Dark & Shattered Lands

Player Written Story Note Archive

Note: If you see names without the note below, its due to their story not being posted to "All"

Writer: Erlestoke
Date Mon Aug 10 23:35:41 2026
To All Althainia Geirhart Agapitos ( Imm RP)
Subject Death of an Inquisition, End of an Inquisitor

The sound of hard leather boots on stone echo through the halls of the
small building, tapping out a staccato beat in the now empty halls. I pause
to glance in to each room and office as I pass.

The armory, left only to dust and cobwebs, any equipment long since used,
looted or removed to locales unknown. I close my eyes, picturing it when
last I saw it. It was filled with weapons of exceptional make fitted with
silver inlays. Pegs, hooks and stands of weapons to combat vampires, chaos
and those who revel in darkness, but are now no longer to be found. Racks
of armor blessed against the machinations of the foe lay empty and laden
with cobwebs. Shelves where potions and tinctures and vials blessed by
priests lay, now stripped bare. I spare one more glance to the room before
moving on. On, past barracks and offices, mess and scriptorium until
finally the treasury came last, deepest and that too, was like a bare
cupboard, any valuables including the safe long since repatriated to
elsewhere in the Empire.

Back through the building my steps carry me, echoing sharp reminders that
what once bustled with noise is now barren. A small breeze squeaks through
the cracks between boarded up windows to flutter a bit of parchment crumpled
on the ground. The ink was smudged and smeared, but I had seen similar
recently enough to make out the words that mattered: "hereby ordered
disbanded." With those three words, the cause I had given so many years to
was ended. Lost in thought, it was not until I look out over the building
from outside do I realize again where I am. The Emperor's Inquisition had
ended... And with it the life I knew, my identity and purpose.

I had been told there was nothing left of my old life, but I could not bear
not seeing this place one more time. It could not be real until I had. I
could not help but consider the Emperor's charge and the words of counsel
spoken to me by the Abbott. In response to them I cannot help but utter:

"I am not one to offer others hope... No, I have no hope to give... But
perhaps the Abbott was right... Perhaps even a ... Practical man... Has
value. "

Writer: Erlestoke
Date Mon Aug 10 23:41:54 2026
To All Althainia Geirhart Agapitos ( Imm RP)
Subject A Practical Man, on the Temple Road

Travelers passed me by without a second glance as I watched from the side
of the road. Each the passed seem to haul carts full of goods off to the
city. The more heavily laden wagons churning deep ruts in the muddy road.
One seemed to get stuck and the drover looked in my direction, eyes pleading
for help but perhaps too proud to ask.

"You just going to stand there fella or will you help an old man out? " the
drover called over even as his feet lost traction in the mud.

I stepped to help the poor sod carefully. As we both leaned into the back
of the wagon a young lad who looked to be the drover's son laid on the reins
and the wheels finally found purchase in the roadway. The progress was slow
but the wagon moved on and the drover turned to me.

"You traveling too? Or another one of them mercenaries been wandering
about? " the drover asked me, eyeing my kit suspiciously.

"A mercenary? No, just a practical man with an eye out for ill intent. " I
smoothly replied as I began to turn back to where I had been waiting at the
roadside.

"Oh, a practical man is it? And I suppose he has friends everywhere" the
drover muttered half to himself as he lengthened his stride to catch up to
the wagon, clearly meaning to end the interaction.

"Not everywhere.. But perhaps still a few. " I breathed out, twisting the
corner of my mouth into a smirk at my own private joke. With that I settled
back against the roadside tree to watch the traffic. Boring is good I told
myself, I had best delight in in while I can. Soon enough this road may
become far too interesting.

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Tue Aug 11 09:32:36 2026

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Tue Aug 11 19:36:47 2026

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Tue Aug 11 21:02:48 2026

Writer: Ithelim
Date Wed Aug 12 13:12:51 2026

Writer: Kayla
Date Wed Aug 12 17:45:01 2026

Writer: Kayla
Date Wed Aug 12 17:45:41 2026

Writer: Kayla
Date Wed Aug 12 17:46:11 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Thu Aug 13 02:41:17 2026
To All ( IMM RP Austinian )
Subject Marble Mouth

A giant plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes sat on the table at the diner,
the smell of breakfast, or as Thasgerd deemed it, the best meal at anytime
permeated the air. A cup of sturdy coffee accompanied his second favorite
meal, and in front of him was a book.

His eyes zeroed in on the title, "How to Speak Betterer". He cocked his
head to the side slightly, like a dog trying to figure out what was going
on. "Tha' dinna saem righ'. " He thought. He had speaking lessons before
and they didn't quite work out, but hey, he tried.

His solution was to learn the languages of All those he could, the phonetics
made him slow down some, but he opened the book and the first page listed
the author and the contents. The name of the writer was faded and couldn't
quite make it out, and he wasn't going to try. His eyes scanned over the
contents, they were All the same name but each chapter was dedicated to one
letter. The first chapter made his brow rise. 'The Letter A and You'.

Every chapter after that, each letter after the other. He was feeling very
skeptical. His brow scrunched as he eyed 'The Letter O and You' and he
turned to the page that begun the chapter. His eyes widened when he saw the
diagrams of more than poorly examples of a mouth making an double O sound,
and another making an O face using the short O sound. He saw some words
that stuck out, "Now you try."

"'ell nah I'm nah doin' thaes 'ere, o' an'whaere. " He whispered with
amusement. He remembered speaking very slow, and controlled. It didn't
feel natural, but it kept other's from their heads exploding and ears
bleeding. He always made light of folks needing to go visit Nordmaar and
spend a day there listening to the Highlanders speak. There was some jovial
seriousness underneath. He closed the book and shook his head and chuckled
softly before sipping at his coffee. "Marble mout' i' bae. Tha's mae,
tha's mae kin. Dinna li'es i', t' bad. "

The ratty book closed and he rose from the booth, leaving a blue for the
tip, because that's what you do, and left the empty and clean plate and
drained cup of coffee along with the book. He wondered who he could get to
make an O face just for the entertainment.

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Aug 14 12:16:25 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Religion Malachive )
Subject The Wound Remembers I: Beneath Broken Chains

The Main Gathering Hall of the Warp was built as both sanctuary and
declaration.

Paintings covered its marble walls, preserving visions of fallen gods and
orcs tearing themselves free from bondage. Stone Abhorrants guarded every
passage. At the center of the octagonal chamber, a fountain murmured
beneath a golden image of Malachive standing astride the world, His hands
triumphantly ripping chains from it.

Before that image stood the tree of horn.

Light scarred its bloody bark. At its roots lay the corpse of an Arborien,
abandoned beneath the twisted branches like a final, meager offering.

Two servants of Chaos regarded the scene.

Justian stood tall upon four powerful legs, his pure white coat marked only
by the uneven textures of wounds long healed. White silksteel armor
enclosed his upper body with austere precision. Above his piercing blue
eyes, the eight-pointed star of Chaos remained carved into his forehead, its
bloodless edges healed while its center seemed forever raw. There was
warmth in his distinguished face and restraint in every movement, though
both gave way to something colder when the conversation turned toward gods
and endings.

Across from him towered Crelius Atennim, broad-shouldered and encased in the
remains of a long-dead dragon. Once-blue scales had darkened to the color
of rotted oak, their surfaces scarred and veined like diseased bark. His
pallid flesh was stretched taut over a body charted by cuts and gouges. One
black eye, touched by a vermilion sheen, burned from his severe face. The
other was gone, its ruined socket sealed beneath scar tissue twisted into
the crude likeness of an eight-pointed star.

From the hollow of Creliuss throat rose an unnatural growth. Sinewy
branches curled around his neck and climbed the back of his skull, their
tips burrowing into flesh and bone to form a warped, inverted crown.

Justian glanced briefly toward the corpse beneath the horn tree.

"Greetings," he said, his deep voice carrying through the hall. "I see the
forest has fallen and not gotten up in some time."

Crelius followed his gaze.

"Ah, that one. I had not noticed."

Justian chuckled.

"Let him rot before the tree," Crelius continued. "Should his soul not be
worthy for this world, the ether will find use for it. As meager as it
might be."

Justian agreed.

Their attention soon turned from the dead to the wounded world beyond the
Warp. Justian spoke of the storm raging near Fort Ironclad, a curious and
confusing place whose secrets had yet to reveal themselves.

(continued)

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Aug 14 12:26:11 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Religion Malachive )
Subject The Wound Remembers II: The Bleeding Vision

Then something split open inside Justians mind.

Pain tore through his skull with such force that the hall vanished. The
fountain fell silent. The painted liberation of the orcs, the golden image
of Malachive, Crelius, and the corpse beneath the tree were All swept away.

For one fleeting moment, there was only a vision.

A gnarled tree loomed before him, ancient and twisted. Blood welled from
wounds in its bark and coursed down its trunk in dark streams. Its crooked
branches reached outward like grasping fingers while its roots sank into
something unseen. The vision held him for no longer than a heartbeat.

Yet within that heartbeat it deepened. Something vast pressed behind it, as
though the tree were not merely seen but remembered. The air around it felt
heavy with old violence, and the sense of watching eyes lingered just beyond
perception, as if the world itself had briefly turned its attention toward
him. Then it was gone.

The hall returned. The pain vanished with it, leaving neither ache nor mark
behind, as though neither had ever existed.

Justian winced and looked wonderingly toward the horn tree. For a moment,
his composure gave way to uncertainty as he regarded its Light-scarred,
bloody bark and searched for some connection between it and the vision.

The moment passed unnoticed by Crelius.

Nor did Justian yet understand what had passed through him.

When Crelius returned to Justians account of the storm, he spoke of the
storm goddesss wrath made manifest and of portents beginning to reveal
themselves. The altars there held significance, he said, though other
designs had also begun to bear fruit.

Crelius drew a dragonbone wakizashi and regarded it with his single eye.
Ochre wisps writhed across the blade, painting his pallid flesh in a
jaundiced glow.

"The remnants of that wayward realm have been given a purpose," he said,
"forged in the memory of a great betrayal upon this world. The blade will
serve as a key, or a death stroke... Or perhaps both." Justian considered
the weapon and the truth given shape within it.

"Betrayal leaves a wound, and the wound remembers," he answered. "Now that
memory has been given an edge. Whether it opens the Path or strikes dead
what bars it, I suspect Chaos will find use for both."

Crelius nodded slowly and sheathed the blade.

(continued)

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Aug 14 12:37:22 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Religion Malachive )
Subject The Wound Remembers III: The Deacon

Even as they spoke, another soul lingered at the edge. A goblin had come
seeking Chaos, claiming a pact with the gods of destruction and asking to
become a blade of ruin. Crelius judged that the goblin might be put to use,
provided his allegiance was first tested.

Justian agreed, "He will be tested in the flesh before his flesh and blood
shall feed the Cause. Regardless, your words are true. He will be put to
use."

Before the horn tree and the dead man beneath it, Justian began teaching the
goblin the Verities across the distance of the Warp, his words carried
through unseen channels rather than presence.

They were not commandments made to please distant gods, he explained. They
were truths meant to open the eyes.

"First: Suffering exists. Every creature knows the wound, though many
pretend otherwise..."

Justian continued, guiding the goblin through each of the Verities in turn.
His words carried across the distance of the Warp, revealing the Path one
truth at a time.

Crelius regarded the corpse of the Arborien.

"I see it as worthwhile," he said as He pointed toward the corpse, "lest
more unworthy souls end up as our forsaken sapling here."

Then, as Justian continued his instruction, Crelius announced his departure,
"I shall return."

Justian nodded, and the towering Knight of Ruin departed. His felbeast
faded with him, leaving the white centaur alone beneath Malachives golden
triumph.

Only then did Justian recognize that something had changed.

The pain returned only as a memory. A gnarled tree. Blood flowing from
wounded bark. The horn tree still stood nearby beneath its scars of Light,
while the dead remained sprawled at its roots.

Yet the vision had not interrupted a battle, a sacrifice, or some grand
invocation. It had come as Justian spoke with Crelius beneath the image of
broken chains. It had passed through him before he taught the first Verity
to a soul seeking the Path.

No divine voice declared its meaning. No herald announced what had been
done.

There was only the lingering vision, the truth he had spoken, and the
certainty that his place within the priesthood had changed.

Justian, Word Bearer of Chaos, had become a Deacon.

His sapphire eyes settled upon the wounded tree.

"Every creature knows the wound," he had told the goblin.

Now he understood the answer that had been given.

The wound remembered. The star carved into his brow answered with a single,
painful pulse.

And now, through the Deacon, the wound had found its voice.

Writer: Zhul
Date Fri Aug 14 13:47:12 2026
To Piknim Aothien Cayenna All IMM RP
Subject The Last Letter

Jeb finished the last line carefully, sanded the parchment, and read it
through once more before setting the quill beside the inkwell. Hed spent
months writing for the orc, and despite being held captive and starved, hed
become very good at being a scribe for his captor.

Finished, Jeb said.

Zhul took the parchment despite being unable to read a word upon it. His
yellow eyes moved over the neat lines anyway, lingering near the bottom
where Jeb had signed his name.

Good?

Yes, General.

Zhul folded the letter and tucked it beneath his armor. For several moments
he said nothing, and Jeb mistook the silence for dismissal. He began
gathering the ink and unused parchment, already considering what the General
would demand written next.

Jeb.

The elf looked up.

Zhul had grown accustomed to him. That was the irritating part. A scribe
who could accurately render his words without needing clarification twice
was useful, and finding another would take time. Yet Jeb knew the roads,
the targets, the disguises, and the name Broken Lantern. He knew enough
that capture, escape, or simple carelessness could ruin his plans.

Zhul drew one of his axes.

Jeb understood before the blade was fully clear.

General.. My family?

Still alive, he lied.

The promise brought a brief, confused relief to the elfs face.

Then Zhul killed him.

The letter remained tucked safely beneath the Generals armor, its contents
known now to only those who needed to know them. Zhul looked down at the
dead scribe for a moment, annoyed more by the inconvenience than the corpse.

He would need another elf.

Writer: Zhul
Date Fri Aug 14 14:10:09 2026
To Aothien Piknim Cayenna Verminasia Shadow Drakkara All IMM RP
Subject No Verminasian

The uniforms had been folded and stacked along the barracks wall,
replaced by clothing gathered from the poorer districts of Verminasia. Worn
leather, patched wool, old traveling cloaks and scuffed boots covered the
tables while six soldiers picked through them for anything near their size.
Their weapons had received similar attention. Decorated scabbards had been
discarded, shields left behind, and anything carrying the colors of the
Royal Army joined the uniforms against the wall.

Take the brown one, a soldier said, tossing a cloak across the table.
Black makes you look like you're trying not to be noticed.

The man caught it and examined a tear near the shoulder. And this makes me
look like what?

Poor.

I already look poor.

Then it'll suit you.

The others laughed while they packed hard bread, dried meat and waterskins
into plain saddlebags. Their orders had already been given. They knew what
sort of travelers they were looking for and what was expected when they
found them, but one detail had been deliberately withheld. None of them
knew where they were going.

The door opened while one soldier was working dirt into a pair of boots that
still looked too new. General Zhul entered alone, and conversation faded as
every man in the room noticed what rested across his shoulder.

At first it resembled some grotesque club wrapped in barbed wire. Then the
shapes became recognizable. Slender legs had been bound together beneath
coils of iron, while two arms were pinned tightly against a narrow chest.
The body had been petrified from head to foot, preserving the pointed ears
and features of an elf several of the soldiers remembered following Zhul
through the fortress with parchment beneath one arm.

Zhul rested the petrified corpse against the table with a heavy knock and
produced a small folded map. He passed it to the nearest soldier, who
opened it while the others gathered around. Their eyes followed the road
south until they recognized Arkane, then moved beyond it to several lesser
roads and a circle drawn heavily in charcoal.

The clothing suddenly made sense. So did the plain weapons, the mixed coin
and every warning they had already received.

One soldier stared at the circle. So we're supposed to make it look like-

Zhul struck him across the mouth hard enough to send him stumbling against
the table. The soldier recovered with blood already gathering across his
lip, but whatever remained of the sentence stayed behind his teeth.

You were given your orders once, Zhul said calmly. There is no reason to
repeat them aloud.

His yellow eyes moved between the six men. You will not discuss this here,
on the road, or after you return. Not over drink, not with a lover, not
with a friend, and certainly not with another soldier. You know what is
expected of you. Now you know where.

He placed one thick finger upon the charcoal circle.

Here.

The soldier folded the map and slipped it inside his coat. When do we
leave, General?

Now.

Zhul lifted the barbed, petrified remains of his former scribe onto his
shoulder and left without another word. Silence remained for several
moments after the door closed behind him.

One soldier finally looked toward it.

Wasn't that his scribe?

Another returned to packing.

Not anymore.

Writer: Hrodric
Date Sun Aug 16 08:39:47 2026

Writer: Darcell
Date Sun Aug 16 16:47:15 2026
To All ( conclave )
Subject Makers Mark I of II

Darcell kept two ledgers.

The first contained measurements, materials, and designs. He recorded the
weight of every ingot, the balance of each weapon, the cost of rare
components, and the disposition of enchantments beneath the three moons.
Nothing was entrusted to memory when ink could preserve it more accurately.

The second ledger contained names.

That one was far more valuable.

Beside each name, Darcell noted what had been given, what had been promised,
and what might eventually be requested in return. A repaired breastplate
might earn the friendship of a soldier. A sword made at cost could place
him in the good graces of an officer. The right gift, presented before
anyone thought to ask for it, might purchase the gratitude of an entire
household.

Others called such gestures generous. Darcell never corrected them.
Generosity was an admirable reputation to possess, particularly when other
people paid to spread it. Every warrior who displayed his work advertised
his skill. Every noble who praised one of his gifts increased the value of
the next. He could afford to lose coin on a commission when the finished
piece carried his name somewhere coin alone could not take him.

Nothing left his hands without purpose.

Darcell intended to become known first as dependable, then as exceptional,
and finally as indispensable. Anyone could admire a craftsman. Darcell
wanted rulers to consult him, commanders to seek him, and accomplished
warriors to measure their own importance by whether he considered them
worthy of his attention.

His work would justify every bit of that regard.

He had no interest in producing ordinary steel. A common smith could heat
metal and beat it into the rough shape of a sword. Darcell meant to treat
hatred as another material of the craft. Malice could be folded into an
edge. Resentment could be sealed beneath a plate. The arcane would give
those passions structure, allowing a weapon to express what its wielder
lacked the discipline to contain.

The process would require precision. Uncontrolled hatred was wasteful. It
flared, exhausted itself, and left little behind. Darcell wanted something
more useful: hostility that waited, anger that held its edge, and cruelty
that answered only when called upon.

His armor would not merely turn aside a blow. It would resent the hand that
struck it.

His weapons would not simply cut. They would carry something of their
makers judgment into the wound.

There would be difficulties, naturally, though Darcell considered
difficulties an inconvenience suffered by people on their way to admiring
him.

Everyone had heard of the dwarven forges of Thaxanos. The stories credited
Lord Cliath with taking up the dwarves to help forge Algoron, and some
dwarves improved the account by claiming the god had fashioned them in his
own image. Darcell found the tale useful. It demonstrated what centuries
of repetition could accomplish for a craftsmans reputation.

Writer: Darcell
Date Sun Aug 16 16:48:15 2026
To All ( conclave )
Subject Makers Mark II of II

He had no desire to argue with dwarven legends. Argument suggested the
matter deserved consideration.

The dark elves had already built furnaces of their own. Exile had taught
them to create without the approval of Shalonesti, while the history of
House Katath had given them little reason to respect the judgments of those
who called themselves good. They did not require a creator gods blessing to
master fire and metal. They required fuel, knowledge, and the will to
improve upon what others had done.

Darcell possessed All three.

He closed the ledger and inspected the empty space where his makers mark
would eventually be drawn. It needed to be recognizable at a glance and
difficult to imitate. In time, buyers would search for it before judging
the weapon itself. Counterfeiters would attempt to copy it. Rivals would
complain that the reputation attached to the mark exceeded the quality of
the work.

Rivals often said such things when excellence became expensive.

Darcell imagined his weapons passing through the realm. One might hang at
the side of a king. Another might be carried into a battle that altered the
borders of kingdoms. A breastplate might preserve the life of someone whose
gratitude proved more valuable than gold. Each piece would travel farther
than he could, enter halls where he had not yet been invited, and introduce
him before he arrived.

That was the true value of the forge.

It would manufacture more than weapons and armor. It would manufacture
expectation. By the time Darcell appeared in a foreign court, those
gathered there would already know his work, his reputation, and the cost of
securing his favor. They would have heard his name from people they
respected or feared.

They might believe they had summoned him.

Darcell smiled at the thought.

In time, greatness and Darcell would mean the same thing.

Writer: Aothien
Date Wed Aug 19 01:15:43 2026
To Piknim Geirhart Drakkara Imm All ( Zhul )
Subject One mans gifts are anothers nightmares. (Pilgrimage)

Aothien crept through the shadows, carrying long wooden stakes and coils
of rope. The eastern roads of Arkane were quiet at this time. Despite the
Temple of Siccara being near by, so was the Horde, and they were not known
for mercy. He glanced over the stock he had. Depending how thorough his
assistant was, he might need more than this, and perhaps even with extra
stakes that would just provide more of what he called 'Object Lessons'. He
continued to build up his pile of stakes, waiting for the known sign. A
whistle, in a very specific rhythm. It might call some attention, but
again, this wasn't exactly a place one would go looking for trouble.

Almost as he thought that, a three toned whistle chirped in the distance,
and the remnants of a magical portal faded. This would be whatever the
assistant brought. Aothien smiled grimly as he skulked towards the whistle,
being careful not to make too much noise through the brush. Twenty someodd
corpses were left, in various states of death or dying. The ones not fully
dead yet bound and gagged to prevent more noise. Pilgrims, the whole lot of
them, some either too curious or too careless for their own good. It was
time to get to work.

Pulling a long brutal looking dagger from his waist, the work began. Tying
the pilgrims or bodies of pilgrims into large wooden stakes, and placing
them along the eastern road. Some tied with rope, others entrails that were
still dragging upon the ground. He tried to keep the living ones breathing,
settling for rope and wounding them so they would not live past the march of
the larger group of pilgrims. It was tiring and bloody work. Not his
blood, but a mortal corpse held a surpringly large amount of it. The end
result would be worth the work. Several hundred yards of road, with the
pilgrims very friends and family butchered and displayed before their very
eyes.

Yes.. Let us see old man Sol'Canta keep their hopes now that the very fear
they only see in nightmares is directly before their eyes.

Writer: Tsacherus
Date Wed Aug 19 09:20:49 2026

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Aug 19 09:44:59 2026

Writer: Geirhart
Date Wed Aug 19 18:15:58 2026
To All shadow althainia imm rhelic
Subject Pilgrimage: Mourning the Loss

Mourning

Geirhart lightly touched the foot of the crucified pilgrim, as though if he
applied any more pressure it would collapse upon itself. Families gathered
around him in mourning, their tears and heartbreak evident. The old priest
had seen this before, the Darkness often strung up bodies as a show of
defiance. Weither it was Boof blowing his horn to destroy Althainian
soldiers, Tobryck killing acolytes daily for a hundred days, or any of the
other multitude of dark worshipers, it was the same.

As with each time, the old priest would aid in taking the body down and
giving it the proper last rites. He would console the family and let them
know their loved one was in the arms of the Holy Family. As was always the
case, voices grew in anger as the mob of pilgrims began to turn from grief
to rage.

'Where were the Arkanian soldiers? Does Queen Nereza allow peaceful folk to
just be slaughtered on her Highways?! '

'It was too dangerous to be this close to the Horde! We should never have
come here! '

'We should march upon Verminasia! Clearly this was the threat they promised
us! They are to blame! '

Voices raised around him and Geirhart knew this moment All too well. He
heard it when Gareth fought itself over the war with Shalonesti. He heard
it within the rage of the elves over the slaughter of their people by Chaos.
He saw it in the eyes of the Thalosians who's lives were upended by the Rip
in the skies. The mob was a dangerous thing and just as before, he would
need to calm them down.

'Friends! '

'I understand you grieve and that in that sorrow there is anger but this is
not the way. We have no army, we have no forces here to counter their
attacks, we are but simple pilgrims travelling. To turn violent now is to
give into what they wish. They would use this against us or even as reason
to slaughter more of us. '

Geirhart paused as his baritone voice carried across the fields.

'There will be a time for Justice, mark my words. What you have lost shall
be avenged but it must not be through more bloodshed. This is not our way,
this is not who we are. This Pilgrimage was to find the soul of the Light
and that quest, we shall learn nothing and undo All we have strived for
should we turn to their ways. '

Geirhart raised his staff, its golden circlets catching the lingering rays
of the setting sun.

'Our strength lies not in retribution! It lies in the communal acts of
kindness, compassion, and community that binds us together. Comfort one
another, aid one another, remember that in this no one is alone. If you are
called to righteous war, seek out Gareth or the Wrath. Train yourself with
the values of those Knights and Soldiers and rise above petty hate. Be
something more! '

Geirhart's voice continues to raise, the wind catching his robes as they
float and spill around him.

'Our journey is almost at an end. That journey was never one of ease or
without sacrifice though we were fortunate over this summer time. Danger
was ever over our shoulder. Yet let our defiance be a continuation of that
quest! Let the realm know that we shall not be cowed! We shall keep to our
commitments and we will strengthen our faith! Let them know that these
sacrifices shall not be in vain but will create the momentum that will
inspire us after this pilgrimage is over. We shall be stronger, together!
'

Eyes, red from tears, seemed to lose the anger that dwelt within them.
Backs grew stiffer as children were held close by a single parent.
Something floated unseen between each individual that gave them All a
calmness.

'This is just the beginning of a new chapter and book! Let us turn that
page and welcome the future to come! '

No cheers greeted the priest just nods. Noses were wiped and backs were
patted, and the old man walked into the crowd to tend once more to the
duties of a priest.

Resolve

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Aug 19 21:02:22 2026

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Aug 19 21:02:53 2026

Writer: Khexisth
Date Thu Aug 20 07:53:54 2026
To All Shadow Aothien Melchaleve ( Imm RP Drakkara )
Subject Eyes of White, Hands of Umbra

Khexisth stood at the threshold, his scarred head tilted, listening to
the fading echo of Aothien's words. The Inquisitor had settled beneath the
Umbrastone, his milky eyes closed, his body radiating the quiet agony of
whatever had taken root beneath his skin. The white blotches had spread,
then stabilized.

He turned his gaze toward the corridor where the golden light had vanished.

A light that flees deeper is either a lure, or a lesson.

His jaw tightened. He had spoken those words to the clan, but they had been
meant for himself. The Citadel did not offer gifts without cost. It did
not offer warnings without purpose. And whatever had struck Umbrus Caelum,
whatever had shaken its ancient foundations and left the air thick with
recognition, it was not finished.

Should any light, whether godborn or otherwise, breach the threshold of
Umbrus Caelum and approach Drakkara's seat on Algoron, that would be a gift
worth witnessing indeed.

The Citadel's shudder faded into stillness, but the weight of what had
passed lingered in the air like the echo of a bell too large to hear fully.
Reports began to filter in from the towers and the outer battlements, scouts
and sentinels who had seen the golden light streak across the sky above
Arkania, its trajectory deliberate. It had struck the Citadel with purpose,
and then, as if satisfied with its impact, it had turned and flown toward
the coast, vanishing into the haze where land met sea.

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Thu Aug 20 09:47:44 2026

Writer: Daveigh
Date Thu Aug 20 12:14:03 2026
To All Althainia Knighthood Justice Austinian Drakkara Imm
Subject Pilgrimage: The Golden Residue I

The heavy wooden doors of the Temple of Siccara stood open as they always did,
inviting the weary into a space of peace and healing. Inside, the vaulted
ceilings caught the glorious light from the high stained glass windows,
scattering a variety of colors across the ancient flagstones. The air was filled
with a goodness of spirit that usually felt like a warm embrace, yet as Daveigh
prepared to depart, the atmosphere felt heavy still with what they had
encountered. The reports of the pilgrimage being attacked and the innocent being
slaughtered had cast a long shadow over the sanctuary. She adjusted her robes
and stepped through the carved stone archway, leaving the comfort of the golden
radiance behind to face the grim reality of the road.

As she exited out onto the small dirt road, the sounds of the distant river and
the rustling leaves of the forest filled the air. To the north, the flash of
white stone from the temple was still visible through the trees, but her focus
was on the path ahead. She had come prepared for a somber and difficult task.
Based on the reports, she expected to find again a site of absolute desecration
where the followers of Kadiya, Siccara, and Kantilles had been displayed upon
the unholy symbols of Drakkara. She had every intention of ensuring that those
who died were given the dignity they deserved.

However, as she approached the area where the bodies had been found, the
expected scent of death and the oppressive weight of malice were nowhere to be
found. A remarkable change had swept over the landscape. The streak of golden
light that had recently sailed through the skies above Arkane, and its divine
wake, had transformed the site of the tragedy. Where there should have been the
gruesome sight of the crucified, there was now only a profound sense of
consecrated holiness. The sinister icons of the Drakkaran had been wiped away
and replaced by a warmth that seemed to emanate from the very soil.

The bodies of the pilgrims were gone, and it was at that moment that Daveigh
realized they had not been taken by the hands of men. In the area where the
shadows had been deepest, several sets of golden footprints now glowed with a
soft and divine residue. These footprints trailed off toward the city of
Arkania, marking a path of promise rather than one of defeat. It became clear
that the Light had reached to claim their own. Darkness would lay no further
claim or final victory over what remained.

There were still pilgrims gathered along the road, however, and the sight of
them brought the weight of what had happened back into focus. Some stood in
silence, staring toward the place where the bodies had been. Others wept openly,
their grief made All the more painful by the knowledge that they had so recently
walked the same road as those who were now gone. More than a few kept glancing
toward the golden footprints, wondering what they meant and whether the same
fate might find them before they could return home.

Writer: Daveigh
Date Thu Aug 20 12:14:53 2026
To All Althainia Knighthood Justice Imm
Subject Pilgrimage: The Golden Residue II

Daveigh moved among them quietly, offering what comfort she could. Families were
drawn close together, mothers keeping their children near while those who had
come alone stood with an uneasiness that was difficult to hide. She reassured
those who feared for their own safety that they would not be abandoned on the
road, taking the time to speak with them and ensure that those preparing to
leave had a safe passage home. The Emperor would see to the needs of the
families who had seen loss this day, she assured them, and the Abbott and the
followers of the Light would continue to pray for the fallen, for their
families, and for every soul who had undertaken the Pilgrimage and even those
that had not.

The woman stood for a long time in the center of the road, looking at the spot
where the crosses had stood. Burial shrouds could be set aside, for they were
no longer needed. Kneeling upon the holy ground, she reached into her bag and
pulled out a bundle of fresh white flowers. She laid them gently over the spot
where each follower had been as a tribute to their sacrifice and a sign of
respect for the blessings of the Light.

She offered a quiet prayer for those who were now held in the embrace of the
Family. Though the servants of Drakkara had intended to spread fear and despair,
their cruelty had been answered by a display of divine grace. The road was quiet
again, yet the lingering warmth of the golden light remained as a declaration
that it would always protect its own.

Having finished her prayer, she stood and turned back toward the gathered
pilgrims, remaining with them for a while longer before finally making her way
back toward the city, leaving the flowers to rest upon the consecrated earth.

Writer: Erlestoke
Date Thu Aug 20 14:59:13 2026
To All Althainia Agapitos Geirhart Imm
Subject Pilgrimage: Remorse, Inner Conflict and a Wilderness of Mirrors (I)

Back and forth Erlestoke paced. Unable to get the images of the dead
pilgrims from his mind. {I have seen death before, I have wrought death
before, on battlefields and in streets, alleyways and homes, but to see such
hapless victims.. The thoughts echoed through his consciousness.

Erlestoke halted his movement looking out through the quiet garden in a
desperate attempt to find peace. But the cobblestone path nor the soft
grass or the quietly burbling fountain could offer any solace. {It was my
failure.. I could have done more.. I should have fought harder to keep the
remnants of the Order together... If we still had assets in place perhaps
something could have been done to prevent this...

Shuffle and step, shuffle and step and back to pacing Erlestoke fell into
more fluid motion. "And where was I!? " he practically shouted breaking
the calm of the garden. A moment later he froze in place quickly twisting
his head at the sound of footsteps out by the road. Only when Erlestoke saw
the liveried city guard march past paying him no more than a token glance
did Erlestoke finally relax his unexpected tension.

Erlestoke finally ended his pacing and sat down on a nearby bench. What had
his mentor called it? 'The wilderness of mirrors'... The place where
paranoia clouds judgment and truth cannot be separated from fiction. He
stared at the fountain, his eyes becoming fixated on the words engraved in
stone.

"For those that spend their lives in worship and service to these gods, may
the paths from this place bring you just a little closer to them." The
plaque read.

"Where do my paths lead? " Erlestoke whispered quietly to himself, "How
much longer can I work in shadow before I am consumed by it? "

Writer: Erlestoke
Date Thu Aug 20 15:01:07 2026
To All Althainia Agapitos Geirhart Imm
Subject Pilgrimage: Remorse, Inner Conflict and a Wilderness of Mirrors (II)

Erlestoke sat reflecting on his life, talents, faith and purpose for many
hours until he was shaken from his thought by the coming of the dawn over
the tops of the nearby buildings and with its arrival he stalked from the
garden and out into the city streets. The hint of bustle just crawling out
into the streets with early work being done in bakeries and taverns to
prepare for the day, the aromas of baking bread and savory porridges wafting
into the street.

Scent, what a deep tie it must have to memory to evoke such vivid thoughts
of his childhood. Erlestoke's thoughts were pulled back to the mystery stew
that always seemed to be bubbling away. The potatoes always a little too
overcooked, the meat unidentifiable and stringy, the vegetables were always
rough chopped and that hint of thyme, parsley and rosemary unmistakable on
the palette. Not fine cuisine, but hearty and filling and far more than a
host of war orphans and abandoned children could have scrounged on their
own.

War seemed inevitable, even his childhood had been marked by it. There
would be no escaping it now either, while he valued his mentor's teachings
and the pragmatism he was taught, and the inheritance he had received,
treated almost as an adopted son; he found himself thinking back on the
dreams he had of his life before his unorthodox education. He still
recalled the day he had been dropped off at the orphanage by those heavily
armored warriors. He recalled the swords they carried and how he wished to
be one of them.

His nostalgia was broken then for the moment as he found himself in Memorial
Circle staring up at the monuments. I had dreamt of being so much more than
what I have become...

Erlestoke found himself once again lost in thought wrestling with how he
could better prevent pilgrims, the pious, the innocent and young from being
harmed again.

War must be while dark powers strive for the destruction of the Light, of
Hope and of Good. War demands warriors, can I be that after so long having
been a spy, or inquisitor or the other roles I have filled, can I even find
hope again?

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Thu Aug 20 19:30:29 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Fri Aug 21 01:56:39 2026
To All Geirhart Knighthood ( IMM RP Religion Austinian )
Subject Thasgerdian Philosophy

Sixteen men and women stood at attention with their shields strapped to
their backs, and weapons housed in their sheathes, and standing before them
was Thasgerd. He hand picked these knights, They were personable but
followed the Thasgerdian philosophy of be gentle, but don't take any crap.

He briefed them on the situation and what happened to the pilgrims his
friend Geirhart was leading. He told the knights these people will be
terrified and on edge, give them comfort and hope, be their hammer and
shield, watch each other's backs, and the pilgrim's. Work with the Shield
Knights, and he'd be there in a few days when Abbott Sol'Canta and the
pilgrims made their trek out of Arkane.

He looked over the three paladins and confessors, they always worked well
together, and if some soulless vampire was lurking, they would know. He
moved on to the four rangers, they each donned armors and hooded cloaks of
earthy greens and browns, a good team of keeping eyes All around and quiet
in the woods the trails snaked through. Clad in heavy arcanium plate were
an armsman and armswoman. Various weapons, whips, flails, large swords and
polearms and whatever else they felt they could strap to themselves were
ready to do what an armsman or woman's weapons were made to do. A team of
two wu-jen, both from Shokno and very regal looking in their silk attire
would be able to provide some diversions with the elements if needed, and
two illusionists, very much of Kantilles and very capable of confusing an
enemy with a false image and just All around fun to be around. Except if
you got charmed or electrocuted or blasted with some acid.

Thasgerd's eyes gleamed over the Knights again then asked, "Catch mae drif'?
"

The sound of armor, cloaks and robes, weapons and shields shifted as boots
hit the floor and snapped against the heel of the other and in unison a
confident 'Aye, Sir! ' was belted out. Their general dismissed them and
sent them to meet up with the pilgrims. Whoever it was wanted a reaction.
They got one.

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 15:58:08 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 16:06:13 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 16:14:29 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 16:22:23 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 16:24:57 2026

Writer: Thuken
Date Fri Aug 21 18:20:34 2026

Writer: Thuken
Date Fri Aug 21 18:27:31 2026

Writer: Thuken
Date Fri Aug 21 18:33:03 2026

Writer: Rundelhous
Date Fri Aug 21 21:49:53 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:19:55 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:20:01 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:20:07 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:20:11 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:20:19 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:38:27 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:45:04 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:50:30 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 21 23:56:05 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sun Aug 23 19:48:11 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sun Aug 23 20:01:14 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sun Aug 23 20:23:41 2026

Writer: Agarwood
Date Mon Aug 24 15:19:07 2026
To All Sebatis Religion Imm
Subject The Red Moon's Quiet

The sight filled him with disgust. Lunite paved the once temperate Arkanian
countryside. Where tall grass once stood, the corrupting decay of black oil
dripped from its blades. Where the ground was once verdant and teeming with
life, the mutating influence of the fallen moonshard's pure magick rent it all
to dust. Motes of magick that might have once inspired wonder flitted in and
out of view of the irradiated vista, like fireflies mourning the destruction
of their home.

The Priest looked out over the vista and saw companies of Drakkara Knights
erecting their tents. Clad in their black armors and supported by a goddess
that believed she owned the world, flagleaders pointed and issued orders to
their acolytes, initiates, and infantry. A flank of infantrymen were locked
in their pikes against errant golems and chimeras, the leavings of a cataclysm
delivered to Algoron by Chaos.

Storm is fortunate that Chaos left something for it to conquer, thought the
Priest to himself with a tinge of acid. Inwardly, the arboren was at a loss
for what to do. In a way, he respected how quickly Storm mobilized in pursuit
of their endeavors. Like vultures, they made an attempt to leave nothing behind.
They laid their claim, picked at bones and the carrion of a celestial body, and
all in the hopes to gain an advantage or appease their Queen.

Even vultures have their place, reflected Agarwood. This devastation lies out
and beyond what is typical for the world to recover from. Magick, not unlike a
campfire, can sooth if tended to responsibly or destroy when left unattended.
The Arkanian continent was pressed against an ember fallen from a great flame,
but surely Sebatis had taken notice. That Kwainin had glanced from his books to
note the devastation.

The arboren pressed his staff into the desolate dirt in an attempt to summon a
tree, yet his magick failed him in a most grim display. The tree bolted a meter,
illuminated by a faint hue of green. Not before long, the tree began to wither
and bow before it slumped into a pile not unlike a coil of limp rope. The green
hue replaced by a sickly red before fading away completely. The earth drank deep
of his magick.

At the moment of his awakening, Agarwood looked up to see the Red Moon All of its
complete glory. It's light washed him, nourished him, and made him feel strong
and safe. Years after his awakening, the arboren stared now at a piece of what he
once considered to be a parent or guardian figure and was saddened by what it
actually seemed. The Young Master was not here. There wasn't any word from above.

Mortals need to figure this out for themselves. Balance must figure this out for
themselves.

Writer: Krazeth
Date Mon Aug 24 16:20:05 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Mon Aug 24 20:17:09 2026
To Knighthood Althainia All ( IMM RP Austinian )
Subject Yummy in the Tummy

There weren't any clunky echoes of heavy armored sabatons coming from
Thas while he strolled down the main hallway of Gareth Keep. He thought his
idea of a training, communicating and small combat drill wasn't too shabby.
The pages and squires would work together on following instructions, talking
and helping each other, and then finally a mock drill of firing rotten fruit
from a trebuchet. It was a great idea, pages and squires could have some
fun, nothing could go wrong, and Thas could use it to fire waffles into
Solivar's mouth while he was flying. He might even show Azadar.

He walked past the requisition room then stopped in his tracks, backed up
slowly and quietly and peeked in. Stanley was cooking. He wasn't baking
hard and thick bricks of the most bland of bland and no joy found whatsoever
in the hard tack, or better known as traveler's bread. Ol' Stanley was
cooking cooking. The smell was amazing and made Thasgerd's mouth water.
There was a soft sizzling clapping in a pan and Stan was checking something
in the oven, then moving to stir something in a pot.

"Whaaaa' ya's doin'? " The question was genuine and Thas saw Stanley tense
up for a moment then relax.

A gruff voice answered matter of fact like, "Making dinner. " Stanley
glanced over his shoulder with a towel flung over it then grabbed the only
plate that Thas had ever seen in the supply room and witnessed the birth of
Stanley's dinner.

A crisp golden brown chicken breast that Thasgerd could only believe was the
happiest and plumpest chicken to peck at the most delicious worms was
wrapped in a lattice of two of the thickest bacon strips the paladin's eyes
had seen. Then a cloud on a wooden spoon rose from the pot, the mashed
potatoes and turnips were placed with gentleness then given a pad of butter
that melted like delicate snow on a hill. Finally, glistening carrots that
could have, must have been harvested from a god, or a really good farmer
that were glazed in honey, from a colony where the colony didn't have just a
queen, but All the bees were royalty.

"'ow ya's know 'ow t' cook li'e tha'? " Surprise and drool were prominent
on Thasgerd's face.

"No one ever asked me. " Stan cut the bacon wrapped chicken in half and
slid a plate to Thasgerd.

Thas died where he stood. He saw heaven and it was filled with bacon
wrapped chicken. He felt at complete ease. Everything was at it should be
at this moment. Then the moment passed and Thas came back to the Keep. His
head was full of an idea. He'd ask Stanley to make a few more dishes and
Thas would present them to the Lord Crown and Lady Shield and the knights.

Something full of goodness, not flavorless despair, something to share, not
something to grind into a fine powder to make mortar. The best part, if
they could get the menu changed, he could share with kids and folks he saw
on the streets of the kingdoms.

Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Aug 24 23:06:29 2026

Writer: Symantha
Date Wed Aug 26 03:41:14 2026

Writer: Rundelhous
Date Wed Aug 26 07:34:20 2026
To Knighthood Althainia ( ( Geirhart Aliera ) All Imm RP Religion Taliena )
Subject The Pilgrimage : Cold Knights and Warm Hearts

Rundelhous stood outside of the temple of Nadrik on Icewall, sipping on
some hot mixture of cardamom tea and coffee. The sun had begun to fall
behind the mountains and the crisp air began to chill in earnest. He made a
mental note to pack on warmer clothing for this leg of the pilgrimage and
took another drink. A few of the pilgrims milled about outside, talking
about the weather, the speech from the candle lighting, the steps ahead, and
the path from behind.

He pulled out a few wrapped fried katayef's from his pouch and walked over
to the group, smiling as he offered them out, then pulling out small copper
cups and pouring the hot drink out for those in the small circle.

'These are gifts of the Copper Kettle in New Thalos. Do we have any
Thalosian's here? '

One by one they looked around and shook their heads. Chuckling, Rundelhous
was about to say something when a dark eyed woman spoke up, a balaclava
wrapped around her head. 'I believe All the Thalosian's are inside staying
where it is warm. '

Rundelhous chuckled again and nodded, 'Aye. I believe they are, indeed. I
would be joining them soon, I think. But first, to enjoy this beautiful
night that we have been given. It is oft said that the night is the
Darknesses domain. That they can, and will, do what they want within it,
that there is no light in the night. '

He looked up at the clear sky and shook his head, 'No, no. You see. Even
in the night sky there are uncountable stars. There is no purity of a
voidless sky. Just as the we lit our candles and felt the Light and warmth,
the Hope passed around. So too can you find it in the stars. Each one
shining as bright as they can against the Darkness. Each one keeping the
dark at bay. '

He looked back down at those around him and smiled widely. 'So too, like
the candles and suns and stars, do we radiate that warmth and hope.
Galvanized by the Love of the Light Mother, we can stand ready against the
Darkness trusting in the others beside us. '

'Love is underrated when it comes to the Darkness and is seen as a weakness.
That is our strength. Our Love for each other and our willingness to do
what needs to be done to protect our neighbors, our friends, and our
families. So hold fast to that feeling you felt during the candle lighting.
Steel your hearts against the Darkness, not with hate, but with Love. '

He stayed with the group, chatting and sharing stories as the White Moon
rose above the skyline, full and shining. Soon enough the crowd left for
the warmer environment of the temple, but Rundelhous stayed outside and
watched the coming and goings of the road. Not out of fear for an attack,
but out of the love he had for those inside.

Love, not fear.

Smiling he took out another fried katayef and began chewing on it. Warmth
radiating through his chest.

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 10:51:54 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 10:59:27 2026

Writer: Agarwood
Date Wed Aug 26 12:21:56 2026
To All Sebatis Religion Imm
Subject Moonshard's Impact: The Wavering of Wards

Students of the Hidden Academy of Magick filed their way down the branching
wings, filling the sandstone corridors of the structure with the footsteps of
people eager to learn and be on time. At the top of sunrise every day, the
daybreak above casts down a warm amber light that illuminates the foyer. The
students enjoyed congregating in the foyer beneath the watch of Sebatis's
statue. They would jape and carry on in their games, trade ideas and thoughts
about classes they were excused from, and share stories about their families
and their upbringings. The temple attracted people of All ages and persuasions
associated with the balance. Adults and young children mingled in their studies.
The adults shared their wealth of experience, while the young brought their
unobfuscated perspective and fresh mind to challenge established thought.

In this exchange of the new and old, established and burgeoning, the academy
sought the open flow of learning and ideas. And it was received.

"Mana consciousness theorhetics begins in five minutes," a gnome's voice echoed
throughout the foyer. Professor Barth, the students called him. The gnome didn't
appreciate people's attempts at pronouncing the full length of his name, so he
begrudgingly accepted the nickname since it caused him less annoyance. He was a
short gnome man with tan skin and the faintest lick of a Thalosian accent. He
was dressed a firm and professionally tailored grey tweed suit with the faintest
hint of a hound's tooth micropattern. Slicked back brown hair exposed his pointy
ears and his middle-aged gnomish face still bore some youthful pluck. The gnome
found himself this position while on holiday from Gahboom. While less machine
inclined than typical Gahboomfolk, he was a learned mage with an appreciation for
magick as an observed phenomenon. Plus, the regional food was wonderful.

"Five minutes, stud-", Barth began to shout, but was interrupted. A tremor and a
distant, faint explosion rattled the temple underneath his feet. The foyer went
quiet and All in attendance stared up at the sky that peeked through the canyon
overhead. Dribbles of fine sandstone and dust rained down against the rattling.
The Professor looked up at the sky and stared in disbelief as the illusory ward
that blended the academy into the canyon behind the vista of the Indigo Plunge
became visible. First, it became an oil sheen curtain held suspended in the air.
It then turned a faint red as the sheen began to waver and race as if influenced
by the desert wind. With a near silent hum, the veil fell as if it were a bubble
that popped. Motes of magick floated from above and beyond the falls until the
bonds and arcane command that held them in this world faded away. With the veil
gone, a spray from the Indigo Plunge began to waft into the foyer room. The spray
soaked everyone in the foyer, causing a ruckus and making everyone retreat deeper
into the corridors and classrooms.

What the devil just happened, thought Barth to himself.

"Professor! The wards were dispelled! Something has forced them to shift out of
phase!" barked an advanced mage from the entrance to the foyer. He was soaked to
the bone.

How. "Those wards took MONTHS to synthesize and erect! Blast it all. What the
hell is happening out there?!" Barth shouted in open annoyance.

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 13:37:04 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 13:46:11 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 13:53:22 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Aug 26 13:58:05 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 09:19:12 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 16:35:15 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Aug 27 16:39:54 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 16:45:27 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 16:51:03 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 16:59:40 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Aug 27 17:05:58 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Thu Aug 27 17:09:18 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Aug 27 17:20:35 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 28 01:02:45 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 28 02:40:49 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 28 03:02:03 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Aug 28 14:00:25 2026

Writer: Symantha
Date Fri Aug 28 15:34:09 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 17:36:59 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:00 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:17 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:27 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:32 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:36 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 18:24:50 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 20:12:05 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Fri Aug 28 20:13:59 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sat Aug 29 01:02:00 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sat Aug 29 01:11:34 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sat Aug 29 01:13:02 2026

Writer: Ainin
Date Sat Aug 29 01:13:06 2026

Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sat Aug 29 03:15:36 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Aug 29 15:22:44 2026

Writer: Piknim
Date Sat Aug 29 16:50:14 2026
To All Verminasia Shadow kender ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )
Subject KRAP: "A Modest Proposal"

It began, as most problems do, with good intentions.

The Gogothath enclave was Piknim Cracklespark's initial answer to a question
nobody had bothered to ask - what does Verminasia do with its kender? The
answer, historically, had been simple and unkind. King Isadore, who had
looked at a young would-be witch, with her bright eyes and big smile, and
decided to ban their kind outright. He had once referred to her as a
cockroach, she recalled bitterly. King Marcaus had instructed the
peacekeepers to attack kender on sight, which the peacekeepers had done with
characteristic Markonian enthusiasm. The policy across most of Verminasia's
history had been, in essence, extermination by inconvenience - make the city
hostile enough and the kender will wander elsewhere.

Piknim had built something different. Gogothath, the principal county of
her Archduchy, had been cultivated deliberately into a place where kender
could belong - not as pests to be managed but as potential resources
siphoned from other kingdoms. A racial enclave. A haven with purpose. The
logic was sound and the results had been, by most measures, positive. Teven
Wifflenut of the Verminasian Queensguard was proof enough of that.

The problem, she now recognized with the particular clarity of someone who
had made a very specific kind of mistake, was that kender wander.

They had wandered into Gogothath as intended, trickling in from All corners
of Arkania. They had also wandered out of it, escaping her notice, seeping
into the city proper, the back-alleys and bridge underpasses and parks, and
into several establishments that had lodged formal complaints. They had
brought their bright eyes and their big smiles and their tendency to eye
everything within reach into a city that had spent centuries cultivating an
atmosphere of elegance, decadence, and dark menace - and they were ruining
it.

Piknim stood upon the palace balcony, her gaze tracking an occasional streak
of color that clearly did not belong, and thought about Isadore. She
thought about Marcaus. She thought about the word cockroach and how she had
carried it like a stone for years and what it had cost her to become
something that word could not stick to.

Then she went back to the throne room, where a throng of counselors were
waiting, and drafted the Kender Relocation and Accountability Plan.

Writer: Piknim
Date Sat Aug 29 17:13:31 2026
To All Verminasia Shadow ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )
Subject KRAP: "We'll call them Fun Camps"

The fundamental challenge of kender management, Piknim had concluded
after considerable reflection, was found in the middle. Very young kender
did not yet wander - they lacked the maturity and survival skills to do so.
Elderly kender, their wanderlust spent, had settled into something
approaching stillness. It was the middle - the bright-eyed, light-fingered,
perpetually curious middle - that caused problems. KRAP would therefore
focus its attentions precisely there.

Article I: Age Brackets. Kender below the age of wanderlust onset and above
the age of wanderlust conclusion were to be left in peace. They were not
the problem. They were, in fact, the solution - more on this presently.

Article II: The Sorting. Kender of wanderlust age arriving in Verminasia
proper were to be assessed and sorted into one of three categories.

Category A: The Afflicted. Kender displaying signs of moroseness, unusual
introspection, darkness of temperament, or what the common folk might call
being a little bit wrong were to be identified immediately and redirected to
Kendermoor Keep for further evaluation. These were Drakkara's business.
These were the Darkfinder's business. These were, in All likelihood, the
ones who had been waiting without knowing what they were waiting for.

Category B: The Compliant. A small, carefully curated number of kender
demonstrating above-average discipline, usefulness, or an unusual
willingness to do what they were told without immediately asking seventeen
questions about why - these could be retained as Camp Counselors and support
staff. There would not be many of them. This was fine.

Category C: The Remainder. One might accurately refer to them as normal
kender.

Article III: Disposition of the Remainder. Fledglings of the Moonlily
Circle were working overtime on a solution.

The cauldron had a tendency to produce magic of the most volatile sort,
whether a witch wanted it or not, that could polymorph people into frogs.
Some of the more complicated spell recipes were All but guaranteed to
produce a prodigious cloud of {ppink smoke that could polymorph several people
at once. This was, in controlled quantities, a useful property.

The Remainder would be processed in small batches through designated
chambers - cheerfully appointed, the Witch-Queen had insisted, with adequate
ventilation and light refreshments - and released thereafter into the
marshlands that dominated Gogothath, where the climate was agreeable and the
insect population robust. The transformation was temporary. Probably.
Hopefully not.

Article IV: The Resulting Culture. Gogothath would, under the auspice of
KRAP, develop a demographic profile unlike any other settlement on Algoron -
very young kender in the care of very old kender, with a sparse, curated
population of the Afflicted and the Compliant occupying the middle years.
It was, Piknim acknowledged, unusual. It was also functional, intentional,
and considerably tidier than the alternative.

She had not invented this problem. She had, however, caused it, and causing
it had put her in the uncomfortable position of implementing a solution that
Isadore and Marcaus would have recognized immediately and approved of
wholeheartedly, which was a thought she chose not to dwell on for longer
than was strictly necessary.

The kender in the streets were not cockroaches.

They were, however, somebody else's problem now.

Writer: Piknim
Date Sat Aug 29 17:18:12 2026
To All Verminasia Shadow ( rp imm Drakkara Cayenna Admin )
Subject KRAP: "My First Day at Camp"

The kender girl had gotten All dressed up for it.

That was the thing Piknim noticed first - the {ppink ribbon, the cleaned
boots, the little jacket with the brass buttons done up to the collar
despite the warmth of the afternoon. Someone had told her this was an
occasion. She had believed them and prepared accordingly, and now she stood
third in a row of six kender children recently arrived from the Great Forest
road, her smile beautifully bright and hopeful and pointed directly at the
Darkfinder moving slowly down the line.

Piknim moved the way she always moved in these moments - unhurried, affable,
a grandmother inspecting her grandchildren with fond and slightly terrifying
attention. She called them her little tadpoles. She pressed a small
trinket or tasty treat into their little hands. She straightened a collar
here. Tucked a topknot there. Inquired of a name and immediately forgot
it. The first two children passed muster for Category B - reasonably
compliant, useful-looking, already trying to pick her pocket which showed
initiative at least.

The girl was next.

Piknim looked at her. The {ppink ribbon. The bright eyes. The brass
buttons. The beautifully bright smile that had not wavered once since she'd
arrived.

She was perfect. She was exactly what a kender should be at this age. She
was comprehensively useless for a Darkfinder's purposes. Category C for
sure.

Piknim moved past her.

The boy at the end of the line was staring at the ground. Not in the way of
a shy child - in the way of a child who had found something off in the
distance worth looking at that nobody else could see. His topknot listed
slightly sideways. His delicately pointed ears twitched. When he looked up
and met Piknim's eyes there was something there that she recognized the way
you recognize your own reflection in a dark window.

She smiled. It was her widest smile, which was also her most unsettling
one.

She reached out and booped his nose with a single sharpened fingernail.

"Found you."

A cloak of raven feathers was brought forward and draped around his narrow
shoulders. He looked down at it with the expression of someone who did not
yet understand what was happening but suspected it was going to be
interesting.

His parents were compensated. The others were thanked and redirected toward
the appropriate processing facilities - cheerfully appointed, adequate
ventilation - and the afternoon's business was concluded.

The kender girl with the pink ribbon lingered at the back of the line for a
long moment, watching the gates of Kendermoor Keep close behind the boy with
the odd stare and the raven-feather cloak.

She was still smiling. But it was a smaller smile than it had been before.

She wondered what was in there.

Writer: Carrionmaw
Date Sat Aug 29 20:19:01 2026
To All ( Shadow Imm RP Drakkara )
Subject The Drawing of the Umbratide

The vast plane beyond the Rip stretched on without end, and the wyrm was
drawn onward through the pull of the Umbratide.

There was no wind here, nor current in any sense the living world would have
understood. The darkness moved beneath him and around him, bearing him
forward through a vastness that seemed to have neither direction nor end.
His wings beat against it out of instinct, but the effort was meaningless.
The Umbratide had already taken him.

And somewhere beyond it, something waited.

At first it was little more than a disturbance in the dark. A point of
pallid light, impossibly distant, appearing and vanishing as the tides of
shadow folded over one another. Too far apart to be one thing, yet too
closely bound to be two. He could not name it. Not yet, or it would slip
away again and the drawing would have to begin anew.

The wyrm angled toward the lights, but they withdrew into the distance,
remaining always beyond the reach of his sight. Each time he gained upon
them, the darkness seemed to lengthen between them. Each time he thought
them lost, they returned fainter than before, but somehow more certain.

He had known the Umbratide as a thing that consumed, and he had witnessed it
swallow armies, erase roads, strip flesh from bone and the very memory of
the dead. It had carried the remnants of the fallen into depths from which
nothing returned.

But this was different. The darkness ahead was not empty.

Around him, the currents twisted into impossible formations. Black waves
rose without breaking, folding upon themselves like great sheets of night.
Fragments of crystalline arcana drifted past, catching the distant light
before disappearing once more into the gloom. Each flash revealed something
for an instant: a ridge of unfamiliar stone, a shape moving far below, the
remnants of some ancient structure that seemed to have existed before there
had been anyone to remember building it.

Then darkness rushed past again like a riptide, and behind him, the path was
gone and there would be no returning by the way he had come.

The thought did not trouble him. The old world had already passed beneath
the tide. What remained of it was scattered behind him in broken armor,
abandoned weapons, ashes, names, and the fading cries of those who believed
themselves strong enough to withstand the Umbra's promise. Even the
threshold had become distant now, little more than a memory pressed into the
darkness.

Whatever awaited beyond the expanse could not be reached by returning to
what had been. And even if it could, why would he choose to? He followed
the flame, even though it remained impossibly far away. And though he could
not reach it, there were still distances beyond distance between his wings
and where he witnessed its becoming.

It was a thing so subtle that the wyrm almost mistook it for another
movement of the tide, a thread of pale illumination spanning the distance
between the dyad.

Writer: Symantha
Date Sat Aug 29 22:39:33 2026

Writer: Aothien
Date Sun Aug 30 13:51:43 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Aug 31 16:33:40 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Aug 31 16:33:55 2026

Writer: Tsacherus
Date Tue Sep 1 07:39:44 2026

Writer: Geirhart
Date Tue Sep 1 16:52:00 2026
To All Kingdom Clan ( Imm Religion Raije Nadrik Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: Cold Winds, Cold Hearts, the End Nears

'Out of the way human. ' snorted a large red furred Minotaur
as he walked northwards to the Keep of Ganth.

Other minotaurs filed north and south rocking the old man too and fro. Some
did not even look in his direction as they went about their business. Then
a wagon passed nearly running him over as he fell into a muddy puddle on the
side of the road.

He was tired, cold, and while the Empress had welcomed them into the
kingdom, the Minotaurs looked upon the other races with little interest. As
he laid in the muck for a moment, a large furry hand came into view offering
him help to stand again.

'Let me help you up, elder. You seem to have fallen. The streets
are not friendly to those smaller than our younglings. ' offered the black
furred minotaur.

'Most kind of you, sir. I am Geirhart of Althainia making my way
to the Chapel of Nadrik to the north. Might you help me on my way? I
believe I won't be jostled so much in your company. ' smiled the old man.

They walked a bit in silence, the large form of the Minotaur kept the others
at bay so that he had a hole in the crowd he could move through. Soon they
came upon the High Temple of Ganth.

'This is where I must leave you, Elder. May Nadrik and the monks
within see to your needs. There are some of us that welcome the pilgrims
and wish them to learn about our people. '

With that, the unnamed minotaur walked out into the sea of other Ganthians.
Geirhart turned and began wiping some of the mud and snow from his robes.
He passed by a small group of elvish pilgrims that nodded to him as they
went about their business. He walked down the hallway towards the Chapel of
Nadrik and its custodian the White Cleric.

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 1 21:40:46 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 1 21:41:02 2026

Writer: Tsacherus
Date Wed Sep 2 06:07:56 2026

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Wed Sep 2 09:39:45 2026

Writer: Crelius
Date Wed Sep 2 19:42:24 2026
To All Chaos Malachive ( Imm RP )
Subject Of Blood and Purpose - Stormheart

Atop a cliff on the outskirts of the Vallenwood, overlooking the perilous
northern seas, rose a solitary pillar. An obelisk hewn from the vengeful
breath of a goddess scorned. It was a place of power, sacred to the
ministers of the wood, whose faith had evolved from protective isolation
into something altogether more retributive. Like the deity they worshipped,
their stewardship of the natural order had been galvanized by the stormborn
wrath of a newly awakened domain.

A congregation had commenced beneath the obelisk, led by a druid-priestess,
an elven Stormseer whose exhortations tempered the uncertain hearts of the
gathered worshippers. Her sharp, aquiline features were cut in stern piety
beneath a weathered hood. Her words seemed to mingle with the wet, biting
wind that savaged the seaward cliff, carrying across those assembled before
her.

Those who had come were hardened souls of no singular creed or race, a
departure from the purist doctrine so often observed by the clergy of
Zandreya. It was a sparse gathering of humans, elves, and the wayward
bloodlines between. But a common thread bound them. Through each ran the
cold salt of the seafarer. They had come seeking the goddess's blessing and
safe passage across the tenebrous seas in these perilous times.

The tenor of the procession was broken by the rising sound of a thousand
voices crying out in torment. The source of that terrible lament drew the
immediate attention of the holy cadre before the pillar.

The air itself began to tear and rend apart, as if reality were being flayed
alive. A thin vertical line formed, extending from both ends like a scalpel
slicing through sinew. Their edges crackled with the coruscating false
light of the warp, the fabric of the material world fraying and distorting
around it. The line splayed open, widening into a gaping, circular gateway.
The portal resembled a profane vanity, roiling with raw, entropic force.
Its circumference pulsating and mutating, manifesting eight aberrant points
from the billowing non-matter.

A being emerged, cloaked in shadow and ruin. An armored boot planted upon
the sodden earth, its touch a pox upon the ground, seeding a decrepit
blackness as if the very realm rejected the figures intrusion. Its form
materialized further through the wailing portal, armor figured and wreathed
in an aura of tangible malignancy. Tendrils of fleshy roots invaded blue
dragonscale plates, interwoven like oily ropes and fused into a horrific and
symbiotic raiment. The growth began at his throat and crept upward,
gripping the pallid flesh of his face like an inverted crown. His single
baleful eye glared across those gathered, fixed upon the minister as he
advanced.

The gathered worshippers looked on in horror and parted before him, while
the priestess behind the pulpit raised a hand in defiance, clutching a crude
holy symbol of the storm goddess in her fist. The hood of her cloak was
thrown back by the rising gale as her gaze met the interloper. She wasted
no breath on admonishment or condemnation. Instead, she called upon the
tumultuous heavens, and they answered with the ire of a vengeful god.
Argent bolts of cerulean lightning tore down upon the advancing warrior,
engulfing him in a blinding concussion of thunder.

Writer: Crelius
Date Wed Sep 2 19:52:34 2026
To All Chaos Malachive ( Imm RP )
Subject Of Blood and Purpose - Stormheart (continued)

Dismay wracked the druidess countenance as she watched the summoned
lightning ground itself harmlessly against the remnants of his blue-scaled
armor. As he reached the obelisk, a figure broke suddenly from the crowd.
Cloaked and otherwise unremarkable, the flash of metal and a blur of
startling alacrity swiftly dispelled that fallacy.

The stranger struck with adder like speed, twin blades dancing with
unnatural grace as they plunged into the knights back in rapid succession.
Blackened fluid spurted from the wounds, spattering the rocky ground, where
it hissed and smoldered like spilled acid.

As the assailant swept in for another strike, something unexpected occurred.
The diseased fronds entwined about the warriors armor writhed suddenly to
life. Through some profane amalgamation, flesh and armor transmogrified
together, twisting into the semblance of a grotesque aegis wrought from
fused metal, sinew, and corrupted flesh. The knight wheeled and brought the
flesh forged shield crashing against his attacker. The impact shattered one
of the strangers blades and carried through with brutal force, striking the
cloaked warrior hard enough to hurl them sprawling into the mud, senseless.

A rictus grin crept across the knights deathmask features as he uttered a
single word, rising from his throat like tar bubbling from a pit, "Kyorl.
"

After the briefest moment of satisfaction, he returned his gaze to the
obelisk where the priestess had stood. In that same instant, she crossed
the distance between them with feline stealth, driving a dagger deep into
the mans abdomen. Before she could withdraw, a metallic fist clamped around
her wrist. The knight wrenched her close and brought the hammer of his
gauntlet down against her temple. She crumpled to the earth beside her
would be protector, bereft of consciousness.

The storm raged overhead as the Knight of Ruin gripped both elves by their
scalps and dragged their still forms across the rocks and mud. Trails of
red and black blood followed in his wake, mingling with the rainwater
pooling beneath his feet. Lightning flashed, throwing his pale features
into stark relief. The mutilated hollow of his missing eye stood plainly
revealed to those who remained. The flesh carved into an eight-pointed star
where the eye had once resided.

He hauled his captives into the wailing portal, paying little heed to those
who still dared remain. Then the warp rift folded shut behind him, and he
was gone, leaving only bloody tracks in his passing.

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 20:03:05 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 21:31:53 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 2 21:57:15 2026

Writer: Justian
Date Thu Sep 3 23:38:07 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: The First Blood I

The fountains low whisper carried through the quiet hall. Nearby, the
tree made of horn stood beneath Malachives golden image. Light scarred its
bloody bark. The pale wounds crossed the horn where blood had long seeped
from within, and the stone bowl at its roots waited to receive each slow
drop.

Waaaghs declaration said the tree had begun to grow again. Blood of any
kind might feed it, though blood carrying potent energies was to be sought
above All others.

Justian came before the tree alone.

He did not immediately draw his athame. His attention remained upon the
injuries left by Light and the blood that continued to ooze around them.

The light-colored scars across the tree briefly darkened, as though the horn
beneath them were healing. Justian watched the marks closely. He had seen
them change before, but whether the wounded horn was truly mending he could
not say.

A faint warmth radiated from the tree, then vanished before he could be
certain it had been there.

He remained where he was, pondering the feeling. One hand rose slightly
before settling again at his side. For a while he did nothing.

Eventually, his thoughts returned to Waaaghs declaration and the blood he
had come to give. Before calling others to the work, he would measure his
own part in it against the Verities.

"First: Suffering exists."

Light had passed across the horn and left injury behind. The brief
darkening of the scars did not erase the blood still seeping from the bark.

Justian drew his veined hornwood-arcanium athameand placed its edge against
his palm.

"No one who calls another to bleed should place himself beyond the wound."

The blade crossed his flesh.

(continued)

Writer: Justian
Date Thu Sep 3 23:42:18 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: The First Blood II

Blood welled from the cut and ran between his fingers. Justian pressed
his opened palm against the bloody bark. Fresh blood spread beneath his
hand and mingled with what already flowed down the horn.

"Second: Suffering has a cause. The false gods and the order they have
made." Justian kept his hand against the tree.

"Their order calls submission peace. Whatever refuses its place must be
corrected, cleansed, or destroyed."

His gaze followed the injuries across the horn.

"Light touched you and left this behind. Here is the truth beneath their
promise of order."

To Justian, feeding the tree made of horn was a way to sustain what their
order had sought to destroy. He could not yet know what would come. He
knew why he wished to help it continue.

"Third: The End is their death."

Blood continued to gather beneath his palm.

"The shedding of blood is not the End. Neither is your growth. The
strength gathered here must be turned against those who bound this world
beneath them."

Justian withdrew his hand. His blood remained upon the tree, slowly joining
what already flowed down the horned bark.

The creatures dwelling around the Red Moons impact would be his first
quarry. Waaagh had called for blood bearing potent energies. Justian would
seek it among the things that inhabited that ruin. He would hunt them,
gather their blood, and return it to the tree made of horn.

Others within Chaos would be called to join the work. He would explain
where he intended to hunt and why he believed the offerings would further
their purpose. Each would choose whether to take up this hunt or their own.

"Fourth: The Path is Chaos."

"The Path begins when truth demands action. Today, I give what is mine.
Soon, we shall bring the wound of the Red Moon."

Justian tightly gripped his slashed palm and stepped back. His gaze
returned to the light-colored scars. Their brief darkening and the
uncertain warmth remained in his thoughts, but he claimed neither as an
answer to the offering he had made afterward.

The stone bowl received the mingled blood at its roots.

The tree bled first.

Justian answered.

Writer: Geirhart
Date Fri Sep 4 12:41:14 2026
To All Kingdom Clan ( Imm Religion Raije Nadrik Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: Cold Winds, Cold Hearts, the End Nears ( 2 )

'Have some tea, Abbott. It looks like you had quite the time in the
streets of the Empire. ' offered the White Cleric as Geirhart entered the
spartan office of the minotaur.

'Thank you, Elder. Your hospitality is very kind. ' smiled the old priest.

Geirhart takes a seat in a chair built for a minotaur and holds the tea with
both hands. Sitting in silence, the White Cleric begins to speak.

'Icewall has not been without loss while the other continents continued
their wars. After the War of the Black Moon, many mourned the loss of
Mencius while also rejoicing at the return of Nadrik. Was there any other
kingdom or clan that could claim such a division of faith?

When Nadrik ascended the stair, I was hopeful. Yet a third of our trinity
remained dead. Where was the hope for the Mencians? Their Rage had no
place to go. Then, recently when Raije was hurt, the faith of our people
was wounded once more. It has been a battle and a loss that no Minotaur
knows how to deal with. '

The old man listens, his grey eyes warm and compassionate as he blows softly
on his drink allowing the White Cleric to speak more.

'We are a warrior people, we face our problems with steel and grit. We yell
our war cries to our enemies to make them fear us. Yet who do we yell at to
heal a god? Who do we battle to let him know we are here? The Empire has
no reaction to being impotent. It has no method with which to react. So
our people grow closed, hardened, and I have seen in their eyes the very
shadow of defeat. With the ascent of our Empress, I am hopeful that a woman
of faith can find that way forward. '

Geirhart nods slightly taking a sip he responds, 'The Light has been much
the same. We grasp at ideas to help us move forward unsure if this is the
right way. We know we should be doing more but we walk in circles. I think
we have more in common perhaps than we think. '

The White Cleric grasps a cub and lifts it in his large hand, 'To shared
loss and shared confusion then, Abbott. '

Geirhart lifts his mug of tea in response and then, both sipping, they sit
in the warmth of the room silent and thoughtful.

Writer: Patrovio
Date Fri Sep 4 22:27:50 2026

Writer: Patrovio
Date Sat Sep 5 02:44:19 2026

Writer: Patrovio
Date Sat Sep 5 09:54:34 2026

Writer: Qinrathaz
Date Sun Sep 6 11:37:46 2026

Writer: Qinrathaz
Date Sun Sep 6 11:45:23 2026

Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Sep 7 13:19:11 2026
To Geirhart Shadow Verminasia All ( RP Imm Drakkara )
Subject The passing of flyers ( Pilgrimage )

Aothien sat in his chair, rocking back and forth. His heavy dragonscale
helmet sat in front of him, the umbral lenses staring into his pupilless
white eyes. If All was going according to plan, everything should be
happening right now, he thought. This plan was not as flashy as the last,
and probably not as impactful, but the seeds of fear and doubt must continue
to grow. A cold smirk slowly formed on Aothiens face as he brought his
hands together.

On the continent of Icewall, things were bustling. The Pilgrims had
gathered about as Ganth prepared to receive them. Four half elves, dressed
in ragged clothing spread out, each holding a rather large stack of papers.
They jumped up and down, speaking with fiery passion as they tried to hand
the papers to any and All that would talk and receive them. They moved like
flashfire through the crowds, darting in and out of various groups,
attaching the papers to poles, buildings, anything they could. And within
minutes, perhaps 5.. At most 15, they were gone. Flyers seen everywhere,
from the trash on the ground to the peoples hands and plastered on wells.

Aothien opened his eyes after picturing what had happened, and picked up his
own copy of the flyer.

"Tired of spending days and nights in the cold? Eating gruel while the
priests, knights and lords eat hot beef and drink hot wine? Are you done
suffering being a tool for the gains of others while you struggle to stay
warm?"

"This is not Love, this is not Honor or Goodness. This is just
exploitation, as it's always been. Do not listen to the lies."

Writer: Aliera
Date Mon Sep 7 14:12:47 2026
To Geirhart Shadow Knighthood All ( RP Imm Religion Nadrik )
Subject The passing of flyers ( Pilgrimage )

Aliera noticed the papers first because there had not been papers before.

One had been fastened crookedly to a post near the well. Another had
already found its way beneath someone's boot, muddied into the snow. More
were moving hand to hand through the Pilgrims, and somewhere beyond them a
half-elven figure disappeared between bodies before she could make out more
than ragged clothing.

Her hand rose, "Let them go. " The words were meant for the nearest Knights
before anyone could decide pursuit was required.

Aliera stepped to the post and pulled the paper free. She read it quietly,
all of it. Her expression changed very little at the first lines.

*Tired of spending days and nights in the cold? Eating gruel while the
priests, knights and lords eat hot beef and drink hot wine? *

Her eyes lifted from the page, not toward where the half-elves had gone,
toward the Pilgrims. Some were reading, some talking... One paper had
already been crumpled, another was being passed between several hands. She
glanced back to the parchment in her hands.

*This is not Love, this is not Honor or Goodness. This is just
exploitation, as it's always been. Do not listen to the lies. *

For several seconds, she said nothing. Then she folded the paper once and
tucked it beneath her belt. "Do not take them from anyone. " Her gaze
moved among the Knights nearby. "And do not tell anyone they may not read
them. "

There were enough scattered over this portion of Icewall by now, that the
order would hardly contain them regardless. More importantly, trying would
accomplish precisely what whoever had sent them wanted. Aliera turned
toward the nearest gathering of Pilgrims. She had walked among them, stood
watch over them, seen their fires burn low in the night and watched tired
bodies rise again in the morning.

They -were- cold. They -were- tired. That was what made the thing clever.
A lie built entirely from lies was easy to destroy. One wrapped around
something true could be carried much farther. Her attention shifted toward
the fires, the provisions, the places where Knights and clergy had taken
their meals. "Find out what was served today, " she said quietly. "To
everyone. Pilgrims, priests, Knights and nobility. And where everyone
slept last night. "

A beat passed, and she clarified. "I want facts. Not assurances. " She
looked again toward the Pilgrims. There would be questions. Perhaps
accusations. Perhaps only glances that had not been there an hour before.
Let them come.

Tonight she had intended to speak to them of grief, of Mencius, of Raije
lying wounded, of Nadrik returned from torment with Wrath burning hotter
within Him than before. Of what happened when pain became anger, and what
happened when anger was permitted to choose its own direction. Someone had
walked into Ganth carrying tinder and discovered a people already hurting.

Aliera's fingers settled briefly against the folded paper at her belt. No,
not discovered, counted upon.

"Keep the watches as they were, " she ordered. "No one treats these people
differently because they have read a piece of paper. " Then, quieter: "And
if any of what it says is true, I want to know before I stand before them
tonight. "

She left the flyers where they were.

Writer: Mercerion
Date Mon Sep 7 15:17:22 2026

Writer: Geirhart
Date Tue Sep 8 19:59:58 2026
To All Aothien Aliera ( RP Imm Drakkara Rhelic Austinian )
Subject Pilgrimage: The Passing of Paper Judgement

WORDS

To the old man, the parchment was but words. Ink placed upon some vellum,
their importance as transitory as the wind. Yet to others this was a
challenge. The words could divide people, it could incite people, and it
would tarnish what was being done.

Geirhart pondered things silently.

'If these words divide us, then it shows the pilgrimage has no faith in
itself or it's allies. After more than four months, are our bonds broken so
easily? '

The Abbott thought of the vampire issues that the General had warned him
about. The attacks appeared right around the deaths of the pilgrims.
Clearly the Executioner of Abaddon, now in the Horde, was in league with the
Inquisitor of Storm Keep. It was very evident that All these issues were
just works of the Darkness to take resources away from the Pilgrimage and
divide it. The Knights were already split now, some factions hunting
vampires while some on Icewall. Then there was the emotional division of
these letters. It was clearly a concerted effort.

'So what do I do? The Cardinal has already spoken. If we give it more
attention then we raise it ever higher. Therefore I shall treat it as a
test. I fear no judgement of my peers, of the pilgrims, or of the Darkness.
If there are those who have not given to the poor, that is their shame to
bear. If there are those who have not held tight to their oaths, they shall
be judged by the divine. '

Summoning holy fire, the parchment burns and blackens as it is consumed.

A messenger arrived at the Temple of Ganth, his cheeks a bit red from the
cold and the vapor of his breath causing a bit of mist as he spoke.

'Abbott, the wagons are preparing for our journey in a couple of days. Did
you want to look over the list of provisions and make sure All was prepared'
asked the messenger.

Geirhart nodded, 'Lead the way to Tolbrand. I'm sure he's got things well
underway and my oversight is merely a formality. '

The messenger lead the way while the old priest hobbled behind him wrapped
in his robes.

ACTIONS SPEAK THE LOUDER

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 9 00:47:44 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 9 01:35:49 2026

Writer: Erlestoke
Date Wed Sep 9 17:17:30 2026
To All Althainia Knighthood Geirhart ( Imm RP Rhelic )
Subject Pilgrimage: On the March and in reflection

An unusual temperate gentle breeze blew in from the west on the road from
Ganth, nearly overshadowing the sound of soft boots landing on the path.
Here and there along the order of the march quiet voices spoke amongst the
Pilgrims. Though tired and weary from their long journeys they still
carried on, the end so near at hand.

Erlestoke varied his pace as he moved with the pilgrims, sometimes slowing
down and letting more of the column overtake him, at other times walking at
double time to move closer to the head of these pilgrims. Vigilant, perhaps
hypervigilant, his eyes roamed over the pilgrims and sides of the road
looking for irregularities or trouble. But it wasn't violence or mischief
that finally pulled his full attention, but the clatter of wood on stone
followed by a soft thud as one of the pilgrims collapsed and let go of his
walking stick.

With a slight headshake to remind himself Erlestoke muttered softly to
himself as he moved to help, "Remember, this is not a military endeavor, not
all threats are from violence, these pilgrims also suffer the travails of
the road. "

"Let's get you on your feet" he said as he helped the pilgrim up. "Come
now, just a little further lets get you dusted off and refreshed for the
last leg of the journey. "

Erlestoke uttered the word "candusima" hoping he could remove at least some
of the pilgrim's weariness as the column trudged onward. Rewarded with a
tired smile as the pilgrim once again carried on with the column and leaning
heavily on his walking stick, Erlestoke resumed his pace beside the column.

Privately, Erlestoke's mind drifted back to the sermons he heard in the
temple of Ganth as he walked. Many words on duty and honor, of discipline
and fraternity, he had much to reflect on for the first time in a long
while.

Writer: Naevera
Date Thu Sep 10 05:09:37 2026
To All Dragon Dragoth RP IMM
Subject Lurking {nPurpose

That scent..

Cloying, sickly, a swampy mold. Carrying a touch of despair, terror, a
dangerous expectancy in its purpose. Something yet to be.

Venomous black eyes opened, focused and then narrowed, a breath of sickly
green chlorine slipping out from between long sharp teeth. The cloud wafted
down along the length of her broad scaled form, her tail lifting and
settling in brief agitation at her side.

That unique scent of decay was powerful and it found her where she rested,
through obscuring layers of rotted and decaying vegetation. Found her and
roused her fully.

Vicious irritation descended but as she drew in deeper of the scent, hunger
followed and a low, reverberating growl trickled through the cavern with
ominous purpose.

A sound followed. Something familiar enough that she pushed herself up,
breaking the thick vines that had woven over her wings, to sit. Pungent
slime had gathered beneath her, flowing freely over claw and scale as she
sat among it, and searched for the source of the sound. The slime, she also
recognized.

There.

A slow grin pulled at her snout, her teeth snapping wickedly.

It wriggled through her ancient chamber, visiting the stagnant pools,
consuming the slime that it used to pull its bulk along.

The larvae was not so small anymore. What she had pulled from the basin in
Dragoth's Temple, or something akin to it, crawled through the muck toward
her and she let it. When it grazed her, as if a feline rubbing along a
favored fellow, she caressed its bulk with the backs of her talons and
rumbled softly, moved again with protective urge.

It had come a long way from its pustulent chrysalis but she sensed this was
merely a visit. It had further yet to go for the lurking God's purpose.

It rounded her massive form, consuming the diseased vegetation as well as
the slime, and then it scaled the wall as if it were not a vertical feat,
and disappeared into a hole she might not have thought it could fit into
with an exultant screech that reverberated through cavern and earth.

Naevera needed no further reminder that Dragoth's purposes roamed beneath
the feet of all, that distance and time was no factor. The pestilent and
diseased hand of the Lurking God could, and would, reach all.

Digging slow rents into the ground beneath her, the cruel Green began to
consider how best to use this reminder even as the prospect of food
scrabbled at the entry of her cavern.

Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Sep 10 13:03:00 2026

Writer: Agu
Date Thu Sep 10 21:55:13 2026
To All Arkane Leonine Zandrya RP Imm
Subject The Rescue of Agu

It was early in the morning when the vessel came.

The Arkane Ship had just seen the signs of Warp operations along the shore.
Cannon fire strafed along the borders of the Chaos encampment, and the
followers of Malachive were torn asunder. It was only by the quick work of
the crew, and the boarding parties that went ashore that the tiny little
stronghold was destroyed with few casualties. It was after the battle that
they discovered the dungeon. Filled with prisoners of All races. They wore
shackles which drained mana, meaning that no magic could be used by any of
them. An assortment of folk filled the dungeon, and most of them looked to
the new soldiers in fear. Except for one, who recognized the symbol of
Arkane.

"It is I, Commander Agu Embermane, Of the Homeguard of Arkane. " Came the
weakened voice when they unshackled the wemic.

Some of the crewmembers knew of Commander Agu, absent many moons past. But
none of them reognized him. When his identity was confirmed, he was taken
aboard the ship. The whole area was godsforsaken because of Warp heresy,
but when they were finally able to set sail, it was then that a mage
appeared aboard the ship, wearing the University emblem, and brought the
shell of the former Commander Agu back to Arkane by portal. After reporting
his situation to the Queen, he stayed in the infirmary for a few days.

What was to come next, he did not know. He was excited to be home, but
equally afraid that people would see him in this state. What would the
coming days bring? Would his beloved family and friends stll be around, or
even alive? Only time would tell.

Writer: Mercerion
Date Fri Sep 11 20:14:27 2026

Writer: Kafis
Date Sun Sep 13 12:36:34 2026
To All ( Imm RP Kwainin )
Subject The Pull I Cannot Explain

Kafis woke before the temple bells reached for dawn, the way he had every
morning for the better part of three months now, staring up at ceiling beams
he knew better than his own hands and still, for one disoriented breath,
expecting red gates instead of grey stone rafters.

He lay there a while and let the dream fade the way smoke does when you stop
chasing it. It never fully left. It hadn't, not once, since the first
night it came to him: a shoreline he had never walked, stone worn smooth by
a tide he'd never felt, red gates standing half swallowed by fog, and
somewhere behind All of it, bells. Not the Serpents Eye bells. Different.
Lower. Older, in a way he had no business recognizing.

He rose anyway, because the sun did not care what a man dreamed, and there
was work in the yard before first meal.

A hooded monk found him there some time later, wringing water from the
training wraps at the well, and did not bother pretending he hadn't noticed.
"You've the look again," he said, in the flat, unbothered way he said most
things. "Same one as always?"

"Same one."

"And?"

Kafis wrung the last of the water out before he answered, watching it darken
the packed earth at his feet. "And nothing. It doesn't fade this time. It
hasn't faded in weeks." He didn't say the rest of it: that it wasn't
fading, it was sharpening, the way a half remembered word sharpens into a
real one the longer you turn it over. That he could, if he closed his eyes
even now, count the gates in the fog. That there were five of them, and he
did not know how he knew that.

The monk in a simple cloak considered him for a moment with the particular
patience of a man twenty years further along the Path than his student, then
went back to hanging wraps on the line. "There are names for what you're
describing, you know. None of them comfortable."

"I know."

"And you've made up your mind regardless." It wasn't a question.

Kafis didn't answer that one at all, which was answer enough.

It was not a small thing, what he was turning over. He had no family east
of anywhere. No teacher, no order, no debt of blood or oath that reached
toward that part of the map. He had checked quietly, carefully, in the
handful of texts in the temple archive old enough to even acknowledge an
island called Shokono existed, and found nothing that explained why a place
he had never seen should feel, some mornings, more real to him than the
ground under his own feet. Every account agreed on one strange point at
least: no gate reached it. No nexus, no door, no shortcut a mage or a
priest could open.

Whatever pulled at him, it did not intend to make the answer easy. Only a
ship, or a swimmer with more courage than sense, would ever set foot on that
shore.

He thought of the question again as he walked the yard's perimeter
afterward, turning it over less as doubt now than as a kind of grim
amusement. Made up his mind. As if there had been much choosing in it at
all. The pull did not ask permission and did not explain itself; it simply
sat behind his ribs some mornings like a held breath he could not release,
and had, in three months, gone from curiosity to certainty to something
closer to hunger.

He did not know yet what waited on that shore, or why it seemed to know his
name before he had ever spoken it aloud in its direction. But he intended
to find out, whatever it cost him to cross a sea that, by every account he
could find, could not be reached by any gate, any nexus, any door but a hull
and the will to point it east.

If anyone in these lands has sailed those waters and returned, or knows
someone who claims to have, he would hear of it. Price is no object.
Answers are.

Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sun Sep 13 14:21:33 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Sun Sep 13 17:54:19 2026
To Knighthood All ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake

Who was in need? What could he do for someone? Who's burdens and weight
could he help shoulder? Who needed him to be what they needed at the time?
Was anybody hungry, cold, hot, thirsty, or tired? Did the kids and folks
who were hungry in the cities and kingdoms get enough food? Should he get
more? Why couldn't he save Izha? Where was his family? Why can't he
sleep? Why was he so tired and sore All the time? Questions after
questions, followed by more questions of who this, how that, why then, what
now, where to start raced through his noggin. Those questions always,
always were in it.

Then his brow furrowed and his brain stopped with the questions and instead
focused on the sound of heavy breathing. He looked over to his right and
saw Buttercup rustling through a duffle bag then lifting her head up with a
large chocolate chip muffin in her lips. "Reallaey? " Buttercup stared at
him then bit the top off the muffin and let the bottom fall back into the
bag. "Ya's insuff'rable so'etimes. " Buttercup stared at Thasgerd again
then huffed in his direction.

He shook his head and looked down at the paper in his gauntlet. The word
Peace was what his eyes were focused on. The context of this Peace and his
he thought, might be completely different, but maybe in looking for this
Peace, he'd find some of his own. He realized after a moment that the
breathing was still audible and he looked around again. It wasn't Buttercup
and the visitors and clerics were gone for the day. He caught a breath that
stopped his rising and falling chest. It was him breathing hard.

Thas pulled out some strips of jerky and tucked one into the corner of his
mouth. He bit down on it but didn't chew, he just kept it there. He lifted
a gauntlet to his right eye and gently tapped at the facet of golden flame
that surrounded it. He tapped it again, hoping it'd turn on, or he could
see something as Nadrik let him before. He looked up at the statue of
Taliena, Kadiya and Siccara and a small soft smile crossed his lips. He
nodded, knowing he wouldn't see anything.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 17:14:51 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Unexpected Answer pt. 1

The desert did not answer him.

For three weeks Tiberius Caine had given it ample opportunity.

He had come stripped of nearly everything that might distinguish a Knight
from a beggar. Gone were the blackened plates and dark trappings of the
Order. Gone were the banners, the ceremonies, the familiar stones of Storm
Keep. He carried an axe because even an ascetic need not be a fool, a
waterskin because faith did little to quench thirst, and airy cloth enough
to spare his flesh the worst of the Thalosian sun.

Everything else, he had left behind - including, he increasingly suspected,
his purpose.

By day the desert burned. By night it froze. Between those extremes
stretched an infinity of sand, in which a man might walk from sunrise until
sunset and still find no evidence that Creation had noticed his passage.

Tiberius had prayed at first. He prayed as his mother had taught him when
he was a boy. He prayed as the priests had instructed him. He prayed as a
soldier: plainly, directly, without poetry. Then he prayed angrily.
Finally, he stopped.

Lord Necrucifer was dead.

No revelation had descended to correct that fact. No whisper followed upon
the wind. No black miracle rose from beneath the sands. The Master of
Darkness was dead.

Tiberius crouched beneath the meager shade of a sandstone shelf and watched
heat dance across the horizon. "What becomes of an oath, " he asked aloud,
"when the one who received it is gone?"

The desert answered as it always did: with nothing.

Tiber laughed once beneath his breath, "Thought so." He drank sparingly
and continued south.

Near dusk he found the bones.

There was nothing remarkable about finding death in the Thalosian wastes.
He had passed the remnants of animals before, and twice those of men - these
belonged to the latter. Most of the skeleton had disappeared beneath
shifting sand. A portion of bleached ribcage remained exposed alongside one
arm, the skeletal fingers curled as though their owner had died clutching at
the earth.

Tiberius nearly walked past before something caught the dying sunlight - A
small point of crimson-black gleamed beneath the skeletal hand.

He stared at it for several moments before crouching. "Still coveting your
treasures, are you?" Tiber brushed the bones aside, revealing a dagger in
the sand.

It was an old weapon, though surprisingly untouched by rust. The blade was
narrow and darkened, its leather grip dry but intact. Set within the pommel
was a many-faceted stone, scarcely larger than the end of his thumb.

Tiberius turned it toward the light. Black at first glance, red beneath.
Something deeper still when the angle changed.

He frowned, "Ugly thing..."

I have been called worse.

Tiberius dropped the dagger. His axe was in his hands before the weapon
struck the sand. Nothing moved. The desert stretched empty around him.

"Show yourself!"

No answer. His midnight-blue eyes swept the rocks, the dunes, the shallow
depression through which he had approached... Nothing.

He waited. A minute passed, then another. Tiberius looked down at the
dagger and shook his head. "No."

Silence.

He nudged it with the edge of his sandal. Nothing. Slowly, he crouched and
reached for it. His calloused fingers closed around the grip.

Better.

Tiberius hurled it away.

Laughter entered his thoughts. Not loud laughter. Not mad laughter. A
low, rasping amusement entirely too pleased with itself.

Tiberius stared at the weapon lying several paces away. "What are you?"

Thirsty...

His expression hardened. "...So am I."

Then already, we possess something in common.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 17:31:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Unexpected Answer pt. 2

Tiberius did not retrieve the dagger. Instead he sat, resting his
forearms across his knees as the sun continued its descent behind him.

"Spirit?"

Perhaps.

"Demon?"

A pause.

Would that trouble you?

"No."

This time the laughter was unmistakable.

No... I suppose it wouldn't.

Tiberius's brow furrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Nothing.

"You know something about me."

Several things.

"Such as?"

Your name is Tiberius Caine.

His hand drifted toward the axe. The voice chuckled again.

And you talk in your sleep.

Tiberius went still. "How long have you been listening?"

Longer than you have been listening to me.

The wind pushed a thin veil of sand across the blade. Tiberius rose,
crossed the intervening distance, and picked it up again. The presence
returned immediately. Not stronger, precisely, but clearer - a sensation
like another consciousness standing just beyond a door.

"You heard my prayers."

Some were difficult not to.

Tiber's jaw tightened. "Careful..."

You showed less restraint when addressing your dead god.

The fingers wrapped around the dagger tightened now, too.

"You will speak of Him with respect."

Silence followed. Then, without the earlier amusement:

Even now?

"Especially now."

Another pause.

Interesting.

Tiberius looked down at the jewel. "You've my name. What am I to call you?"

Anything you like.

"Your own name will do."

No.

"Why?"

Because names have power, Tiberius Caine.

"You have mine."

I do.

"And I don't have yours."

You are very observant.

Tiberius exhaled through his nose. "You're irritating."

So I have been told.

"Do you know why my prayers went unanswered?"

For the first time, the thing within the jewel did not answer immediately.
The last edge of the sun slipped beneath the horizon while Tiberius waited.

Yes.

One word. Tiberius's eyes narrowed upon the jewel. "Then tell me."

No.

"Why not?"

Because you already know.

Tiberius stared at the dagger. "...Necrucifer is dead."

Yes.

"That isn't what I meant."

I know.

His fingers tightened around the grip. "Then you are useless to me."

Tiberius cast the dagger back beside the bones and started walking. Ten
paces. Twenty. Thirty. He continued until darkness swallowed the corpse
behind him, then stopped and stood there for some time.

"Damn you," he spat beneath his breath.

He retraced his steps. The dagger remained where he had thrown it. When he
picked it up, the voice said nothing. That irritated him even more.

He tucked the weapon through the sash at his waist. "You will answer me eventually."

The presence seemed almost to smile.

Perhaps.

Tiberius resumed walking. Neither spoke for nearly an hour. Stars emerged
overhead by the thousands, indifferent and remote. At length the voice broke
the silence.

Where are you going?

"South."

I can see that.

The man glanced down at the dagger. "Then why ask?"

Because south is a direction, not a destination.

"I don't have one."

A pause.

Ah.

"What?"

Nothing.

Tiberius continued his aimless journey deeper into the desert.

The heavens remained silent.

The thing at his hip did not.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 20:35:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: A Question of Faith

The fourth morning began with an argument.

"I don't snore."

You do.

Tiber tightened the knot of his waterskin and continued south.

"I've shared barracks with enough men to know otherwise."

Perhaps they were being polite.

"Soldiers? Polite?"

A moment passed.

A fair point.

Four days had passed since Tiberius found the dagger among the bones.
Four days since solitude, which he had deliberately sought, became
considerably less solitary.

He had learned little about his new companion. The presence within the
jewel claimed no name, offered no origin, and answered questions concerning
its nature with an evasiveness that Tiber increasingly suspected was
deliberate. It spoke when it pleased and fell silent when pressed too
closely.

What it knew of him was another matter entirely.

"You've avoided my question since yesterday."

Which one?

"You know which one."

I know several you've asked since yesterday.

Tiber cast a dour glance toward the dagger tucked into his sash. "How much
did you hear before you decided to introduce yourself?"

Enough.

"Enough to know my name. Enough to know whom I served."

Serve.

His stride slowed. "What?"

You said 'served.'

He resumed walking. "He is dead."

We established that.

"Then past tense seems appropriate."

Does it?

The question followed him for several paces. He finally stopped.

"You enjoy this."

What?

"Answering questions with questions."

Only when the second is better than the first.

Tiber shook his head and continued on.

By midday, the heat had driven even the desert winds into submission. He
found shelter beneath a crooked shelf of stone and settled there to wait out
the worst of the sun. Sweat darkened the cloth between his shoulders. His
waterskin had grown troublingly light.

For some time, neither spoke. Then Tiber drew the dagger and held it before
him, turning the crimson-black jewel between thumb and forefinger.

"You know of Necrucifer."

Yes.

"More than His name?"

Yes.

Tiber waited. Nothing followed.

"And?"

You didn't ask another question.

His eyes narrowed.

You really must stop making that face. It has accomplished very little thus far.

A reluctant breath escaped Tiber's nose, something perilously near a laugh.

"What was He to you?"

For once, no answer came immediately. The stone rested dark and silent between his fingers.

Tiber waited.

That is a better question.

"Will you answer it?"

Another silence.

Not yet.

Tiber studied the jewel. "But there is an answer."

There is always an answer.

"You've spent four days proving otherwise."

No. I have spent four days declining to give them to you.

That nearly earned the dagger another flight into the sand.

Nearly.

Instead, Tiber returned it to his sash. "One day, I'm going to leave you where I found you."

No, you aren't.

The certainty of it made him look down. "You seem very sure of that."

You came into this desert seeking answers. I am the first thing you've found that possesses any.

Tiberius had no reply.

The presence, mercifully, did not laugh.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:13:18 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Endures pt. 1

By the seventh day, Tiberius had stopped throwing the dagger.

He had also stopped pretending he might.

"Water."

Yes.

Tiber lifted the waterskin and shook it beside his ear. The answer was
an unsatisfying slosh. "I'm running out."

I had noticed.

"And?"

And you are running out of water.

He stared down at the dagger.

There is that face again.

"For something so old, you're remarkably useless."

Silence.

Tiber's brow furrowed. "What?"

I don't recall telling you I was old.

That stopped him. The morning sun had only begun its climb, but heat
already shimmered above the dunes ahead. Tiber looked down at the
crimson-black stone set within the pommel.

"You didn't."

No.

"You sound old."

What does "old" sound like?

"You."

The presence laughed.

Tiber continued south. They had settled into something resembling a
routine. He walked when the heat permitted it, sheltered when it did not,
and slept when exhaustion finally overcame discomfort. The presence
accompanied All three with varying degrees of commentary.

It never slept. That much, Tiberius had determined. Whether it could not,
or simply chose not to remained another unanswered question.

"How old are you?"

Old enough.

"For what?"

Most things.

Tiberius snorted.

By midday he found the remnants of a dry wash cutting between two ridges of
sandstone. A withered tamarisk clung stubbornly to one bank, its roots
disappearing beneath cracked earth.

Tiber came to a halt. "There was water here."

Once.

He knelt beside the lowest point and scraped aside the surface with his
fingers. The earth beneath was darker. He began digging.

You have done this before.

"I've been thirsty before."

That wasn't what I meant.

His hands slowed. "Then say what you mean."

You endure discomfort remarkably well.

A humorless laugh escaped him. "Practice."

The presence went quiet. Tiber dug deeper and dampness eventually gathered
beneath his fingers. Not water, not yet, but enough promise to keep him
working.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:17:59 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Endures pt. 2

Tropica.

His hands stopped. For several seconds, the only sound was his breathing.

"What about it?"

You mentioned it in your sleep.

Tiber sat back upon his heels. "What did I say?"

Very little that made sense.

"Then forget it."

No.

He looked toward the dagger. "That wasn't a request."

I know.

His jaw worked once. "I spent two years there."

The presence said nothing.

"In chains."

Still nothing.

Perhaps it was the silence that made him continue.

"Chaos took me when I was seventeen. Put me to labor near the Warp.
When I wasn't working, sometimes they put me in a pit."

To fight?

"To entertain them."

A pause.

Did you?

"Did I what?"

Entertain them.

He stared at the damp earth between his knees. Then, despite himself, he chuckled.

"Occasionally."

The answering amusement was quieter than usual. Tiber returned to digging.

Yet afterward you became a soldier.

"I was a soldier before."

At seventeen?

"My father started earlier."

And that made it wise?

Tiber's fingers stopped again. "You ask too many questions."

So I have been told.

"By whom?"

Silence.

Again he paused to looked at the dagger. "Oh, now you have nothing to say."

I have many things to say. You simply aren't entitled to All of them.

"Convenient."

Very.

Tiberius shook his head and returned to the hole.

By late afternoon, a shallow pool of muddy water had seeped into its bottom.
He strained it through cloth, filled the waterskin, and drank only after
waiting long enough for the worst of the grit to settle. It tasted of
earth.

It was magnificent.

You survived two years in chains.

Tiber lowered the skin. "Yes."

Then escaped them. Returned home. Swore yourself to your god. Lost Him.
And walked into a desert to discover what remained.

Tiber's expression slowly hardened. "You've been assembling me."

Naturally.

"...Why?"

For several moments, there was only the dry whisper of wind through the tamarisk.

I like to know what I am traveling with.

Tiber glanced at the dagger. "And what have you decided?"

The answer came without hesitation.

You are very difficult to kill.

Tiber barked a laugh. "That's your grand conclusion?"

Thus far.

He took another drink. "I've been called worse."

A pause, then the presence laughed in turn.

Tiberius realized why a moment later. "Oh... Damn you."

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 21:41:29 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Other Pilgrim

On the ninth night, Tiberius caught the presence watching the stars.

At least, that is what he decided.

He lay beneath an outcropping with one arm folded behind his head, the
day's heat slowly bleeding from the stone beneath him. The dagger rested
upon his chest, its jewel reflecting nothing of the heavens overhead. For
nearly an hour, neither had spoken.

"You can see them, can't you?"

See what?

"The stars."

A pause.

Yes.

Tiber looked upward. "Through me?"

No.

That interested him. "Then you can see from the jewel."

In a manner of speaking.

"Can you hear without me holding it?"

Obviously.

"How far?"

Far enough.

Tiber smiled faintly. "You're doing it again..."

Doing what?

"Giving me the smallest answer you think will satisfy me."

And yet, you remain unsatisfied. A persistent flaw in the method.

"Maybe you're losing your touch."

The presence chuckled.

Tiber let the silence return. A thin, red moon and a half-full white one
hung low upon the horizon, while above them the stars shone in numbers
impossible to appreciate from beneath a city sky.

"Do you miss them?"

No answer.

Tiber waited.

Still nothing.

His smile returned, threatening a smirk. "That one landed somewhere."

You are becoming tiresome.

"I've had an excellent teacher."

A low rasp of amusement entered his thoughts.

"So you do."

Do what?

"Miss something."

The amusement disappeared.

The man turned the dagger between his fingers. "You know where I'm from.
You know who I served. You know where I've been... I know nothing about
you."

That arrangement has served me quite well.

"I'm sure it has."

He returned his gaze to the sky. "Were you always in this?"

The jewel remained silent.

"That's a no."

That is an assumption.

"You'd have said yes."

Another silence. Tiberius grinned.

Don't look so pleased with yourself.

"I finally got an answer."

You guessed.

"Correctly."

Perhaps.

"There you are again."

The presence gave something resembling a sigh.

For a while, Tiber was content to leave the victory there. The desert
cooled around him. Somewhere beyond the rocks came the faint skitter of
some nocturnal creature emerging to hunt.

Eventually, the voice spoke.

What do you believe I am?

Tiber considered the question. "Not a spirit."

Why?

"You would've told me."

Would I?

"You let me think demon was closer."

No answer.

"And you know too much."

About?

"Necrucifer. Me. Probably Shadow."

That silence was different. Tiberius noticed. "There it is."

There is what?

"You know the Order."

Many know of the Order of Shadow.

"Not what I said."

For once, the presence had no clever answer ready.

Tiber lifted the dagger above him, studying the dark jewel against the
stars. "Whatever you are, you've crossed Shadow's path before."

You sound very certain.

"I'm learning."

A long silence followed.

Yes.

He lowered the dagger slightly. It was the first thing the presence had given him freely.

"Friend or enemy?"

Must I have been only one?

Tiber considered that. "No."

Good.

"Which were you last?"

The presence laughed softly.

You were doing so well.

Tiberius shook his head, but there was little irritation in it now. "One day."

Perhaps.

The familiar answer drew a quiet snort from him.

He set the dagger beside his head and closed his eyes. "Good night, whatever you are."

Several moments passed.

Good night, Tiberius Caine.

His eyes opened. The presence said nothing more.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Mon Sep 14 22:22:02 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Chains Again

The tenth morning brought hoofbeats.

Tiberius heard them sometime after sunrise, distant enough at first to be
mistaken for the shifting complaint of sand beneath the wind.

He stopped in his tracks.

"Hear that?"

Yes.

Tiber climbed the nearest rise and crouched below its crest. The desert
stretched southward beneath him, broken by sandstone and scrub. Nothing
moved. The hoofbeats had stopped.

"How many?"

I couldn't say.

"Couldn't, or won't?"

Couldn't.

He frowned. The distinction did little to reassure him.

He remained there several minutes before descending the dune. His axe rode
loosely in one hand now.

"Travelers?"

Perhaps.

Tiberius snorted. "There's that answer again..."

I thought you might appreciate its versatility.

The man shook his head and continued south, though more slowly than before.
The sun climbed. No riders appeared behind him. An hour passed.

Then two.

By midday, Tiber had begun to wonder whether whoever traveled nearby had
simply turned elsewhere.

He found tracks shortly thereafter.

Several horses had crossed his trail before turning southward. Tiber knelt
beside the impressions, studying them. The edges were still sharp.

"Recent."

Very.

His gaze followed their course.

"They're circling around me."

No answer.

He rose. "You knew."

I suspected.

"And neglected to mention it?"

You had already noticed.

Tiberius muttered something unkind beneath his breath and changed course
toward a broken line of sandstone. Open ground favored horses - the rocks
did not. He had nearly reached them when the presence spoke:

Behind you.

He turned to witness a horseman cresting the dune at full gallop.

Tiber's axe came up as something unfolded through the air between them. A
weighted net struck him across the shoulders and chest. He staggered
beneath it, one weight whipping around his arm while another caught behind
his knee.

He hit the sand hard. More hoofbeats thundered from either side.

Tiberius rolled, dragging the net with him, and hacked at the cords. The
first strand parted beneath the axe.

A rider shouted. Another weight snapped tight around Tiber's ankle. He
twisted onto one knee and tore an arm free.

Something struck his neck. He slapped a hand against the sting and found a
short dart lodged beneath his jaw.

"Bastards..."

He ripped it free. The world shifted.

Tiberius lurched upright anyway. A man approaching on foot received the
haft of his axe across the mouth and disappeared from view. Someone else
seized the net. Tiber dragged him forward hard enough to send him
sprawling.

His legs stopped cooperating. He fell to one knee and the desert tilted sideways.

Hands closed around him. He struck at one, caught another by the wrist, and
heard someone curse. His strength remained, but his body answered each
command later than it should.

The dagger. His hand went instinctively toward his sash.

Someone tore it away. Tiber twisted toward the man, but faces had begun to
smear together beneath the white glare of the sun.

"Give..." His tongue felt thick.

The crimson-black jewel flashed once between unfamiliar fingers.

Tiber reached for it. No answer came.

He hit the sand.

Voices moved somewhere above him. Men arguing. Someone laughing. One of
them remarked upon the dagger.

Tiber tried again to rise. His arms barely moved. The man carrying the
weapon stepped farther away.

Then, faintly - already seeming to come from a great distance:

Don't let me get too far out of your sight.

He tried to answer. Darkness reached him first.

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Wed Sep 16 02:07:41 2026
To All Knighthood Geirhart ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake II

Clear ya's min', clear ya's min', clear ya's min' went through his mind
over and over, and it clearly wasn't clearing. Nothing he was thinking
about, questioning, answering in question, more who's, what's, why's and
where's barreled through his head. He opened his eyes and blinked a few
times to get used to the light again. He looked over and sitting next to
him was Buttercup. Her tail end on a reed mat just like Thasgerd's, her
hind quarters in the best crisscross position a giant horse could get into
and her front quarters and hooves resting on top. Her eyes were closed and
Thasgerd just stared for a moment, thinking what in the hell? He was also
impressed she got down there. He took a breath and glanced down at the book
beside him. "Peace and You: Finding Inner Peace Through Meditation". He
remembered reading through the first couple pages, and the instructions were
find a quiet place, sit down, clear your mind, find inner peace. "Whaey do
I kaep buyin' thaese boo's? " He asked while he rose to his feet.

He rubbed his brow and eyes and looked at the parchment in his hand he
pulled from his pocket. One thing he learned in his time in Gareth Keep was
things weren't always easy, and sometimes the answer was right in front of
you. He looked at then thought about the first four words: The Spirit of
Peace. His eyes cut in deep thought, scanning those four words back and
forth an unknown number of times. "Spiri' o' Paece, nah spiri' o' Paece...
" He was trying to make sense of his his thoughts, thinking Spirit of Peace
was a being, not Peace in thought of the mortal way. There was something
ancient. He was hoping he was right, and he knew he'd be mulling over that
in his head even as he was doing his duty.

He'd been looking in temples of the Sisters and finding and reading anything
he could that mentioned or referenced Kadiya and Siccara. He sat in one of
Kadiya's temples for a long while, praying to his Gods. They would let Thas
know if they wanted or needed to tell or show him anything. Maybe he'd find
a grammarian and they could pick apart the words and find a meaning. Maybe
all the questions and thoughts he had would make his head explode.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 17 16:17:41 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Cargo pt. 1

Consciousness returned by degrees.

First came motion: a ceaseless wooden rattle beneath Tiber's spine,
punctuated by the jolt of wheels finding every rut the road had to offer.
Then pain. His neck throbbed where the dart had struck him. His mouth was
dry enough that swallowing hurt, and somewhere behind his eyes a dull ache
kept time with the cart. The air smelled of horse, dust, sweat and old
blood.

Memory followed. Tiber's hand moved toward his sash.

Iron stopped it.

He opened his eyes. A chain ran between shackles at his wrists, disappeared
past his hip, and joined another pair around his ankles. His axe was gone.
So was the dagger. Tiberius stared at the empty place along his waist.

Nothing.

No rasping amusement. No unwelcome observation. No voice asking whether
he'd finally noticed the obvious. For nine days, he'd scarcely been able to
escape the presence's commentary. Now he found himself listening for it.

Nothing came.

The cart lurched, and a shoulder struck his own. Only then did he look
around.

Three others occupied the bed with him. Two were human: one perhaps a
decade older than himself, gaunt beneath several weeks of beard, and the
other scarcely beyond boyhood. The third was a dwarf, whose swollen left
eye had nearly closed beneath a crusted cut along his brow. Their clothes
bore the accumulated dust and grime of roads Tiber hadn't traveled. All
three were chained. All three were awake. None spoke.

The older man regarded him in turn, taking in Tiber's shackles, the welt
upon his neck, and the relatively clean state of his clothes. 'New, then' -
the assessment required no words. There was something else in the man's
expression that Tiber recognized from Tropica - Not fear. Fear still
anticipated something. This was what came afterward, when a man had
suffered enough to stop wondering whether tomorrow might be kinder.

Three armed men accompanied the cart. One sat forward with the reins while
two rode opposite the prisoners, clubs and curved blades hanging within easy
reach. Their complexion, dress, and features marked them as Thalosian, even
before one barked something to the driver in a language Tiberius couldn't
understand. The few words of Common he heard carried an accent he
recognized.

Tiber shifted upright. The younger prisoner glanced toward him while the
older man's demeanor sharpened.

"Where are they taking us?"

The older man's eyes widened slightly, his chin moving once in a tiny,
urgent shake.

Too late.

One of the guards crossed the narrow space in two steps. The club caught
Tiber across the mouth, snapping his head sideways and immediately filling
it with the taste of blood. The man spat something in his native tongue
while the other two laughed.

Tiber slowly turned his face back. The club rose again. "You speak Common?"

The older prisoner closed his eyes. The laughter stopped.

The second blow landed across Tiber's ribs. He folded around it, more from
necessity than submission. Before he could straighten, the guard caught a
fistful of his hair and hauled his head upward.

"Quiet," the man commanded in heavily accented Common.

Tiber fell silent, but held the man's stare as blood gathered at the corner
of his mouth. The club rose again.

The dwarf moved first - not toward the guard, but away. He pressed himself
against the cart's wooden side and lowered his eyes. The older human
followed, fixing his attention upon the floorboards.

Tiber understood. Whatever happened next would not necessarily happen only
to him. He lowered his head.

The guard lingered another moment before releasing his hair with a shove.

"Good slave."

Tiberius said nothing. He had learned the first rule.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 17 16:23:59 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Cargo pt. 2

The guard returned to his place. For several minutes there was only the
creak of the cart, the clop of horses, and the occasional clinking of
chains. Tiberius worked his jaw with his tongue pressed against the inside
of his cheek. Blood, but no loose teeth. His ribs hurt. Nothing seemed
broken.

Across from him, the older prisoner slowly raised his eyes. There was no
sympathy in them - not quite. Something closer to weary disbelief, followed
by the faintest tightening at a corner of his mouth. 'Idiot, ' the look
seemed to say. Tiber couldn't entirely disagree.

But as the man's scrutiny lingered, his expression changed. He watched
Tiber test one wrist against the shackle, not pulling hard enough to make
the chain speak, then study the guards rather than the road. His weary
disbelief gave way to something more cautious. Tiber offered no
acknowledgment.

The road beneath them was little more than two wheel-ruts cutting through
barren country. No marker stood beside it, no merchant caravan shared it,
and no distant settlement broke the horizon. They weren't taking the road
travelers used.

Tiberius checked the sun. It had already passed its height and hung before
them - they were heading west.

His hand drifted near the empty sash as the last words returned to him:

{- Don't let me get too far out of your sight. {-

Alas, he had failed rather spectacularly at that.

There was nothing he could do about the dagger now, so he studied what
remained within reach: the three Thalosians. The driver. The guard who
favored the club and the quieter one beside him. Their weapons and
positions. Which man carried the keys. Which looked back most often. How
much slack lay between each prisoner's shackles. Whether his captors
watched the wagon when it slowed, or searched the surrounding country
instead.

Across from him, the older captive continued his own quiet study. This time
Tiber met his eyes.

Something passed between them - not trust, and certainly not hope - it was
far too early for either. Merely recognition. The older man had realized
the newcomer wasn't staring at the floor - he was taking inventory.

Tiberius settled against the side of the cart and closed his eyes. There
would be time enough to learn the other rules.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 17 16:35:22 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Cargo pt. 3

The cart came to a halt after nightfall. The prisoners were given water
and stale flatbread before being chained beneath it for the night, sheltered
more by the wagon bed than from any kindness on the part of their captors.

Once the guards had settled, the older prisoner whispered across the
darkness.

"{oYou keep watching them."

Tiberius opened his eyes. The man lay an arm's length away, facing the
opposite direction. In the darkness, his lips barely moved. Tiber waited
until the nearest guard's breathing settled.

"So do you."

"{oI stopped looking for a way out six days ago."

"I wasn't looking for one."

The man's head turned slightly. "{oThen what?"

"Learning."

A pause. "{oLearning what?"

Tiber glanced toward the sleeping guards. "Everything they'll teach me."

The older man studied him for a moment. "{oThey're slavers."

"I gathered that."

"{oThen what else matters?"

Tiber answered with a question of his own. "How long have you been here?"

That seemed to catch the man off guard. "{oEight days. Maybe nine."

"Same men?"

A hesitation. "{oNo."

"Same cart?"

Another pause. "{oNo."

"How many times?"

The man considered. "{o...Men? Twice. Cart once."

Tiber nodded faintly.

"{oWhy?"

"Because now I know."

The older prisoner stared at him. "{oKnow what?"

"More than I did a moment ago."

For the first time, the man's expression almost softened. Almost. "{oWhat's your name?"

"Tiberius."

A moment passed before the response came. "{oCorren."

One of the guards shifted nearby. Both men went still. No further words
passed between them that night, and by morning Corren had returned to
staring at the floorboards.

But when another cart met them shortly after midday and two unfamiliar men
approached to speak with the driver, Corren looked first to Tiberius.

Caine was already watching.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 18 20:42:31 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Road West pt. 1

The first exchange came the following afternoon.

Another cart appeared ahead, approaching from the west along the same barren
track. It carried no prisoners.

A grey-bearded man rode beside the driver with a leather-bound ledger across
his knees, looking more merchant than slaver. Both wagons slowed as they drew
abreast.

The guards spoke rapidly in Thalosian. Tiberius understood none of it, but
watched the exchange closely. One of his captors climbed down and retrieved a
wrapped bundle from beneath the driver's bench. The grey-bearded man opened
it: Tiberius recognized his waterskin first. His axe lay beneath it.

There were other things as well: purses, rings, a woman's comb, and several
objects he couldn't identify. The grey-bearded man sorted through them one by
one, setting some aside while returning the rest to the cloth. Tiber's
waterskin went back into the bundle. His axe did not.

The merchant folded the bundle closed and passed it to the other cart,
leaving Tiber's axe and several other items with his captors. He counted coins
into the guard's hand, made an entry in his ledger, then looked into the cart:
not at the "prisoners" - at the "cargo."

His gaze passed over Tiber, Corren, the dwarf, and finally the boy. One by
one, the merchant compared them against the entries in his ledger, making
small symbols beside the writing as he went. Whatever the marks signified,
Tiber couldn't tell.

A small coffer changed hands, as did a folded piece of parchment. Both
remained with his captors. Before the other wagon pulled away, Tiber took
stock: his waterskin was bound east. His axe remained with his captors.

No dagger.

By dusk the other wagon was long gone. They stopped beside a dry wash where
the prisoners were given water, another piece of flatbread, and a few minutes
to relieve themselves one at a time under guard. Afterward, they were chained
beneath the cart as they had been the previous night.

Corren waited until darkness settled. "{oThose were your things."

"Some of them."

"{oThe axe?"

"Mine."

A brief pause. "{oSomething missing?"

Tiber turned his head slightly. "Yes."

"{oImportant?"

His hand settled near the empty place along his sash. "Very..."

Corren asked nothing more.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 18 20:47:45 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Road West pt. 2

Corren watched after that. He had spent the better part of their first
days staring at the floorboards. Now, when something changed hands, he
counted. When unfamiliar men approached the cart, he listened.

The next exchange came at a barn standing alone among fields of dry grass.
This time the prisoners remained in the cart while their captors met four
men inside. Tiberius could hear voices beyond the open doors, but little
else.

Corren shifted beside him. "{oTwo in. Three out."

Tiber glanced toward him. Corren kept his eyes forward. Tiber said
nothing, though a trace of approval crossed his features.

Over the following days, the pattern repeated. Carts changed. Guards
changed. Sometimes goods moved with them, sometimes in the opposite
direction. Coins passed between hands, entries were made in ledgers, and
folded parchments appeared and disappeared. The roads remained narrow and
sparsely traveled.

Tiber began recognizing sounds. Not the language - not yet - but words
repeated often enough to acquire meaning from what happened around them.

Numbers came first, then names. A phrase spoken before shackles were
checked. Another before a cart changed hands. Corren learned some of them
as well, and when one man missed something, the other occasionally caught
it.

Neither spoke of escape.

On the fourth day, they reached a holding yard enclosed by a high wooden
fence. For the first time since Tiber had awakened in chains, he saw more
prisoners than guards. Men and women sat beneath crude shelters or stood
shackled along the fence.

Their captors opened the cart. The dwarf was taken first.

He resisted only long enough to earn a blow across the shoulders before
disappearing through a gate at the rear of the yard. The boy followed. At
the sight of the waiting men, he planted his feet.

"No." A guard jerked the chain. "No! Where are you taking me?!"

No one answered.

The boy twisted around, searching the cart until he found Tiberius. For one
terrible moment, expectation appeared on his face. Tiberius didn't move.

There were six armed men in the yard, and more beyond the gate. Tiber's
wrists and ankles were chained, and the boy's leash was already in a guard's
fist. Charging them would accomplish nothing but earning a beating and
giving the guards reason to tighten their hold on everyone else. The boy
was dragged away.

Corren remained quiet until the gate closed behind him. "{oThey didn't mark him."

Tiber turned his head in silent question.

"{oOn the road - the man with the ledger. He marked us - not him."

Tiberius recalled the grey-bearded merchant and his ledger. "You were watching."

Corren's eyes shifted toward him. "{oThis time."

Before Tiber could answer, someone called from the table. A heavyset man
pointed at them.

Tiberius and Corren remained together.

By now, Tiber knew better than to mistake that for chance.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 18 20:53:12 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Road West pt. 3

The following morning, Tiberius and Corren left the holding yard in a larger
wagon with four strangers. The dwarf was gone. So was the boy. Among the
newcomers was a half-elf who sat with his back against the boards and offered
neither name nor conversation. Tiber didn't ask.

The country changed as they traveled west. Barren earth gave way to scrub,
then scattered fields and stretches of low grass. Their captors grew more
cautious as the roads became busier. Twice, the wagon left the track entirely
while other travelers passed. Another time, a guard threw a rough canvas over
the prisoners and left them beneath it until the sound of horses had faded.

Tiber remembered each occasion.

By then, familiar sounds had begun to stand out whenever their captors spoke.
Some had acquired meaning through repetition. Others remained guesses. Corren
caught one before Tiber did.

"{oThat one again."

Tiber looked toward him.

"{oThey say it before we move."

"Maybe."

Corren frowned. "{oYou've heard it too."

"I've heard the same sound."

"{oThat's what I said."

"You decided what it means."

Corren gave him a long look, then returned his attention to the guards.

"{oFine."

They heard it again before the next departure. Corren glanced sideways. Tiber
waited until the wagon began moving. "Now you can say it."

The faintest satisfaction touched Corren's face. Neither understood much.
Together, they understood more.

Their next stop came at an old mill beside a sluggish stream. Sacks were
unloaded from one wagon and transferred to another while two men argued
beside the wheelhouse. The prisoners remained shackled in the cart.

Corren counted beneath his breath. "{oEight."

"Nine."

His brow furrowed. Tiber nodded toward a sack already resting beneath the
driver's bench. Corren found it, then gave him a sour look. "{oShow-off."

A quiet breath escaped Tiber's nose, nearly a laugh.

That night they were chained beneath yet another wagon. The others settled
around them, exhausted enough that conversation died quickly. Corren waited
until the guards had withdrawn toward their fire.

"{oYou said you weren't looking for a way out."

"I wasn't."

"{oStill aren't?"

Tiber considered the question. "...Not yet."

Corren turned his head. "{oThen why All this? The guards, the carts, their words. Who carries what. You watch everything."

Tiber rested his head against the wheel. "I've worn chains before."

Corren was quiet for several seconds. "{oWhere?"

"Tropica."

"{oYou escaped?"

"Eventually."

"{oHow?"

Tiber's eyes remained on the guards beyond the wagon. "Someone else found the opportunity first."

Corren seemed to consider that. "{oAnd this time?"

"This time, I'm waiting to learn where they're taking us."

"{oAnd then?"

"Then I'll know where they took us."

Corren stared at him through the darkness. "{oYou always answer questions like that?"

Tiber's hand shifted unconsciously toward the empty place along his sash.

"Recently."

Corren didn't understand the answer. That was probably for the best.

The next morning brought cooler air. By afternoon, gulls had replaced the
desert birds, their pale forms riding the coastal drafts far inland.

Tiberius followed one until it disappeared toward the west. When he
looked back, Corren was watching them too.

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:25:33 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:25:56 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:26:06 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:26:12 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:26:24 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:33:36 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:33:45 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:33:55 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:33:59 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:34:16 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Fri Sep 18 22:34:22 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:39:57 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:01 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:05 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:09 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:15 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:20 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:40:30 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 09:42:20 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:15:15 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:15:36 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:16:30 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:18:57 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:19:49 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:20:15 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:35:26 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 19 10:35:53 2026

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Sep 20 12:11:05 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Passage pt. 1

By evening, Tiberius could smell the sea.

Salt carried inland on the wind, mingling with damp earth and the lingering
dust of the road. The gulls had multiplied as the day wore on, and the land
itself had begun to change. Low hills broke the country ahead, their seaward
faces thick with scrub bent beneath years of coastal weather.

Corren noticed him testing the air. "{oClose?"

"Getting closer."

"{oYou've done this before."

Tiber glanced toward him. "Smelled the sea?"

"{oYou know what I mean."

A faint trace of amusement crossed Tiber's features. "I've sailed."

Corren seemed about to ask more, but the wagon turned sharply and gave him
something else to consider.

The road ahead had widened over the past several miles. Stone walls divided
cultivated fields, carts appeared with greater frequency, and smoke rose
beyond a cluster of distant roofs. For the first time in days, they were
approaching country where travelers might reasonably notice a wagon full of
chained prisoners.

Their captors wanted none of it.

At the next fork they abandoned the road entirely, taking a narrow track
between two low hills. One rider went ahead while another remained behind,
repeatedly checking the way they'd come. Conversation diminished. Even the
driver seemed reluctant to let the wheels make more noise than necessary.

Tiber watched the precautions with growing interest. They weren't merely
avoiding a town - they were avoiding being seen anywhere even near it.

Close to sunset, the wagon stopped beneath a stand of wind-bent trees. The
prisoners were ordered down, given water, then linked together by a longer
chain. Their ankle shackles remained.

After that, they waited. Darkness had fully settled before the guards moved
them again.

The path descended toward the coast on foot. Loose stone shifted beneath
their boots, and the steady break of waves grew louder with every turn.
Tiber could occasionally glimpse moonlight upon the water through gaps in
the hills, but his attention remained on the path ahead and the men leading
them.

When the descent finally opened onto the shore, he understood the secrecy:

There was no harbor.

No lantern-lined quay, customs house, or cluster of warehouses stood along
the water. Instead, a narrow inlet cut between arms of dark rock, sheltered
from the open ocean and largely concealed from the surrounding country.
Several low buildings huddled beneath the cliff beside a rough timber
landing. Hooded lamps provided just enough light for the men waiting there
to work.

A longboat rocked alongside the pilings. Tiberius looked beyond it.

Farther out, a larger vessel rode at anchor. Its hull was difficult to
distinguish against the night, but its masts caught the moonlight as they
rose and fell gently with the swell.

Corren stopped beside him. "{oThat's ours, then."

Tiber studied the men at the landing. One was already checking the longboat
while another spoke with the lead guard.

"Looks that way."

"{oYou sound disappointed."

"I was hoping for a tavern."

Corren stared at him for a moment before something very nearly resembling a
smile appeared.

The chain pulled them onward.

As they descended the last stretch, Tiber counted the men waiting below and
noted where their weapons hung. He studied the longboat next: its size, the
number of oars, how many prisoners could be carried at once. Then his
attention returned to the ship offshore.

Whatever destination awaited them, this wasn't it.

Days of carts, ledgers, exchanges, and hidden roads had only delivered them
to another kind of road.

This one crossed the sea.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Sep 20 12:15:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Passage pt. 2

The prisoners were divided into two groups.

Tiberius and Corren went first, along with the silent half-elf and three
others. At the landing, the longer chain joining them was removed, though
the shackles remained at their wrists and ankles. One by one they were sent
down into the waiting longboat.

Tiber stepped carefully. A chained man could drown just as easily between a
boat and the pilings as he could in open water.

Corren lowered himself beside him. "{oAnything useful?"

Tiber tested the reach of his shackles. "Plenty. None of it helpful."

"{oThat's becoming a habit."

"So is captivity."

The boatman called from the stern. Oars dipped, and the landing began to
recede.

The ship resolved itself from the darkness as they approached. She was broad
through the hull and sat low enough in the water to be carrying considerable
weight. Her sails had been furled for the night, and the few lanterns burning
above were positioned more for the crew than anyone watching from shore.

No colors flew from the mast.

The longboat came alongside and a rope ladder dropped from above.

Corren stared at it, then at his shackled ankles. "{oThoughtful."

A sailor leaning over the rail laughed, though whether he'd understood or
merely appreciated Corren's expression was impossible to tell.

They went up one at a time. Tiber waited for the rise of the swell before
climbing. He had nearly cleared the rail when a hand closed around his
forearm.

It was large enough to nearly encircle it.

The half-ogre attached to it hauled Tiber the remaining distance aboard with
considerably less effort than he would have expected. The ogrekin stood a
head above most of the crew, with enough breadth through his shoulders to
make the difference seem greater. A heavy lash hung coiled from his belt.

"Much obliged."

The half-ogre looked down at him. "Move."

Corren came over the rail next, landing awkwardly enough that one knee struck
the deck. A nearby sailor caught him by the collar and gave him a shove
before he could regain his feet.

The half-ogre's arm intercepted the sailor. "He was already moving."

The sailor muttered something and withdrew his hand. No kindness followed.
The half-ogre caught Corren by the arm, hauled him upright, and directed him
away from the rail with a firm shove.

Someone farther aft called, "Branik!"

The half-ogre turned immediately.

A sailor gestured toward the longboat. "More coming."

Branik looked over the prisoners already aboard, counting them with a
practiced sweep of his eyes. "Get them forward."

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Sep 20 12:18:50 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Passage pt. 3

Tiber and Corren were driven toward the mainmast while the others came aboard
behind them. Tiberius used the movement to study the ship. Humans made up
most of the crew, but not All of it. Their dress varied, as did their weapons.
Lines and tackle had been kept in good order, the deck worn by long use
rather than neglect.

Whatever else this vessel carried, she was no improvised slaver.

Corren settled beside him. "{oFriendly."

Tiber glanced toward Branik, who had already returned to the rail to receive
the next prisoner.

"Efficient."

"{oThat's what I said."

Before Tiber could answer, something changed among the crew. Voices lowered.
A sailor stepped away from the passage leading beneath the sterncastle, while
another stopped what he was doing and straightened. Branik turned toward the
passage as well.

A dark elf emerged onto the deck.

No announcement accompanied him. None was necessary. Men who had barely
spared the prisoners a glance now watched him without appearing to do so.
Branik made room near the rail, though there was no deference in the gesture
beyond what rank required.

The dark elf surveyed the new arrivals before speaking briefly with one of
the sailors. Tiber couldn't make out the words - he didn't need them to
recognize command when he saw it:

This was the man who owned the deck beneath their feet.

His attention passed over the prisoners without lingering, then he turned
toward the men who had accompanied them from shore.

One carried a wooden case beneath his arm. He set it near the rail, while
another handed the dark elf a folded slip of parchment. A few quiet words
passed between them before the case was opened.

From beside the mainmast, Tiberius studied the contents. Coins, jewelry,
weapons, and other valuables lay within. Among them was something familiar:
his axe.

It had followed him west.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Sep 20 12:29:28 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Passage pt. 4

The wooden case was carried to a table beneath one of the sterncastle
lanterns. Another man joined the dark elf there with a ledger while the
prisoners were arranged along the mainmast.

Corren noticed where Tiber's attention had gone. "{oFound it?"

"Found some of it."

The dark elf worked through the contents without hurry. He lifted Tiber's
axe, tested its balance once, then laid it aside. Several smaller objects
followed, some familiar from the exchange on the road and many not.

Then came the dagger.

Only when the dark hilt emerged beneath the lantern did Tiberius realize how
intently he'd been watching for it. His hand shifted against the shackle.

Nothing.

The dark elf examined the weapon without drawing it. His thumb passed across
the fittings before he turned it over and studied the gem inlaid in the
pommel.

Tiber waited. Still nothing.

"{oThat?" Corren murmured.

Tiber kept his focus on the table. "Yes."

"{oIt's a dagger."

"Very observant."

Corren gave him a sideways look. "{oI'm learning."

That nearly earned a smile.

The dark elf said something to the man beside him. The ledger opened. After
a brief exchange, the other man nodded and returned the remaining possessions
to the case.

The dagger stayed on the table. Tiber's jaw tightened.

A commotion near the rail drew his attention. One of the newly arrived
prisoners had balked at being moved forward. A sailor seized the man's chain
and jerked him hard enough to bring him to his knees.

Branik crossed the deck. The prisoner swung first.

It was a poor decision.

Branik caught the man's wrist, twisted it behind his back, and drove him
facedown against the planks. When the prisoner continued struggling, the
half-ogre drew the lash from his belt. The first stroke silenced the
surrounding captives. The second ended the prisoner's resistance. Branik
raised his arm again.

"{uEnough."

The command wasn't loud. Branik stopped immediately.

The dark elf hadn't moved from the table. He regarded the prisoner for
another moment before turning to Branik. "{uCan he walk?"

Branik looked down. "Yes."

"{uThen I said enough."

The lash returned to Branik's belt. He hauled the prisoner upright and
shoved him toward the others. No apology followed, nor did anyone appear to
expect one.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Sep 20 12:36:23 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Passage pt. 5

Corren watched the exchange. "{oEfficient."

Tiber glanced at him. Corren's face remained perfectly serious. A faint huff
of amusement escaped Tiber before his gaze returned to the dark elf.

The man's clothing bore no insignia Tiber recognized, though its cut and
condition retained traces of something more formal. The same was true of the
ship. Orders were answered quickly, lines were kept properly, and men stepped
where they were expected before being told twice.

Whatever trade occupied the vessel now, its captain had learned command
somewhere else.

Corren leaned closer. "{oCaptain?"

"I'd wager on it."

As though summoned by the word, Branik approached the dark elf.

"Captain Sarn."

The name settled another piece into place.

Branik made a quiet report, too low for Tiber to make out. Sarn listened
without interrupting, asked a single question, then nodded. Whatever answer
Branik gave was apparently sufficient. There was an ease to the exchange
that suggested neither man needed to establish his place with the other.
Branik departed to oversee the remaining prisoners while Sarn reached for
the dagger.

This time he drew it. Steel caught the lantern light as he inspected the
blade from hilt to point - nothing in his features betrayed recognition.
After a moment, he sheathed it again.

Instead of returning it to the case, Sarn slipped the dagger beneath his
belt.

Tiberius watched it disappear against Sarn's coat. Corren followed his eyes.

"{oProblem?"

"...Not yet."

Writer: Aliera
Date Sun Sep 20 13:04:29 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sun Sep 20 13:04:43 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sun Sep 20 13:32:00 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sun Sep 20 13:32:56 2026

Writer: Justian
Date Sun Sep 20 17:24:32 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Those Who Would Come

Justian had given the first blood alone. Guiding others to gather what
came next required a measured approach.

Waaaghs declaration carried the authority of a Chaos Lord. Justian could
repeat the command, name a place, and wait for hunters to gather. Such a
call might bring them to the Tree, but it would reveal little about why they
had come.

Chaos had not freed them from the order of the gods merely to place a
different chain around their throats.

Those who joined the hunt should do so knowingly. They did not need to
share Justians understanding of the Tree or speak the Verities as he did.
Malachives favor, Waaaghs command, the promise of violence, or curiosity
about what might awaken could each draw a willing hand. Justian did not
require one reason from them all. He required only that the reason truly
belonged to them.

The blood they gathered would belong to the work.

Justian prepared a message for those within Chaos and the Warp:

{n Waaagh has called upon us to feed the tree made of horn with blood carrying
{n potent energies. I have given what was mine to give. Now I intend to seek
{n more among the creatures dwelling within the wound left by the Red Moon.
{n Soon, I will travel to the ruins near Fort Ironclad. There we will hunt
{n what the Moon changed, gather the blood that remains, and carry it back to
{n the Warp. Come because Waaagh has called. Come for Malachive, for Chaos,
{n for the Tree, or for reasons you keep as your own. I ask only that you
{n understand the purpose before taking up the task. The blood is not the End.
{n It is strength gathered for the road toward it. Those who would come should
{n make themselves known.

He read the words once more before placing the message where those within
the Warp would find it.

There was no promise of reward within it. No claim that the Tree would
answer. Justian offered no blessing to those who joined and threatened no
judgment against those who did not.

He had refused to call another to bleed before accepting the wound himself.

Now he called.

The choice of who would come belonged to Chaos.

Writer: Serket
Date Mon Sep 21 23:45:22 2026
To All ( Fatale Joules Imm RP )
Subject Tribe is Tribe: The Found-ling.

As she smashed her tail into a blood-fall of liquid, she coated herself
into a blanket. What was white scale, turned red. She fumed.. Angry and
lost in emotion not of anyone's making. So, she would turn to a book. It
was a journal, if there ever was one. She took this knowledge back to the
start..

'I walked from aft deck to fore, keeping watch of our ship. Twas a glorious
ship, though I will never see it again. As with All guard shifts, I decided
it was time to take rest, and do what lively people do- which is to do very
little and get paid. '

'So I drifted down, below deck. There was hammocks of sleeping compatriots,
and people whom I cared little for. I crept deeper down, into the hold.
Down into the bilges even, I went, until it was but myself and a lute! Who
would question Michael, a deckhand aloof that played their lute on a double
duty? I had figured no one. Until... '

'Until I beheld something, as I was tuning my lute upon a barrel! From the
shadows.. There came a hooded visage. Serpentine, if there ever was a
face. I was quickly dumbfounded on this new stowaway, what was Michael to
do! I watched with blank face, as this serpent wrapped shortened tail about
my person and lute! '

'I shall tell of our fateful meeting now, in earnest. She could have
crushed ribs easily, or snapped my neck clean. It is not of a worry as I
write this, for I am well alive as I do. Instead, she spoke a word that I
dare think was the only word she knew that time.. '

'Play. '

'What was I to do, dare I ask? I never did ask, I was caught within a
coil-vice! Yet I stared on, with many questions, many for how they ended up
on the ship I was sworn to serve, but as to how this thing knew common! I
gulp, dare I write, and point to the lute now within scale-clutch and my own
frame! It had already begun to lose it's tune as she squeezed with her
figure. '

'PLAY! NOW. '

'I quickly did my best to free my instrument, after all- it was in a mortal
coil, as was I! Thankfully this lute of mine suffered no injury. I decided
to play a quick song of longing. One that I have felt matters more to my
soul instead of the hat I leave outside taverns and pubs that I frequent.
Perhaps she would like this? Dare we wonder.. I shall pen the lyrics
regardless. This is after all, a journal of mine, and I do what I want. '

'What a Gods-damned shame, I thought I had a pulse again.. It was where you
call my name- but I was upon dying breath! The skin wore off my bones... I
felt my soul at peace.. Can I just be alone again- a few more minutes
please? '

'I played this song quietly into the hold of my beloved home, wondering if
the scales about my figure would clench tight. She did not even hear the
chorus! But, alas.. I was to live. Live, and know the one known as
Serket, whom I named, a stowaway of the world. '

She read these words quietly, know knowing what they meant. She stills her
frame for a long moment, wrapped within her own safe coil-fort. This
journal was safe in her grasp. She would keep this to her heart always. A
token thing, to be sure. But Her Lord knew she would rid herself of all
things if asked.

'Imagine.. Dear readersss.. If they will.. What came next for mysself and
the one called Serket, ssstow-waway of the world. '

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:19:01 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 1

They sailed before dawn.

Tiberius knew it first by sound. Orders passed overhead, followed by boots
crossing the deck and the groan of timber under shifting weight. Somewhere
above, canvas snapped once, twice, then filled. The motion beneath him
changed soon after: no longer the gentle rise of a ship at anchor, but the
longer roll of a hull underway.

Nearly forty prisoners occupied the compartment with him. They had been
brought below in groups throughout the night, searched again, and chained
along two heavy beams fitted with iron rings. Some slept despite the cramped
quarters. Others had discovered that darkness provided little comfort when
shared with that many strangers. A child whimpered somewhere beyond Tiber's
sight until a woman quieted him.

Corren sat beside him with his back against the hull. "{oStill want the tavern?"

"More than before."

"{oGood. I was worried captivity had damaged your judgment."

Tiber shifted as the ship rolled beneath them. "Give it time."

Footsteps descended the companionway, and conversation diminished before
Branik appeared. The half-ogre carried a lantern in one hand while two
sailors followed with water and a basket of hard bread. He hooked the
lantern overhead, surveyed the rows, and pointed toward the prisoners
nearest him.

"First six. On your feet."

They exchanged uncertain looks. Branik uncoiled the lash just far enough
for its end to fall from his hand.

"Up."

That settled it. The six rose and shuffled forward as far as their chains
allowed to receive their rations.

Water was measured into cups, one prisoner at a time. Each drank beneath
Branik's supervision before surrendering the cup for the next. The portions
were meager, but measured evenly. When one man tried to drink twice, Branik
caught his wrist before the cup reached his mouth.

"You had yours."

The man released it. No blow followed.

Tiber watched the procedure until Branik noticed. "What?"

"Nothing."

Branik's expression suggested otherwise. "Then stop staring."

Tiber looked toward the water instead. "How often?"

Branik's brow lowered.

"Water."

"Twice."

"A day?"

Branik regarded him another moment. "Unless you make me regret answering."

"Understood."

Branik moved on. Corren waited until the half-ogre had reached the opposite
row. "{oYou make friends everywhere you go?"

"Eventually."

"{oI'd hate to meet your enemies."

Tiber accepted the bread passed toward him. "Some of them were more pleasant."

Above them, the ship changed course. The hull leaned gradually before
settling onto its new heading, and loose chains slid across the boards.

The routine established itself quickly. Water came twice each day, food
with it. Prisoners were taken above in small groups to relieve themselves
and, when weather permitted, remain beneath the open sky for a short while.
Branik supervised most of these movements, assisted occasionally by other
sailors.

His rules were simple enough to learn. Move when ordered. Don't fight.
Don't steal another prisoner's ration. Don't touch the crew. Don't make him
repeat himself. Breaking those rules brought the lash. Following them
generally brought nothing at all.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:20:55 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 2

Tiber learned something else during those first days: there were far more
prisoners aboard than the ones chained beside him.

He heard them before he saw any. Voices carried through the timbers from
another compartment, accompanied at times by the scrape and clatter of
chains. During his second trip above, Tiber saw another group emerging from
a hatch farther forward. On the third, he counted more being returned below
as his own group waited.

He stopped trying to estimate the vessel's population from the forty around
him.

By the fourth morning, Tiber had learned the rhythm of the watches overhead,
which sailors regularly entered his compartment, and how long Branik
remained below during each inspection. He knew where the water was kept and
which hatches remained barred even when prisoners were brought above. He
listened to crewmen speak and continued collecting words where he could.
Corren did the same.

Neither spoke of escape.

That morning their group was brought onto the deck beneath a pale sky. Tiber
filled his lungs with cold salt air and surveyed the vessel properly.
Sailors moved through their duties with little wasted motion. Even with
scores of captives confined below, there was none of the disorder he might
have expected from men engaged in such a trade.

Corren followed his attention. "{oYou've got that look again."

"What look?"

"{oThe one where everyone becomes a number."

Tiber considered denying it, then glanced toward the quarterdeck. Sarn stood
there speaking with one of his officers. Branik waited near the prisoners
while the crew worked around them with the practiced indifference of men
accustomed to carrying human cargo.

"Not everyone."

The dagger remained at Sarn's belt. At least one thing aboard the ship
remained easy to keep track of.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:25:16 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 3

A sharp command from the quarterdeck made Tiber look up. One sailor
answered, then hurried toward the bow. Others followed without waiting to
be called.

Corren leaned closer. "{oWhat happened?"

"Don't know."

That, apparently, was unacceptable. "{oYou're supposed to know everything."

"Give me another week."

A sailor climbed into the rigging while two more hauled upon a line below.
Tiber followed the captain's sightline and eventually found what had drawn
his attention: a dark bank of cloud lying low against the horizon.

It didn't look remarkable. Sarn evidently disagreed.

Another order carried across the deck. Men moved to the lines, and the easy
rhythm of their work quickened. Sail was shortened overhead before Branik
strode toward the quarterdeck.

"You want them below?"

Sarn glanced toward the prisoners. "{uYes. All of them. Secure anything loose while you're there."

Branik nodded once and returned. "Up. We're going below."

One prisoner groaned. Branik ignored him and began unlocking the chain
securing them to the deck ring.

Tiber looked once more toward the clouds. "Storm?"

Branik glanced at him. "Weather."

"That bad?"

"Bad enough the captain doesn't want you rolling overboard."

Corren rose beside Tiber. "{oI'm touched by his concern."

Branik gave him a flat look. "You're expensive."

They were being led toward the hatch when the wind changed. The breeze
returned colder against Tiber's face, followed a moment later by the crack
of canvas overhead.

The crew was already prepared.

Tiber looked back toward the quarterdeck. Sarn had moved to the rail,
watching the approaching weather as the officer beside him said something
Tiber couldn't hear. Sarn answered without looking away from the sea, and
the man nodded and departed. No argument, no repeated command.

Branik tugged the prisoners' chain. "Move."

The weather reached them before the last group had been brought below. Rain
hammered the deck overhead. Boots pounded back and forth above them, with
shouted orders occasionally carrying through the timbers. The ship rolled
hard enough to throw several prisoners against their restraints.

Corren braced a foot against the beam. "{oStill want another week?"

Tiber grabbed the timber beside him when the hull rolled again.

"Ask me when we're alive."

The storm was gone within the hour. By the time Tiber was brought above
again, rainwater still covered the deck and the air felt noticeably cooler.
One sail had been reefed differently, but nothing appeared damaged. Sailors
were already returning ropes and equipment to their proper places.

Sarn stood at the quarterdeck rail, speaking quietly with the same officer
as before. Tiber had served beneath enough commanders - and sailed with
enough men - to recognize the difference between authority granted by title
and that maintained by competence.

Whatever else could be said of Captain Sarn, his men had reason to listen
when he spoke.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:30:15 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 4

Over the next few days, Tiberius began putting names to some of the faces
aboard.

Marek Talven was the officer he most often saw with Sarn. Grey had begun to
show at the weathered man's temples, and whenever he stopped to think, his
thumb tended to rub across one knuckle. Tiber finally caught his name when
someone in the rigging called down for him. When Sarn wasn't on deck, men
brought their questions to Talven and followed his answers.

Another was Pell, a young sailor whose duties seemed to carry him everywhere.
He hauled lines, carried messages, helped distribute rations, and complained
about each assignment with sufficient enthusiasm that Tiber began
recognizing his voice before his face.

"{oPell hates buckets," Corren observed one afternoon. They sat with eight
other prisoners near the mainmast while the crew worked around them.

"I've noticed."

"{oAnd rope."

"Apparently."

"{oAnd someone named Derren."

Tiber glanced toward him. "Who is Derren?"

"{oNo idea. But Pell hates him."

Tiber watched the young sailor struggle past with a coil of rope over one
shoulder. "Useful."

"{oI'm learning."

By the end of the first week, Corren had collected nearly as many names as
Tiber.

Branik had learned theirs, too.

"Caine."

Tiber looked up. The half-ogre stood over him with a length of chain in one
hand. "On your feet."

Tiber rose. "What did I do?"

"Nothing yet." Branik unlocked his ankle restraint, then Corren's.

"You two are carrying water."

Corren stared at the buckets waiting beside the hatch. "{oWe've been promoted."

Branik handed him one. "Keep talking and I'll double your wages."

Under guard, they carried buckets from the cask to the compartments below
while Branik distributed the ration. The work continued until every row had
received its share, after which Branik sent them back up with the empty
buckets.

They emerged onto the deck near sunset. Talven stood near the bow supervising
a change of watch. Pell was arguing with another sailor over a coil of line,
lending considerable support to Corren's earlier assessment. Branik took the
buckets and dismissed the two prisoners with a jerk of his head toward the
others.

Tiber turned to go. Movement near the stern drew his eye.

Sarn stood alone beneath the quarterdeck, sheltered from the wind by the
rise of the sterncastle. The dagger was in his hand. He wasn't inspecting
the blade this time.

It remained sheathed, held loosely across one palm while the captain's
attention rested upon the gem set into its hilt. After several seconds, his
lips moved. The distance and wind carried away whatever he said.

Tiber slowed.

Sarn remained there a moment longer before slipping the dagger beneath his
belt and climbing the steps toward the quarterdeck.

"Caine."

Tiber looked around. Branik was waiting beside the hatch.

"Unless you've learned to sleep standing up, get below."

Tiber glanced once more toward Sarn. "Coming."

He followed the others down.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:34:41 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 5

Tiber saw nothing unusual from Sarn the following day.

The dagger remained at the captain's belt, and whatever had occupied him
beneath the quarterdeck went unexplained. Tiber watched when opportunity
allowed, but Sarn gave him nothing else to consider.

Life aboard continued.

By the second week, carrying water had become a regular duty for Tiber and
Corren. Branik didn't summon them every day, but often enough that other
prisoners had begun shifting aside when the pair were released from their
ankle restraints.

The work gave Tiber more of the ship than he had been permitted to see
before. He learned which passages connected the captive compartments, where
provisions were stored, and which doors remained locked even when Branik
passed through them. He also learned that carrying a full bucket down a
narrow companionway while the deck rolled beneath one's feet required
considerably more concentration than carrying one up empty.

Corren learned this somewhat later when a sudden roll sent him shoulder-first
into the bulkhead. Water sloshed over the rim and down the front of his
clothes. He stared at the bucket. Tiber kept walking.

"{oNot a word."

"I said nothing."

"{oYou were going to."

"Then you've interrupted me unnecessarily."

Corren offered a few quiet words concerning Tiber's ancestry and followed.

Their guard that afternoon was Pell, who complained about the assignment
from the first bucket until Branik finally looked up.

"Pell."

The sailor stopped talking. Branik returned to measuring water. Tiber caught
Corren's glance and kept his expression neutral.

Later, on their way back toward the main compartment, shouting sounded from
above. Pell abandoned his complaints and hurried up the companionway. Branik
followed, taking Tiber and Corren with him rather than leave them unattended
below.

They emerged into the aftermath of an accident. A sailor lay near the
mainmast clutching his forearm, blood running between his fingers while two
others gathered around him. A block hung loose overhead, one length of
tackle trailing across the deck.

Talven arrived moments later. He looked first at the injured man, then
upward. "What happened?"

"The pin slipped."

Talven's eyes moved to the sailor who answered. "Slipped?"

The man hesitated. Talven crouched beside the fallen block and picked
something from the deck. A bent iron pin rested across his palm.

"It was cracked."

No one answered. Talven looked toward the rigging. "Who checked it?"

Pell had gone very still. Talven noticed. "Pell."

The young sailor swallowed. "Yesterday."

"And?"

"I thought it would hold."

Talven rose - his voice did not. "You thought."

Pell lowered his eyes.

"Get Harl to see to Joren's arm. Then replace every pin on that tackle and inspect the rest before supper."

"Yes, sir."

Talven handed him the bent iron. "Bring me anything you wouldn't trust with your own weight."

Pell nodded and helped the injured sailor to his feet. Branik started the
prisoners toward the hatch. Tiber looked back once - Talven was already
beneath the rigging, examining the next fitting himself.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 22 18:40:19 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Order of Things pt. 6

By the twelfth day, Tiberius no longer needed to count the bells to know when
water would come. He could tell by the footsteps overhead, by the changing
noise of the watches, and by Branik's habit of appearing shortly before the
prisoners began asking for him. Even Corren had stopped asking what Tiber was
listening to.

Their turn above came late that afternoon. The sea had settled since morning,
and a steady wind carried them beneath broken clouds. Every so often the sun
came through, leaving the deck warm beneath them. Tiber settled near the
mainmast while Corren stretched his legs beside him.

Pell passed carrying a wooden case beneath one arm. Corren watched him go.

"{oNo complaints."

"Concerning?"

"{oDeeply."

Pell stopped without turning. "Still hear you."

Corren looked at Tiber and lowered his voice a notch. "{oThey're All doing that now."

This time Tiber smiled.

Near the quarterdeck, Branik was speaking with Talven over an open ledger.
Tiber couldn't hear much of the exchange until Sarn descended the steps and
joined them.

"{uProblem?"

Talven tapped the page. "Three casks missing from the tally."

"Not from the prisoners," Branik stated. "I've counted what's opened myself."

Sarn looked toward him. "{uEnough until the next provisioning?"

"If I keep the ration where it is."

Talven glanced toward Branik. "I'd cut it until we know where the discrepancy came from."

"No need."

There was no challenge in it. Talven considered the answer, then nodded.

Sarn did the same. "{uKeep it where it is. Talven, check the cargo lists again."

"Already planned to."

Sarn's eyes settled on Branik. The half-ogre waited. "{uThen why did I bother coming down here?"

Something shifted at one corner of Branik's mouth. "You looked bored."

Talven suddenly found the ledger deserving of his full attention.

Sarn regarded Branik for another moment. "{uFind my missing water."

"Yes, Captain."

Branik departed without further ceremony.

Tiber had known officers to speak freely with commanders before, but Branik
wore no rank he could identify. Even so, Sarn had accepted his judgment
without demanding an explanation, and Branik had answered him with an ease
that spoke of long familiarity.

Corren leaned slightly toward him. "{oThere... You've got the look again."

Tiber's eyes remained on Branik.

"I'm beginning to think you spend too much time watching me."

"{oThere's very little else to do."

A bell sounded forward and men began changing places across the deck. Talven
closed his ledger and climbed toward the quarterdeck, while Sarn remained
below long enough to exchange a few words with Pell. Whatever he said sent
the young sailor hurrying toward the hold.

Soon afterward, Branik came for the prisoners.

That evening, Tiber realized how little aboard still required his attention
to understand. He knew when water would come and when the watches changed.
He recognized Pell's voice through two decks of timber, the scrape of
Branik's key before the half-ogre appeared, and which doors would open at
which hours. Corren slept beside him with his shoulder against the hull, no
longer the hollow-eyed stranger who had warned him into silence on a
Thalosian cart.

The ship had not become less of a prison. It had simply ceased to be unfamiliar.

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 22 22:47:38 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 22 22:57:10 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 22 23:30:40 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 22 23:56:48 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 23 00:03:41 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 23 17:36:16 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 23 17:45:39 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Wed Sep 23 18:42:48 2026
To All ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Taliena Nadrik Kantilles Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake III

The feeling of being out his plate and wearing comfortable clothes and
boots was relaxing, or maybe it was because he washed whatever filth, blood,
someone or some thing's remains off him, or maybe it was both the bath and
fresh change of clothes? It didn't matter, Thasgerd just felt a little
better, and what really helped was the cup of coffee he had, being careful
not to spill any while he walked the outside wall of the Keep, strolling
slowly with a look of intense thought. He rounded the corner and was
heading towards the Observatory. Thas didn't look up as his arm and hand
reached out and grabbed a page who was about to test how badly they really
needed to practice their flight spell, "Nupe. " That's All Thasgerd said,
letting the page's collar gently go and continued the memorized path to the
classroom.

Three sips of coffee and a few passed knights and squires on night watch
later, Thasgerd was in the Observatory. He came to a large table where all
the books, scrolls, and writings that were available on Kadiya that he'd
brought up earlier were mingling from the rubbings of plaques and
inscriptions he'd taken from temples and gardens. He sat his coffee down
and pulled a chair out from the table. A squire in some light armor turned
around quickly from a shadowed bookcase in the classroom, clanking loudly
and looking startled. He screamed, Thas screamed, then the General caught
his breath and startled to laugh softly.

Thasgerd saluted the squire back before he noticed the half-smile that was
given after the squire's salute. He knew that kind of smile. He'd seen it
often, and even given it a time or two. "Wha's on ya's min'? "

The squire who still had some growing up to do looked a bit surprised at the
question coming from a general. He was pensive, he wasn't sure how to
answer that. He didn't want to answer wrong. Thasgerd gave him a warm
kindly smile, "Ya's nah gettin's in anaey trouble. Wha's goin' on? "

"Can I speak freely, Sir? " The squire asked, straightening up some.
Thasgerd nodded, encouraging him to continue. "It is my sister's birthday
and I am not there for it. " The look of real disappointment was trying to
stay hidden.

Thasgerd kept the conversation going, asking who was older, and finding out
the squire was, learning the siblings were close, that he told his sister he
wouldn't be there for her fourteenth birthday. All these inquiries were
genuine and Thasgerd took a sip of his coffee.

"Ta'e tha res' o' tha nigh' off, an' t'morrah. I cin finish ya's roun'. "
A couple blues were pulled out and given to the squire, "Ge' 'er so'ethin'
o' a cake, o' ge' 'er so'ethin' an' cake. " He paused in thought then added
to the list, "An' ice craem. Ya's 'ave t' 'ave ice craem wit' birt'day
cake. I's a law o' so'ethin'. "

The squire looked at the blue and nodded but seemed unsure. Thasgerd gave
him a look then subtly motioned to the door with his eyes and head and the
squire saluted and waited for Thasgerd's then he took off quickly, leaving
Thasgerd in quiet peace.

That was until the sounds of the men and women and squires could be cheering
in the distance. Sometimes Thasgerd heard Buttercup! They were cheering
for Buttercup. Thasgerd rubbed at his brow then chuckled softly seeing his
warhorse gently clopping into the classroom with a giant bag hanging from
her mouth. "[gOh 'eys! Ya's go's tha stuff. " He pulled out some various
food items, a few large cups of coffee, and a few plates of bacon. "Wha'
ya's ge's? " He asked while they both looked in the bag, and Thas saw a
couple giant muffins and a chocolate milkshake. He nodded and she nodded in
return, both seeming happy with what was gotten. Then a scream was heard.
One of those screams that is loud and gets quieter real quick.

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 23 23:02:15 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Thu Sep 24 00:02:36 2026

Writer: Aurnon
Date Thu Sep 24 01:36:12 2026

Writer: Aurnon
Date Thu Sep 24 02:13:49 2026

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 24 18:46:51 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Ordinary Illness pt. 1

The sick man attracted little attention.

Tiberius didn't know his name. He was chained along the opposite row, three
places beyond Corren and, until that morning, had distinguished himself only
by snoring loudly enough to earn complaints from both sides.

On the thirteenth morning, he passed his bread to the woman beside him.

Branik noticed. "Eat."

The man shook his head. "Not hungry."

"Wasn't asking."

The man stared at the bread for several seconds before tearing off a piece.

Corren watched him chew. "{oCompassionate."

Tiber looked more closely. The man's face appeared pale beneath several days
of grime, and sweat had gathered along his forehead though he'd barely moved.

"...He's sick."

Corren glanced across the compartment. "{oWe're on a ship."

It was a fair point.

The man vomited before noon.

He managed to turn aside before most of it reached the prisoner beside him.
Branik arrived shortly afterward, swore at the mess, and ordered two sailors
to clean it while he crouched near the sick man.

"Fever?"

The man shrugged weakly - no answer. Branik pressed the back of one hand
against his forehead. "How long?"

"Since last night."

"Stomach?"

The man nodded.

"Anything else?"

"No."

Branik stood. "Drink when the water comes."

The man vomited again before it did.

This time Branik sent one of the sailors above. "Get Harl."

Tiber recognized the name. He'd heard Talven use it after Joren's accident.

Harl arrived carrying a worn leather case and the expression of a man whose
afternoon had just become less pleasant. Despite appearances, he examined
the prisoner with considerable patience, asking several questions while
Branik stood nearby.

"Keep water in him. If he starts bringing that back up too, find me."

Branik glanced toward the bread still sitting beside the man. "Food?"

"If he'll take it."

"I'm sure he will."

Harl looked at him. Branik's expression didn't change. "...I'm sure he will."

By evening, the man had kept down water and half his ration. Branik moved him
to the end of the row where there was slightly more room and left a bucket
nearby.

Tiber thought little of it. He'd seen men become sick aboard ships before.
Bad food, bad water, rough weather, too much drink - there were more ways for
a sailor's stomach to betray him than Tiber cared to count.

Most recovered.

Such things happened at sea. Men became sick.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 24 18:57:37 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Ordinary Illness pt. 2

The man was better in the morning.

Not well. He still looked pale and moved with the careful economy of someone
uncertain what his stomach might tolerate, but he ate without Branik's
encouragement and kept the food down.

Corren noticed. "{oDisappointing."

Tiber looked at him.

"{oI had him dead by breakfast."

"Remind me not to fall ill around you."

Corren chuckled. "{oYou'd complain too much."

Branik arrived before Tiber could retort.

The morning ration proceeded normally until he reached a woman several
places down the opposite row. She accepted her water but pushed the bread
aside.

Branik looked at it, then at her. "Eat."

"Can't."

"Why?"

The woman pressed a hand against her stomach. "I feel sick."

Branik studied her for a moment before looking toward the man from the
previous day. "You talk to him?"

The woman shook her head.

"Sit near him?"

Another shake. Branik crouched and pressed a hand to her forehead. "Fever?"

"A little cold."

"Vomited?"

"No."

"Drink."

She lifted the cup, but didn't immediately obey. Branik waited.

Eventually, she drank.

Corren leaned closer after Branik moved on. "{oTwo."

"One sick man and one woman with an upset stomach."

"{oThat's two."

"That's arithmetic."

Corren gave him a sour look and settled against the hull. Tiber sat beside
him.

Their turn above came shortly before noon.

The weather had cleared, leaving the deck bright beneath a pale sun. Tiber
and Corren were given buckets and sent below with Branik, while Pell followed
carrying the cups.

On their second trip, they emerged to find Talven standing near the mainmast
speaking with Harl - whatever they were discussing didn't appear urgent.
Talven listened with his arms folded while Harl gestured once toward the
forward hatch.

"Two more with bad stomachs. One of ours, one below."

Talven's gaze shifted toward the hatch. "The same?"

"Looks it."

"How long?"

"Since morning."

"They eat anything different?"

Harl shook his head. "Nothing the rest of us didn't."

Talven rubbed his thumb across one knuckle. "Keep an eye on it."

"Already am."

Branik handed Tiber another bucket. "Move."

Tiber obeyed.

Corren waited until they were halfway down the companionway. "{oFour."

"Three."

"{oYou heard him."

"One of them is crew. You were counting prisoners."

"{oI'm expanding the study."

Tiber shifted the bucket as the ship rolled beneath them. "Very scholarly."

When they returned to the compartment, the woman had curled onto her side
with her knees drawn slightly toward her chest.

Corren nodded across the row. "{oThere. He's better too."

Tiber followed his gaze to the first man. He was sitting upright and eating
the remainder of his bread. "Apparently."

"{oStill four."

"You seem disappointed."

"{oI've started counting. I may as well see it through."

By evening, the woman had taken her water.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Thu Sep 24 19:08:10 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: An Ordinary Illness pt. 3

The following morning brought two more.

One was a young man chained near the forward end of Tiber's compartment. He
woke shivering despite the close air below deck and refused breakfast without
waiting for Branik to insist. The other, Tiberius never saw. He learned of her
when Harl came down shortly after the morning ration.

Harl stopped first beside the man who had fallen ill two days earlier.

"How's your stomach?"

"Better."

"Fever?"

The man shook his head.

Harl pressed a hand to his forehead anyway, asked whether he'd slept, then
moved to the woman from the previous day. Her stomach had settled. She'd kept
down her water. The chill had passed sometime during the night.

Corren watched him move on. "{oGood news."

"Seems so."

Harl stopped beside the shivering man.

The man described waking tired, then cold, then nauseated. Harl checked his
forehead and eyes. "Vomited?"

"Once."

"When?"

"Before dawn."

"Any pain?"

The man indicated his stomach.

Nothing about the examination appeared remarkable. Harl told him to drink,
eat what he could, and call for someone if the vomiting worsened.

Then he remained crouched there. "Anyone beside you feeling poorly?"

The prisoners on either side shook their heads. Harl stood.

Corren's shoulder shifted against Tiber's. "{oSix."

Tiber kept his eyes on Harl. "At least."

Harl worked his way through the compartment: Had anyone vomited during the
night? Fever? Chills? Had anyone stopped eating? Most answered no. One woman
admitted to a headache. Another man said he'd felt sick the previous evening
but was fine now. Harl lingered with each before continuing.

When he reached the end of the row, Branik was waiting near the companionway.

"Anything?"

"Maybe."

Branik glanced toward the shivering prisoner. "Yesterday you said stomachs."

"Yesterday I had stomachs."

"And today?"

Harl looked back across the compartment. "Today I have questions."

"Useful ones?"

"I'll tell you when I have answers."

He climbed the companionway. Branik watched him disappear, then returned to
the morning routine.

The ship did the same.

Sails shifted overhead. Bells marked the watches. Pell complained loudly
enough about some new injustice that his voice carried through the deck.
Water came when Tiber expected it.

Only Harl behaved differently.

Tiber saw him twice more before evening: once crossing the deck toward the
crew quarters, and later descending through the forward hatch. The second
time, Branik went with him.

They returned nearly half an hour later. Harl stopped at the foot of the
companionway. "Anyone sick in the other hold?"

Branik shook his head. "Don't know."

Harl looked toward the hatch. "Find out."

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 25 17:25:55 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: More Than One pt. 1

By morning, Branik had his answer.

Tiber and Corren were among the prisoners brought above after the morning
ration. They sat near the mainmast while Branik joined Harl and Talven a
short distance away.

"Six more."

"Where?"

"Two in the other hold. One in the smaller compartment aft. Three crew."

"That makes eleven."

"Two of yours are better."

""Better" isn't "well.""

Talven rubbed his thumb across one knuckle. "Same symptoms?"

"Mostly. Fever in eight. Stomach trouble in seven. Chills in five. A few
headaches. Nothing I haven't seen aboard a ship before."

"Except?"

Harl looked toward the forward hatch. "I'm seeing it in three compartments
and among the crew at the same time."

Talven's hand stopped.

A sailor appeared from the companionway and caught Harl's attention. After a
brief exchange, Harl looked back toward the others. "Make that twelve."

Corren leaned his head against the mast. "{oI preferred three."

Tiber couldn't disagree.

Talven sent for Sarn. The captain arrived several minutes later, the dagger
still beneath his belt. His gaze passed from Talven to Harl, then Branik.

"{uWhat have we got?"

Harl gave him the numbers and symptoms.

Sarn listened without interrupting. "{uFood?"

"Unlikely. They're not All eating from the same stores."

"{uWater?"

Branik answered. "Everyone drinks from the same casks."

"{uAny spoiled?"

"Not that I've found."

Sarn's gaze settled on him. "{uAnd the missing three?"

Branik met his gaze and set his jaw. "Still missing."

Harl looked between them. "Missing what?"

"Water," Talven answered. "Three casks absent from the tally."

"Since when?"

"We're still working that out."

Harl was quiet for a moment. "Then keep track of every cask you open. I
want to know what everyone's drinking."

Sarn nodded once. "{uDo it."

His attention shifted to Branik. "{uSeparate the sick."

Harl hesitated. "All of them?"

"{uUntil we know what this is."

"Some are already improving."

"{uThen they can improve somewhere else."

Branik looked toward the prisoners. "I'll need another compartment."

Talven answered before Sarn could. "Forward store is half empty."

"No rings."

"We'll put some in."

Sarn regarded them both. "{uHow long?"

"An hour."

"{uDo it."

Branik departed. Talven followed after issuing two quick orders to nearby
sailors. Harl remained.

"Captain."

Sarn stopped.

"This may still be nothing."

"{uThen we'll have wasted an afternoon."

Harl nodded.

By the evening ration, the first chains were being moved.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 25 17:32:29 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: More Than One pt. 2

Moving the sick took longer than an hour.

The iron rings were installed quickly enough. Moving twelve people scattered
among several compartments was another matter. Some could walk. Others needed
help, and one crewman was too weak to make the descent without a shoulder
beneath his arm.

Prisoners watched Branik more closely whenever he entered. Questions followed
him from one compartment to the next.

"Where are you taking them?"

"What's wrong with them?"

"Are they coming back?"

Branik answered only the useful ones.

"Forward store."

"They're sick."

To the third, he said nothing.

Tiber and Corren were left where they were. The man who had first fallen ill
was not.

Branik unlocked his restraint and pointed toward the hatch. "Up."

The man rose without difficulty. "I'm better."

"Good."

"Then why am I going?"

"Because you were sick."

"I'm better now."

Branik gestured toward the hatch. "Then you can be better up there."

The man opened his mouth, looked up at Branik, then closed it again.

Corren watched him leave. "{oI'd object to the reasoning if I thought it would help."

"It wouldn't."

"{o...Then I object quietly."

The woman from the neighboring compartment went next. After that came the
shivering young man. By the time the last had been moved, the empty places
along the beams were conspicuous.

Water came late.

Branik arrived with Pell and another sailor, but Tiber and Corren remained
chained. Pell carried the cups while the other man hauled the buckets.

Corren watched them work. "{oDemoted."

"Apparently."

"{oI was becoming accustomed to the responsibility."

Tiber glanced toward the sailor struggling with the second bucket.

"He seems devastated to have taken it from you."

The sailor heard him. "You want it back?"

"Not particularly."

"Then shut up."

Tiber returned his attention to the water.

For days, Tiber and Corren had carried water through the other captive
compartments. Now the buckets came to them.

Harl had stopped making his rounds as well.

That afternoon, Tiber saw him emerge from the forward hatch and stop beside a
bucket of seawater. He scrubbed his hands and forearms before climbing toward
the quarterdeck.

Tiber watched until he disappeared. Corren had noticed too.

"{oThat new?"

"I haven't seen him do it before."

Neither said anything else.

Later, raised voices carried from the forward part of the ship. Tiber couldn't
make out the words, only the anger in them. Another voice answered. Branik's
deeper tones eventually joined the exchange.

The argument stopped.

When Branik returned some time later, he went about checking restraints
without explanation. No one asked him for one.

The evening ration came late as well. Fewer sailors accompanied it than
usual, and Branik did the measuring himself.

Corren accepted his cup. "{oBusy day?"

Branik filled the next. "Drink your water."

Corren did.

Above them, the evening watch changed.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Fri Sep 25 17:38:15 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: More Than One pt. 3

The precautions did not stop the next case.

Pell vomited over the rail during the morning ration.

Tiber saw him from where he sat with Corren and the others. The young sailor
stood near the starboard side, one hand gripping the rail and the other
pressed against his stomach. Another sailor passed behind him, laughed, and
said something Tiber couldn't hear.

Pell answered without looking up.

Whatever he said stopped the laughter.

Harl appeared several minutes later. He questioned Pell where he stood,
pressed a hand to his forehead, then examined his eyes. Pell endured it with
considerably less complaint than Tiber had come to expect from him.

"How long?"

"Since I woke up."

"Chills?"

Pell nodded.

"Vomited before now?"

"Once."

Harl's response came without hesitation. "Go below."

Pell straightened. "I've got watch."

"Not anymore."

"Talven'll have my hide."

"Then you can explain to him why I sent you."

Pell looked toward the quarterdeck - Talven was already watching. He pointed
toward the hatch.

Pell went.

Corren glanced after him. "{oHe didn't complain."

"Not much."

Before midday, another prisoner in their compartment developed a fever.

Branik found him during the water ration. The man took his cup with both
hands and drank slowly. When he finished, Branik studied him.

"Look at me."

The prisoner raised his head.

Branik pressed the back of one hand against his forehead, then looked toward
the companionway. "Harl."

No answer came.

Branik pointed to the sailor carrying the buckets. "Find him."

Harl arrived carrying his leather case and a small cloth bundle Tiber hadn't
seen before.

He examined the man, asked the familiar questions, then opened the bundle.
Several smaller packets lay inside. Harl selected two, loosened their cords,
and measured dried leaves and strips of bark into a cup.

Branik watched. "You didn't give the others that."

"They didn't need it." Harl poured hot water into the cup.

"And he does?"

"His fever's higher."

That was all.

The man was moved forward. By afternoon, two more followed him.

One came from Tiber's compartment - the other was a sailor Tiber recognized
from the night watch. Neither had been among those Harl examined the day
before.

The forward store was filling.

Branik and Talven stopped near the hatch above him.

"Need more room."

"Already?"

"Unless you want them sleeping atop one another."

"How many?"

Branik gave him the number too quietly for Tiber to hear.

Talven was silent for several seconds. "I'll speak to the captain."

Talven left. Branik remained beside the hatch for a moment, watching him go,
then descended.

That evening, Harl came through Tiber's compartment again.

He asked the same questions as before: Fever. Chills. Nausea. Headache.
Whether anyone had vomited. Whether anyone had stopped eating.

This time, no one joked about it.

When Harl reached Tiber, he pressed a hand against his forehead.

"Anything?"

"No."

Harl moved to Corren.

"You?"

"{oNothing worth reporting."

"Report it anyway."

Corren paused before answering. "{o...Nothing."

Harl checked him and moved on.

At every prisoner, Harl asked the questions again.

Writer: Aurnon
Date Sat Sep 26 03:41:54 2026

Writer: Paklop
Date Sat Sep 26 04:10:37 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 12:04:19 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 12:29:46 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 12:38:51 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 12:54:00 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 13:29:53 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 15:00:38 2026

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sat Sep 26 17:43:46 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Doesn't Pass pt. 1

By the next morning, three more had fallen ill.

Tiber and Corren were taken above with four other prisoners to move bundled
sailcloth from the foredeck. A familiar sailor supervised the detail,
keeping them well clear of the forward hatch.

That was new. So was the man propped against the mainmast.

He'd been taken from another captive compartment two days earlier. Now a
blanket hung around his shoulders despite the morning sun, his face hollow
and slick with sweat. Harl crouched before him.

Corren shifted his end of the bundle. "{oHe's worse."

There was little room to argue.

On the return trip, Tiber caught another glimpse of the examination. Harl
pulled down one of the man's eyelids, inspected his mouth, then pressed two
fingers beneath his jaw. The prisoner flinched, and Harl paused.

His fingers traveled along the side of the man's neck. He opened the
prisoner's shirt next and reached beneath one arm - the man cried out loudly
enough to turn even the sailor's head.

Harl withdrew his hand and examined the place that had caused the reaction.
From several paces away, Tiber could make out only a raised patch beneath the
prisoner's arm. The sailor motioned them onward.

By the time they crossed the deck again, Branik had joined Harl. The two
spoke too quietly to overhear. Branik looked from the sick man to the forward
hatch.

Harl went below. By their next trip, he hadn't returned.

"{oWhat's he looking for?" Corren murmured.

Tiber adjusted his grip on the sailcloth. "We'll know if he finds it."

They continued their work and carried the bundle aft.

Harl emerged before their final load, followed by Branik. Talven met them
near the mast.

"Well?"

"Two more."

Talven stilled. "Swellings?"

Harl nodded. "One at the neck. One beneath an arm."

"And the others?"

"Nothing I could find."

Talven regarded the man against the mast. "You've seen this with fever before."

"Yes."

"But?"

Harl closed his leather case. "He's worse than yesterday. So are two
others. They should be improving by now."

Talven was quiet for a moment. "What do you need?"

"Keep the sick together. Keep everyone else out unless they're needed. And
I want to examine anyone who develops a fever before they're moved."

"Anything else?"

Harl looked toward the forward hatch. "More room."

The sailor called for them to finish. Tiber and Corren took up the last
bundle. When the work was done, they were returned below. Neither spoke until
the hatch had closed behind the sailor.

Corren settled against the hull. "{oTwo more."

Tiber looked toward the empty places along the beams.

Before noon, Harl came down to examine them All again.

This time, his fingers went beneath their jaws.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sat Sep 26 17:47:43 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Doesn't Pass pt. 2

By midday, Branik had begun preparing another space for the sick. Tiber heard
much of the work from below: boots overhead, hammering somewhere forward,
Branik's voice carrying through the deck as restraints were fitted.

Other sounds had become familiar as well: Harl's name called from one
compartment or another. A bucket requested at an unusual hour. The occasional
retching that no longer drew complaints from those nearby.

The forward store was full.

Near dusk, Harl came through again. Three more prisoners had developed fevers
since morning. He examined each and sent two forward, leaving the third where
he was.

Corren waited until Harl and Branik had gone. "{oWhy leave him?"

Tiber regarded the feverish man across the compartment. "Something's different."

The following morning, he and Corren were taken above again. Branik put
buckets and stiff-bristled brushes into their hands and pointed toward a
stretch of deck near the bow.

"Scrub."

The work brought them nearer the forward hatch than they'd been permitted the
previous day, though a sailor remained between them and it. Tiber had
finished half the assigned stretch when Harl emerged. The sick man from the
mainmast came with him.

He walked only because Branik supported most of his weight. The blanket was
gone, and his shirt hung open at the neck. What had been little more than a
raised patch beneath his arm the day before now bulged prominently beneath
the cloth. Another swelling distorted one side of his neck.

Corren stopped scrubbing.

"Keep at it," the sailor warned. Their brushes resumed moving.

Harl eased the man against the bulkhead where the morning light reached him
and examined the swelling at his neck. Even from several paces away, its
change was apparent. The skin had stretched taut and angry over it, darkening
near the center.

The prisoner recoiled when Harl touched its edge.

"Don't."

"I need to examine it."

The man clenched his jaw but didn't pull away again.

Harl inspected the swelling beneath his arm next, then sat back on his heels.

"Two others have them now. Smaller."

Branik looked toward the forward hatch.

Harl reached into his case for one of the packets he'd begun using the
previous day. He had barely loosened the cord when the prisoner lurched
forward.

Branik caught him before he struck the deck. The first convulsion brought up
little more than water. The second emptied what remained in his stomach. Harl
moved the leather case aside and steadied the man's head while Branik held him
upright.

Amid the thin mess on the planks were several dark red streaks.

Corren's brush had gone still again. This time, the sailor didn't correct
him.

The prisoner sagged against Branik, breathing through his mouth. Harl touched
two fingers to the man's neck, then bent nearer the vomit without touching
it. Branik followed his gaze.

"Blood?"

Harl rose and closed his case. "Get Talven. And Sarn."

Branik carefully transferred the prisoner's weight to Harl. "Both?"

"Both."

Branik strode off, heading for the quarterdeck. Tiber returned his attention
to the deck and resumed scrubbing. Beside him, Corren did the same.

Neither had been told to.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sat Sep 26 17:53:43 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: What Doesn't Pass pt. 3

Sarn arrived before Branik had returned with Talven.

The captain crossed the deck without hurry. He stopped beside the sick man,
taking in the swellings at his neck and the stained planks.

"{uHow bad?"

Harl adjusted his hold on the sick man. "Worse than I thought yesterday."

Sarn waited.

"The swellings are appearing on others. He's the first I've seen bring up blood."

Harl glanced toward the forward hatch. "And they're not recovering as they should."

Talven arrived with Branik and stopped beside Sarn.

"What do you need?"

"More room. Fewer people moving between compartments. And help keeping the
fever down while I still have enough to do it."

Sarn eyed the leather case. "{uHow much?"

Harl opened it. The cloth packets Tiber had seen the previous day occupied
only one corner.

"Enough for ordinary sickness. Not enough for this many."

Sarn nodded toward Talven. "{uSee what can be spared from the ship's stores."

"I've already started."

Sarn gave another curt nod.

Branik looked toward the forward hatch. "I'll need somewhere else before nightfall."

"{uTake the aft storage compartment."

Talven shook his head. "Carpenter's using half of it."

"{uThen he isn't anymore." That settled it.

Harl closed the case. "There's something else."

Sarn looked at him.

"Keeping them apart may slow this. It won't stop it."

The captain's eyes moved across the deck: sailors at the lines, prisoners at
work, men passing through the companionway, every task requiring one set of
hands to cross the path of another.

"{uDo what you can."

Harl yielded a tired nod.

Sarn turned to Talven. "{uKeep enough men fit to sail her."

"That's the intention."

"{uI know."

He left them to it.

By afternoon, the ship had changed again.

Work details were smaller. Sailors who had once entered the captive
compartments freely now remained at the hatches when they could. Food and
water passed through fewer hands. Branik moved constantly between the sick
and healthy, opening restraints, assigning work, and putting an end to
arguments before they became fights.

Harl's visits grew shorter.

He no longer asked everyone the same questions. He looked for fever first,
then felt beneath the jaw and arms. Those he found wanting were taken away.

One prisoner tried to hide his.

Tiber took notice - the man had spent most of the afternoon curled against
the hull despite the heat. When Harl entered, he straightened and insisted he
was well.

Harl touched his forehead.

The man caught his wrist. Branik was already moving.

"No," Harl said without raising his voice, and Branik stopped.

For several seconds, the prisoner kept hold of Harl's wrist. His eyes moved
toward the hatch, then toward the empty places along the beams.

"I said I'm well."

Harl looked down at the hand gripping him. "Then let me prove you right."

The man's grip loosened.

Harl examined beneath his jaw. His fingers paused. "Up."

The prisoner didn't move. Branik stepped closer, and this time he did.

Corren watched the man disappear through the hatch.

"{oThey're afraid of going forward now."

Tiber looked toward the empty restraint he'd left behind.

"They know no one's coming back..."

That night, someone began vomiting in the darkness.

No one complained.

Writer: Aliera
Date Sat Sep 26 20:30:54 2026
To Knighthood All ( Imm Rp )
Subject Probably good for you

There were, Aliera supposed, worse duties to be given. Mercerion's new
Akita had been left in her keeping, deposited by her Colonel as it snored
and before he had taken to go do errands.

One ear flicked now and again. A paw twitched once against the folds of her
clothing. Otherwise, he seemed perfectly content with his choice of bed and
entirely unconcerned that the bed in question happened to be the General of
the Shield. Aliera had made no effort to dislodge him.

Fenna noticed. "Oh, he left you with puppy duties. "

Aliera looked up from the small creature sprawled across her lap, a smile
touching her mouth. "Apparently. "

"S'probly good for you. "

That earned Fenna a more questioning glance. "Probably smart that your
puppy does not growl at your General as well, " Aliera answered instead, a
quiet chuckle following the words.

She looked back down. She did like him, she had decided. Quite a bit, in
fact. Perhaps that was why she did not immediately object when Fenna
clarified.

"I jus' mean so you sit an' take a minute to breathe. "

Aliera's hand stilled briefly against the puppy's fur and she glanced over
at her Squire. "That noticeable?"

Fenna shifted sideways upon the pew, resting her chin against her hand.
"Probly not to everyone. "

A soft chuckle escaped Aliera. "Likely not. " That should have been the
end of it. Instead, the words lingered. Her fingers resumed their slow
path between the puppy's ears while she considered them.

There was always something requiring her attention. Orders to give.
Patrols to consider. Pages and Squires to teach. Knights to oversee. The
duties of a General did not cease when those of a Cardinal began, nor did
either wait politely while she attended to the concerns of those who came to
her simply because they trusted that she would listen.

She had chosen every bit of it. More than that, she loved it. That did not
make it light. "Perhaps a bit of stress, " she conceded eventually.

Fenna's answer came easily. "Can't begin to imagine what'd be stressful
about bein' a General an' a Cardinal an' keepin' track of everyone in the
Keep better'n our moms ever had to. "

For a moment Aliera merely stared at her and then she laughed, a brighter
sound that escaped before she could temper it and she nodded. When it
faded, she looked back down at the sleeping Akita. "I would not have it any
other way. It is the greatest of honors to be able to serve in this way. "
"Doesn't mean it's not hard work. An' it doesn't mean you can't take a
break to slow down for an hour to be a puppy bed. "

There was very little argument to be made against that. Especially when the
puppy remained quite determined to enforce Fenna's decree. Aliera simply
nodded, perhaps to both points, and continued idly petting him. For once,
nothing demanded that she move. Or, at least, nothing that could not wait
until doing so no longer risked waking a sleeping puppy.

So the General of the Shield remained where she was.

After a while, she began to hum. Some little tune without much purpose to
it, her attention settled upon the Akita in her lap. Eventually she leaned
down, lowering her voice conspiratorially near one fuzzy ear. "I will have
to teach you to fetch apples and surprise him. " The puppy offered no
objection.

Aliera's smile deepened. "They are his favorite, you know. You should
learn these things if you will be with him more than he is here with us. "
Another slow scratch behind an ear.

The Akita slept through the beginning of his education. And for the better
part of an hour, the General remained successfully pinned beneath him.
Perhaps Fenna had been right, it was probably good for her.

Writer: Aurnon
Date Sat Sep 26 21:21:58 2026

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Mon Sep 28 04:08:33 2026
To All ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Taliena Nadrik Kantilles Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake IV

"[gWae shoul' go chaeck tha' ou', yeahs? " Buttercup glanced out the
Observatory then back at Thasgerd then back to the entrance. "Yeahs, s'pose
wae shoul'. " Thasgerd rose from his chair and made his way out with
Buttercup to the outer wall.

The warhorse and General looked down over the wall and saw the page sprawled
out either on a well thought out and placed pile of hay or he was really
lucky. Thas really hoped it was the thought out plan and his breath let
out. "I wasn' look'n forwar' t' explain' tha' t' Aliera. " He moved to
check on the fledging mage below the wall.

A heavy gauntlet reached out an offered hand to the page, groaning the page
took it and was yanked out of the hay. The boy was growing it seemed, a
little awkward and gangly, the robes of a mage in training draped over his
frame that he dusted hay off. The mage looked up at the towering General
with wide eyes full of excitement. "Whoaaa! That was great! " The page
froze realizing Thasgerd was the one who lifted him out of his landing spot
and quickly saluted. Thas saluted back and did his best to hold in an
amused chuckle.

"Oi, lad. Ya's alrigh'? " Buttercup was looking the page over while Thas
was making sure the kid's brain wasn't rattled. "Though' was broken f' a
minu'e thaere. Do mae a 'uge fav'r, dinna scream like ya's fallin' t' ya's
death, yeahs? " Thas ran his armored fingers across his brow and sighed.

The page gave a quick nod and saluted, "Sir, yes Sir. It was fun! And
scary! "

Thas heard the words and took them to heart, "But ya's did i'. " He paused
and considered the page and asked, "Wha' ya's feel b'fore ya's jumped? "

The page hesitated in answering, seeming to feel awkward at the question but
he saw Thasgerd's face and it was softly waiting. "Well, it was scary. I
didn't want to then I wanted to. I tried once but you pulled me down, so I
waited and I almost didn't do it but I did! And right before I jumped,
everything was quiet. I could hear my heart in my ears, Sir! "

The thought of stillness and quiet, the thought of peace right before taking
that leap ran through Thas' mind. He often sought the quiet, the stillness
and peace from the day. Most times it was sought to quiet the voices in his
mind, the questions, the doubts, the tiredness in his head. He found that
peace the page felt once. Everything around him stilled, his focus on
nothing and everything at once. The body of Izha on the ground, the life
taken from his friend. He knew Mercerion was with him, Boof was knocked out
of the engagement by the imp who revealed it could grow to the size of three
giant ogres. He rose to his feet and raised his hammer at the imp, and all
he said was 'No'. All that mattered was that prickish imp was dropped.
Thas remembered hearing nothing but his breathing, being calm, Mercerion and
him giving All they had along with their warhorses. Charges, screams, metal
clanging as the paladins clashed against the massive imp. Grunts and groans
from being knocked off Buttercup, the pain of getting wrecked and blasted
with spells, Buttercup breathing hard as she charged forward and Thasgerd's
heavy lance finding the killing blow and driving it deep to bring the imp
down. All of this he remembered but he remembered feeling clear headed, the
feeling that if this was it, he hoped Mercerion would've ended the prick.

Thas snapped out of the thought that played in his head like a flash in a
pan. "Righ', jus' bae careful, an' if'n ya's hurt yasaelf, nah ya's dinna.
" He nodded and the boy saluted. Buttercup was situating the hay in the
pile and eyed the page for a moment then moved some hay over to another
spot.

Thas and Buttercup made it back to the Observatory and he sat down at the
table, seeming tired, "Ain' ever easaey 's i'? " He knew the answer,
Buttercup knew it too.

Writer: Geirhart
Date Mon Sep 28 12:52:09 2026
To Althainia Arkane Knighthood Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Justice Wargar Rahma Imm Religion Xenophon ( All )
Subject The Risen Stone: The Pilgrimage Under the Sun

*Thump* *Thump*

*Thump* *Thump*

Geirhart's head lifted as he felt the pulses within his old frame. The
soulfire bond between him and the Sunstone reverberated in his chest.
Something was happening at the stone which called out to him.

A memory of words said nearly three years ago stirred within him. The last
time Geirhart spoke to the Augur of the Unyielding:

'The boon my brethren have given will awaken your stone, Sol'Canta. They
will meld with it, inhabit it, and it will be a living work of Light. Go
with the Father's Gift. Their souls will need time to awaken the stone's
potential once it is joined.

'It is time, at long last, It is time. The Augurs of Virtue and Steadfast
awaken. '

Leaving the Temple of the Eternal Flame, Geirhart stepped into the street
and calling upon a stone of power, opened a portal to Areth'va.

In the four years since Justice and Althainia had landed upon Areth'va, what
was once a deserted city now had life within it's streets. Some members of
Justice had stayed behind when the troops had left as had the Althainians
forming a small enclave around the ruins.

A guard dressed much like a Thalosian to protect himself from the heat
saluted him, 'Exe... Abbott, sir. It is good to see you. There is some
commotion down by the stone, Marshal Baruk has already gone to investigate
with Atalia. '

Geirhart smiled and nodded then turned down the eastern road towards the
Valley. The wind picked up blowing sand and dirt into his face. He barely
made out the robes of a druid from the Guardians of the Green heading in the
opposite direction. Shielding his eyes, he continued walking as he coughed
from the dust storm.

Coming to the rim of the valley, Geirhart stopped to get his balance. The
dust storm settled and his view became unobstructed. Before him, down
below, the Sunstone Valley sprawled out.

Writer: Geirhart
Date Mon Sep 28 13:40:50 2026
To Althainia Arkane Knighthood Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom Justice Wargar Rahma Imm Religion Xenophon ( All )
Subject The Risen Stone: The Pilgrimage Under the Sun ( II )

Where once there was only dust, rock, and tumbleweeds was now a lush
oasis in the basin of the Valley. Crystaline grasses swayed in the breeze
causing a rippling effect upon the eyes. Small animal life created trails
within the grasses and congregated within the pool that had been brought
forth from deep underground. Within the middle of the oasis was the
Sunstone, a monolith of quartz that spread a radiance out across the valley.

Geirhart looked out across is and leaned upon his staff. He thought about
the Wujen Elementalists who had helped with this project, the duids, the
soldiers, the grell hunters, and the players from the Harmonia Colorum. All
these people had sacrificed for this place and it was finally about to be
complete. Using his staff to assist him, he began the lengthy walk down
into the valley.

"Marhaba, Abbott. " greeted Baruk as he came to wrap his arms around the
old man. The old assassin had retired and made a life for himself as the
Marshal of the forces. He had met his wife, Atalia, here as well and
together they formed the leadership of the enclave's defense.

Atalia, grell huntress, walked over to Geirhart and took his hand in her
own. 'It wakens.. I have felt the stirrings, sir. '

Geirhart raised a fluffy eyebrow to regard Atalia. Her eyes met the ground
for a moment then met his own. Within those eyes he recognized something,
it looked like pain or loss but he could not be sure. Perhaps it was also
understanding and then he knew what he was looking at. Atalia had seen the
soulfire bond and in the echoes of that fading power she had connected with
the stone.

'My dear, you are correct. The Augers awaken and soon the Sunstone shall
complete it's metamorphosis. Soon the promise of what began four years ago
shall be complete. '

Baruk looked between the old man and his wife for a moment and decided it
was perhaps better to let this matter rest. The three turned to regard the
quartz monolith before them as the thrumming picked up again like a pulsing
heart.

'Oh and Baruk, some pilgrims shall be arriving over the next day or so to
complete our pilgrimage. Could you prepare some tents for their arrival,
please' asked the old priest.

'Of course, sir.. Wait.. Pilgrims? What pilgrimage? We don't get much
news here... ' stammered the Marshal.

'I shall appraise you this evening over dinner. It is time to celebrate the
closing of one chapter and the start of another. ' smiled Geirhart.

Writer: Symantha
Date Mon Sep 28 22:54:40 2026

Writer: Pyrsas
Date Tue Sep 29 01:37:27 2026

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 12:55:21 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 1

Dun. Rest. La-dun. Rest.

The beat of the drum sounded deep and calm while Karagor's senses drifted
over her surroundings, sedately taking in the sights and the sounds that
were independent of the grounding drumbeat. Azure sky above, lightly
streaked with a gauze of cotton white clouds. Murky blue water to the
right, lightening to cold cobalt tones to the left as the ocean approached
the shore. Rocky shoals and bleak sand carelessly ascending to grey cliffs
and heather-strewn foothills leading out of sight.

Dun. Rest. La-dun. Rest.

The steady meter sounded consistently from the drum while she filled her
lungs with the scent of ocean brine and seasoned wood. The distinct tang of
the brine shed by bodies laboring beneath hot sun and warm moon was
impossible to miss and was strong enough to partially overpower the lesser
scents of old leather, hemp ropes, pickled fish, really bad eggs, crude
spirits and ill-spent Humours.

Dun. Rest. La-dun. Rest.

The drum beat without fail. Its resonance matched the natural rhythms of
focused breath and calm pulse. Clear and firm, the unceasing drumbeat was
not loud enough to drown out the other sounds of the voyage. She could
still hear an albatross' wayward call, a phlegmatic groan of an oarsman too
long at his station, and the lap of water against the hull in counterpoint
to the feathering of the oars. A bilious cough came from the ailing
coxswain along with the momentary flutter and luffing of the single sail in
the uncertain wind. The distant resonance of thunder from some storm not
yet visible on the horizon heralded the next drum beat.

Dun. Rest. La-dun. Rest.

In addition to the drumming, these sights and scents and sounds defined
Karagor's world as she sat midship, straddling the gangway of the galley on
which she served.

Before her sat the three drums she used to deliver the rhythmic beats that
guided the diligent rowers of the bireme. At present, she held a
well-padded mallet in one hand which she employed with calm poise on the
largest and central drum to count out the metered cadence of their steady
rowing.

The traditional pattern matched each dip and stroke to the frequency of a
resting heartbeat, but Karagor's drumming was more nuanced than the rote.
With the first thump of mallet upon the drumhead, the oars of the lowest row
sank and pulled. With the echoed eighth note that mirrored the staggered
dual-beat of a human heart, the first bank of rowers feathered and lifted
their oars while the second bank on the higher platform dipped their oars in
fair synchronicity and pulled through the following rest note, creating
space for the first bank of rowers to reposition their oars for the next
stroke.

A deep breath. A firm strain. An even pulse. A priming release.

Over and over the pattern replayed. Karagor tapped out the notes over the
careful time signature. The oars rose and fell and the world slipped around
the smoothly sailing bireme and past the flat silver eyes of the ogress who
sat midship and counted off the repeating drum beats.

It was their second day at sea with one more before them and another voyage
immediately after. The swift galley with its seasoned crew could have made
the voyage in half the time had time been of the essence. The crew numbered
enough for a third shift to relieve one row of oarsmen which granted the
opportunity for a staggered cycle of rest that allowed for continuous rowing
and even the newest rowers were well-conditioned to row at double, even
triple, speed for hours.

But everyone had limits and hastened voyages required more time at rest in
port to recover or worse- time wasted drifting in open water while the
rowers slept slumped on their benches or sprawled in the cramped crew spaces
between the hull and the hold or along the raised gangway.

Luckily, their captain was usually mindful of the well-being of the crew.
Even those who were indentured and did not serve a willing contract were
commodities with a value that could be diminished by injudicious strain and,
if he lacked any other redeeming personality trait, their captain did
possess a keen mercantile mind.

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:05:04 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 2

Always mindful of an opportunity for profit, his galley plied the cold
northern waterways and coastlines ferrying cargo of often modest value to
places where it had become scarce enough to warrant the journey. On rare
occasions, they transported local dignitaries or served as a guard for small
ports troubled by ragtag pillagers who could be dissuaded by any apparent
show of force. Anything that might earn a larger portion of coin than the
apparent cost or risk was seized by their captain with gusto- which made
their current voyage a little odd to Karagor.

When they first feathered their oars, the captain had outlined their course
to the coxswain, his two favored deckhands who oversaw the banks of rowers
as officers- or enforcers depending on one's perspective, and to Karagor as
well. The galley lacked the formal ranks of a military vessel. The chain
of command consisted of two links: the captain and those who served at his
pleasure. But informally, and likely more for personal ease than a desire
to support a clear command structure, the coxswain was the second officer
and the deck enforcers wielded authority over the crew.

By virtue of her position of hortator, Karagor could be considered a junior
grade petty officer or perhaps just a midshipman. Charged with controlling
the speed of the voyage and the fine maneuvering by oars distinct from the
transom-mounted rudder, Karagor did need to understand the desired course
and any expectations for the voyage and she leveraged that as much as she
could to stay informed about the ship's business- even if she didnt strictly
need to to know.

She wouldn't easily admit it, but the truth was that she was just a little
bit nosy. She could excuse herself for eavesdropping since the galley
wasn't really that large and even whispers carried easily over water. It
also just seemed smart to keep up with the mood and disposition of the crew!
Conditions at sea weren't exactly friendly and a few sour words could easily
get out of hand.

But really, she just enjoyed hearing people's thoughts and details of their
lives- especially with how few people she had known in her youth and how
small her world had seemed for so long. Luckily for her, few men were
willing to exclude someone more than twice their height and several times
their weight when she unsubtly leaned in to listen. Even though it rarely
worked out in her favor, her inquisitiveness wasn't simply limited to what
she might overhear which was how she knew for certain that this voyage was
unusual.

The timing was the first oddity. The season of harvest was approaching, but
none of their destinations would take advantage of the influx of cheap
foodstuffs or the need for tools and trade supplies. Stranger still, they
had spent the first day rowing with a single row of oars in almost desultory
fashion. After a shallow mooring overnight, they now rowed with both banks
of oars but at a speed that could be maintained for days if needed. It was
like their captain was trying to ensure they arrived at an overly specific
time without any real need to do so.

Their sparse cargo was even more unusual: a couple dozen waxed sacks of alum
meant for the tanneries of Glymrest and several barrels of molasses for the
brewery on Kel Point. Karagor had learned not to underestimate her
captain's canny sense for a profit, but these wares were clearly speculative
ventures to sell staples at the season's lull and were too few besides to
merit the journey. They certainly weren't time sensitive or subject to
spoilage.

But that wasn't their only cargo. She could hardly have missed the
captain's painfully obvious attempt to covertly bring a large coffer aboard
with the other cargo or his careful securing of the brass-bound chest with
his personal effects. Finding an opportunity to peek inside the container
had been almost as difficult as working the tiny clasps with ogrish fingers
that were not intended for such delicate work. Instead of being rewarded,
her curiosity had only grown more intense when lifting the lid revealed the
coffer's perplexing contents.

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:19:46 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 3

Inside the coffer were three leaded glass jars capped with brass cones
that were All interconnected by filaments of some silvery metal she didn't
know. Those silver filaments threaded together and through each end of the
brass caps and spiraled around the interior of each jar. Curiouser still
was the object contained in each jar: a shining white chunk of stone, a
luridly pulsing red rock, and a darkly shimmering black stone shard. Each
piece occupied its own jar and was roughly the size of a human's palm.

Only after she had cautiously closed the coffer's lid and tucked it back
into its hiding place had Karagor realized that those glowing stones were
shards of the moons! What their significance was, she couldn't even guess
and so she had simply set the knowledge aside and gone on with her duties
and time had passed in the fitful manner of any other sea voyage.

Now, well into the second day of their journey, the monotony had supplanted
mindfulness with a restive sedation. Like the wake that streamed behind the
narrow hull of the galley, time fled, not uncounted, but carefully marked by
the metered taps of Karagor's drumming. With the silence of the crew and
the calm of the warm day, it was easy to fall into a meditative state where
the rigidly repetitive movements fell into the background of her awareness
and muscle memory maintained the routine while her thoughts listlessly
drifted the lanes of memory and imagination.

Distantly, she heard the captain emerge from his cabin and speak in hushed
tones with the coxswain. In truth, his cabin was little more than a
ramshackle hutch nestled against the stern beside the coxswain's post at the
rudder. Even though it was so narrow that Karagor couldn't wedge her
shoulders into it, the captain still managed to sleep inside the crude
shelter while also keeping his charts and personal effects dry- including
the brass-bound coffer.

After their mumbled conversation concluded, relative silence once again
reigned and her thoughts drifted, scarcely registering the lap of waves and
feathering of oars, the creak of the lines and the snap of the erratically
luffing sail.

Was the shore growing closer?

It took a while for that almost subconscious observation to consciously
register on her thoughts, the lethargy of the sedate routine resisting the
return of her focus. Yes, she realized with surprise that banished the
resisting sluggishness from her mind. The shore was definitely getting
closer- close enough for the resistance between the rising tide and the
currents of the open water to be felt working against the hulls and the
oars.

With a growing frown creasing her brow and tugging her lips down, Karagor
began to shift to glance back at the coxswain to learn what had made him
turn the rudder enough to so drastically alter their course. But she never
made it All the way through the movement. A call from the fore brought her
flat silver eyes swinging forward and a quiver of uncertainty to her lips.

"Black sail ahead! "

A quick sweep of the craggy, heather-studded coastline gave proof to the
call. Emerging from a yet-hidden cove in the rocky shoals beneath the slate
hills was a bireme similar to their own- save that its single mainsail was
crudely dyed black with a few jagged red marks decorating it. Even when the
wind fully caught the sail, Karagor wasn't able to recognize the design but
the vessel's sudden appearance, the turn of its prow in a clear intercept
course, and the simple fact of the black sail made its intent unmistakable.
They were under attack!

"Quarter sail! Ready speed! " came the call from behind Karagor. While
the sail was drawn in, Karagor adjusted her routine. Shifting from single
strikes on the central drum, she picked up a second mallet and began
counting out the tempo on the two drums that sat to either side of it. With
thinner seal skin heads and shallower bodies, their percussive notes were
sharper and higher for cutting through the wind and the protest of wood
against the waves.

The mallets came down with uniform precision- Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun.

For now, both drums were struck at the same time with the same force. When
the time came for sudden turns or other maneuvers, the separate drums would
be used for distinct, separate tempos, one side directing the rowers on that
side while the other side directed those one its side.

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:31:00 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 4

The wind was against them, blowing ashore from a mild forward angle,
which allowed the aggressive galley to fill its sail and speed its progress
while the twinned banks of oars rose and fell with growing haste. With the
surprise of the other galley's appearance from the sheltered cove and the
wind trying to nudge their own ship further ashore, there was little chance
for escape without risking a broadside ram and even less time for a
decision.

"Battle speed! Port rake! " came the firm call from the helmsman.

The deck shifted underneath Karagor, bucking against the current and the
wind as the helmsman steered them sharply toward open water, seemingly
opening them up for being rammed. Trusting in the command, Karagor changed
the tempo of her drumming and the oarsmen- with no real choice- trusted in
her drumming and the orders.

Da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun.

Arms and shoulders bare to the sun, torsos and limbs hardened by years of
labor, the galley's crew worked the oars with regimented ferocity while the
attacking bireme knifed through the choppy waters, growing perilously closer
with every breath.

Da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun.

Moments before a collision seemed unavoidable, the helmsman shouted the
signal and Karagor shifted her drumming. Her left hand trilled rapidly in
an almost frantic roll before cutting off All tapping with a sudden slap of
the bottom of her hand against the drum head. In response, both banks of
oars on the left side cut sharply into the water and then raised to the full
height allowed by their gunwales.

Her right hand held true to the battle speed beat, da-dun. Da-dun. Da-dun.
Da-dun, instructing the oars on the right side to continue rowing at their
rapid rate. Moments before the collision seemed unavoidable, the coxswain
cagily shifted the rudder, bringing a sharp and abrupt turn to the left.
The galley responded to the maneuvering and its prow swiftly shifted so that
instead of taking a broadside ram they would skim along the side of the
other ship at a narrow angle. The turn meant they also stopped fighting the
current and the wind which granted them a sudden burst of speed and caused
their galley to shoot forward and close the small gap between them and the
encroaching vessel, giving them no time to adapt.

Wood scraped and crunched as the two biremes impacted, their prows skimming
without sustaining a true collision. More, sharper cracks split the air.
Unprepared for the sudden change in course and position, the oars on the
attacker's port had still been lowered in the process of rowing hard with
the intent to ram and so when Karagor's ship scraped and skidded along its
side, those oars had been caught between the two hulls and had snapped and
shattered!

The risky maneuver barely allowed time to see the astonished and infuriated
expressions on the faces of the attacking crew before her own vessel shot by
them. The sudden lopsided propulsion left their foe temporarily at the
mercy of tide and wind and the loss of half of their oars made further
pursuit impractical if not impossible. But even before Karagor had lowered
her left mallet back to the drum to give the trill that would lower the oars
and resume their escape, three simultaneous shouts came from fore and aft.

"Black sails seaward! " "Trim sail. Hard starboard! " "Belay! Cut sail.
Bank oars!"

The first shout had come from the starboard enforcer who had advanced to the
prow and was even then gesturing frantically ahead where an ominous sight
loomed. A huge trireme was swiftly approaching! Its two square sails were
not only full of wind, but were also black and painted with jagged red marks
that matched the first attacking ship's sail.

How they had gotten so close without being seen didn't seem nearly so
important in that moment as the fact that the much larger vessel had
obviously been outfitted for war with a pair of raised decks above the
enclosed main deck that protected the three rows of oarsmen unlike the
bireme with its central gangway that left the tiered benches of rowers below
mostly exposed. The approaching vessel's deck seemed to bristle with armed
men with swords raised and grapples already spinning on their tethers!

The second shout had come from the coxswain with the expected order that
should have taken them out to sea and presumably out of danger. But it was
the third shout that brought true fear and uncertainty to the crew. It had
come from the captain, but it made no sense! It sounded like he was intent
on surrendering!

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:39:03 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 5

In the wake of those shouts an argument broke out between the captain and
the astonished helmsman and confusion broke out across the galley. Even
though Karagor followed the first order, using her drums to signal the
return of the port oars with corresponding half strokes on the right to
hasten the turn out to sea, the crew failed to respond with the precision
that normally allowed the galley to move effectively.

A few oars rose when they should have dipped and were fouled by the second
row's next strokes. More oars remained motionless in the air or stalled the
ship's momentum by remaining in the water. In the space of a few breaths,
the bireme was basically dead in the water at the whim of the tide.

The argument between the captain and the helmsman was growing louder by the
moment. The crew's unease was rapidly escalating to panic. A scuffle broke
out as one of the enforcers tried to lash the oarsmen back into action
contrary to the captain's orders while the other enforcer added his
querulous concerns to the ongoing argument. All the while, the trireme drew
closer, cutting through the water fast enough for its ram to briefly crest
the waves in a lethal promise.

Hearing the meaty thud of a fist impacting a stomach and the thump of a body
dropping to the deck, Karagor set the mallets down on the drums almost
delicately and rose to her feet.

It didn't make sense. None of it! Why would pirates bother with a simple
trade galley? Why had they gone so close to the shore? Why was the captain
ordering surrender?

A meager supply of alum and molasses was only worth the predicted demand of
their destinations and was hardly the sort of plunder that would interest
even a small crew of raiders. Even if sold for an outlandish profit at
sword-point, the meager cargo wasn't worth dedicating two ships to an attack
on a galley that was known to be decently armed. Was that the point? Was
it revenge for turning away other raiders?

Suddenly, it All fell into place. Karagor remembered hearing the captain
redirect their course inland earlier. Now there was his strange decision to
give up without at least trying to evade. The final nail was that he was
even then waving a red scarf at the onrushing trireme in some attempt to
signal to his co-conspirators. All the while, he clutched a coffer under
his other arm- the coffer that contained that strange apparatus of moon
shards!

Her eyes shifted from her captain to the onrushing trireme and the
aggressive posture of its crew. The brief moment's survey clearly revealed
to Karagor that whatever deal her captain had struck wasn't going to be
honored. There wasn't going to be any bloodless boarding and staged theft
that the captain could use to pass the blame and to divert the ire of
whomever had paid him to transport that coffer and its arcane contents.

Reaching under the gangway, Karagor pulled the canvas-wrapped length of her
spiral bladed zweihander from its rack. She felt the galley rock beneath
her as she began to step forward. The galley she had now served on for
months had been modified with a lattice of crossbeams to balance the mass of
its unusual ogress crewmember and as long as she stayed to the central
gangway, the displacement generally balanced her cautious, but hardly soft,
steps.

But now, between the wind and the push of the tide toward the shore and
half-hearted rowing that was more at cross purposes than accomplishing any
real movement, the bireme was rocking unsteadily. Worse still, they were
now pointed almost directly at the approaching vessel which, thanks to the
wind and their own overzealous drummer, had gathered too much speed to
easily change course.

Rather than taking a broadside, it seemed likely that the rams of both ships
were going to collide with a force that would almost certainly rupture both
hulls- although the smaller bireme would still take the worst of it and be
crippled and swamped if not outright sunk. The chance of mutual harm, and
maybe even destruction, seemed even more likely when the current continued
to push the floundering bireme into the hastily corrected trajectory the
pirate vessel was attempting.

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:47:00 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 6

Seeing no good option and only worse ones if she waited, Karagor started
to run. The gangway creaked alarming underneath her for the few strides she
was able to take before her long legs took her the length of the ship.

She thought she heard the captain cry out something to halt her, but it was
too late. One bare foot came down on the rail and her next step was a
desperate leap over open water. She could have timed it better, but she
managed to clear the rail of the trireme with room to spare at about the
same time the thunderous boom of metal ram on metal ram burst through the
water and the horrible crunch of beams cracking and planks being smashed to
splinters deafened her!

So when she landed undaintily on the trireme's deck, she felt more than
heard the boards give way beneath her, the deck shattering and dropping her
into the hold to land with even less grace! In that moment, she truly
appreciated the special adaptations that had been made to the galley she
served on to accommodate such an unusual and large crew member. In the next
moment, she felt belated thankfulness for the proper maintenance and
construction of the bireme when she felt even more boards break and give way
under her landing.

Possibly weakened by the impact of the two rams and the prows slamming
together after that or maybe just shoddily built and badly maintained, the
planks of the hull had certainly never been intended to have an ogre drop on
them. They fractured under her, her right foot breaching a join between two
planks and plunging into the water below and her left foot cracking even
more boards.

The instant her weight mostly settled, the ship pitched forward, its prow
dipping precipitously toward the water which made the stern lift, sending
crew and supplies lurching and skidding. For a heart-skipping instant, the
ship seemed to teeter on the brink of assured doom while Karagor frantically
tried to brace herself by grabbing the ribbing beams. Thankfully, the
boat's displacement won over against the unexpected addition of an ogre's
worth of ballast and righted itself, the stern slapping back into the water
with enough force to topple the crew in groaning, cursing heaps.

With her right leg still caught between broken boards, Karagor dropped to
her left knee, painfully wrenching her caught leg while her right shoulder
bruisingly slammed into the hull. Keenly aware of time being against her,
Karagor imagined grains of sand rushing through an hourglass, their mounting
weight as likely to bury her as the waves were likely to drag her down with
either ship if the conflict wasn't settled quickly and the damage wasn't
patched enough to reach the shore.

Biting her lower lip against the pain, she gathered her will and directed
her body into action. Cold water continued to gush into the hold as she
managed to yank her foot free, jagged wood leaving bloody tears and dozens
of slivers in her pale skin. More water was seeping in from the surrounding
boards that had cracked under her landing and even more was flowing from the
recessed curve of the prow where the ram was mounted, hinting that the
severe impact had cracked the hull there too! So far, none of it was beyond
what caulking with tar and some hasty carpentry could handle. That could at
least serve until reaching a port for proper repairs.

Writer: Karagor
Date Tue Sep 29 13:55:34 2026
To All ( Drakkara Imm Roleplay RP )
Subject Rime of an Ogress Mariner ** Part 7, Finale

A sudden chorus of shouts, a few pained screams, and another
wood-crunching impact cut through Karagor's thoughts and a true torrent of
water rushing into the hold dashed her hopes of salvaging the encounter.
Looking up at the hole she had created in the deck just above her head, she
could see armed men grappling while the ship lurched beneath her.

"A good day for a swim, I hope, " she observed to no one in particular
drawing a few puzzled looks from the nearby rowers who were only then
beginning to untangle from one another.

With a little shrug, she tensed her legs and jumped straight up, shoulders
breaking through already-shattered boards above her, and scrabbled onto the
now-listing deck. A quick glance around was enough to see how badly the
situation had devolved and to confirm her grim assumption. Her galley was
swamped and sinking. Its prow was snarled with the trireme's and was
dragging it down with it as a final, pyrrhic revenge.

A moment of melancholy tugged at her heart for the loss of what had been a
significant part of her recent life. She couldn't even distinguish the
faces of anyone she had considered a friend in the roiling mass of men
fighting or panicking as their mortality closed in on them as surely as the
unforgiving ocean.

Seeing no other option and finding no value in actually fighting anyone in
such a pointless waste of life, she turned and stepped to the rail in a
single stride. A deep breath, a focused leap, and she was flying free
through the air to dive cleanly into the water, her folded hands and
practiced form causing far less of a disruption to the waves than her frame
should have.

Following the arc of momentum from the dive that carried her far from the
doomed vessels, she began to stroke toward the surface in the direction of
the shore. But a lingering thought tugged her lips into a frown around her
small tusks causing little bubbles of air streaming around them as she
ascended. What had happened to the coffer containing that strange of
apparatus of moon rocks that had caused All of this?

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 29 17:18:31 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Empty Places pt. 1

Two days later, Branik began moving the healthy.

The aft storage compartment had filled by the following day. By that evening,
the hammering began again, this time somewhere below. Tiber heard restraints
being fitted between the usual sounds of sickness and the boots passing
overhead.

The next morning, shortly after breakfast, Branik arrived with three sailors
and began unlocking restraints.

"{oWhere are we going?" Corren asked.

"Nowhere."

Branik pointed toward the opposite row. "Move down. Make room."

The prisoners obeyed with varying degrees of complaint. Tiber and Corren
shifted two places toward the stern while one of the sailors opened several
empty restraints in the space they'd left behind.

Corren settled beside him. "{oWe're receiving guests."

"Apparently."

"{oShould we tidy up?"

Tiber feigned perusal of the compartment, a faint smirk playing at the corner
of his mouth. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

Boots sounded on the companionway before Corren could answer, and six
prisoners descended under guard.

Among them were two human men somewhere near Tiber's age, both broad through
the shoulders and fairer than most aboard. One wore his beard thick and
short, its color somewhere between brown and red. The other's was lighter and
less disciplined, though several weeks aboard the ship had done neither man
favors.

The resemblance suggested kinship. So did the way they kept track of one
another as Branik began assigning places. Both adjusted easily to the roll
beneath their feet, watching the crew rather than the deck.

Branik directed the elder-looking man toward an iron ring beside Tiber. He
stopped there, but his attention remained on the other man two places farther
down. "We sit together."

His accent was heavy enough that Tiber needed the moment between words to
make sense of them.

Branik didn't. "You sit where I put you."

The younger man muttered something Tiber couldn't catch. His companion turned
his head. "Sten."

The warning was enough.

Branik looked between them. "Problem?"

Sten smiled. "{nNone worth havin'." His accent carried the same northern
weight, though Tiber found it easier to follow.

Branik fastened him to the beam, then returned to the other man, who offered
his wrists without being told. "Torsten Einharsson."

Branik paused. "Didn't ask."

"Ye were about to."

"No."

Torsten gave a single nod. "Fair enough."

Corren waited until Branik moved to the next prisoner. "{oI like him."

"You've heard him say eight words."

"{oNine, I think."

Beside Tiber, Torsten's mouth twitched beneath his beard.

Sten leaned far enough around the prisoner between them to join the exchange.

"{nHe gets worse wi' familiarity."

Torsten looked past Tiber toward his brother. "And ye improve?"

"{nI've nowhere t'go but up."

Corren leaned forward to see around Tiber. "{oI may like both of you."

Tiber shifted aside to give him an unobstructed view. "Try to contain yourself."

Branik finished securing the newcomers.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 29 17:23:32 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Empty Places pt. 2

Empty places remained, but fewer than before. Men who had spent days
separated by several lengths of chain now sat nearly shoulder to shoulder.
There was barely room to stretch their legs without reaching the next man's
space.

One of the other newcomers surveyed the remaining empty restraints.

"All of them sick?"

Branik checked the final restraint and stood. "Sick go forward. Everyone
else stays here unless you're working."

The prisoner looked toward the hatch. "How many are sick?"

That stopped him. For a moment, Tiber thought he might answer, but Branik
only surveyed the crowded rows.

"Enough."

He climbed the companionway with the sailors behind him. No one spoke until
the hatch closed.

Sten tested the reach of his chain and surveyed the men packed along the
beams. "{nCozy."

Corren gave him a tired smile. "{oYou should have seen it before everyone started dying."

Sten's smile disappeared.

Torsten's attention settled on the empty restraints that remained. "How many?"

Corren didn't answer this time. Neither did Tiber.

Branik returned for them before midday. This time, he unlocked four
restraints.

Tiber and Corren rose without prompting. Torsten did the same when Branik
reached him, but Sten looked from the open restraint to his brother.
"{nThat didn't take long."

"What didn't?"

"{nPromotion."

Corren looked at Tiber. "{oCompetition."

Branik handed him a coil of rope. "Congratulations. You're both employed."

They followed him above, and the cold struck Tiber before the light did. It
had been building for days, easy enough to ignore beneath the deck or while
working under the afternoon sun. There was no ignoring it now. Wind came hard
across the port rail, carrying spray that stung his face and left his shirt
damp against his skin.

Corren hunched his shoulders. "{oI preferred the desert."

"You complained about the desert."

"{oI preferred complaining about the desert."

Two sailors waited near the mainmast beside several coils of line. Tiber
recognized one of them. The other was unfamiliar.

That was becoming common. Pell had not returned to duty, and several other
faces Tiber had grown accustomed to seeing during the morning watch were
missing as well. Their absence had been less obvious below - on deck, the
gaps were harder to miss.

Prisoners occupied some of them. Two hauled a cask toward the stern under a
sailor's direction. Another pair carried folded canvas across the deck. Near
the bow, a man Tiber recognized from another captive compartment worked a
line beside three members of the crew. No one sat near the mainmast anymore.

Branik pointed toward the waiting sailors. "Do what they tell you."

One of them tossed the end of a line toward Tiber. "You know how to handle that?"

"Enough."

The sailor looked toward Corren. "{oLess than him."

His attention moved to the brothers. Torsten had already taken up another
line. He ran it once through his hands, glanced toward where it disappeared
above, then toward the sail it controlled.

"You've done this before."

"Aye."

"Merchant?"

Sten smirked. "{nSometimes." Torsten looked at him.

"{n...What? We moved merchandise."

The sailor stared between them before deciding he didn't care. He pointed
toward the line in Torsten's hands. "When I tell you. Not before."

Torsten nodded, and the work began.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 29 17:25:37 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Empty Places pt. 3

Torsten fell into the rhythm almost immediately. Sten needed one correction
before doing the same. Neither asked what the line controlled or where to
stand when the sail shifted overhead.

Corren noticed too. "{oMerchants."

Sten pulled beside him. "{nVery successful ones."

"{oCaptured by slavers."

"{nTemporary setback."

Torsten hauled on the line. "Less talking."

"{nHe's distractin' me."

Corren stared at him. "{oI'm standing over here."

"{nVery distractin'." The sailor cut off whatever rebuttal Corren might
have made with an order to haul, and four sets of hands returned to the line.

For the next hour, there was little opportunity to speak. The work shifted
from one task to another as quickly as the crew could find hands for it,
hauling and securing lines one moment and moving canvas the next. Tiber and
Corren carried water once, though this time the buckets went to sailors
working the deck rather than prisoners below.

Branik crossed their path three times. The first, he was escorting two
prisoners toward the bow. The second, he carried a bucket and a stack of
folded cloths. The third, Harl was with him.

Tiber almost failed to recognize the medic from a distance. Harl's sleeves
were rolled above his elbows, and a dark stain marked one side of his shirt.
The leather case hung from his hand. He stopped beside one of the sailors
near the rail and gave him the same hurried examination Tiber had watched him
perform below: forehead, jaw, beneath one arm.

The sailor said something Tiber couldn't hear. Harl answered, and the man
shook his head. Branik stepped closer.

After a moment, the sailor surrendered the line he had been holding to
another man and followed them below. No one took his place. The remaining
sailors divided his work between them.

Talven appeared shortly afterward and changed that. He moved through the deck
assigning men with little discussion, shifting one sailor from the bow and
sending two prisoners to replace him. When he reached Tiber's group, his
attention settled on Torsten. "You know ships?"

"Enough."

"How much is enough?"

Torsten glanced toward Sten. "Enough that we're still alive after years o'
makin' poor decisions near water."

"{nSome of those decisions were excellent."

Talven ignored him. "You stay on deck. Both of you."

Sten's eyebrows rose. "{nSee? Promotion."

Talven had already moved on. Corren watched him go. "{oI'm beginning to feel overlooked."

"Perhaps you need more experience making poor decisions near water."

"{oI've spent several weeks chained inside a ship."

Tiber considered that. "Fair point."

The sailor supervising them called for the line again, and All four returned
to work.

Talven kept the brothers on deck when Tiber and Corren were finally sent
below. They were still there when Branik came for the pair again late that
afternoon, this time to move provisions from one of the stores. By then, Sten
was working near the bow while Torsten helped two sailors secure loose canvas
along the port side.

Corren noticed them as they crossed the deck. "{oThey really have been promoted."

"Try not to take it personally."

"{oToo late."

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 29 17:27:25 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Empty Places pt. 4

The wind had strengthened since morning. Tiber lowered his head against it as
they followed Branik toward the stern. Sailors who had worked in shirtsleeves
only days earlier now wore coats or whatever heavier layers they possessed.
One had wrapped cloth around his ears beneath his cap.

The sea had changed as well. Its color had deepened beneath the pale sky, and
every burst of spray seemed to hold the cold longer after it struck. Tiber
wiped water from his face and found his fingers stiffening before they
reached the hatch.

Behind him, Sten swore loudly enough to draw Tiber's attention. The younger
brother stood near the rail, staring out across the water, with Torsten beside
him doing the same.

"Problem?" the sailor beside them asked.

Sten rubbed both hands over his arms. "{nI'd forgotten how much I hate northern water."

Torsten snorted. "Ye've forgotten every winter ye ever lived through by
the time summer ends."

"{nThat's how I survive them."

Branik called for Tiber and Corren to keep moving.

They spent the better part of the next hour carrying sacks from the store to
the galley. The cook had one prisoner helping him already, a thin man Tiber
had seen several times below but never spoken to. Another stood over a bucket
peeling vegetables with a small knife while a sailor watched from the
doorway.

On their third trip, Tiber realized the sailor had disappeared. The prisoner
still had the knife.

Branik noticed too. He stopped long enough to take it from the man's hand and
set it beside the cook. "Carry those." He pointed toward a stack of empty
bowls near the worktable.

The prisoner looked from the half-peeled vegetable to the bowls. "And this?"

"Cook can finish it." Branik was already moving.

Corren waited until they were outside. "{oI think management is deteriorating."

Tiber adjusted the sack against his shoulder. "You should file a complaint."

"{oWith whom?"

"Branik seems receptive." Tiber cocked half a smirk.

Corren looked back through the doorway. "{oI'll endure."

They made another trip. No sailor had appeared by the time they returned.

By the time the last sack had been moved, the light was fading and the cold
had followed it down. Branik sent them toward the companionway, but a shout
from above stopped him before they reached it.

Talven stood near the mainmast with Torsten beside him. Sten was several
paces away, helping a sailor coil line. "Branik."

The half-ogre looked over. Talven pointed toward the brothers.

"Keep these two available tomorrow."

Branik's expression suggested another demand was the last thing he needed.

"For what?"

"They know ships."

"So do my sailors."

Talven looked toward the forward hatch. Branik followed his gaze, and neither
man spoke for a moment. "Fine."

Talven gave a short nod and returned to the mainmast.

Sten joined them as Branik began gathering the prisoners for the trip below.

"{nI'm startin' to think they like us."

Torsten held out his wrists for the restraint. "That's never ended well."

Corren smiled. "{oYou may fit in here after all."

Branik closed the iron around Torsten's wrist. "Don't encourage them."

For the first time that day, Torsten laughed.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Tue Sep 29 17:29:15 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: The Empty Places pt. 5

Below, the warmth of the crowded compartment was almost welcome.

Sten lowered himself into his place and stretched his legs as far as the
chain allowed. "{nCould be worse."

Corren settled beside Tiber. "{oYou've been here one day."

"{nAnd already I've improved the place!"

Torsten sat on Tiber's other side. "He's been sayin' that everywhere we go
since he learned t'talk."

"{nMost places needed it."

Corren looked past Tiber toward him. "{oHow long have you been putting up with him?"

Torsten considered his brother. "Twenty-eight years."

"{nTwenty-nine."

"First year was peaceful."

Corren laughed. "{oI knew there was something I liked about you."

"{nYou've known him less than a day."

"{oLong enough."

Sten looked wounded. "{nAnd here I thought we had somethin'."

"{oWe did. Then I got to know you."

Even Torsten smiled at that.

Their evening ration arrived late. Branik came down carrying one of the water
buckets while two prisoners followed with the food. There were no crewmen
with them. He stayed only long enough to see the distribution begin before
someone called his name from above.

By the time the food reached them, Sten had begun telling Corren about a
customs officer, two barrels of salted fish, and what he insisted had been an
entirely reasonable misunderstanding. Corren supplied questions at All the
appropriate moments until the story reached the part where Sten had
apparently attempted to convince the officer that neither barrel belonged to
him.

"{oWhile they were on your cart?"

"{nBorrowed cart."

"{oOf course."

"{nImportant distinction."

Torsten accepted his ration. "Didn't help then either."

Corren laughed again, but the sound ended in a cough.

Sten continued. Corren listened while he ate, offering less commentary as the
story went on. Tiber noticed only when Sten reached the end and Corren let an
obvious opportunity pass without remark.

"{nNothin'?" Sten asked. "{nAfter All that?"

Corren looked up from his ration.

"{oI'm considering whether imprisonment might have been justified."

"{nCruel." The answer was Corren-enough that Tiber let it go.

A while later, Corren still held part of his ration. "Not hungry?"

Corren looked down as though he'd forgotten it was there. "{oNot especially."

"You complained yesterday that there wasn't enough."

"{oI've matured."

He passed what remained toward Sten, who accepted it without argument.

The hatch opened sometime later, admitting a gust of cold air. Several men
cursed as it moved through the compartment. Corren pulled his arms closer
against himself.

Sten rubbed his hands together. "{nThere. Now this feels like home."

"{oYou have a terrible home."

"{nYe get used to it."

Corren didn't answer.

Tiber looked over. Corren's arms were folded tightly across his chest, his
hands tucked beneath them. A tremor passed through his shoulders.

"Cold?"

"{oAren't you?"

Tiber was. Sten and Torsten had drawn closer to themselves against the chill,
and along the beams, other men had done the same.

The hatch had been closed again, and before long the cold retreated. With so
many bodies packed into the compartment, the familiar warmth returned
quickly. Around them, men lowered their arms and settled again. Sten resumed
talking. Somewhere farther down the hold, someone began snoring.

Corren kept shivering.

Tiber watched him through another tremor, then reached across and pressed the
back of his fingers to Corren's forehead.

Burning hot.

Writer: Mercerion
Date Tue Sep 29 22:41:38 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 29 23:47:05 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Tue Sep 29 23:55:26 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 30 09:33:01 2026

Writer: Aliera
Date Wed Sep 30 09:33:10 2026

Writer: Ezrianne
Date Wed Sep 30 23:52:10 2026

Writer: Symantha
Date Fri Oct 2 15:38:21 2026

Writer: Justian
Date Sat Oct 3 17:24:23 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Those Who Answered I

By the time Justian returned with the carrying cloth, Veyra
Haln had begun sorting the supplies. The human woman packed
linen between the bottles, then checked the smaller bundle
set aside for wounds.

Grey threaded her dark braid. Old burns marked her forearms,
and an eight-pointed star had been branded inside her left
wrist. Years of handling had polished the buckles of her
medical satchel. She found each instrument without looking.

Veyra had tended soldiers until she was dismissed for using
medicine reserved for officers on a wounded conscript. Later,
she treated a wounded follower of Chaos and began asking about
the faith he carried. Further meetings brought arguments,
questions, and eventually her decision to join. She accepted
the mark knowing what the rejection of the gods demanded.

She still had little patience for anyone who spoke at length
while another person needed tending. Justian's teaching had
interested her because he began with suffering itself.
She wanted to see what he did once it was before him.

When he explained that he could heal through magic, she asked
what they would do if he were unable to cast. Justian brought
her the remaining bandages and asked what else they needed.
Satisfied, she made space for her own supplies among his.

Rauk Morn helped divide the finished bundles. The broad orc
wore old mail beneath a patched cloak. Iron capped one tusk,
and a ragged split in his left ear made him turn his right
toward anyone speaking softly.

His axe and round shield showed long use and careful repair.
A short hunting bow lay beside his pack. Caravan work had
taught him to track missing animals, find lost scouts, and
hold a road long enough for others to get clear.

Rauk had first fought beside followers of Chaos for payment.
He stayed among them between contracts, listening and arguing
until their war became his own. When he asked to join, he
offered his experience as well as his blade. The scarred
eight-pointed star on his right shoulder marked that choice.

He respected Waaagh's call and wanted the hunt to succeed.
He also knew what full vessels would weigh. At his suggestion,
Justian reduced their load and left room for the return.
Rauk would scout the broken ground and help lead the fighting.

Writer: Justian
Date Sat Oct 3 17:24:58 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Those Who Answered II

Tellen Vey found a clear place beside the bundles and laid
out his parchment. The elf was narrow through the shoulders,
with chestnut hair that repeatedly fell across his face.
An ink-stained thumb left a faint smear near his temple.

He had copied histories for a temple archive. His place there
ended after he challenged revisions that removed common
soldiers from an account while enlarging their commander's
sacrifice. He kept the earlier record and continued gathering
testimony from families whose names had been discarded.

That work brought him into contact with Chaos. He initially
came to hear another account of the wars. Over time, he began
to question the divine authority under which those histories
were written. He sought entry himself and accepted the mark
after declaring his allegiance.

The small eight-pointed scar beneath his right collarbone
remained visible where his traveling coat hung open. He
touched it when thinking, often without noticing.

Tellen had brought ample parchment and a poor blanket.
Rauk supplied a better one while Justian asked the elf to
record their names and the work each had agreed to undertake.
Tellen listened carefully enough to ask for every spelling.

Orra Fen corrected hers before setting down her crossbow.
The dwarf's black hair was bound beneath a faded scarf.
Weather had reddened her broad nose, and a pale scar crossed
the knuckles of her right hand. Her skinning knife rode high
on her belt, its sheath worn smooth beneath her palm.

She hunted for meat and hides and recovered salvage when
game was scarce. Her younger brother repaired what she
brought home. She spoke fondly of his work and less fondly
of the prices he accepted for it.

Orra had supplied a small gathering of Chaos followers before
becoming one of them. Shared journeys gave her time to hear
their convictions and judge their conduct. She eventually
asked to join, having come to regard the gods' claims upon
mortal lives as something worth fighting.

An eight-pointed brand covered the outside of her left upper
arm. She had shortened that sleeve to keep cloth from rubbing
while it healed and never bothered replacing it.

She would shoot beside Rauk and help collect blood afterward.
Justian agreed she could keep salvage if it left room for
their purpose. Orra considered the load and removed a heavy
pry bar. Her knives and spare crossbow bolts remained.

Writer: Justian
Date Sat Oct 3 17:25:31 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Those Who Answered III

Kesh arrived carrying a sword and a coat he had altered
himself. The goblin's stitching was neat, though one cuff
still covered half his hand. A crooked upper tooth showed
whenever he smiled. He offered around a whetstone while
Tellen found room for his name.

His work had been guarding warehouses and grain stores.
He knew how to listen through a closed door and recognize
footsteps that had stopped where they should have continued.
His sword was chipped, but its grip had been newly wrapped.

Kesh first encountered Chaos while guarding a storeroom used
by several of its followers. He stayed to hear them speak
after his shift ended. What began as curiosity became regular
attendance, then an earnest request to be admitted.

He was among the newer marked. The eight-pointed brand on
his right forearm was still dark against the surrounding skin.
He pushed his sleeve back when Justian asked about it.
There was pride in the gesture and no attempt to hide it.

Kesh wanted useful work among people who knew his name.
He also enjoyed company, especially when someone allowed him
to finish a story. He spoke of Merra, a cook he had worked
for, and the pan he still owed her. Orra asked how a guard
had managed to lose a cooking pan. His explanation occupied
her through the sharpening of two knives.

Justian placed him beside Rauk, where his watchfulness would
serve the group and his fighting could be guided.

Harrak approached while they were securing the last bundles.
The wemic's tawny flanks were lean beneath fur darkened along
his spine. His leonine face bore old scars around the muzzle.
He carried a broad hunting spear with a stout crosspiece.

Harrak had spent years pursuing dangerous quarry for those
who preferred to pay another hunter. He had learned patience,
the value of a clear retreat, and when to abandon a pursuit.
He inspected his equipment with the care of someone who
expected to need it again.

He had sought Chaos deliberately after hearing its followers
preach against the gods. He returned repeatedly to question
them, then asked to join their war. The eight-pointed scar
over his breastbone was old and thick at its edges.

Justian's Verities had given words to convictions Harrak
already held. He recited them daily and had answered the
summons as soon as he heard where the hunt would lead.

Writer: Justian
Date Sat Oct 3 17:26:43 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Those Who Answered IV

Time in the Warp had left other changes upon Harrak.
Hard ridges rose beneath one shoulder, forcing him to extend
the fastening of his mail. His jaw sometimes tightened until
he had to pause before speaking. He described these changes
plainly when Veyra asked what troubled him.

She replaced the worn padding beneath his armor. Harrak held
it clear for her and tested his reach before fastening it.
He wanted the shoulder protected and his spear arm free.

"Suffering exists," Harrak said as she worked. "Saying
otherwise has never made this easier to wear."

Justian asked him to show Rauk which movements caused trouble.
They settled his place on the orc's right, with room to use
the spear. Harrak agreed readily to withdraw with him if
they needed to give ground.

As they finished packing, something shifted beneath the tree's
bloody bark with the slow rhythm of a sleeping heart.

Veyra stopped fastening her satchel. Orra watched over the
stock of her crossbow. Kesh stood beside Rauk while Tellen
reached for his charcoal.

Harrak's nostrils widened. His attention lingered on the
blood collecting beneath the horn before he looked toward
the pale scars with the others.

Justian told them of the scars briefly darkening and the
warmth he had thought he felt. He could offer no certainty
about either. Tellen recorded the movement they had witnessed
and kept those earlier observations separate.

Orra asked how much blood they would need. Justian admitted
he did not know. They would begin with what they could gather
from the creatures in the ruins near Fort Ironclad.

"The Tree's growth is part of our work," Justian told them.
"The End remains the death of the false gods and the order
they have made. Remember what we are gathering strength for."

"The End is their death," Harrak repeated, checking the knots
that held his vessels.

They finished the preparations together. Veyra placed the
bandages within reach. Tellen secured his writing case,
and Orra checked the wool wrapped around her flasks.
Rauk helped Kesh straighten a strap while Harrak moved his
spear clear of the doorway.

Justian took up his share of the supplies and joined them.

Writer: Hrathen
Date Sat Oct 3 18:20:00 2026

Writer: Hrathen
Date Sat Oct 3 18:27:16 2026

Writer: Hrathen
Date Sat Oct 3 18:35:06 2026

Writer: Agu
Date Sun Oct 4 03:17:54 2026
To All Ezrianne Elwizy Neil Serket RP Gaming Scotch
Subject Wine, Women and Slots. With Blokes

The night was young in the palace of gaming. The gamesters All gathered
around to play. Neil the Nordmaarian had grabbed too much alcohol in his
excitement. The buy-in had been set for everyone, and everyone was ready to
play. The Countess Ezrianne had set the whole thing up, hosted and brought
her own brew of strong drink. The Wizard Elwizy had been rolling the
numbers through his vast intellect, determined he would win. Serket, the
soon-to-be Deacon of Death deftly shuffled her cards like they were throwing
daggers ready for a target. Agu sniffed the air, curious about the scent of
the drink.

After buying in, he took the bottle of the Sassy Blue caramel apple scotch,
and poured it in the nearby glass. It had so many fragrances, All of them
sweet heavy to his leonine nose. He took a single sip, then another, until
he had finished the glass. The fermentation, the crisp apple, the corn, and
the caramel All lingered in his sense. But before long, he was starting to
feel woozy. He heard voices greeting him, but lacked the cognition to
reply. In a moment, the wemic was slowly drooping, his lower body
stretching out until he rolled ever, passed out.

A faint thought occured to him. He hadn't had a strong drink since his cubs
were children. Alcohol was not something they were keen to serve in that
wretched prison. If he wanted any tolerance he'd have to build it himself.
When he woke up the next morning, he had a headache, and drool dried on his
mouth. His holy bataar unceremoniously on the floor next to him. The
Countess clearly brewed that drink to be extra strong, and he would have to
rebuild his tolerance. Gods above, he might just never drink again.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 4 15:52:52 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Better by Morning pt. 1

Tiberius kept his hand against Corren's forehead for another moment.

Corren frowned. "{oWhat?"

"You're feverish."

Sten stopped talking, and Torsten leaned forward to study Corren.

"{oHow bad?"

"Bad enough."

Corren glanced toward the hatch. No one needed to explain what waited beyond
it. "{oCould be the blankets."

Tiber glanced down. Corren had no blanket. "Which one?"

"{oI was hoping you wouldn't notice that."

Sten didn't laugh.

Torsten shifted closer. "How long ye been feelin' it?"

"{oI was cold on deck."

"So was I."

"{oThen perhaps you're dying too."

"How long?"

Corren rubbed his arms. "{oI don't know. This afternoon, maybe. I thought it
was the wind."

Sten's attention shifted to Tiber. "{nYou tellin' them?"

Corren answered before Tiber could. "{oNo. Everyone they take forward stays forward."

"I know."

"{oGood. Saves time arguing."

Torsten rested his forearms across his knees. "Might break by mornin'. Some have."

He was right. Tiber had watched some of the early fevers pass.

Corren nodded. "{oI like his answer."

"{nHe's a smuggler, remember" Sten said.

"{oI like him more already."

Sten picked up what remained of the ration Corren had given him and offered
it back. "{nYou want this?"

Corren stared at the piece of bread. "{oYou ate most of it."

"{nDidn't know I'd need t'refund it."

"{oYour customer service is appalling." Corren took the bread and ate.

There was little else they could do. The evening water had already been
measured and distributed. Calling attention to Corren would bring Branik,
and Branik would bring Harl. By morning, there might be nothing left to
report.

Around them, the compartment gradually settled. Conversation faded, chains
shifted against timber, and somewhere farther down a man coughed several
times before falling quiet.

Corren didn't sleep. Neither did Tiber.

The shivering came and went. At times Corren drew his arms tightly against
himself - at others he wiped sweat from his forehead. Once, well after the
lamps had been extinguished, he leaned forward and breathed slowly through
his mouth.

"Sick?"

"{oNot yet."

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 4 15:54:49 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Better by Morning pt. 2

By morning, the fever had eased.

Tiber checked before Corren was fully awake. His skin was still warm, but no
longer burning.

Corren opened one eye. "{oDo you mind?"

"You're cooler."

The other eye opened. "{oI told you. Blankets."

Tiber said nothing.

"{oYou're going to make me find one just to win this argument, aren't you?"

Across from them, Sten stirred awake. "{nHe's alive, then?"

"{oTragically."

Torsten sat up. "Better?"

Corren rubbed at his face. "{oAsk me after breakfast."

Boots crossed the deck overhead as the ship settled into its morning
routine.

Corren straightened against the beam and pulled his arms away from his body.
Tiber noticed. Corren noticed him noticing. "{oDon't."

Tiber said nothing. A few minutes later, footsteps started down the
companionway.

Branik descended with two prisoners behind him, one carrying the water and
the other the morning ration. He began at the far end of the compartment.

Corren settled against the beam beside Tiber. The shivering had stopped, and
whatever remained of the fever showed little from a distance.

"{oStop watching me."

"I'm not." A slight frown tugged at one corner of Tiber's mouth.

"{oYou're very bad at it."

Sten leaned forward. "{nHe's right."

Tiber's eyes narrowed. "No one asked you."

"{nI'm new. Thought I'd contribute."

The water reached them first. Corren accepted his cup when it came and drank
without hesitation. He took the bread afterward and tore off a piece. Branik
moved on.

Corren chewed, swallowed, then glanced toward Tiber.

"{oSee? Miraculous recovery."

"You still have a fever."

"{oYou're determined to ruin this for me." Tiber left him to his breakfast.

Harl did not come through that morning. Before long, Branik returned and
began releasing men for work. Torsten and Sten were among the first. Tiber
followed, then Corren.

"{oPromoted again."

Branik unlocked the next man. "You're carrying canvas."

Corren rose and rubbed one wrist. "{oA position of great responsibility."

The cold had sharpened overnight. Wind pulled at Tiber's shirt as soon as
they reached the deck, and the sea beyond the rails had gone grey beneath a
low ceiling of clouds.

Talven put Torsten and Sten to work near the mainmast. Tiber and Corren were
sent with two other prisoners to carry folded canvas aft. Corren took his
share, though he was slower getting it onto his shoulder than the others.

Fewer sailors worked the deck than the day before. Those who remained moved
quickly enough that the missing men were less obvious until Tiber began
recognizing the spaces where they should have been.

They had made one trip aft and were returning for another when the forward
hatch opened.

Branik emerged backward, carrying the legs of a man wrapped in sailcloth. A
sailor followed with the shoulders.

Tiber slowed. Beside him, Corren did the same.

The cloth had been tied at the ankles and chest. One bare foot showed
beneath the lower knot, pale and motionless as Branik and the sailor carried
him toward the rail. Another wrapped shape already lay there.

"Keep moving," the sailor supervising their detail called.

They obeyed. The four prisoners collected another bundle of canvas, carried
it aft, and returned. By then, the first body was gone.

Branik and the sailor lifted the second. No prayer was spoken. No officer
stopped the work. Sailors hauled lines around them while Talven called an
order from near the mainmast.

The body went over the rail.

The ship sailed on.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 4 15:56:27 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Better by Morning pt. 3

The work continued.

By midday, Corren had stopped making remarks about his promotion.

He still carried what Talven's men gave him, but the difference was becoming
harder for Tiber to ignore. Corren took longer to straighten after setting
down each load. Once, when they stopped near the mainmast, he remained bent
with his hands on his knees until the others were already moving again.

Tiber waited. Corren looked up. "{oDon't."

"I didn't say anything."

"{oYou didn't need to." He straightened and followed the others.

The wind remained cold, but sweat had begun to darken Corren's hair at the
temples. During the next trip aft, he stumbled when the deck rolled beneath
them. Tiber caught his arm.

Corren pulled free. "{oShip moved..."

"...It does that."

They carried the canvas on.

Later, while Talven rearranged the work details, Corren leaned against the
rail. His face had lost what little color the cold had left in it.

"You need Harl."

Corren's eyes went toward the forward hatch. "{oYou saw what I saw."

"I did."

"{oThen don't ask me to go down there."

Tiber glanced toward the sailors working nearby and lowered his voice.

"If you get worse, we're telling him."

"{oWe?"

"Yes."

Corren gave him a tired look. "{oGlad we discussed it."

Talven called for them before Tiber could answer. Corren made it through the
rest of the work.

By the time Branik began returning prisoners below, the wind had strengthened
and Corren was shivering again. He kept his arms loose at his sides as they
waited their turn at the companionway. Tiber noticed - this time, he said
nothing.

Below, Branik fastened them back into their places and moved on. Corren
lowered himself beside the beam with more care than he had that morning.

Sten watched him settle. "{nNot lookin' so miraculous now."

"{oTemporary setback."

Sten's lips peeled back to reveal a grin. "{nThat's my line."

Torsten frowned. "Ye're shiverin'."

"{oIt's cold."

"Not down here."

Corren closed his eyes. "{oI preferred you when you were agreeing with me."

Branik finished with the last prisoner and gathered the loose chain. He
started back toward the companionway.

Corren suddenly lurched forward and vomited onto the boards between his feet.

Branik stopped.

Writer: Melchaleve
Date Tue Oct 6 01:09:51 2026

Writer: Aothien
Date Tue Oct 6 02:11:26 2026

Writer: Neil
Date Tue Oct 6 12:14:48 2026

Writer: Tiberius
Date Wed Oct 7 18:29:17 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Not Yet pt. 1

Branik turned.

Corren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. For several long seconds,
neither of them spoke.

"{oBreakfast disagreed with me."

Branik looked at the mess on the boards, then at Corren. Corren leaned his
head back against the beam and closed his eyes.

Branik was already climbing the companionway.

Harl came down a few minutes later with Branik in tow - the exhaustion Tiber
noticed before had deepened. Several days of growth shadowed his jaw, his
hair was damp and disordered, and fresh stains covered older ones across the
front of his shirt. He descended carefully, one hand remaining on the
companionway until both feet reached the boards.

He crouched in front of Corren. "Look at me."

Corren opened his eyes. Harl pressed a hand to his forehead, then felt along
his neck and beneath his jaw. "Any swellings?"

"{oNot that I've noticed."

"Stomach?"

"{oIt was happier yesterday."

Harl ignored that. "Blood?"

"{oNo."

"Breathing?"

"{oStill doing it..."

Harl sat back on his heels. "...You're going forward."

Corren's humor disappeared. He glanced at Branik. "{oI'd rather stay here."

"I know."

"{oSome of them got better down here."

Harl's expression didn't change. "And some didn't."

Tiber shifted forward against the chain. "Can you help him?"

Harl met his eyes. "I can do more for him there than I can here."

It wasn't the answer Tiber had wanted. Branik crouched and unlocked Corren's restraint.

"{oTry not to improve the place while I'm gone."

Sten's grin came easily enough, though it didn't last. "{nNo promises."

Torsten gave Corren a small nod. "We'll save ye a place."

Corren stood - his knees nearly folded beneath him. Branik caught him under
one arm before he hit the boards. Corren steadied himself against the beam
and drew a slow, steady breath.

"{o...Ship moved."

Tiber stared at him. Corren managed the faintest smile. "{oWorth trying..."

Branik kept hold of his arm as they started toward the companionway.

"Corren."

Corren stopped and turned back. Tiber's mouth opened as if to speak, but no
useful words came. He let the breath out and closed it again.

Corren seemed to understand. "{oI'll see you later."

Then Branik took him up. Silence seemed to hang heavier over the compartment
after they were gone.

Tiber remained where he was, staring at the companionway until footsteps
crossed the deck overhead and faded forward.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Wed Oct 7 18:31:37 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Not Yet pt. 2

Branik did not return until the following morning. He brought no one with him.

He unlocked Tiber first, then Torsten and Sten, and sent All three above.

The morning was well advanced by then. A hard wind crossed the deck,
carrying enough spray to leave the boards dark beneath Tiber's feet. The
deck was busy wherever he looked, but more of the men wore chains than he
remembered.

Some Tiberius knew from below - others, he had never seen before.

One of the strangers hauled water beneath the supervision of a sailor.
Another coiled rope beside a prisoner Tiber recalled doing the same near
the mainmast the day before. The man who had been there with him was gone.
Farther forward, two more unfamiliar prisoners were helping drag a length
of line across the deck.

Talven intercepted Tiber, Sten, and Torsten near the mast.

"You two know rigging?"

Torsten nodded. "Enough."

Talven pointed toward two sailors struggling with a line forward of the
mainmast. "Help them."

The brothers went. Talven turned to Tiber. "You. Aft."

Two other prisoners were already waiting beneath the quarterdeck. Talven
put the three of them to work shifting stores so the sailors could reach
crates buried behind them.

The task kept Tiber there through most of the morning. He carried crates
out one at a time, waited while their contents were checked, then carried
some back.

The two men said little as they shifted the stores. Tiber didn't know
their names. It shouldn't have mattered - he had spent weeks alone in the
desert before ever hearing another voice.

Yet somewhere along the road west, Corren's presence had become ordinary:
a second pair of hands beside his own. A complaint when the work was
miserable. Some remark when silence had gone on too long.

Now there were only strangers.

On his fourth trip, two sailors crossed the deck ahead of him with a body
between them. This one was wrapped in sailcloth like the others. Tiber
stopped long enough to watch them carry it to the rail - the dead man was
shorter than Corren.

Tiber hefted another crate and carried it aft. By the time he returned,
the body was gone.

The forward hatch opened twice over the next hour. The first time, Harl
came out carrying an empty bucket and disappeared toward the water casks.
The second, a sailor descended with an armful of folded cloth. Tiber
watched the hatch close behind him.

Near midday, Talven sent him forward with another prisoner to retrieve a
coil of line. They found it beside the foremast. Tiber bent to take one
end as the forward hatch opened again.

The smell reached him first.

Sour vomit, sweat, blood, and something fouler rose through the opening.
Branik climbed out carrying a bucket and stepped aside for Harl.

Tiber could see only part of the compartment below. Men lay close together
along the boards, some beneath blankets and some without. One shook hard
enough that his heels struck the timber beneath him. Another lay curled on
his side with both hands pressed beneath his jaw. Someone farther inside
was asking for water.

Tiber searched the faces he could see - Corren wasn't among them.

"You taking that or admiring it?" the prisoner working beside him asked.

Tiber turned back to the line and took hold of it.

Behind them, Harl descended again.

The hatch closed.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Wed Oct 7 18:34:15 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Not Yet pt. 3

By afternoon the wind had eased, though little else did.

Tiber spent the next few hours wherever Talven needed him. He carried
stores, helped move a damaged spar out of the way, and twice hauled water
under a sailor's supervision. Sten and Torsten remained forward.

The second time Tiber returned to the water casks, he found two prisoners
arguing beside them.

"I'm not drinking after him."

A prisoner stood with an empty cup in his hand. The sailor distributing
water held the bucket between his boots. "Then don't drink."

"He's sick."

The man beside him wasn't coughing. He wasn't shivering. Tiber could see
nothing wrong with him at all.

"I'm not sick," the man said.

"You were coughing this morning."

"Everyone's coughing. It's freezing."

The first prisoner tried to return the cup. "Give me a different one."

The sailor's patience broke. "There aren't any other cups. Drink or move."

The prisoner hesitated. Someone farther back called, "It's the water anyway!"

"Then why are you waiting for it?" another voice answered. A few men
laughed, but not many.

The prisoner wiped the rim thoroughly with his sleeve before drinking,
then handed the cup back. The man behind him refused to take it.

"Move," the sailor said.

"Wash it first."

The sailor stared at him. "With what?"

That ended the argument, though not the problem. He filled the cup and held
it out. The prisoner stared at it until someone behind him shoved his
shoulder.

He spun around. "Don't touch me."

The other man raised both hands. "Then move!"

For an instant, neither did. The sailor stepped between them and shoved
the cup against the first man's chest. "Drink."

He drank. No one laughed this time. Tiber carried his bucket away.

Later, two bodies came up from forward.

Branik and a sailor carried the first, wrapped from head to foot in
sailcloth and bound at the chest and ankles. Tiber watched until they
reached the rail:

Too broad through the shoulders.

The second followed several minutes later. This one wasn't completely
wrapped. Canvas covered the upper body and had been tied once around the
chest, leaving the legs exposed below the knees.

Tiber stopped what he was doing. The feet were bare. One ankle was narrow,
the other swollen badly enough that the skin looked stretched around it:

Not Corren.

The sailors lifted the body and a gust caught the loose edge of the
canvas, folding it back from the dead man's face. One of them pulled it
into place before they tipped him over the rail.

Talven's attention lingered on the loose canvas.

"We're going through sailcloth too quickly."

The sailor beside him glanced toward the forward hatch. "There'll be more..."

Talven's jaw tightened. "Then stop wrapping them whole. Cover the faces."

The sailor nodded. Neither man looked toward the rail when the body struck the water.

A shout came from forward before Tiber could return to his task.

"Get away from me!"

Heads turned across the deck. A sailor backed away from the foremast with
one hand raised between himself and another man. The second sailor
followed him.

"What's wrong with you?" the second sailor demanded.

The first kept his hand raised. "You've got it!"

"Got what?"

"Your neck."

The second sailor touched beneath his jaw. That was enough. The first
stepped farther away, and another sailor nearby did the same.

"It's nothing," the man insisted. No one answered.

He felt along his neck again. His fingers stopped beneath his jaw. He
pulled his hand away.

Branik was already crossing the deck toward him.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Wed Oct 7 18:39:00 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Not Yet pt. 4

Branik took the sailor forward. Work resumed before the hatch closed behind them.

Tiber spent the remainder of the afternoon carrying stores between the
main deck and the hold. By then, no one seemed eager to work beside anyone
else. Men left more space between themselves where the work allowed it, and
every cough drew attention.

Near the end of the day, Talven called Tiber and another prisoner aft to
bring three crates up from the hold. Sarn stood on the quarterdeck above
them with a chart spread across a table. Talven climbed the steps as Tiber
set down the first crate beneath them.

"We're losing too many men."

Sarn kept one hand on the chart. "{uHow many?"

"Five crew dead. Seven forward. Harl thinks two of those won't see morning."

"{uAnd the prisoners?"

"More."

Sarn looked across the deck. "{uWe still have enough hands."

"Today."

Tiber went below for the next crate.

Talven lowered his voice, but not enough to keep it from carrying beneath
the quarterdeck.

"There's a port two days from here if the wind holds. We could put in."

Sarn's attention returned to the chart. "{uAnd tell them what?"

"That we have sick men who need a physician and supplies."

"{uWith a hold full of slaves?"

Talven said nothing.

Sarn looked up. "{uThey inspect us, we lose the cargo. They search the
{uship, they find the rest. Best case, they seize her. Worst, they hang us
{ubeside the harbor."

"If they'll let us into the harbor."

"{uExactly."

Talven rested both hands against the edge of the table.

"If we keep losing men at this rate, it won't matter what they find. We
won't have enough crew to bring her anywhere."

Sarn looked toward the mainmast. Prisoners now worked among the crew
nearly everywhere Tiber could see, and in more than one detail they
outnumbered the sailors supervising them.

"{uWe're replacing the hands we lose."

"With chained men who know we're getting weaker."

For the first time, Sarn hesitated. Tiber carried the second crate up from
the hold and set it beside the first. Neither officer had spoken by the
time he returned.

"{uHow long to Keshar?"

"Eight days if the wind favors us. Ten if it doesn't."

Sarn traced a finger across the chart. "{uTwo days to reach a harbor that
{umay refuse us the moment they see the sick. And if they don't, we invite
{uan inspection."

Talven's mouth tightened. "And eight days assumes we keep enough men standing to sail her."

"{uWe have enough now."

"Now."

Sarn met his eyes.

Neither spoke for several seconds. Around them, rigging creaked overhead
and boots crossed the deck. Somewhere forward, a man began coughing.

Sarn folded the chart. "{uWe hold course."

Talven remained at the table. "For how long?"

"{uUntil there's a reason not to."

"There is a reason."

Sarn's expression hardened, though his voice did not.

"{uThere's a risk{u. Changing course gives us another one without removing the first.
{uTwo days doesn't cure anyone, and I'm not sailing into a harbor where the authorities
{ucan take the ship before the sickness does."

Talven held his gaze, then gave a single nod. "All right."

He turned toward the steps.

"{uMarek." Talven stopped. "{uIf we lose enough men that you think we can't handle her, tell me."

Talven glanced back. "...I just did."

He descended to the main deck. Sarn remained over the folded chart.

Writer: Tiberius
Date Wed Oct 7 18:40:42 2026
To All Shadow ( Joules Drakkara Imm RP )
Subject The Long Road Home: Not Yet pt. 5

By the time Tiber carried the last crate up, the light through the
hatchways had begun to fade.

He was sent forward once more before the prisoners were returned below.
A crewman filled two buckets from the water casks and handed him one.
They had nearly reached the forward hatch when it opened.

Harl climbed out. A strip of cloth covered his mouth and nose, tied behind
his head. His sleeves were rolled above the elbows, and the skin of his
hands and forearms was red from repeated washing.

Harl took the first bucket from the crewman. "Bring the other."

Tiber followed him down. The smell was worse than it had been from the deck.

Heat gathered beneath the low ceiling, heavy with sweat, vomit, blood, and
human waste. The compartment extended farther toward the bow than he had
been able to see through the hatch. Men and women lay along both sides,
leaving a narrow passage between them for Harl to move through.

The first few were much as he'd seen earlier. Feverish. Shivering. Weak
enough that some needed help lifting their heads to drink. Harl carried
the water farther in, and Tiber continued to follow.

Corren lay along the hull near the middle of the compartment, propped
partly against a folded blanket. His face was pale beneath the sweat, and
his shirt clung damply to his chest. His eyes were closed.

Tiber came to an abrupt halt, nearly sending water over the rim of the bucket. "Corren."

Corren's eyes opened. They wandered briefly before settling on him. "{oYou came to visit."

"I... was carrying water."

The faintest smile appeared. "{oLess flattering."

Harl glanced back. "Set it there."

He lowered the bucket beside the wall. Beyond Corren, the passage
continued toward the bow.

A man's neck had swollen until the flesh beneath his jaw bulged outward
on both sides. He sat propped against the hull with his mouth open,
fighting for each breath. Across from him, a woman lay curled beneath a
blanket while dark blood stained the cloth beneath her nose.

Farther forward, someone muttered the same few words again and again.
Another man stared upward without blinking. He looked dead until a
shallow breath lifted his chest.

Someone nearby reached weakly toward the bucket. "Water..."

Harl was already filling a cup. Tiber returned to Corren and crouched
beside him.

Up close, the fever was obvious. Corren's breathing was faster than it
should have been, and a tremor passed through one hand where it rested
against his stomach.

"Any swellings?"

Corren shook his head. "{oNot yet."

A cough caught him before he could say more. He turned away and curled
forward, one arm pressed across his stomach until it passed. Tiber waited.

Corren settled back against the blanket. For a while, neither spoke.

Behind them, Harl moved from one patient to another. Water splashed into
a cup. Someone groaned. From farther forward came the wet, laboring
breaths of the swollen man.

Corren looked toward the sound. "{oTiberius."

"Hm?"

Corren was quiet for several seconds. "{oI don't want to end up over there."

Tiber followed his gaze. The woman beneath the blanket had begun coughing.
Harl was beside her now, holding the bloodied cloth away from her face
while she struggled to catch her breath.

He looked back at Corren. "You're not there now."

Corren nodded once. It wasn't reassurance - it was simply true.

Harl eventually returned. "You need to go."

Tiber rose to stand and Corren caught his wrist. The grip was weaker than
he remembered. His eyes fell to Corren's hand, then lifted to his face.

Neither spoke. He remained there until Corren let go.

Writer: Justian
Date Thu Oct 8 22:18:27 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Blood from the Wound I

Crimson dust settled into the folds of their clothing as they
entered the ruins near Fort Ironclad. Broken shields lay among
fallen standards. Beyond them, moonstone rose from ground that
had split beneath the impact.

Rauk stopped where a narrow passage opened into the waste.
Something had dragged itself through the dust ahead. Orra
crouched beside him, crossbow resting across her knees.

A necrotized footman emerged between two slabs of stone,
its ruined body still wearing moon-bleached livery. It paused
with its head bowed, then turned at the scrape of Kesh's boot.

Rauk raised his shield and advanced far enough to give Orra
a clear shot. Her bolt struck its chest. The footman lurched,
caught itself, and came at him with both arms outstretched.

Harrak met it beside the shield. His spear drove it back,
but its hands closed around the shaft and hauled it forward.
Rauk struck at its arm. Justian moved up behind them, his
shield covering the opening as Harrak recovered his footing.

Orra's second bolt brought it to one knee. Rauk finished
the struggle with his axe and stood over it until it lay still.

"Watch the passage," Justian told Kesh. "Call if anything
follows us."

Orra examined the fallen footman while Veyra waited beside
the supplies. There was no blood to gather. Orra shook her
head and returned her knife to its sheath.

"Leave the vessels packed," she told Tellen.

Tellen recorded the encounter while Rauk checked the ground
ahead. Harrak cleaned a scrape along his foreleg and asked
Veyra for a strip of cloth.

"Suffering exists," Harrak murmured as he secured the dressing.

Justian waited until he had finished. "Keep close enough
to support one another. We have farther to go."

They moved on with their vessels still empty. Rauk chose
the ground, Orra watched beyond him, and Harrak kept his spear
clear of the broken stone. Kesh followed more carefully,
looking ahead before placing each foot.

Writer: Justian
Date Thu Oct 8 22:19:00 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Blood from the Wound II

Beyond the fallen footman, a wounded animal's whine rose
from the rubble. Rauk halted. The sound lengthened into
an elk's bray, then broke into the agonized squawk of a bird.

An eyeless mass of flesh heaved between the stones. Limbs
pushed from its body, took its weight, and sank back into it.
A fanged opening spread where a moment before there had been
unbroken skin. Orra raised her crossbow as it rushed them.

"On your left!" Kesh shouted to Rauk as a fleshy limb
reached around the shield. The goblin struck it, drawing
blood, but its weight drove him against the stone.
Harrak thrust between them, forcing the creature aside while
Rauk turned to meet it behind his shield.

The flesh yielded around the spear. Another mouth opened
near Harrak's hands, and he pulled back before it could close.
Justian covered him with his shield while Orra fired.
Rauk's axe struck the body as it folded toward the bolt.

They kept close and struck together until the creature lay
still. Rauk was bleeding beneath his mail. Justian worked
his healing magic while Veyra checked Kesh's bruised shoulder.

"Good eye, Kesh," Rauk grunted.

Orra beckoned Tellen forward with the vessels. Harrak was
already crouched beside the body, his muzzle against a wound.
His spear lay within reach.

"Leave room for the flask," Orra said, kneeling opposite him.

Harrak lifted his head. Blood ran through the fur beneath
his jaw. He helped turn the body, then bent toward it again.
Justian approached and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"We came to gather it for the Tree," Justian reminded him.

Harrak sat back. "It steadies me. I can hold the spear
without the shoulder pulling."

"Then keep watch while they collect," Justian told him.

Harrak retrieved his weapon. Veyra watched him flex his hand
before helping Orra gather the blood. Tellen marked the first
filled flasks and recorded the creature's shifting appearance.

They moved on with Harrak carrying his share. At a narrow
crossing he steadied Tellen's bundle against the rock.
A harsh yowl sounded ahead. Rauk raised his hand, and Orra
stepped beside him with another bolt ready.

Writer: Justian
Date Thu Oct 8 22:19:35 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: Blood from the Wound III

Crimson light moved through the dust ahead. A great beast
paced among the stones, glowing moonstone studding its hide.
Its paws scraped the ground with stone-encrusted weight.
Gore clung around its fangs, and a barbed tail lashed behind it.

Orra's bolt struck its flank. The beast yowled and wheeled,
bringing its tail around. Harrak ducked beneath the sweep
and followed as it stumbled between the broken slabs.

His pursuit left Rauk's flank open. Another eyeless body
heaved from the rubble, thrusting a fleshy limb toward them.
Rauk met it with his shield while Justian covered the supplies.
Kesh pulled Tellen back. A bundle struck stone, and blood
began seeping through the cloth around the broken glass.

"Harrak, back here!" Rauk called.

The wemic glanced behind him and abandoned his quarry.
Orra shifted aside as he returned. Her bolt checked the
advancing mass, and Harrak drove his spear beside the shield.
Justian pressed forward with them until it ceased moving.

Veyra examined a cut on Kesh's arm while Justian healed it.
Orra and Tellen separated intact flasks from the wreckage.
Rauk kept watch as Harrak returned to the wounded beast.

Harrak waited beyond its thrashing tail. When it turned,
he drove his spear into its side and withdrew as the jaws
snapped toward him. He circled and struck again, keeping
clear of the stone-studded paws until it finally fell.

Orra found him drinking beside it. Crimson moonstone lit
the blood beneath his muzzle. He continued when she called,
stopping only when she pulled at the fastening of his mail.

"There are bottles waiting," Orra told him.

Harrak rose. Blood soaked his muzzle and chest. Orra knelt
to collect what remained, then held up a scarcely filled flask.

Justian joined them. "You left an opening. We lost blood
closing it, and now you have taken more."

"I came back," Harrak answered. "I helped bring it down."

"You did," Justian said. "Use that strength for the work.
Stay beside Rauk. Let Orra collect."

"The Path is Chaos," Harrak replied, retrieving his spear.

They gathered from the other body and secured the surviving
flasks. With their loads full and the route still clear,
Justian called an end to the hunt. Harrak accepted water
and let Veyra check his shoulder before lifting his bundle.
Rauk led them back, carrying blood for the tree made of horn.

Writer: Thasgerd
Date Fri Oct 9 02:59:30 2026
To All Knighthood ( IMM RP Religion Austinian Nadrik Taliena Kantilles Croatoan )
Subject Peace of Cake IV

Four-leaf clovers blanketed the field in a rich emerald green, basking in
the gentleness of the morning sun. The wind was light, the air calm, and it
smelled sweetly of the plants. A little way off in the distance, a small
mound of clovers grew taller than the rest. It seemed a little odd, maybe
off. It didn't look quite natural, and the mound appeared constructed and
elongated in shape, almost like a purposely made burial mound. On the
opposite end sat a small stone plaque set into the ground, the only spot
free of clovers.

Thasgerd's eyes shot open, and he inhaled sharply in panic before his mind
assured him he was where he should be. It couldn't have been a long sleep.
The moon still softly lit the walls of the Keep, and there was enough light
to make the Observatory glow faintly.

Buttercup was staring at him, seeming to examine the man.

"Oi, dinna li'e tha' a' all. "

He shook his shoulders and head, trying to force the dream from his
thoughts.

Three light taps of his fingers against his brow tried to rouse him a bit
more. Then came another scream, this one quieter than the page's first.
Thasgerd waited for a cheer.

After a moment, he heard it and nodded to himself, confirming the mage
wasn't a broken body on the ground.

"A' leas' 'e's 'avin' fun. "

Buttercup nodded once, then started digging through the duffel bags for her
treats.

Thasgerd's eyes had adjusted to the moonlight in the Observatory, and he
stared at the scrolls, copied plaques, books, and writings about Kadiya and
Peace. He leaned back and stretched in his chair, then glanced at the large
telescope for a moment before looking over at the willow tree.

He may have peeled some bark off it and chewed on it from time to time.

His eyes moved from the tree to one of the duffel bags on the floor.
Leaning down from his seat, he opened it and made sure the broken blade was
still wrapped carefully inside.

A thought crossed his mind, and his brow furrowed.

What would it feel like to forget?

He tried to come up with answers, but nothing came to mind because, well, he
didn't know. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. He didn't want to forget
his family and friends.

How would forgetting something shape him? What would be lost? What
feelings would he no longer feel?

More questions than answers. His brain seemed to snap under the weight of
them.

He shook the entire idea from his head, then looked at the willow tree
again. His gaze lingered there before drifting upward into the branches.

A tired smile crossed his lips.

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Oct 9 18:58:21 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: What We Brought Home I

Red dust sifted from Rauk's cloak as he lowered the first
bundle to the hall floor. Beside him, Kesh worked at a knot
that had tightened during the journey. His fingers were
stiff enough that Orra eventually passed him her knife.

"Under the cord," she told him. "I'd like the cloth back."

The familiar sound of the fountain carried over the scrape
of buckles and the clink of glass. Justian set his shield
aside. Dust had worked beneath its straps and stained the
white cloth at his wrist a dull red.

Veyra inspected Rauk's side while he stood with one arm
raised. Justian's magic had closed the wound, though the
torn mail still caught against it. She freed the links and
let him lower his arm before turning to help with the loads.

Orra unwrapped the vessels. Tellen checked their markings
against his notes, smoothing the creased parchment on his
case. One bottle had leaked into its wrapping. She set it
apart and counted the rest a second time.

Harrak brought his bundle forward without being asked.
The blood beneath his muzzle had dried into the fur.
He crouched beside Kesh and held a stubborn fastening while
the goblin worked it loose.

When everything was ready, Justian approached the tree made
of horn. Its pale scars remained visible beneath the blood
seeping down its bark. He rested his hand against the place
where he had stood alone before the hunt.

"We went knowing what we intended," Justian said. "Each of
you has helped bring this home. Come and give your share."

Orra went first. She tipped a vessel against the horn and
watched the thick blood follow its uneven surface. Rauk
followed her, then Veyra. Kesh needed both hands to keep
his bottle steady. Tellen set down his notes to join them.

Justian poured from the leaking vessel while Harrak emptied
the last. Blood gathered in the creases of the bark and
ran toward the roots. Orra waited beside the carrying cloth,
taking each empty bottle as it was passed back to her.

Harrak lingered with his hand against the horn. His claws
had withdrawn into his forepaws, and his spear rested on
the floor within reach. He turned as Justian stepped away.

"Stay a while, Word Bearer," Harrak said. "There is something
I would have you hear."

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Oct 9 18:58:55 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: What We Brought Home II

Justian remained beside him. Behind them, Orra laid the
last bottle on its side and stopped folding the cloth.
Harrak looked down at his hands before he began.

"When I drank, I wanted the strength," Harrak said. "My
shoulder hurt. There were things still moving beyond us.
I wanted to be standing when we left."

He rolled the shoulder beneath his mail. Something hard
pressed against the links where the shape of him had changed.

"On the road I kept hearing you tell me where the blood
belonged," Harrak continued. "I carried the bottles. I
carried what I had taken, too. I could feel it with every
step. By the time we reached the Warp, I knew what I would
give."

Justian watched him lay a hand over the mark beneath his mail.
"You are speaking of your life."

"Mine, and what I have gathered into it," Harrak answered.
"The Tree shall have the whole offering."

Rauk came closer, turning his good ear toward them. Veyra
rose from the bundles. Harrak met their eyes in turn, then
looked again at Justian.

"The End is their death," Harrak said. "I know whose death
that means. You will still have work when I am gone."

Justian placed a hand upon his shoulder. "We will. I will
speak the Verities with you, and we will remember what you
have chosen here."

Harrak bent to retrieve his spear and offered it to Rauk.
The orc took it beneath the crosspiece, testing its familiar
weight before setting the butt against the floor.

"Keep it sharp," Harrak told him.

Rauk nodded. "I will."

Veyra helped with the fastenings Harrak could not reach.
The mail caught at his altered shoulder. She worked it free
with the same patience she had shown Rauk's torn links.
Beneath it, the eight-pointed scar stood thick and pale
against his breastbone.

Harrak settled his tawny body beside the roots. Orra moved
the empty vessels out of his way while Kesh brought folded
cloth for him to lean against. Tellen drew closer with his
parchment, lowering himself where Harrak could see him.

Harrak waited until they were settled. "Begin, Justian."

Writer: Justian
Date Fri Oct 9 19:01:21 2026
To All Chaos ( IMM RP Malachive )
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: What We Brought Home III

Harrak drew his knife. The movement was brief and partly
hidden by his body. When he laid the blade aside, fresh
blood marked the roots beneath him. Justian kept his hand
on the wemic's shoulder as the others gathered close.

"Suffering exists," Justian began. "We heard it among the
ruins. We tended it beneath our armor. Harrak feels it
now, and we will remain beside him while he bears it.
No teaching of ours should require us to look away from
what it costs to follow it."

Justian looked toward the golden figure above the Tree.
"The false gods and the order they have made are its cause.
They give suffering a place in their designs, then teach
those beneath them to endure it. We have chosen to raise
our hands against them. That choice brought us to the
ruins. It has brought Harrak to these roots."

Harrak shifted against the folded cloth. Veyra steadied
him until he found his balance. His breathing had grown
rough, but he raised his head. "The End is their death."

"Their death," Justian answered. "Remember that when you
speak of him. Our brother's death does not finish our work.
The gods remain, and so do the lives they have bound to
their purposes. We must use what we gather here. We must
teach those who have learned only obedience and carry our
war to those who believe themselves beyond its reach."

Kesh sat near Harrak's forepaws. He had stopped worrying
the loose seam at his cuff. Orra's hand rested on the horn
above them, her scarred knuckles still stained from the hunt.
Rauk stood beside her with the spear held upright.

Harrak drew another breath. "The Path is Chaos," he said.
Justian repeated the words, and the others answered with him.
The wemic's head lowered. Justian supported him as his
weight settled, remaining there until his breathing ceased.

Veyra rested her fingers against Harrak for a while, then
quietly nodded. Justian looked around the gathered faces.
"You heard his purpose from his own mouth. Carry it with
you. When we leave this hall, let our deeds answer for
the strength we have asked to gather here."

Tellen bent over his parchment and added Harrak's name to
the account of their return. He recorded the words Harrak
had spoken, then read the passage aloud to those gathered.

Rauk took Harrak's spear with him when he went to fetch a
bier. Kesh followed. The others began clearing the vessels
from the roots while Justian remained beside the body,
his hand resting over the eight-pointed scar.

Something shifted beneath the tree's bloody bark...
the slow rhythm of a sleeping heart echoed for a moment...
then stilled.