Across The Concord there is all manner of oddity and strangeness. Every season comes replete with new accusations of fae trickery or spies turned assassins. But much of this will come to nought. The harsh light of spring reveals most things to be the machinations of bored children, the rumour-mills of small towns, or simple misunderstandings.
But not everything.
In the quiet places there truly are strange happenings. Although what we will make of them remains to be seen.
No Good or Evil, Simply I Am
It had been alone for so long.
Trapped,
solitary,
behind shards of metal and walls of fire and stone that screamed and sands that ate and ate and ate.
It
yearned with all that it was, all that it had been, and all that it could return to,
if someone offered.
A door,
locked in forgetting and remembering and forgetting and remembering and forgetting and remembering.
Once fed in
mind and
soul and
limbs and
eyes and then abandoned - the manifestation of a child bereft of its mother, unable to feed either -
an uncage with blood on the bars left to rust over, crust coalescing until the
original form
was
morphed
jagged and sharp and cruel
in a way that was never intended.
Aching abyss where torturous eternity should have been.
Sap where there should have been crystal.
But intentions do not matter,
not really.
It is set, for now, finally able to be seen after reaching out with the only hands it had; sharp nails gouging out the shape of its absence.
And they had felt it. They had heard its singing and they had sung back - felt it tear from them what it needed, and had
scratched
in
return, like kittens clawing at a celestial lion.
But She is nothing if not generous. Nothing if not giving. Nothing if not given.
And they had offered enough.
Finally,
after years of crumbs - never enough to make a meal, especially when exchanged.
But she had restored to them what her child - her home - her residue - her absence - had taken,
softened their pain,
wax in the sun,
for the offer of her fill.
Her life.
Her freedom.
Her knowing.
It would not be difficult. Not really.
A book for ink of motes, dancing in the air like dust made of dead skin in starlight.
A table to sit and share and be eaten from - nurse tiger nurse and remora - until the well is wetted. Not full, nor sodden, but reminded of what it is was is could be.
The Concordians would come
Would sit
Would talk
Would leave twice. Then choose once more.
Then She could lie under a sky of ambivalent stars without fear.
A constant evolution in the endlessly ephemeral.
Game Information:
As was the case last Season, 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.
There will be a conflux this Spring Summit for players who meet specific criteria. Some characters will receive additional information in their character packs.
I Bend Under the Weight That They Gave Me
Delilah was dazed when she finally returned from her walk despite her sobriety when she left, feet catching on the rocks hidden beneath the verdant grass.
Rosalind’s heart turned to lead, sinking in the ocean of her chest with disappointment; all of her ardent promises of change - of finally seeing a Priest about the wine and the char and of at least trying stop when Rosalind spoke about staying at her mother’s - were false, like they had been twice before.
But everything Delilah sunk glass after glass each night to escape from was still clear in the set of her face, in her constantly moving hands, her grinding teeth and the glassiness coating her red-rimmed eyes. Even the drink wasn’t working anymore, and Rosalind didn’t know, when she opened her mouth, whether she needed to laugh or cry.
“Del - I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for you to change - for us to be fixed,” Rosalind breathed out into the abyss of the dark sky above, blinking her eyes rapidly and hoping the dim light would make this easier. It wouldn’t stay dark at this time for long, the Heroes bringing enough lanterns to light the streets into the early hours of the morning.
Her eyes, full of tears as they always ended up whenever they had this conversation, darted to her wife’s swaying form when she sniffled in response. She seemed so much smaller than she usually did when she was like this - usually she was wide shouldered and loud voiced, full of so much that she didn’t understand, with nowhere else to put it and no other way to feel it.
But now, stood in front of the Civil Service Hub, hands trembling by her side as her lower lip shook and her shoulders clenched tight and slumped at the same time, she looked like herself in miniature. Rosalind could imagine what her younger brother who she never spoke about would look like if he had ever returned from his swim in the Fiorenza River; small, and quiet, and with the same face as her wife, but more timid than she had ever been.
There was a moment of stillness, where Delilah’s hand flexed - a once-Free Captain drowning, not quite able to reach her boat - and then she crumbled, shaking legs racing towards her wife, and failing as they got there.
Rosalind sat, stunned for a moment, as the most stoic person she had ever met - had ever loved - broke in front of her, shaking hands clutching at hers as her whole body heaved with sobs.
In the cold air of Passage, the two sat together, one clutching the other as she tried to put to words all of the tangled mess that sat inside her chest.
“I’ve missed you so much, Rosie,” she said in a voice full of mucus and regret. “I am so sorry for every-everything that I’ve done.”
“Del, my love. I know you’re sorry. I know,” Rosalind replied, voice soft and weighed down like an anchor - her wife had only been gone for an hour, and for her to have been missed in such a short time was more concern than comfort.“How much have you had? Do we need to go and find a Mender?”
Delilah’s eyes stared up at her, not quite emptied but quickly filling again with tears. “I swear I haven’t had any, Rosie. I swear. But I was going to get some, b-but there wasn’t any there, and I wouldn’t want to a-after it.”
Rosalind stifled a sigh, and stroked her wife’s back as her shoulders shook again, great waves of overwhelm wracking her body.
“What do you mean, it, my love? What did you take?” she asked, hoping for the love in her heart to be stronger in her voice than the frustration in her gut.
“No, I didn’t, I promise.” Delilah’s chest heaved in a great deep breath as she tried to calm herself.
Even with her calming breath, her voice still shook as she described the abyss that she had been snatched into, on her way to the tavern. Of the open void that she’d knelt in for what felt like hours, chains wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Of the strange, hollow-eyes figure that came to stand over her, and the three questions it asked her.
“It asked me a-about Sam, and about you. And all I could think was how I’d do anything to go back and never put that fucking bottle to my lips, but how that’s not fair. I don’t get to put the blame on twenty-year-old me when I’m the one that’s guilty. When I’m the one that’s making you suffer and stress just because I’m too scared to go talk to a Priest because I know they’ll tell me the truth.”
“But you need to, my love. You need help, and I can’t be the only person you rely on.”
Delilah nodded, wiping the snot away with her sleeve, and squared her shoulders.
“I know.”
There was a moment where Rosalind held her breath, preparing for the ‘I will’ and ‘I promise’ and the lack of action that would surely come.
“I know it’s late, but do you think any of the priests you work with would be awake? I think I’d like to talk now, if that would be alright?.”
The exhale of air felt like the easiest breath Rosie had been able to take in months.
***
Over the season, a small number of similar experiences are shared in the small town of Passage, mostly to the quiet Priests of the Needle that serve the town in the absence of Heroes.
Some describe the figure as monstrous - absent of eyes and soul as it stared down, inquisitioning them in an abyss all of its own. Plaguing them with guilt and indecision and regret. Others describe it in kinder words - not a gentle figure certainly, either on the eyes or the mind, but one asking questions for reflection, not demanding answers.
Regardless of the varied outcomes of these experiences, the story is the same - something is taking the people of Passage, for a time, for reasons not yet known.
Game Information:
Passage is haunted by an unknown presence, taking individuals from their homes, places of work, and even from the street, to question them. The individuals taken have had varied experiences, but almost all describe being trapped in a void, ensnared in chains for days at a time, only to return to the moment they were taken.
Since the start of season, the creature has also been observing the streets of Passage, almost as if looking for something or someone. What this creature is, or what it wants, is still not known to the people of The Concord.
What Lies Beneath Stone-Cold Eyes
At first, they were impossible to stop. They could not be halted along their procession to some far-away place, simply waylaid. No stone nor metal nor act of strength could keep them from their lumbering walk, temporarily slowing them at best. This was the case for the golems of Lerona Mere, a unique result of a Shardcircle foray, but would not be the case any longer.
An arcanist or researcher, no one truly knows who they are, by the name of Penebianca De Avano, had finally halted them. Just beyond Mivara, somewhere along The Madre Campo, these lifeless imitations of what had once truly been people were finally stopped in full. It would not take long for rumours to abound about how a Lerona Mereian could affect the magics of Artebazzan, but the truth turned out to be rather simple. Penebianca had simply requested the documents from The Shardcircle’s leaders, and they were provided.
These documents, these Artebazzani missives and instructions and more, were enough for the curiosity of De Avano to unlock the workings of enchanted stone. Perhaps they were already researching such a method of magical enchantment, and this was the final step to completing fractured knowledge. Perhaps the documents were key enough on their own merit to determine the way to stop the unstoppable. Perhaps, some Mivarans whisper, Penebianca is not who they said they were.
Such rumours mattered little to none in the face of the truth. The golems were stopped, planted and unmoving in the beautiful Lerona Mere countryside as if they were placed there by an artist of masonry. They would not move any longer, they would cause no damage, and more importantly they would never reach wherever it was they had been walking. A mystery, to be certain, but one that now sees no conclusion needed.
Penebianca De Avano, on the other hand, became a mystery all their own. Reportedly, their profession and being was unknown to the people of Mivara, or even Gafroza. Despite having a postal address within the town of industry, once their documentation was collected, they had not been heard or seen by any within Lerona Mere. Perhaps they had simply decided to seclude themselves until their research had proven and usable results? This was certainly the hope.
Time would tell what this mystery arcanist would bring to The Concord. An anxiety that would dwell in the minds of some and the fists of others. The kind would simply assume that a task to become intently focused on makes a person hard to find. The unkind would spit and call them a foreign spy. Neither could be known to be the truth, until such a time as the truth becomes known.
All that could be truly considered a fact, was that the golems of Lerona Mere had finally stopped their march.
Game Information
None.
A Twinkle In The Soul
To live beneath the rule of an invading oppressor is to, supposedly, live a life of hardship and fear. For the people of Nazafeza, this sound begins to ring less and less true as time beneath Aprivanoan rule extends.
At first, cruelty was commonplace. Rarely physical, though in the early days beatings were expected against the more brave Nazafezan souls. No, instead the cruelty surfaced in more subtle ways. Harsh taxes, significantly reduced freedom, garish propaganda and a general air of superiority that served to do nothing but drive home the idea that this was an enemy who now ruled the streets.
It was easy to hate The Principality when the worst of its ilk were the ones keeping a boot to your throat. It was easy to loathe the scum that threatened your wellbeing each day, when you knew that they were low-lives even in the eyes of their own gilded masters. The Warjackal's lackeys would prove the best to keep Nazafeza in line in the beginning, but the whole city (Aprivanoan and Andashi both) would breath a sigh of relief when they were called away to war, replaced by reinforcements under the direct control of Majiid's kin.
It was clear that The Concord would struggle to take back The Salt Road quickly, but still the people of Nazafeza would not lose hope. They knew they were not forgotten, this had been proven once already. And so these reinforcements, logistical officers, builders, guards and more, were regarded with the same open yet passive hostility that Nazafezan's had grown all too good at showing.
Yet, this hostility would fall on nothing but smiles, open palms and good will. Under Carine Del’Majiid and her officers, the beatings would stop and the harshest of taxes would be significantly reduced. Aid would be provided to struggling families, though it was often accepted warily or outright refused. Some lucky few were even given leave to travel outside the town, not even given a guard to watch them. They were told in plain terms, these few given the chance, that if they did not return there would be no consequence.
They were told that Majiid wished to settle Nazafeza, and turn it into a place worthy of his empire. He would not wish to rule over a people that hated him, and so it was his intent to show them that he cared, in his own way, for the people he invaded. Rumours even tell that a direct missive from Majiid himself was passed along, requested to be delivered to The Civil Service Post, its recipient unknown.
The people of Nazafeza were, as best could be described, untrusting. Who could blame them? They were given the stick and now they could see a carrot dangled effortlessly. It was hard to believe that the stick was not hiding close behind it, just out of sight. Still, Carine would ensure Majid's promises were kept and well explained, and even made promises of her own. “Just wait.” She would say. “A blessing will arrive soon.”
And she would not lie. As the Season came to a close, all within The Salt Road could feel a change in the air. A warmth, a glitter, an indescribable sensation that something was forming. It was only when the first of the golden warriors appeared, as if from nowhere, that it became clear. These warriors, all shining gold and featureless, harsh to look at but instilling a calmness by their very presence, would march from the salt-sprayed beaches towards The Salt Road itself. There, gathering in the thousands, a fortress of gold would shimmer into existence.
The blessing of Panoply protects Nazafeza, and its people feel this in their hearts and minds. And they know, deep in their core, that it was not The Concord that protects them so.
Game Information
A Fools Gold Fortress appears in The Salt Road in defence of Aprivanoan held territory. Cast by the Priests of The Principality, the power of Panoply descends once more at the hands of The Concord's enemies. This Ceremony comes with it the power to change hearts and minds, and it remains to be seen how this will affect the people of Nazafeza moving forward.
Investments located within The Salt Road are still considered lost. Military and Naval Investments still cannot take the Redeploy or Find New Anchorage actions. These Investments can be replaced as per the usual rules for purchasing a new Investment, but such a decision should be made with the understanding of what it is that is being left behind.
Additionally, there will be a letter from Majiid himself sent to an unknown person or chamber for this coming Summit. Its contents will likely create opportunities or decisions to be made.
Sleepkeepers of the Riverstones
| Harken child, and tighten your rope,
Keep close to the line, and hold fast to hope. The scrub hills will whisper, and shadows will call, But stray not alone, or you surely may fall.
Chased a red bird through brambles and reeds. "Just a blink!" thought the child, “I’ll see and return,” But the sun dips quick, and the foothills burn.
Past the cairn that marks where the valley ends. Then down through the shale, the soil gave way And Jeyem fell where the quiet things stay.
Where stone-folk crept, not walked nor crawled. Broad-backed and bent, with fingers like clefts, They whispered in tones like echoing steps. |
One touched his cheek with hands of slate,
Another brought water, warm and late. A third one sang in a voice of dust, Of the living and dead, of kindness and trust.
“We dwell in folds where the mountains embrace. We do not harm, nor bind, nor keep But watch the stones, and guard their sleep.”
And danced ‘round a flame that gave off no soot. But when the dawn came amber and wide, Jeyem wept soft and asked leave outside.
Lifted him up through a crack in the rise. “Back to your line,” they hummed with stone glee, “But carry our song, and remember what be.”
Stay near to your people, be quiet but bold. If the path grows crooked, or wander you must Know there are watchers below in the dust. |
Every realm has stories and tales that speak of creatures not fully human but not fully monstrous. For some those creatures are moral lessons given form, human traits accentuated to tell some guiding truth or warn against some failing. For others these creatures are very real and disturbingly close to reality, calling to mind the Slangs of Lerona Mere or the Trollkinning Folk of the Cildfrau mountains.
It is not so often that one of these creatures steps from myth and song into reality.
Taliskins are a Nomad myth particularly common among those clans that wander the southern areas of Mitricasa Rise and the Priado Expanse. Those people crossed freely back and forth between Calandri and Mukarrem wandering into the windswept lowlands of Alakai and the scrubby forests of the Serpents Heart.
They told stories of hunched, heavyset, asymmetric creatures of the stone, earth, and dust. They often entered tales as strange saviours, mysterious merchants, or as omens of coming change in the ways of things. Among the pantheon of nomad myth-creatures they were both parts common in some stories and missing in others.
So out of favour were these stories that the nomadic clan wandering the southern reaches of the Mitricasa Rise didn’t know what they were staring at when they encountered the pair of creatures. If you believe the reports from the Hulali Clan members who shared their tale back at the Al’Mai camp a month later, they came across a pair of creatures they thought were great apes that supposedly live in the Adanji jungles far to the north. They were large, but not much larger than a man, with hefty shoulders, one massive arm and one gnarled and held against the body. They bristled with patches of spines out of their dusty skin. The pair of things were sorting through a pile of river gravel distributed by a small stream running through the hills.
When the wanderers came upon them the two groups had a strange standoff in confusion before one of the Taliskin approach hesitantly and (supposedly) said:
“Yemshi fi huna, ya pielcanta, lakin hadhi alhijar lana. Wa la yumkin anta yakhuth ayy wadha.”
It was not until the clan returned to others that an elderly Wreathkeeper identified the words as Old Andashi, that language of the old empire. While it is likely the some specifics were lost in the creatures odd form and time, it roughly translated as:
“You may walk here, Songskin, but these stones are ours and you may not have any.”
Which is precisely what occurred. The Hulali left the beasts to their cataloguing of a pile of indistinguishable riverstones and went on their way.
The story has since travelled far and wide through Mukarrem and The Tribelands. For some it is a flight of fancy, something enjoyable to break up the drudgery of another season of war. For others it is curiosity, wondrous is the Mortal Sphere in providing us constant whimsy. But for others this is more. Now that the Taliskin have stepped into reality from myth, what do they want? Where do they live? How do they live?
Who do they serve?
And what do they want with river rocks?
Game Information
In a piece of unexpected confusion, a group of nomads in Mukarrem have encountered a creature from myth; a pair of intelligent ‘Taliskins’ (said: Tally-skins). The encounter was a fleeting moment on the far southern reaches of The Mitricasa Rise where it meets the Serpents Heart.
The tale presented here is about as much as is publicly known. Andashi nomad characters (particularly from Mukarrem) are invited to invent little stories, songs, and poems about Taliskins using the information and generalities presented here. With rumours of the creatures becoming prominent again, these pieces of spoken art are once again in vogue.
Particularly superstitious Andashi Nomads may see the appearance of the Taliskins as a sign of change in the world and act accordingly. If your nomad is cynical, this season may be a time to prepare and forestall against disaster. If they are more optimistic, it heralds a great windfall or opportunity for your people. Be on the lookout for signs of such change.
The realities and meanings of this encounter are unclear. Vamshi Al’Hulali has written to the Senator of Mukarrem with a fuller retelling of the events and there may be opportunities relating to it.