event Round 4 The Horned Feast of Brenn-Tyr!

[Tychris1]

And so they came

And so we went

On a dull day

I shall never forget

With cracking hulls

And tattered sail

They split the sea

With a demon tail

To the murky isle

Of empty shambles

A Ruin they say

Worth the gamble

At the gates now

Scrawled in ash

A final parting

Gifted at last

“This is not a Place of Honor.”

• - Rhyme of the Merlyn Mariner

 

 

From far and wide they came. With hood-draped horns and lacquered script, they entreated distant councils, powers, and compelled forces.

A Reed of Metal carved with Runes

A Feast! A Feast for all who await the great alignment! Be it celestial or the threads of fate that flow and bind through all! Your place of honor is reserved in the depths of Caler Myrfddin and a prize to those who succeed in the sport to follow! The Great Merlyn Zan Cuddlu awaits your response.

One face on many heads lurked in the rivers, coasts, bogs, and murky fens of distant Brenn-Tyr. Softly twinkling eyes waiting in the dark for the answer they sought. Some vanished. Others fled. Many sailed from river to sea and rejoined their distant host. Small buoys and dinghies merely scraped together and ferried guests from the heartland to a hulking vessel unlike anything seen in years on Brenn-Tyr. A knorr of veteran spirit, its hull was stitched together with a protective layer of ruined vessels smashed upon its side and fastened aboard. A hull large enough to comfortably fit those gathered together from disparate parts, with lavish treasures on display gathered before and along the way. Where sensible captains balk and turn from high waves, rough weather, and the tempestuous sea the scarred Shipking Merlyn slices through compelled by the force of a rippling sail that doubled as a banner depicting a blood-red skulled horn with swords crossed. The ship emerged from the chilling sea mist, a knife piercing the skin, and basked in the warm glow of red sand at their destination. Ruin. Drifting around to a port, the shadow of Caler Myrfddin is immediately present upon docking, as its dizzying heights seemingly defy gravity and its crumbling rafters taunt the clouds. A small port village lives near this shadow, sparsely populated, and disinterested in the sudden coming and going of distant peoples.

 

By torch fire, the hooded liaisons guided to the shattered gates of Caler Myrfddin. A yawning portal of strange stillness, the air abuzz with emptiness, and the wind a murmuring memory. Rivulets of fluid and debris seemed to flow into (Or out of?) the fractured structure's surface and the red sand of the disaffected earth. A fractured double staircase leading up to darkness and the faint twinkling of wytchstars encircles a massive chasm that burrows deep at a slope. The guides ignore the stairs and descend the bowels of the ruin, twisting through several branching paths, and stopping upon a rusty door with a strange circular handle. Heaving the door open eradicates the faint light their torches provide as the guests are bathed in the incandescent rays of a raging bonfire in the center of a grand banquet hall. A long table rests at the end of the hall, where a single Merlyn sits. The room is awash with laughter, song, dance, and a kaleidoscope of colors. Banners and flags, totems and statues of a myriad form festoon the walls and ceiling of this warm chamber. Above in the smoke of the flame, a strange hole seems to quell and direct the fumes, and a few armored Merlyn continue to throw fuel in with rapturous laughter.

 

Food is arrayed on the banquet table of every sumptuous sin and tantalizing taste. The curried meats of unseen beasts, plucked plump fruits, and strange breaded treats lay in an only mildly disarrayed state of sampling as the sole crowned Merlyn takes bites and offers seats.

 

"Come come! I entreat you, oh distant wonders, to the Feast of Horns!"

Edited May 31, 2023 by Tychris1 (see edit history)

[mystic1110]

 

Thankfully Caler Myrfddin’s emissaries came to Tancourt with their own hoods. Rain dripping past their eyes, running down their horns, as they tried to figure out who was in charge. One can imagine that one of their number called over to a peasant who had seemingly been flutily digging a trench in the mud. The peasant would’ve been dressed in leather, pig’s skin, their hood large over their tallow colored blanched face. The emissary would’ve asked, where is your lord? Where is the King? And, wonder what they would’ve thought when the peasant replied that he just worked for a Tanner. They all just worked for Tanners. Then who to invite to the Feast? Oh, no need to worry about that, the peasant would’ve replied. Being seen in Tancourt, the rumors and hearsay would spread like a flu. The gossip spreaders who mattered would come to the feast, because the feast will have to be reported on, and they were all afraid of missing out. Even if they weren’t Hissfell herself, they will need to pretend they might be if they ever wanted to take the front page. One imagines that the emissary was incredibly confused and disgusted. What was this place? It wasn’t madness, it was just grimy.

By the time they would make it back to their dinghy, they would find that the peasant spoke true. The rumors had brought a veritable who-is-who of Tancourt to wait for them. These personages did not seem more impressive than the peasant. They were dressed in waxed leather, and if the stitching was tighter, more elaborate, or the wax finer or the leather skin and hoods were made of more expensive heifer – who except those that live in the mud would notice? Instead, wealth and importance could maybe ascertained by the company’s weight. Not all of them were morbid, but one could easily see who was well-fed.

Regardless, the full cast of those who would journey towards Caler Myrfddin was:

Tanner Finchley and Matron Finchley.

   And their Daughter Arabella Finchley

Tanner Hound and Matron Hound

Widow Strikesink

   And her hated brother-in-law Tanner Strikesink

Tanner Dampwood

   And his husband Gene Dampwood

Reginald Pemshatter

   And his mistress Matron Pemshatter

Matilda Pidgeonsbriar

Apothecarist Victor Blandheath

Sunpointer Truth Bash

Edited June 6, 2023 by mystic1110 (see edit history)

[Bellossom]

Two young witches, trepidatiously made their way into the banquet hall. Hefin, a scrawny hatless lad whose robes were too big, attempted to puff out his chest and exude self-importance. Instead, he just looked constipated, “Don’t be fooled by the fake smiles and extravagance. I hear they eat people here. Why High Witch Bryn ordered me to attend, I’ll never kno-ow Afon!” The taller of the two roughly elbowed Hefin in the side and hissed, “Be polite, your actions and insults will have effects on High Witch Bryn. You can get back to your books in a few days. Try to learn something here for once?”

The other witch was notably different from their companion. Afon was tall figure with long braided hair under a brimmed hat, and neat robes. They came off as older and calmer despite their anxiety. The witch walked up, Hefin in tow, to the Merlyn who seemed to be the host and gave a respectful bow, “Thank you for your generous invitation, I am Afon and this is Hefin. We’ve come as delegates from Tir Buwch in the east and are quite eager to become acquainted with our neighbors and possibly forge relationships. High Witch Bryn sends her regrets, as she has been preparing for a festival in the Convergence's honor.” Upon noticing Hefin’s lack of movement, Afon grabbed the back of his head and pushed the witch into a clumsy sort of bow.

[TheDarkDM]

Sir Rulman had intended to make this harrowing journey West on his own, unwilling to risk the safety of his fellows or any naïve adventure-seekers in this strange and savage land. However, the Brotherhood's authority within the Holds was not absolute, especially when it came to the Hall of Heralds. So it was that two men of the East descended the rotting gangplank of the Shipking Merlyn, one shrouded in black, the other radiating excitement in green and blue. Cecil Merswin, Bard of the Hall, had spent his young life dreaming of just such an adventure, and his breathless notes of the lands they had passed through threatened to overflow the parchment folio he'd brought to immortalize the occasion. His flaxen hair, cut fashionably short in an approximation of the knights' style before his departure, had been charitably tended to by Sir Rulman before they'd left the far shore. It was a small mercy Ruin seemed to suffer a dearth of mirrors. That youthful energy was near enough to dispel the gloom that seemed to follow his companion, a towering mountain of a man whose black tabard had weathered into a stormy grey, put to shame by the slick darkness of his beard. Here and there, red hairs broke free of the curly black mass, giving the impression of a coal breathing its last. With an iron axe hanging easily from a belt loop and his arms clearly girded with iron rings, Sir Rulman l'Ours' dismay at their surroundings was on full display. That these people should live in such squalor while their king dined so opulently was an ill omen indeed. Stalking silently behind his young charge as Cecil gawped at every novel sight and ran through a half-composed ballad on his maple lute, the knight seemed content to leave diplomacy to the Heralds. Accordingly, when they finally stepped before the crowned Merlyn in the depths of the earth, Cecil was the one to step forward with a flourish.

 

"Great Merlyn Zan Cuddlu, you have the gratitude of the Banner Holds for your magnanimous invitation. I am Cecil Merswin, Bard of the Hall of Heralds, accompanied by Sir Rulman l'Ours of the Brotherhood of Black Banners. We come bearing the light of fellowship for all, and eagerly await your songs and tales!"

Edited June 3, 2023 by DarkOne6989 (see edit history)

[mystic1110]

While the entire cast and chorus of Tancourt paid the correct and right greeting to the High Lord Merlyn, each, or at least each group, introducing themselves as personages that should be considered highly placed, influential, important, it is doubtless that the entire leather clad rabble seemed apt to a particular type of simpering blarney key characteristic of the lickspittle. One, of the number did stand out though, that being Sunpointer Truth Bash, a well-fed man, dressed in bleached lambskin, who, after presenting himself, gestured towards the heavens with his index finger, and exclaimed that he had seen the Sun on their journey towards Caler Myrfddin and that the Sun had told him that the Merlyn are surely Sun-Watched but should beware the Monsters of the Red-Eye. There was a note of fanaticism about the man, but the warning was given fairly and with more of the man's hefty weight on the tone of admiration for the dryness and opulence of the Merlyn's hall.

Edited May 31, 2023 by mystic1110 (see edit history)

[Tychris1]

The Music spreads

 

Merlyn Zan Cuddlu mustered all their poise and pleasantness as the gaggle of Tancourt sycophants and silver tongues made themselves abundantly known. "Ah! You're looking very... rustic! And you, so refined in rubbery! Is this imported? No? Just homegrown dirt? Fascinating." Their eyes grew a particular sharpness as Truth Bash spoke, a glimmer of the hunter's light flickering in the black pools the Blood Elf called an iris, and a thin smile stretched from fang to fang. "We are truly blessed here today! I thought only luminaries graced my hall, but lo, a mystic! The glorious fire watches and bathes us here in Ruin. May it warm your bosom as it has stoked our fervorous spirit!" A joyous cry rang out throughout the hall and several Merlyn's approached and dissected the group of Tancourt, splitting them off in social conversing, sharing of drink, and inquisitive prodding. A Merlyn in flaking brick red armor sidled behind the Sunpointer and ushered them to seat near their host at the great table.

 

The Witches produced a small frown from the crowned master of ceremonies, Zan Cuddlu stroking their chin, leading to a lean on the table, and a brief sigh "Hosting another party at the same time as me? How gauche, I'll let this slight pass in the name of the Wyrm's rare recent grace, and in the name of... How'd you say. Forging? Yes." They gestured at a pie and a buzzing host of Darkkin floated it over to the two delegates "You seem tense. Relax! We haven't even begun the sporting. Fretting before the action is just a waste of your inner fuel. Eat, drink, deeply if need be, and descend." 

 

"Merswin! Why that's practically Merlyn!" Uproarious laughter tittered from the line of flirtatious Merlyn consorts behind "Are you sure you don't have some of our blood in you? A particular hunger in the light of the Moon? If you've a sharp ear for music, the odds are ever in your favor! Let me tell you the tale of when we battled the oldest most terrible Lion! A beast who knew no death, no pride, no fear. I tell you I tell you with a warrior's heart~~~..."

Edited June 1, 2023 by Tychris1 (see edit history)

[BladeofOblivion]

Distantly, addressing no others but simply observing their strange instruments and whispering to themselves as they watched the arrivals and introductions of the others were a pair of twin elves, dappled but pink in the light of the moons. Fair-haired and behorned in symmetry, both dressed in practical, unassuming fashion but the braided cords about their waists were of a peculiar style that marked them as of the Seekers of the Spheres, those curious and scholarly folk. They'd arrived weeks ahead of the event, their elfin and two-of-a-kind appearances setting them apart in a familiar way in a land of Merlyns. They'd predicted the coming convergence event down to the hour, and though it was tonight it was only beginning.

There would be much time indeed prior to full convergence, so for now they merely checked and rechecked their instruments, observing goings-on from a safe distance.

[mystic1110]

As the Sunpointer happily waddled towards the honored place at the table, ready to feast, famished from the lack of multiple breakfasts at sea, the others melded into the larger group of the Court of Ruin into what they do best, which was to wheedle and inveigle - but most importantly to get the scoop.

Arabella Finchley, a young woman dressed in glossy black cowhide, sidles towards an unsuspecting Merlyn and asks if it is true that they drink blood, and what type of blood they prefer, and in what quantity, what age, ect.

Tanner Dampwood, a fat grim man dressed in tough pigskin belying his no nonsense approach to life and his belly, walks towards Sir Rulman l'Ours to firmly shake his hand and ask about the current political situation between the brotherhood and the holds, since business is, after all, the practice of industrial curiosity.

Matron Pemshatter, a concerningly thin woman dressed in leather seemingly made out of dog pelts, some with ears still attached to appear as a feathery leathery sort of wings on her shoulders, smilingly came towards the Witches and started asking them if they can perform some spells for her edification.

[Tychris1]

A Merlyn in fine white robes and with loose dangling accessories on their horns approaches the Seekers, hands obscured within the drooping sleeves they tuck together, and gives a courteous nod of the head. "Well aren't you two a lovely sight. I don't believe you were on the guest list though, so, without wishing to cause a greater guffaw. Who are you?"

 

Zan Cuddlu continued foisting more plates onto the Sunpointer as he laughed airilly, eyes slowly drifting over to the greater crowd now enlivened with guests. Dressed in salvaged ship gear, Arabella Finchley was nearly cut by the unsuspecting Merlyn's jerking motion, and the two shared a brief laugh. "Blood is the sweetest ambrosia to me, I can never get enough. The wiser and more storied the blood the better, but, ultimately age is just a number. Some Merlyn claim to be able to read a person's whole life from the faint notes and minutia of their blood but me? I think that's all hogwash."

[mystic1110]

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."

[BladeofOblivion]

16 hours ago, Tychris1 said:

A Merlyn in fine white robes and with loose dangling accessories on their horns approaches the Seekers, hands obscured within the drooping sleeves they tuck together, and gives a courteous nod of the head. "Well aren't you two a lovely sight. I don't believe you were on the guest list though, so, without wishing to cause a greater guffaw. Who are you?"

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."

[TheDarkDM]

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."

[Tychris1]

14 hours ago, BladeofOblivion said:

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."

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!"

6 hours ago, DarkOne6989 said:

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."

"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."

 

On 6/2/2023 at 3:40 PM, mystic1110 said:

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."

"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.

[mystic1110]

"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."

Edited June 4, 2023 by mystic1110 (see edit history)

[BladeofOblivion]

18 hours ago, Tychris1 said:

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!"

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.