GM Kate's Ruins of Azlant (closed) (Inactive)

Game Master Kate Baker

1. The banks of the Andossan River, Almas, Andoran

Word spreads quickly about the new home among the ruins of Azlant. Grippli of every hue and shade gather, asking the messenger for details.

The vanara laces his retelling with the curses of an old sea dog. He speaks of the princely grippli and his menagerie of friends, fighting off hags and monsters from the deep. Befriending strix and nagas and wyrwood too. He describes an island full of old ruins and new possibilities.

Not everyone leaves the little community of refugees. But enough. "Imagine! A home, at last!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

2. Talmandor's Bountry

"I'd like a stretch of land along the river north of here. You know the massive rubber tree there? It'd be a perfect home for my people. For Jalaijatali too." Joli looks to Ramona and Cedar for assent.

"Of course, others are welcome to visit and even stay." He puts a spindly arm around Purpose's hard shoulder, hugging him gently.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

3. Talasantri

The many-hued grippli and his companions hover in the dark waters. "We come in peace to trade and offer friendship. You may have heard of us. We vanquished the aboleth, Onthooth. What other mutual enemies might we face together?"

The child is no older than five, perhaps six. He rides on his father's left shoulder. It's late afternoon, and they're leaving the town square after having traded the bounty of their potato crop.

Papa? What did the heroes do after bad Ontooth died?

The farmer walks on in silence for several moments, cradling his son's feet in his scarred right hand. He blinks in the sun even though he's wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat. Nice heroes bring all friends home. These heroes rowed friends over waves. They carried friends like stones through water, so they would not be lonely in the ground. Wave to Uncle Cedar like a nice little boy.

After they pass the tavern, he continues. Cedar is one hero. You know wise uncle too, with nice friends and dead family in the tall tree. The tree cries ghost tears, but they are happy tears. They walk in quiet for several minutes, approaching a cove on the village outskirts.

The locathah and his friend came home and killed the invisible worms so no more friends would run crying into jaws of death. Then they murdered all bad rass berries until there were none left alive. Sometimes, bad people try to sneak the evil berries here and then drop the seeds, but the locathah and Uncle Karl are very smart and always find the bad little seedlings. Uncle Karl was a hero too. Did you know he was little once, just like you?

The farmer sits down in the white sand. Beachgrass shivers as something huge burrows under the dune; an insectile head as big as a horse slowly rises. The boy hops off his father’s shoulder and tries to understand what’s so fascinating about the waves. Llyu-Llyu swam away a long time ago. You never met. She wanted to explore the blue and deep. I thought it is what I wanted too. But sometimes, heroes stay.

The farmer brings out a fresh bladder of kelp tea. Sitting on the dune, they watch the sun settle into the waves.

Purpose Creche escorts his friends and fellow townsfolk to the shore. He talks quietly with the Oathsworn as he does.
He stands in the surf, and his legs darken as they wick the water upwards."Go. Be safe. I will see you sometime."
He raises a delicate hand in farewell, then turns and walks towards the wyrwood settlement.

---

"I think I would like that. Living in a tree with friends and family." Purpose Creche puts a hand on Joli,s and pulls the grippli's arm tighter around his shoulder; it crinkles the embroidered fabric of the wyrwood's once-dark coat collar.
"I think." Newly engraved lines on his no-longer-quite-so-blank face shift just a little. "I'm looking forward to it."

---

Purpose Creche isn't a frequent sight in Talmandor's Bounty; certainly not as frequent as at the rubber tree. But neither is he infrequent.
Sometimes he invites Toby, jokingly, to take his shepherd's crook as he ushers his flock into the settlement's paddock for shearing.
Sometimes he dives enthusiastically into the waves and swims off towards the kelp farm.
Sometimes he chuckles and puts a hand to nonexistent lips, promising a child that if they don't tell the farmer about the hidden raspberry, then he'll bring them a handful when next he's in town.
Sometimes he stands at the edge of the firelight, clapping politely after each performance, especially the poetry.
Sometimes he's silhouetted atop the chimney house, where he sits cross-legged and plays his spiral flute for the setting sun.

Sometimes he turns towards the sound of the little bell on the door. "I'll take this one," he might say to Cedar behind the bar. The marks on his face might glitter in the low but inviting light, and he might curl carved fingers around a tankard or two. And he might usher in a few guests, freshly arrived from places beyond his shores.

"Welcome, welcome! Please, have a seat. I'm happy to fill these for you, or maybe you'd like some stew? Kelp salad?" He might laugh, tilting his head back against the collar of his brightly decorated coat. "I promise it's better than it sounds! But yes, welcome - we're glad you're here!"

The fires banked and the tools returned to their pegs, Toby pulls closed the large rolling door to the smithy and steps out into the dusk of Talmandor's Bounty. His expression is one of a serious craftsman satisfied with a job well done, and it lasts for a whole ten seconds before be breaks into a grin and runs, tail wagging, for the shore. Sprinting the length of the wooden dock he dives headfirst into the water, the sound of the splash breaking the calm of the peaceful shore. He pulls himself up onto the end of the dock and dangles his feet in the water, listening to the gentle wash of surf against the shore as the sun slowly slips below the horizon. Toby rises and smiles as the vibrant colors of sunset fade into the deeper tones of night, and he strolls, whistling, back toward town. The quiet gloom of evening is interrupted once more by warm light and the sounds of friendly greetings as a tavern door opens, before the peace of a seaside evening once agains wraps itself around the shore.