The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

"Do you think we had not thought of this?" Imix demands, then quietens. "I am unfair. You do not realise the depth of our predicament."
He ticks off points on his fingers. "There will be no relief force, ever. Cornucopia decreed it."
"The Frozen we face are not some raiding group - our information is that their whole nation has mobilised. Their numbers are essentially infinite."
"These surprises they sprung on us will be used on other cities. On Cornucopia. That information could turn the war - and they know this. They have hunted down whole populations to maintain control of less information. Therefore they will not simply decide we are too hard a nut to crack - they cannot stop until all of us are dead."
"The First Flame - which is what we fight - is a Godlike entity. All the things we have faced are simply servants of it. History - the secret history I decrypted from the bowels of the Suriname secret library - is littered with outbreaks. There are no accounts of a victory. It is a disease. One runs from it until it burns itself out, or one dies."
"As they travel they poison the water, the land. Food will run out, and crops will fail."
He turns to his other hand
"We have prophecy to tell us no messenger will survive their cordon. The closest thing to hope we have is..." Imix looks strangely at Naira as he trails off "You arrived at the gates, Engineer. What trade would you have us make?"

This is not a game young one Oios bristles And they have not 'played' better than just 'us' Sorceress. They have 'played' better than the entire Valley. They have been laying the groundwork for this assault for years. Oios points at the Sorceress You are an engineer, you and yours are charged with maintaining the waterways that nourish the valley and yet did you know that the waters in the North had been failing for years? Turning into sulfurous poison and driving out the Tooyah that subsisted on them? No. All the guardians and leaders of the valley. The Engineers, the Shadows, the Scouts, the Monks, the Soldiers, the King and his court, the nobles. All of us have been 'outplayed'. That Shadeholme yet stands, even after being corrupted from the inside, surrounded and cut off, and assaulted by not only overwhelming numbers but also dark magicks, weapons and armors finer than ours, and advanced alchemy, is a testament and a blessing.

Oios stops pointing It is almost certain that Cornucopia has fallen. The center has not held. As for scouting. Drazan, Isitel, and I did scout. We found layers and layers of patrols, looting parties organized and executed with such precision and planning that it would put even your theoretical 'war-gaming' to shame. What more are you trying to find out? I would take your idea and use it not for scouting but as a distraction. Make them think we are trying to fight our way out one way while we carry out an evacuation by another.

Oios sighs after a pause They have already won the war Young Naira. What we are attempting to do now is survive.

Assuming we decide on the how and the details therein, where would Shadeholme go that would have any hope of supporting those that remain today? Your people are resourceful yes, but survival out of your natural element is just as hard as the idea of overcoming the First Flame, an enemy so enabled they have joined all of the mountain tribes into one entity; an impossible task that is still hard to come to terms with.

No one can argue, the First Flame appear to have already won. Without knowing more about their goals it is only a matter of perfecting their victory from here. What Oios says is also true, they are extremely well organized which made getting only a couple of people through their patrols difficult.

Escape is the only option Shadeholme has if it wants to survive. Traitors and corrupted agents have already infested the populace, and no one has the time to root out them all. Getting all of Shadeholme out requires information which means more scouts than are present here. Also, Shadeholme needs more than one choice for eacape. Multiple groups must take multiple paths out. Execution and timing. Critical.

Naira remains silent, though her pride is as visibly injured as her body. Shrinking to her seat, she etches small details into her map, distracting herself as the others speak. "Fleeing is our only option, I agree, but it must be well informed, and well thought. We haven't much time, but that isn't reason alone to act recklessly. Using my fog, either as a diversion or to cloak our escape, is but a piece to a solid plan."

"I can create a fog so thick the enemy may not see in nor out, so wide it covers every remaining citizen of Shadeholme." Naira rolls up her map, placing it within a sealed leather tube.

The undine rises, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Do with that what you will. My talents are better suited elsewhere, but should you need them, you'll find me once more by the black-waters."

Bowing, the engineer leaves the meeting.

Yes a fog would be of great help. Drazan agrees as Naira leaves. He pauses long enough for her to be entirely removed before continuing. Though placing the lives of every person in Shadeholme on this one idea would be naive and risky given everything you all know. Let alone if she is entirely trustworthy at the time you take action.

First, all this discussion is for nothing without answering the question: Can you all agree where you'll flee to? If you can not find an answer to that question, you must prepare everyone for the worst.

Istiel answers the Suriname's questions with signature brevity. "You are here because we need you. We flee as soon as able. Oios is in charge." She made it seem simple and straightforward, though she knew very well it was not.

She listens to the continual back and forth with unchanging expression, propped up against the wall, until Naira makes to leave. Her arms swing down and she moves forward to follow the engineer out. "Do not go there alone. I will accompany you."

The monk leaves, partly because she was tired of the discussion, partly because there is question if the grove was entirely safe.

"If we flee by land, we need to quickly reach shelter. Remember our first encounter with these barbarians was when they were hunting down refugees. Te-Moak makes sense."
"Given the forces we are up against, I believe true safety would be to go down-land, away from the empire and out to the great lake that lies at the edge of the world."

Texikuk raises an eyebrow. "How do you know it would be safe? Have any of us been down-land? How many of our people have? A handful at most? I doubt anyone in Shadeholme has."

Sighing, the Excise-head wraps her arms around herself. "Cold in here. I'm tired of being wet. Anyways. My survey was interrupted today. I'll not be done until tomorrow at the earliest."

The Lady Bellet steeples her fingers, looking around the remaining people in the meeting room. "There's another problem. Our Garrison-Captain is dead. Someone should lead the soldiers."

============
In Transit
============

Naira wanted to remain silent, to remain cool in front of the monk. She wanted to hold her head high, and act as though her pride was not tarnished. Several minutes of walking in silence, however, forced her to say something. "Gods, are they always like that?" she asked, "do they think their thoughts mean more because they sit in high halls? "

The Undine shakes her head, trying to cast off her anger. "The Suriname says he cannot lead, though surely acts differently. The Shadow is our best option for a leader save the Suriname, though makes himself a puppet. And the last one, Drazan, I have little to say as he seldom speaks." The intense motions accompanying her speech further rip her clothing, inviting an audible sigh from the engineer.

"Ist," she abbreviates, "over here so I may mend your outfit." Bringing her gloved hands to her own tattered clothes, the cloth stitches itself together, becoming whole once more. Naira held out her hands, inviting the the monk. "No honor in appearing as you do, hurry before my magic fades."

Using 1 spell point, down 5 to 4.

============
The Grove
============

Naira drops her bag onto the mud, and through her concentration, halts the rain in the tainted grove. She removes several flasks of oil, a rod unworked metal, and a net from the twine belt hanging on her hips. She pours the oils into a bottle, and tosses the three empty flasks to Istiel.

"We'll need samples, first and foremost. Water in the pond, its stream, and in regions with less contaminates. We'll need samples of the earth, better if they have small pieces of the life that was once here." Naira drew a piece of paper for the solids, though before continuing her orders looks at Istiel. "Umm, if your mask hinders you, ah, should I turn away? Engineers live rather sheltered lives, excuse me."

=================
Gozran 22
=================

The morning finds the rain not abating, but still, even before dawn breaks the sounds of construction filter through the rainy air. The palisade frame is completely up, and under Texikuk's guidance, laborers bring wood from the warehouses to the north and chop them down on site, before the engineers take over the process of getting palisade walls constructed. Beyond, the soldiers stand, looking out into the rain, which obscures all sight and sound.

Eventually, about noon, Texikuk feels comfortable that there's a good system in place, and heads to the warehouses to finish her survey. Later that night, the Excise-Head spreads a large ledger out in the High Hall's meeting room. Taking a ladle of mate from the fireside pot by the table, Tex fills a copper cup and sets it on the table, before rubbing her eyes wearily.

"That's it. Every log, bolt of silk, weapon, wooden peg, sheet of copper, and all the rest, owned by the people of Shadeholme, accounted for." Taking the cup, Tex holds it in both of her hands, smiling as she breathes in its smell. "Tomorrow, I'll start an accounting of the food."

=================
Gozran 22, The Grove
=================

Naira's preliminary studies reveal little. The water is certainly corrupted, devoid of the nutrients that allow for life. Even simple creatures like bugs avoid the pond and its emerging creek, and those that find the waters float dead atop their swirling surfaces.

============
In Transit
============

The walk was as silent as Naira wanted to make it- Istiel was not offering any words, and in fact she was actually glad to have a moment to her thoughts.

There is so much to consider. The corruption. Our situation. My visions. The river of time I keep seeing. Is it Domhnall showing me was he saw? He gave me his blessing, but is this definitive proof of his ascension? Perhaps I should tell Telowo of these visions. If Dohmnall's focus is on us, we should enact worship to-

Istiel is jarred out of her thoughts as Naira begins complaining. She is briefly reminded of Suuha, and wonders where he has vanished to.

The monk lets Naira talk uninterrupted, not because she's intent on hearing what the engineer has to say, but rather she's hoping the woman will start talking in circles and be easily tuned out.

The opportunity for such luxury is not presented, however, and the monk responds in her usual monotone. "The fate of hundreds of souls rest on their decisions. Forgive their complexities. Those better suited to these burdens are dead." A moment of silence, only punctuated by the splash of their boots in the mud, is meant to drive the final point home. "We are at war. Use strong words and stronger actions if you wish to lead with them."

She stops when Naira does, watching intently as the engineer's silks magically recombine. "Istiel" The correction is swift, but carries no malice. Even with her face a literal mask, she was clearly indicating she was not on such personal terms with the engineer. In fact, Naira would note she has met no one the warrior seems to be on personal terms with so far.

Regardless, the offer to mend her robes is taken without hesitation, and she holds her amputated sleeve in place for the ritual. Lifting her arms high and low and searching for spots that were missed, she seems satisfied. "Thank you. It is against our ways to have non-functional skin exposed."

Now properly clothed once more, a certain anxiety has been lifted from deep within her gut. Yet one other matter bothered her. The monk points at the claw marks cutting along the red portion of her two-tone mask, lacquer peeled back to expose lightly colored red oak grains. "Please fix this as well."

============
The Grove
============

Istiel's attention is one again on the altar as they enter the grove. It haunts her, bringing up fresh, painful memories of the exploding fetish.

She catches the flasks as they are tossed, looking at Naira curiously when she questions her mask. "Has your face ever hindered you? My mask is the same."

The monk immediately goes about collecting samples, filling vials while simultaneously keeping an eye out for danger. "What of the altar?" She asks, convinced it is some kind of hidden threat.

==============
Gozran 23
==============

You awake to the rain coming in great sheets, blowing nearly horizontally from the north across Eel Mound.

Still, the villagers work at the palisades, terrifying cracks of lightening descending from the heavens all around. By nightfall, the palisade wall is repaired, and as what feeble day's light is snuffed into darkness, your soldiers stand, drenched, and chilled, shaking as they stare into the night.

Even Telowo can be heard grumbling about the rain...

==========
In Transit
==========

Naira welcomes Istiel's silence with a smile. In the very least, she Undine could at pretend someone was listening to her vent. "Istiel, Istiel, it was a, um, slip" she lied. "And fixing it shouldn't be a problem with me, Istiel," Naira brags as she brings her hand to the mask. She touches it, using what remaining magic her gloves gave her to attempt to mend the damages.

If I can heal cosmetic damages, let it be fixed, otherwise, the damage stays eternally!

==========
The Grove
==========

"Not quite the same, but very well," she rolls her eyes.

The engineer dipped a piece of paper in the black water, letting it dry for a later experiment. She wiped various mud samples on another sheet, marking each sample with their distance from the grove she assumed was the source. She observed the dead bugs, though didn't collect them. Did this happen quickly?

Naira bags what she needed for her tests, taking back her flasks. She could examine it all after rest, perhaps someplace warm and quiet, removed from what was going on. "Tomorrow morning," the engineer says, looking at the willow tree and the alter laid nearby. "The enemy rests and heals. If we are to stand a chance, so should we."

================
Gozran 22, Naira
================

Shoulders slumped, you turn and leave, the darkness not giving up any secrets.

Back on Eel Mound, you stop at the Coywolf for a late supper of dried pheasant and lentils. The Tooyah man, Ogwe is his name, drops a bowl on the bar without comment and wipes his hands on his smock. The smell assaults your senses immediately; powerful spices, the northerners always cook in ways that is both pungent and pleasant. Realizing you're famished, you throw your pack next to the bowl on the bar, and lift a heaping spoonful of lentils to your mouth, and before you know it, the bowl is wiped clean.

Sighing, you reach for your satchel, checking once again to make sure everything is there. Unrolling the vellum scroll tube you tucked the paper into, the slip flutters to the bar, colored pitch black.

Magic! you think. There's magic in those waters!

A polite coughing to your left shakes you from your thoughts. Turning, the old woman, the hedge witch, stands eyeing the paper. Glancing back up to you, the woman mumbles. "Ai. Never seen paper like that before. Anyways, everyone's been triaged. I could start crafting some healing elixers on the morning, if the Shadow would like. Ask him for me, wouldya, dearie?"

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Gozran 23, Istiel
==============

Leaving Shadeholme in the early dawn, you crouch low and make your way down the ghats, shaking with adrenaline, but no one tries to stop you, no alarm is raised.

The bridge lies before you, blackened from the battle a few days before you, and then beyond that, the pavilion stretches out into the rain, grey and empty.

You turn before the bridge and head north along the waterline, cutting northeast where you can see the mast of the first keelboat through the driving rain as slink forward. Crouching as low as you can, you move into towards the boat, when two quick blasts sound out from the levee ahead of you.

Spotted!

You run along the waterline, making out the forms of men moving along the keelboat's deck. Javelins buzz through the air around you, one headed for your chest before you bat it away, and ducking around another keelboat, this one up on the ways on the levee shore, you take a quick accounting. The one you've hidden behind seems to be in the midst of repairs, but the rest of the keelboats sit moored in the canal; six keelboats in all, including the one currently on the ways. The canoes are harder to pick out in the rain. You count seven along the levee, perhaps more hidden by the larger keelboats.

Voices approach, many of them, at least eight. No time for thought, you dive into the canal and swim for the far side, and pulling yourself up the bank, run into the treeline. Voices follow you, first from the north and then the south, speaking in your native tongue.

Pulling your body under the space left by a fallen tree, you stay there for the day, occasionally a group of the enemy passing nearby, until eventually night falls. Hungry and wet, you make your way back towards Shadeholme, and slip through the guarded front gate.

==============
Gozran 23
==============

Istiel sprints into the protective envelopment of the treeline, eyes stinging with the pelting rain until the leaves above change the pelting wind into a dripping cascade.

Her breath heaves as she jumps over roots and logs, tearing across last year's fallen leaves before finding the flattened ground of an animal trail. She runs along the trail for what seemed several minutes, the shouts of her pursuers urging her on. It may seem she is simply running, but the monk knows these woods- ahead, a creek flows.

The warrior's pace slows as she arrives at the "creek", now closer to a canal. This child of Damballah has grown fat with his blessing and now forms an extensive watershed out of its previously modest basin. She carefully picks her way across the watershed to leave no trace, hopping from flat slate to flat slate, a final wild jump sending her across to the other side.

A group of minnows that took refuge from the storm in a small rocky basin scatter as she lands, some edging too close to the surging water and getting sucked in. Istiel pays no mind to their pitiful struggles, leaping again across rocks until she is clear of the rising water and back into the budding undergrowth of spring.

A mere thirty or so feet from the creek is a recently fallen tree, and no time is wasted sliding underneath its protective embrace. The rain was so pervasive the ground beneath her felt no dryer than the surrounding land, but she knew here she was safe.

She lies flat on her back, feet shoulder width apart, hands at her sides with palms turned up. The monk's body is still besides the heaving of her chest, which she slowly seeks to control with measured practice. Her heart, a beating drum seconds before, tapers with shallow nasal breaths; her body begins to feel the damp cold that was warmed and ignored by adrenaline and exertion, her mind focusing solely on these sensations of life.

Here, she meditates.

In a minute she has calmed her body to that of leisurely rest. Hazel eyes close, blocking out the sight of the relatively dry wood above her. Muscles relax, sinking into the earth, and pleasantness creeps into her limbs. This is rejected, cast out into nothingness. She separates herself from feelings of fear and anger. Of anxiety and desire. Grasping each one, and in turn, releasing it. Her breath, ever present, is her only concern. She feels only peace. That too is sloughed.

Deeper she goes. Physical sensations, the surrounding forest, and the ceaseless rain melt into her consciousness, are absorbed, and released. The monk slowly separates herself from flesh, consciousness spreading into the tree above her. The surrounding grass. Soon she fills the forest, Shadeholme, the Great Northern Lake, and beyond. Ever expanding, widening her consciousnesses until she feels so large that all, even she, is empty space.

Drifting, boundless, hours pass under the tree, Istiel lost in the emptiness of space and time. Thoughts are slow and ponderous in the empty space, bubbling up to keep her consciousness afloat. I exist in this emptiness. But I do not exist alone.Slowly, without provocation, her concentration shifts from breathing to simply being. The emptiness, and space itself, is discarded.

The monk drifts into a deeper meditation than she has ever achieved, and she would marvel at her focus if such emotions were available to her now. The infinity of her consciousness stretches out into all things were empty space resided, and Istiel becomes one with all things. She permeates everything, and everything permeates her.

------------------------

Shuffle

Istiel's eyes pop open, the sound interrupting her timeless meditations. She does not move, but listens.

Crunchcrunch

Slowly turning her head she spies a soggy and emaciated grey squirrel rummaging about on the darkening forest floor. I know you. Were we not the same moments ago? Shifting from her hiding place, she pulls herself out from under the log with a grunt.

The squirrel, now aware of her presence, does not appear to share the oneness she had hoped- it bolts across the forest floor with a terrible racket, climbs a nearby oak, and once safe begins to angrily scold her.

Stretching to her full height she marvels at the lack of stiffness in her limbs, the rejuvenated spirit flowing were cramps usually took root. With a deep breath she begins walking towards Shadeholme, reflecting on the experiences under the downed tree.

===============
Gozran 22
===============
Imix spends the day interfering with the construction. He surveys the materials available, looking for ropes, straps, leather, silk and especially ten large beams still undergoing seasoning, and reserved for the creation of new keelboats. He sketches, he pulls parts out and tests them against other parts, then puts them aside for some strange purpose.
He mutters a little as he works - mostly minor incantations, though he does also mutter a few normal phrases ”They must fear us”, ”The water is the weakness” and ”Earth smothers fire, rock crushes wood.”
At sunset he stands knotting leather straps to thick coiled boat-rope. When the sun has set entirely he walks to the gate and climbs atop the wall, dragging enough rope to suspend a boat - then throws all but one strand to the ground.
”Let me down” he commands, tying the last strand around his waist. He walks towards the river, dragging the ropes behind him like some sort of octopoid army.
Roughly he separates the ropes into two equal piles, each a knotted mass of ropes, leads and straps.
He kneels by the water, his form twisting as he calls upon his Suriname Heritage. Thick skin turns to scales. Hands splay into paddles, feet swell into their stylised claws, and a tail painfully forces its way from his back.
Suriname magic needs no words, but Imix calls out anyway.
”Damballah, Father of waters. Your waters are befouled. I call upon you.”
”Marinette, Goddess of retribution. Our enemies need death. I call upon you.”
”Mami Wati, Trickster Goddess. Lend your skill to me this night.”
Perhaps it is the day without magic. Perhaps that he is rested. Perhaps the preparation - or perhaps that now the gods smile upon him. Whatever it is, his magic works. A working like those of the Suriname of legend.
Ropes coil and writhe, spilling around the Suriname in undulating coils. Rubbing themselves against his rough skin.
”They must fear the waters.” he states ”Stay in the water, protected by Damballah. Lure them to you, make a little noise. When they come near the edge, then rush them, grab them, pull them down into the deep waters like Mama Wati. Hold them there, till they breathe no more. Take vengeance, like Marinette.”
The Suriname slips, soundlessly, into the river. Behind him the ropes also coil into the river, frothing forward through the engorged canal like water snakes.
Any hope of stealth is lost. The water froths, whipped into a frenzy by a hundred tendrils. Imix gives up all hope of stealth - instead he concentrates on speed. Suriname muscles propel him through the water faster than he can run. His unflagging endurance matched by the tireless nature of the animated creatures that flank him. His target is not so far. Around a bend he finds it. A shallower part of the stream, where water has worn down to rock. Dirt pushed away by currents not quite strong enough to budge the boulders in the belly of the river. Given time the water will win - Damballah is the greatest of the gods - but the old Earth is strong yet.
Here he takes a deep breath and swims down. Frozen will come to the surface, but he cannot let that stop him. Here he looks carefully at the rocks, Suriname vision revealing every crack despite that he is shadowed by water itself enshrouded by the dark of a cloud covered night. The patter of rain on the surface, the thrashing of his rope-creatures, block all other sound.
Imix hesitates. This, this has the potential to go badly. The Nargun are a force of the old times. A mistake could cause devastation on par with the Flame itself. One of the earliest Suriname's Purposes was sending one of the Old Ones back to sleep.
Carefully he crushes chalk on the cracks. Slowly features emerge. Here an eye. Here a mouth. Finally he places a joint from the finger of an enemy on each monstrous nose. He lets force a trickle of power, all his concentration on controlling it. Almost he feels it slip away, before structures built into his shield before he was born act as bulwarks.
Below him one of the closed chalk eyes open, and he flees to the surface.
”Upriver!” he calls to half his creatures, then continues to flee back to the gate, the hunting call of the Nargun echoing inhumanly as the first of them struggle from the water.

===============
Gozran 21, Imix, Drazan and Oios, meeting
===============

Hamfatten's face reddens as Imix describes the man's - truthfully - unpopularity. Slamming his hand on the table, the Magistrate looks around the table. "I'll do it. We need discipline in these times, and I can provide it."

===============
Gozran 21, Imix, Triage
===============

Helgya nods. "I'll let the girl know, dearie, but I believe she's taken to our work here. Anything else, then?"

==============
Drazan, Gozran 22 and 23
==============

Drazan, unlike Istiel, foregoes the stealthy approach, relying on speed and power. Tearing through the woods, the Man From Fire Peaks takes a coywolf-and-squirrel approach, moving through the trees and outrunning the raised alarms, killing the loan sentry when he can. It is easy enough, in the rain, to dodge into and out of the camp - or rather camps - groups of scores of Mountain Men, separated by tribe, clustered closely together with the forest. Returning to Shadeholme shortly before lunch to train, Drazan estimates scouts 4 camps of roughly 200 men, though he knows there are more out there.

On the second day, Drazan sets out much as before, though he finds the scouting harder. Lone sentries aren't to be found, and small groups of ten or so soldiers patrol the forest. Avoiding confrontation, the Man From Fire Peaks moves swiftly through the forest, cutting to the north, where he comes across the largest of the camps, many hundreds of Frozen at work in the rain, sawing down trees. Bodies lie stacked to the north, a hundred or so more, both Frozen and villager. A large and twisted rupture in the forest runs right through the middle of the camp - Naira's vortex, no doubt - the felled trees and broken bodies have been left where they lay, the superstitious Mountain Folk unwilling to touch such a powerful symbol of misfortune.

Withdrawing back into the forest, Drazan makes his way for the mound, noon coming soon. He's got training to do after all...

===============
Gozran 21, Imix, Drazan and Oios, meeting
===============
"Very well. I have no objection."
Imix leaves a pause for further discussion then moves on.
"It seems the consensus is Te-Moak. This needs to be kept entirely between us. For now refer to it as 'destination'." The Suriname looks around at the others "What routes are there to Te-Moak. We can assume roads may have guards, and I imagine waterways will certainly have some. How long by road, how long by boat, how long if we travel directly through the wilderness and carve our own path?"

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Gozran 21, Imix, Drazan, and Oios, meeting
=============

Texikuk leans back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, as looking at a large map. "The quickest route is by road - two and half days in normal times, though if everyone is weighed down with supplies, a bit longer, three or four days, perhaps?"

"Overland, who knows? Traveling through the woods would be tough and slow going, but once we're through them we go into the farm belt. Still slower than a road."

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Gozran 23, Imix
=============

Pulling aside box, barrel, and basket, the day grows increasingly long, as you move from isle to isle, stacking looked-through containers one atop the other. Your stomach growling, the light failing Ayida-Wedu drops below the tall warehouse windowline, the building becomes shrouded in gloom. You're about to break for dinner, when you spy one last box atop the shelves you've been looking through; a slender reed-woven chest, tied shut with a silken bow. It practically screams to you, in the stillness of the storage building.

Unlooping the bow, and flipping the lid up, a warm yellow glow lights upon your face, a lovely reflection. Perfect, you think, slamming the lid shut.

------------

The carnage is quick and merciless. Bodies pulled into the river around you, wrapped in ropes, thrashing in panic while you crush your chalk. You can hear the screams, filtering muffled, down into the water. And then the Nargun wake, and the screams grow louder...

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Gozran 23, Oios
=============

The morning sees a visit to Misery Alley, the inhabitants there sodden and increasingly sickly, their tarp coverings soaked, the rainstorm practically falling through the tentings, so saturated are they at this point.

Most everyone, save the extremely inebriated, infirm, or mentally gone seem to have vacated the alleyway completely.

Frowning, Telowo lifts an old wormfarmer to her feet and helps her hobble towards the Coywolf, which, upon opening the doors to the Triage, is where everyone seems to have gone.

The place is packed with villagers, barely any room for anyone to move about. But it is (mostly) dry, and warm(er), and the smells coming from the kitchen are divine.

Settling the wormfarmer into a recently vacated chair, Telowo clears his throat and addresses the crowd with an impromptu sermon. Impromptu though it may be, it is brilliant, perhaps the best oratory you've ever heard the man give. Starting with the theme of Misery, and Misery Alley as an obvious metaphor, Telowo works his way around to challenges, and tenacity, and eventually hope. The people of Misery Alley will stay at the High Hall, he decides, casting a quick glance your way. OK with you? The High Hall has been given over to enough death and grief. It is time for it to serve the living again.

Heartened, the villagers gather their things, and you and Telowo spend the day helping. A leader shouldn't ask of others what he's not willing to do himself, after all...

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Gozran 23, Naira
=============

Rest did Naira well. Without the intervention of magic, it would still be many days until her wounds would heal. Her mind, however, benefitted most from the rest. While the pitter patter of the gentle storm calmed the Undine, it seemed all others tired of it. Where she walked that day rain did not fall.

Naira brought her findings to the other engineers. "Magic corrupts our waters, perhaps brought by the grove's strange fetish, a curse, or ritual." She spent the day at the grove, obsessed now with understanding, if not undoing, what has been done. It was personal now.

At night, Naira spent hours examining the maps of the Valley, focusing her studies on the smaller streams and canals of the nearby area. The engineer tried to recall any accounts of flooding, wondering if the increased rainfall could provide alternate escape routes.

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Gozran 21, Imix, Drazan, and Oios, meeting
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The roads will be watched closely. Scouting the routes that avoid the roads will be simple enough for one or two brave people. Once we have the routes determined, we can choose how to best divide up the people for the journey.

===================
Gozran 23
===================

That night, as the few lights burning on Eel Mound are snuffed out and the bulk of the villagers slip into fitful sleep, you can hear, in the distance, the howling of wolves...

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Gozran 21, Imix, Drazan, and Oios, meeting
=============
"The sentries on the roads might be something we can overwhelm - if we catch them unaware and fast enough. At four days we would have to abandon nearly half our supplies - though with handcarts we could then take everything. If we loaded everyone with just enough food to make the trip we could do it in two days."

"The rivers are longer, but it would harder to catch us. We would need a lot of vessels. A full evacuation would need..." the Suriname pauses for a second "Perhaps a hundred and twenty canoes? Twelve keelboats? Though we would need perhaps half that if we abandoned all nonessential supplies? It is doubtful that our enemy will leave that many vessels behind."

"Overland does sound less risky - or at least avoids a definitive confrontation. If we took five days to make the trip, then we would still have to abandon perhaps half our supplies. It does maximise the likelihood of avoiding deaths." Imix nods to the group.
"I believe Drazan is right. Overland may be the best choice. I am unsure about scouting the route, however. Scouting beforehand would allow us to map a better route, and ensure that Te-Moak has not fallen. We could know what streams and gullies must be crossed, and have portable bridges built to ford them. Even a fast scout would take five days to get there and back, however. Six more likely. A small group. Stealthy. Fast. Well versed in survival. Such a group might make the investment of those six days worthwhile. If they scouted only to the farm-land, we could perhaps shrink that six days to two or three."
"The other option is roving scouts en route. This would increase the time to traverse the distance, and increase the risk of having to turn around... all while being pursued by the Frozen."

Imix stares silently at nothing for a moment, for all the world a scholar engrossed in an interesting mathematical problem, rather than a man contemplating imminent death.
"Were I in charge I would suggest the following:"
"Texikuk continues her inventory. We need to know what we have, supplies and food, to know what we need to bring and what can help. Once done she can organise to start packing under..." He waves airily "Some manufactured justification."
"We follow Naira's plan to strike confusion into the enemy - I have some ideas along that line. It will take me a day or two to execute them."
"We send some scouts to look at the immediate area, and determine if any boats are left. We can then rule out - or accept - the idea of going by river. It is important we give no warning of this to our enemy, or they will simply burn the boats. "
"Once the number of boats is determined, and we have some idea of how much we need to move, then a small group is sent to scout a route to Te-Moak. I would suggest Drazan and Istiel as the fastest, with an engineer - perhaps Naira - to determine what bridges are needed. Sans armour I can be quite quick, and so I would also go." he grins - a gesture with no humor "The group is small enough to move undetected, but should enemy scouts be encountered I am confident it could account well for itself."
"When the scouts return - or after five days - we reconvene to determine which route to take. This gives some days for the people to recover, and for wounds to be healed."
He coughs, and looks to Hamfatten "While the forces we have are enough to repel minor raids, another major offensive would likely end us. The Frozen would take great casualties from such an attack, though, so hopefully might decide to starve us out. I suspect we will simply have to take the risk while we ready ourselves."

Gozran 21 Meeting

I am fast enough as well if need be, but I am needed here. I trust in the scouting and the raiding to unveil what may be the best way to get to Te-Moak. The water sorceresses' power might make the river route safer. Damballah is the father of the waters after all and what we are struggling against is the First Flame... I suggest we meet again as the reports from the scouts come in to us. Is that acceptable?

He turns to another matter

As for leadership of the armed forces. OVerall direction will of course come from the leaders gathered here. It seems to me that the Lady Bennet's forces will continue to look for immediate guidance from the Lady and her Guard Captain. What remains are the Shadeholme forces and the new recruits we have conscripted. Before we decide who will lead those in our flight I will talk to Aktuk and Sarre, there is conflict between them that does NOT bode well for any action we take.

Gozran 23 Telowo

Oios nods at Telowo's suggestion We are all needed in these days. And all deserve succor and strength for the times ahead

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Gozran 24, Istiel
=================

You venture into the Low City, keeping to alleyways and empty streets, finding little but ribbons tied to doorways. It seems at first as if the Low City has been abandoned - by both invader and invaded - when you turn a corner and spy three large figures coming from a house.

Creeping closer, you find the creatures to be misshapen and brutish, with tumors covering their bodies, especially their heads, bulbous and assymetrical, with bulbous lips, from which falls constant drool. One mumbles in a thick, slurred voice words that you don't understand, before the other two emerge from the house, each carrying a coywolf carcass slung over their shoulders.

The last creature, its eyes milky with cataracts, snaps its head up, nostrils quivering, ears twitching, looks directly at you, hiding across the street behind a cart. Stooped under the weight of its overgrown arms and tumor-ridden back, the creature straightens for a second, and you realize it is taller than even Drazan, by a good two or three feet. One stubby finger lifts in your direction, and it snarls as it charges, a sound the offspring of bear and man might make, showing flat black teeth well suited for grinding bones to paste.

What follows is a dangerous game of chase, the dead coywolves dropped into the street forgotten as the creatures follow after you.

One of the creature is as fast as you, and no matter how hard you sprint, it follows, yelling to the others in its guttural language. Soon, Frozen have emerged from some of the houses as well, and within an hour, scores of people hunt you, the ogres used almost as tracking dogs, the fast one keeping up with your general position, and then the blinded one shuffling nearby until you're revealed, and off you run again. Eventually, once again you cross the river and duck back into the forest, before making your way to the hidden tunnel and back into the High Hall's basement.

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Gozran 24, Oios
==============

Sarre, perched atop the palisade wall with bow in hand, spits when you mention Aktuk. "Soft," is all she says, barely a murmur, and stares out into the rain.

You find Aktuk guarding Texikuk as the Exchise-Head goes through the third warehouse on her food survey. The guard-sergeant raises an eyebrow, as you ask about Sarre. "We had a disagreement is all."

==========
Gozran 23
==========

Looking at her sketches of the grove, of the cursed fetish, Naira buried her head in her hands. Before she slept, before she could bring herself to sleep, the Undine walked underneath the moonlit clouds, stewing on her thoughts.

She found the hedge witch from earlier, Helgya, the Engineer recalled. She was kind, but more importantly, had some knowledge over the arcane. Naira brought tea for the two of them, and laid down her drawings after some friendly conversation. "In your time, have you heard a tale of anything like this?

Will try to catch up to modern day by Monday! Time is starting to clear up a bit for me!

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Gozran 23, Naira
===============

Helgya flips through the drawings, a frown growing on her face as she does so.

"My mentor was a wonderful woman, long gone from this world. She'd traveled among the Frozen as a captive as a girl. Didn't talk much about it, for obvious reasons. But one day, when I was learning our trade, I was a young lass, see, really more a girl..."

"And then, in the secrecy of the night, they commit horrible acts in the presence of the idols. Inhumane, indecent acts. And their enemies suffer misfortune."

Helgya puts the drawing at the bottom of the stack of papers, below the rest of your sketches, safely away from her sight.

"So she said. How about some more tea, dearie."

===============
Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
===============

The two of you set out as Ayida-Wedu begins her daily rebirth, her light filtering just barely through the heavy rain. Emerging from the tunnel, you set off east thought the woods, and then cut north, flanking the canal for a while. After about less than an hour, you emerge from the rainstorm. It stops almost instantly; one second you are drenched, then in a few feet the storm has sputtered out and you're standing in sunshine, nearly a cloudless day above you, the morning still crisp but rapidly warming.

On, along the canal you go. No boats pass you, either way, and the Frozen for their part, seem unconcerned with the Cheya Canal, until you come upon a bridge. You count twenty-two Mountain Men, perhaps more in the gatehouse. Wending south, into the woods, you then cut east and back north, passing the road leading to the bridge, and then into the woods again cutting north, eventually swimming the canal. Wet once again, the midday sun dries your clothes, the birds sing, occasionally, a wolf howls in the distance.

You skirt the road towards Te-Moak. Not quite out of the woods, this is a lonely stretch of the kingdom, on a good day. This day, it is deserted. You walk an hour without passing anyone, then commotion ahead, around a bend in the road, obscured by the trees. Ducking into the woods, a warband of Frozen noisily pass you, singing, hardly at any state of alert. Were it another day, perhaps you'd kill them. Today, however, you have more pressing concerns.

You cross a path of obvious movement, from the west to the east; broken branches, footprints, and smashed grass. An hour's detour to the east brings you to the hamlet of Emmon's Way, an out of the way village at an unnamed creek's bend, most of its inhabitants involved in the logging trade.

Or they were. Now, there's no notice of them; in their place, Frozen, their banner - dung beetle with viscous a viscious maw - hanging from the town's High Hall. The Carapace, they call themselves, a tribe well-noted for its builders. It isn't just the warriors here, though they are present in great numbers. Women, even children, seem to have made the journey down from the Teeth of the World.

Back to the road, on you press, and then north into the woods. Perhaps as early as tomorrow, if things go as well as today, you'll reach the farmbelt, and the land is more open, the roads likely to be heavier traveled.

The night comes clear and cold, the stars twinkling through the tree canopy above you. In the distance, you hear the howling of a wolf, and then another, and another, a cacophony of calls, communications rebounding through the forest around you, closer and closer.

Then silence.

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Gozran 24, Imix
===============
Imix sleeps till noon. When he finally wakes he disdains food.
"Chukix!" he calls, and when the man arrives he finds the Suriname dressed in casual swimming attire, save for sword and shield. "I intend to scout the river. See what happened last night. Try to deduce what is happening with these boats."
Imix braces himself and changes. Limbs shrink, but fingers elongate. Mouth lengthens. Teeth grow. He concentrates a second time and magic washes over him as he calls upon Snake and Crocodile to help him.
Quickly he makes his way to the tunnel, and out, slipping through the forest to the river and sliding in with barely a ripple.
Safe under the water, breathing through the concealed snorkel built into his sacred helm, he slips down the river towards the boats.

Istiel sits on a bed of moss, surrounded by the darkness created from Ayida-Wendu's death. There was no fire- she was not afraid to kill some ambushing Frozen, but they were not meant to draw attention.

The air, previously holding forgotten warmth, begins to cool again, and the monk removes a deerskin hide blanket from her pack. Shaking it out, she wraps the hide around her robed body with the fur side inward.

The stars sparkle above her as she considered the day's events, falling into a shallow mediation. The Frozen infest our land. Fleas conquering a dog. Draining its blood to death.

Can we win? Cornucopia barely has an army. Perhaps this is the future. A land of barbarians. She thinks, cynically, the day's sights reducing what little optimism Istiel had to a thin gruel of realism spiced with despair.

Perhaps an idea strikes her, a meaty morsel of vengeance falling into the cold, emotional gruel I can find glory in terrorizing the Frozen until my second Journey. Kill them in the forest. Raid their villages. Hunt their hunters. Become a nightmare. A legend to make children behave.

Just as Fox Priest does? A second voice says in her mind- Dohnmall. The stern utterance causes the monk to cringe out of her meditative state.

The howls of the wolves start, interrupting the beginnings of a reflection on her Master's reasoning trickling into her brain. She listens as the howls triangulate around them, but feels no fear. Despite the encounter with Mother Hunger and the strange, changing times, Istiel is confident the laws of nature still hold. Wolves did not attack people without reason. They knew the two humans were here, and she did not care they knew.

As the howls die down she glances to Drazen. The Man from Fire Peaks was an excellent traveling companion in her opinion- the two barely spoke the entire day, exchanging words for important matters only. Between the two, their focus on the task at hand was straighter than an arrow. But, something had been bothering her since his heroism on the first day of the attack, and now was good a time as any. Besides, returning to the existential question poised by the voice of her Master was not a pleasant thought.

"Drazen." Her words, a soft whisper that carried in the still, cold night as a leaf drifts endlessly down a river, were accompanied by small puffs of mist. "Why do you fight for the Three People?"

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Gozran 23, Naira
===============

Naira smiles blankly at the witch's words. Her mind mind races with thought as she orders her words slowly, deliberately choosing each one after the other. "What a tale. Pray it be just that." It couldn't be chance. "Important to their enemies," Important to Shadeholme... Was it the Silk worms? Thom? The Water? The city itself?

Naira pours the tea.

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Gozran 24, Naira
===============

Naira breathes in, her toes curling into the brown-black mud at the grove. Her fingers flex, leather tight around her hands. Misfortune, she remembers Helgya saying. The Undine, however, did not believe in such things. Fortune, Luck, or the lack thereof, were explainable matters.

It wasn't "misfortune" the Frozen brought, but a plague, and sickness to what Shadeholme held close. The silk-moths had turned against them. The waters have blackened, poisoned by dark magicks. Even their own people have been replaced by sinister bearers of their skin.

The Frozen were not the only ones that could destroy. There was no rain in the grove as Naira inspected and demolished what wasn't magical in the grove. Her gloved fingers brought destruction to whatever they could, whatever the frozen had brought to this once-pure place. What wasn't destroyed still had magic within it, still cursed this place - All else faded to dust, broken apart by the powers bestowed by her gloves.

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
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As the sun retreated to the darkness, the night sky gave way to the countless shining stars, and the wolves began to call, nothing so normal and calm ever seemed so tense as it did then. Drazan was switched on, and it was obvious to anyone that had seen his normal calm that he demonstrated when in larger groups.

His eyes were wide and suspicious, every false thing flickering just outside of view gained Drazan's attention, his muscles bulged from constant tension, and sweat glistened in the light.

Then his name rung out from behind the monk Istiel's mask followed by a question. Istiel, her name earned and commanded respect, but Drazan believed deep down that if Three People ever decided that he could no longer exhist, she would be one of them to accept the task of killing him without even blinking behind that mask. Few others would stand a chance.

It was a short moment before Drazan could let go of the tense moment and gather his intelligent thoughts to the forefront instead of the baser instincts. Similar to what others risk their lives for. What do you and others find to be good reason to risk your lives?

Drazan chuffed at his response, amused that had been his immediate reply. It is very like your people to return a question in an attempt to stall their answer. The fighting pits had no such tactic, and life is brutal and unpredictable. Every attempt to reign it in is inevitably bucked and trampled by change. By conflict. By war. And life goes on. A happy peaceful life is always desirable, but conflict is a man's normal state of being. Though ask again tomorrow and the answer may have changed. Rarely has the same reason survived from one day to the next, especially with the company we keep as of late. Drazan snorted again in amusement and smiled at Istiel, though only for a moment before the mask persuaded him to stop.

Kneeling down Drazan meets Istial's mask again and asks, What of you? Your reasons must be many. You fight like no one seen before.

===========
Gozran 25th
===========

Istiel isn't surprised by Drazen's first answer, expecting evasiveness or perhaps a complete unwillingness to respond. She is ready to drop the matter and give a stock answer to his counter question, but he instead continues.

Patiently the monk listens, the deerskin blanket finally achieving some measure of warming on her body. The fighting pits. His strength makes sense. If he were even a pinch weaker he would be dead.

As Drazen smiles and turns to Istiel, he can see nothing indicating she is returning the gesture. Anyone else would see nothing but black in the three holes of her mask, but his vision can make out the faint light of the stars reflecting off the moisture of her relaxed eyes as she looks directly at him.

"Yes." She mutters, a puff of mist from her mask's mouth hole lingering momentarily as she gathers her thoughts, only to be blown away as she continues. "I fight for many reasons. I am sworn to protect the Three People. I upload the laws of Takayah society. I fight for order. For glory. For my chance at godhood."

A brief hesitation, the silence settling in around them. Drazen hears Istiel's mouth open and close twice before she speaks again. "My Master told me a story once. A young Mountain Tribe girl escaped a rival raid that destroyed her village. She was later found scavenging in the forest by a monk. He offered food and comfort from the approaching winter. They traveled together to Cornucopia. The girl saw wonderous things. A surplus of food. Massive public works. Commerce. Happy people. Cooperation. Peace. She saw things worth fighting to protect. This was not her home. It was better. She loved it. So the girl joined the Monastery at Cornucopia to protect this land."

In the silence of the night, Istiel can be heard licking her lips, then swallowing. "She died during her first Journey." The monk states simply, before realizing Drazen would not be aware of their customs.

"All do. The Journey only brings death. First a death of the Old Spirit to leave a Vessel for a New Spirit to occupy. The Vessels that survive become a new person. With a new name. A new face." She touches her mask briefly.

"The second Journey the Vessel dies to release the New Spirit so it may attempt ascension based on how well they lived in accordance to their personal Tennant. Sometimes both Vessel and Spirit die. Some make it to godhood. Many do not." She finishes explaining, for Drazen's benefit.

"I suppose..." She continues the earlier thought, no longer looking at The Man From Fire Peaks, but instead at the dark void of the forest. "I fight for people like that girl."

====================
Gozran 24, Imix
====================

The canal is clear. You find, occasionally, a body here or there; a villager, now a few days gone, or more recently, a raider, their bodies bruised, evidence of strangulation and drowning both present.

Near the boats, you find a cluster of bodies, ten in all, all killed by your ropes. Whether they were sailors or guards, one can't say, but levee is now clear of enemies; the Frozen have not bothered - or perhaps refused - to be here.

You find, other than the one keelboat that was undergoing repairs, and the five ones in good repair, another two further down the levee. Additionally, scattered between the boats and further up the levee, a total of twelve canoes sit, unmanned in the rain.

====================
Gozran 24, Naira
====================

Another morning full of reflection, and your suspicions are confirmed. Magic is at work here, transformative and necromantic magic. Additionally, you realize the water is and is not of this world; or at least it is not like any water you've seen. It is more viscous, like water blended with tree sap, in perhaps a 60-40 ratio. The water is also salty, of course, and you know, more than most, about the qualities of the Valley's rivers and streams. In addition to being fresh, all water is necessary for life; indeed it carries life within it, small creatures here and there. Those creatures are gone, but you've already suspected as much, but gone also, are things that nourish such creatures; if water is made up of parts not only water but also air and nutrients, this water is made up of water, and... rot?

The fetish altar seems, in your estimation, designed to pull some of this rot into the grotto.

At Thom's house, before you destroy everything in the clearing, an inspection turns up a curious thing in Thom's fire pit. Therein lie the broken bits of an eggshell. A quick calculation leads you to believe that the eggshell would be perhaps the size of a large man's clenched fist. It is midnight black and covered with etchings, as if rivened with acid. Most curiously, perhaps, is that the eggshell is not organic; it is, in fact, ceramic in constitution, and heavy, for its makeup.

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
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Are there any Cornucopias like the one that girl died for left? Even if the city walls and structures survived or even if the First Flame never even made it that far, the city of that day has passed. Cooperation, peace, happiness, and bounty are all things that seem impossible to realize now.

Drazan stands up from his kneeling and looks around the camp into the same darkness Istiel's mask gazes into. Will you be able to brave the night's chill without fire?

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
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Istiel considers Drazen's words carefully, knowing what he says be true. Their visit to the city and its slums showed as much. However, she is unshaken. "I see a part of that girl in every in Shadeholmer. I will see they survive to continue our culture or die trying."

She pauses for a moment, before adding. "Do you not feel the same about protecting your adopted family?"

A bit of her Master's wisdom creeps in, regardless, at his mention of impossible things. "Time is ever-stretching. Impossibilities can become possibilities."

Physically, she is quite comfortable under her blanket. Spiritually, her heart is a roaring furnace. "The fire is inside me, Drazen. I fear no darkness. No cold."

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
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Lijart and Helaya have shown greater kindness where many could not and maybe should not. They deserve some measure of fortune, but their debt can never really be repaid. Perhaps in time, as you say, that impossibility will undo itself.

Drazan sighs and in a softer tone says Rigel's fate is still too soon, and there are shadows that doubt if this is all worth it. Drazan's head and gaze fall as he trails off at the end. His hand finds Rigel's dagger in his belt, his thumb brushing the hilt in sad memory.

Get some sleep. Drazan's voice falls back suddenly to its normal gruff aloofness You need not worry about first watch.

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
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Istiel nods, more of bowing her head in truth, a gesture that was never-the-less lost in the darkness. "Rigel did not receive the death she wanted or deserved. Yet we have no choice if it is worth it or not. We must move forward."

The monk closes her eyes, leaning back against a sodden elm. "Wake me when you tire." is the last she says before rapidly falling unconscious.

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
=================

Istiel closes her eyes, weary, and she can feel sleep tugging at wakeful life, dragging her down into a deep, deep, darkness. Somewhere, from up above, a well's mouth ripples, open to the sky. A voice floats downward from that well's mouth, rumbling. "Wake the one with the wood face. I have questions for you both."

Opening her eyes, she sees what Drazan has just witnessed; a large wolf, reddish of coat, with yellow eyes, sits about ten feet from you. Drool slips from her toothy maw, as the wolf yawns, and then continues to speak. "It is a sweet story, you both tell. But I'd like to discuss another. I've eaten my fair share of savages these last few days, babes-in-the-woods. And none of them know why the Nargun rise. Perhaps you can sate that hunger? That of the knowing? Why do the Nargun hunt the savages?"

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Gozran 25, Drazan and Istiel
=================

Istiel's eyes snap open, and her body tenses with surprise at the sight of the large wolf in front of them. Recognition stops her from getting up, but the monk does not relax.

"Mother Hunger." She mutters, staring at the talking wolf of weeks past, and remembering her and her pack eating the remains of the mercenaries killed by one of Fox Priest's contracts. "I am monk Istiel of Shadeholme."

"Suriname Imix woke the Nargun to hunt the savages. We use every means of fighting them and the First Flame at our disposal." She explains, carefully watching the pack mother.

"A question for a question. Have the savages told you why they invade us?"