Griever: The Ravenlords, part 5
Log Info
- Title: Griever: The Ravenlords, part 5
- Emitter: Whirlpool
- Characters: Cryosanthia, Un'eth, Tenoc, Braelnoir, Merek, Halani, Thyrson
- Place: Ravenlord's Fortress: Dining Hall
- Time: Sunday, November 07, 2021, 9:30 PM
- Summary: The diplomatic envoys are seated, with nothing to do but wait and observe a wall mural that depicts the past glories of the Egalrin Empire. Very glorious, very past, it seems all their best times are behind them. They are barely a footnote in history, but first on the Griver's list to destroy. Very curious. After waiting, wishing for their equipment, waiting some more and making impertinent noises otherwise known as conversation, an elderly Egalrin arrives. He commences a ceremony, makes some sort of vow and pledge, which seems to assume the ambassadors agree with their outlook. One that seems to imply that they are the proper heirs to the Millenium kingdom, and should rule it and the world.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cryosanthia 6'9" 291 Lb Sith-Makar Female A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman. Un'eth 6'2" 275 Lb Sith-Makar Female An ebon-scaled female Sith-makar. Tenoc 7'0" 280 Lb Sith-Makar Male Tall, green-scaled Sith'Makar hunter. Braelnoir 5'11" 146 Lb Human Female A tall, pale Acanian woman, branded in silver. Merek 5'10" 215 Lb Human Male A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. Halani 5'4" 120 Lb Human/Xian Female Shortish, dusky skinned woman with almond shaped eyes. Thyrson 7'6" 436 Lb Giantborn Male Northern giantborn. Chiseled features, blonde stereotype. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Whirlpool Otyugh A pile -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The story so far
The Diplomatic Envoys, Cryosanthia, Thyrson, Merek, Braelnoir, Tenoc and Un'eth have travelled from Alexandria to Tashraan, then flown via airship to the edge of the Ravenlord's lands. There, they face a guard tower, and venturing through a portal appear in a vast fortress. Inside this, they meet with a statue that evaluates their credentials and mission. They are taken from the receiving room through a fortress that has been redesigned with Egalrin in mind. There are many openings in the floors to create bridges, which allow glimpses down into vast depths. This place is well protected. They are taken to a vast bathing room inside the structure and told to do their ablutions, wash, and put on robes. Halani went before they left, but the rest do what's necessary, wash off and pick clothes. All the robes are ancient, and none are very flattering. The group is also disarmed, and asked to leave their things behind. Thus, they are disarmed.
Finally, you arrive. This dining hall has been arranged carefully with what appears to be very uncomfortable looking, for humans, furniture. A sith might find it a bit easier, what, with the way the backs of the blackwood chairs are built to accept wings so a tail is not much of a stretch.
Ancient tapestries hang from the walls all around you. Colorful representations of war and battle on each of them. Very violent. Hearts are being torn out. Most of the enemies appear very human, but it must be noted that not all the warriors on the side of the Egalrin are Egalrin, either. If anything, it casts the Egalrin as leaders, champions, and rulers in most of these. One particular great, black-winged Egalrin is surrounded by a nimbus of light as he stands upon a mound of the conquered, his spear bloodied and ready. Definitely an important figure, given the way a great many others are kneeling to them. Above you, the setting sun casts an orange glow over a stained glass window that makes the table erupt in a dazzling array of color on the great, circular table that sits in the center.
You are guided to take seats. There is no one else present at this time but you and the guards who accompanied you. A few moments later, an Egalrin with a lute arrives. he sets down in the corner and begins to pluck it with his talons, creating an interesting and resonant harmony. A few moments after that, more of the black-winged egalrin begin to step inside in pairs, moving to stand behind their seats, much like you have been instructed to do.
They appear to be waiting.
Waiting for ... something.
The story continues
Cryosanthia entered, gazing like a gawk-eyed tourist at the incredible wall mural, wishing her education had been better. The Lore-Keeper Caste do not concern themselves too much with the softskin history, and even less so with those they have fought. What they do know is diluted further when disseminated to speaker-Caste.
It's all rather beyond the whitescale.
She gracefully glides into her seat, her robe loose enough to allow her movements and a manner of seating she prefers. She waits, as others enter, as the lute player does, as the music rises. She's tempted to perform and only barely stills her tailtip beating time.
Their hosts are waiting.
So is she. Waiting for ... something.
Merek walks into the dining hall with the party, looking around while he finds a place to settle in, next to Cryosanthia. He takes the time to relax while he offers a look to everyone, then he's going to wait, and indeed, like everyone else, the man is. Waiting for... something.
Un'eth is not a Lore-keeper, and surely not one of winged folk or their ancient history. Still, something about all of this does not settle well. She is not a Speaker, and not one to speak words lightly nor account for their varied reception by others. Thus, she says little or nothing aloud. Flicks of her tail, shift of eyes, and perhaps her scent may betray her unease, however as she ... waits.
The wolflike eyes of Braelnoir sweep the corners and high places, cataloguing what she sees and compartmentalizing the layout should her worst case scenarios get kicked off by a mispronounced word or breaking of the wrong wind. She finds a particularly Korite appreciation for the fine artwork, resolving to look into some Elagrin history and mythos in case there's a parallel, somewhere once they get back to Alexandria.
Still, despite her rambunctious nature and, in certain lights, her possibly lunacy, she carries herself very much like a military officer and assumes post by what is, apparently, her chair.
To dine on succulent(or lousy) exotic dishes.... or a righteous combat pie.... she waits.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls knowledge/military theory+2+2: (4)+12+2+2: 20 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls knowledge/history: (16)+4: 20 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls sense motive: (10)+5: 15 GAME: Merek rolls knowledge/history: (19)+8: 27
The mural is a lot to take in. Cryosanthia continues to stare at it, tracing the events, focusing on figures. Noting... details.
All past glories. Nothing recent. The whitescale receives the impression the Raven folk haven't seen a win in the while. So they dwell in the past.
She's incapable of deducing an entire culture from their art, but she understands bard's tales, poems and plays, to say nothing of more salacious stories. There are common structures, and heroic features. She can see the ravens are *Deadly* serious, and unrelenting in their beliefs in... *a something*.
This seems like a very militarized group, from the way they've spoken and acted. Cryo hisses to her companions, "We see before us their great military triumphs, their leadership, and the one who led them with divine blessing."
Louder, she addresses their hosts. "This one is remiss in her knowledge. She recognizes the great acts of your forebearers portrayed, but fails to find names and events in her memory. Please, grace us with these stories."
A few post-games, some coup-counting, and the usual sort of 'Go Us!' embellishment Brae suspects manifests in almost every culture occupy the murals lining the walls. The notable weapon choices, the representation of armour tell her there's been some time since the locals have had what could be considered a major win.
Hmmm..
It could be a question of tactics hamstrung by tradition, or limitations in weaponry and armour manufacture.
She nods toward Cryo's observation, whispering, "May have more t'offer'n we first thought." in as soft a voice as she can manage.
Eyes turn on you as you speak. That wasn't expected. The looks of the egalrin are hard to read, but then, they've got beaks. Like the Sith-Makar, they don't exactly have the faces of the humanoid races to read so easily.
Instead, it's a subtle change of posture. The way their feathers ripple. A taloned foot scratching the floor. A subtle signal to be silent.
The sun continues to move over the stained glass window, the colors seeming to shift gradually and then the colors wash over the gap at the center of the circular table you're observing and a column of prismatic energy bursts up towards the window above you.
One of the guards at the doorway taps his halberd against the ground four times and the doors swing open once more to permit one more entrance.
Merek settles along into the seat, listening to Cryosanthia and anyone else that speaks like Brae, then he notices the people are wanting them to be quiet. He will relax, leaning back while taking the time to watch the door when it looks like it's bringing more into the dining hall. He doesn't speak at the moment, seeming to relax.
Cryosanthia waits, taking the cue to be silent. She adjusts the crossing of her ankles, squirms her tail against the modified seat, enough rooms for wings is enough room for it. She places her hands on the table in front of her, also crossed. A gesture meant to demonstrate she isn't secretly communicating by handsign.
She's mentally kicking herself for not learning that yet, it would have been handy. Without, she'll pretend to be avoiding something she couldn't accomplish anyhow. Diplomacy is not all smoke and mirrors, but it can be, sometimes.
Her neck straightens as the prismatic energy bursts from the table up to the windows. Her head turns, to observe the doors and the next entrant.
To the Ravenlords are Right.
Braelnoir sweeps the crowd as the feel of the room changes and straightens to a more regimented posture.
There is a certain amount of pageantry at play here that she isn't entirely in tune with, and she glances sidelong to the sound of her brother settling in.
The trick of the light catches her eye, but she doesn't do more than arch an eyebrow, as she isn't sure of the significance just yet.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls diplomacy: (15)+23: 38
Thyrson sits carefully, body stacked up on his hips stiffly. He turns, carefully, towards the opening door.
The door opens once more and the guest of honor ...arrives? It's not you, evidentially, but it's someone of some import.
It is, of course, another egalrin. An older one, wreathed in ceremonial robes himself. Far more elaborate and embroidered than the ones you're wearing. He raises an equally ceremonial, gilded spear in his hand and squawks several times in the ancient language of his people. It's definitely not the egalrin language you're used to hearing spoken amongst those out further west. It feels ... somehow older.
Then again, what here doesn't? It's like they've barely acknowledged the ways the world beyond has changed, isn't it?
In broken trade, he carefully enunciates his words for you.
"We welcome the scions of other lands. May the Usurpers be bled white in the glorious victories to come."
The militancy does make obvious why someone would wish to exterminate them. The rugged mountains that they've called home, this fortress alone, could be a threat if left alone, but it hardly seems there's many of them, certainly not enough to be a threat to Charn, and it's not evident what armies they could raise to face them. So why? Why is this 'Griever' interested in crushing this vestige of ... whatever?
So, Grauthis, the name Grauthis that is, belongs to a people who were in Charn's land before Charn settled there.
The local population got conquered then assimilated. The Raven Lords seem to say they once ruled that area. That doesn't mean that they were any more 'native' than the others, though. They seem to believe you already agree with them about Charn as 'usurpers', and that you're here paying tribute to the proper rulers.
Which is weird since that was 400 years ago.
At least.
Cryosanthia opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. She's uncertain if clarifying scions or Ursurpers is the best unknown to have answered first. As she represents the Silver Empress, a discussion about whether she's legitimate would not be productive.
They probably mean Charn, and the Charnese rulers.
"This one knows of the Millenium Kingdom, which fell, and broke apart into two before the demon wars wiped memories and histories away. That there were people in Charn before the Ursurpers came, that you ruled and led. The one who comes against you, uniting the Ursurpers, bears a name of the original people."
"You may have a secret which would be his undoing. He may recognize you as the rightful heirs and seek to eliminate you." She looks at the great mural, "Fear that you will bring back your glorious past."
Hopefully this gets the old eagle talking.
Braelnoir glances sidelong as Cryosanthia brings up the Millenium Empire, and the Korite briefly considers Eskellios, the salvaged blade she'd found from the twilight of that ancient rulership; a sword commission, but never properly wet before being lost and left in the silt of a river for most of a thousand years. A blade she'd have restored and refit, left with the rest of their equipment.
In hindsight, perhaps she should have offered it, instead.
Regardless, she nods minutely and her eyes sweep the crowd, finalizing on the eldest bird, trying to guage his reaction.
Merek looks to the people and nods a bit, while he listens. "Thank you," he offers to the greeting, although for the moment the man lets Cryosanthia talk. He will take the time to relax.
Thyrson doses off. He doesn't have a staff to hold onto to keep him awake.
There is no reaction.
Not a visible one, anyway. A slight fluffing of feathers.
The bird raises his taloned hand and places it over his beak, as if to indicate quiet.
"We shall forgive your impertinence. The long-ago losses have cost your people much in the way of their manners, it would appear, but you have returned and brought tribute, and so know the way of things that once were and shall be. Such scant tribute is forgivable. We know the western lands are ... suffering an impoverishment of their culture."
His voice is raspy. "But first.."
He stands back up and places his hands on the end of the table.
"In the name of the eleven, we will redeem you. In the name of the eleven, we will return out rightful glory. In the name of the eleven, the stolen crown of these lands shall be restored. In the name of the one, we will recover what was taken from us. In the name of the one, we will restore your rightful rule. In the name of all, we serve."
Cryosanthia is relatively certain there are no long-lost makari manners. Dragons are not known for their diplomacy and the People have only gradually lost that their superiority and isolationist tendencies. She grew up in a swamp, and while her interests wasn't entirely crawdads and gators, the Crimson Pen likely doesn't count as 'culture' and was a late addition to her experience set.
She listens primarily to the vow. The eleven, the rightful glory, the stolen crown, and the one are relevant. They're in the mural, she's sure. The inspiration if not the actual item. The egalrin that leads with light is likely 'the one'. Might even be then elderly one speaking. She compares the people present with the mural, counts the others gathered to see what number she gets.
She also watches for cues. She's been impertinent enough she's going to wait for it to be blindingly obvious if she's suppose to repeat the Egalrin's words and commit to the cause."
GAME: Merek rolls diplomacy: (9)+31: 40
Braelnoir has spent most of her life sharing her culture with anyone her Company was hired to grind into kibble, though her thoughts on it's relative merits in the grand scheme are... complicated.
She's Stormgardian.
She supresses her shrug, and also takes in the oath without chiming in, as she takes her oaths pretty seriously, and making one all willy-nily leands to complications.
In most cases, impertinence is her gift, but she's here to back Cryo's play, and hew out an escape if things go pear shaped, monkeying up the works isn't the mission. So... she keeps her tongue behind her teeth for now.
Merek will take the time to look to the egalrin, and will nod while he inclines respectfully, taking the time to be quiet. He seems to be formal, knowing the ways of the nobility can assist with that. He takes the time to wait, not meeting anyone's gaze while he watches the table.
The crowd has its head bowed. There's no repetition, not yet. Instead, the thunderously stomp their feet on the ground at the end of the statement, something you can easily join in if you want. At this point, servers enter the room, carrying covered plates. It's time for food to be delivered, yes. The servers too are egalrin, dressed too in simple robes closer in design to the one's you bear yourselves.
Finally, the elder Egalrin raises his gaze to observe each of you, carefully. Braelnoir is especially stared at for a time.
"We will march upon the Usurpers soon. It is nearly the time. You speak of the usurpers having an item of power. You will tell me more of what you know, so that we may take it from their grasp use it to reveal all they are to the world, and then let their weakness at last consume them. We will then feast on their weakness."
