Volcano's Land - Forged in Blood (Inactive)

Game Master Miner Cotren

He joins his siblings for food, seeking decent rocks.

Samen returns to the food court and eats whatever is convenient. He's too distracted by what he's discovered to focus on food.

Woodcut is a composite elemental.

Anyway if two natures makes a creature that evil, what would four do? Would it provide balance, or simply be unstable? I need to find a steam elemental and fuse it to the woodcut. Or better yet, force them to breed. I'm still fuzzy on how that works. Maybe I can look up elemental mating rituals later.

Samen is consumed by these and other related thoughts.

"I've spent some time in Light," says Samoon vaguely. "And you?"

"Oh, I have never been, but I can tell them when I see them. Mostly young ones come here to study, hoping for some new thing never seen before." She winks at you. "They ask for plums, or salmon, and I can only offer them raisins and jerky."

Seeing Samen mechanically put food in his mouth with a far-off look in his eye, Marianne says gently, "Found some bed news, brother? Or just pondering the next linguistic prank you're going to play on the librarians around here? Whatever you wrote in that logbook didn't even look like letters."

Wamblee dwells on what he found out, while seeking food.

"I don't know if I need to find things that haven't been seen before--perhaps things that have already been seen, and then lost," says Samoon tiredly. "The top of Volcano. The origin of Darkspawn. A way to bring someone back..."

He shakes his head. "I feel like the entire world is just living in denial of our impending doom. My apologies, I'm venting."

Samen waves his hand dismissively. "No. Neither that grim nor that amusing. My woodcut is possessed by a composite elemental, of Earth and Air. The texts call it Dust, which makes sense. Apparently they're always like this. I need to do more research into composites in general."

He takes another bite and begins ticking off his fingers. "If there's any sense in the world, there should be three pairs of opposed two-parters. Dust and Steam, Magma and Rain, and Mud and... what would Fire and Air be? Lightning?"

He drops his fork and puts his head in his hands as a realization dawns on him. "Volc! That's what Abbygailwy has been the whole time! No wonder she's so fickle and violent. If that's true, I'd guess the turtle and the light are one of these things too. Like I said, more research is required."

Samoon, the food vendor says, "Well, there is only one cure for that type of thinking..." She leans below counter, and brings up a glass of deep amber ale. "The first one is on me, friends, but you will have to pay for your drinks after that."

she offers a glass to whoever is so inclined

Samoon takes it with a smile. "One of my favorite formulae. Yeast, gruit, water, and whatever one has one hand. And time."

Wamblee reaches for a offerred glass.

"Gratitude.", he says, before sipping, and dwelling on his siblings' musings.

Marianne holds up her glass, a drop of foam drifting onto the countertop. Just on the edge of hearing, "To lost loved ones." She drains the ale in about five seconds. She plunks down copper enough for another.

"If you are deciding to research all twenty pairs or however many you're still counting in your head instead of eating something," she pushes your plate closer to you, "then we're obviously spending the night. I'll ask around about local places to sleep. I've had enough of books for today."

"Sleep sounds good," says Samoon, "But I was just getting started. On eating, that is." He rapidly orders more food than one sylph should eat.

Samen distractedly takes the first drink as his thoughts continue churning.

"Thanks, Mar. I'm gonna head back down there and see what else I can dig up. I want to know if they have distinct essences that we're abstracting into composites of if they actually are two pieces of separate nature stitched together. If it's the former, why aren't there dust or steam elen? If it's the latter, some force must be the thread doing the stitching, and I would be content spending my life mastering that force."

He shoves the half-consumed glass away and slaps his legs as he gets up, refreshed more by his thoughts than the rocks. He stretches, cracking his fingers over his head. "I'm back to it, then. See you all later."

"The whole system is ridiculous," calls Samoon to the retreating Samen. "Fire isn't an element; it's the extremely rapid oxidation of flammable materials when exposed to energy and air. Earth contains many elements, as does air. I have a feeling that the Dark has arrived to correct this willful misunderstanding by the gods."

"Stop being so pedantic, Samoon. They're just metaphors--or is it analogies?--for the gods." She takes a drink of her second amber. "Or maybe for whatever is behind the gods. Something primal, like magic, energy." Her hands crackle with pale lightning for a moment, the sharp blue lines reflected in her falcon eyes. "Something that maybe shouldn't belong to them."

Marianne stands up, stretching. She slides another handful of copper toward the food vendor. "That was all delicious. Thank you."

She casually jumps on the chair she's been using and looks out, perfectly balanced, onto the open space of the rug market. She points toward the far side of the domed chamber, several hundred feet distant. "They're shooting arrows at the haystacks near the stables. Looks like fun! I'll ask about a place to sleep when I'm done."

Her dismount from the chair turns into a cartwheel that sends her into a running start. Her pace is fast, but invites any of her siblings to join in the race.

The four siblings go their separate ways, but still keep an eye on one another. Naturally, Samoon and Marianne go together, archery and some gossip to keep their interest. The smell of the pogona mash is slightly eye-watering right next to the stables, but Marianne's practice shots with her bow are still spot on.

Marianne and Samoon both have decent bonuses to social skills, so here are some rumors you gather: 1) The same rumor repeated that ifrits have attacked Root ; 2) The Winter Meet this year is being held at Amatshe, the great standing stone, which is located approximately in the center of the three major tribes ; 3) There are whispering of troubles concerning the Inquisition in Hearth, capital of the mad ifrits, but the details are vague ; and 4) too many stories to count of minor elementals and other magical creatures popping up around the countryside

Samen goes back to the third floor, drawn by books and solitude. Wamblee, loathe to leave a family member alone even in a seemingly safe library, follows.

Samen, this is going to be an arduous, time-consuming task to uncover everything about composite elementals. There are cross-references, outdated material to sift through, and the contradictions and false trails sometimes left by those who jealously guard their secrets. By late evening, you have confirmed that fire and water do indeed make Steam, and it is confirmed that this contradictory pair is also unstable and prone to madness.

Eventually, Marianne gathers up brothers who would prefer to drink, meditate, or read rather than go to bed. With just a hint of scolding, she shepherds you all to one of the living areas carved out of the tunnel rock, these available to the public at a pittance. The cells are nearly bare, with only clean hay, a washing basin, drinking water, and a mostly clean chamber pot as furniture and comfort.

You sleep.

It is Coalday, Witchrites the 3rd.

Samen works diligently, somewhat taken aback by the sheer volume of resources at his disposal. He dreams of elementals falling apart and reforming like darkspawn. In the morning, after a quick bite to eat, he hurries back to the books.

Any indication on how composites are possible? Are they separate essences, or stitched-together base elements? Any mention of what holds them together?

Samen, as you are searching yet again for how these elusive composites are made, a reedy voice like a sighing oboe says, "Hello." Appearing between you and your book, you see now an arm extended in greeting. The inner forearm has inkwork showing intricate Benthic calligraphy. You translate the Benthic word easily; it also says "Hello."

Looking up, you see a middle-aged undine el, eyes crinkling as he smiles. His jade hair is pulled back in the traditional undine style, and his robes, while finely made, are starting to wear at the edges. His skin is the blue of a still pool in a shaded clearing.

Continuing to speak in Common, he says, "Perhaps you would have better fortune on the fourth floor. I would be happy to show you." The cadence of his words is slow, full of consideration.

assuming Wamblee went with Marianne for the first part of the morning

Marianne paces the marketplace restlessly. She does not return to the archery at the haystacks - instead, she wanders up and down the rows of rugs. Nothing seems to catch her eye.

Stopping suddenly, she turns to you. "Why are we still here, Wamblee? The Sams would keep their noses in books for a year if we let them." Her gestures are quick, frustrated. "Don't you feel like we should get going? Isn't Cedar Smoke going to have the answers to our heirlooms?"

Samoon buzzes like a bee from stack to stack after a mindless breakfast of whatever he can find. Darkspawn; spread of Darkspawn; 'prior outbreak'. Known resurrections of Darkspawn-infected elen.

This takes him to lunch at least. At some point he reluctantly looks at 'ifriti brass', 'hypopause', and anything else regarding resurrection.

Sometimes I'd rather just climb Volcano with a tank of air and some ifriti fire protection and jump off, he thinks.

The hypopause. No air. No breath. Didn't Bree say...

Samoon looks up more on the Airless Valleys.

Samen closes his book and looks up at the Undine. "Certainly! I was told yesterday that level was forbidden, which means that must be where the truth is."

He gestures at the Undine. "Lead the way!"

Samoon, you find a lifetime's worth of material to sift through - the runed sticks carry a surprising density of information, and even skimming through one bundle of a single tree takes you through lunch. The tree that holds most of the darkspawn literature is a basalt willow, seeming to droop with the burden of its knowledge.

Darkspawn: There are many, many types of darkspawn, just like there are many types of insects, mammals, or birds. Much of the literature here likely echoes that which you found during your studies in Light, reflected in your knowledge skills.

Outbreaks: The armies of elenkind have managed to keep the bulk of the spawn contained over the centuries. Even those that did break through died quickly in Volcano's light. As mentioned previously, you found the trend of spawn tending to live longer, but no one is openly acknowledging it.

Resurrections of dark-infected elens: While there are plenty of accounts of blackbloods that can create duplicates of itself (thereby seeming to come back to life) there are no accounts of a spawn or a dark-tainted elen truly coming back from the dead

Other: Ifrit brass mostly shows up in old children's myth stories, but there are also old alchemical recipes that call for it (but you would have no idea where to find it, or if it still exists). No mention of hyposphere - that was likely just a term used by Abbygailiwy. The very, very rare mention of elens being raised from the dead is from stories of great paladin heroes, servants of the gods, who had such power.

Breathless Valleys: Agreed by all there is no air, thus the need for magical or alchemical protection. Some accounts of extreme cold ; ooze attacks ; and those few who do survive for any amount of time in the Valleys tend to come back physically weakened or insane.

"Why are we still here, Wamblee? The Sams would keep their noses in books for a year if we let them." Her gestures are quick, frustrated. "Don't you feel like we should get going? Isn't Cedar Smoke going to have the answers to our heirlooms?"

Wamblee stops, taking his time to ponder a response. And only then speaks.

"Mar, we have been constantly reacting to events and threats. Perhaps, just perhaps, those books contain some knowledge that might arm us. And if anyone can sniff it out in a sane amount of time, it is our brothers. I say that we give them a chance, while doing what we can here ourselves."

"Fancy a contest of arrow against thrown blade?", he adds.

Marianne listens to your words, but you can tell her natural impatience resists them. She sighs. "Fine. I'll think about what you said. And yes, I'll beat you at the range, thanks for offering!"

compare three shots in order
bow: 1d20 + 5 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 5 + 4 + 1 = 28
bow: 1d20 + 5 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 5 + 4 + 1 = 20
bow: 1d20 + 5 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 5 + 4 + 1 = 30

Bullseye, almost another, and then a second bullseye. She looks over to you, smirking a bit.

Wamblee smiles, just a little, and then launches one Njiga after another towards the target.

Njiga: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17
Njiga: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Njiga: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

"My best equals your worst. Still, not bad for stony hands."

Samen, the undine listens to your words, then takes his time replying. "Not forbidden. Fire is not forbidden, but we do steer children away from it, don't we? This is a danger that burns not the hand, but the mind."

He continues walking at a steady pace, explaining. "It is a way to gain great knowledge on a particular subject - the library's knowledge is placed into your brain, as if memorized. It takes a great understanding of language to understand the experience. But..." He stretches the word out, tracing the white branch tattoos that cover the backs of his hands. "It is unpleasant."

You approach another downward ramp. There is no guard, no apparent means of deterrence. The undine gently places his hand on your shoulder, like an ivy-covered mantle. "I want you to understand. There is a danger to this process, and it is unpleasant." He repeats the word this time with a bit of emphasis. "And you will be marked with the vine tattoos. They represent a commitment to Uluru - if the great library is attacked, you will defend it. You are free to leave, but must return if the library is in danger."

He faces you squarely, the ramp entrance directly behind him. "Do you agree, or do you wish to reconsider?" His face is neutral, unreadable.

"Where are...I'm the one who gets lost in a library, not them..."

Samoon snaps his fingers. "Target practice again. Hm. And little brother is a bookworm in his own right."

Neither seem to appeal to the somewhat worn out sylph, having read several trees worth on Darkspawn. He looks around for some gathering spot to have a drink and talk to elen about the Winter Meet, rubbing one eye, then the other.

Samen had been happily following the Undine until he explained the parameters, then stops in his tracks. "Hmph. Uluru is always in danger with darkspawn about, isn't it? What've you got in there, then? A spawn of Forest, a wood spirit of some sort?"

"If I wanted to bargain away my freedom for knowledge, it would be a simple matter to consort with the elementals I seek to understand. I've been called a warlock pejoratively before, but I've never made a bargain I couldn't honor. It seems I'm fated to die in a breathless valley, so I cannot be enslaved to your plant at this time, as tempting as it may be."

Samen returns the way he came, hoping this doesn't become a 'Thing'.

any preference on a group to see down with, Samoon? You see a band of ifrit mercenaries, a group of sylph alchemists, and multiple groups of oreads (some are locals, some are merchants etc that are visiting)

Samen, the undine smiles. "I understand entirely. I wish you the best of luck, whatever you choose to do." He takes his hand from your shoulder and-

he is gone. You look around, and there is no ramp to the fourth level - just a blank wall.

for narrative convenience, since you mentioned getting more info about the Winter Meet, the traveling merchants would be the best source of info, so that is where we are

A circle of oread merchants are seated on stools near the edge of the rug markets. They are juggling rocks and laughing to one another. Their demeanor cools as the five of them see you approach. A tall, hard-muscled oread calls out, right on the edge of joking and unfriendly, "The menu here may not please you, friend."

There is another oread, an older el, who is standing some feet away - the proprietor of this small quarry. "Your pardon, umzinge, but perhaps he wishes something for his thirst. We all drink." His emphasis on the last words sound like he is quoting from a book.

quarry is the name for a 'restaurant' of rocks for oread consumption

I was gonna say alchemists, but fine!

"Drink's good for starters, friend. Headed to the Winter Market?"

Samoon takes a seat. "Samoon, from the land of pickled plums."

Samoon diplomacy to persuade/improve mood: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20

Something about your plum remark amuses the muscled oread. "Well Mister Plum, I hope you do not mind sediment in your pale. As I have been reminded of, we do indeed all drink." He slides an ale your way, and gestures at an empty stool.

longer update tomorrow morning. This is likely a good time for Samen, Wamblee, and Marianne to eventually catch up with Samoon, unless you have other specific places you wish to go

"To your health," says Samoon, and takes a swig.

The oread drinks in kind. He lets out a loud, contented sigh. "Ahh. Yes, we are going toward the Winter Meet next. And what is your interest in it?" His bright eyes, the same color as the pale, evaluate you from beneath a craggy oak-brown brow.

"I need news that one cannot find in books," says Samoon with a sad smile. "Do you lot have names?"

"Don't be rude, Mister Plum," says Marianne from behind you. She has Wamblee in tow. "You have to introduce your side first. I'm Miss Peach, and this is our brother Mister Coconut." Marianne knocks playfully on Wamblee's head. She looks around. "I don't see our frowning Mister Raisin, so he must still be writing notes on himself."

This elicits a little laughter from the oreads. The muscular oread puts his large hand over his chest. "I am Matoskah." He quickly introduces his younger brothers. You hear Maht, Mahkah, and two others that you miss.

All the brothers, Matoskah included, are dressed in furs and leathers, reminding you more of els of the woods than merchants. Matoskah dresses the same, with one noticeable difference - small gems of pale topaz and peridot green are lightly peppered on the front of his armor, the blade of his spear, and the left side of his face.

Wamblee is briefly confused by the titles, but swiftly realises their use.

Mister Coconut I am then.

"Greetings Matoskah. Have you journeyed far from your home in Forest?"

"Ah yes, this is my family, the fruit of Branch, it seems. We have journeyed all over the place, and misfortune seems to follow us. We should be hired as reverse-guards of caravans...if we stay far away, nothing will attack them."

Matoskah's pale eyes consider the lot of you, strange names and all. "We've traveled far enough to make the trails more of a home than any tribe. And your 'brothers' and 'sister'? You've traveled a ways as well?" He is clearly reluctant to share personal details, and does not quite seem to believe that you are family.

Turning to Samoon, he says, "Is that your trade then? Caravan guards with a bit of humor to lighten long trips?"

Samen shakes his head. This may have been his one chance to gain an understanding of the true nature of things, but at the cost of being able to do anything with that knowledge. Oh well, there will be other opportunities for other foolish choices.

Eventually, he seeks out his siblings and ends up at the quarry later than everyone else. He sits down by his family quietly, seeing no need to speak with the others.

Marianne lets Wamblee and Samoon do the talking with Matoskah. She moves her stool closer to Samen and away from the merchants. "Hey, Mister Raisin." Her voice is teasing, but also gentle. "Is everything okay? Is that a normal frown, or is something seriously wrong?"

"Yes. Most recently from Root. Which has been overrun by Darkspawn.", Wamblee states plainly.

"Alchemist, studied in Light, returned to see my family, and then..." Samoon spreads his hands. "As Wamblee said. Darkspawn out the volccing pogona cloaca. Darkspawn in our town--oh wait, no, that was other awful stuff--in Root, on the road--enough to make a lovely asphaltum road, but made of Darkspawn."