lose its protective venom, its nimble climbing feet, and beautiful webs. They believe the tick, like all parasites are fated to lose the natural blessing of nature.   He wearily apologizes to Thalion.

You remember the picturesque Selesnyan arboretums and manicured meadows. Beautiful orb weaver spiders congregated and spun webs around the vegetable gardens and dusty indoor spaces out of reach. But no ticks were ever present. One of the masters had made it apparent during their sermons on the ever-present virtues inherent in nature and the duty of Selesnya, the stewards of nature, to honor them.

  But not all the masters. I still believe every creature has a place in the natural world. Your dreams serve a purpose even if others don't know yet.   He comfortingly replies as some vigor returns to him. Vajsoon doubles his efforts in rushing sap to the retort while black Phyrexian oil gathers in large cauldron. A trail of smoky incense slithers along the ground leading a team of gilded zombies to collect the filling pot.

The rising sun reveals the presence of inquisitive figures partially hidden by the frames of the modest wooden one and two-story buildings composing the town of Copper. The guild less townsfolk observe less tentatively now with the sun making any effort at observing inconspicuously moot.

 Spoiler: OOC: Potential tasks
 There is a lot of skill checks that could be done during the day. Maybe arcana-based engineering, nature-based sap collection, perception-based inspections on people, tools, or the environment, even something else if it makes sense. Two skills can be rolled due to the day being long.

[User]
 “Hmmm, many thought-provoking questions posited,” Nitt remarks to no one in particular. “Mayhap the tick has become complacent in its lot in life, mayhap it does not have the mental or physical capacity to survive on its own. What if it is incapable of learning from its mistakes? Hmmmm, thought-provoking questions indeed.”

After a pause to scan over Witt, his lime, almost neon, green pseudodragon familiar and the rest of the salvage crew, the vedalken posits a question of his own, again to no one in particular, “What if it were possible to more safely and seamlessly blend the natural world with the supernatural?”

Without waiting for an answer, he continues, “While predicting the future is a fool’s game, somewhere down the line there must at least be an improvement on  that ” he adds, bleary eyes alighting under the dawning of the day as he peers at the contraption he spent half the night studying.

“Come now,” Nitt instructs his familiar as he dusts himself off and grabs his staff, “It is time to see what lies ahead.”

Dutifully, the pseudodragon emits a brief cheerful chirp and flies onto Nitt’s shoulder opposite the staff. Upon reaching its perch, the familiar begins a curious breathing exercise as it swivels its head to survey the scene, first analyzing the contraption before curiously peering at the increasingly-obvious onlookers.

[User]
 Copper Cave Salvage Site
 Nitt's observations

After briefly contemplating the philosophy of one Selesnyan sect told by senior Selesnyan naturalist Vajsoon the work site comes into greater focus. Each breath of cool air filled with the dual aromas of incense and antifreeze sap bring details of the retort and the growing crowd into greater prominence to Nitt.

The retort

The  retort , a proud Izzet contribution, hums and hisses as it begins the process of separating Phyrexian oil from salvageable materials. The pace of crew's operation is evident in the condition. Dirt coats the heat chamber preventing any casual inspection of its state. The coolant chamber lacks any leaks and the rapid clinking of the machines body indicates the sieves separating smaller debris from Phyrexian contamination is in a taxed but working order. If the machine were a junior Izzet lab assistant, it would be disheveled and momentarily groggy from neglecting its grooming after having spent several nights in lab to complete the final day of promsing experiment in a promising scientific campaign.

The croud

No concentrated use of  Insight  is required to discern the prevailing attitudes of the  crowd . A mix of frustration and accumulated discontent permeates the crowd. The Guildless have had an uneasy relation with the guilds recently. The escalating tensions and arms race between guilds had led to the decline of civil services along with the fracturing of a governing body. The guilds ran every aspect official function of Ravnican society and not everyone was satisfied with it. But complaints were hushed, who could raise objections to what seemed to be the bedrock, the most entrenched premise, of Ravnican society?

"  - cleaning up their mess - what a load of - why I outta. "
The Phyrexians had broken Ravnica's bedrock and shook the most deeply belief. Routines broke along with buildings and most long-standing leaders had receded from constant public view, including Niv Mizzet the guildmaster of Izzet. The crowd slowly begins to grow and creep forwards. The individual figures blend together without a concentrated use of  Perception  though the figures are not all uniform. Perhaps a pendant, attitude, speech, or cloth was distinguishing a few?


[User]
 Introductions

Okynnet’s cycle was at its end with winter. Old trees and their homes turned to cinders in the creeping inferno. Far away Spring was announcing itself with saplings rising from the ashes, to provide shelter anew.
Videkvist, may she live forever, had kept her rule long enough to see the last remnants of her predecessor go up in flames. Few did and yet she was not done, a new era was coming, the Lantern Holders had been chosen. A chance for the masses to return to their true homes, or reign supreme in Limbo, a chance for Her to play.

Bouncing up a rickety staircase around the tallest tree still seemingly trustworthy, Videkvist disappeared in the smoke until only the bright white light of her Lantern was shining through. When it stopped moving a giddy voice permeated the realm:

 “Welcome Rulers, Champions, and Thrill-Seekers!
I have wandered the Halls and met the Wolf, Stumbled through the Gutters and met the Samrat, tasted the flames of rebirth, and yet I have more to discover. In this realm of madness there is always something new. I have no interest in returning to life, nor ruling when I could explore.

We are the Elfs of Okynnet and our trade is knowledge, our home the stones left unturned. We withdraw from the self proclaimed King’s game and offer our services to all participants. Faithful, Traitor, Bystander, anyone with Mirth is welcome to make an offer.

Each of you should have brought something precious, if not oh well you’re out. What game are we playing? Easy, whoever holds the most mementos when this tree falls will get our Lantern.

Fight, team up, lie, steal, bargain, we do not care how you get them if you get them, Good Luck!

Oh, and if I win I might just keep it.”

As the voice fades a shower of sparks cast their dim light over rickety bridges between giant trees and hollow dwellings, beneath a sky of smoke.

 Spoiler: Contest Rules

Characters do not need to attend the event with an action to participate, The Elfs will send them the Lantern regardless.

One character (or duo, trio, etc that acts as one)  per player.

Everyone starts with one memento

Rolls are ruler stat + 2d6, or half ruler stat rounded up for non-rulers.

Participants may have a contest in an agreed upon stat over mementos, or use force if no agreement is reached. The Victor gains all or a previously agreed upon amount of mementos from the Loser.

To find unwilling opponents, make a conviction roll with a +3 modifier, opposed by a Discretion roll with no modifier, as the realm bends to accommodate the contest.

The same opponent cannot be challenged multiple times in a row unless they agree to it or you have gained/lost new mementos since your last contest.

Memento counter - TBD

[User]
 Nendir listened to the speech with his small entourage, his black eyes boring into the speaker. Although he himself seemed to suck all the light from his surroundings, his escort, out of their own silver haven, showed brightly coloured skin, in one case blue, in some others a pastel pink, one a bright red. Between them they carried a painting, fifteen feet tall, in which a huge squirming dragon was both surrounded and given form by a host of tiny creatures who on closer inspection were involved in a number of battle scenes. Terrible bloodsoaked demons with barbed probosces did battle with tusked clone armies wielding huge hammers; iridescent angels with metal wings are torn from the sky by raptorial lizards; lion-headed apes with shining auras tore into reptilian giants with crocodilian faces. The impression is of chaos, but taken as a whole, there is a strange balance to the work, and the details seem to change. It feels like one could look at this painting for years and never see it all.

" Very well, " Nendir said, as the game was announced. " I shall play. "

[User]
 Stumbling down a very very tall tree and choking on her own breath Videkvist is regretting certain choices after having the realm carry her voice whilst delivering a speech at the edge of a wildfire. Finally she reaches the ground and fresher air when she feels a shift in the forest, the first competitor has arrived. Accelerating to a sprint, as her lungs stop burning, the wind itself feels like it is carrying her forward towards the next challenge. All she has to do is run and she will find a playmate, she is certain of it.

Remembering the clutches of a moist, dripping hand reaching out between razor sharp teeth she comes to a sudden stop. Just what kind of monster could her new playmate be? No longer approaching at a sprint but a cautious meander she waits at the edge of the realms pull, where it feels like one more step would set her up for a collision with whatever titan or mouse awaits and calls out.

 “I will play a game of tag with you, or if you are too slow to catch me one of will.”

[User]
 Originally Posted by Torv
  “I will play a game of tag with you, or if you are too slow to catch me one of will.”

" A contest of will it shall be, then. I am not so foolish as to attempt to chase someone on their home turf ."

 (2d6+4)[ 6 ]
😩

[User]
 “Ha, you refuse a chase but dare to clash wills with a ruler in their own realm? This is not your reality, it is mine.”

Caught by surprise at the audacity of the attack Nendir’s monochromatic sphere gives way to the blazing forest around it and a circle of vibrant flowers bloom at his feet. At least he himself seems unaffected by the shift in color, small mercies indeed.

 “Now do you want to play tag or should I saunter off with your cutsie dragon?”

[User]
 " Very well, I shall play your child's game ".

 (2d6+4)[ 11 ]

[User]
 "Awwwww, don’t be all grumpsy. You can have the Lantern then. You at least tried to play even though your mindset is dreadfully boring. I’ll send it along later, I have some more shouting to do at Mr. Wax first. Oh, and I’m keeping the painting - it really is cute, tata!"

With those words Videkvist disappears in the smoke, on her way to make some more poor decisions.