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Cingedoz Runjosagaoi - The Narratives of the Cingedos


Ibn Khaldun
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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Years have passed since the first gathering of the Cinged. Those years are marked on the pages of the Narratives of the Cinged and those years pinched wrinkles the shape of tally-marks along the tops of Gaisorix's cheeks. As the eldest of the Cinged, Gaisorix took it upon himself to try and keep track of every person who claimed to be Cinged by lineage as well as those who adopted the Cinged culture in lieu of their previous ways. Arminius, perhaps dead, but we fought a few times together when our people peppered the populated isles of Daeland. The Cinged, being an adventurous sort, were not to be counted as easily as sedentary urbanites.

 

Gaisorix thumbed through the dusty pages of the tome tucked away in the largest of the three runestones outside Dunrath. Lysandros, an Elvellyn man at that, took to the Cinged ways. I last saw him on the roads between Niseep and San Luciano. He brushed a finger against each page as if the letters had a particular feel to them. Uortigornos, a name known, but a man never met but he is a Cinged out there adventuring. He thumbed through each page until he came upon empty parchment without a scrawl or a signature. He frowned to find so many pages empty, so many stories untold or glory unrealized.

 

A small parliament of owls rested in Gaisorix's owl behind him. He tucked away the aged tome into the runestone and turned his attention to sending missives off in each owl's clutch. Dumnoric's adventures read from the lips of a fair few that Gaisorix met and the head of Clan Sigvardson recently took interest in adopting the Cinged ways. He wrote out messages encouraging Dumnoric and Ragnar to write stories of their adventures and their lives; 'No harm in embellishment, no foul in exultation' read part of the messages issued forth.

 

"To those of Cinged lineage and to those taking to the ways of the Cinged, I beseech you to write your stories and your tales in this very tome. Take pride in your ventures and lean into the vividness of experience! There is no harm in embellishment, no foul in exultation. I await to see what tales have been lived and what lessons have been learned by my fellow Cinged. - Gaisorix, hal'Dunrathduron ok Saganemetoi

 

 

Spoiler

Just a reminder that any narrative posts from Cinged players can be entered here! Have fun writing! @FallingGuy, @Yashinoki_11, @Norgeth, @MolagBallin, @HistoryChap, @Cloakedsphere

 

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Teams of Cinged men alternated between moving wheelbarrows full of stone, rubble, and earth and staking siding and screeding the admixture of earth and rock just north of South Dunbar. Within a full day, they managed to raise a berm out from the outskirts of the neighborhood that would be long enough to support a bridge spanning over a cut of the lake. Gaisorix, Senex, and Uortigornos led a small flotilla of boats from the Cinged hovels on the outskirts of Dunrath and drove felled timbers across the lake to the cut in the lake near the berm.

 

The three of them drew nets along their boats and up over the timber as temporary timber-rafting. Senex managed the blueprints for the intended bridge construction while Uortigornos and Gaisorix used cant hooks to drag individual lengths of wood from the lake and splitting them where needed. The Cinged constructed a scaffolding of the bridge over the next two days with intervals for rest and meals. Two bridges needed to be replaced spanning the beaten path between South Dunbar and Dunrath and the Cinged completed them within a week.

 

Gaisorix would take a chisel and etch into girders on either side of the longer bridge Temragh air Gaisorix ach 65 Second Age.

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

The village unfolded like a rose surrounded by pine trees for thorns. Gaisorix had dismounted a few yards back and led his warhorse around a smattering of honeycomb stands and florists' stalls as he approached the manor of Arichsdorf. The few men and women who loitered the dirt roads paid Gaisorix little more than a bat of an eye and a leery glare. He knew better than to return their glares with one of his own; he knew his place as an outsider and knew well that the suspicion of the country folk merely reflected the fact that their village is the first inhabited settlement in Oren along the northwestern borders with Haense and Norland. He took to securing his horse outside the manor before entering through after a pause.

 

A man sat in a chair underneath the modest barbican of the manor; his shirt sleeves rolled up and a woman tended to a wound that discolored his right forearm. Gaisorix looked with concern and looked over his shoulder while the woman advised him. Would be my luck to enter Arichsdorf and the town be beset by raiders. He looked back out past the raised portcullis and saw the expected foot traffic and turned back to the man resting on the chair.

 

"What can I do for you?" the man asked, his injured arm propped perpendicular to his thigh.

 

"Ehm' lookin' fer' t'mayor ov' t'is town if ye' can be any help," Gaisorix answered without stirring; his eyes scanned the bustling pages and the ancillary rooms from which they came and went.

 

"Well, I suppose you've found him though I've the title Baron, " the Baron corrected before introducing himself as Manfred.

 

Gaisorix rubbed one hand atop the other, pausing as he considered if he should go on. He decided he should continue.

 

"Ehm' from Dunrath, northwest ov' here in Norland," Gaisorix saw Manfred's eyebrow perk up and swallowed his anxiety as he kept talking, "I decided to cross the border an' ride to the nearest town on the Orenian side ov' t'e hinterlands to conduct a little backyard diplomacy if ye' will. My people, t'e Cingedoz, recently migrated to Dunrath from Daeland an' have found it a peaceful abode. I've come to offer to pay tribute or whatever is necessary to see Dunrath saved from t'e impending advance of t'e Empire."

 

Manfred blinked twice and looked to Gaisorix. The two men matched each others' glances and Manfred gave away his sense of surprise. He straightened his back in his chair and collected his thoughts before replying.

 

"You needn't pay anything from your coffers. I am aware of some mercenaries committing raids across the border, but I can speak with the Emperor about the imperial army bypassing Dunrath if we choose to attack Norland. I must be ensured that no agents of Varhelm will be given refuge in Dunrath nor a contingent of Ashguard be allowed to sally from Dunrath to try and outflank the army's advance."

 

This time, Gaisorix gave away his own surprise as he listened to Manfred's reply. He had been shuffling his hands around his pockets, quietly counting away minas in anticipation to the price for peace. The coin fell from his hand in muted release and he took out his hands as he gave a hand gesture to indicate his agreement.

 

"Now, you'll have a hard time I'd wager convincing your chieftain. He and I didn't get along last we met, but I know you are a third-party of sorts to my personal feud with Norland," Manfred added. Gaisorix gave him a look that could be read as confusion or concern.

 

"I don't suppose you are privy to the politics of Norland, are you? The kingship runs through the Rurik bloodline and I contend that my place in the lineage gives me greater right than Vane to be king. To the Cingedoz, this is just another family's feud I suppose and one that you all do not mean to intercede in."

 

Gaisorix nodded and waved one of his hands as if he wanted nothing more than to be a far distance from the conflict. Manfred motioned for one of the pages to break away from his errand and offer Gaisorix a bottle of honey-mead. A swill and a satisfied click of the tongue later, Gaisorix and Manfred talked over prospects for trade before the two exited the manor and out into the modest hamlet.

 

Another page made a beeline for Gaisorix's warhorse and began preparing saddlebags and the remaining tack. Gaisorix waited to mount and gave his farewell to Manfred before setting out. Peace for my people by any means, even if it means death for me by other agents. Gaisorix oriented himself westward and began his long trek back to Dunrath with the bottle of honey-mead in hand. I must speak with Dughlas, though it may incur persecution. This time, Gaisorix took his time to detour around the immolated settlement he found before.

 

Mountains high and nigh-impenetrable eventually opened up to valleys; the first of these valleys being where the Rathonians founded Dunrath, South Dunbar, and Grenzstad. After a few day's travel, Gaisorix finally found the beaten path that wound around the eastern half of Lake Fiag. He watched a hooded figure resting on a pitched wagon midway along the road as he descended from the last of the mountain ridges. Gaisorix found another Cinged having returned home, his name being Astorix.

 

 

Spoiler

Great roleplay with @Narthok. Unfortunately, I lost the screenshots I took of the visit to Arichsdorf, but it is a wonderful build with a fair bit of activity. Also, introducing an Adunian-turned-Cinged @HistoryChap

 

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The simple man Arminius would wander his ways up to the gates of Haelun’or, recently pillaged and plundered by a war just a little less than a year ago. He had heard stories of its people but had not paid any attention to the words of feeble men and women across the lands to stay away. As he would step up to the gates, he’d admire the beauty of the city. Clearly there was more than just a few worthless individuals inside. Perhaps more awaited him on the other side; As not all stories had been of hatred and bitterness but instead of wealth, knowledge, and beauty.

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Arminius was graciously greeted by an unnamed Mali’aheral on gate duty. Yet he was surprised when she spoke; A female is not what he had expected to be protecting their city.

“Name, Race, and reason for entry.” the woman would say.
“Arminius, Cinged, and I wis’ fer’ a tour ‘o ye’ great city.” Arminius exclaimed. Still in shock that a people that was once so belittled by the rest of the world and deemed treacherous would put their women in charge of running their gates. He was asked if he had any weapons on and to remove his helmet. He had surrendered all weapons he had on him back at camp, leaving his home only with his horse, armor, and a small bit of food to sustain him in his travels. After removing his helmet and exclaiming he did not carry any weapons on his person or his horse, he would be quickly let in.

As he was let into the city, he was given a rightful tour of the place by the same female guard whom was watching the gate. She would begin to show him, along with a Dark elf, the upper districts of the city which included housing, the citadel, and the library. Arminius would find the citadel quite entertaining with its grandiose interior. All the chairs lined up neatly on all sides and a large stage with only two other chairs atop it look down upon the rest. He’d make mental notes of the place as they went from one building to the next. They were shown an amphitheater, which included a fancy machine that Arminius had never seen before. They would call it a “Slot” machine yet Arminius being simple minded would not understand the contraption or why it needed to exist, especially at the back of the city.

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As the tour drew down to a close, the last building would be shown. Oddly enough, Arminius is taken back at the fact that this particular building would not be more guarded or behind more gates like the citadel and library were before. The source of all their money and belongings that they wish to sell internationally would be freely open to the public, unguarded by any Mali’aheral at all. He is once more surprised that a people with this much security just to get into the city and that were praised for being oh-so knowledgeable of all things would leave one of their most vulnerable assets in the open for all whom walk past it. He’d make mental notes as he asked his tour guide where the guards were at for the bank? The tour guide would exclaim “We have no guards for the bank.”

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With that, the tour would quickly come to an end. Arminius was told that he did not have to leave and could stay so long as he did not stir any trouble within the walls of Haelun’or or with its people. Yet by this time, all Arminius could think about was food. He wandered up into the square and would find another Mali’aheral whom had been standing, seemingly speaking to herself as she looked on to a group attempting to have a weight lifting competition in the middle of their city.

“Excuse meh’, lasseh’. Could ye’ s’ow me to ye’ nearest tavern w’ere I may git some food n’ some grog?” Arminius said to the unidentified woman.

The woman would be taken back by the man as the stench that came off the man would be foul. He had clearly been living a hard life in the woods prior to arriving in Haelun’or.
“Erm, yes, of course.” the woman nodded as she would lead Arminius to the tavern.

Here, Arminius would find himself a barkeep that was tending to two others at the time. He would quickly order himself some food and drink, refueling and preparing himself for travels in the near future. Arminius found himself at a crossroads though. He felt conflicted on the previous reports of the Mali’aheral people. Many spoke so ill of their culture and yet even for someone as disgusting, rude, and overall scary looking as Arminius, he had been treated with respect and dignity and was even offered a seat in their pub. Yet with all that Arminius had experienced on this day, the one other thing that stood out to him was the fact that they had not even placed a guard to protect their own bank.

10th of the sun’s smile, Year 65

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Faces as dark as obsidian and as pale as raw quartz moved past Gaisorix as he made the ascent towards the many-spired city of Fenn colored in aquamarine and pearly white. He found himself in the middle of early day foot traffic that seemed to pour in and out of a large gate that continued to ascend upward and a smaller cave entrance that seemed to descend. He felt the fatigue in his legs lead him downhill instead of up and continued onto the spacious escarpment where the cave opening began. Speleothems of all sizes flanked the cave entrance and alternated in size and spacing as the corridor widened into a vast chamber.

 

Gaisorix made his way through the corridor; the shadows cast by the torches held by sconces fixed to the cave walls camouflaged the Dark Elves who loitered and jaunted through the thoroughfare. He looked up with wonderment at the increasingly intricate and immaculate stonework and engravings that zigzagged across the ceiling and walls. He saw buildings seemingly embossed into the sides of the cave system; the houses appeared to be either a royal purple, jet black, or ambergris color and a mix of stonework and timber-rafting. He found beneath his feet small rivulets feeding into a larger karst spring and a beautiful tessellation of flowstone that formed steps throughout Nor'Asath.

 

Beady eyes as grey as thunderclouds inspected Gaisorix; the Dark Elves of Nor'Asath seemed to study everyone that walked through their corridors without so much as a glare or harrumph.  He made his way for the tavern and took a seat that looked out over the interior of Nor'Asath and found himself glossing over each detail. This must be where the Black Elvellyn dwell for I have not seen but one or two in my years. As a Cinged, he knew only of architecture above ground and modest at that. The concept of building underground and with such inimitable aesthetic only conjured the thought of dwarves, but Nor'Asath stood apart in its own way.

 

 

Spoiler

Good fun and awesome build @ColonelKuehl1& other Nor'Asath players

 

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 Runestones in the meadow

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Cliffs crowned with the nests of puffins and thickets of mountain goldenrod provided a familiar landmark for Gaisorix as he lid his warhorse in a beeline parallel to the Daelish Isles. He stopped to look longingly at a singular runestone that broke the horizon up ahead. No noise permeated the dusk air save for hoofbeats and the squawk of birds at sea. The only sign of civilization to be seen was the derelict remains of Daeland; the palisade collapsed and the tavern razed.

 

A slight ascent, whose distance took a quarter of a hour to cover, separated Gaisorix and the lone runestone. He grasped the limestone of the monolith once he came within reach and worked his nails between the grooves of the engravings  adorning the tall stone. He chipped away dry mud and whittled away overgrown moss that obscured the letters that spelled out entire sentences. He read the inscription at the base and marveled; Sin klukarunjoz arvi hal'Cinged ach 58 Second Age. He chuckled under his breath and began to count on both of his hands. The ways of the Cingedoz have stood against time for over 15 years, the time enough for a boy to become a man.

 

 

Spoiler

Always neat seeing old builds stand the test of MC time!

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Having visited the singular runestone opposite the Daelish Isles, Gaisorix turned to look upon his people's old homeland. The Cingedoz first gathered under the Daelish during the reign of brothers Gowthur and Malcolm Douglas. He found the isles denuded of its previous settlement, but found in the place of old rubble new timbers being raised and stone being stacked upon stone. He spied figures toiling under the cool dusk sky and carrying all habits of building material across the surface of the largest island. How strange, are the Daelish rebuilding before my very eyes? Many years passed between the first gathering of his people and this very moment.

 

The single thoroughfare, what once used to be a suspension bridge that swung enough with the wind to build up any man's suspense, shot straight across the short distance to the isles. Gaisorix led himself down and began to cross; his feet scratched against a stone and mortar flooring that felt so unfamiliar to him in this setting. He found one of the figures on the isles turning and approaching him from the opposite side of the bridge. Within minutes, Gaisorix and the man came face to face and inspected one another for a brief moment.

 

"Lo! Anuanek Gaisorix. Hwaet anuanju?" Gaisorix investigated. The other man, almost a splitting image to Gaisorix, stood with his shoulders square and his body dressed in beige woolen clothing and returned a look that lacked tact yet indicated confusion.

 

"Slava ci, hvala goral! Shto tam u tvoi?" the man replied with a sense of pleasantness. Gaisorix paused, debating whether to try to answer or to speak in Common.

 

"Hail lad, ehm' Gaisorix. I'd wager we best speak in Common lest we misunderstand one another and come to blows," Gaisorix jokingly assuaged.

 

"Fair enough, well met Gaisorix. You have happened upon the Radaghastians of Daeland," the Radaghastian vojak confirmed. The two of them turned and headed towards the Daelish Isles, exchanging stories all the while.

 

Spoiler

This post can also be found in the thread A Call to all Daelish Warriors

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

A Musin dashed from tuft of grass to tuft of grass in the meadow where a singular runestone stood sentry. The mouse of a messenger darted between men's feet and over crisscrossed laps until it fell upon its recipient. Gaisorix balanced the Musin in his open palm and received the news. The few Cingedoz gathered in a circle under the gaze of the runestone's knapped eye, motes of dust dancing in the stream of sunlight cast through the hole.

 

"Och, t'is little one tells ov' a new rix ov' the Dael. T'e fairhaired Llewelyn, t'ough I only remember him as a young lad," Gaisorix remarked. Arminius and others looked between each other, drawing puzzling looks all while trying to remember the fairhaired fellow.

 

"I think t'e young lad, man now, makes himself t'King ov' t'Highlanders," Arminius interjected.

 

"He can style himself king, but he behaves as one and cares as one, I dun' particularly mind. T'e Cingedoz fell under Gowthur Douglas an' he wosn't t'e best, bot' he gave us no trouble an' so we din' trouble him none," Gaisorix affirmed with a deliberative tone.

 

"If anyt'ing, I'd wager we ah' in good graces wit' t'is Llewelyn an' wit' t'e Piast Casimir. We built t'e road that should've been built decades ago t'at will aid t'Daelish Isles in travel an' trade," declared the white-haired Senorix. Gaisorix and Arminius nodded in agreement and Gaisorix turned to the Musin messenger.

 

"Go, give glad tidin's teh' Casimir an' tell him t'at t'Cingedoz ah' wit' t'Daelish. We bring t'em soldiers, trade, an' goodwill fer' t'Highlander folk as a whole!" Gaisorix urged.

 

As the Musin leapt from Gaisorix's hand and scampered away; Gaisorix turned his shoulders and attention to the kinfolk assembled.

 

"All ye' go an' give good fortune and glad tidin's ter' our Cinged who travel an' adventure. Let 'em know we return once more t'the Daelish Isles an' regather at the first klukarunjoz (runestone) we raised since our people first gathered!"

 

Spoiler

@Cloakedsphere@FallingGuy @Frott @Norgeth @HistoryChap& anyone else interested in making a Cingedoz, we are chilling in Daeland now. There is an actual road from South Hub to Daeland too lmao

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Wrought iron and tree roots embraced and composed the portcullis that stood between Nevaeh'len and the two Cinged. Arminius and Gaisorix exchanged glances betraying curiosity and tapped against cold iron and coarse xylem to grab the attention of the loiterers in the plaza and draw one of them to raise the gates. The two paused as metal scrapped dirt and whiskers of smaller roots fell on them with the shuddering of the gate; the gate opened and the remaining residents in the plaza gave them suspicious looks. Gaisorix, the first to walk inside, threw around his shoulders in a mock display of menace.

 

"Slanu Elvellyn! Oi've brought goods t'trade an' trinkets to catch t'e eye!" Gaisorix began, Arminius quick on his heels and snickering at his kin's salesman pitch.

 

One Elf leered at Gaisorix and another shook his head. Gaisorix fell silent and turned to Arminius, quickly exchanging goods so the two could peddle separately and inspect the forested city. They marched and darted through streets and spied into doors both open and closed. They split in forks on the city streets and regathered at junctions; they solicited their wares to anyone willing to listen for a few minutes and found themselves cursing their luck more than describing their trinkets.

 

Gaisorix found himself staring up a steep incline with a cobble path making a beeline towards a library. He massaged one of his knees before starting the ascent with his head bent low trying to will himself onward. He found the path before him grow dim and soon thereafter a set of solid stone feet protruding in his field of vision. He slowly looked up and found all of the features expected of a primitive man colored dark green and grey before locking eyes with the construct.

 

"What. are. you. looking. at. mortal?" the construct queried with flat tone and a straight visage.

 

Gaisorix took a step back and took in the towering stone golem with his eyes. He ran a thick finger through his beard before answering. "Naught bot' a t'ing ov' stone I s'pose," he answered.

 

"How is it yer' speakin' when t'e very crags ov' t'Daelish Isles dun' speak?" Gaisorix quickly asked before the golem had its pause to articulate.

 

"The. Daelish. have. no. golems. We. are. crafted. with magic," the golem informed Gaisorix.

 

It was the golem's turn to quickly follow with its own interjection. "One. might. learn. from. this. library," the golem advised while beckoning Gaisorix to look behind it at the library that rested on the hilltop at the end of the path.

 

Gaisorix continued on the path and asked one more question as he walked.

 

"Who made you?"

 

"Magic. is. dwarven. but. Elf. made. me," the golem admitted. The golem turned and stood sentry watching Gaisorix make it the rest of the way up the hill.

 

The library's open floor plan consisted of multiple halls flanked with tall shelves unevenly lined with books. A few residents occupied the library either reading quietly or engaged in hushed conversation. Gaisorix inspected book titles and various devices littering the halls before coming upon an altar with a single open book resting on its plane. He thumbed through the pages and read intently, paying attention to a part that described making inanimate objects mobile. Burning effigies made of straw walked like men on two feet bound together with twine.

 

Spoiler

Combining a few instances of RP into a single post for brevity. Thanks @Cloakedsphere @thequeennadine @Fireheart @Iveus

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Gaisorix led his horse up and through a series of paths onto one of the many red cliff mesas that protruded from the landmass opposite San Luciano. The din of mallet on nail and sawblade against wood attracted him and a few Cingedoz to make the ascent and he found a modest motte and bailey half-constructed on the mesa's face. Men and women, some dressed in Savoyard attire and yet others dressed more for the northern climes of Norland, littered the flats and took little notice in the newcomer. He led his horse past the palisades and introduced himself.

 

"Slanu! Lo t'ere, anuanek Gaisorix - my name is Gaisorix - oi'm lookin' fer' whomever is in charge!" Gaisorix introduced himself, looking between the faces slowly turning and acknowledging him.

 

One of the men took the ends of his tunic and wiped away dirt from his hands. He stepped forward, eyeing Gaisorix and introduced himself.

 

"Aye, I am Friedrich. You are just in luck, it is I you are looking for. By the way you speak, I'd wager you must be from Daeland," Friedrich confirmed.

 

"Och, ye' have t'right ov' it. Oi'm Gaisorix hal'Iskraduron ov t'Cingedoz, one of t'tribes ov' t'Daelish Isles. Casimir tells me we ah' t'be friends an' I wanted t'see if ye needed any supply fer' yer' efforts buildin' up yer' duron - your town," Gaisorix inquired. He whistled and motioned for one of his kinsmen to lead a wain forward loaded with timber and stone.

 

"Well, I can't say no to that which will make our work easier," Friedrich mused as he inspected the felled timbers and the quality of hewn stone. He took out a satchel of gold and began to count out coins as a few of the men loitering the mesa stepped forward to help unload some of the supply. Friedrich placed the payment in Gaisorix's hand and watched as Gaisorix counted them out in his outstretched palm.

 

"Oi'm glad t'do business wit' ye'. We ah' in t'Daelish Isles if ye' ever want to visit or rest in our tavern. Let me know if ye'd like me and m'kin t'pave a road fer' ye' from Redclyf to the existing highways throughout t'Savoyard South. We paved one recently from t'Daelish Isles to the Southern Caravans ov' t'Cloud Temple," Gaisorix suggested.

 

 

Spoiler

Nice doing business with you all and I have perms to the region if you need a road built. Just hmu in RP. @spk @MisterBlitzkrieg @Lestius @ImDrippedJr @PrincetDime

 

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

The central island looked bespoke with the streamers and gaudy ribbons that ran from post to post to form a circle around a series of benches and upturned log stumps. Men and women filed around and took seats or squatted onto the logs. They shifted them around until they found their personal sense of place where they sat in relation to a makeshift stage that naturally commanded the people to orient themselves towards it. Gaisorix hefted up a hewn log, rough and flat on both ends, and took his position along the circle and studied the faces of those seated opposite of him. He watched as Daelishmen, Vistulians, neighbors from Redclyf, and fellow Cingedoz exchanged handshakes, greetings, and small talk before Casimir started the meeting.

 

"Moi announce t'Narada to begin!" Casimir Kovaceski announced, a horn blaring out to cut off conversation and usher in silence. "Come forth if you wish to speak on a matter," Casimir continued, exchanging glances with everyone sitting in the circle.

 

"Moi wish t'speak Vodvoj, iedin topic about the military," Jasna Vojcura remarked. The congregated attendees turned and looked to her expectantly.

 

"We need t'establish an army from each of the clans. Draw men and women from each to patrol the roads of the fallen Kingdom of Savoy and to establish a garrison here," Jasna suggested. Gaisorix stood himself up with the aid of his karnyx and interjected.

 

"Eh' agree wit' Jasna an' suggest something in addition. We need t'sack t'ese ghost towns ov' old Savoy lest upstart adventurers an' want-to-beh' kings make use ov' t'resources throughout!" Gaisorix argued. He leaned onto his karnyx, its brass bell shaped like a boar's head with its tongue lolling as if panting.

 

A rise in tone and mutters turned to cheering encouraged Gaisorix. Casimir nodded in unison to the riled agreement.

 

"Aye, that is a necessary course of action. Gaisorix, take yer' Cingedoz an' sack [REDACTED]. Take what you find and bring it to the Isles. I'll lead the Vistulians an' pillage [REDACTED]," Casimir commanded. He looked to Jasna to see if she was satisfied. Jasna sat down and smiled.

 

Gaisorix remained standing, nodding with Casimir's command. He pointed past the bridge to the ring of runestones in the distance. He held an outstretched palm, facing upwards, in the direction of his kinsmen gathered with him before continuing.

 

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"We have raised t'klukarunjozoz once more in t'Daelish Isles an' put our histories there where they first began. Our people need a home to rest our heads out ov' t'rain an' t'store our shite," Gaisorix urged. Casimir let out a laugh that seemed to bounce between people, a laugh of enjoyed humor.

 

"Do not worry Cingedoz, there is in fact a hall I've been meaning to grant. There is one in the back of Iskryce with many rooms and a great overlook across the isles that I wish for you all to have," Casimir confirmed with outstretched hand motioning for calm.

 

Cries of celebration broke out between the Cingedoz. Gaisorix hugged a few men before turning back, thanking Casimir. Casimir grew quiet as Llewelyn ap Fawr stood up; he looked towards Gaisorix and commanded quiet from the corner of Cingedoz before stepping forward to the middle of the circle.

 

"I, Llewelyn ap Fawr, Reig ov' Daeland-Vistulia hereby names Pyotr Ludovar an honorary Daelishman. His investment in the isles, his service to the isles, is not forgotten and he is welcome here as brother to us all!" Llewelyn announced proudly. He wheeled around on the heels of his feet and embraced Pyotr, just risen, with a brotherly hug.

 

Men and women began to stand up in applause. The crowd, its energy, fed off of itself. Casimir and Llewelyn exchanged encouragements for the clans to send men to serve in the army. Vistulians began to take out their curved sabres and dance with them. Cinged soldiers bashed sword and karnyx against scutum shield as they cried out Rabo! A Daelish charioteer took to drumming his hands along the rim of one of his chariot's wheels. The Narada ended with celebration and a hopeful determination for the Daelish Isles.

 


 

Spoiler

Fun RP ya'll! @Wulfery @Darthpiesel  @far1ca  @RyuTheCoolest  @Acostrob  @Juststan147  @Aidan_CoG   @spk  @MisterBlitzkrieg  @ShrekLich @tadabug2000 @Clayphish  @TrueProfessor  @Lestius  and anyone else I missed!

 

Also, Cingedoz or those interested, come and visit the new HQ in Daeland. Coords: X259 Y77 Z1948

Those who made past Cinged characters are added to /cprivate perms.

 

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oh3OMtaA1xAwVsColreZJQbTdQZ6IQxRG0FP94_oHaRiyMAIjl7d-XeDkUcAjuAaUkQn2sWiiwvWRGttKpsWjMtaY0HmwRU6F4a5xEQbwVlJj7Z4HpYw58s7vYTrwk-ETXVUYQWoZTYIzp1Uww

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

Gaisorix hal'Iskraduron encountered Maciej and Stanislaw Jazloviecki on his travels to Vienne. As he peddled his wares in the city's plaza, he overheard them recollecting details from the summit. He led his horse at an easy trot over to the two Lechians and introduced himself. The exchange, curt and pleasant, gave details regarding the pact. The Cinged elder found himself delighted by the news of the events and continued on travelling city to city to sell his goods and entreat with customers and citizens alike.

 

 

Spoiler

In response to the Pact of the Southern Winds found here.

 

 

 

 

rj_ydejc9s9uq9k_xgQoTO4K3625yd0eVf0-5PmCcY61rSDGjGFJhWvCN0-NUNZnCBCZv-Tzf1UumKdXTLtGLoivfz-wh0T7N_G1KX-AU24RS1yOHzTLyUg6Db5eIcCUWewmTIPYS76xtTUV1A

 

Gaisorix hal'Iskraduron returned from one of his many travels as a Cinged merchant peddling wares and selling goods of varying quality. He removed his helmet, an iron cap with a black bear's head mounted on top and its furs and claws draped over Gaisorix's shoulders, and parted his matted hair before announcing, "Ehm' Gaisorix, as ye' all know. Ehm' in meh' fiftehs bot' served in t'Great War when Haense, Oren, & Urguan all fought. Eh've got good experience and a good axe-arm. Ehm' a Highlander, specifically ov' t'Cingedoz tribe. We already spoke on t'is at t'Narada bot' makin' sure ye' know t'at the Cingedoz will participate in t'Clansguard."

 

Cinged youth, in his teens, ran up to Gaisorix and swapped helmets. Gaisorix put on the new helmet, a bronze cap with two rounded crests inlaid with coral and made of beaten silver.

 

michael-weinert-briton-noble-warrior.jpg?1634733130

 

 

Spoiler

In response to the Clansguard of the Daeland-Vistulia found here.

 

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p-P5K495d4AXdc_ELDIYVdEAWFjBqe6T766eCc95lojQIbS6Rqfdc1fNXU_pEJHIsCeFBCejz7W5lhR_gZBzK0OhMOoCNwhoyOYgXFmZQNvgFbCi3zTDPHcgmyKWxMNTWrUGzrN1

 

THE DEATH OF GAISORIX
w7Y-KApiWEdln4Q4w0Y8XqVshSUP9z8LbHLfvkkhIKPgeAbLM_ER0wmxdpoU7zhS0q6K866dSjbpk9c_Uyh1BAYUkbUvIrIv5FXZmSjbTolZsJee4xdQXfW9Fii1YBDu9bdYMQa_cliu56sWKA

 

PART I

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

This child of mine, o’ how I’ve left him to grow unabated. Gaisorix sat himself gingerly at the end of the bed in the clan hall. He looked over shyly to the young man, tucked beneath bear furs and woolen blankets, and spied the golden blonde hair that made a pillow beneath the youth’s head. He got that from his mum, golden as the sun, and not from me - as dark as the stain of my sins. Gaisorix reached to pat his son’s feet gently and untucked a scroll from beneath his red mantle and made a beeline for the modest nightstand to place it.

 

“Wodagek, makosek, ogbagh fynn dobre tegos. Hafekoz teutava ok nemeto ach sin duron,”[1] Gaisorix mused, barely aloud, as if in monologue with himself with his son as an audience.

 

“Despite my occasional outbursts, you will serve the Piast well. Above all things, his heart is firmly planted in his people and so he serves them earnestly despite any wrong decisions made. If there is one thing I learned after migrating our people across the continent, it is that a people cannot be uprooted for long lest the roots wither and fall away from the trunk of the tree. Keep the faith in God, keep the ties of kin, keep your eyes skyward for there is nobility in rising above the mud of lowest land.”

 

Gaisorix wiped a tear from his eye, his monologue turning to confession now.

 

“I have been cut down and injured a few times in my younger years. The Great War made sure of that. We are not an invincible people o’ Brennus. Please respect my wishes when you wake and see yourself naught as a boy, but a man with purpose. I traveled this continent for many years plying trade and learning about the world and so I’ve left you with a few places to visit and a reason why for each. I’ve many sins to my name, but I hope not to accrue another by leaving you without a rhyme or reason for your living.”

 

He felt his chest grow heavy and heaved a sigh as if throwing off a burden one last time.

 

“I don’t think I will make it, where we are going. In all my time traveling, fighting, and contending with the wonders of the world; I have yet to find such a place as this that causes worry and dread to well within my heart. Know that I love you lad and be well,” he patted Brennus’ feet one last time with an unsteadiness about his hand before standing. He took each step carefully and quietly and exited the Langotegos[2].

 

 

lhKOG93p4XkrK6MXQbfmwgUQx8gBArs4wjViOwBEmMLCTuH1l-NlktmMo5MyV-2i9hf4aO3jtZNRggRikcCKRdPW05ZH54lVq5PAACRAdN0yc2XyLi8H55feiGJeErlbX1UjkjPDtfZH5d1CuQ

 

PART II

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Gaisorix and Bodbmakos rode south to the sound of the occasional trumpet of Gaisorix’s karnyx, the gallop of horse hooves, and the creaking of Cormack’s chariot. Banners streamed above the heads of the Balian host and warhorns whose shrill yells welled from inside bronze bells shaped like shrieking boars’ mouths towered over the Cingedoz and Daelish troops. The armies of Balian, Daeland, and Redclyf eventually reached the outskirts of the dread city of Kivdrona. The mighty cathedral and colosseum came into view first for the approaching soldiers and seemed to tower menacingly like a bird of prey leaning its head forward and inspecting mice skittering the sand.

 

Casimir halted the procession and called forth the commanders of each host for a parlay near the rusted iron portcullis that rested closed inside the wall of the settlement. Gaisorix dismounted and ushered men to tie up their horses snugly at a stand of trees by the refugee encampment. Men and women exchanged masks and checked their equipment as they waited for Casimir’s command. The Cingedoz passed around javelins to stow in the clutch beneath their scutum shields and began to form up in a shieldwall with the Bronze Elves and Vistulians.

 

“With me now! We advance towards the wall soldiers!” Casimir called out with a directing wave of his sabre. The shieldwall steadily grew as men and women formed up ranks and approached Kivdrona. The soldiers debated among themselves whether to try and cut away at the rusted portcullis or to approach a notch in the wall where a hulking form that first appeared to be a battering ram remained. The Bronze Elves and Daelish contingent would enter first to try and secure a space for the rest of the army to safely enter through.

 

The vanguard decided to approach the rammed portion of the wall and found that the mass they mistook as a battering ram was instead a giant bull whose flesh reeked from its decay and parts of it being burned. The soldiers drew their masks tightly across their noses and mouths and stamped out flaming flesh and kicked sand over burning wood to ease their passage through. As they made their way into the town, they found many of the buildings torn asunder and ghastly sights that turned stomachs.

 

A giant tentacle with eyes protruding from its base lingered far to their west near the cathedral. Gaisorix turned his head to the east and urged the soldiers to turn to what he found. A couple of unsettling chimeras loitered the road to their east whose bodies appeared bipedal and human, but their heads were that of owls. A giant creature, tall and q_eer, loomed behind them and began to squawk at the soldiers newly entered. The shieldwall slowly turned and braced with an assortment of spears held overhand and underhand bristling from behind shields.

 

The chimeras began to flock towards the shieldwall, unsheathing swords and axes as they came closer. Gaisorix hoisted a javelin from his clutch and couched it while aiming; a quick pause with bated breath and he tossed it soon after. The javelin found its mark and pierced one of the chimeras in the chest and Gaisorix watched as it wilted and crumpled over. "Rabo! Werrekoz Cingedoz!"[3] Gaisorix chanted upon the success of his attack and encouraged others to launch their own javelins. He looked to his right and saw Casimir wrestling his spear from the clutch of another owl-headed chimera and saw Pamphilos gut it with his sarissa.

 

The shieldwall held its own against the oncoming aberrants and Gaisorix called out for Bodbmakos to usher in the remaining Redclyf soldiers and to watch their south-facing side and rear. A darker shadow loomed overhead and Yelena called out as a lycanthrope, walking on all fours, leapt from building to building before landing down before Woland. A second lycanthrope steered its way in front of the shieldwall with its legs bracing to pounce. Gaisorix slipped out another javelin and held it overhand as one of the lycanthropes set off in a grotesque gallop straight towards the shieldwall. 

 

A feeling of forlorn washed over him as he realized the lycanthrope meant to barrel through the center of the shieldwall and he was standing in its path. A toss of the javelin did little to thwart the inevitable and Gaisorix felt himself tossed down and trampled underneath one of the paws of the beast as it swung Pamphilos around like a ragdoll. Gaisorix felt his scutum shield break apart with pieces of wood puncturing his abdomen and shieldarm. The old man let out a ragged cry as the paw came off of him and held out a weak hand which Yelena took hold of to lift him to his feet.

 

The cohesion of the shieldwall had dissolved with men and women fighting around Gaisorix individually, relying on their own spirit rather than the organization of the group. He gripped what remained of his scutum shield by its iron handle now that the leather straps had torn away and recovered his spear nearby. He found himself dueling a chimera that pushed him further and further from the group. 

 

Gaisorix felt himself reeling backwards as he watched the army’s integrity break away as some opted to join together in combat with a lycanthrope while others dueled with the remaining chimeras. He turned to face his own assailant whose head swiveled left and right like an owl acutely observant as it pecked away at the existing holes in his shield. Gaisorix turned his spear to face the barb towards the chimera, holding it overhand, and began to pepper the creature with blows as a means to keep it at bay. He felt something solid against his back and realized he had stepped into the derelict wall of a charred home.

 

The chimera took a daring lunge towards Gaisorix’s face and he clapped the shield’s rim up against its throat. The chimera shrieked and recoiled and he turned his spear underhand and thrust it into its abdomen. He darted inside the home as the chimera fell to the ground lifeless; either from the trauma of its injury or from the aurum that adorned the spear’s barb. Gaisorix tossed aside his crumbling shield and kept his spear close as he huddled into a corner, hoping to become unassuming and unnoticeable. He slid against the wall until he sat, looking down at his wounds that continued to bleed and he sucked in enough air to whistle through his wounds as he took stock of what happened.

 

Gaisorix began to sob quietly as he heard the clamor of fighting in the distance. That I’ve seen the beauty in this world only to die seeing the dread. Gaisorix feebly brought bits of cloth from his undercoat over the wounds, a forlorn attempt to stop his slow death. That my son would lose his father in this city of abominations. He took out a scroll from one of his pockets, shifting lightly while doing so. He took in a mouthful of breath to steady his hands and began writing. 

 

My son - fear the abomination that is Kivdrona. Though I am lost here, do not seek me for I may turn against you as foe though I mean it not. If Daeland establishes a foothold, though I am unaware given what has happened today, keep to the Morion Gaisoz[4] - the sea of spears and wander not off to your singular death. I have left you all of my wealth to your disposal as I swore you I would and as you’ll find in the note I left by your bedside. Use it wisely. Take care of Bodbmakos and Cormack if they return. Trust in your uncle Arminius and care for old Senex if he returns. Know that Dumnoric is an adventurer, but is one of us. Trust the tribes of the Isles and build from there.

 

Gaisorix blinked away what tears rimmed his eyelids and tried to calm himself. He folded the scroll primitively in the shape of a bird and held it clutched between his two hands. An aura, colored darkest green, poured out from his hands like the sputtering flame from inside a lantern’s basket. The creak of splintered wood and talons on dirt stirred outside the house and an owl-shaped head poked its way through the entryway where a door once stood. The head darted to the left as a parchment bird flew past, too fast for the chimera to react. An old man, disheveled and nearly bled dry, laid crumpled in a corner and caught the attention of the prying beast.

 

 

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PART III

𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Brennus took his time waking up as the first beam of light poured across his room and striking his face like cold water. He slowly brought his body upright in the bed and kept the blankets folded over his privacy as he turned to inspect the dead calm that filled the clan hall. He looked over and took notice of the scroll folded neatly upon his nightstand and reached for it. He drew in an uncertain breath and began to read its contents.

 

Son, my wealth is your inheritance. Make the most of what is gathered in coin and in resource and spend it wisely on yourself, your kin, and on the Isles. Remember our tongue, keep the histories, and mind your relationships. Keep the trust given to you by kin and stranger, though the kin takes precedence and the best charity is to those of the Isles.

 

I ask for you to travel to three places some time in your life: Go forth to Nevaeh'len and find the old altar of the library. Make it a mission to gather the strength of mind and spirit. Go forth to the Grenzi and raise a runestone in honor of our possible origins. Make it a mission to recollect the histories of our people. Go forth to the Argant'duron to recover what books you can. Make it a mission to collect the writings the world over.

 

I invest in you an idea, that of a goal I had not yet achieved in my old age, but one that your hopefully long life may afford you to achieve. I had the goal of raising a repository of knowledge that went beyond your average library tucked away solemnly in some city. I had hoped to train advisors to travel the world over to provide advice to secure sanity and civility in this world. Set forth to raise it in my name.

 

tear fell upon the open scroll. Brennus composed himself as the salt and water from the tear seeped into the parchment and made itself invisible. He stood himself up and stepped precariously through the clan hall and into the village of Iskryce. Puffins mocked him from their nests on the rocks scattered on the edges of the island; he knew he was too late to catch up to his father who was nowhere to be found. The chatter of the seabirds dared Brennus to try and give chase, but he realized without a horse that he would not be able to intercept the Daelish on the march. He stood all alone in Iskryce and resigned himself to the command of his father's missive.

 

 

Translation from Sprækjom to Common:
 

Spoiler

1. "My intention, my son, was to find a good home. We have dignity and honor in this town."

2. Literally Longhome, a name for clan halls in Sprækjom

3. "Zeal! We Cingedoz are at war!"

4. Literally Sea of Spears, a common name for shield/spearwalls.

 

[OOC]

 

Spoiler

This character was really neat to return to the server with. I had a lot of fun playing a travelling merchant and I intend for my new character to do something similar. I decided to PK after an astounding event run by @Joltastikat Kivdrona and it was fitting given the fact that I had the persona on autoincrementing age and he was in his 60s. I already spoke with the Daeland folks and will remain with them on the new character, but will have some interesting changes in character development with Brennus hal'Iskraduron.

 

PS: Please humor me as I basically did the Letter Delivery spell associated with Housemagery (which I am the correct tier to use afaik) at the end of the narrative post. I only found out it was removed after writing this.

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Brennus tied his tunic, having removed it before entering the salt mine, around his waist. He picked away debris from his sweaty shoulder, smearing a slurry of his own perspiration with grit like a warrior applying war paint of woad. Young miners filed in and out past him with tools and slabs of salt in tow. He motioned for a foreman to give him a tour; he was the main financier and wanted nothing more than to see his investment detailed to him. Father left me a sizeable wealth, better to spend it in order to double it than to spend it for a fleeting free-for-all towards pennilessness. 

 

A sturdy water-wheel rolled in place where a strong spring spit forth copious water. Brennus felt fooled having briefly figured the spring's current was what put the wheel in motion only to find a lanky Oblazeki pony producing the energy necessary to get the rotation going. Dregs of briny water came up with each rising spoke of the water-wheel and Cingedoz miners poured the solution into buckets that went into bigger vats. Elderly men prodded fires into continual combustion and sat idly as the brine evaporated away to leave rock salt remaining. He stepped precariously over blocks of rock salt, taking a small slab in hand, and watched his feet shatter another beneath his pace. A dab of the salt against his tongue sent a jolt through his body enough to wonder if the pony's hind legs hadn't rocked him sideways.

 

Pungent odor of rock salt mixed with something that seemed to have drifted in with a draft as if the mine suctioned breath. Brennus found himself exiting the mine only to find a series of flowering vines peppered with peppercorn pods growing down the shore. The heat and the humidity of the Savoyard peninsula provided these sources of fine spice the finest growing conditions one could wish for. He turned to face the Daelish Isles protruding from the bay and felt accomplished. A young man investing in his home, turning double profit in people and payments. The hark and tweet of puffins and pigeons in the distance, circling the newly erected aviary seemed to agree with Brennus.


 

 

Spoiler

A couple of awesome builds for Daeland including our /aviary, a salt mine, and peppercorn farm.

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kKI9hyr.png

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𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅗𝅥𝅘𝅥𝅯𝅘𝅥𝅮

 

 

Windswept banners and karnyxes crowded over the small contingent gathered by Casimir. Brennus brought his karnyx's mouthpiece to his lips and let out a series of bellows attracting more people to gather. The brass boar's jaw, agape and tusked, shook violently with each blow. Men and women gathered weaponry and supply to load horse and chariot while Casimir instructed those joining his foray.

 

"A father set child against child, having his son try an' slay t'other child," Casimir announced, shooting glances to Pyotr Ludovar as if to ensure he had the story correct. Pyotr nodded and announced the party's destination with the following stipulations.

 

"We do not take the highways between these two cities which we visit. Best we not worry any passerby with thought that we are raiding, but I'll be able to negotiate with any armies in case they are roused with word of our passing through."

 

Brennus fixed his karnyx next to his saddlehorn and checked the javelins in the clutch beneath his shield. He decided to dress lightly, to take on a bagaudas role, for the mission ahead. Jasna Vojcura & Ser Daeron Aretheon of Redclyf flanked Brennus as they rode out with the remaining party led by Casimir Kowaleski & Pyotr Ludovar. The creaking of chariots and hoofbeats deadened as the party slowed to a crawl after following the Southern Caravans east.

 

The party of Cingedoz, Daelishmen, & Vistulians slowly weaved beelines between dilapidated manors and farmlands lying fallow. Horses stole away at the wilting grain and the party snatched away at overripe vegetables to feed themselves on the slow journey. The party eventually pitched tents upon the opposite slope of a hill where the elevation hid them from view from Vienne, but faced the fork between the rivers Petra & Reden. Casimir & Pyotr continued on scouting while the parties rested.

 

"D'we have a description ov' t'is criminal Jasna?" Brennus inquired, scratching his youthful stubble as he scanned both the rivers that snaked around the base of the hill. Jasna shrugged nonchalantly; her body language enough to indicate she knew as much as he did.

 

By the evening, the party had put out their small fires and unpitched their tents and made their way north. They minded the same recommendation made by Pyotr, gingerly making their way across snow-packed terrain and careful to avoid iced over ponds and brooks. Pyotr broke from the party and sent his horse on a mad dash downhill to a figure seen travelling along the road towards Karosgrad. The party reluctantly gave chase and surrounded the child, spears drawn and javelins prepared. The child gave his name with which Pyotr let out an audible gasp. Whose father would set a child upon another?

 

"This be the son," Pyotr remarked begrudgingly.

 

"I've stayed out of your city, as you told me to!" the child protested. Brennus led his horse into the child's view, a javelin in one hand and his shield-arm clutching the reins of his horse in the other. The child put up his hands, relenting to being questioned and led without resistance. The party coaxed the child to follow them further into the hinterlands.

 

By nightfall with the moon hanging as a waning gibbous like an eyelid half-drooped with slumber, the party reached a single tent whose tarp fluttered in the cold breeze. Casimir, Daeron, & Pyotr entered the tent and Brennus & Jasna posted outside with one on foot & one on horseback. Brennus began leading his horse in a circle around the peak of the hill slowly as Jasna stood atop one of the protrusions of a nearby glacier. Brennus overheard most of the conversations going on in the tent and found himself swapping between an entertained smile and a frustrated scowl.

 

"Need convincing?" Casimir inquired.

 

"Wait, I have my ways," Daeron added. The sound of a knife being unsheathed followed.

 

"You do nie interrupt moi," Casimir retorted bluntly. Brennus heard Daeron chuckle nervously with a muffled sound; he couldn't help but let out an audible laugh at what sounded like the knife being put back.

 

Casimir called for Jasna to enter the tent. Brennus watched as she slipped on a grotesque mask and tossed aside the tent flap and brought it back in place behind her. The Vistulians and their eccentricities, this child is in for a wild ride. The tent grew quiet as Casimir drew close to the child and told him the tale of a Bebok, one of the Vistulian legends of a creature that hunted for those who hunt others - a punishment rendered onto those who harmed children or pregnant women.

 

It was Jasna's turn to make her mark in the haunting story intended to scare the child into admission. She bore gauntlets with bear claws fixed onto them and she used them to paw at the child's cheek as she continued to describe Bebok and his growing want to chastise those given to murder or abuse. Brennus brought his karnyx's mouthpiece to his lips silently, having stopped his horse in its tracks, and let out a couple of shrill blares that ended and picked up again with unhinged irregularity. My little contribution to painting the story enough to make it real for the boy.

 

The child began to cry out and appeal for them to halt Bebok's approach.

 

"We could 'ave him write t'his Otec, have him meet us," Casimir suggested. The child cried out, missing an arm, and exclaiming that he couldn't write a letter if he wanted to.

 

"I never set out to find him, he always finds me!" the child claimed. Brennus couldn't help but find himself growing more incredulous the longer the conversation went on.

 

"Ea could get in contact with t'military of Oren so vy know we ah' only after a criminal an' they may assist us," Pyotr mused, thinking through potential avenues of capturing their target.

 

"If you allow me, I could send a bird to him to ask him to meet me in Haense," the child chimed in. Brennus felt red fill his cheeks and a scowl form. The tent grew silent as frustration grew to bursting.

 

"Din' yu just say yu NEVER send him letters?!" Casimir exclaimed harshly. Brennus could feel the anger shared between them and noticed Jasna had come out of the tent in a huff. He led his horse to her and bent down to whisper.

 

"This kid seems a common liar whose tongue is much too loose to fit back in his mouth to make even an attempt at getting one past us. Please be careful, you & Casimir, if ye' two decide to go with him anywhere. I must be off back to Daeland."

 

Brennus and Jasna exchanged glances locked with agreement between the two of them before Brennus set off in a trot down the snow-capped hill.

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