Griever: The Ravenlords, part 8

Log Info

• Title: Griever: The Ravenlords, part 8
• Emitter: Whirlpool
• Characters: Cryosanthia, Un'eth, Tenoc, Braelnoir, Merek, Halani, Thyrson
• Place: Ravenlord's Fortress: Dining Hall
• Time: Sunday, November 28, 2021, 2:40 PM
• Summary: The dinner continues. Merek demonstrates his connect with Animus, Thyrson discusses his, and Halani tells the tale of Halanimus. All of which draw very little reaction from the Ravenlords. They are quite smug, condescending, in regards to a cataclysm that shook the whole world. Not them, apparently. So Cryo remarks on that, more to call attention to it amongst her companions. She also asks the Ravenlords how they expect to rule, and how they will treat their subjects. Having to worship their gods seems to be one of the terms. Halani and Braelnoir get the sense that the birds expect a blood tax, or a war. They are not nice people. The whitescale is starting to wonder if the warning was too much, perhaps Grauthis is the lesser of the two evils here. It's clear one of them needs to be picked as a lesser.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  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
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

Previously

The Diplomats continue to press their case regarding the Gauntlet. The Egalrin require proof. Cryo attempts to explain some convoluted logic demonstrating the proof is self-evident, while Thyrson suggests they're fools asking for proof during a war. The Egalrin then demand the Diplomats demonstrate their power from the claimed contact with an Animus shard.

"Your warnings and tribute are of interest. You claim this dead-god's power has touched this one. Show us the power of the deadgod and we will listen.

Show them the power of the deadgod.

Um. That halts Cryo's thoughts in their tracks. There's certainly a power or two she could show them.

Her head turns towards Merek. Merek... might have something...

"Merek... can you show these people ... something...?"

Merek looks, speaks. "Alright. If you have any that are powerful in the gods ways, you can use me to see the power of their gods. I will channel the memory of what this power can do. I have seen it, like a radiating sun and like an ancient winter."

"Your faith is unlikely to be our faith. None of *our* gods are dead," The elder huffs.

"But we shall do this, if we can. I shall call upon one of our elder priests."

Cryosanthia relaxes, this should do. She holds a long look with her scale-sister, then an interrogative one for Thryson. It would have been nice to coordinate objectives, "Merek, thanks for making that demonstration."

Now

The Halanimus incident belongs in the forgotten archives that include bachelorette parties.

Thyrson is so the wrong person to ask for Animus.

Thyrson considers the question for a moment, then looks towards Halani, Merek. "You," he rumbles, "know more, specifically, than I. I just know the power of magic."

Stormbolts do demonstrate the power of Animus.

Halani doesn't want to. The moment they started asking for things like 'evidence' and 'showing' the islander's thoughts immediately went back to that time. The time she doesn't talk about. Ever. To everyone. Not under threat of torture. And she still feels that way.

The islander doesn't actually don't know if the Animus stone left any sort of permanent trace. She can tell a story, but there wasn't any residue. Right? Who knows? Hard to imagine being possessed by a god's essence *doesn't* have potentially long term consequences.

It was just a phase she grew out of.

But as she looks discreetly about at the others, at Merek offering up his memories, at Cryosanthia doing her best to appease the Ravens, talk them over to their Cause. And there's a pain in the back of her mind.. a deep part of her that knows she's going to offer that up, for whatever little it may do. Slowly she puts a hand up. "Uh. So... I touched one of the balls, yeah? Animus's? And it may have made me him, for a bit."

Braelnoir glances at her scale-sister upon feeling her gaze. She shifts a shoulder slightly in a quick up-down, then looks to her brother as he elaborates on his experience with the powers the bird folk are quizzical on.

She doesn't have any direct anecdotes she cares to expound upon, though her attention returns to their hosts to guage reactions, or in the event of bad life choices, a sudden need to die.

Cryosanthia tilts her head, watching the Egalrin's reactions at that information. There's a little start, a straightening of her neck. She hadn't heard of Halani's experiences, directly.

More, obscure comments that lingered in her subconscious.

The islander's revelation matches what she's seen, and understood. It sounds like what happened to Zaya. The whitescale wishes she'd been able to follow up on that. Although those are details she doesn't want to share either.

"There are a few things that make this one curious," Cryo says, finally, "the comment that Animus dies backwards and forwards. Your comment that your gods are not dead. The people have the same gods as the softskins, although they appear to us in their natural form, as dragons. We lost the Magic Dragon; how is he not dead for you?"

There's a restless murmur from the dark-winged Egalrin as they speak in their own tongue. It's definitely root-similar to the language of the Egalrin further west, but it's so laden in difference that one can't really grasp what they're saying. It just feels ... archaic by comparison. Like walking into a room full of people speaking the language of the ancient empire of Kulthus or something. It *feels* old.

"None of our Gods are gone. They live, one and all. It is fitting that your weak Gods have died. When we return to power, your worship they will again have."

"But the death of a God is not to be taken lightly. Should one of your's have died and it explains the power you say this 'griever' has..."

There's more restless murmuring.

AS THEY MIGHT HAVE NOTICED... The Raven Lords aren't exactly a *nice* people.

The whitescale has noticed. She squirms in her chair, adjusts the unflattering robe. It doesn't make her look big, she is big. Time to find out a few things. She inhales, feels the breath coldly settle inside, and formulates some more questions.

"One of our gods has died and this one is ignorant of the circumstances and little information has been shared. I have seen one of these Shards before it was put in a protective location. It was blinding to magic sight, overwhelming. It was capable of speaking into my mind and compelled others to approach it." They haven't given her much new to work with, she's over-sharing, "contact was fatal."

"So. This one brings the warning of what you will face, that you likely face it first. There is the possibility of aid from Alexandria and the Silver Empress." She dips her head slightly.

"They will have questions. What do you expect to rule when you prevail? How will you treat those who aided compared to those that did not? How will you structure your society and treat the races, soft, hard and feathered, within it?"

Hopefully these questions will shake something out. There may be secrets in the language, its origins and deviations, but Cryo can only focus on a few things. 'What do they want!' Foremost.

GAME: Braelnoir rolls linguistics: (18)+4: 22
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls linguistics: (5)+6: 11
GAME: Halani rolls linguistics: Trained Use Only: 0
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls knowledge/religion: (19)+4: 23

Braelnoir's lips draw back, parting ever so slightly in a grin at the thought.

Kor's work would paint the land red if they tried to force the issue, and they would make him all the stronger in the doing.

Then he'd probably gleefully glorystomp whoever it is these guys think has their backs.

Somewhere in there, she may finally get a chance to catch Rolson up on everything she's been up to since Bludgun.

Until then, as ever, though... the job, first.

If they didn't notice Animus dying, it isn't for lack of global events. Pretty weird, though, right? All kinds of catastrophes happened, and here they are scoffing at the diplomats. It means a few different possibilities. One is that they're so remote that it didn't impact them, and that their faith never relied on the sea of mana and Animus as its conceived of in the Holy Order or in the adventurer's own branch of it. Other possibilities exist, like Animus' death simply not 'reaching' them yet, since Gods and time are weird, or that their God of Magic isn't Animus, etc.

Having gotten over the hurdle of volunteering her experience, Halani lifts her chin to stare at the Ravens as they murmur amongst themselves. Nothing to hide, now. The pride of these people is obvious; the right appeal to their pride not so obvious. At least not to her.

Merek saw things. He may not have seen anything useful to this, and besides, he is thinking about things a bit. He nods. He's nodding to the people. He's nodded off, his head dipped forward, looking down.

Cryosanthia thinks. She closes her eyes briefly, inhales, her nostrils flaring. She suppresses the urge to flick her tongue, taste the air. She can smell Braelnoir's eagerness to fight. She should, she's been close enough to it. It tells her things, as does Halani's wariness, and relief.

Time to get her allies on the same page. "You are fortunate, that the death of Animus had little impact. The events were global, widespread. Even in our jungle home the ripples were felt."

Cryo makes eye contact with her scale-sister, Halani, the boys. An intense look of emphasis. "All kinds of catastrophes happened; our weakness easily scoffed at. You must have been isolated in a superior way, so shielded, remote the death did not impact your mighty empire. You must have achieved a faith and a magic that does not rely on the Sea of Mana."

Her voice drops, she places a finger on the table, presses, "Or a worse possibility. The wave comes at you, even now, but has not arrived. The ways of Gods and time are weird, as you have described. Animus' death has not 'reached' you."

"Or your god of Magic was not Animus, but one of the others." The whitescale is laying bets on Taara. Damn Akoniril!

Thyrson watches the ravens, looking progressively more annoyed as he goes.

It could be said the Stormgardian is a bit... over-trained.

Brae loves a good row, after all, and her faith in the Bloodletter has left her with few existential fetters in regard to motivation. Those came later, after her time outside the Stride.

After her family congealed in the Steelbelt.

After she saw greater horrors than even that inured the young woman to such pedestrian things as maimings and death.

Wolfen amber pools swivel toward Cryosanthia as her sister speaks anew, narrowing slightly as she tries to read where she's going with.... oh, hey... that's a novel angle she hadn't considered.

They might not have, either, despite chirping about the expansiveness of Deicide, a thing that she's only ever heard of happening once.

She asides in low hisses and growls, "They compare us to other portents, sister, but I ken only scant fragments, without context." in her somewhat archaic take on <Draconic>

Halani's expression shifts.. one might call it souring, perhaps, and she glances sidelong at the others once more. Sideways eye contact seems to be a thing with the delegates for the moment. She leans close to Cryosanthia, pitching her voice low. Too low for the birds, she hopes.. but enough for at least Cryosanthia, and perhaps the others, to pick up. "They are thinking war might be good, yeah? Tribute for their lords. Prisoners." She pauses a little bit. Not swallowing. Definitely not swallowing. Just.. "A blood tax."

{LineSkulls|300px}}

OOC

<OOC> Whirlpool says, "Honestly, Cryo needs to get an orb of scrying."
<OOC> Whirlpool says, "Then she can be scryosanthia."
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "HA!"
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Actually, check my Inv and my spell list. :)"

<OOC> Braelnoir says, "Halani said: Blood tax. Brae heard: Game on!"