In The Tribelands, conversations of magic are as commonplace as conversations about the weather, or weekend plans; the arcane has existed in this place for longer than the people have, and while its history is shrouded in the sands, the endeavours of the Andashi School of Gifts often work to forge a new future.
But recent conversations of a magical ilk have not been those formed through historic research and essay upon essay. Instead, the gossip surrounding a Bordevarian mage fleeing into the desert after a fleeting visit, and the sudden appearance of a glittering mirage in the distance drips from the lips of mages and merchants alike. Quieter still, are rumours of those with the ability to speak to the dead - a blessing given by magic once thought cursed. How true any such rumours are is unknown, but such things must stem from somewhere, questionable origins or no.
Take What You Need and Be on Your Way
By the time that Winnifred Eldermere, the Headmaster of the School of Embers, had marched out from the spired city, down the Golden Road, past well upon well of tainted water, and out into the edges of the Tanebar Sea, she was more uncomfortable than she had ever been. Even in the late afternoon sun, she was still roasting under its fading glare, and even with her most practical boots on, she still had bleeding and blistered feet.
As she looked out into the seemingly unending desert, and back towards Andash’s capital, she hoped for all that was good that she had oriented herself correctly. It had taken a fair amount of time over the season to determine exactly how this was all going to work. Well, to plan it out, anyway.
She had the Grand Andashi artifact, certainly. How to use it, though, had still yet to be determined, practically speaking - the so-called ‘Talisman of Oasis’ hadn’t exactly come with helpful instructions deep in the Treasury of Kodiri. Did she have to cast a spell on it? Will the water into existence? Mutter an ancient incantation? She certainly hoped it wouldn’t be the latter.
Then, there was the matter of where the oasis was to go; too close to Obregon, and there was risk that the water within the magical oasis could be tainted along with the city’s water supply, or that the magics could interact in terrible ways yet unknown. But, if the oasis was placed too far away, then there was little hope that it would be a functional source of water for the people of Obregon to actually use - an oasis in the desert is lovely, but only if one can actually reach it. And, upon much reflection, she wasn’t actually sure how big the oasis would be, which complicated the placement even further.
Winnie took a deep breath and sat on her stool - things would be fine. She had planned this. Even if the fine details weren’t clear, they could be navigated. Things would be fine.
Then, she took the talisman in hand. A simple thing, she reflected as she turned the ringed necklace to and fro in the twilight. It was frosted in appearance, looking as if it had been left outside during the Winter Solstice, but it wasn’t freezing to the touch. Rather, it was like Lake Ladure on a spring morning, or a swig from a waterskin in the middle of the day - cool and refreshing. Beyond its cold appearance and sensation, however, there was nothing overtly magical about it - no runes or carvings, nor any twisting of light.
But, surely, the last of Grand Andash wouldn’t have kept it buried deep below the sands of their temple, under magical lock and key, for no good reason.
And so Winnifred Eldermere of House Segremore, Noble-aspirant, Headmaster of the School of Embers, Talisman of Oasis in hand, began her work; the Channel Waystone spell, to channel the power of the oasis - to call forth cool waters. Winnie felt her magic swirl around her, limning the sands in shades of pink and blue, dancing together in the fading sun.
Then nothing happened. Which was fine. Things would be fine.
She began casting another spell - perhaps if she empowered the talisman, that would be the push the artifact needed. Her magic flowed from her fingertips again, quicker this time, the colours moving like dyed cloth in running water.
Then nothing happened. Which was definitely fine.
Thirty minutes later, sun now gone from the sky, magic fading, Winnie let out a screech of indignation, stood up, and kicked her stool over.
Letting out huffing breaths heavy with irritability, she opened her bedroll and set up for the night, willing herself to be calm. She had planned for this. But now that the talisman no longer sat around her neck, without its cooling presence upon her, she could feel storm clouds of frustration roiling behind her eyes.
The mages at the School of Gifts loved talking about meditation, and mindfulness - maybe that was a tradition passed on from pasts now lost?
So she lay under the star-filled sky, closed her eyes, and took deep breath after deep breath.
The rising sun glancing off of clear, turquoise water awoke her, the light reflecting into her closed eyes. Opening them, the hand that once held the talisman outstretched towards the shore, she could almost believe that the oasis had been there the whole time.
Game Information
The Grand Andashi artifact ‘Talisman of Oasis,’ recovered from the depths of Kodiri’s Treasury, has been used on the border of the spired city, Obregon, and the vast sandscape that is the Tanebar Sea. Through careful research by the Headmaster of the De Re School of Embers, the creation of an oasis in the region has provided the people of Obregon a blessed relief in the form of fresh water.
Doing so has allowed the people of Obregon, with time, to return to the city. There will be decisions for the Senator of Obregon in relation to the infrastructure needed to facilitate further healing of the city and its inhabitants.
All Farm, Business, and Herb Garden Investments in the Tanebar South territory will receive additional income as the influx of both fresh water and people revitalise their endeavours.
The Garden Remembers What the Grave Forgets
-=-=-=-
Yasmirna gently blew out the candle, its wisp of smoke drawn away by the warm evening wind. Around her, the familiar strangers who shared this ritual did the same, their own quiet goodbyes to reflection. Here, in the shadow of the city’s eastern wall, lay a sanctuary of calm morbidity. This neighborhood had never been one of great wealth, even before the wells turned foul. Now, it was abandoned, too distant from the new oasis to matter. Though Yasmirna believed that someday a pipe, an aqueduct, or some magical marvel could bring water back to this part of the city, for now, it remained still.
Every other evening, she crossed the city from her fine apartment in the west to this forsaken garden, where her sister Jassimin resided beneath the shade. Yasmirna often joked that their conversations hadn’t changed much, a bittersweet quip that caught the laugh and the sob together, leaving others unsure of her true intent. Here in the garden, she shared her day with Jassimin: the sweet thing Omarenzo had done for her, how the city was slowly coming back to life. Around her, others did the same, speaking to family and friends whose bodies had turned to sap and hearts to wood.
The garden was tended by a small group of gardeners, poor folk who had once lived in the neighborhood and were in the early stages of the same arboreal transformation that had birthed this sanctuary. They were kind, ensuring the garden was clean, arranging cushions and seats for visiting families, and watering the flowers that grew from their loved ones' hair. Their care softened the sharp edges of grief.
It was with one of these gardeners that Omarenzo returned to Yasmirna. Her foolish, well-meaning husband handed her a shawl, which she wrapped around her shoulders, before introducing the man.
“Yas, this is Ramiel, one of the gardeners.”
Ramiel’s dark skin was veined with deeper shadows, his right eye pulsing with green light, and his jaw adorned with bark in place of a beard. He swatted playfully at Omarenzo before taking Yasmirna’s hands in his own.
“Yasmirna, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Jassimin has told me so much about you,” he said warmly.
Yasmirna’s blood ran cold. Her grief twisted into anger as she snatched her hands away.
“What?! How dare you!” she spat, turning a glare toward Omarenzo, who was already regretting his attempt at thoughtfulness.
The old man chuckled softly. “You don’t understand, Yasmirna. They’re still in there. They’re all in there.” He gestured broadly with his left arm, encompassing the entire garden. Around them, the other mourners began to retreat, leaving the air heavy with unease.
“They’re all in there,” Ramiel repeated, his oaken visage turning back to Yasmirna. “Everyone who ever was. And we can hear them. You can, too, if only you would listen.”
-=-=-=-
As water flows back into Obregon, strange rumors flow out. Across the city, in a dozen or so places, small grave-gardens have emerged. These glades mark where those afflicted by the arboreal putrefaction gathered during the summer months. Among the fallen, their bodies intertwined with roots and saplings, these gardens stand as living memorials.
The gardeners, those kind souls who tend to these spaces despite suffering from the same affliction, tell unsettling tales. They claim the plant-simulacra speak to them, revealing truths from beyond the veil of death. Whispers of the Spheres’ mysteries reach those sufficiently afflicted, offering knowledge that some find divine and others unsettling. The city’s priests cry for inquisition and flame, but the matter is far from simple. For many, these gardens hold the remains of loved ones. The whispers shared by the gardeners carry details too intimate, too specific, to dismiss as trickery.
Obregon’s leaders and faithful have called upon the Shardcircle, the Church, and other authorities to discern the truth. Meanwhile, the gardeners—and those who believe them—plead for the Heroes of The Concord to listen. The secrets buried in the gardens may yet save lives, but only if they can be heard before the fires of zealotry consume them all.
Game Information
There will be decisions regarding the Gardeners of Obregon for the Senator of the Tribelands, The War Chamber, The Shardcircle, The Council of Six, and the Headmaster of the Andashi School of Gifts.
Andashi characters who have had close loved ones perish over the last two years may contact the Concord Team at [email protected] by the 11th of April to receive additional information in their character pack. Please include details about the character who has died including whether they are an NPC or PC.