The Father of Waters

Game Master Fighting Chicken

Istiel again snorts when the woman snaps the branch in half and claims to be stronger than the trees, this time with an attitude of amusement.

Still, she holds her gaze with seriousness. "It is a skill. You must learn." The monk blinks as she considers something, then draws in a breath. "I cannot teach you my Arts. Only those that survive The Journey may learn."

Istiel reaches for the flint paring knife on her belt, sliding it from its abused leather sheath. "But there are many ways to fight." She says before flicking her wrist and sending it into the ground at the woman's feet, causing a puff of dry dirt to erupt from between the blades of emanciated grasses. "You are quick of mind. But are you quick of body? Do you have the spirit? I must know before I teach anything."

A bit of blood from her hands sticks to the handle of the knife and gathers dust. "Grab it. Attack me. As if I am your greatest foe. As if I am one that made you a victum." She says as her feet shift and her posture changes into a flexible stance, lowering her body slightly with one bloody hand extended towards her soon-to-be assiliant. Her hazel eyes observe the woman's movements carefully as she watches for any signs of experience while also judging her overall fitness.

Sarenith 24, Oios
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Wrath? Oios says with a cocked head. Are the Stormreaders not just mystics with the power to alleviate the suffering of your people? What wrath could come from such benevolence?

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Sarenith 25, Imix
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Sarenith 25, Istiel
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The woman is quick and strong, perhaps surprisingly so; it seems as if she is driven to be more than the sum of her parts. Even so, she is little match for you, given your years of training and experience in battle. You bat aside the knife with ease, and knock the woman to the ground.

Almost as quickly as she falls, Oios's sister crawls to her feet and grabs the knife again, charging you another time. This time, with a quick kick to her solar plexus, Oios's sister again falls to the ground.

And yet again, she rises. And again, and again, and again. This goes on for half an hour, Oios's sister never landing a strike, yet each time she rises again, and willed on by her fury, attacks.

Finally, she's beaten into submission. Exhausted, the woman scrambles to rise, but her legs betray her, and she scrables along the ground, like a crab. Raising her face to you, a face clouded with fury, she hisses through clenched teeth, "I am no victim!"

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Sarenith 24, Oios
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The hooded beastling shrugs, its features inscrutable under its cloakhood.

"How often is benevolence unbidden truly benevolence? That no dreamers have returned from their benevolence should tell you all you need to know. And that none of our people wish to admit they are dreamers any more, should tell you the rest."

"The Stormreaders are mystics, surely, and powerful no doubt. But they are not the only threat. I think we can be useful to each other, as do most of our Senate, and Latha, our Harbormaster, seems to think highly of you. And so I find myself here hoping that we can be friends. Keep your wits about you, and your people close. For not all of my peoples are so friendly as I."

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Sarenith 25, Istiel
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Istiel turns aside the woman's assaults again and again, each time pushing her to the ground or sending her tumbling. The amount of exertion and attention put forward by the monk could be measured as "casual", as if she were stirring a stick in the sand.

When the woman's body body gives out and she crawls at her feet, Istiel squats down to look in her face. The monk's lacquered red and white mask glistens in the midday sun, and behind it two hazel eyes burn with intense curiousity. "I know you." She suddenly says, head tilting slightly as she continues to look over Oios' angry sister. "There was once a girl. She had everything taken from her. She was a victim too."

Reaching out bloody hands, Istiel grabs the woman's shoulders and effortlessly lifts her up to the ground. "She learned to fight. Traded her old life for a new one. She was never a victim again." With strength that could easily toss her into the river with a single heave, Istiel holds the wobbly woman steady as she speaks. "You have the will. The power. The body. I will teach you. No longer a victim... You will be a warrior."

Reaching for the flint knife in the woman's hand, she adjusts her grip around its deer bone handle. "Warriors hold their knives like this." Systematically she rearranges the woman's body, moving her feet, turning her torso, and putting her into what resemebled a real fighting stance. "Warriors stand like this. Now lunge. Put all your fury into the strike. But only then. Pull back your anger until the next strike. Focus is key. Your anger guides your arms. Your head guides your feet. Your feet put your arms in the position for anger to do its work. Feet come first. The Masters call this "footwork"."

The training continues at a grueling pace- Istiel has no qualms about repeatedly knocking the woman to the ground or slapping the knife out of her hand, despite her own being bloody and beaten. Each time she stands over her as she picks herself off the ground, giving advice or making adjustments to her form. She instructs Oios' sister in the basics, firstly on how not to stab oneself with their own knife and how to move her feet.

"I will tell the boy Fulton to make you a real knife." The monk says easily as she stands over the woman's heaving, prostrate body before leaning down and plucking her paring knife from her hand like an eagle snatching a trout from a stream. "A staff as well. You would do well to learn the quarterstaff. Few suspect it to crack their skull."

The knife was slide easily back into its sheath at her belt. "Now you must rest. Eat good food. A lot of good food will make you stronger. Find me again tonight. We will work on your focus. Exercises of the mind to keep your senses sharp. Exercises of the body to clear your mind."

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Sarenith 25, Imix
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Sarenith 24, Oios
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Your people have shown ours much kindness by allowing us a place to stay Oios says to the beastling. And we have responded in kind by acquiring tibute for these Stormreaders but I understand that bonds of friendship are difficult to build in these trying times. Tell me how else you think our peoples could be of use to each other so that these ties may be strengthened?

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Sarenith 25, Imix
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Sarenith 25, Istiel
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Oios's sister nods, and slowly rises to her feet. "I look forward to tonight, and I will have a full belly when we meet."

Stopping, her back turned to you, the woman's voice comes, hesitant, quiet.

"Do I need a new name? That is how your order does things, so I hear? I... I wish to have no past."

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Sarenith 24, Oios
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The beastling nods, his cloakhood moving up and down. "And we appreciate your gathering of tribute, wise one. It is obvious that you're a powerful and resourceful lot."

"I imagine a future of cooperation. Of shared technology, magic, and defense. An alliance. Of course, we must earn each other's trust, and not betray it until that day. That is why I am here tonight."

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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The morning arrives earlier than you'd anticipated, Sarre shaking each of you awake in turn, and delivering a message that sends you sitting up. Around you, the Flight is stirring: news, especially unsettling news, travels swift.

Hamfatten and his deputies never returned from their visit to the Enclave.

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Sarenith 24, Oios
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Acts of good faith and gifts freely given are the only ways I know of to truly earn trust. Oios says. From us it will be to treat with these Stormreaders. Hopefully you or your people will engage in similar acts for an alliance is the only thing that will save both of your peoples.

Oios pauses. What we are running from in the North. It is worse than a drought that can be ended by occasional sacrifice. None will be able to stand against it divided. We learned that to our sorrow.

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Sarenith 26
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Oios grimaces, each member of the Flight was precious as they were the last remnants of the Three People that they were aware of. He calls for Imix, Isitel, and Drazan. We must find Hamfatten. We cannot have our precarious position here as guests be broken by our people going missing.

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Sarenith 25, Istiel
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Istiel has already lept on top of the rock she was punching earlier, settling into a cross-legged stance. She was intent on meditating for a while, and the woan had given her plenty to think about.

If it wasn't for her excellent hearing, the monk would not have heard her. The lessons, absorbed from her own master over many years, are already coming out in full force. "Speak louder. Do not be afraid. Confidence is a virtue."

When the question was repeated- louder this time, Istiel looks at her for several long moments before there is finally movement behind the mouth hole of her mask. "No. You keep your name until you take The Journey. Then you will be Reborn. We must prepared your vessel for The Journey. Before I can teach you the Arts. There is much to learn before then." With that, she jerks her head back towards the camp, dimissing her.

Istiel sits on the rock, contemplating what this means. She was not a master, and could not bestow the title on herself. But if all the other masters were dead, who could? Was it wrong to teach others? No, as long as she had Oios' sister take the Journey, it kept with their laws and traditions. WIth Suuha abdicting their ways and Scree dead, Istiel was the only one left aong the Flight to pass on the knowledge she holds.

There was much to consider, and even as blood continues to drip from her knuckles onto the rock, her mind slips seemlessly into a place between all things.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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Istiel grunts as Sarre awakes her, the news met with a stony silence. Raising like a spectre, she makes for Oios' tent, already knowing he would call for action. Though she did not always agree with the old man's plans, she knew he would not allow their own to be taken.

"Then we go." She says plainly, gesturing towards the beastling's dilapidated tower-city. "If they are hung over on chicha we drag them back. If they have been taken we bring them back. No one will be allowed to take our own unpunished."

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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Joined by Sarre her guards, as well as Texikuk, Telia the engineer, and Cogsward the farmer, you make your way to the canoes and set off for the beastling's Enclave, arriving, within an hour at the Harbormaster's home.

The sun is rising, and you're already expected, it seems. Latha stands on her dock, along with 20 beastling soldiers. More stand atop the walkways that lead from the Harbormaster's home further into the enclave, perhaps a hundred or so, arrow-throwers and slings drawn.

Latha looks out at your flotilla, her posture rigid.

"Five of our soldiers never came home to their families last night. They were accompanying your large leader, and his helpers, around the enclave. Where is the large one?"

Sarre snarls and nocks an arrow.

Even underneath her black silk robes, it is clear Istiel is tense as they move towards the docks. The whole area is a killing zone, with hundreds of projectiles aimed their way. It was clear to see that something had happened.

The monk snorts at the fox-lady's question. This was clearly going to become complicated. "Hamfatten never returned. He is missing to us as well. We came to find him. He is missing to all it seems. Where was he last seen? Your people?"

Oios grimaces. What better way to provoke hostilities between the two communites than this? He holds out a hand to signal Sarre to stand down.

The last time both groups were seen, they were on friendly terms, yes? Does anyone know where in the enclave they were headed? Who saw them last? A large group of soldiers is noticeable, especially when some of them are outsiders like us. I propose we track them together.

"We know there are dangers around this enclave. Most likely they fell to some new threat - but they may still be simply trapped. We should do our best to carefully retrace their steps." Imix nods in agreement with Oios. "As we are by far the most dangerous, we should go. You should send as many locals as possible. If the creature we drive from the library was seeking vengeance we should know as soon as possible."

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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Latha lowers her arrow-thrower, and Sarre, nodding to Oios, does the same."Your Hamfatten was seen with our guards last around our weavers, descending a stairway towards our Senate building. Where he went from there..."

More seconds pass, and then Latha nods, pointing her snout towards the dock. "Come on then, but we'll have to wait to find our missing until after the Stormreader's visit."

Pointing towards the sky, you notice the normally endless blue expanse is dotted with puffy grey and white clouds, the harbingers of thunderheads.

"They'll be here soon."

Oios rubs his head. Trails grow cold by the minute, how long till the Readers come?

Imix scowls "Agreed. Quickly, we go. Those who stay, stall the Stormreaders." he hesitates, the smiles. "Tell them we have decided not to go. Tell them Suriname have come - which we have. Tell them I have discovered a way to cleanse water of taint - which I have. Tell them that, if they want to talk to me, they will wait. If they truly are allies, they should be overjoyed at the revelation. If they are hidden enemies they will grind their teeth."

Istiel, who is planted on the docks more firmly than any mooring, stands as a black pillar among the sudden shuffling about that the announcement of the approaching Stormreaders has caused. "I will find them myself." She volunteers as her crossed arms swing down from her chest.

"If they are taken I will punish those that took them. If they have caused their own trouble I will rescue them." She looks to the Suriname, and considers his idea. "An eagle has two claws. Yet it uses both to catch one fish. Will they wait? They may care only for tribute."

Oios sighs as he looks over the almost alien Suriname, the masked monk, and the Frozen who spoke in riddles. Bizarrely enough he was the most diplomatic of all of them.

I will stall them as much as I can, but be careful, the Stormreaders have spies from among the beastlings.

Drazan stands stoically by listening to yet another urgent matter arise, arms folded. I will go as tribute, if the Stormbringers are enslaving the volunteer tribute, they should be ground to dust and scattered to the wind regardless of the good everyone thinks they do.

Istiel snorts as Drazan announces his intentions. "I agree. No one should be able to bully the children of Damballah. Hold their people or water hostage."

"I don't think you understand," Latha says, strapping her arrow-thrower back to her hip. "Our friends - yours and ours - will have to wait. We are expected at tribute, as are you."

Helping Oios onto the dock, Latha leans in and whispers, apparently cautious even in the presence of many who had no idea what she was saying. "If some of you go back and sneak into the Enclave, I can't stop you. But, I also can't protect you if you are discovered, as my guards are needed to meet the Stormreaders, and this morning I'm expected to take you to our meeting site, not accompany you into our city."

Not all your guards surely. Oios returns under his breath. A trainee or off duty guard sent with one of ours should fulfil the requirements of your station and not interfere with meeting the StormReaders.

Isitel, perhaps you should go, accompanied by one of Latha's guards to investigate the disappearance, the rest of us will host the Stormreaders.

"No, no, you don't understand. I'm expected to escort you to the meeting place. If my guards are seen taking you around the Enclave, it will be in direct defiance to my orders. I'm important, but not important enough that I get to make my own decisions."

Imix nods at the whispered conversation. 'I know what it is to be constrained by orders. There is nothing she can do.'

In a louder voice he speaks up. "This is my understanding. You have no tribute. We have tribute. We will not give that tribute to the Stormreaders while we may need it to find your people and ours. Your orders compel you to compel us to go to them, and authorise the use of deadly force."
"I suggest that we comply. I suggest you detail one of your guards to fetch those with the power to make new orders to meet with us before - or at worst as - we tell the Stormreaders we have nothing for them."

Istiel opens her mouth to once again volunteer to find Hamfatten herself when Imix takes control of the situation. She closes her mouth and marvels at the Suriname's cold, reptile-like cunning.

Slowly, the monk starts to nod her head, now looking to Latha for her reply.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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Latha's mouth opens and closes, the beastling standing rigid.

Seconds pass, tension carried on the humid air. Then, spitting her words in anger, the beastling pulls her cloakhood up. "We give you safe harbor and you play with the lives of my people..."

"I'll go tell the Senate what you've said and done here. No other should bear the responsibility of this news. I may be able to get someone in authority out to visit you before the Stormreader arrives. I may not. I may be relieved of my duties - it was I that vouched for you, after all. The Stormreader will be found at the hills at the northern edge of the enclave."

Latha points, her clawed hand gesturing to a large hill's peak in the distance. "There, that hill. We call it double-peak, for its resemblance to some women's busoms. There's a muddy beach perfectly in between the peaks, if you approach northwest from the tall marble tower at the city's edge. You'll know it when you see it - it has an old green metal roof. Eglan will accompany you with a contingent of our people, to make sure you find the way."

Turning, Latha barks a series of sharp commands to her soldiers, and most of them begin to withdraw, a score or so remaining, looking down on you, weapons loaded and raised. The beastling who must be Eglan steps forward with eight soldiers, and they jump into two bullboats mired at the harbormaster's dock. Without a word, Eglan and his soldiers begin rowing towards Double Peaks.

Turning her head once more, Latha shouts before ducking into the harbormaster's residence.

"Good luck. For all our sakes."

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Sarenith 26, Stormreader's visit
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The beach is indeed muddy, with a infestation of biting gnats hanging hanging heavy in the air, landing on your exposed skin, leaving itchy, red welts. The forested hillside of Double Peaks rise steeply in front of you, their twin peaks a good seven or eight hundred feet in the air.

The beastlings sit in their bullboats, silent and subdued, their leader Eglan clearly nervous. It is quickly apparent that none of them speak your tongue.

Soon, seven winged creatures approach from the east, around a bend in the island. Coming to a rest on the beach, they are about the size of a human, with sleek, vaguely wasplike features. The winged creatures' streamlined heads features sunken, glassy eyes and a circular mouth lined with needle-sharp teeth.

The beastlings and new arrivals ignore each other, the beastlings silent and avoiding eye contact, the wasplike things eyeing you and chittering among themselves, seemingly at once agitated and jovial in demeanor.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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She is under the misapprehension that we are staying here because we need to, rather than because we have a duty to help them. Perhaps that is well. Certainly she is the best of her people, and should not be punished for the sins of her leaders, as we were punished for the sins of ours.'

Imix turns to Oios, speaks in a low voice, and bows. "You may need to hit me, or yell, or both. I gave no order, but you may need deniability for later."

He stands and speaks more normally "If we court the anger of the Stormreaders, we must ensure we are clearly labelled as unaffiliated nomads, so that their anger does not fall on our 'allies'."

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Sarenith 26, Stormreader's visit
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Imix studies the newcomers unabashedly. His eye traces their form, guessing at capabilities, while his ear listens to their speech, trying to tease language from the alien accent. His mind races, reviewing old stories for suggestions as to what these 'Stormreaders' might be.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit
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"We are both children of Damaballah." Istiel responds to Latha's angry comments. "We are here to help you just as you help us. The ones that took Hamfatten. His guards. They want to hurt both of us. We will not let them succeed. Trust the Suriname. His mind is as sharp as the tips of your arrows. This is for the best."

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit, Double Peaks
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The monk is silent as they row over fetid waters towards the place called Double Peaks, the swarm of biting gnats causing her no trouble- they cannot find they way into her thick silken robes or slip around her mask.

As they pull up boats between the tall hills, Istiel looks upward towards the mounds. It would be good to climb these hills later, and she wished she had done so before.

When the greedy buzzing the gnats is replaced by a load hum of unknown wings, Istiel immediately turns her head to the east and stands up in the her bullboat. She watches the approach of the wasp-things , an invsibile frown on her face behind her mask.

She steps out of the bullboat and onto the muddy beach, feet quickly sinking in place. They chose this spot well. It will be hard to fight. THe monk thinks as she wishes she had another gourd that let her fly, like when they fought the wraiths.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit, Double Peaks
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Ayida-Wedu climbs higher in the sky, her brilliance beating down, drawing the sweat from your bodies.

The wasplings chitter among themselves, utterly unconcerned with your presence, and that of the beastlings, though you do catch covert glances your way, as if they are attempting to figure out just what exactly you are doing here, or what exactly you are...

Eventually, a lone bullboat approaches. Slowly, it makes its way across the water, landing on the muddy beach. Hopping from the boat, Latha, drags it the rest of the way onto shore, and begins barking orders to her soldiers, who need no encouragement; they quickly push off, and paddle back towards the Enclave.

Turning to you, Latha frowns. "I've been sent to resolve this. If we survive, the Senate would like to meet you. I see Orleva's guard has arrived."

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit, Double Peaks
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Oios mutters a quick prayer and thuds his staff on the ground to to take advantage of Latha's arrival to discern what he can about the very alien Stormbringers.

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Sarenith 26, Day of the Stormreader's visit, Double Peaks
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A few more minutes pass, and then a small wake forms on the water. In unision, the wasplings rise buzz over to the beach, taking an aggressive posture, chests puffed out, buzzing and clicking speech high and loud.

The wake turns into a ripple, and then walking onto the beach from under the water, a beastling arrives. She's taller than any of the others that you have seen, with an eagle's head and hands that end in long, wicked claws. Orleva, apparently, is dressed in a fine blue-dyed cloak that trails along the muddy beach behind her, just giving glimpses of her feet; covered in fine brown feathers, and with webbing between each digit.

The Stormreader shakes herself, doglike, the water sluicing off of her, while she gives your group a cursory once-over before turning to Latha, who drops to one knee and bows her head.

A quick and sharp exchange occurs, before Orleva laughs - a very human laugh - and closing her eyes, grows totally still. The babbling sounds of language, primal and unfamiliar, falls all around you, before slowly coalescing into your own.

Looking at you with mild interest, you find Orleva's voice in your heads, warm and teasing, the words in your native tounges.

"A pleasure to meet you, outlanders. I am Orleva, Stormreader and Seer. As the harbormaster tells me, you've been granted a stay in their Enclave? What, tell me, are you doing to end the drought? And how have your people been enduring the drought?"

Latha answers, apparently addressing a different question, and this time, although she speaks in her own language, the harbormaster's response rings in your ears easily understandable.

"None of our people have admitted to dreaming, Seer Orleva."

Drazan yawns at the bees and strange beastling newcomer, a sudden and far cry from the preamble of a violent rebellion at the meeting moments ago.

When Latha says something about dreaming, Drazan says curiously asks, Is admitting to dreaming of significance?

Istiel spends most of the waiting watching the Stormreader's guard, not trusting the strange, insect-like creatures. They were too foreign, too... weird.

As the Stormreader in question emerges from the water Istiel shifts her weight about, sinking further into the mud. There was something disturbingly regal about this creature, and it would have been fitting to see Orleva hovering slightly above the ground, bird-like claws unsullied by the wet mud currently chilling the monk's feet.

A stray shadow catches her attention and she cranes her head upward, staring at the circling creature above hidden in the clouds...

...that looked like a beast worthy of slaying for glory, unlike the eagle with the nimbus of a goddess.

Istiel is a bit disturbed to hear the Seer's voice in her head, and the other voices occupying the deepest resesses of her mind seem to bristle and begin aruging with her. Honeyed words hiding rot out out! We're full, leave! iT dArEs hOsTagE thE cHIldREn Of daMBallAh

Blowing some air through her nose with a precisely controled breath, she quickly stills her mind an dsilences the voices, who were not being every helpful at the moment.

"Dreams. Tribute. Why? What do they mean to you?" Istiel responds, standing next to Drazan with unmoving soticism. "Do you seek the drought's end? Or do you take all you can while you can?"

Oios shrugs. We are blessed to have with us a Suriname of great power. he nods at Imix He has the ability to cleanse the tainted water of the river for use. But we are very intrigued by your people's ability to stop or start the rain as you please.

Orleva turns to Drazan as she waves her hand dismissively towards Latha, a proxy for the beastlings. "They dream of the city in the past. We hope it may lead to a breakthrough in our solving of the drought that plagues this land. So yes, there is significance to their dreams. We hope that is the case, at least."

The Stormreader cocks her head towards Istiel, one unblinking eye staring at the monk. Objects contain power, outlander. We use the tribute to power our divinations. Like the dreams, we hope they lead us to some way to affect some positive change on this land, and our peoples.

And you'd do well to keep an aspersions to our motives to yourself, masked one. We are benevolent Seers, but that doesn't mean that we take insults lightly.

Flipping her head, Orleva clacks her beak together and eyes Oios. I don't know what a Suriname is, but I doubt you can cleanse the tainted water. And alas, we can only make the rain come for a short while - that is the other purpose of the tribute. It is tied to times when storms lashed this land frequently. When we conduct our divinations, the tribute is consumed, and a side effect is a brief period of rainfall.

The Seer gestures upwards, towards the clouded sky. On our own, we can't break the drought. My sister Seers are nearly always conducting a ritual to break the drought, but only with the tribute can we break through. Always so close to a storm, and barely a drop to drink.

Orleva's voice hangs heavy with regret.

"I am the Suriname. Suriname Imix." Imix inclines his head. "It is good to meet you, Seer Orleva."

"Suriname are, as best we understand, a tool of our Gods. When a great change is needed, one of our people is born Suriname - born to fulfil some great Purpose. A naturally occurring, living gate between the Powers and Dominions. Trained properly a Suriname's power is, perhaps, the most powerful of all of the Magi."

He sighs "We come from far away. We were driven from our home by something called the First Flame - the same power that broke this land long, long ago. Like its namesake the Flame burns until everything is consumed, then gutters and dies, only for the embers to ignite anew when their time comes again."

"That time is now. The Flame seeks to corrupt the source of the River that forms these lands. When they succeed..." he shakes his head slowly "the pure water that flows in to dilute your tainted water will itself be tainted, and a new breaking created. Every living thing, corrupted as it is, will likely be twisted to serve the Flame, or killed."

"Forgive us our suspicions. The First Flame is deceitful, and everywhere. This land was its stronghold for years. Everything is to be questioned. Everything is to be suspected. My companion's job is to be wary - but we have met new allies as often as we have met deceitful enemies. It is a risk to trust, of course, but as things stand we face inevitable failure - only through risk can we hope to succeed."

He bows slightly "Working to bring back the rain is honourable work. But it is plugging a leak in a sinking boat. Make no mistake, the First Flame is the true threat. If it cannot be countered, all we can do is lead our people, and the Enclave, far enough away that perhaps some fraction will survive long enough to maintain some semblance of civilisation."

A pause "But the Gods, it seems, still guide us. How else to describe that here, in the very stronghold of the Past Flame, we find not just new brothers and sisters but an entire order devoted to divination."

"As for cleansing water..." He pulls a cup, and steps closer to Orelva so she can see him fill it with the water she emerged from. With a tight lipped smile he carefully holds the cup to show there is no legerdemain or trickery, then channels.

Istiel grunts in reply to the Seer's mind-speech. It was hard to tell if the creature was lying or not. The usual tells simply weren't there with the telepathic communication, and it frustrated the monk.

Brooding over having to accept that these Stormreaders may actually have the best intentions of the Beastlings in mind, she silently watches the Suriname show his cleansing powers. She wanted to ask why none of the dreamers returned, but this seemed an important crossroads in whatever the Suriname had planned, and she wasn't going to interrupt.

Our Suriname are born to do great work. What greater work could there be then to deliver us from the vagaries of the weather?

Drazan's eyes reflexively roll as Imix relays a potential friendship with the Seer and her bug men. Clearly the seer couldn't be trusted, Drazan just wasn't sure about why exactly. The only doubt about the Stormdreaming charlatans, as far as Drazan was concerned, was whether the tribute were made into slaves or were they made into food for the larva these freaks spawn in their hive.

Drazan remains silent for now, though he brushes the cork of the bottle containing his rage with his mind.

Imix's energy flows over the beach, cleansing the cup of water. Orleva steps forward, and taking the cup, inspects it for a few minutes, eventually dipping a clawed finger into it, before tipping the cup back and drinking deep. She stares at the Suriname, head tilted, through one unblinking eye.

"Your efforts are laudible, but I can't see how you can put this trick to practical use. The gods' favor are finite. Can you call upon it more than a few times a day? How will you - to use your words - plug a leak in a sinking boat?"

[i]"Water, water, everywhere,
and not a drop to drink."

Running a forked tongue around the inside of the cup, she sighs and hands it back to Imix before addressing Latha, Orleva's voice ringing in your minds for all to hear.

“Your people are skilled at survival, but this drought is but a sputter compared to the true wrath awaiting us if we continue to lack in dream-borne insights. Especially if what the Suriname says of the Flame is true. We are not familiar with this Flame, but perhaps that is where the fault of the drought lies?"

"Regardless, it displeases me that you've learned of no dreamers. If any occur, send them to the shores of Seers' Summit."

Glancing briefly upwards, Orleva continues. "We'll need to keep a special eye on all of you, for visitors to Eldeleth Kerehim always warrant special attention."

The Seer clacks her beak together one time, a sharp clap resounding around the beach. "Now, what have you brought us for tribute?"

Imix stares at the Seer, noting his channel has done nothing to her.

"I can. Do you see my vest? I am a relic-maker. I know how to create items that can do what I do. An item to clear water, perhaps." inwardly he shivers at the cost.

"You are correct, however, that far worse is coming." He nods.

"This agreement you have with our younger siblings is not sufficient. If you have knowledge, share it. There is no advantage from two men with half a boat each. Perhaps we know what you need - and do not know that you need it."

Istiel mentally and physically watches the exchange between the Suriname and Orleva. It seemed the Seer was difficult to impress, but the way she gulped down the water Imix produced told the monk something- there had to be some truth to her words, and the drought was effecting them all.

Relaxing a little, she mulls over the idea of tribute in her mind. She didn't trust them enough to admit to her dreams, but perhaps giving them some of the treasures they had found would not be so bad after all. Perhaps they were not bullies, but truly looking for a way to counter whatever is plaguing the land, and treasures were the price of their magic.

Still, she nods in support at Imix's words. "For us to share you must share." Is stated succintly.

Orleva steps forward, and even as she begins speaking in your minds, the wasplings with her snap to focus, surrounding crowding the Suriname.

"You come here, spouting deep conspiracies. Then you use parlor tricks to try and trick me - trick me about your power! Finally, you refuse the terms of the deal that we have negotiated! This is your last chance! Give. Me. My. Tribute!

Perhaps it is a trick of the light, an effect of the sudden crowd of shorter wasplings, but the Seer seems to grow larger, as if stretching with rage...