Realm: Black Thrace

Blessed with a mild climate, Black Thrace is a broken realm, filled with chasms and gorges, steep hills and tall peaks, cold springs and boiling mud. Within these nestle hidden valleys, dark forests and rich fertile lands said to be the byblow of a series of volcanic eruptions. Deer are plentiful, together with partially domesticated mountain goats and sheep, preyed on by elusive and rarely-seen wolves. Birds of all kinds are common, with several species of owls, crows and finches known. Rumours of fire drakes, wyverns, harpies and burrowers of several kinds are commonplace in the more broken lands.

Several significant Tellurii settlements and places of repute exist:
Albor Valley - Large village boasting a silver mine and herds of riding ibex
The Magma Fields - Lattice of chasms ribboned with magma and hot springs in a high mountain valley
Forgerun - Small isolated forge, where Ulfur first appeared

People: Tellurii (or singular, Telluran)

Literally the 'people of the earth', the Tellurii are swarthy and broad-shouldered humans - thick-limbed, well-thewed, and covered in coarse black hair. They are short, standing perhaps five foot on average, slow to anger and consider themselves civilised. With the mild climate pervasive throughout Black Thrace, they are typically found in light undyed cotton tunics and sandals. Their society is one based on law, debate and merit - though those who live in the mountains are considering more bellicose and warlike, though perhaps still more civilised than true barbarians. Family groups are polygamous, with extended family groupings common and great stead given to the wealth of the earth - metals, timber, herbs, hides, horn and seeds

As a society the Tellurii are transitioning from hunter-gatherers to farmers and herders, living in small villages centred round an enclosed paddock, where they keep such livestock or crops as they have tamed - though this is supplemented by hunting and gathering and they are known to cultivate semi-wild gathering places, take care of the forests and take only what they need. Larger villages are often centred round a mineshaft or cave entrance, with two or three smaller paddock 'centres'

Ulfur awoke with a growl, within a deep cave that smelled of bear.

A large shape temporarily blocked the light that reached this far down from the mouth of the cave, and the grizzly shambled past you, giving your head a lick before settling down beside you.

This wasn't the first time you'd blacked out and woken up next to a strange . . .  woman, but it did count pretty up there for weirdest.

You actually couldn't remember anything at all of what happened last night. Or the night before that.

You remembered running with wolves, eating the raw heart of a buck. What a strange, if . . . right-feeling dream.

As if from far away, you remembered - you were at the Buoy, with many other strange beings. Ah, so that was the taste in your mouth - mead.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:48, Wed 16 Jan 2019.

Stretching carefully, Ulfur cradled his head even as he wondered whether he had drunk the mead or whether he had a hangover from a dream, which would definitely make this the strangest blackout of all time. He could taste the blood and honey, but memory was a fickle thing unlike the reassuring solidity of the mountains within which he called home

Reassured by the bear's affable nature, he lent carefully against its bulk, feeling the solid pack of muscle beneath it's coarse hair and patting one flank. Perhaps, he considered - thinking of his sore head - it could be persuaded to return him home? Saying nothing, he remained there for a time, dozing.

As he shifted in his half-sleep, the cave floor beneath him worked itself into a more comfortable couch

[Private to GM: Activate his Minor Power, Earthmold/Silverhand]

Sunlight burned Ulfur's eyes awake. He was sprawled over the back of the affable bear, which had sensed his divine intention and began taking him to the isolated forge he called home.

Mia - your housekeep and cook - and Oskar, the steady-handed young man who had spent the last couple months irritating you sufficiently to start teaching to forge as you did, greeted you as the bear shrugged you to the ground. Your crafts were famous - godsteel was ever-sharp, nigh unbreakable, and beautifully engraved with your personal rune. Perhaps it was the present extent of your prowess with runic magic, but no mortal could hope to surpass you.

Except this twerp, Oskar, who had it in his head that you'd die eventually and he'd be the heir to your legacy. Nevermind that you were pushing ninety and still as spry as your eighteenth winter.

As Mia tossed a fish to the bear, she put her hands on her hips. "If you would halt spending all your coin on drink and feasting for just a moon, perhaps we'd have a nicer place, huh? I can't put another patch on these trousers, there won't be any trouser left! Why do you even buy the best meat if you just wolf it down anyway?"

Oskar was much more brief. "Forge is hot. You sober enough to work, old man?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:22, Thu 17 Jan 2019.

"Hush now, Mistress", grumbled Ulfur, still sleep-addled. Reapers and shades and imposing steel-men filled his mind, awash as it was with running wolves; it wasn't helped by the housekeeper's choice of idiom regards his habits, itself recalling to his mind the rush of blood as he took down the buck. Not him, the other one, the wolf-Ulfur. He shook his head, clearing sleep from it, "Hush now. The forge keeps itself, and I keep a roof over our head and food on the table"

Ambling towards the forge, he scratched at the back of his neck, then turned back suddenly, "See if we've some honey for the bear, too, Mistress. Perhaps it's time to teach this boy a thing or two"

With that he ducked inside the forge, "Bring iron and charcoal, Oskar; I've got a mind to try for a great-helm today! Perhaps a brace of knives"

[Private to GM: Forging a wolf-visaged helm, complete with antlers; he is minded to experiment with some runes too, but that would be on the daggers. Can he imbue Oskar with some of his knowledge or talent innately? i.e. God-Touched?]

Mia harrumphed, then went inside for a spell before bringing out wide-mouthed honey-pot. She sat the pot down before the grizzly, which snuffed at it before proceeding to delicately lick it clean. Mia scratched the massive animal behind its ears. "Why you find him so charming I'll never know. He smells like a musk and dirt most of the time."

With a pat on the back, you felt divine power flow from you, an Oskar was God-Touched.-50 Souls.

As he fetched the materials and you stoked the forge, you began your work, starting by making a fresh pair of tongs - one of the first things any blacksmith mastered.

So began a week of constant labor, with Oskar at your side every step of the day, and Mia bringing you simple food - bread, cheese - and water.

On the final day, while Oskar was oiling and polishing one of the dirks, Mia brought you a treat - venison stew, with potatoes, carrot, leek, and celery. "I made sure to crack the bones and use 'em to flavor the broth like you like. You're the only man with such an affection for the taste of marrow, I swear."

She examined the great-helm. "Fine work, but it'll be tough to find a buyer in the village. We'll need to travel a ways to a bigger settlement to find a nobleman or captain with the coin for this."

Oskar: +50% toward Level 1 Blacksmithing, +30% towards Runic Magic at 0.
You advance +10% in both, as your hands seem to remember the knowledge of your dream-self.

Nodding at the woman's words, Ulfur considered them as he scratched at an armpit; he was pleased with his works and the excuse that it provided to travel: perhaps it was time to visit the Albor Valley once more - certainly, he felt a need to handle silver once more. He took the bowl of stew, savouring the richness of the meal as he thought, his motions delicate and almost dainty.

Around the forge, the wind whispered through the pines; his home was peaceful, sedate, the babble of the river a welcome voice in a chorus made up of birdsong and leaves and the brooding silence of the mountains.

Yes, he was ready to wander. For a time, at least

He finished the stew, placed the bowl on the table and considered the great-helm he had made: it had a lupine cast, two stag-like antlers, a memory of a dream. It would need a great-captain to wear it, a battle-commander; the daggers were the same, glinting with his first dabblings beyond his godrune. He wiped his hands on his apron, then hefted each of them in turn, trying to understand where they might differ in weight and balance, tested their edges. They would do.

Satisfied, he stood, then gathered tools and a traveling-anvil, his hammer and his axe. Collected the helm and the daggers in a pack, together with a bodyweight of steel wire, to make it to links and then mail as he sat by the fire at night.

"Remain here, apprentice", he called out to Oskar, pleased with the progress the young man had made, "Make more daggers. Practise. Feed the bear."

And with that, he set his feet up the road

Someday, he's really have to invest in a horse, or a mule, or something. It just . . . something in always thought he could run as fast as any horse. He was fit, but couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't need a mount to get where he wanted to go.

He got about halfway down from the mountain where Forgerun was situated and was on a deserted stretch of side road that forded the Albor River; Albor Valley was a ways down after the ford, and was just visible, nestled into the foothills near the silver mine.

Ulfur's senses picked up that he wasn't alone.

Three strange men, a creature, and a woman. They didn't look like anyone he'd ever seen, and they'd didn't look like each other, either - one was white haired with silvery skin, another looked like a wizened corpse wrapped in shadow, a third was - well, not exactly a man, but a tiny winged person that seemed male, somehow.

The last two actually looked pretty normal, though the man was dressed in blackened armor that didn't have the right weight to be steel, and stank of sulfur.

Lastly, there was the woman, who you immediately knew was the only Telluran of the group.

It was if one moment, there had been a thicket of trees, and the next, here were these misfits.

The Telluran woman spoke first. "That's my god, Ulfur. Wound him, but leave him unconscious. If he won't free us from the Pantheon's tithe, I will."

Ulfur had about twenty seconds to react to their appearance before the violence would start.
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:54, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

"Tithe?!", shouted Ulfur, full of ire at the words of one of the mountain-folk. He stepped forward, hands gripping hammer and axe angrily, "What in the bloody valleys are you talking about?"

Behind them suddenly, a mighty boom preceded an explosion of earth and wind, intended to throw them from their feet and towards him. At its epicentre, the afternoon air began to shimmer with heat and the glow of magma could be see spilling slowly to form a crescent behind them

The powerful wind knocked all but the corpse-like man towards you - he seemed to fade from tangibility for a moment -

the he slipped on a bit of loose shale and fell backwards into the magma. He screamed like a banshee as he was burned alive.

The Telluran woman spun from where she had fallen. "Holy shit! Kral! No!"

Kral's screams were cut short as he sank into the lava, his charred body so much carbon.

She spun back to you. "He was a hero! He escaped the bondage of Bezaleel the Shadowgod! He was going to deliver his people from slavery! And you immolated him!"

The small winged man was openly weeping, tiny tears like dewsdrops falling from his face. "Overgods, no . . . "

The black knight came to his feet. "You filthy blackguard!~ Kral will be avenged!"

The telluran woman put a hand on his knee. "No . . . no . . . I'll not lose you too, Joachim. Let's . .  . let's just go . . . our god is a horrid villain, who will not lift a thumb to free his people from the Pantheon's yoke . . . "

Dispirited, the rag-tag band of misfits walked morosely away from you.

Towards Albor Valley.

The same way you were going.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:08, Sun 20 Jan 2019.

"Stop!", boomed the voice of the mountain, as Ulfur became frustrated "Cease with the threats, the talk of wounding me! Speak first, then threaten violence if you must, but what the hell are you talking about with the Pantheon tithes!"

The squad of would-be godslayers booked it away from you, not listening to the insane old god that had fricking barbequed Kral the Twice-Blessed, half-shade and half-Aso on his mother's side, who had grown up in a difficult split-culture home with neither god around and the constant pressure to two cultures that both highly valued social integration when all he wanted to do was morosely study the blade in his room, alone, where nobody could tell him what to do or send him to the Academy to nurture his necromantic talent and make something of himself instead of fruitlessly trying to be a dark and brooding antihero.

The Telluran woman stopped. "Wait, guys, I think he's hard of hearing or something? He's like ninety. Maybe he hasn't fought the Pantheon because he's senile and forgot to,"

She turned, yelling to you. "Ulfur, Supreme Lord God of the Almighty Mountains! Will you aid us in our quest to defeat the pantheon and free our people from bondage!? I'm Moira, and these are my friends," she said. "We're very sorry about our intent to steal your godhood, we just thought you weren't using it,"
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:26, Mon 21 Jan 2019.

Brooding in his anger still, Ulfur stomped towards where the woman stood; her presumption of senility and deafness only added to his grumpiness and he glanced at where the magma still cooled as he walked. Finally, he stopped close by them, considered his words for a moment, considering explaining that he still had a headache from waking up drunk beside a bear. Considered it and decided discretion might better serve, for now

Grinding his teeth, he placed both hands upon his belt, "Begin at the beginning. Who are this Pantheon you speak of? What tithe have these interlopers demanded? What bondage? What in the hell are you talking about?"

He winced, inside, noting this was the third time he had cursed in the self-same fashion. But on the outside, he simply looked furious and thunderous. well, he hoped.

Moira stood proud. "The Pantheon are filty non-Tellurans!" she paused, glancing at her nonplussed friends. "Present heroic company excluded!" They perked up. "I'm Moira, leader of the Resistance, a Pilgrim-Hero! I have travelled the lands of the beddraggled, those oppressed by the Gods, and gathered under my banner to oust all tyrannical Divines!" She smiled. "Except you. You're fine, apparently, which is good because you can summon volcanoes and I don't know how to actually deal with that,"

"Anyway! The Pantheon are all other Gods besides you. They're evil bastards, the lot of them. A few of their invincible lightning soldiers came and demanded a tithe of ten percent of the population and asked us to convey that to our god. Except you weren't around and nobody knew where to find you so we told them we didn't have a god. They said that wasn't possible, so uh,

"I spoke up, and, uh, said I was the Goddess of Black Thrace."

She scratched her head. "I didn't think they'd believe me! And now they've taken a thousand people to serve in their army, and we're under martial law, and I went on a quest to find you, wherever you had gone, or what remained of you, so I could . . .  actually be the goddess?"

She was embarrassed. "But, uh, you're alive! And here! So, are you gonna free our people from bondage?"

The small winged man spoke up. "She read that phrase in a book and won't let go of it. We keep telling her that maybe she should phrase things differently, but she's . . . the leader type. I'm Fowin of Arthos."

The black-armored man spoke next. "Joachim, of Lithatas."

The silver-haired man spoke last. "I am of Lethia. I lost my name some time ago. Pleased to meet you."

Listening to Moira's word, Ulfur winced, on the outside this time. For a time he simply repeated what she had said, with increasing incredulity, at least until he remembered that it probably added little to his already tarnished reputation.

"Filthy?", he began, wondering whether the xenophobia was a townsfolk thing.

"Leader of the Resistance?", was next, hoping its members were not numerous or were at least less zealous.

"Didn't have a God?", he whispered, fearing what might come next.

"Goddess of Black Thrace?", hearing his own voice lose some of its bass resonance; an unkind soul might even say he squeaked.

His head shook and his frown reappeared as she continued, hearing of the tithe and martial law and bondage. He tried to relax the tightening grip on his hammer and axe, fury building. Behind him, he could feel the heat of the magma rising, perhaps not the best reminder of poor Kral's fate. That cooled his ire quickly enough, doused it with sadness.

Listening to the others, he saw thoughtfulness, consideration. He spoke, gravelly and calmly now, "Indeed, the leader type. Suffice to say if I had listened more before acting upon her earlier words, your companion might yet ... un-live? He will be remembered, this Kral, though he seemed a troubled man"

Approaching the others, he greeted them in the manner of the men of the valleys, a firm hand clasping each upon their shoulder, "Well met, Fowin of Arthos... Joachim of Lithatas... and, if I may, I will call you Umbra, man of Lethia?"

Gesturing to encompass all four of them, he spoke more bluntly, though he knew already that the responses he expected needed to be taken with a pinch of salt, "Are these interlopers still in the valley? Where have they taken my people? How did each of you come here, to Black Thrace? How did you travel between these realms, Moira? Tell me of the ... bondage ... facing your peoples? Of the ... evil .. Gods and Goddesses ruling over each of you?"

Moira counted your questions on her fingers. "Five, okay, right . ."

"
1. Nope! They left, but afterward one goddess, Gethu, came in with an occupying force.
2. The Valley of Banners, maybe?
3. I met them on my journeys through other realms and brought them with me! Sometimes by force, threats, bribery, and deceit. Except Joachim! He's only in it for justice.
4. I'm a Pilgrim Hero! I pick a direction, keep walking, and end up in other places!
5. There's just one, really. Gethu. Lesser Goddess of Parasites. The rest of my team haven't seen their gods in decades, actually.
"

She smiled. "Gethu is definitely evil. Her people are vampires who consume the life-force of innocent Tellurans. They're aren't many of them but they are tough and can see in the dark, which is when Gethu sends them around to collect protection money. Anyone who doesn't pay winds up exsanguinated."

"Five questions, indeed", mused Ulfur, even as he mulled over her answers and wondered if there had even been more than this Gethu and her protection racket; best not be hasty, not a second time. He unshouldered his pack, pulling forth the daggers he had crafted, one by one and laying them atop it.

"Five heroes, though now four", he continued, eyes sombrely moving between daggers and outcasts. He studied them, their fine workmanship and plain scabbards, knowing each had their own runes upon them. One by one he picked them up, threw them, scabbard and all, to the four of them, "Four blades, seems apt enough... Let us confront this Gethu, let her speak what she will speak and-" and he ruminated upon the words spoken to him in the Buoy "-either uncover the truth of this tithe or, perhaps, given her nature, eat her"

For now, the helm remained in his pack

You only had two daggers to give, but Moira and Umbra took them easily enough.

"Godsteel .  .  ." Moira said. "Thank you, Ulfy! I can call you Ulfy, right?"

She was perking up again. The woman was fairly dauntless. "We'll have to wait until nightfall for her to show in Albor Valley. We've got a room for five there, so you're in good hands!"

The Viese (winged man) landed on Moira's shoulder. "But what about Kral . . ?"

"He's dead! Again. He kinda smelled bad anyway, worse than Ulfy does. Plus, Ulfy can summon volcanoes and he gave us godsteel. He's at least earned an internship with the Resistance. Especially since we still haven't made any real money adventuring . . "

"There was the gold we got from the Tomb of Kronstan,"

Moira sighed. "There was."

The rooms at the inn were fine, with Moira getting her own room for the sake of decency and as the leader, and the men sleeping two to a room. It wasn't home , but it was comfortable.

The sun was setting a few hours later. You were sharing a room with the Lethian. He rose from the nap he'd gotten in. "I'd best go wake Moira. That woman sleeps harder than the dead, and we knew Kral."

You had the room to yourself for a few minutes, before you'd be getting pulled in further hijinks.

"Ulfur, never Ulfy", the sturdy God rumbled, trying for sighing not to become a habit. He saw potential in these, especially in Moira, but it was like the rawest ore in the mountains: untrammelled and needing careful treatment to not cause it to shatter or crumble or be shown to be false gold. He considered how he might bring that out in them, for now settling simply on reinforcement, "Just Ulfur..."

Letting the 'Resistance' chatter, he let his own thoughts become brooding, perking up only to ask, "Do you expect Kral to rejoin us? Immolation seems kind of permanent, even for a half-dead"

Whilst the Lethian slumbered, the Heart-of-the-Mountain considered his options to the coming confrontation. It was clear that the 'Resistance' would be wild cards - preventing any subtlety, perhaps even negotiation. Could he turn that to his advantage, like a rushing stream funnelled by the subtle geology, the hardness of rock and the softness of soil. Stratagem after stratagem, brought forth and discarded, dismissed. Finally he settled on one, letting his companion wake and seek out the Pilgrim-Hero he followed.

Sombrely, he took the great-helm from his pack and placed it upon his head

Illustration: Moira, False Goddess of Black Thrace

"Oh, Kral's a goner. Undead or living, lava is a pretty permanent means of burial." said the Lethian.

Moira gathered the lot of you in her room. While she hadn't shared it, it was also the largest room of the lot. A Telluran man was in her bed, dozing fitfully - the owner of the inn you were staying at. Well, that explained how the rooms were being paid for.

She was rubbing a braid of his beard between her fingers thoughtfully. "The vampires are only partly undead; they can be killed by beheading, fire, or destruction of the heart, and are paralyzed by bloodloss. I'll leave the beheading to you, Joachim. Umbra will be using a hunting spear, and I'll have my bow. If they get too close, use the Godsteel."

The winged man spoke up. "And me?"

"I want you in the air, keeping an eye out for the goddess to show up once we've made a fuss and killed a few of the creeps. Ulfur, I want you to keep your powers under wraps and keep that great-helm on until the goddess herself shows up. We want to draw her out of town before you go causing an eruption."

She asked each of her teammates in turn if they had suggestions, and came to you. "Do you have anything to add, Lord Ulfur? An alternative plan, perhaps?"

Stuck, as he listened, by this less-dauntless and more considered side to Moira, Ulfur was quietly pleased. He said nothing as the plans were laid out, sitting comfortably in one of the low chairs, a man at rest. Idly he wondered how much there was to her self-proclaimed nature as a Pilgrim-Hero; he considered extending his own blessing to her, held back for now. Her capability to walk between the Realms was interesting enough, but it meant she needed tempering before he would invest more power in her core.

Lethian. Viese. Lithatian. He wished he knew more of their Realms and their Gods; the one he had burned in a pyre had echoes of the two he had met in the Buoy, Bezaleel and Theadeacus, so perhaps it was best that he had been dealt with quickly, though they were ... intriguing ... Gods.

Drawn back from his reverie, he considered Moira's question; if he had been mortal, he would have been caught unaware, but keeping track of his own thoughts and the conversation around him was a simple enough matter. He smiled, even teeth showing, "It is customary for a God to eat his foes if they are another God ... so I'm told"

He paused, watching for their reactions, "But I would prefer to speak to this Gethu. Kill her leeches, your plan for that is sound ... enough. But that is a means to draw her attention and ensure she is able to focus on the conversation I must have with her. Kill the leeches quickly, or from a distance; I would not deprive the Resistance of its devout members when it is so newborn. Stay close to me, Joachim. Blade and axe. Your spear and bow, I fear, may serve but to irritate them and draw them in... unless your shots are perfect. Bait them, bring them to us."

"Gethu intrudes upon my Realm", he intoned solemnly, "She will pay a tithe of her own"

Just then, a thin voice from the inn below. "Thy tithe is due, respected proprietor. Please, cometh. A bit of silver and your slumber is assured safe,"

Moira slid out of the bed, revealing herself to be unclothed. With a sly smile at you, she signaled for quiet, brushing you gently aside as she left. The others followed, Joachim making a sign with his hands to fend off ill fortune with a soft sigh.

Baring herself from the railing of the upper floor, she struck a confident pose. "Oh ho, evildoer! Your menial evil ends hence! Go and fetch your bitch of a goddess, for I am the Goddess of Black Thrace and will no longer suffer the indignity of my people's bondage!"

Her white teeth shifted to wolf-fangs before your eyes, and she leapt from the railing into the room below, out of your sight. There was a whump, a crunch and a splut, and then a head came sailing up - an arc of fresh blood behind it - to bounce again the inn's wall in front of you.

"Change of plans! Umbra, you take the bow and cover us - the moon's out tonight!"

For the first time, she took notice that she was in the buff, blushing just a little.

"Eheh. Joachim, can you toss me my armor, my shield, and my saber? No need to give the forces of evil an eyeful of anything besides an arrow."

Once suited up and ready, you moved out. You, Joachim, and Moira worked in a tight group, going from place to place jumping and swiftly slaying vampires as they were collecting tithes. Fowin kept watch from the sky, and signaled to the man of Lethia if one of the Vampires was catching on - it turned out he was an excellent shot, and his broadheads punched through to the heart with regularity. Moira had phenomenally good hearing and sense of smell, which alerted her to the presence of vampires in the vicinity and greatly aided the stealth of the mission.

After clearing six or seven businesses, the jig was up and the vampires caught on that they were being hunted. Fighting as a team, you retreated to the edge of town, taking down four more vampires on the way.

Moira then called out into the night - "Creatures of Darkness! You face Moira, Goddess of Adventure, and her bold companions of distant lands! Call forth your Dark Mistress or be laid waste!"

There was silence, and then a buzzing -

as a swarm of bats dove down from the sky, crossing over the moon, to coalsce into the form a of a tall, shapely woman with glowing red eyes.

"So! After a year of hiding like a field mouse, you finally see fit to challenge me, hm? You've killed a handful of my men, and you think that enough for me to believe you're divine? This is a godless land, mine for the taking! You'll make a fine example, little 'goddess'."

Gethu returned to her bat form, and dove towards Moira.

Stiffling a laugh at Joachim's resigned ward against ill fortune, Ulfur was unsurprised when the plan fell apart at their first encounter with the minions of Gethu and Moira's cheerful cry of "Change of plans!". Her pale-skinned nakedness and deft handling of the first leech provided a strange echo of the amber-pelted huntress, enough that his own resignation had mellowed and he loped from place to place with the two of them, hammer and axe singing and feeling almost as-if he had a pack around him, a strong woman at his right hand.

Beyond the town, seemingly being pursued when in fact they were the lure, his heart sang: these were the bedrock of being the Mountain, these moments of solid joy. He laughed, but quietly, as Moira declared herself Goddess of Adventure; it provided a welcome heartstone when Gethu made herself known, secure in her triumph; it became like granite when she struck.

Judging the moment, Ulfur waited until she dove as a covey of bats and leapt. Leapt into her path, his form rippling with quicksilver and sharp-spiked gems. Leapt, striking with hammer and axe even as he cried out, "Godless! Stay, and fight me, Stealer-of-Worlds! You have but one opportunity for parley and it is now!"

Your shroud repelled the attack completely, and Gethu reformed on another rooftop, with much consternation.

"Another Divine? So this failed goddess has caught a true deity in her web of deceit. Do you mean to challenge me for my possession?"

She harrumphed. "The impertinence! But a battle between Gods is not a trifle. If we can come to a sensible agreement, that would be more dignified. After all, even were I to slay you, you would only return with greater strength."

She tapped her foot. "A share of my takings should satisfy you. I'll split the silver and souls with you 70/30 in my favor. Given that I do all the legwork and shoulder any risk, I deserve the lion's share."

Moira growled, and it wasn't entirely human either - a very convincing mimicry of a wolf.

"Black Thrace is MINE, you leech! I'll not have you negotiate with my subordinate - he is a loyal and mighty smith, and would never desire to gain wealth by ought by the sweat of his own brow and the skill of his hands!"

She leapt, the earth cratering beneath her feat at the sudden force as leapt directly into the fray. In one hand she carried her saber, in the other the godsteel dagger.

She parried Gethu's claws with the knife, then riposted with a slash from her saber, lightly wounding the Goddess. Smashing the house they were standing on, she backflipped away from Gethu and booked it back towards the group. She dived just as Gethu - her wings that of mosquito - was about to reach her. Gethu sailed past, turning and recovering in the air just in front of the group, separating Moira from her companions.

Vampires were coming out of the woodwork, forming a mob and covering the rooftops. Moira was surrounded.

Moira, Brash Huntress: 5/5
Gethu, G. of Parasites: 9/10

"Fucking hell - she's going to be shredded!" Joachim cursed, giving you a firm push to action with his free hand. "Take Gethu, we'll go to her!"

Umbra had an arrow at the ready, watching Fowin in the sky. At least Moira still had that much coverage.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:05, Tue 29 Jan 2019.

"But one chance", muttered Ulfur with a sigh, as the brash manner of one warred with the parasitical nature of the other; he had not expected it to fall any other way, but the offer must be made. Even without the push from Joachim, he hurled himself at the back Gethu had presented when she separated Moira from the rest; it was a tactical error on her part, one he was happy enough to take advantage of even as his trunk-like legs coiled and he sprang at her, hammer and axe arcing over and under with the intent to catch her between them both. His style was brutal, trusting in the protection of his shroud, his blows coming fast and furious and heavy, with no quarter granted

As you thrashed Gethu, Joachim ran to support Moira, who was already beset by vampires - but at least now she had someone on her six.

Her body was hardier than you expected, absorbing your blows like an armored knight. Still, you were a hardy warrior, and you succeeding in wounding her several times over before she dissipated into bats, fleeing from you.

Moira took a spear thrust through the shoulder, but before your eyes she stopped bleeding and the wound started to close. She was no ordinary woman.

Six vampires were already dead around the brace of mortal warriors, but more were coming.

Gethu reformed a hundred feet away, chanting some spell that glowed with maleficent green energy, her breath spilling out as noxious mist.

Moira, Brash Huntress: 4/5, regenerating
Gethu, G. of Parasites: 6/10

"No", stated Ulfur plainly, watching the Goddess of Parasites begin to taint his Realm with her foul breath. Disdaining any subtlety, nor providing her any warning, he simply willed the land to erupt beneath where she stood: flame and sulphur, in a wide column centred on where she stood.

Watching for a moment to ensure she was caught within it, his intent was to slay her followers once her own demise was ensured. And if she survived, then she would face his axe and hammer once more.

The earth quaked, and for a half-mile the earth rose into a hill centered on Gethu before tearing asunder and releasing a massive column of molten stone and flame. Gethu attempted to dodge, but the scale of the eruption still immolated her. The house was obliterated, as were the house nearby, and a quarter of the town was damaged. The intense heat of the lava set the town aflame.

The earth continued to shake violently. Moira and the others were booking it out of town.

Gethu was dead, and a swathe of the vampires had been set alight as well.

How much of the town would remain the next day was up for debate.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:56, Sat 02 Feb 2019.

Ulfur watched the vampire burn.

He watched as his temper roiled and stormed within, clear from the extent of the pyre he had lit.

His people deserved this not, nor servitude to some interloper Goddess. But this he had wrought, and now must salvage what he could. He toiled, using his powers to shape the newly-risen hill into banks and levees, channelling the magma from the parts of the town he could. He tore down, his skills at the forge telling him were a fire-break might be needed and a portion save. He left a trail of devastation and behind that, hope and a future

[Private to GM: Activate his Earthmold power to create the breaks and levees, if needed. Activate his Abundance power to build on the natural formation of Gold, Nickel, Diamonds, Copper, Zinc and Obsidian in volcanic regions. Finally, spend Souls to imbue the minerals found in this Location with a fluorescence in the presence of parasites such as vampires]

Finally, he rested.

At the edge of the devastation, he called whatever Tellurii would come and sworn an oath to remove such taint from their lands, "Gethu shall know no peace in this Realm, not any sworn to her"

You spoke to the land, and the land heard.
The valley will glow in the presence of unnatural parasites. -300 souls.

Moving faster than your body would suggest you were capable, you used your divine power to salvage most of the city before the flames could spread. Luckily, fog had beset the town overnight - which had aided your previous stealth, and also made sure nothing was overly dry and quick to catch, and the buildings were built with broad streets to aid the creation of markets and welcome incoming trade wagons.

The burned area would become known as the the Godsgrave district in future years, as it marked the death of Gethu and became a prominent center for Ulfur's worship.

Your aura blazed as you did your work, announcing louder than anything that Black Thrace had not been forsaken by its old gods. The entire fit populace of the valleytown was out to hear your brief announcement and do what could be done for the survivors of the flames, who would be rehomed until reconstruction could be completed.

Moira and her crew were among those braving the flames to rescue who they could - given that they had the ability to get a bird's eye view and were more resilient than less adventurous mortals.

It would be a long night, but the town would pull through.

Burnished and soot-stained from his work, Ulfur cast his eyes upon the Tellurians gathered to hear his words; he remained silent, letting them disperse back to their homes or those of their neighbours who housed them following the cleansing of the town.

When the work was complete, what could be completed, he called Moira and her travellers to him, "None of Gethu's brood may be permitted a moment's rest; I must travel to the Valley of Banners and see about freeing those Tellurii tithed -" and he stole an apologetic glance at tiny Viese, though he continued regardless "- from their bondage"

The little pilgrim hero grinned broadly. "YES! Finally! But before we do that, er, we should really maybe spend some time getting folks on board with Team Ulfur's Back, and maaaaaybe do some more research? The Pantheon were practically invincible-seeming and I would sure hate to rush in there just to see all of us be slaughtered and have Gethu come back and rule the realm forever,"

She coughed to the side. "Like, the bondage thing is totally the main quest and it's urgent and important, but I also prefer to roundly ignore it while we instead go about a number of lengthy sidequests so we have a chance to ascend to a higher level of prowess,"

Joachim sighed. As did the Viese. As did the man of Lethia.

She perked up. "I have an idea!"

There were groans of dismay.

"How about . . we go visit Bezaleel the Shadowgod, and er, tell him that we took care of that nasty dissident Kral, and also let him know that the Pantheon sucks and that he should totally help us since I'm sure he wants his people back from them too?"

She grinned. "And his realm is kind've a dangerous area so I'm sure we'll able to do some adventuring and find cool relics. And hopefully replace Kral. It just doesn't feel right traveling without a dark, brooding sort, you know?"

"Let me speak to Bezaleel once he and I have finished our current bout", offered the Mountain God nonchalantly, "He is slippery and tenacious, so I suspect our conversation about Kral will be ... interesting ... but I will see if he might provide us a suitably brooding representative at the same time"

Glancing round at the mildly horrified looking men, he looked thoughtful and then continued, "Do you three feel you are ill-equipped for what may follow? Especially if I blunder in to the Valley of Banners and confront these thieves, who claim themselves above me? Would you accept my blessing, a symbol of my belief in you?"

[Private to GM: If they assent, then raise Fowin, Joachim and Umbra as God-Touched or Special Units, depending on the relevant ruleset]

"And you, Moira Redmane?", he asked, more softly, as his eyes meet hers, "Are you prepared for what is to come?"

In his hands he held the Great Wolf-Helm, clasping it between them. Attempting to suffuse it with his power, he offered it to her, "You will need to be more than you are now, strong and bold and fearless as that is"

[Private to GM: Attempt to turn it into an Artefact and Gift it to her, making her a Keeper]
This message was last edited by the player at 12:33, Fri 15 Feb 2019.

There was a low song that the mountains sang, rumblings from their roots that made the streams flow, the winds blow, and the sun show. You spoke a few words of this song, shaking the earth as you did, blessing each of the three with the sturdiness of the dirt beneath their feet, that their road would stand up to the coming rains.

With little conscious action other than investing divine power within the helm and granting it to the safekeeping of Moira - whom you named Redmane - you called into the helm something instinctual within you, something that was of the primal woodlands that lived in your shared dreams.

Moira Redmane took the helm, and not totally understanding why you'd grant her such an oversized thing, she placed it heedlessly over her head.

The earth broke beneath her, and magma swelled up to consume her, the heat and light and ash hiding her from view.

When the obscuring haze dissipated, Moira's human self was gone, replaced with a great wolf of flame and stone. Her flames faded at her will, leaving an obsidian body beneath - suitable for use as a divine mount, perhaps?

Moira Redmane, Demigod of Ferocity

She returned to her ordinary form, removing the artifact and tucking it in her arm. She grinned. "So this is what it's like to really have some power! God, I love when I get a power boost just before things are going to get hairy. Or furry, I guess?"

-150 Souls
-1 Essence

+3 God-Touched Adventurers
+1 Moira Redmane, Demigod of Ferocity

Satisfied, Ulfur nodded, "Furry, indeed. With such power comes a tempering though, a need for restraint and consideration", and he looked a little abashed, "You cannot afford to accidentally immolate people, for example"

"Now", he rumbled, "What prevents us to travelling to the Valley of Banners, besides an herald? Or do you still believe we need to invade Bezaleel's realm?"

She folded her hands together, the index fingers pointing out and aligned together. She made a shushing motion to her own mouth with her intertwined fingers, her eyes looking away thoughtfully. "Well. I wouldn't phrase it as invading. It's . . . extending a diplomatic envoy. I can travel there myself as your herald, ask him if he's up for talking. That way you can keep working on things here, maybe smith us some cool things?" she said, ending with a hopeful tone and using her puppy eyes.

"Sending one non-god as a herald would be considerably less likely to interpreted as an invasion," Joachim added. "Although my goddess, Komatas, would also be likely to lend aid."

"Leave Bezaleel to me", considered Ulfur, even as his fight with the Shadow God draw to a close in another Paradox, "Go as my herald to Komatas. Ask her if I may visit her Realm, to request an introduction to those who rule the Valley of Banners"

He turned to Joachim, "Tell me of your Goddess and why she might lend her aid. Tell me why you rebelled against her and whether she will treat your presence here as an offence?"

"I am not of her chosen people," Joachim said. "I was an enemy commander, from the east. I was captured in battle, interrogated, and reeducated. I took a wife among Komatas' people. When my son was born, I was told that he would be taken and raised apart from me in another city, by the elderly and infirm . . . I regained my spirit, reclaimed my son who was stolen from me, but slew my wife when she was ordered, along with her comrades, to halt my escape. Without Moira, I would not been able to escape to this Realm."

"Now my son lives free, in Black Thrace, in a village south of here."

He answered you question directly. "She will not welcome me back, but neither will she pursue me or hate me. I am a proven warrior, have retained my honor, and that is enough to ensure her respect. She will not object to my presence here."

Moira grinned. "It will be good to see Komatas again! She's hot. I'll be back by sundown, unless the time zone difference is wack. In which case it might be a month or two before I return, or minutes. That's interrealm travel!"

She took out a small scarf, emblazoned with a sword crossed behind a mountain - the sigil of Komatas. She went still, focused, then started walking away. It became hard to breath - the air thinning - your eyes blurred - and then you blinked, she was gone, and everything was normal.

Nodding at the man's tale, Ulfur turned back towards the town and began to walk, asking more questions as the others followed him back, "What of her nature? Is she a God of War? Of Champions? Of Battle? Will she respond to boldness, or respect?"

His gestures encompassed the others, "What of the Gods of your homes? What pushed each of your from them, even as Moira Redmane pulled you?"

When they reached the borders of the town once more, he knew he must seek out a forge. He had a promise to keep and a gift in mind

"She is a goddess of . . . " Joachim searched for words,

"Of just war. War as it should be fought; orderly. Just cause, honorable conduct, defined battlefieds, clear victory and loss, volunteer armies, the lot. She detests subterfuge, insubordination, cowardice, and exalts martial glory, tactical genius, and to a certain degree, the aesthetic of war . . . uniforms, awards of merit, strong posture, parades, speeches, the drama of it. In legends, she is said to always be on the side of the underdog."

The viese shrugged at your question. "Anathema? She flew the coop. I've got nothing against her, but she's less my goddess and more like a mad scientist on the loose that I can only admire the genius of."

"My goddess is the goddess of the lost. I guess she's still my goddess, even now. She was gone for a long time, recently came back, and . . . I didn't know how to deal how she had changed. I still love her. We all do. She's just . . . she was hurt in the war against the Blight, somehow. When she recovers, if she recovers . . . I will return to Lethia."

One of the smiths - a woman, by the name of Myrine, who was busy crafting the plentiful iron fittings needed for the repair effort, but come nightfall she was happy to give her forge over to your use. "I inherited it from my father," she said. "If only he'd lived long enough to see your come back down from the mountain, Ulfur."

"Her support against the seemingly unjust tithes of the Pantheon may well be something I seek, then", observed Ulfur solemnly, "Even now I go to confront them with Bezaleel as my herald... perhaps advocate. We will find out whether such support is needed, for I fear I will indeed be the underdog if they send someone such as Gethu as a tax collector"

He turned his attention to the others, "You may do well to listen to her tale, this Anathema. She is returned and, by all accounts, her actions may have saved your Realm, perhaps all the Realms. Your caricature of her is not inaccurate, though"

"Perhaps you are more truly Lost now, wandering the Realms. You are welcome to stay - each of you - so long as you would. To make homes here, to bring your sons and daughters..."

He smiled and said no more until they found the smith. He watched her work, stoking the forge to aid the effort she made for the repairs. Became her forge-hand for a time, revelling in the simple tasks. Whilst he worked, he spoke. His words though were as much for the others

"Sometimes there must be a stillness in the mountains, the breath between the seasons. I slumbered, took an apprentice, dreamed...", and he considered whether to tell them of the wolf-thane, who was him and who he was in turn. Decided to keep his own counsel, for now, " It was an important time, for what is to come, but I was too long away. I will rectify that, though I must return to Forgerun from time to time... Tonight, however, I shall make nails and two rings"

And so he did, God-steel all. Two rings, one of blackened steel and one of red gold. Two rings, and then a nail for each household in the town, a promise to strengthen them and to be present.

You were exacting in your work. Nail or sword, horseshoe or hauberk, there was no such thing as poor work. The nature of godsteel, you felt, was - something -

As you were sharpening a nail, a feeling flowed through you, an awareness of a nail beneath the nail. There was a perfect world just behind this one, of ideal blades, endless fractals, golden ratios. One you - you could pull forward. There was the dream, surely, and this was reality - but even reality could be more or less real you felt. A god wasn't just tougher - they were more 'true' than mortals. Self-contained.

You fully understood the secret of Godsteel; eversharp, unrusting, as good as silver against corrupt beings; godsteel was alchemical; a drawing fourth of Steel from steel and Blade from blade.

It was the metal of a child that knew nothing of iron, steel, or silver. To a child, a metal thing was invincible, unbreakable. A knife was danger. A sword of godsteel was an elementally pure thing, a thing of magic and belief.

Level 0 Hagiothurgy acquired.

The nails and rings were crafted to your specifications.

Wrapping the rings each in a soft cloth, Ulfur placed them in a pouch for safe-keeping. He was pleased with how they had turned out, fit for those who might choose to wear them, but he would need his Herald to see that they were delivered to their intended recipients, until and unless he understood a little more how she travelled between the Realms.

[Private to GM: Unless there is an easier way to gift them to Bezaleel and his daughter-wife?]

With the nails, he began a peregrination of the settlement. Each house he visited, each dwelling. And to each he gifted a nail, should those within wish to receive it. With each nail, a blessing: a contribution to the mending of the house and those within, a place to hang a welcome or a sign or a bell, each according to the householder's desire. Like all such things, his nails needed to be used, not purposeless, and he hoped his people would draw that same need.

Completing his pilgrimage around the town he returned to the smithy, keeping the last nail for Myrine. Asking her where it might be best placed, he laid a further blessing on her and her forge.

[Private to GM: Aiming to make the smith and the forge God-touched, or equivalent]

Finally, he turned to Joachim, "Come now, let us turn our feet to the village where you have made your home. It is past time I visited the valleys and high passes of Black Thrace once more"

Brief Geography thing:

With Forgerun as the center, Albor Valley is to the west, where the town is up against the seaboard.

The mountains behind Forgerun run paralllel to the seaboard for quite a ways, and there's about 75 miles between the sea and the mountains at the closest point, until the mountains trail off to the south and eventually stop at huge plain formed by deposits of sand and soil from further up the seaboard. It's all hilly terrain between the two, except for the fertile river delta where Albor Town grows its crops.

The Magma Fields are to the East, back past Forgerun, and to the North is apparently a tomb that these brash adventurers robbed once.

Your pilgrimage complete, Moira was there to witness you bless the smithy.

God-Touched Smithy: Smiths who work here will gradually come to learn Hagiourgy. -300 Souls.

God-Touched Smith: Myrie's rate of learning new skills has been enchanced and her HP pool doubled. She gained Hagiomancy at level 0. Myrie: 2/2 HP. -50 Souls.

"Good. Now maybe I'll get something to match my sweet dagger and weird helm. Sucks how wearing the best stuff you can find can screw up your aesthetic, huh?" Moira said.

"You're back, Fearless Leader," Joachim said. "Ulfur wants to visit my home."

"Oh, the village with the wine fields down south? Sweet!" Moira said. "I hope your wife still has some of the elderberry cordial. I only got a sample last year."

Moira took the rings. "Oh, gifts. To the Shadowgod and his . . .  ugh. Gotcha. Might take a bit longer this time . . . make sure to save some cordial for me, okay?" she said, and then she was gone again.

As you said, you turned your feet to the south, and began the trek down to the winery village that Joachim's new family called home. It would be a two-day trek.

"Beloved", offered Ulfur, a clarification though it may be interpreted differently. He was content with his gift of nails and wanting the same receipt for the two rings, "She is his Beloved"

Shaking his head as his Herald vanished, he turned his feet to the south, "Come, Joachim. You spoke of wines"

The travel was easy; though the road was old an in need of repair, there was enough trade traffic along the route that the road had been well-cobbled at some point the past; perhaps a remnant of a prior age.

A day's travel, and then it was full night, and perilous to continue without the protection of the daylight against unseen threats. The troupe made camp quickly, and a fire was made beside a boulder as a blind.

"What do we have have for food?" said Umbra.

The Viese was flitting about between the packs and the pot. "Uh, dried fruit . .  dried fish . .  stale biscuits?"

"If Moira was here, she'd have hunted something up on the way to put in a pot. Mostly to avoid having to help set up camp." Joachim said, a slightly saddened tone in his voice.

A cup of bone broth, two hard biscuits, and a bit of dried fish made for a perfectly acceptable traveler's meal, once the biscuit was crumbled into the broth. Especially with a dried date for dessert!

You had first watch . . .
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:43, Mon 22 Apr 2019.