conversations: human
conversations:  The evening draws near. The time of ascension is at hand.
  
  For three days now, the Ko have hosted visitors from all across Mamut, with the notable exception of the Crimson Kingdom. While not everyone arrived at once, the time for the main event has come. This very midnight, the stars will reach an alignment never before seen, one which Theris declares will be quite fortuitous for what they Ko have planned. As for the nature of their coming ceremony, few among the Ko know the true details, and even fewer outsiders.
  
  Still, that does not lessen the Ko’s hospitality. In celebration, Zinnia has invited the principle representatives of the various kingdoms for what she calls her ‘Final Feast’, held in the Towerhome’s grand feasting hall under the light of many torches. There, in close company, they are free to talk, laugh, and interact as they are wont to. Theris puts on a magic show, displaying her honed skills with sleight of hand and lunar mysticism. Onyx gathers a few of those willing for a game of riddles, each player betting that they can solve more than the rest. In short, Zinnia tries her best to recapture that feeling of unity and happiness that occasioned the very first meeting in the Towerhome all those years ago, when she herself was quite young.
  
  Of course, things have changed since then. Tensions have risen. Alliances formed, broken, and discarded. Wars fought. Friends and family killed. Tonight, however, is not the time for such things. For now, there is food, music, and whatever other entertainments the Ko can offer.
  
   
   Spoiler: General Outline 
  Alright! So, decided to skip ahead past the greeting stage of everyone coming in. Assume you’ve been here for a little while. That said, currently we have several areas of interest.
  
  Zinnia’s Table: At the front of the room, where Zinnia herself sits. Onyx has a seat, but has abandoned it in favor of…
  
  The Winery: Laden with amphoras full of the finest wines, this table is your go-to for getting absolutely hammered. Prince Onyx is currently here, issuing a tipsy challenge to anyone. Exchange riddles and the first to fail to guess the other’s pays up. If that is not to your taste, perhaps you prefer…
  
  The Stage: With a rotating series of Theris’ finest stageplays, interspersed with personal performances by the Ko’s high priestess herself, there is surely something here to catch your eye. From folk tales like, “The Uzii Who Punched A Mountain In Half” to high, contemplative works of art based off the collected wisdom of Thorn, you can find it all here.
   
conversations: Miltonian:
conversations: human
conversations:  It's been sixteen years since Onyx last saw An’Uorg, but the heavy built Goliath was easily recognizable by his portly face and sneering smile. Unlike Onyx, An'Uorg had visibly aged in the almost two decades since their heist in Cook-Slab's underground casino. The Goliath was greyer, more lined, but he carried himself with a more distinguished rarified air. After returning the Kursaal without his quarry - the various Mob Bosses of the city demanded recompense with which An’Uorg paid for with his fingers. The punishment and anger did not last and "Seven-Finger" An’Uorg remained on the payroll of many of the gangs. Time passed - but Seven-Fingers did not forgive or forget and worked through the decade to betray and ousted many of his employers until it came to it that Seven-Fingers was one of the most powerful Bosses in the city.
  
  That is the man who came by - dressed in finery, wearing a golden flower on his robe like a Boutonniere - to pay his respects to an old friend. An’Uorg sat down across from Onyx in the Winery and revealing a hand with only three fingers grabbed loosely a bottle of wine and poured himself a cup to the brink.
  
   Hello Onyx - It has been a while. How has time treated you? 
conversations: mystic1110:
conversations: human
conversations:  The Scrim are often considered a somewhat somber people by the standards of the other races of Mamut. Their demeanour can come across as dour and plain to those who do not know them well. Those who do will tell you a different story, one of a people who simply do not speak when they have nothing to say, with rich internal lives that they rarely share casually. Every action of a Scrim is considered, calmly and coolly. It is often a point of friction between them and others; their dispassionate affect is often interpreted as callousness, though the years have made them more normal to many.
  
  Today, though, the Scrim delegation is a picture of harmony between Scrim and others. The Thunspeaker sits at Zinnia's table, their usual ostentatious gemstones notably absent. Sitting to each of their sides, leaning against them, are two older humans, the Warspeaker Arman and the "diplomat" Affel, both members of the Thunspeaker's Jouraka. Nithor's arms are gently curled about the two's shoulders, and the group sways softly to some unheard rhythm. The three hold a private conversation about nothing in particular in low murmurs, simply enjoying easy company borne of long familiarity.
  
  Over by the Winery, Steady-Hand, newly dubbed as both Warspeaker and Champion of Light, is demonstrating a remarkable tolerance for alcohol. If her signing is a little clumsy, it does not impede communication much, thanks to her faithful translator, a quiet young basalt Scrim by the name of Holn. Dutifully, he conveys her increasingly drunken hand gestures.
   &lt;Okay. Okay.&gt;  She pauses.  &lt;Whose turn is it to tell the next riddle again? 
  
  Finally, a solitary Scrim watches the stage intently. Atir, the young diplomat self-styled as First-Born of Arrakh-Rah, gazes with open rapture at the stories told on stage. All of the stories. They seem to have absolutely no sense of discrimination or preference- they lap it all up, from laughing at the low-brow comedies to making a strange grinding noise that might pass for weeping at the tragedies. Left to their own devices, they might never move again if permitted, content to watch the artistry on display.
conversations: Silent_Interim:
conversations: human
conversations:  Karra sat in the audience for the stage plays with one of her children. Performances like this were still not familiar to her, but she found them interesting nonetheless. But it had not been her idea to watch them. Tsani, her eldest daughter, had insisted on seeing what they were about. As yet another performance ended, she cried “More! More! More!” She had inherited her father’s elven features more prominently than any of her siblings, and was remarkably beautiful.
  
  Thaban, meanwhile, had lost interest in the acting quickly. He was drinking with the Ko-Balls that had played with his team during the past season, recounting their favorite matches together. Thaban had joined the Greenhorns and quickly become the team’s star thrower, causing the sport for the first time to truly surge in popularity among the Koxrrit. But a graceful loser he was not. He loudly voiced his displeasure at not being crowned champion despite the team’s undefeated season every time the topic came up.
  
  The three had of course cordially greeted their hosts and introduced themselves. But they still didn’t know the Ko leadership very well. Karra had met Fosfer previously, but hadn’t seen him yet today. As such she had seen it best not to linger in Zinnia’s table for too long while she had other guests to attend to.
conversations: OmnivorousOgre:
conversations: human
conversations:  Onyx has not visibly aged much, at least not to the eyes of other species. The scales of a Ko grow thicker and tougher with age, becoming rougher to the touch. However, with proper buffing and a little filing, the effect can be minimized.
  
  He decants a small goblet of wine as he talks with An’Uorg. "A while, yes. I have been so terribly busy. You would not believe the work that witch of a mother has been making me do." He sighs and rolls his eyes. "But it's supposed to all be worth it here now. So it can't be all bad, now can it?"
  
  They chat for a little longer as the group grows in size. The riddle game commences in earnest and Onyx says, "Oh, I do believe that is me." He clears his throat. "A house-full, a home-full, but you cannot catch a bowl-full. What is it?"
  
  He takes a sip, looking pleased with himself.
  
  ====
  
  The next play begins shortly after the last one ended. This time, Theris herself comes onstage, bedecked in all her finery, scales painted a myriad of shimmering colors. "Friends," she says, "Hear now the true origins of the Ko."
  
  With her as narrator, the players emerge once more and tell the (perhaps modified) story of how the Ko were created as a slave-race to an old and cruel wizard. After suffering for years under him, a young Ko named Tangle poisoned the wizard and set the Ko free. He became the first Towermaster, ruling over the Ko in peace and harmony for many years, as did his son after him. But his grandson, Thicket, came to know that the Ko were not alone in the world. That there were many larger and grander than they. Here, the play takes an odd turn. While not overtly hostile towards anyone present, it does refer to the many monsters and dangers outside the Towerhome's borders. These words could merely refer to the Blightspawn, but the meaning is left a little ambiguous.
  
  The play ends with Theris alone onstage once more. "And tonight begins a new chapter," she declares, "Which you will all see in due time."
conversations: Miltonian:
conversations: human
conversations:  Seven-Fingers drinks his wine and looks into the empty bowl trying to divine the answer. He could gamble at dice and cards, but riddles were not his forte. He thinks longs and hard on what could fit inside a house but not a bowl? What type of house? What type of bowl? Would fire be an acceptable answer? The fire can burn down a hut but a clay bowl can hold it. With no better guess coming to his mind he ventures:
  
  " Fire? "
conversations: mystic1110:
conversations: human
conversations:  Steady-Hand continues to drink as Holn translates for her. When they finish, she almost doubles over with silent, wheezing laughter. When she is done, she signs her response to Holn to translate.
  
   &lt;That is an easy riddle. It is the wind.&gt; 
conversations: Silent_Interim:
conversations: human
conversations:  Onyx blinks several times. "Well...both those work, I suppose. The answer I had was smoke." He huffs a little, annoyed that not only was the riddle so easily guessed, it even had more answers than he had intended. "Well, I don't suppose either of you can do one better?"
  
  =====
  
     ASCENSION APPROACHES   
  
  The hour came at last.
  
  With the end of Zinnia’s last play, the time was right for the Ko to take their positions. The royal family and other assembled leaders excuse themselves and make their way to the very top of the Towerhome. Their guests are invited to watch, but the space marked out for doing so is at the tower’s base, though with a good view of the proceedings.
  
  One by one, the Ko file out and onto the roof of the Towerhome. Stripped of all their usual adornments, they seem even smaller from this distance. A human child could overpower them in a contest of sheer strength. They are twenty in all, huddled together on the roof. They whisper to themselves, holding a conference of sorts. Then, upon some pre-arranged signal, they fall into silence. With unnaturally steady steps, they form a circle on the very edges of the roof’s tower, except for Theris. She remains in the very center. All eyes are drawn to her, which is exactly how she likes it.
  
  The Ko playwright, poet, and high priestess of the moon scans her surroundings. Her eyes take in not just her fellow Ko, but all the eyes of all those from across Mamut who have come to witness this. Her heart flutters a bit. She takes a small breath, and a bit of fog forms by her mouth. “Showtime,” she says under her breath.
  
  A grin spreads across her mouth and she spreads her arms wide. A faint shimmer ripples through the air, silver like moonlight. Then, she begins to dance in a strange, serpentine pattern. Hypnotizing. As light as a feather on her feet. As she does, Zinnia steps forward.
  
  “Ever since you first came to this place,” she calls, “We have known that we were weak. We are small compared to you. We cannot run as far, fight as hard, kill as easily. When we make war, it is we who are slaughtered by the droves.”
  
  She pauses and raises her eyes to the full moon, high above. “It has been my dream,” she continues, “for the Ko to stand on equal footing with the great races of Mamut. And now, the world has expanded once again. There are many peoples, strange and terrifying, far beyond our borders. The world is wide and dangerous, and we have been ill-prepared to face it. No longer.”
  
  A ripple appears in the air behind her as Theris dances. She sees it and dances faster, yet faster. The Ko in the circle raise a low chant, arms raised, eyes closed. The ripple grows, warps, expands, contracts, whirls, and spins round and round and round.
  
  Zinnia turns away from the crowd and peers right into the center of the rippling vortex. “Do you hear me?” she cries, “Oh great Sun, Moon, and all the Stars, you will hear me. Too long we have been ignored! Too long we have been the least of Mamut!”
  
  The ripple spun yet faster and Theris still danced. Or maybe the ripple danced and Theris spun? Perhaps the whole roof of the tower spun at dizzying speed, so fast that it seemed to stand still.
  
  Zinnia spread her arms wide. “I demand you—”
  
  
  The vortex erupted. Light, color, a spectrum of cacophony erupted over the roof of the Towerhome. The Ko disappeared with nary a scream. The colors slowed and hung over them like a cloud. Then, right as it slowed almost to a standstill, one last cry from Zinnia rang out like a gong.
  
  “My dream! Moon, monarch of the night! Stars, its children! You will make it real!”
  
  The cloud let out a soft hiss. It collapsed inward, forming new shapes, solid shapes. It became a tangle of claws and wings and fangs and scales. They lay still for a moment, a long moment that stretched on and on. But then, they moved.
  
  A figure rose from among the pile. Scales red as rubies, eyes glowing like flame. Taller than the tallest Goliath, though possessing a long, slender neck and an even longer tail. She held up her claws and studied them beneath the light of the pale moon. A ripple passed through her, and for just a moment, the audience could see right through her and to the stars beyond. But then, it passed.
  
  The figure threw back its head and let out a triumphant roar. Fire sprang from her throat and lit up the night. By its flickering flames, the onlookers could see the forms of twenty other creatures, both like and unlike the first. They rose slowly, some stumbling like newborns, and each was stunning in its own way.
  
  One had scales black as jet, but diamonds and rubies that glowed with power ran down his back. A single red diamond, larger than all the rest, pulsed rhythmically over his heart. His eyes gleamed with a gold-silver light, the colors of greed.
  
  One had wings made of crystal and scales so fine they almost looked like smooth skin. White as the surface of the moon itself, she moved with ethereal, otherworldly grace. The light which caught and reflected off her crystal wings seemed to dance lightly, but her eyes had an unmistakable draw that compelled all to look into them.
  
  One, however, was an image of terror. From his scales, black as well, though black as the deepest, darkest cave, to the foul vapors and a maw that spat both poison and acid, it looked as though he stepped out of a nightmare. Everything about him was designed to kill.
  
  The others were both the same and different in their own ways. One rippled like waves on the ocean. One had eyes like the heart of a lightning bolt. They were equal parts beautiful, awe-inspiring, and terrifying at the same time.
  
  The red one stepped to the fore and spread her forelegs wide. “ People of Mamut! ” Zinnia’s voice, though far more full and powerful, roared, “ Behold! And let our enemies tremble!” 
conversations: Miltonian: