Molotov

Welcome to the central island, where all meet, and the stories of old and young are exchanged. Come to talk, trade or simply observe.

The Emissary from the fallen Republic of Trochia left in a hurry, abandoning the small building that had served as his house and Embassy and leaving his whole staff, save a select few close collaborators, confused and rudderless. It seems that he received news of the downfall of the government and decided not to share with them, and so they spent a few days huddled in the embassy unsure of what to do.

Until the Guardian came.

Arriving in a simple and unassuming old boat, she was surrounded by her younger daughters, young women with green and purple lines on their faces, ceremonial attire made of leaves and soft woods and with a few select purple and green pendants adorning their hair, they helped the Guardian off the boat and into the island. She did not speak one word, but walked on her cane looking forward, sternly. She had all the look of an old witch, wrinkled brown face in a perpetually pensive expression, her dress more elaborate by comparison to the others, her long unkempt hair barely controlled under a green straw hat with a long brim from which hung strange amulets and colored stones, many colored necklaces and wristbands softly tinkling as she slowly made her way to the old embassy. Passers-by could feel a curious energy vibrating out of her, as one might feel out of an ancient tree or a sacred rock site. When she arrived at the house she simply stared forward and, after a few minutes, motioned one of her daughters to come near her, she whispered something, and the young woman started instructing her sisters to destroy the building.
The terrified workers fled, knowing that half of the revolution had been led by cabals of this nature, as the women set about tearing the building apart, stone and wood coming asunder with terrifying ease. By the day's end the rubble was used by the daughters to set a circle, with certain rocks and sticks set in special places according to the whispers of the elder witch. Finally, they knelt in a circle as the Guardian, slow and deliberate, built a fire in the middle of them, adding herbs and sticks from her many pouches, and lit it as she muttered a prayer. The daughters chanted along, and the ceremony lasted well into the night, well after most curious observers had left them to be alone with nature and the spirits.
The following morning, a rudimentary palm-leaf roof had been erected, and under it the witch sat surrounded by her daughters, peacefully inhaling the last smoke from the remains of the night's fire, odd amulets and symbols arranged around her. The daughters occasionally left her side to run an errand, procure food or perform menial tasks for the commonality, and many passers-by recall having the odd feeling that what they were seeing had, somehow, been there forever.

A few days after that, a larger ship arrived, this time filled with men, who where led by a long-haired bearded man in a simple old white cloth. The men looked mostly disheveled, but stared intently towards their leader, who was surrounded by what seemed to be his closest associates, stern young men in white clothes with fanatical fire in their eyes and a palpable determination to protect their teacher. The man was a Speaker, the other ubiquitous figure in the Trochian uprising, and his followers, fittingly, wore clothes one would associate with the lower quarters of the country's advanced cities instead of the hidden recesses of its ancestral countryside. As they left their boat, the man spoke in great tones of their sacred mission, but even he looked surprised to see that the Guardian had, somehow, arrived there before him. Nevertheless, he walked on and stood upon the ruins of the old embassy, visibly delighting in the symbolism of it all while ignoring that they had, in fact, been moved by the daughters in days before. The man projected his voice and spoke to the generality as one might address a public square:

Brothers!
We come to you from the land of Trochia! As you might have heard, the Republic has fallen, and with it, the old houses have been swept away as if by a great strong river as the poor have set themselves up inside their mansions and now feed their families with the grain the mighty once hoarded. The corrupt Senate has been torn down, and in its place the clans have once again been set up. We had denied our roots, but thanks to the example of the Guardians and by the bountiful grace and mercy of the Light of Man, we have rebuilt our commonalities and a just order is taking shape. Unlike the great houses you knew, we do not see the clans as a means of lording over one another, but rather as a place of encounter and discussion among the heads of each household. Our people were poor, but in that poverty we have found the Light of mercy and brotherhood and, above all, Love. The poor have become aware of their shared condition and are now letting forth the Light that lifts and moves each of us and, guided by it, have elevated teachers to guide them as they claim their legitimate place among the stars of Heaven. Do not fear this change, oh fellow men, but rather embrace it, for it was long foretold that the shadows of indignity and oppression would be cast away, and what we are doing is nothing other than the material realization of the great undying Will that moves all things. Yes, our land is troubled, but it is also rich and its people generous. Whether you are interested in the Light of Justice or want to approach our sisters who keep the forests, this place will be yours for you to assemble.

As the man sits down among the rubble, his associates start organizing the meal among the people who have followed. They are not too many, but certainly more than the select daughters, some of whom seem somewhat miffed at the prospect of sharing space with the poor and their leader, but for the most part they are able to avoid looking into that side of the ambassadorial section. For now, it seems the man rests, speaking to the men close by as they share the food. Slowly, one can see the former workers of the embassy approach the gathering and ask for bread. They are fed and allowed into the brotherly tumult as they listen intently to the teachings of the new way.

From the distance, the place of the Guardian seems like a modest but impenetrable fortress of great power, and the Speaker appears to shine brightly from his sitting place among the rubble

Today, only a few of the Tanum Republic's long-distance galleys have arrived to visit the ancient Motu Pokapū. Not a single sun symbol or ship effigy will be carved on the cliffs tonight. The distant shores of the Sunkin's fifth island, the north-eastern heart of a nameless deity worshipped by the current settlers as an aspect of solar divinity and warmth, had been chosen for the site of this year's grand conclave. Hundreds of ships sat on the beaches, and in the sand a thousand bonfires were lit one by one in the darkness of the first night.
Outside of the main camp sat a lone figure, deep in prayer, seeking to drive out that little doubting voice within his mind.

He was a hero-saint, but even those blessed by the Sun to lead the tribes of the Tanum, marked through sacred deformities or cursed beauty, had the spirit and heart of common men. There were ten of them, now, fewer than there had once been, although their numbers always shifted across the years, just as the Republic's villages and ports changed location and size. They were the marshals of law, the protectors of the weak, the helmsmen of ships sailing both to do trade and to make war. But, again, they were just as human as those they championed (although not in ability and appearance, of course), and so even the hero-saints were prone to petty rivalries and disputes.

They would gather on the final day of the grand conclave for a joint ritual, but tonight at least four of them would not seek out the others, either out of animosity for past slights or out of embarrassment for the same. Instead they would revel with their tribesmen, commune with the divine, or just sleep after a long journey here. As for the two Lovers, well, they were likely by one of the springs further inland, using one another's company as an excuse to avoid him, their host. He doubted Hlin would even show up, that old crone, until the sixth day. Disrespectful, but understandable. As for the last two out of the ten, well...

The appearance of a woman shifted his thoughts to other matters.

"Hail, sister. It has been too long!" Veorr, a man who towered above all others, showed a welcoming warmth in his red eyes. The curved club with its heavy, spherical head, rested by his side. It was carved out of an single, ancient piece of wood, allegedly once collected by far-travelled Tanum sailors, driftwood fallen into the sea from the very branches of the Tree-God of the Rākau. Now, it bears the same intricate patterns as those left behind in petroglyph form on shore-side cliffs by the Republic's mariners. Crusher is what some of the overenthusiastic youths have named Veorr's hallmark weapon, but the hulking berserker with the shining, ember-like eyes just laughs heartily at the juvenile nickname.

The reply had a sarcastic, yet likewise warm, tone. Perhaps with a bit of edge to it, though. "Not long enough. And since when are we siblings?" The huntress, cold eyes and deep scars hidden below thick, unending hair, rarely came south. Alone among the hero-saints, Ondurdis shied away from familiar waters and never stayed even a single year in the same place, highly unusual even for a mobile people. The tribesmen under her protection, who leave behind carvings of spearmen and archers inspired by their champion, are a tranquil and friendly sort - but serve as tradesmen in the far north, west and east just as often as they do as mercenaries. Veorr knew better than to ask questions about their service and her experiences, worried she would turn and leave once more. He just smiled some more, and motioned for her to sit down by the bonfire.

As she did, a second shadow emerged from the darkness. It was a short, heavyset man. Like the archer his features were concealed, but by a man-made mask and not by unnatural and disconcerting hair. It was fashioned out of blank, shiny copper, and in no way as ancient as other sacred items in the vicinity. In fact, the metal was fresh from the forest mines of the young Bu'hersson Republic, the latest in a long row of continually modified and replace masks used by the smith to shield himself from foreign tribesmen who did not understand his past and future. The burn marks on his arms and legs could not be as easily hidden, though. He sat down by the bonfire in total silence. It feel to Veorr to raise a fist to his heart, bow his head, and greet the guest. "Welcome, Tama a Ivalde. Come to visit your brother's cairn?" The silent guardian just nodded. His mask was one of concealment, his silence one of mourning. He was the master smith of the Tanum, a skill gained not by divine intervention or magical prowess but through a very human, learned brilliance. His twin had been the finest woodcarver the seas had ever seen, though, his sorcery renowned. Never again would a club like that of Veorr be crafted.

Together, the three old friends sat there for hours, as the tribesmen - some relieved to see beloved ones for the first time in a long time, others saddened by news of losses at sea - feasted into the night. They didn't have much to say - least of all the quiet craftsman - but theirs was a true bond. The first night of the grand conclaves were always celebrated among kinsmen tied together both by blood and water. On the second day, once the canoes and galleys had been moored, and the cargo unloaded, the market was held. Treasures from near and far would be display in the sand, open for barter, gambling or - in many a case - gifting. Then, the Tanum would do trade with whalebone carefully bought from the Phriman wastes, feathers plucked from fallen Poukai on bloodied shores, glass shards from the cursed lands of the Five Banners, and stories from the meetings on Motu Pokapū, among a thousand other things.

The third day was the true purpose of it all, the gathering of the free people of the Tanum Republic. As the hero-saints stood watch, ambiguously neutral and technically bound to abstain from political intervention, the sailors, farmers, craftsmen, warriors and all the rest would debate and deliberate, on matters big and small. This would go on through to the fourth of the days, with voting - one voice, one soul - taking place. And so, the tribes decided what the Republic's outward goals and actions would be, their trade policies and all the rest. It was surprisingly efficient, at least when compared to their ancient past and its ways of governance. Still, it never went entirely smoothly. Thus the fifth day was one of rest, of play, of chatter and of confessions, all to make up for the intense days past.

Finally, on the sixth day, the rituals began. It was a simple faith, one revolving around the gifts of the Sun and its many incarnations. The ten hero-saints, worshipped not truly as gods but certainly as the closest thing to them, united together to symbolize their people's unity and ask for the continued blessings of the island-deities, the spirits of the land, the beasts of the sea, and the Sun itself. Carvings were made by all, sanctifying the cliffs and forever marking the Tanum's presence. From the stone bloomed religious marks and magical hexes, images of ancient and forgotten conquerors and demons, and symbols of fertility, commerce and good winds. It was also a day of love, when weddings were held, and children were brought to hear the tales of the past and the future as told by the elders.

Finally, by dawn on the seventh day, the ships would depart, and Veorr would mourn for the departure of the other hero-saints from his isle. Not just for that of his friends, but for all of them. Even the crone with the talons. Some days, it was good to have equals that didn't take your every word as gospel. He hadn't asked to be born this way. It would be a year until he would see them again, his divine brothers and sisters. But the man with the eyes of fire knew that to preserve his people's way of life, a life that was good and beautiful, there had to be beings like him.

"I mislike the notion of working with these...idolators, Mara."

A gentle breeze would have normally accompanied the lapping of the waves as the canoe reached the shore, a pleasant acoustic rhythm to soothe the nerves. But Marakh-u-dan was, at seven-and-twenty, already claimed by She-Who-Sings, the bride of Irka's Right Hand. Instead, the air around her was the static stillness before the storm, a pungent zing in the atmosphere that brought with an eerie calmness. It did little to alleviate to the tension of a voyage felt by her birth-brother and sworn shield Enni-kel, particularly as her answer came in such an alarmingly casual tones.

"You say that about most things, Enni. And besides, whoever made the claim that we were to...collaborate with the foreigners?"

Enni shook his head, wrenching himself out of the canoe and stumbling towards dry land, patting his obsidian-lined club for assurance. "Foreigners," he murmured. "Was it not we who arrived in these waters, and disrupted their way of life?"

Marakh's lips perked upwards in a half-smile, reaching for her staff and murmuring, "You remember your history. Mother would be proud." Behind her, a half-dozen warriors heaved chests of obsidian tools, trinkets of silver, and amulets meant to ward off spirits and awe the Patupaiarehe. Four more -the Death Seekers, their lanky olive forms clad in jaguar pelts and bronze, the holy warriors of a sunken god- notched their shortbows, composite weapons renowned for their efficacy at close range against even armored foes. "And I might suggest that such sympathy would lend itself to believing in the ur-Lord's mandate-"

"His undying mandate be damned, Mara! I only mean-"

Marakh laughed, her sharp teeth standing in stark contrast against her dark complexion. Soon, her communion with Hukku would transform her further, and she would be as jet veined in white. The change had taken hold in her brother, too, although he had claimed an awilu's title and would never ascend past the initiation. Fool boy. Father's death was to be a beginning, not an end. "I know precisely what you mean, dear brother. Fear not, however. I am a gift-giver, not a diplomat. It is up to the foreigners on how to interpret them."

And so they moved on, approach silent but for the chanted prayers of the Death Seekers. It was said of them that outside Irkazu -literally, the Bones of Irka- one would only be treated with silence or the dead tongue of Anlil-Ban, the Lion Under the World. Marakh did not spend enough time outside their holy islands to know if this was more than hearsay -the ashipu preferred their homes as much as foreigners preferred the outlanders to remain in them- but in their company, she found a piety more comforting than her brother's own. 'And it was dreamed again of the priest Nophra-Ka and of the words he spake at his death, how the son would rise to claim the title...'

But they had arrived, if the sounds of merriment and trade were anything to judge by. It was not time for such pleasant thoughts.

Enni was the first to meet the guards, and his coarse introduction aided by the club at his side and daggers across his chest. They were a party fit to meet whatever passed for leadership among the heathen-chiefs of the Tanum conclave, Marakh thought with distant satisfaction. Making no effort to suppress the mark the goddess had put upon her, she brushed past her brother, warriors at her side, smiling blandly as the commotion finally attracted the gaze of enough Tanum-men to make her words worthwhile.

"May the Lion Under the World welcome you to his den, men and women of the Tanum. The Children of Irka mean you no harm. I am our gift-giver and Mistress of the Third Sphere, Marakh-u-Dan. I speak for the ur-Lord and the ashipu of Hukku, who will bless your harvest and calm your winds."

"Come, let us speak. We have much to offer your people."

Gesar wrote:

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"I mislike the notion of working with these...idolators, Mara."

A gentle breeze would have normally accompanied the lapping of the waves as the canoe reached the shore, a pleasant acoustic rhythm to soothe the nerves. But Marakh-u-dan was, at seven-and-twenty, already claimed by She-Who-Sings, the bride of Irka's Right Hand. Instead, the air around her was the static stillness before the storm, a pungent zing in the atmosphere that brought with an eerie calmness. It did little to alleviate to the tension of a voyage felt by her birth-brother and sworn shield Enni-kel, particularly as her answer came in such an alarmingly casual tones.

"You say that about most things, Enni. And besides, whoever made the claim that we were to...collaborate with the foreigners?"

Enni shook his head, wrenching himself out of the canoe and stumbling towards dry land, patting his obsidian-lined club for assurance. "Foreigners," he murmured. "Was it not we who arrived in these waters, and disrupted their way of life?"

Marakh's lips perked upwards in a half-smile, reaching for her staff and murmuring, "You remember your history. Mother would be proud." Behind her, a half-dozen warriors heaved chests of obsidian tools, trinkets of silver, and amulets meant to ward off spirits and awe the Patupaiarehe. Four more -the Death Seekers, their lanky olive forms clad in jaguar pelts and bronze, the holy warriors of a sunken god- notched their shortbows, composite weapons renowned for their efficacy at close range against even armored foes. "And I might suggest that such sympathy would lend itself to believing in the ur-Lord's mandate-"

"His undying mandate be damned, Mara! I only mean-"

Marakh laughed, her sharp teeth standing in stark contrast against her dark complexion. Soon, her communion with Hukku would transform her further, and she would be as jet veined in white. The change had taken hold in her brother, too, although he had claimed an awilu's title and would never ascend past the initiation. Fool boy. Father's death was to be a beginning, not an end. "I know precisely what you mean, dear brother. Fear not, however. I am a gift-giver, not a diplomat. It is up to the foreigners on how to interpret them."

And so they moved on, approach silent but for the chanted prayers of the Death Seekers. It was said of them that outside Irkazu -literally, the Bones of Irka- one would only be treated with silence or the dead tongue of Anlil-Ban, the Lion Under the World. Marakh did not spend enough time outside their holy islands to know if this was more than hearsay -the ashipu preferred their homes as much as foreigners preferred the outlanders to remain in them- but in their company, she found a piety more comforting than her brother's own. 'And it was dreamed again of the priest Nophra-Ka and of the words he spake at his death, how the son would rise to claim the title...'

But they had arrived, if the sounds of merriment and trade were anything to judge by. It was not time for such pleasant thoughts.

Enni was the first to meet the guards, and his coarse introduction aided by the club at his side and daggers across his chest. They were a party fit to meet whatever passed for leadership among the heathen-chiefs of the Tanum conclave, Marakh thought with distant satisfaction. Making no effort to suppress the mark the goddess had put upon her, she brushed past her brother, warriors at her side, smiling blandly as the commotion finally attracted the gaze of enough Tanum-men to make her words worthwhile.

"May the Lion Under the World welcome you to his den, men and women of the Tanum. The Children of Irka mean you no harm. I am our gift-giver and Mistress of the Third Sphere, Marakh-u-Dan. I speak for the ur-Lord and the ashipu of Hukku, who will bless your harvest and calm your winds."

"Come, let us speak. We have much to offer your people."

Laughter.

Pure, unbridled laughter.

"You're funny!"

From the crowd of surprised, or, well, intimidated, Tanum tribesmen and tradesmen, a boy emerged. No more than eight years old, bright eyes brimming with mockery, and a head full of dark, ruffled hair. He stared down the pyramid-folk, like a curious child - which he was - studying a fascinating new bug that landed in his garden. "Are you Ruānuku?" he said with great enthusiasm. "I can taste the magic in you." He licked his lips and smiled widely, revealing a strangely shaped tongue and a set of sharpened teeth. "Have you come to play with me?"

An ashen-skinned woman, with a light grey face painted with red, blue and white marks surrounded by black braided hair, soon appeared behind him, and pulled him by the ear. Her hands were cloaked beneath fine black-grey leather gloves, crafted from the coat of a Seal-Man, the finest type of pelt in the sea according to some. "Leave the foreigners alone, Kārr-Bō. Sheathe your fanged words, and be off to play." She let go off the rascal's ear. In return he shrugged, laughed again, and ran off, presumably to find someone else to play with.

"Forgive my brother. He is young." The woman raised her fist to her heart, and bowed her head. "Welcome to the grand conclave of the Republic, beloved guests. May the Sun shine upon your lands. I am Blēka, guardian of the sunken grave-cairns of the Lost South."

She first looked respectfully towards the dark-skinned lady, then glanced towards her handsome companion, and finally turned her unnaturally blue eyes towards their impressive guardsmen. "The rest of the Ten should be here in a bit, but for now - I claim the right of hosting you. You are free to land your canoe on our shores, pitch your tents in our sands, and ply your gifts on our markets, should you wish. Our ships do trade with the Pyramid-Dwellers at times, neighbours that we are. Whatever it is you have to say - or, to gift - will no doubt be well received." Another bow, deeper this time. Her heavy, fur-lined robes, unusual for these temperatures (as was her cloth headdress, decorated with copper circlets, and the large silvery necklace on her chest) left much to the imagination, and somehow did not seem to trouble her even out in the sunlight.

All around, following the example of their hero-saint, the assembled crowd did the same, raising hands to their hearts and briefly bowing their heads. No one could say the Tanum did not welcome guests who came in peace, even those as frightening as the blackened witch and her soldiers - their obsidian gear very beautiful, and very deadly.

The tale, when it reached the Motu Pokapū, was scarcely believed by those of Inys Nanron. Doubters became reluctant believers, sceptics lost some of their cynicism, and even the hardest among the seal-folk hid the sheen in their eyes. But the Order did not lie on such matters. Not even The Strife had changed that.
Once, the seal-men had dwelt within the bleak stone valleys of Ca Nystarv. Ship and shifter alike swam the twisting waters of the Av Intarv, while the priests of each city ruled in peace and plenty. Initiates from these canal cities moved freely to the great heights of Nanron's first city, across the sea; with them went grain, timber, and quarried stone from the forested hillfarms of the uplands. From these cities had come near ten-score of the greatest Ardraoi over the centuries: the priest-king champions of piety, learning, and wisdom who ruled the archipelago of the seal-people.

It was here, in a shaded glen long-lost, that the beauty of his beloved was seen by the White Prince. In a now dried loch, locals spoke of a magical race between the founder of the city and a golden salmon. The mysterious temple priestesses of Carbrek-or; the jeweled gardens of Cartorc; the great stone circles of Tur-mahon: these wonders and more, are now no more.

For when the god-island fell to chaos, the devotees of Ca Nystarv were in his sight. When he demanded sacrifice, they provided it. When he demanded bloodshed, they did so with abandon. Even when he demanded the death of children, they wept and wielded their blade. But it did not stay his hand. Plague, thunder, death and misery he brought to once-blessed valleys.

Still he envied and feared the learning of the priest-kings, though he demanded their devotions and worship. Until at last the fourteen cities, their forests, their stone monuments, were destroyed; when in a rage the god-island brought forth a parawhenua mea. Beneath the waves, hundreds of thousands, and the land, died.
A seal-man came to Ca Nystarv. With two companions, he saw the once glad hills upon the horizon, and howled. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he stepped into human form beneath the moonlight. A sable hood adorned his head, with a rim of gold; and a silver sickle hung by his side.

Strange beasts, brought from nightmare, stalked the barren stonehills; but they feared the three seal-men who strode to the empty lake of Cartorc. Toppled foundations of nuragh glinted silver in the water, as the seal-man stepped and swam into the deep. His companions remained above, and in the calm night air, they sang. From the lake came a chorus in reply, and the waters swirled red. Thunder cracked in the sky, dulling the silver night, and on the winds came clouds of rain and hail.

For three days and three nights, the storm raged, and the singers bellowed into the elements, into the bloodred lake. On the first night, a great darkness rose and thrashed within the lake, before lightning flashed and destroyed the fell creature. On the second night, a curse upon the wind shouted down the two singers above; till the seal-man rose and with a word of power banished the voice. On the third night, the seal-man rose from waters now silver-blue, and upon the foundstone of the ancient citadel, he fell as if defeated, and the singers fell with him.

Dawn broke gold in the east, and with it, a songbird flew lightly from the open ocean. All around the lake rose trees and ferns mature in appearance, but young in splendour. Fruits and flowers coloured the grove in abundance. The bird settled upon the toromiro, and sang, and broke the sleep of the seal-man.

A seal-man woke in Ca Nystarv. With two companions, he saw the once glad hills upon the horizon, and the young forest newly brought to life; and he sang with them. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he stepped into human form beneath the sunlit treetops.

The king-priest and his companions camped long beside the waters, and they sang new songs for the glory of what was done. Green had returned to the shores of Cartorc, and the god-chainers had begun their work. The power of the god-island was being mastered at last, and across Inys Nanron, the seal-men rejoiced.

As celebrations for Matariki subside, when Tangaroa's silhouette first becomes visible above the eastern horizon for a brief moment just before sunrise and ultimately disappears, the new year finally arrives. And with Tangaroa's appearance, the drums of war once again sound over the world.
As the tragic story of the seal-men had unfolded through the years, with their blood-thirsty god slowly but surly undoing their civilization, their songs had slowly diminished, until they were but a faint wispier in the eastern seas. Certainly it had been a while since they had been heard in the lands of the Skif'au.

The Skif'au State had previously used the weakness of Inys Nanron's people to their advantage, securing slaves, wives and riches from raiding the temple-mounts and destroying what little Nanron had. So it was only natural that in the Skif'au's collapse, Nanron saw opportunity.

One morning, on the rocky shores of the Skif'au island, a pod of seals landed. The seals were nothing weird, this island was in the far south and seals often traveled to its rocky shores to catch sunlight. The location they arrived, however, was unusual. Unlike the usual seal grounds, these ten creatures arrived at the bottom of a steep cliff. They emerged from within their seal skins into their human forms, and begun a climb on the steep cliffs. Despite the winds and the storms brewing form the west, the men manged to skillfully climb to the Pā on the top of the cliff.

In the meanwhile, in the north, under the strong gales and riding massive waves that would dissuade any lesser captains, a large fleet of various sized ships, armed with anything from bows and arrows to fire, plunged from the permanent fogs that covered the island.

The Skif'au, having look-outs and warriors, were quick to sound the alarm, sending their runners to light the fires in the Pā littering the shores. But as the runners arrived to the signal fires, they were instead greeted by seal-skin clad warriors who dispatched them with their short knives.

By the tie the Skif'au look-outs had realized that the signal fires won't be lit, it was already too late. On the north-eastern part of the island, a bronze and leather clad army of brutes was descending. The look-outs ran to secure their on Pā, each thinking of himself and his family first.

But in the south-east, where their ancient capital stood, they discovered nothing good waiting for them, for while they were preoccupied with the northern shore, in the south 300 seal-men and thousands of their non-shapeshifting men had descended.

There would be no fight or struggle, the fire would rage through the night, as the seal men and the Shoel plundered, killed, destroyed and raped at will. The seal-men even managed to expand their ranks, finding brethren of theirs who's skins had been stolen and they had stayed and married into the Skif'au, as their skins were retrieved and their families given pardon, they were quick to return to the ranks of the Nanron.

By the end of it all, the Skif'au were no more. Those who weren't killed, including their Chieftain, were taken into slavery by the Shoel. The coffers, food stocks and armories were stripped bear. The land was given to the Nanron, to be settled, while half of the riches were carted off on the Shoel's ships.

Skif'au stood no chance.

Following their massive conclave, the Tanum's men and women once again sail east, west, north and south, whenever the great sails take them. Ondurdis the Archer's mission is first out, going to contact the Phriman tribes. She has been among them before, and is one of the few creatures in the world understands them and can work with them. She joins them once again, speaking their tongue and offering a deal on whale blubber, swaying her friends in the whaler-tribes to sell it to her for a fair price. The Phriman rarely share their produce or anything, existing in a world of their own, but in the Hero-Saint of the Tanum they find a friend.

However, as she is returning, with a small escort of giant Phriman vessels, five biremes close in, as they close in the Phriman, the captains of the giant ships escorting Ondurdis swivel to meet them in combat. But too late, three of the Phriman vessels are rammed on the side. As crossbow arrows reign upon the Phriman and bronze clad warriors descend upon the decks of the harmed giants, a fierce battle begins. The small crew of Tanum boat-men, under Ondurdis' command refuse to sit and watch as the Phriman are killed. Instead of using the escape route available to them, they swivel around, their two flat bottomed ships leading the group, while the trade ships remain on the side.

Ondurdis' archers open fire with their arrows, hitting the enemy soldiers boarding the Phriman ships, their arrows hitting bronze armor and flesh, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Forcing a response from the crossbowmen on the biremes to respond to fire.

Unfortunately for them, Ondurdis' raises spells and taps into her power as an arcane hero-saint, protecting the men under her command. Due to their small number, this was easily done without stressing her mana too much.

As soon as the captains of the biremes realize they are facing a mage, they sound a withdraw, but curiously a their bronze clad marines jump back on the biremes, they drag with them some Phriman. with some bronze clad marines remaining on Phriman ships to keep them occupied while the biremes withdrew.

Ondurdis initially ordered her swifter ships to give chase, but realizing that the impacted Phriman ships sinking would be the death of the sailors trapped in the cold water of the northern sea, so instead she spun around and begun rescuing as many of the sailors as possible, even the bronze clad marines who had survived she dragged out.

Later, on land, they would reveal they are L'wol. Ondurdis would return to the lands of the Tanum with the bounty of trade, but she may be bringing news of a new enemy as well. The conclave will decide.

The Children of Irkazu have few friends in the world, if any, but they do have partners. In a collection of threats, bribes and sheer soft power, they have secured an uneasy friendship with the Rikimen of the Empire south of them. This alliance has broth boons to both the Rikimen and the Irkazu. In the meanwhile, the Irkazu and the Patupaiarehe have always had a fond relationship, not really understandable to anyone but the two.

So it was only natural, that as the seal-men and the Shoel descended on the island in the east of the three, the one on which the Krnaerids were embroiled in a war against the Skif'au, and wiped the Skif'au off the face of the earth. The trickster dolphin would find his way to the Patupaiarehe's only friends. This, parallel a shipment of tokens, weapons and gold to the Kraerids and the Riki Empire's own designs on the island, expanded the relationship between the three.

So one day, after a ritual sacrifice, before the people of Irkazu, on the steps of one of the great pyramids of the Irakzu, the shrub-men, the trickster dolphin and the blood-soaked ashipu would announce the creation of the Imtal-ta-Lika [the Trippe Alliance].

Ripples from this reverberate throughout the known world, it emboldens some and strikes fear in others. In the Realm of Nu'kre, several apparently "traitorous" Irkazu are not given asylum, thrown out of the sight of the dead founder king, as his elders interpret his silence to mean that they do not wish to be associated with any power-struggles within Irkazu lands.
- Several celebrated Pirate captains are seen landing on the MaTuatou Tribe's shore, later that day, the tribe's drug stores are emptied but their coffers are filled with loot form across the world, so far their relationship with the Shoal is pretty good.

-The Irakazu, quick to show their position in the world, sail a large trade fleet through the Tanum Republic, offloading goods there, and then Arenojalapura in the east where they meet city dignitaries and sell and buy, and in the west to the Nuk're and then Osidaea. Along the way, the decaying and cursed Ashipu show off their skills to a variety of magic users, even meeting god chainers and disciples of the five banners. While the displays are great, few magic users are willing to reveal their tricks to the Ashipu. A smaller fleet is sent to the Realm of the Free, bringing gifts and asking... politely if they would join the Tripple Alliance as a tributary. The Realm politely rejects, but affirms its friendship to the Irkazu, sending back the gifts with even more gifts.

- A trading fleet also arrives in the Matriarchy of Wa'hine-i-Roto. The L'wol seeking their friendship bring bronze goods from their homeland, with promises of more. The Matriarchs, while miffed about L'wol's society, are also aware that they need friends and allies, and thus agree to accept them and even trade. Ships are sent back filled with goods from Matriarchy.


- The clawed crone, Hlin, on her infamous canoe - Hāl, the eight-oared vessel that once carried her husband on his great journeys of poetry and music, now painted black sails south, alongside a multitude of Tanum tradesmen. They bring gifts to the villages of the submerged Ku'lra, trade and feast together. The Ku'lra ask for the Tanum's protection, which is freely granted, effectively turning the Ku'lra into a protectorate.


- The silent smith, that Tama a Ivalde who has renounced his own name after the loss of his brother, sail west, to the dead god of the Children of the Serpents. He is met with a quiet but respectful welcome, something he shares with the Children and their Taniwha allies. He will remain on the island for another six months, sharing ideas and learning technique from the Children.

- A vast, but swift vessel is layed down in Tanum lands, it is called the Van - crewed by the few followers of the fool boy, fanged little Kārr-Bō. The impressive ship is quietly completed away from the boy's sister's praying eyes, and soon sets sail to an unknown destination.

- Haere Noa Faction scouts are seen on the borders with their enemies. They are rumored to be gathering a new force for a renewed assault against either the Moeroa Kingdom or the Geloera clans. Worries spread throughout the Northern Sea, as crystal ships are seen in the region, as well as scouts of the Geloera clans swearing that they have seen crystal warriors in the lowlands.

- The Cartodons' destruction of Patupaiarehe continues ahead, powerful magic duels grip the forests of the island as the fish-men battle with the Patupaiarehe, thousands die, but the newly aquired numbers of the fish men do them favor, and it seems the scattered Patupaiarehe villages will fold.

- A Denython slave raid goes sour as one of the city's slavers go into Zaiyah territory, and are intercepted by a Zaiyah war party before they even leave their island. In a pitch battle, the slavers manage to capture three immense Zaiyah soldiers but are repulsed back to their homeland. The Zaiyah Emperor threatens the Denython cities.

- Two new biremes are reported to be lurking in the Shoal's territories, most likely plundered form the Skif'au, the ships seem to have been upgraded and are crewed by two of the newly-risen captains.

- Rumors spread of incantations and spells deep beneath the Five Banners' island, a seal, capable of creating a magical explosion that would destroy it to kill the god if the island were in danger of being captured. So far these are just rumors, nobody can confirm if the Banners posses such a power are just searching for it.

- Several abominations Mayirea are lost by their chainer masters, breaking out of the magic that kept them bound, the abominations descend on civilians, killing many before they are killed themselves. The ruānukus running the various Mayirea cities are increasingly worried, unless they manage to chain the entire island they will be wiped out. And for that they need to fight Denython.

- Darkness descends on the lands of the Matriarchy of Wa'hine-i-Roto, as they prepare for a raid, their warrior queen correctly guesses that the weird weather patterns and strong winds seem to be the act of sorcery, recognizing the Five Banners' fingers in all of this.

- Two triarimes are layed down in Osidaea, the captain of the hippocampus guard picking the first planks for the hull as per tradition.

The shipmasters who had sponsored the journey had decided, and those of the hero-saints who were available had agreed. Blood must not be shed in vain. It had hurt Veorr to see the lady-of-war storm off when she heard consensus had been reached, but he also knew that she desired peace too. She was just prideful, that one, and protective of her friends. He valued that in her.

The club-wielding warrior watched as the elder Tanum captain, who had taken responsibility for swearing the oath on behalf of the whole community, spoke. He recited the terms agreed upon there on that shore from his heart, a master orator. Many of the older captains were - they needed to secure the votes of their tribesmen, after all.

"The Society of the L'wol and the Tanum Republic hereby declare to one another that there is no enmity between the two peoples after the Whalebone Skirmish of the north-east. Neither side shall be seen as a side of sinners. To make true this promise of amity, certain actions shall be made by each side, to compensate for losses incurred to trade and commerce.

As a sign of mutual respect and as to not further impact upon the mercantile interests of the Tanum Republic across the northern waters, the Society of L'wol shall be oathbound to all that is holy to never again carry out raids intended to capture men or plunder goods against the Phriman tribes. The Tanum Republic shall likewise respect the waters of the L'wol, carry no arms in the near vicinity of their lands, and to clearly inform the Society of their purposes whenever Tanum tradesmen visit their shores.

The Society of L'wol shall offer full compensation to the tribes of the Phrimin, and to the Tanum Republic, for the loss of wealth and commerce caused by their destruction of several vital whaling boats, the loss of much whaling equipment such as harpoons, knives, rope and other tools of the trade, the water-spoilage of several hauls of precious blubber, oil, and bone, and most importantly the injury, death or disappearance of many able whalers. The Phrimin are few in numbers, like the L'wol, and all souls must be treasured on both sides.

The compensation shall take the form of precious metal, their skill with which the L'wol are renowned across the Sun's blue waters. One bireme-hold's worth of cargo, consisting of harpoons and knives fashioned out of bronze, are to be delievered to the Tanum Republic, who shall divide these tools among the Phrimin, to boost the Republic's own incomes from the whaling trade and recuperate losses.

The Warriors of the L'wol rescued at sea, Five heads in all, shall be returned to the island of the Society within a fortnight. They are to be hale and hearty, and are to be provided sustenance and any necessary healing until their return by the Tanum, who shall treat them as guests.

The bronze armour of the Five L'wol, hauled up from the depths alongside them, together any other L'wol weapons and tools salvaged by the Tanum, are to be returned to the Society together with the Warriors who carried them, as a sign of respect as well as to recover lost wealth to whatever degree possible. If any L'wol bodies may be recovered from the waters or from the shores, the Tanum will either offer them proper burials at sea or return them to the Society's fold, depending on the wishes of the L'wol.

This be a blessed pact, sealed by honest minds."

The greyed Tanum captain, and the divine champion by his side, waited for the L'wol envoys – standing there on the sandy shore alongside to them – to speak, and swear their oaths in agreement.

Even through the scrying crystal, the ur-Lord's voice-which-was-not, rang clear and melodic at the back of Marakh's mind, pure and pristine. The First of Irka and Master of All-Spheres was dressed simply, his hands bloodied with the day's ministrations, but gazing upon him through the glass proved difficult: the ashipu of the Owl-Mother were said to be possessed of unearthly beauty and surrounded by the marks of their mastery of her Art, the sorcerous sciences which surpassed even their peers devoted to the other gods and goddess. But the ur-Lord was, in a manner the young ashipu was chastising herself for being surprised at, decidedly not what one would have imagined the closest to Irka Herself to be.

Oh, he was handsome, despite the buzzing flies that seemed to encircle the undying priest-king's form.. Marakh did not deny that: his skin was a touch more fair than the average Child of Irka, but nowhere near as ghastly pale as his subordinates or the devotees of the Lion Under the World, his jet-black hair seemed to resist any attempt at placating it and instead choosing to fall languidly around his rather-effeminate face, and his grey eyes seemed to belie the dark wisdom the goddess had deemed necessary to impart.

But just as he resembled neither his peers or subordinates, there seemed to be moments where he resembled...nothing at all. A feature as fine as his aquiline nose was there one moment, gone the next. By the third moment, one seemed to forget what they had been admiring to begin with.

“Fear not, my child,” the ur-Lord 'spoke', tones of sympathy seemingly traveling down her spine and calming the agitation at such mediocre results. “Tanum neutrality was to be expected. Men and women of heroes seldom kneel, and the world is a finer place for it. The Owl-Mother exults in such...obstinate passions, such as they are. You were, at least, finely-received...?”

Marakh managed a wan, cautious smile. “We were. One of their...saints, Blēka, seems to know her courtesies, at least. My brother seemed quite taken with her,” she added with a laugh.

“Truly?” The ur-Lord raised a single eyebrow, before...laughing in turn, if a lyrical melody ringing between her ears as it spoke of simpler times and resonant power could have been construed as mirth. “Perhaps he needs a reminder that the Irka blesses those who venerate Her domain, hm?”

The ashipu considered the question, fighting off the urge to cringe. While she herself found no shame in the pleasures of the flesh, the harvest, or battle, she had not quite attained enough mastery over her old ways to admit full comfort at discussing her brother's own...pursuits. Instead, she chose to demure, moving the subject onwards without so much as an attempt at obfuscation. “There are plenty of things Enni could use a reminder of, Bel. Might I instead inquire as the status of your new guest?”

More of that damnable not-laughter. “He is quite well, and rather eager to teach.” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, and arose from his seated position to look away, over the First Pyramid, where below lived the ashipu, the awilu and initiates beneath them, and the common folk left under the market level. His city, Marakh thought. Every slab of obsidian and basalt is his, and therefore the Goddess Herself's...

What would that even...be like?

“Regrettably, my dearest agent, there have been a few dissenting voices.” The syllabic emphasis on the last two words gave his 'voice' a rather serpentine quality. “Those devoted to Nardimma have been placated, but those who bring the gentle rains and terrible storms of His Mate are...apprehensive.” A knowing look, shot in her direction. Had his eyes always been so green?“It is a dangerous situation, particularly with the news of this...dog-tooth murderer stalking the Second Pyramid. I have begun to worry that our initiates may begin having these discussions in the street, particularly where the separate temples are concerned.” Those piercing green eyes flickered in the torchlight, searching her form and face and finally finding her own eyes. “But we do have a way to bridge that divide, do we not?

Stone she would be, when the goddess called for her. Stone was her face as she stared into the scrying glass, sighing once. “You do, Bel. Dispatch your finest awilu, and it will be done.”

"Good," the ur-Lord agreed, his smile seemingly tugging Marakh's own anxieties further and further away from her heart. "Very good."

She was an ashipu of Hukku and a Chord of She-Who-Sings. But never did she feel more like the young, story-obsessed girl who knew nothing of sacrifice and communion than when she spoke with the ur-Lord, Bel of Irkazua.

Perhaps that meant she only needed to push harder, uncover more. It was as the ur-Lord would recite, an old prayer echoing through the crystal before the magical link failed. "The nethermost caverns are not for the fathoming of eyes that see; for their marvels are strange and terrific. Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head..."

"Fathom well, my dear student. I do not expect failure."

As the voice of the gods, the prophet knew all and the prophet saw all. He had ordered the attack against the Whalers for a reason and know he sought peace with the Tanum for a reason. The smiths did not question their role and neither did the soldiers. A debt would be repaid. The L'wol signed the treaty.

"The Society of the L'wol and the Tanum Republic hereby declare to one another that there is no enmity between the two peoples after the Whalebone Skirmish of the north-east. Neither side shall be seen as a side of sinners. To make true this promise of amity, certain actions shall be made by each side, to compensate for losses incurred to trade and commerce.

As a sign of mutual respect and as to not further impact upon the mercantile interests of the Tanum Republic across the northern waters, the Society of L'wol shall be oathbound to all that is holy to never again carry out raids intended to capture men or plunder goods against the Phriman tribes. The Tanum Republic shall likewise respect the waters of the L'wol, carry no arms in the near vicinity of their lands, and to clearly inform the Society of their purposes whenever Tanum tradesmen visit their shores.

The Society of L'wol shall offer full compensation to the tribes of the Phrimin, and to the Tanum Republic, for the loss of wealth and commerce caused by their destruction of several vital whaling boats, the loss of much whaling equipment such as harpoons, knives, rope and other tools of the trade, the water-spoilage of several hauls of precious blubber, oil, and bone, and most importantly the injury, death or disappearance of many able whalers. The Phrimin are few in numbers, like the L'wol, and all souls must be treasured on both sides.

The compensation shall take the form of precious metal, their skill with which the L'wol are renowned across the Sun's blue waters. One bireme-hold's worth of cargo, consisting of harpoons and knives fashioned out of bronze, are to be delievered to the Tanum Republic, who shall divide these tools among the Phrimin, to boost the Republic's own incomes from the whaling trade and recuperate losses.

The Warriors of the L'wol rescued at sea, Five heads in all, shall be returned to the island of the Society within a fortnight. They are to be hale and hearty, and are to be provided sustenance and any necessary healing until their return by the Tanum, who shall treat them as guests.

The bronze armour of the Five L'wol, hauled up from the depths alongside them, together any other L'wol weapons and tools salvaged by the Tanum, are to be returned to the Society together with the Warriors who carried them, as a sign of respect as well as to recover lost wealth to whatever degree possible. If any L'wol bodies may be recovered from the waters or from the shores, the Tanum will either offer them proper burials at sea or return them to the Society's fold, depending on the wishes of the L'wol.

This be a blessed pact, sealed by honest minds."

THE BLACK BANNER

"Amongst the distant islands of the southern seas squat thirteen matched citadels. Thirteen fortresses of suffering. Thirteen cliques of blood magic wielding sorcerers, oppressing the enslaved populous of thirteen vast assemblages of humanity as they writhe in agony, straining against the bonds of their enslavement.

"Of course, there used to be fourteen...

"Or so they say. It has been so very many years since any can recall, its name has passed out of living memory, its denizens forgotten, its glories and horrors lost equally to the passage of time. But fourteen there were."

The man knelt by the fire, his companions clustered close around him, straining to hear his story. Normally his pauses preceded great bellows of laughter as the turn in his jokes were revealed, but there was no mistaking the older man's tone now as they watched him absent mindedly rub and grip his wrists, itching at the scars left by years of manacles and chains.

"No one knows how it happened... but they say she did it.

"No one even knows for certain where she came from, but the stories go that she was a slave... like so many of us. Oh, and she knew suffering. The evils visited upon her and her kin in that place of torture know no words. But somehow she learned their ways. Learned their blood magic."

A shiver went through the small group at the words. The blood magic was a twisted tool, one not shouldered lightly even by the free overlords of the cities. For a slave to steal that power, to wield that power... they wondered silently whether her own misery had fed her power... or that of others.

"The tales grow thinner still from there... Some say she led a rebellion. Some that she escaped to raise an army. Some still that she climbed in power to the greatest heights and from there broke apart that citadel...

"But the worst tales... They say she did it alone, and tore down her place of enslavement, ripping rock from foundation and life from men until nothing was left.

"Blood magic was not the limit of her learning, after all. They say she exceeded her masters and outdid her 'betters'. Found a power within herself that they had never contemplated."

The man cast around, searching for something. Finally, he plucked a dull knife from the belt of another and lifted it into the light of the fire. Placing its back edge against his wrist, he symbolically drew it across, the widened eyes of the other fixed on the sinister movement.

"They say that she can draw on the very power within you... and keep it for herself. You and I, well, we have not much to give but it is enough to build that empire of slaves. But fellow wielders of magic? Why, to her they must be great lakes and rivers of power - nay, as endless as the oceans themselves.

"Or so they say. She left that place of enslavement long, long ago. Reappearing over the decades to cast down those who claimed superiority over their fellows... until left with the undeniable truth.

"That the false gods are the root of the suffering of men, and until they too are cast down and bound, the people will never be freed."

The older man's voice trembled as he finished, his voice weaker by moments and yet filled with a glowing fervour. She was terrible, yes. But also a wonder like no other. A rare immortal. A beacon of freedom. Nevertheless, his strength left him as the night closed ever in, and he retreated into silence. Finally one of the listeners, no more than a boy, spoke up.

"What do they call her, old man?"

He was silent, too tired now to go on with his story, but as he fell to drowsiness his companions whispered amongst themselves.

"They call her the Wraith, boy. Hope that she watches over you."

Thirteen Cities of Denython


Back in the old days when thirteen city lords decided to come into one banner to form a single country “Thirteen Cities of Denython” to end all internal war and conflict. Indeed there are peaceful moments when the country was first formed. But that didn’t last long after each city lords decedents started to divided and fight among each other for fame, glory and money.
The country is major in sheep farming, bronze forger and export slaves to generate income.

There are thirteen cities in the country namely
Asopu Eerip Ioaw Meiqu
Berlu Fopil Jedio
Cusai Gipal Kailu
Dewol Hirow Lunow

Among the thirteen cities, Asopu and Berlu are two of the main big cities among the thirteen cities. 2 Blood Ruānuku are resided each in Asopu and Berlu. For Denython, the country is in neutral position and relies mainly in blood magic to gain mana through slave sacrifices.
With both neighbour of Empire of Zaiyah and The Mayirea approaching Denython is facing a hard time to handle both tension at the same time. What fate will lies before Denython.




Seeing both neighbour nations tension toward Denython are getting worse and the internal conflict of the country itself, thirteen city lords decided to come together once again to discuss ways to handle the country issues. After several proposal and discussion, thirteen city lords decided to solve conflict among the disunited people, fighting among each other into one major tournament which held once every 3 years.
The major tournament will be a 1 vs 1 gladiator arena where each city will send 2 representatives from each individual cities to participate in the tournament to choose the best fighter in the nation. The champions will be awarded with gold, glory and fame while the respective city lord of the fighter will be crowned Head of the Lord to lead the remaining twelve cities lords.



Next, regarding the slave revolts, the city lords have come to conclusion that each slaves are provided with options about their lives.
a) To be sold as working slave to other country. Applicable to slaves with special skills or good look for both male and female.
b) To be trained as special frontline soldiers(The Berserkers) to serve for the country. The slaves will be chosen by surviving a brawl among slaves. 100 slaves will be placed in the arena whereby they will brawl with their bare hand and be the last 30 slaves which are standing in the arena. The remaining 70 losing slaves will be proceed to used as sacrifices for blood magic
When the slaves does not fulfil as working or fighting slaves, they will be sent straight to the sacrificing pit to used as sacrifice for the blood magic.

Nabonidus walked quietly to his hut. Night was falling on his village and it was best to not be outside during such a time, lest he draw suspicion towards oneself. He tread the familiar path instinctively stepping over the branches that would trip an outsider. His shack used to be a place of sanctions against the outside world and its trouble, but lately changes had made it so even this place was not a protection against the madness.

He opened the door to his home and instinctively glanced at the icon of the prophets and the gods. While not yet a legal requirement to have in one’s dwelling it provided the signal that one was the upstanding member of the society. For an acolyte like Nabonidus, this was a cheap way to buy off prying eyes and whispering mouths. The thing disgusted him however. It might as well be a noose handing in his homestead, a morbid reminder of the call of the void.

Taking a seat, Nabonidus pondered the most recent of the day. The announcement of the inquisition was a most troubling development. It wasn’t enough for the average layman to keep a constant watch for any antitheistic elements. The already fearful conversations he would occasionally share with friends, where they stated veiled concerns and half protests against the regime, would be even harder.
But in a strange way, this brought a layer of hope. Where there was oppression, there was resistance. Was there actually groups conspiring against the gods, as the prophet stated? Or was this just paranoia by a demented society? If they existed Nabonidus would find them. He swore it.

Another day, another trade-deal in the sands. The Tanum didn't discriminate when it came to bartering. Today they'd sell cargo to the Pyramid-Dwellers, tomorrow it might be to the damned serpent-folk in their cold caverns. They had never viewed it as opportunism, they hurt no one and never profited too greedily, as might have happened in a more industrial society. It was simply an exchange between, well, at least the Tanum saw it as between equals, with friendly intent.

Blēka, the silent guardian of this arrangement as Veorr had been for the peace-deal with the frightening L'wol, stood and watched as one of the captains undertaking the venture recited the terms agreed upon between the Sunkin and the Children of Irka. Ondurdis had sailed north once more. Ashen-skinned Blēka, covered by those heavy robes, had always liked the huntress more than most of their fellow hero-saints. She too hid herself, although beneath infinite hair and not clothing. And both had a rather cynical approach to politics, perhaps. Their fellowship had been a natural one, one Blēka never would have had with the silent smith, the ember-eyed warrior, or the clawed crone. Or her fanged little brother or their watery sibling, for that matter.

"A pact of commerce, forging ties of a mercantile but not political nature, shall be made between the Seven Pyramids of Irkazu and a fleet of ship-masters from the Tanum Republic, represented by Lady Ondurdis and Lady Blēka, who together have entered a commercial félag for this purpose.

The God-Isles of the Seven Pyramids are rich in volcanic glass but poor in nutrition. To remedy this, the Pyramid-Men shall begin trade with the ship-masters, with goods exchanged at neutral meeting-points in calm waters. The Tanum shall offer whale meat and blubber, and oil rendered from the same, harvested in the northern wastes by the Free Phriman Tribes. For each large basket of meat or blubber and for each amphora of oil delivered to the Pyramid-Dwellers, the ship-masters shall be paid one larger item made out of obsidian, or five smaller ones out of the same. The prior includes include daggers, clubs, harpoons, plates, figurines, axeheads, and so on. The latter includes arrowheads, awls, fish-hooks, beads, small blades, and so on. Should the import of whale-foods be delayed or cut off, other foodstuffs may be exchanged as substitutes.

As a gift to begin this venture, the warlocks among the Children of Irka shall fashion an air-filled sphere, lowered from a ship by tether and allowing sight in the depths below, crafted using their own sorcery and glass fashioned out of sand from the Ku'lra Confederation, to be provided by the Tanum. In return, the Tanum will offer two shiploads of whale meat, blubber and oil, likewise as a gift.

This pact of commerce shall last for one year, or until the Seven Pyramids of Irkazu have remedied their lack of foodstuffs."

The Princess stepped into the inner sanctum of the temple breathing in the smell of incense and newly made offerings to the Earth Mother moving to bow before a image of Ibu Pertiwi hanging above the holy well her ladies in waiting followed suit.The Temple the Princess stood in was home to the Holy Well men and women as far as Phriman and the Shoal made pilgrimage said to have come from deep below from the very womb of the Earth Mother herself.Normally the Temple would have been crowded and filled to the brim with pilgrims but today it had been cleared for it was the day of Hari Kadho. Hari Kadho was the Anniversary of the Earth Mother's gift to the First Raja of Arenujalapura the wise prince of Sirajawara Putera Parawijaya Sri Deva who had saved a priestess of the goddess from a group of Mahayagahan brigands wishing to repay his gift the Earth Mother saved him and his retinue from a Mahayagahan regiment by flooding the area and turning the valley into an Island,when his retinue thirsted for fresh water a spring bursted out from the earth creating the Holy Well.

The Princess realised she was still bowing before the image of the Goddess and moved to stand up noticing the shape of a woman standing before her " Namaskar Puteri shall we begin ? ".Standing before the Princess was the Mahapujari Lakshmi the High Priestess of the Earth Mother an aura emanated from her one of power but one that was positive and calmed the Princess " Namaskar Mahapujari I did not see you forgive me for my rudeness ".The Priestess smiled " No need Puteri it is I that should be apologising after all I interrupted your prayers did I not " the Princess blushed before replying " Could we move on with the ceremonies Mahapujari we must not let the people and more importantly the Earth Mother wait ".The Mahapujari beckoned with her Sari to the altar where the rest of the priestesses had gathered already chanting a Mantra to Ibu Pertiwi.

The Princess stands in the middle of the congregation of priestesses before the Mahapujari who applies a Bhindi to the Princess's Forehead chanting in the language of the gods while doing so the other priestesses follow suit and chant in harmony with the High Priestess.Stripping the Princess naked they bathe her in the waters of the well drying her and then applying turmeric onto her body covering her skin in it proceeding to bathe her for a second time before clothing her again in the garb of a Priestess.The Princess is then brought to a spot not far from the well where the retinue of the Raja danced in joy when it first sprung from the ground there she dances to the monotone chanting of the Priestesses which are soon accompanied by Sitars and Drums.The Princess finds herself before a Idol of the Earth Mother by the conclusion of her Epic dance the Priestesses let out a collective gasp for it is surely a good Omen.

The Princess dresses herself again in her royal garb she and her ladies in waiting walk towards the gates of the Temple a group of Priestesses and the Mahapujari trailing behind them.Two of her Ladies in Waiting open the gates to a crowd of people who cheer when they see the Princess a group of women at the front of the crowd shower the Princess with Flowers.The Mahapujari moves beside the Princess and raises her hand silencing the cheering crowd who go silent almost instantly " It is a Good Omen oh Devotees Praise be to Ibu Pertiwi the year shall be one full of fortune and happiness " The Crowd cheered loud drumming can be heard and the streets are filled with flowers.