As of Round 4 DIP 7 MIL 1 STW 3 FAI 9 INT 3 Culture Identity (Conversions)

The Weak   === Actions (F) Action: Organize Faith. The Head of Faith is the occupants of the Great Forum in (114), since the organization is not hierarchal (flat, and of peers). Bonus: with 8 holy sites, the bonus is +1 on Investigation (F) Action: Convert Holy Site: 115 (F) Action: Convert Holy Site: 103 (F) Action: Convert Holy Site: 105 (F) Action: Convert Holy Site: 108

As of Round 3 DIP 7 MIL 1 STW 3 FAI 7 INT 3 Culture Identity (Conversions)

Weak Faith Document https://docs.google.com/document/d/14KzpHn3VTgHnUFqQc_SLmkfVJamL9ip3inE_6qF9tAw/edit?usp=sharing

Afon sipped their own drink and munched on a tiny pie. They looked on amusedly as the doors shut on Hefin, locking him into the other room. Leaning over to the nearest Merlyn, they commented softly, "Crimson is just as valuable at home as it is here. A preciously limited resource that every Witch worth their salt knows not to waste. He would have never been able to summon a familiar with that sort of regard for his own blood." After a pause, they added, "No one liked him anyways, but it does mean I'll get a new lab and assistants when I return. All in all this has turned out to be a very successful trip. No need to worry about any political repercussions, we're all on our own here." With that, Afon quieted and smirked into their goblet.

Tanner Dampwood was watching the Finchleys with Sir Rulman "The whole family is a bunch of hookworms. Feh. All this drama? Do not think it is accidental. They each just want all eyes on them." As the Hunt was announced, Dampwood raised a single eyebrow at Sir Rulman "A game of Tiggy?" Sunpointer Truth Bash keeps sitting on the high table, eyes wide at all this food that would otherwise go to waste. Let the children play he thinks, the adults need to make sure that each crumb is accounted for. The others of the Tancourt Entourage mill around, each talking with their respective partners, gossiping, scheming, but out of the spotlight. Let us not dwell on those that have not taken the stage at this hour. Back to the Finchleys, Arabella is in Gul Twir's arms and Tanner Finchley is in shock as he finds that he has a new eyebrow piercing courtesy of a fishhook. Matron Tanner drawls at him "Gregory you look positively fashionable". The Tanner turns red with fury towards Gul Twir but pauses as Arabella wakes and sighs. She looks into Gul Twir's eyes and says "You caught me", and she blushes. Matron Tanner covers her mouth to hold in a snarky retort, but lets her hand drop as the Hunt was announced, she looks down at her daughter held by Gul Twir and then at her husband, fishhook and all, and says "Well you two might as well settle your differences by catching our Host if we're going to be seeing more of each other during family reunions".

A scowl marred the man's face as he searched for a reply, and Shiva was quick to fill the void with her attitude. "We know not, but if they come here we've been through too much to just bend over!" Panu, for his part, looked embarrassed at her outburst. "It's true. We don't know the reason for the attack. The reports suggest they came like a heavenly peal, tearing through all in their path, and then left just as quickly as they came. But so too do they say that the metal men have been sighted in that faraway land for years, pursuing one man with single-minded determination. There is a great mystery here."

Emissary Nyxara The delegate from Zavestra is a fairly silent one as they navigate the myriad of huts, and Myrkran encampments in the process of being converted to more permanent housing. The majority of her procession seems to break off before they reach the longhouse--of which there seems to be a surprising number of merchants, craftsmen, and noncombatants looking to survey the needs of the refugees. Accompanying her inside are a half-dozen men and women dressed clearly for war. Guards, likely. They are dressed uniformly in form-fit linens, thick hides that seemed to provide moderate protection for their torsos and limbs, and most uniquely--diaphanous indigo veils that seem more ceremonial than anything. Each wields a longspear. "The Zoroa are grateful for your invitation, matron of the Rikathi. It is our honor to be in the presence of such wisdom." The ashen woman inclines her head, hands clasped in front of her in greeting. "Long too has a more formal meeting been necessary, people of the Myrkran. But the vagaries of fate have served to keep our appointment at bay, 'til now. There is much to admire in you. A disparate people, working to forge a better future out of agony and loss. But, do you know what they say of a forge?" Her question seems directed toward the Myrkran delegates, her eyes taking an unnatural sheen in the light of the flame. "Too much heat and the very thing you attempt to shape will melt at your feet. You have been through enough fire. Now is the time for cooler heads. To quench your anguish. For there is more that goes on than we yet understand." "I speak of the sudden disappearance of hundreds of men and women in the lands directly north of Zavestra. Gone, without a trace. As if an entire countryside simply stood up out of their homes and walked out in unison, leaving everything behind. I speak of temples disappearing into the fog to the west.. Metal men in fields afar, creatures of the deep ruling over our seas! Whatever the moons--I believe you call them Yolym and the Winding Rose--portend, we should not be fighting amongst each other." "We should be preparing for what they have in store for us. And perhaps reach out to the other great nations in kind, to be sure of their intentions... Be they friendly or otherwise." After a few moments of silence, she seems to realize that she has bull-rushed the congregation. "My deepest apologies. The Zoroa are willing to aid the Myrkran. That is why this summit was convened, yes? As a gesture of good faith, for heeding our voice, we can teach you to better heed the voice of the land, to use her bounty more appropriately.   "To the Myrkran--we would ask of nothing more than you have already given. Perhaps answers, if there are any to be had, in why these metal men pursue you in the first place?"  

Gul Twir had spent countless years out on the Ruinous Sea, where tidal waves the size of castles stalk you at every turn, and the watchful light of day is actually a treacherous mask. Obscuring the guiding light of the heavens laid bare at sacred night. Lovely midnight. Basking in its depth and darkness. Most of those years were as a commanding presence on the Last Chance, the first of Merlyn's Mamluk's. But many were also alone, adrift, and deprived of life's two bounteous unsung pleasures. Warmth and rest. Wondering endlessly if a vessel would ever come or if the world had simply ended. Gone like a whimper and left to rot. Days blinking by in rhythm with the great Sun above. Holding Arabella in her arms she smelled her still fresh blood. Could feel it pumping beneath her singed black leather. The rapturous rump rump rumping of the heart. In that moment Gul Twir decided to hold on. Jerking herself the Boatswain Merlyn dislodged a small handheld hook line from their waist and she swung it in a wide wild arc before Tanner Finchley.   A bolt of energy shoots through the Merlyn around. They rise one after the other, a living wave wrought forth from the crowd, and in each the same spark glinting and glimmering in the eye. Hunger. Claws scratching at the post find purchase in this chance encounter of two worlds and suddenly fangs are slathering. The air itself is almost solid with pent-up tension at the edge of this display, true bliss seemingly a stroke away, and Gul Twir seems prepared to rip it open.   "CEASE."   Zan Cuddlu commands and leaps over the fire, hanging above the scene on a chain, and sneering at the lot of them.   "Take your personal squabbles elsewhere or let it be done and buried in the name of our Red Rapture! Look! The Wyrm will reach its metamorphosis soon and the world changed! The Hunt is nigh!"   That same energy persisted, bubbling uncontrollably from the surface of each Merlyn who gazed longingly at the empty silence that followed those sweet words. Hunt. For a Hunter must indeed Hunt.   "Such an honor, such a great tribute, could only be made one way. Tonight, we shall hunt... Myself! Whosoever draws my blood first shall be gifted a boon or bloodoath from mine own Court! You have until the Convergence to find me in the halls of Caler Myrfddin!"   With that Zan Cuddlu spun and leaped into a hole in the upper corner of the wall, laughter echoing throughout the room. The Merlyn were stunned for a moment.   And Chaos ensued.

As the tip of Merlyn Gul Twir's knife pressed against his chest, Tanner Finchley's eyes widened with a mix of fear and anger. His blustering demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty. But, in this instance, the wise might think of what the title of Tanner actually entails. In Tancourt it might be a sort of hereditary nobility, but at it's core, it is a job devoid of forgiveness. Think of the dark and pungent depths of the tannery, where the stench of decay and the hum of the worker's drudgery meld into a cacophony of despair. The master Tanner, strolls between his subjects, a figure engulfed in the gruesome alchemy of turning raw animal hides into supple leather. Even in a position of power, the Tanner is not removed from getting their hands dirty, as they navigate through the morass of blood-stained vats and piles of discarded carcasses. Their weary eyes, tinged with weariness and resignation, bear witness to the horrors that unfold within those grim walls. And so Tanner Finchley steels himself with a lifetime of transforming decaying flesh into a material of utility and the knowledge that if he steps back the gossip from the other onlookers will sink him into the thick soupy mud of Tancourt to be mummified in scandal and shame. And so, Tanner Finchley steps forward, the knife biting into the soft pink leather he wore - but it was leather nonetheless, it did not yet break the skin "You proper Knave! Laying hands on my daughter and now you think you can intimidate me with your pitiful knife?" Either Arabella could not bear the tension anymore, or her shiny black leather outfit was too small for her expansive chest making it harder to breath, but during this outburst her face turns bright red and she breathily exhales "Papa No!", and faints into the body of Merlyn Gul Twir. Matron Finchley, very much, expressively and conspicuously rolls her eyes and loudly and contemptuously proclaims "What Drama! A Sailor and a Tanner's daughter, in Love!"

The one in white was silent, contemplating their words, and in contrast their ebony clad companion spoke quickly. “When the heat of my blood and the pounding of my skull have united in cause and effect! The fire of the Wyrm breathing down my neck, singing my doubts, and forging me anew!”   Quieter, more contemplatively, the white clad Merlyn sat beside Aporie and nearly whispered “When I am satisfied. When I feel no regret, no missed chances, and no remorse. It is to look upon a friend, an old friend at that, and to be ready for them to leave me forever. To embrace the end is to be at peace with chaos.” “Do you know who I am?” Obviously not since Gul Twir was just the First Merlyn of the Last Chance “I could have you keelhauled. There’s a Leviathan out there just waiting for me to feed it.” Another bluff. “I would advise you watch your next step. It might take you over the edge.” Merlyn Gul Twir placed the tip of their knife on Papa Finchley’s chest.

Aporie smiled placidly a moment, staring at her crude scratchings. "Mmm. Tell me more.", she said, eyes twinkling with a spark of odd nostalgia. "What does embracing the end mean to you?"

Tanner Finchley swells up with a surge of anger and indignation as the Crewfolk Merlyn brandished his knife before him and Matron Finchley. With a sneer curling his lips and a haughty glint in his eyes, he squealed in a voice that resonated with entitlement, "How dare you, you wretched scoundrel! Do you know who I am? Such insolence!". Making fists of his hands and hooking his arms such that the curled fingers point towards his face, he prepares to engage in the art of fisticuffs and to strike the sailor with all the force his privileged upbringing had endowed him with. Meanwhile, Matron Finchley, a woman as cunning as she was not motherly, maintained a composed façade despite the perilous situation. Her eyes flickered with a mix of calculated interest and icy disdain as she assessed the sailor's actions. With a voice laced with an air of condescension, she spoke, "Honestly Gregory, put your hands away, can't you see the strapping buck that our whore daughter has ensnared would pummel you." Arabella, for her part, red with embarrassment, just whimpers "Mama, please."

Merlyn Gul Twir looked at Arabella for a second, then at their parents, and then back to Arabella. They pulled out a knife from a hidden sheathe on their thigh and brandished it at the Finchleys. "Who are you calling Help?" The lingering taste of venomous bile was thick on their tongue.   Zan Cuddlu quirked an eyebrow at Truth Bash's story but said no more on the matter, seemingly at ease with their response. A quick somatic command beckoned a lumbering beast of rotten wood in the shape of a bear to come forth and begin cleaning the empty plates off the table. Preparations were to be made. "Yes, when you are ready to embrace the end throw them into the inferno before us." "But no later than when the Convergence is nigh." They nodded their heads in sage agreement, not looking directly at the bone scroll out of a sense of respecting privacy, and the sanctified nature of this task. "Yes! I will send my fastest Raven or Vulture to your estate. If only I could witness such a sight myself, rapturously rupturing with red ruby rays, and yet I will have to sate myself with the description doubtlessly embellished by them. Tearing you so far from home, I hope tonight's festivity is worth missing your own people." Suddenly a thought occured and Zan Cuddlu perked up "Indeed I think a cultural exchange is in demand. A witness in both our lands to recant to the other. One for one what could be more fair?"   Hefin found himself with no lack of wine or for conversation either. As soon as his cup ran dry a swarm of bees made from smothering ash would buzz over and hand him a new cup nearly overflowing. His departure from Afon lead him from one group to another, whisking him from conversation to conversation, and finally ending up at a table down the way in a secluded corner of Caler Myrffdin. Knucklebones were being tossed by several Merlyn and Darkkin, their eyes all swiftly falling upon the drunken witch, and bloody lips sliced open to cold smiles as they bid him sit to join the pot. Who cares if he had anything to bid? His was the most valuable resource in all of Ruin. Fresh crimson. As unfortunate rolls compiled one after the other, dept began to collect, the door began to close behind Hefin, and carving knives sang from their sheathes as Hefin was All In.

Stat Increase Log Round 4: +2 Diplomacy, +1 Military

Ota Beyr Brejna Honorlund hurried to fill the empty void left by the bickering Myrkrans. She waved forward a fresh line of young Rikathians from the back of the room. They wore simple tunics and battle skirts, men and women alike, but they had been painted with wildly flourished colors. Both men and women were armored with small triangular shields that clung to their wrists and left their hand free to wield a blunted weapon. In their other grip, blades and axes were the weapon of choice. Some of the performative soldiers looked to favor their opposite hand and their shields and weapons were switched. In all, the display of force was nothing more than a dozen brilliantly-dressed and well-armored teenagers. But that was the point. They lined themselves up along the back wall and remained there as a backdrop to the proceedings. Their intention was not meant to intimidate but instead show some signs of uniformity, even though each of them wore a different pattern on their breast piece. When the last footfalls of the soldiers had silenced, Brejna continued, "We are graced with time, my friends. But not an eternity. Eventually, we will all have to choose. Your choices here tonight are meant not to divide us, but to show a willingness to listen, learn, and provide for our own."

Afon paled at the thought of displeasing this most amused Merlyn and began plan B. With a swift kick in the rear, Hefin was sent out into the night only being told to find out if the Merlyn's truly drink blood. With a hearty laugh, Afon settled into the warmth of the nearest pie. "It would be wrong of me to truly claim that High Witch Bryn is preparing for another shindig when in fact, we have waited for these same celestial traits to align. Oh how lovely they will look with the blood moon temple doused in red! You must send a delegate!" Hefin let out a bemused sigh and began to circle the perimeter of the room, looking for a conversation partner and gulping down the nearest goblet of wine. If he was going to get away with lies, might as well wear red.

If Waxil seemed startled by the intercession, Aporie's face bore a faint smirk instead. "We actually just needed more time to calibrate our instr-" Waxil started to say before Aporie cut them off, grabbing the knife: "Gladly." While the level-headed elf rolled their eyes and set back to getting their instruments set up, Aporie happily partook of the opportunity provided. She crudely scratched her best impression of a scroll into the bones, then a shaded circle, and then a series of swirls that might be a raging sea. "And it goes into the inferno?", she asked, more quietly than before.

"Feh" Tanner Dampwood grunted towards Sir Rulman "Behold the finest of Tancourt. Each Tanner is a King in their own Abattoir, but as a whole we are like flies on the carcass. Talk, talk, talk - that's all they do and who knows which one of us Speaks. Feh." Arabella squeals with delight as she is bitten, and blushes at the Merlyn's guess, she is about to reply when someone sternly yells "Ella!" Tanner Finchley and Matron Finchley are seen walking angrily towards the couple. They, like Dampwood, are wearing Pigskin, as tradition asks Tanners and their spouses to wear, but there's is pink leather made of the softest piglets, softer than calf, almost as soft as silk. What else to say about them? Whereas Arabella could be called beautiful for a human, if perhaps a bit jaundiced from lack of sunlight, her Parents are exaggerated angles. Sharp elbows are connected to sharp faces with sharp lips and sharp noses. Sharp hips hold sharp legs with sharp feet sticking out. They talk at once, contradictory. "Hands off my daughter your Cur!" "Honestly Ella, what have we told you about teasing the Help!" It is hard to tell which one said what. Truth Bash keeps eating as his listens and in between mouthfuls tells the host "I am too afraid to see the Sun Rise. I heard it from my cabin on your ship. I had to lock myself in the dark while it went screaming over the shade. It was awe inspiring."

The very calm, normal, and completely understandable conversation Waxil and Aporie were having was suddenly interrupted by a bellowing "YOU FOOL!" And a smack upon the back of the head as a different Merlyn in black robes snuck behind the one in white. "Forgive my frie- associate here," Eye daggers fired at the word "We were simply not expecting your arrival so soon!" They both shuffled together to stand side by side and smile "We had thought you would make yourselves known when the hour of convergence was nigh, but to share in the fire, the more the merrier!" They said the last part in unison. The one in white bowed, then the other followed, and they held out a set of bones and knives for the Seekers. "Carve your heart's desire. Your greatest fear. Your certain doom. Then cast it into the flame as we have! Let your dreams be taken to the stars and the watching Wyrm above!" "I tell you I tell you with a warrior's heart How fearsome and mighty the Lion of Old With fangs and sharp claws to tear you apart Beware, beware, the Ancient Lion of Gold   He roamed round the mountains looking for foes So terrible was he to be banished from the Pride Abandoned from Rise where the earth yet grows Spear nor sword could pierce his majestic hide   Since Merlyn had wandered he was known to the land Time had no measure to his strength, though did have a lash His skin Wyrm-cursed and torn by time's sand From wyrmfire spirit departed, withered, and ash   Too many had fallen, in his lust for great blood Merlyn had gathered for one great final hunt United, they held him, and dropped him with a thud An end to the Old Lion and his slaughter to blunt"   Zan Cuddlu waved off a few sycophantic onlookers as he finished his recounting of The Old Lion. His gaze was singularly on Cecil "A Spire? Pray tell. I've never seen any construct to rival Caler Myrfddin's dizzying heights."   "Well to speak frankly the Sun is not ALWAYS looking down on us. There is the Dark Sacred Night after all. Or these vaunted halls I am proud to call my home! Some rooms never see the light of day..." Zan Cuddlu laughs, looking wistfully at some unseen corner "But it is exhilarating! Why... have you seen the Sunrise? The sky bleeding at its majesty as crisp cerulean fades from imperial shade and brightest crimson. Watching it before the eve of battle or a raid, it makes me swell with a passion where words fail. It is the great fire of the Wyrm, warming my skin, and demanding me avert my gaze from such majesty."   The Crewfolk Merlyn, whose salt was earned from taking chances at sea, looks at Arabella for a moment and shrugs. They swaddle tightly, dipping their bodies slightly as horns turn to accommodate, and the Merlyn bites down around the lower neck. "Mmmmm, were you the second child? Born out of wedlock? And.... pregnant?" They said the last part with a medley of hushed interest.

Sir Rulman met Tanner Dampwood's hand with his own calloused paw. The singed bristles of his knuckle hairs and uncomfortable firmness of his grip belied his time apprenticing at the Cinnabrine forges, but despite his hardened exterior his smile was wide and easy.   "Ah, our neighbors from the South? It is my honor, Master Dampwood. Relations between the Holds and our Brotherhood proceed as they ever have, united in purpose if not always in action. Still whatever passing shadow might divide us, we all stand united in the spirit of noble virtue."   Releasing Dampwood's hand, Sir Rulman gestured to the branching gaggle of Tancourters spreading through the hall, the soft scraping of his well-oiled mail only perceptible now that Dampwood was this close.   "And what of your own people, good sir? Your delegation to this strange land has certainly eclipsed our own in scale and variety."   Meanwhile, at Zan Cuddlu's bon mot Cecil dropped into a practiced, courtly bow.   "I should be so lucky, your majesty, to boast any relation to your noble peoples. Come, you must weave me the legend entire of this strange and deathless foe, that I might reciprocate. Perhaps The Tears of Dran? But no, that is no fit tale for beginnings, it is a song for departures and heavy hearts. I know! The Toppling of the Spire! Ever a classic."

The pair carefully lock their instruments in place and return the nod. "Greetings, yet-unfamiliar Merlyn.", the one on the left replies coolly. "My sister and I are invited, I assure you." "Don't be rude, Wax!", the one on the right chided before turning to Merlyn. "I am Aporie, and this is my sibling Waxil. We are here on behalf of the Seekers, and will be participating in tonight's rituals."

Though there were many of the Myrkran around owing to the presence of the camps nearby, particular attention fell upon two who had walked to the longhouse with their attendants as respected Elders of their communities. Though most Myrkran did their best to respect local customs and authorities, still they were outsiders to Taer Mojr and their own customs persisted to police their own; these two spoke for many. On the left was the Honorable Panu Huldra, a wrinkled man with a long, well-kept beard of gray extending past his navel. He was bald atop his head excepting his single horn, which sprouted from his forehead and traveled in a wave, a fluidity that extended to his clothing: A robe of golden fabric, one of the few valuable things he still possessed from his homeland. On the right was Speaker Shiva Pasada, a younger (though still aged) woman with her still-dark hair tightly braided and a frown beneath a flat nose, green eyes, and a backwards-curving horn. Both quietly glared at one another, unhappy as always with the need to work together. Panu spoke first. "Thank you, as always for your hospitality. I would like to think we have little to fear here from these metal men so far away, but we know little about their capabilities, and rumors do pass of their automatons traveling from court to court. As always I urge circumspection in all things." The woman was harsher. "When the Council of Kaldyr urged to watch and wait as Lost Talviott was devoured, they were saturated with men just like you." "And those of Innez who chose to claw at Fylond rather than face the darkness from Talviott's heart were just like you, Shiva." She seethed, but said nothing.

Omega, Turn Four (Year 13-16) Prosperity visits the Omega, and the great mission is sustained by it. The eastern barbarian lands, depleted by predation, have fallen in line with little resistance, and so grows the lands connected to the Parent. While Joseph the Breaker proved intractable and, ultimately, compactable, his neighbors to the north were more numerous and receptive, welcoming Deep Gully, an elemental of earth and stone. The measured remarks of the pleasant elemental, plus a chest of Emerald Resin, will hopefully open a dialogue that will hopefully see these children welcomed to the structured and inquisitive life of the Omega. Deep within Emerald Root, Still Lake receives word that the Myrkan seek aid as recompense for knowledge. For the Omega, this is always an easy trade. The industries of the elemental nation are put toward assisting the refugee network. Expansion is never finished, however, and even as the Omega send more negotiators out in search of resources, the creation of new Daemons - elementals made for war - continues. It is not all business, however. Alerted to the Convergence of the Moons by the Seekers, the elementals promptly logged the stellar curiosity and then comprehensively ignored it... until they learned of the ritual significance it held for the surrounding lands and the seeming importance of such a rare celestial alignment. Not understanding the appeal, but always willing to try new things, the Omega brainstormed and searched their oldest memories for similar ancient festivals and settled on their own form of celebration. On the night of the alignment, they brought forth the superstitions of old across the land. Animal-shaped elementals ran wild through the forest, flying elementals circled and sang in ethereal harmony, and those more abstract beings shifted streams, configured rocks, and drew symbols into placid fields and glades where none had existed before. Finally, on the highest hill in their domain, they erected a massive straw bipedal form, anatomically accurate in all ways save that the hands were disturbing and strange. The elementals doused it in their endemic resins, and at the precise moment of the conjunction they set it alight. The children of the Omega watched it burn, cheering, still not quite understanding the purpose but knowing that they had successfully partied, per the records. Several admitted to having come up with truly bizarre turns of phrase in their song solely to baffle future generations who would examine this new tradition. Actions: [Military]: Raise One Unit of Daemons [Diplomacy]: Stake Claim on region 210, spending treasure to do so. (Success vs. TN 12) [Diplomacy]: Stabilize Region 200. (Failure vs. TN 12) [Industry]: Aid the Myrkan as they call upon debts. [Industry]: Attempt to Buyout Lotus Silk TP 2 in Region 216 (Supported). (Success vs. TN 12) Non-Actions: Resist Buyouts Resist Conversion Attempts Host Convergence Festival Ruler Stats for Still Lake: Diplomacy 4 (+1) | Military 7 | Industry 6 (+1) | Faith 1 | Intrigue 2

The Sunpointer's appetite is almost piggish, but finding air and caesuras between ingestion, he asks the host how is it to live underneath the Sun unshielded. To have it staring at you at all times, to have it yelling revelations at you unceasing. The Merlyn must surely be of the fittest minds to not have gone mad. It is almost holy. Arabella is amused by her partner's story. "Hogwash? How scandalous! You are a Maverick. Please, we should test this! We can play a game. Have some of my blood and see what you can tell about me."