Nat looks awkwardly at Oios, her mouth suddenly dry. Of all the questions he might come up with, this was the most disconcerting by far. But she tells the truth; always, whatever the cost.
"Ash- Ashkesh is false, but false even to himself. His koyndness is real, until it isn't - when he rescued me from the foyting, he had the koyndest look and smoyle on his face, and in that moment it was real, even to him - but when Oy crossed him and he choked me unconscious, that was real too, that rage. Whatever he feels at the toym, is real, but it doesn't last."
Absently putting a hand to the bruises round her throat, she swallows hard. "But he was koynd to me when the world was ending, and that was real, in that moment. He looked after me, even though Oy knew it was for his own reasons..." She trails off, before holding up the Prayer-Shawl. "Hoyding this from him was one of the hardest things Oy've done - if he'd asked about it, Oy'd have told him; if he'd asked for it, Oy'd have given it to him... Oy can't explain it. It's not magic, Oy don't think - it's him."
The unwanted memories make her shiver. "Persuasive? Oy'd say so."
Grateful for a change of topic, she lifts the Prayer-Shawl up, spreading it out and looking at it. "Oy was given this one evening - Oy was visited by the Herald of Ayida-Wedu and he left it for me after he'd gone. Oy don't know how he got it, and he didn't say. Oy thought it was just to keep it safe, get it out of the city, but after what Oy've seen, Oy think he meant me to have it."
Slowly, with reverence, she wraps it round her narrow shoulders, smoothing out the folds and ensuring it's properly arranged. "There."
Smiling, the woman stands, taller than anyone in the Coywolf save yourself. Looking around the common room, she turns. "Let me know what you need for the journey."
------------
Later that night, a guardsman finds you as you sit for dinner with Fulton and your family. The guard shakes, visibly worried, as he approaches. "Ai. Mountain Man. The wolf responded to your signal."
Mother Hunger meets you in the now abandoned Misery Alley, her eyes gleaming in the dark. A grin slides up the wolf's face as you approach; her tongue hangs from her mouth and bobs as she pants. "Ahh, the big-babe-in-the-woods. I would not have expected you'd like to talk. What brings me to Shadeholme this fine evening?"
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Drazan is slow and steady as he regards his company before turning to head in the direction of the guards bidding. This shouldn't be long. Hopefully he's already had his dinner. Drazan says and smiles halfheartedly.
As Drazan walks into Misery Alley to meet the overgrown wolf, he stops several strides from Mother Hunger before starting, I'm here for more than words, Hunger. I wish to make a deal, and for what is at stake, I see it as an even trade. My future, however short and insignificant next to your lifetimes, is going to mean something to more than only myself, but in order to do what must be done, I need a way to translate your language into one of my own. In exchange for a way to learn your written language, you will have something with just as much promise. I will send word to you on anything I find in my travels that might interest you, especially that which concerns your people. That could start today with where this axe came from. If your key to your language is true to every word, more in the coming days. Drazan draws his axe, gripping it in both hands. While he is honest about this deal and the axe appears to be used as a prop to emphasize his bargain, Drazan has been too long in the company of savages that would sooner use force as their leverage for immediate gains, over long time benefits, and Drazan didn't trust Hunger more than he might have to. We need not pretend that we like each other. It is clear our kind is nothing more than short lived pests with little purpose beyond food. That and you insist on cute babe names that would spark battle with a compensating ego. But if the Shadeholmers can find an ally on the grounds of a common distaste for the Mountain tribes and the First Flame with you, then I can see the potential in us helping each other.
Drazan pauses to hear Hunger's reply.
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We have invited a honey tongued snake into our midst. No doubt he will want to persuade us to bare our chests to his fangs Oios pinches his nose. He found himself surprised to be missing Rigel. If anyone would had been able to undermine Ashkesh at his own game it would have been her. All we can do is build our defenses against his assault. We will go forth. We will show the shawl. You will tell them of the horrors you witnessed that were visited on Cornucopia and Te-Moak
Oios pauses The other woman on the trunk with you. The one who was not the hidden leader. She is my sister. How is she?
Istiel jerks awake as Dohmnall's voice floods into her head, the monk gasping softly. The cold morning air rushes past her tingling teeth, sweeping through the dried, leathery cave of her mouth.
Are they? She wonders to no question in particular, sitting up straight and placing her hands on her thighs. Hazel eyes are locked forward, watching Ayidu-Wedu's glorious rebirth from the mound as she had done many times before.
Light seems to sparkle off her lacquered mask, and she takes a deep breath of the morning air. The strong survive. The weak perish. The weak become cruel to hide their weakness. Their evil is merely fear. I do not need cruelty. Nor fear. I will return one day. They will know my strength.
She glances at the Frozen guard to see if they are still awake, and waits for Telowo to stir.
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Gozran 27, High Hall
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Gozran 28, High Hall, Dawn
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The morning comes in cold for this time of year. A fog settles over the Cheya Canal and the surrounding land, lingering over the land like a lacy bedsheet. Only two things visibly rise out of the fog: Eel Mound, and Monk's Mound to the north. Notably, atop Monk's Mound, the conflagration of the past week is gone. In its place, a small wisp of smoke snakes into the morning sky.
=======================
Gozran 28, Imix, Morning
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Sluggish in the cold, you wake to the sounds of clattering from the mayor's kitchen. Rising and making your way there, you find Ashkesh's men turning the room over, pulling anything edible from its jars and shelves. Ashkesh turns to you, puzzled. "Where are your servants? Surely they aren't all dead?" Waving his hand, the Woh-tah dismisses the thought. "No matter. Ahn'tah can make a fine breakfast. He's done it in the field many times."
"I'll start my survey today."
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Gozran 28, Later Morning
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Most everyone alive in Shadeholme is gathered now, around the High Hall. The occasional cough or sneeze ruffles through the otherwise silent hall; it seems there's a cold going around. Expectantly, the people of Shadeholme look to the Master of Flight.
We have invited a honey tongued snake into our midst. No doubt he will want to persuade us to bare our chests to his fangs
Nat sighs and looks at Oios with sympathy. "You were given the Midwoyfes' Choice, and you chose. It's no one's royt to second-guess that; not even yours, Ancient One."
Oios pauses The other woman on the trunk with you. The one who was not the hidden leader. She is my sister. How is she?
Nat's jaw drops slightly -"Anayda is your sister?!"- but she recovers quickly. "She wasn't captured boy Ashkesh's Wo'tah - the Frozen took Te-Moak, and they burned it. She was taken boy them, and had a bad toym of it - Oy've done what Oy can to help her, but Oy wasn't allowed to do much... Oy'm sorry. The best Oy can say royt now is that she's aloyve."
She can't quite meet Oios' gaze. "With your permission, Oy'd loyk to go and tend to the prisoners still outsoyde - do you have a herbalist Oy could ask to help with that?"
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Gozran 28, Later Morning
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Naira laid map upon map onto the floor of the Engineers' office. The place was her now, largely abandoned by the remaining Shadeholme engineers. In a way, the place was comforting. Compared to some of the studies of the Fox Mound, it was small, but still it gave her enough space to concentrate on her project, to map the best route south.
The engineer looks at the maps - maps devoted to the topography, to mapping the natural rivers, to the tracking civilization. Together, these maps would be enough, if only to escape from Shadeholme. Some of the records that the Engineers had gathered proved useful - the measures of rainfall, seasonal records of hunted animals and fish. She already knew how long the people could survive on what they had, but soon estimated how long they could live on what they hadn't yet.
Naira rolled up the maps, confident, and returned to the High Hall.
"We should let them know," she said , "if Shadehome is doomed, and Cornucopia already in ruins, we should tell them our plans." Naira knew that Te-Moak likely suffered the same fate, though did not want to say it aloud. "South. It seems the most viable and bountiful. With a few barges and some planning, we could start anew."
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Gozran 27, High Hall
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To Nat. Outside? he pinches his nose. I will have Drazan go with you as well as one of the healers. Drazan is a frozen but he has proved himself many times as not of the Flame. The followers of the Flame fear him and for good reason.
Oios sends out the orders.
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Gozran 27, High Hall (Later)
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Oios gathers the heads of the military together before the next day.
The Soldier, Sarre, Lady Bennet's guard, and Hamfatten sit across from the Shadow turned Leader.
Before anything else Oios turns to each of them and mutters a prayer for Damballah to watch over them. For Hamfatten and the guard he also uses his newly developed divine senses to ascertain their loyalties.
That done he motions them to sit while he remains standing.
The next few days are going to be critical to the survival of Shadeholme. Not the buildings or the land of Shadeholme, but the real Shadeholme... the people. We are the remnants of the Three People and so in a very real sense we speak of not just Shadeholme but the entire history and hertiage of the Three peoples.
Oios pauses
You are its protectors. It is on the sturdiness of your shields, the flight of your arrows, and the strength of your spears that our survival depends. We have bought, at steep price, three days of preparation, I have no illusion that the foe will hold to their side of the bargain and allow us safe passage out of the Valley so we must these three days to gird ourselves. And organize.
He gestures at the four people, all in their own way leaders. He points at the Soldier.
You will be the line of defense that keeps our people safe. You will protect the ones who cannot protect themselves. The men and women under your command will need to be sturdy and strong. To endure the attacks of the foe and then throw them back. The majority of the new recruits will be under your command and I expect you to drill them in this for the next three days. They will know fear. They will know terror. But if they know of your training then they will endure. You may pick a few of the veterans that you know will aid you in this task loyally to be your seconds in command. You are the first and last line of defense that we have. On you lies the protection of not only our bodies, but our very minds and souls.
Next he motions to Sarree
You will command an elite force to harry and counter and undermine the foe should they crash upon the Soldier's defenses. Decimate them from the flank. Go out and kill their archers. Most of the veterans, those that the Soldier does not pick, and those of the recruits that you consider has the most potential or desire for such work will be yours. We have killed far more of them then they have of us. You will ensure that this remain true. And I know that you despise this three day truce. But mark me, we leave now, we survive, we thrive and grow strong, and then we *will* come back and we *will* make them pay a hundred fold for what they did to this Valley. If we fight and die now we will have been a bloody thorn in their paw, removed and soon forgotten. No. We fight now to keep them from killing us so we can come back later to sweep them, choking on their blood out of our homes. That will be true justice, that will be true vengeance. Keep you and your men close to the defensive line as you do your work. Only if Shadeholme survives can Shadeholme come back to make them pay the bloody price they have earned.
Then the guard
I do not need to tell you your responsibility. You will keep the Lady safe. But as she will travel with the other civilians this means the same as keeping them safe. Perhaps this will mean standing with the Solider and stiffening a weak point of the defense. Perhaps it will mean attacking in concert with Sarre to end some ranged threat. Just as you and your forces have bolstered Shadeholme in its darkest hour so you will continue to do so as by doing this you will keep the Lady safe.
You, your forces and the Lady carry the memory and honour of Cornucopia with you. It is your responsibility that this survives.
Finally he turns to Hamfatten
That is the military, there to hold off the external threat. But if we are to stay together, if we are not to disintegrate from within we *must* have internal order. That is your charge Hamfatten. The people of Shadeholme know you. They fear you. They respect you. As they should. You and your men will ensure that the caravan will remain orderly. You will make an example of the man who takes more than his fair share of the rations. And you will ensure that deserters are punished. I do not care whether it is one of the Soldier's forces, or the Guard's, or Sarre's. You and your men will ensure that this behaviour will not be tolerated once we leave the city. Of course if fighting is joined your men will be under your command and help the solider, the guard, or Sarre as necessary
Oios steps back and tries to gauge their reaction. Then.
There is another task for you. The Wo-Tah filth who we tolerate in our midst. He will try and turn our own people against us. Over the next three days he will try to convince them that they would be better off staying here . He will be very good at this otherwise he would not have been sent in. You know you and yours best. Defend them against his poisoned honey words. Remind them of all we have lost at his hands.
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Gozran 27, Night
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Oios examines the staff. It was important to Telowo and Oios wondered if there was some reason for his insistence that Oios have it.
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Gozran 28, Later Morning
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Oios looks sharply at the sound of the cough. He will have the healers look at the illness. Hopefully it was a minor cold. That was for later though.
He steps forward. After a short prayer to Damballah and Ayida-Wedu and all of their children he begins.
Cornucopia is dead. he says shortly. Killed by those outside. he gestures towards the walls. Te-Moak is burned he continues Put to the Flame by those outside.
He pauses and let his gaze sweep across the room They wished to do the same to us. But Shadeholme lives. And it lives because of grace and because of fortune. But most especially because of the strength and perseverance of each and every one of you. Now listen to the High Priestess of Ayida-Wedu as she tells of the horrors she lived through. She came to us bound and beaten. But she has recovered and with her the high shawl of her office! She has recovered just like Ayida-Wedu is re-born every morning. Just like we can be if we stay as true and strong as we have been.
He steps back and lets Nat move forward.
Imix laughed bitterly, and began talking in Wo'Tah. "Servant, singular. And I've assigned him to more important tasks than waiting on me. The villagers are supposed to bring you a breakfast worth of a great lord, but in this chaos I've no idea what they'll bring." Imix waves his hand, idly indicating the kitchen "Help yourself - it'll be yours soon enough."
"You are very keen on this Survey, aren't you, Ashkesh? I begin to wonder what your true purpose here is. Checking to see if we break our deal?" He smiles without humour at the idea "A blind man could see you are looking for something."
"While we wait on your man Ahn'tah to make breakfast, there is something to discuss. You are here, in part, to convince people to stay. I doubt you've much use for farmers and hunters given you are prepared to give away fifty of them - though the idea has our leadership bleating. There's others though. Craftsmen, engineers, nobles, and - of course - the last Suriname."
"The Empire is dead, Ashkesh. My Hope it might survive died last night, along with the Old Ways. Convince me, Ashkesh. Why should I stay? Why should I switch sides?"
"I've got no love for the Mountain Men, or the Flame, that's true. And I'm bound to remain in this forest by my oath of service. But how will you provide me with your discoveries, babe-in-the-alley? You're going to come back here every time you find something new?"
Mother Hunger shakes his shaggy head, his lips pursed in thought. "I don't see that being possible."
"Ah," one says, in their twisted tongue, "That one is their champion? She's tall, but still a woman. There'd be no glory in killing her, or eating her soul."
His friend snickers, and leers. "Wonder what is behind the mask? She must look like a demon under there. None of her people would put a baby in her, I'm sure!"
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Gozran 27, High Hall
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Sarre looks at you and nods, her mouth set in a grim line. "I'll send as many as I can to their afterlife, if the chance presents itself. But... I'll not pick a fight, yet."
Antuk gives a quick bow, his head dips, his face serious. "Cornucopia will live on with us."
Hamfatten, for his part, looks surprised. "No dissent or trickery will be tolerated. Or corruption."
Stepping in close, the Wo'tah gives you a long look. "But you are right, Suriname. I will offer any who wish the chance to stay and be part of our new world. But more than anyone else, I am interested in you. I've never met a Suriname, of course. But I spent some time in Cornucopia. I know of them... and you."
"It makes my heart glad, that we could perhaps be friends, or even brothers, Suriname Imix. You're correct: the Takayah are no more. Now, we will be five peoples, joined in greatness that the histories - and even the gods, I think - will sing our praises. Join us, and you shall have a position in our new world in accordance to your stature. You will have all the things that come with such a position: women, men, servants, wealth. But you will also have something much more important - the chance to build something special, Suriname Imix. A New World, from year zero."
Istiel looks away from the Frozen guards, one of her eyes twitching. She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Telowo." She gets the priest's attention to distract herself- the monk needed SOMETHING to prevent her from challenging the Crone's bodyguards.
"Domhnall spoke to me last night. I am sure of his ascension now." Istiel says quietly, watching the fire being stoked. "Have you noticed any other signs?"
"It is tempting, Ashkesh." Imix's words were from the heart "But what point is there to building something that will simply be destroyed in a generation? You worship the First Flame, do you not?"
Telowo looks to you and blinks, as if coming out of a deep, consuming thought.
"No. I've seen no evidence of anything divine for quite awhile now." Looking into the fire, the priest pulls his cloak tightly around his shoulders to ward against the morning chill.
As the day goes on, the Crone asks Telowo many questions about the religion of the Three Peoples; technical questions, mostly, about how services are conducted, the specific rites of priesthood, variations and sects in the faith. Occasionally, the conversation veers into dogma. Then, the Crone is careful with her words; you notice the woman uses words specifcally in the past tense. What would your gods have done in the situation? How did your religion see the connection of this world to the next? How did your followers judge the legitimacy of Damballah and his children?
The day winds on, the wind whipping across the mound, the air chilled.
Eventually, dinner, and then Ayida-Wedu's nightly death. Your breath comes in a cold mist, your eyes droop...
"It is a simple thing, in theory. You must control the fire, like your engineers control the waters. Too hot, and the fire will collapse on itself. But keep it stoked, with ample fuel, and a fire can burn forever."
Ashkesh's eyes gleam with anticipation. A single bead of sweat rolls down the man's temple. "Join us, Suriname."
Istiel is slightly startled by Telowo's reply, but she says nothing more; instead falling into a troubled silence. Domhnall speaks to me. Yet I am no priest. How could Telowo miss it?
The day stretches on, the monk listening to the Crone's questioning with increasing interest. The way she phrased her questions made it seem as if their gods had moved on.
She gloats of their victory. Istiel reasons. Our gods leave with us. Replaced by the Garr. But they will not forget their home. We will not forget our home.
Night falls and the chill descends. Knowing staying awake tonight would be even more difficult, she forgoes a blanket. The cold air will do well to keep her awake. The monk sits cross-legged on the ground, staring into nothing. This time she had drank great amounts of water and settled into a comfortable meditation position- one her muscles are greatly used to.
She spends the first hour hoping someone would try to touch Telowo. When that didn't seem likely, the monk started whispering a mantra under her breath. Small puffs of mist are a constant indication of her wakefulness.
From the unreal to the Real, lead me.
From darkness to Light, lead me.
From death to Immortality, lead me.
Thousands of times. Every time the same. The words lose their meaning, but the message remains.
Imix's eyes filled with yearning at Ashkesh's offer. He blinked - a long slow drawn out blink - and drew in a shuddering breath.
"I had thought the reports on your persuasiveness exaggerated. I was wrong. I am trained to use logic, Ashkesh, forgive me if I fear your offer is too good to be true. At best the Three People will give me the chance to build something that may one day build something impressive. With the power of the Five People behind me I could build something the Gods would envy."
"The others who stay - will they be slaves or citizens? Are all welcome to stay? What of the Priests? What of Lady Bellet? Is this a Wo'tah theocracy, or a Frozen tribal anarchy? Something else? What of religion - what gods are permitted in your new, unified order?" The questions spill, as if reading from a list.
Imix opens his eyes - the strange second eyelid of the Suriname form sliding eerily past the first, human one. "More worryingly - what was your Champion? How was he made? Why was he poisoning the waters?"
"I will not ask what the Fuel for your Fire is, not without a commitment, for you would have to lie. But no civilisation has kept the Flame burning long - even the ones who came before us. The nature of Fire is that it grows until it dies. The Flame is everyone's ally - and no-one's friend. I ask you as a friend - are you sure you can manage the Fuel, when all others who came before you failed?"
"I realise that I ask many questions. At this stage I represent the Three People. Until we leave, I am Bound. You represent the Five. I would not have you think I deal in bad faith. If you answer my questions honestly, I will answer" he considers "Two of yours. Ask me anything - even the secrets of the Suriname, and I will answer honestly. But it must be before we leave this room."
Drazan cracks a smile, I'm glad you think that too much as well. Seeing as you're not above reason, how does once a season sound? You can follow us to the edge of your territory where we will select an out of the way, protected spot, and by the end of each season, I will see that everything I learn is placed there for you to discover. As time progresses and trust grows, we may relay more information to one another such as First Flame activity and other useful details. The deal will be ongoing until my more permanent return. I think the agreement to be beneficial for both our causes and all we must do is keep in touch.
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Gozran 27
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The meeting clearly over, or ending (finally! All that talking!), Nat bows to Oios, and takes her leave. Once outside, she hesitates uncharacteristically, briefly hovering outside the door. Her instincts are taking her back out of Shadeholme, towards the ghats and the prisoners; she wants to check up on Ippaxa and on Anayda in particular. Her instincts are also telling her that walking among the Frozen without Ashkesh's 'protection' is a bad idea. Her powers are still new to her, and she knows that risking a confrontation right now is not sensible.
Still, it is a struggle to turn away from the gates and head elsewhere. She at least knows where to go: there must be a healer's station, however makeshift. That's where she is called to be right now.
Finding the tent, she looks inside and introduces herself to whoever is in charge: "Hello - Oy'm Nat: priestess, healer, midwoyf. How can Oy help?"
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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Nat steps forward as Oios finishes his introduction, standing straight-backed (although not tall, she has a way of holding herself that makes her appear taller) and the Prayer-Shawl prominently wrapped around her shoulders.
She looks around. She does not know these people, both because she's never been to Shadeholme and she hasn't met many Tsinyah; but she knows these people. They follow the same gods, have many of the same traditions, have served the same king.
She lets the silence grow, swelling to fill the hall, before finally speaking. "Oios speaks the truth. The King is dead, Cornucopia is fallen, Te-Moak burned to ashes. We are defeated."
Her gaze sweeps across the room. "But. We are the Three Peoples - we existed long before Cornucopia, and we will continue. But not here. We must leave."
"Oy know what some of you are thinking: whoy not stay, troy to live under our new conquerors? And Oy know that they have honeyed words. But when someone shows you who they are, believe them. You saw how Oy came to you, toyd to that log with your friends, your neighbours - who are still out there. Remember that image. Remember they soyded with the Frozen against us. That is who would rule. You wouldn't take honey from someone who uses poison. Treat their honeyed words the same."
She takes a breath, and pauses to let this sink in.
"One. There will be rulers and subjects, as there should be." Curiously, here, Ashkesh uses the Frozen word for subjects, which more closely translates as "defeated."
"Two. All are welcome to stay, and their talents will be put to use. For the greatest good. We are all subject to the Flame that consumes us."
"Three. It will be Year Zero, a new beginning. Something else, yet yo be written by the historians."
"Four. There is only one god that matters. The First Flame. The Frozen even now fall in line. The Three People will see its might next."
"Five. Our Champion was a Garr, and not a Garr. A creature from beyond the veil, one of fire, rage, spoilage. The champion was himself, made purer. As to what made him, that is something I cannot answer."
"Six. We poison your waters for the reason any army does. To kill your people and demoralize you."
"There is, in my hometown, an underground Flame that has been stoked for many generations. It burns, in part, from Faith, and in part, from nurture of a more physical means. 275 winters it has survived. You can trust me when I say that the Flame can be managed."
"Now, my questions. I have but four. There are rumors that there are more of your kind. One, Do you know anything of this? Two, How much have your keepers told you about Harambe? Three, do you have a purpose, given you by the gods? Four, if not, what do you hope, in your beating chest, that your purpose may be, above all else?"
"It is a fair deal, Drazan. I shall travel with you to find a suitable spot, and return there on the summer equinox and winter solstice, and equistant points in time between. Now, wound yourself and bind our futures."
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Nat, Gozran 27
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You find the healers inside the Copper Coywolf, a few women and men stretched out among a larger throng of refugees. Directed to the local herbalist - an aged and unkempt woman by the name of Helgya - she simply shrugs, and puts her hand on the shoulder of a young girl, about thirteen winters, you'd guess, obviously lame. "Iseult and I have got the physical scars stitched up. Its the mental ones that we can't treat. If you can't do anything for that, Ogwe can always use help in the kitchen."
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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There's a slow murmur that builds through the crowd as Nat speaks, a rustling energy, like a storm on the horizon. But, though Nat perhaps doesn't know it, the Tsinyah are largely a reserved people, and they had suspected as much as the news that the stranger bears; in the end, the energy dies down, and Shadeholme's surviving citizens listen gravely to the end.
Moments pass, and then a man steps forward. Older, on the late cusp of middle aged, wearing the wide-brimmed reed hat of a farmer, the man has lovely blue eyes, the color of a afternoon sky. His voice carries over the crowd, without tremble. He's used to speaking for others.
"Thank you for the news, High Priestess. Grave as it may be. I don't think you'll have to worry about many of us staying behind. The Frozen have shown us no honey."
The man raises his hand to his heart, a way of greeting. "My name is Cogsward, and I speak for the low city."
Standing and stretching, you crush a few strips of mate leaves into your palm and swirl them into a small beaten metal pot warming the water at the fire's outskirts, in the embers. It won't be a proper mate, but it will do. So your mind plods along, on matters of mate, and you almost miss the exchange.
"Tell me, priest," the Crone says, "Do you think your Gods have limits?"
"Of course not," Telowo sniffs, staring into the fire.
"Why then, have they foresaken your people? You sit here with I, but while we do so, we consolodate our grip on your lands. Te-Moak, I should mention, has burned to the ground, every last house and home. Most of its people are... how do you say... crossed beyond the crossroads? No, that's not it, but you understand. Cornucopia is occupied, and even now, its people are being removed from the city."
"If your gods were so powerful, why don't they come in your peoples' time of... needance? Surely, nearly two thousand years of supplication deserves some... recognizance?"
Telewo sits, shaking slightly, staring into the fire, his face blusing red. With anger or shame, it is unclear.
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Gozran 27, Copper Coywolf
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"Iseult and I have got the physical scars stitched up. Its the mental ones that we can't treat. If you can't do anything for that, Ogwe can always use help in the kitchen."
Nat smiles, crookedly - not by design; it's just that one side of her mouth is badly scarred. She's got used to people staring at it. "Oy can't cook. But..."
In silence, and in stillness, she prays; and Ayida-Wedu hears her.
Nat's dark eyes start to glow, like the sun, like the warmth of a Summer's day; and all those nearby feel it - perhaps in the sudden scent of home cooking, the memory of a mother's embrace, the laughter of a loved one. It lasts so briefly, it might not even have happened.
What does persist is the feeling of relief, the sharpening of fatigue-dulled senses, the relaxation of aching muscles, the calming of fears.
- Heals 1d4 points of ability damage to one ability score of your choice.
- Removes the fatigued condition or lessens exhaustion to fatigued.
- Removes the sickened condition or lessens nauseated to sickened.
- Removes the shaken condition or lessens frightened to shaken, or panicked to frightened.
- Removes the staggered condition.
- Removes the dazzled condition.
She looks at Helgya and the girl - Iseult, she remembers the name is - and bows to them both. "Oy'm at your service. Oy know Oy'm a stranger, but Oy hope not to be one for much longer."
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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Nat returns Cogsward's greeting, hand on heart, and stares into his blue eyes in silence for a moment. "Then you've a rare privilege, Speaker Cogsward - far as Oy know, you speak for the last city of the Three Peoples. Oy'm glad to meet you; but Oy'm surproysed you weren't at the meeting yesterday when Oy gave moy news." She shoots Oios a meaningful glance; in her view, the priesthood of Cornucopia were all too ready to ignore the workers - until it came time to tax them.
She does not intend to repeat that mistake.
"Oy hope you will be at the next meeting, Speaker for the low city. In fact, Oy'm sure you will be. Isn't that royt, Ancient One?"
Istiel is hunched over the pot of warm water, looking forward to the mate with the same longing a snow-covered cardinal looks forward to spring.
The Crone's questioning reaches her ears, and Istiel momentarily freezes as she comprehends the nature of the questioning. The monk's fists tighten around her robes with every word that spills from the Crone's lips. The fall of Cornucopia is no surprise. She held on to the fantasy it still stood, but that reed screen was blown over by the faintest of breezes to reveal the truth.
By the end of the Crone's observations Istiel can stand it no longer.
The monk springs from her crouch and growls, stalking over to the Crone. Tired and irritable, all barriers break down as she loses her temper, finding other ways to defend the man she was here to protect. "Our gods DID reward us. Look at the mound I stand on. The canals. The buildings of Shadeholme. Our stockpiles of grain. Produced by US with blessed inguinity from our gods. Our gods whispered inspiration in our engineer's ears. They watched our success. Smiled upon us without disaster or flame to coerce us. We have no warring gods because we DID NOT NEED THEM. Marinette alone defeated Kalfu because no other god had her brutality. She alone is continually occupied with holding his chaos in check. With Kalfu's defeat we have enjoyed two thousand years of PEACE AND PROSPERITY. RUINED BY THE FLAME'S GREED." She is breathing heavily, and shaking with anger.
The monk swallows, and says through gritted teeth. "What do you WANT from Telowo? You have been a circling buzzard for days. Get to the point."
Imix looks thoughtfully at Ashkesh "I wanted an important Purpose. I didn't understand why the Empire fell without the Gods calling me to at least try to stop it. Logically, either they had a more important purpose, they wanted the Empire to fall, or the fall could not be stopped."
"Who is this 'Harambe'?"
"For that matter, what does worshipping the Flame entail? What is its philosophy?" Imix asks.
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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Shortly before the large meeting, Imix seeks out Oios.
"Oios. I have talked to Ashkesh. Do we have time to talk before everyone assembles?"
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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Looking around to gauge what level of respect this new woman had, Drazan decides that she must be native Three People, and keeps to himself with crossed arms at Sarre's side for now.
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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Oios nods For something like this, we should make time. What have you learned from the Sky Person of the flame?
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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"It is good that Manatele warned me of Ashkesh. Even so, even warned how persuasive he was... I am unsure if I will leave."
Imix sighs "I have seen the Flame compared to an infection. The Fox Priest, Ashkesh, even the Skinwalkers. All persuasive. All charismatic." The Suriname looks at Oios "I have heard the greatest orators of the Empire, but none of them moved me like Ashkesh. Yet, even so... Even so, he is not in charge. He answered to the old woman. Presumably, then, she is even more persuasive than he is."
Imix looks at the ground, uncharacteristically breaking eye contact.
"I fear that 'Infection' was not a metaphor. I fear that the Flame somehow uses words to infect the mind. I fear we have allowed a plague vector into our midst. In the same way the Fox Priest can make a contract unbreakable, perhaps Askhesh can change a mind. Perhaps."
"Or, perhaps, he simply knew exactly how to appeal to a Suriname. To offer me everything I have ever wanted. Perhaps. Perhaps, this one time, I cannot predict the Flame simply by assuming the worst possible situation." Imix trails off "Regardless, I intend to help you until I must choose."
"Ashkesh intends to do a survey. I suggest we have him survey the more populated areas while the populace is at your meeting. Limit the exposure. I will take him - if it is an infection, I am already infected. He did not contradict me when I implied he had no need of Farmers and Hunters, so perhaps he will not care to meet with them if you make the task onerous. Warn them, Oios. Warn them they will be slaves to the Frozen. Warn them just how persuasive Ashkesh is."
"I asked what happened to Thom. He said 'Our Champion was a Garr, and not a Garr. A creature from beyond the veil, one of fire, rage, spoilage. The champion was himself, made purer.' Have you heard of a 'Garr', before?"
"I know we had hoped to settle beyond the wall. We may need to go further. A fire must have new fuel, or it dies. I fear the Flame is the same. One day - perhaps decades from now - they will have used up this land, and seek us again."
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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Nat said much the same thing. And I would not describe either of you as weak willed. Completely the opposite in fact. Oios says. He shakes his head and pats the Suriname on the shoulder. We of course have need of you far more than these Lords who would turn the world to Ash but unlike Ashkesh I do not have a honeyed tongue. Even if I did I would not pretend to be able to offer you what you truly wish... your Purpose. Oios steps back All I will say is that for as long as I have known you, which is a short while indeed but feels more like lifetimes, I have considered you to be a person of integrity and conviction. The decision is yours my friend. I will do as you say in trying to keep the citizens as little exposed to Ashkesh as possible.
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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Oios raises his eyebrows at Nat and suppresses a smile. As you say High Priestess, Speaker Cogsward has a place in my Council
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Nat, Gozran 27, Copper Coywolf
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Nat's energy floods the room, and one by one, the afflicted calm. The old woman sighs, the worry visibly easing from her face. Nearby, a man in a tattered engineer's garb, who moments ago sat at the bar frantically drawing circles into the counter's wood with a raw finger, sits back in the stool and smiles, still vacant, but at least calm.
The old woman smiles, and gives you a quick nod. "Helgya. You're no stranger now."
The girl - Iseult - wraps you a warm hug, her eyes watery with tears. Muffled, her voice reaches your ears. "That. Was. Beautiful. Thankyou. Thankyou."
Lifting her head, the girl runs her hand under her nose and sniffs, her eyes filled with wonder. "I'm Issy. Thank you, Nat. What a... different name! What does it mean?"
Puffing twice on her pipe, she exhales a cloud of blue smoke into the air and turns. "Tomorrow."
That said, the Crone makes her way towards Dom's old domocile, blowing smoke into the air, as if one of the fabled wyvern.
Ashkesh wanders over to his guard and grabs a bit of ham from a plate the man is preparing. Throwing his head back, your guest folds the ham into his mouth in one gluttonous bite. Winking, he chews, and then swallows. "That's how the crocodiles do it, right?"
"There is another possiblity you don't consider. Perhaps you have no purpose... because your gods are dead?"
Waving his hand, Ashkesh grabs another bit of ham, this time eating it in more moderate bites. "I'm sure that's not it. Just a thought. Anyways, Harambe is one of you - a Suriname. He visited Woh'tah lands a few years before my birth. He was researching in Wo'tah magical traditions."
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Gozran 27, Copper Coywolf
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Nat is not that used to being hugged (the Tooyah treat their priests with reverent distance and the Cornucopians tried to ignore her altogether); but she puts her arms easily round the sobbing girl. "Hey, now. Hey, hey, there." She murmurs wordlessly until the girl has recovered.
"Moy name?" Why do these Tsinyah ask so many questions? "Moy name means... it means 'Oy don't loyk moy full name so Oy shortened it' - loyk you have, Issy." She gives the girl another scar-crooked smile, looking into her eyes, which are almost on the same level as Nat's own (Nat's barely five feet tall when on tiptoe).
Her stare is penetrating, as she wonders what the girl must have been through to reduce her to that state: the Tsinyah are a reserved people, she's learning already. Spontaneous hugging of strangers seems out of character. "If'n you've been stitching up the wounded all day, moy guess is you could use a break. Oy saw a pot of simmering mate in the Hoy Hall, and Oy think they've foynally finished their meeting; whoy don't we go and foynd some - if'n you think you can spare her, Helgya?"
Nat is sensitive of the pecking orders that must exist, even in these turbulent times. Perhaps especially in these turbulent times. There's no wisdom in upsetting people unnecessarily.
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Istiel is momentarily stunned, watching the Crone get up and leave after a single word with all the lucidity of a dream.
"Tomorrow?" She sputters, the angry shaking suddenly stopping. It had been replaced by a cold, steady welling inside of her chest; the pressure continually increasing. Tomorrow I will either return to Shadeholme or kill every Frozen on this mound.
She growls and spins around, stalking back to the pot of bubbling water where her mate waited. By the time she had returned to its side the pressure in her chest was unbearable.
It needed out.
It was getting out.
With a primal cry the monk lashes out at the nearest object. Her foot connects with the pot with incredible force, sending it hurtling off its stand and tumbling end over end midair. Scalding water spectacularly flips and cascades into the dirt before the battered pot clatters to the ground tens of feet away. Without the water inside, she would have easily punted it off the side of the mound.
The vessel awkwardly rolls to a stop, grievously wounded- a massive dent pounded into the copper by her boot. The last of its hot lifeblood lazily drips from the lip and all around its beaten body wispy steam billows from the ground.
Istiel inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and decides she feels much better.
The mate was going to be terrible anyway.
Imix went very still. "They have kept Harambe from me. You say '[is]is[/i]', not was. Do you know where this Harambe is?"
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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"Thank you Master of Flight Oios. There are a few more things, but none as important."
"Firstly, we have to assume that after this we will have agents amongst us. You are our best hope at finding them. I know you are always at the front of every fight, but now you must realise you have become essential."
"Secondly... why did you refuse the title I offered, and manufacture this new one? Do you know something of the Suriname I do not?" he trails off for a second "Ashkesh says there was a Suriname named Harambe, left from the records. I have seen evidence to back his claims."
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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Unless you have some other ideas Imix, I do not see how we can be do anything more than maintain vigilance to guard against fresh betrayals. Oios shakes his weary head Every place the Flame has conquered it seems like it has done so by first undermining from within.
He ponders Imix's second question Truth tell, the Shadows were always the most practical of the clergy and even there I was much more pragmatic than most. Perhaps the head of the order might have known something of what your Keepers knew and kept from you but when it came to rare occurrences the rest of us had the stance that we would worry about them when they appeared. As far as I knew you were the first Suriname for a century.
Oios pauses Maybe I should not speak further to keep the Inquistion's workings secret but I do not know how much secrecy matters to a dead organization of an almost vanished state. So what I can tell you is we were instructed to officially avoid Surinames as much as possible as your people lie outside the hierarchy that we worked under. The historical records of the Inquisition showed though that the most skilled and discreet Shadows were always assigned to spy on and report the activities of a Suriname to the highest level of the leadership to keep the King informed of what they were doing. I would be surprised if you did not have at least one of those. The reports they wrote would not be made available to the rank and file however.
Oios halts again for a bit before continuing If this... Harambe... has vanished from the records then perhaps it was for the reason that the name of the Suriname who wished to rule has been destroyed? Or... alternatively... maybe the agents of the Flame that we know have been infesting Cornucopia caused it to disappear? Oios looks down So much knowledge has already been burned. So many of us are the last of our orders... Oios trails away before visibly shaking himself to get back on track.
As for the question of leadership. More than anything we need unity at this time and I did what I did to avoid a power struggle. Successful so far. A time of crisis and transience is no time to make permanent decisions in any case. Do you disagree with these considerations?
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Gozran 28, Mid morning
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"I couldn't agree more. But decisions are being made that will be permanent. Assuming the Empire survived, every succession will now have the precedent you have set - of a well connected public servant simply taking power 'until the emergency is over'." He looks Oios in the eye "I have no doubt you can be trusted with that power. But in the future?"
"Further, those who would establish a new structure are emboldened. When the destination is reached, will it end up with Bellet's trained soldiers against rebels?"
"Your new position was unnecessary. It was a new thing in a time already in chaos. The Empire has a position that can assume ultimate power in time of emergency. One with traditional constraints. I offered you that title, and you refused. I would like to know why."
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Nat, Gozran 27, Copper Coywolf
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Helgya nods, her face growing soft. "Of course. Issy, dearest, you've been hard at work for days now. Why not go enjoy the rest of this one. I can handle things here myself for a little while."
Withdrawing from your grasp, Issy runs her hands over her eyes, wiping away some tears. Suddenly reserved again, after one long sniff, the girl asks a tentative question. "If you're sure, Helgya...?"
The girl doesn't speak much on the walk over to the High Hall, though you catch her gaze on you a few times before it drops to the ground when noticed.
With a panic, you awake to the feeble dawn light, your tired mind alighting on the realization that you must have dozed off at some point in the night. Rising from the mud, you cast a worried glance to to Telowo, noting with relief that he breathes besides you, sleeping soundly.
"There's more, no doubt, in our libraries. Abandon your people and come north as my guest, and you'll have access to them."
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Gozran 27, Copper Coywolf/
High Hall
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Nat smiles (inwardly this time) at the girl's covert glances: the obvious sign of someone who has something to say, but doesn't know how to begin. Ordinarily, she'd maintain a comfortable silence, letting the other person fill it - but she doesn't know this girl well enough for that, and any silence might be mistaken for distance.
She traces a finger along the scar that runs down one side of her mouth. If that's what the girl has been glancing at, it's a place to start the conversation; and if it's not, maybe she'll say what is on her mind. "Oy've had this since Oy was about your age; Oy'm used to the stares - and the questions." She gives Iseult - Issy - a warm (if crooked) smile.
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Gozran 28, Before Dawn
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Naira rolled, restless in her sleep, eyes held tightly closed.
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Te Moak’s Engineer Building (In Dreams)
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She stood in the Chief’s office, a messy gathering of projects and proposals tacked on the walls, spread across the floor, blanketing each sizable surface. Apachana laughed as a Naira fruitlessly attempted to hang up a large canvas with nails too small to support it’s weight. When she secured a corner, it would fall before she could hang up the other side. Tetchuix was in the corner talking to Queho, she didn’t know they knew one another, but in this dream they mingled like old friends.
Stubborn, Naira didn’t ask for help, and after several minutes of her efforts, she managed to hang up the canvas. It appeared to be a map, though it was not one familiar to her. The scale was much too large to be for just the city, indeed, the entire valley was in front of her. Something was off, however, in each of the cities on her map lay a small black blemish.
With her nail, Naira scratched at Te-Moak’s marking. Her finger recoiled: it was hot, burning hot coals. The darnness spread, dancing across the map, swallowing the valley. From the cities now grew flames, and as she turned around, the entire room was burning. Like wax figures, those around her melted, screams distorted as they burned around her. Thick, suffocating smoke choked her as the large wooden rafters fell from the ceiling, splintering into sparks as they fell.
As the roof collapsed, Naira sat curled up on the floor, miraculously unharmed as everything was reduced to cinders around her. The final flames at the ashen piles of her friends, but then, extinguished as it began to rain. The ash and coals became a dark, pooling sludge. Slowly it builds, the black flood up to her hips, then her neck, and finding herself unable to move, consumed her completely.
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The Grove (In Dreams)
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Naira flailed in the viscous water, and was barely able to rise from the sludge. She was in Shadeholme now, drowning in the grove she sought to understand. As she dipped and pulled herself above to catch a breath, she swallowed the water. With each gulp, her lungs filled, and the sorceress felt more and more weighed down. Each breath became more hurried, and brought more of the corruption inside of her.
She became her own anchor, unable to move from the center of the pond, bound as she slowly sank. With one final gasp, Naira went under, pulled deep down into depths impossible.
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Gozran 28, High Hall
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Naira blinked, through her eyelids rose slowly. She appeared as if she had not slept, and though a conversation took place in the High Hall, she couldn’t quite recall what was being spoken about. She remained silent, contemplating.
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Gozran 28, After the Meeting
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Naira weakly touches Nat on the shoulder. “You, um, Te-Moak,” the engineer begins, arm retreating. “You saw it happen, right? How did it, um, how did you... What did you see?”