The landscape of Andash is a complex beast; it both harms and helps in equal measure, as likely to swallow up what is atop its sand without care, as it is to provide safety for those that need it in times of quiet contemplation. Though its undulated dunes and wind-swept scrublands may change from season to season, these alterations are taken in the stride of its people, utterly accepting of its whims.
Beneath the surface of the Tanebar, Priests and Delvers walk alongside each other, struggling to understand knowledge that has been swept away by the sands that now offer them entry.
In Abqala, despite the shadow looming, the Nomadic people gather to engage in a joyous resurrection, discussing the Shepherd of the Reeds in hopeful, contemplative tones, taking refuge in its cool waters.
And in The True Wilds, there is nothing worth remembering at all.
Everything is Staid and Settled
“You’re Andashi, surely you can understand what it says?” the crystal miner from the Ravensreach stated in that matter-of-fact way that those of Resinderholz often have, squinting at the plaque below the damaged fresco.
The figure next to them, clad in scarlet from the tips of their toes to the veil that covered the bottom of their unimpressed face, glanced from the plaque to the man impassively.
“Of course - I speak and read Grand Andashi as well as you speak the language of your Weald five-hundred years ago; tell me, do you find the accents of the trees change from region to region?” The smile that spread across the Akhawat Aldami’s face, visible even beneath the claret chiffon, was filled with more teeth than pleasantry.
“Not many people know any Grand Andashi anymore,” the Delver that passed them stated, arms wrestling with one too many items to fit reasonably within their grasp as their feet padded seamlessly down the sandstone stairs. “But they’ve translated some of it.”
They paused on the landing, pointing with their slipper at the second phrase on the plaque. “That one’s the same as one of the words on the map downstairs, on the eastern side.”
The Andashi and Wealder both tilted their heads at the fresco, trying to look for the canine that was apparently in there somewhere.
***
From above, the Kodiri site looks not unlike an ant colony - hundreds of figures, industriously scurrying to and fro, carrying as many morsels as they can from chamber to chamber, room to room.
For the Delvers who have been given permission by one of their own, Senator Mowgli El-Tanebar Del-Solas, to settle in the site, these crumbs include fragments of their past and present lives. The crumbling remains of bed-rolls used to being somewhat buried under Andashi sands are carried alongside broken trinkets that symbolise their lost history.
For the various Priests from across The Concord gathering in this place, these scraps include scribbled drawings, notes, and questions in abundance, trying to uncover the mysteries chiselled into Kodiri’s very foundations. They try, one and all, to put words to tongues long lost, and meanings to mosaics and carvings worn away by time and, sometimes, ancient efforts.
***
“It must be the Tanebar dunes, surely! Why would they possibly carve anything else, in the middle of the desert?”
“Why would they carve the dunes in the middle of the desert they’re surrounded by? They could just step outside and look at them, you idiot. And what’s that massive thing in the background - there’s nothing like that in the Tanebar.”
As they packed up their belongings, the Delver twins, matching belts of rope entwined around their waists, continued to argue, glancing up at the carving they had found in the hallway down to the Treasury.
Two Heroic contingents passed them, walking up from the now crumbled entry to the vault that once contained artifacts, trade contracts, material wealth beyond belief, and other documents beyond saving. One of the Heroes spoke loudly and assuredly of his work in The Shardcircle, guided up the steps by his mute companion who nodded, if slightly cautiously, at the words.
The last of the contingents had almost passed when the Delvers’ disagreement reignited, quickly cut off by different Andashi voices.
“That’s a view from Big Bev’s Bay that won’t be seen for some time, I’d wager,” one of the sailors said, speaking to his companion from the Tellurium.
“The Heroes will take it back. We’ll be back on the seas, looking up at The Guardian in no time, friend,” the companion said, then gestured up at the steps where their Heroes had continued.
The twins, pausing in their packing, looked back up at the carving.
“I told you it wasn’t the desert.”
Game Information:
Kodiri has seen a flurry of attention over the summer season, with a number of Heroic Priests visiting the site, alongside Delvers who are beginning to settle in a place that may one day be their Foundation. Their work together, accidental as it may have been in some cases, has allowed for further discoveries to be made of the site, particularly in relation to some of the carvings and frescos that have been partially restored with their careful work.
Characters who undertook the “Research Kodiri” Downtime action over the summer season will receive additional information in their character packs.
Additional research opportunities within Kodiri are limited until a Delver Foundation of some sort is constructed.
News One Simple Hour Before the Midday Sun
For at least one more Season, Abqala stands untouched by The Zekartaal.
The people cannot help but celebrate such a thing, even knowing that not too far away more of their people are suffering the wrath of Oak’s invasion. All remember too keenly how such a villain treated Abqala on her last and violent visit, and it would be a simple relief grasped for however short it would last. Such is the way of the waterfalls of Ashlams Ashamalia, the sandstone mountains from which the waters flow.
It is difficult for the people here to ignore the plight of The Tribelands and Andash, particularly with the presence of The Lost Clans and the information that they have begun to provide. And ignore it they do not, many spending as much time as they can trying to pass along cryptic messages to those that may be able to discover more with them. While acting as simple messengers and decoders seems to some as not helpful at all, it would be the words of Shesti warriors that convince those that doubt. Words that ring true with their ways of Vibranza, reminding of the Peligraza, Dominanza and Movarza present in the circumstance.
Such words would be a comfort for many, and a burning flame of action for others.
All the while, despite the hardships of the world around them and the uncertainty of the future, the people of Abqala find themselves completely enraptured by the resurgence of something old. The Shepherd of the Reeds, a title once long lost, has appeared again in Abqala thanks to Senator Mowgli.
As Civil Service officials begin to talk to the people beneath the sandstone, old tales are once again spun for those that would listen and ancient ceremonial acts are once more displayed beneath the waterfalls. The Shepherd is to be the representative of Nomadic Andashi, and what better place to learn what their duties and powers should entail than in the heart of trade, celebration and faith for those that wander.
Perhaps, The Shepherd is to be like the Nomadic people themselves? A wanderer who carries with them the heart and creed of Abqala, to spread the sands of Andash far and wide to those that cannot always make the travel to the falls. Or perhaps to be of The Reeds is to be set in place, to only travel when needed but to otherwise care for the cool waters and the history and culture that surrounds them. There are many things that The Shepherd could be, and many opinions that work to shape it in its inception.
But yet still there are those who believe that to simply be The Shepherd is enough. That time will require of The Shepherd of the Reeds plenty all on its own, and that to heap more upon it is to ask for failure. To be the steadfast representative of those that wander is to shepherd them naturally, for it is in their actions that the future shall be carved, one way or another.
The Civil Service work closely with the people of Abqala, listening to all possible ways and paths that The Shepherd could take. It would take time, and perhaps many arguments, but as with all things, there would be but one result.
Game Information
The title of the Shepherd of the Reeds has been created and will be up for election this Summit through its standard methods. It will be elected on day 1 alongside other Andashi titles.
There will be decisions for the Shepherd of the Reeds this summit.
Where Lies One Long Sought
The falcon’s wings coasted silently along the breeze, tail fanned into the bright blue sky. The clouds, few and far between as they were, drifted high above the bird in soft swirls, cushioning its eyes against the intensity of the summer sun. Every now and then, it would dip closer to the arid brushland below, its wings and eyes flickering in search of a flock upon which it could feast - even blessed birds remain immune to the need to frequently forage for food.
The ground below the falcon was, as it had been for much of its journey, mile upon mile of seemingly endless scrubland. Indeed, once it had passed over the marbled dome to the south, the bird had done nothing but glide, hunt, and sleep, for there was nothing else to do.
But, it was nearing its destination. Something had pulled it northwest from above the quaint town filled with raucous people. Something had drawn it over the grasslands, and between the forest and the mountains, above the sand.
What had once been on the horizon, shroud in strange mists, was closer now. Taller than any tree in the vicinity, hewn in stone unseen on the falcon’s journey it towered, a monument to something long forgotten.
The bird drew closer still, wings flapping shallowly. It did not remember how it got here, now. It did not remember the Bordevarian voices that had summoned it, nor the stars that had blessed its initial hunt for knowledge. It did remember the slight ache in its wings from its long journey, and the emptiness in its stomach, though.
The harsh, obsidian structure in front of it, juxtaposed against the gentle clouds almost within its grasp, seemed to absorb the light around it, not shining as one may expect stone to. Still, as the falcon’s wings tired, it seemed a better place to rest than the fog-filled ground below, scattered with barbs of iron.
The bird landed on the window’s edge at the top of the tower, ruffling its plush grey feathers to dislodge the sands. Its eyes, bright and shining, took in the scene before it, as if attempting to make sense of why it was sent here, to a room filled with decay and rot.
Things that once used to be bookshelves filled with things that once used to be books lined the walls, held up against gravity through spite alone, as time did its best to erode them. Knowledge, kept for milenia, disappeared into dust as dry rot consumed it, no one here to maintain its presence on the Mortal Sphere.
The falcon hopped into the room onto a table that barely maintained the weight of empty inkwells and decomposing vellum, gazing around the room again. There was little to be smelt, save for the smell of decay and desiccated flesh repurposed for something greater. There was little else to be seen, save for the plinth in the center of the room, and the large tome upon it.
The bird’s head tilted, partly in confusion, and partly in curiosity. It did not remember flying over the scrubland that had been its only companion for several weeks, now. It did not remember landing on the windowsill of the tower. It did remember the slight ache in its mind, and the emptiness in its body, though.
Taking flight for the briefest of moments, eyes keen, it moved to land on the plinth. It was not, however, anticipating the light that suddenly came to life from within the lifeless stone below. Startled by the change, overtaken by instinct, the falcon surged further forward than intended, and landed upon the tome.
Puffing up its grey feathers to shake away its fright, the bird stopped, caught in the middle of its motion. It did not remember landing on the table, now. It did not remember travelling towards the plinth. It did remember the exhaustion in its body, and the emptiness in itself, though.
The falcon tilted its head, eyes scanning the vellum below it. It had felt the texture before, long ago, but could not recall when. As it tried to remember, the once blank pages began to turn from an aged cream to one speckled with deep black ink. It did not remember the feeling of its talons on any other surface. It did not remember the outside. It did remember the allure of slumber and the emptiness, though.
The bird moved to adjust its body, but found it could not. As the pages beneath it filled with more black ink, it did not remember panic. It did not remember freedom. It did remember sleep, though.
The tome ate from the creature upon it, taking its fill in the form of ink-soaked pages. It remembered freedom. It remembered the outside. It remembered the Concordian voices that summoned it, and the stars that had cursed its initial hunt for knowledge.
It had remembered, and She would not forget.
Game Information
A Blessed Falcon has found the Tower of The True Wilds, and has been scried upon by those blessed by Stallia to reveal this knowledge. Seemingly not content to simply be lost to all physically seeking it out, however, the Tower seems more intent on being forgotten than ever before, claiming the memories of those who wish to know.
To represent this, ALL characters are unable to recall information or conversations regarding the Tower in the Wilds after more than an hour of being informed about it, either through written or verbal information. Current written information continues to exist, however new writings should only be created once prompted by conversation or pre-existing writings. This replaces the effect from the previous Winds entry regarding this content, titled “Through the Eyes of the Mindless”.
All characters with Divine Lore Stallia will receive an additional handout in their character packs.
Further, all characters with Divine Lore Stallia MUST take the following roleplay prompt: “You feel a concern, in the back of your mind, that all the knowledge you have won’t remain yours forever. Perhaps you should do something to make sure it can’t be taken from you?”
Further reading at Winds of the World - Autumn 225