The trip to Jigow had been exhausting, but enlightening.  Maglynn had spent two months in Port Damali, working with the Library there.  She might even call those two months the most significant months of her life, but the weeks that followed were just as... thrilling wasn't the right word, but it was close.  Exhilarating, maybe.

First, she was granted permission to study at the Library in Zadash, the old capital of of the Julous Dominion.  When she accepted the post, she was quizzed for days on the laws and customs of the Dwendalian Empire; told which deities were approved for worship, and taught the intricacies of the tenuous relationship between the Empire and the Cobalt Soul.

Finally, when her instructor -- a dwarf by the name of Rogar Sabreheim -- pronounced her ready, she was put on board a small coastal ship and set sail for Nicodranas, where she would take stewardship of a series of books bound for the library in Zadash.  The Demandelion was a fast clipper, and was only chased by pirates once on the eight-day journey south.  The captain laughed off the attempt.  "I think they meant only to show their teeth, no?  We are not such a prize for them to waste time an effort on." he said.

At Nicodranas, the books were loaded into a cart for Maglynn, and in short order, she found and booked passage on a convoy headed north into the Empire.  There was safety in numbers, she was told as the caravan master made his pitch, and the roads were not truly safe, no matter how much the Empire reassured its populace that they were.

The caravan was a mixed crew -- mostly human, but a fair smattering of dwarves, gnomes, and halflings -- shopowners and merchants bound for various parts of the Empire.

Zadash was rather more subdued than Port Damali.  The coast city had been a bustling hive of constantly clashing cultures, races, and beliefs, held together more organically than through any other means.  Zadash, the former center of the Julous Dominion felt like a conquered capital.  The Empire's rule was strong, the rules were enforced, and it ran like a well-organised machine.

Maglynn had a quiet, studious life at the Library.  There were many topics of interest for her to pursue, and she was encouraged to chase down any of them if they struck her interest -- and didn't touch on topics forbidden within the Empire.

All that changed after about a month.  Sleeping with the window open, as had become her custom since acquiring the bracelet with its mysterious charm -- Maglynn woke to find herself not in her chambers, but instead in a luxurious palace.  Light streamed in from all sides but without any discernible source.  She found herself in a long open and wide corridor with archways all around.  Wispy curtains hung from the arches, swaying gently in an ever-present breeze.

The breeze grew, and a voice reached Maglynn's ears.  "My little Zephyr," the voice said in a smooth baritone.  "It has been too long.  I might think you were starting to avoid me."  The voice was playful, but there was an element of... something in it that carried a note of warning.

Maglynn started to speak, but the voice cut her off.  "I have need of you, my Zephyr.  There comes soon a disturbance in the planes.  You will find it for me."

The breeze spun into a small whirlwind, picking up sand from the tiled floor.  The dust devil grew larger, and then exploded, sending sand spreading across the floor to form mountain ranges, waterways, and forests -- into the shape of Wildemount.  An invisible finger traced a path from Zadash in roughly the middle of the continent to somewhere on the northeastern coastline, beyond what Maglynn recognised as the Ashkeeper Peaks.

"Here," the voice said, sweeping down from somewhere above the archways around her.  "One month from now...."

When she awoke, Maglynn found a map, saddled a horse and supplies, and set out, her bracelet weighing heavily on her arm.



If you'd asked Yawgo why he chose to travel all the way to Jigow -- several months' journey from his home near Nicodranas and clear away on the opposite side of the continent, you'd probably be disappointed with the answer.  To see the horizonbacks hardly seemed like a proper justification for a trek of such magnitude, especially when tortles were almost unheard of outside the Menagerie Coast.  All throughout his journey from Nicodranas into the Dwendalian Empire, Yawgo found himself the subject of much curiosity and interest.  Young children were the best -- their innocent questions were simply that, curiosity without any hint of malice or condescension.  The elderly were next next easiest to manage; they'd seen everything and nothing fazed them overly much.  Officials often hid behind the duties of their office, but that was okay, too.  Rules were easy to understand.  Once you understood how they worked, you could navigate their waters well enough to avoid them when necessary.

But they all grated on Yawgo's serenity.  They reminded him too much of the things he had lost: family, community.  A place to belong and where people would miss you when you were gone.  The loss of his family weighed often on the tortle's mind as he traveled.  In every place where he saw no others like him, it reminded him of home by its absence.  Far from the cities and towns, the abundance of life around him reminded him of his parents, and their devotion to the natural order of things.

As he journeyed, Yawgo witnessed the full gamut of the circle of life -- from assisting a farmer with the birth of a calf, to watching a herd of buffalo passing in the night, to coming upon the corpse of a fox, already decomposing and being feasted upon by all manner of bugs and fungi.  Life -- simply moved on, whether you were ready for it to do so or not.  There was both comfort and discomfort in that thought, and Yawgo tried not to dwell on it too much.

Two months after he had left Nicodranas, Yawgo found himself approaching the Ashguard Garrison on the eastern edge of the Empire, where it bordered Xhorhas.  A farmer had warned him two days prior that the garrison could be difficult to pass through.  Recent troubles with the Kryn Dynasty in Xhorhas had brough forth a fresh wave of paranoia in the guards who manned the garrison, who were closely questioning anyone they thought might be a spy attempting to enter -- or to return.  This proved to be only a small obstacle, as the judicious use of his shapechanging abilities allowed him to pass through as a cat, sleeping in the back of a merchant's wagon.  Once on the other side of the gate, Yawgo returned to his true self, took up his staff once more, and started walking again.

The Dwendalian Empire had been a thriving, fertile land, rich with produce and animal life, both domestic and wild.  Within hours of leaving the garrison, Yawgo saw the Xhorhasian Wastes for what they were: a scarred land, clinging to the last bits of life it possessed with the tips of its claws.  Vegetation was tough, coarse, and defensive.  What animal life he saw was either quick and small, or lean and supremely equipped for preying on other animals.  Strangely, the land resonated with the druid: life endured here.  It endured with a tenacity that was emblematic of the best of life -- it simply would. not. give. up.

A week after he left the garrison and the Empire behind, Yawgo walked into the fishing town of Jigow.


Miresen, the 21st day of Fessuran 836 PD
Weather: Clear, with a slight breeze from the southeast
Moons: Catha (Waxing Crescent), Ruidus (Full Moon Rising)


You both entered Jigow just as sunset hit.  The village was a hive of activity; apparently you had arrived on a day of festival of some kind.  Stalls which had been set up along the main road into town were in the process of being torn down -- or collected from piles of rubble, in one or two cases.  The town started appearing early on the right side of the road, while a group of small hills rolled off to the left, a lone barn sitting atop one of the hills.

It wasn't until you took a separate look that you realised that the barn moved between glances -- and a third look revealed why.  The barn was in fact not atop a hill, but built on the back of a giant tortoise.  In fact, all of the "rolling hills" turned out to be giant tortoises!

An orc stood at the fence which bordered the left side of the road, looping wire around two posts to keep the gate to the pen closed.  He worked swiftly, despite the lack of the middle two fingers of his right hand.

A horn sounded to the east, and most of the populace started moving in that direction, excitement evident in their chatter.

OOC:  Starting this chapter two Maglynn and Yawgo, and starting the previous evening.  I want to take a few posts to let yourselves get established and get a cadence running before trying to integrate with the other group.

You have the evening to do what you like and explore.  You can do this separately or together (as you prefer), but there not a lot of time before you'd be looking to turn in for the evening.  Accommodation would certainly be on your list, in addition to anything else you'd like to do.

Lynn stood momentatily transfixed by the scene.  "Amazing, positively amazing." she muttered aloud to nobody in particular.  She clapped her hands in glee.  Her mind raced through the various species of turle she'd read about.

A nudge in the back from her horse brought her back to her senses.  Clearly he was hungry and that set her own stomach churning.  Had she eaten today?  Yes, she had.  Or was that yesterday?  Well at least tonight she could sleep in a proper bed for a whole night.

Her decision made, she turned to follow the departing villagers east.  Presumedly they were heading into town.  If not, well, she could always find an inn and a stable later on.

As she walked her mount she noticed the other traveller.  She waved and smiled.  "Greetings.  You have the look of the road about you.  I swear I could really use a proper bath.  It's been ice cold streams for a week."  Wether they answered or not, she kept following the villagers.

The tortle slowly gets to the ground. He taps his staff against it and kneels down, placing a hand upon it. Yawgo raises his hand up, letting the dirt slowly trickle down to the ground. Standing back up, the elf is at least twice his size or at least in his eyes. Yeah definatly short. She gets a odd strange look as Yawgo tilts his hand. Was she asking him where to get bath when she knows he just got here? Strange elf. The tortle has bits and pieces over his fungi covered shell ranging from a club at his side to a wood shield. Definatly a odd site. He raises a hand up "Yawgo. You are?" His tone is soft and soothing. Slow and steady, the tortle follows the villagers.

ROLL: Yawgo rolled 14 using 1d20+7 ((7)).  Perception.

Yawgo expected to find dry dirt when he reached to the ground at his feet.  Instead, he found wet trampled earth.  A glance to the paddock where the horizonbacks stood confirmed what his fingers told him: these were wetlands.  More, the road had been recently packed by the feet over many gargantuan creatures very recently.  It didn't take a genius to figure out which beasts...

---

OOC: You've both stated you're following the villagers eastward, but you've also left it open for roleplay between you.  Both are good, but I'm going to take it a tiny bit slower getting you to where the villagers are going, so I'm not rushing you past the roleplay part.

Like a little, small kid the tortle stops. He sniffed the area, leaning on his staff and smiles. Instead of following the villagers immediatly, he turns and heads towards the paddock. Oh to see the beasts again. Magestic. To get so close and presses his shell to it. And to ride one if possible? Oh the druid would love it "Follow follow. Come." He motions for the elf. Its hard to tell his emotional state with well being a tortle but he's obviously excited. Despite the ragged landscape and little of life showing, perhaps he can bring life to it even just a remote amount. Realizing finally where he stood, he pressed a hand to it almost soothing it like a big baby. He hurrdely moved to where the 'barn' is, wanting to spend time with it. A strange fellow. Occasionally, the small tortle stops and put his hands against the ground. Definatly odd. The sniffs, carassing the ground. Perhaps he's trying to find something, hard to tell.

"Lynn, you can call me Lynn." she watches as Yawgo gets distracted by the giant tortoises and she herself is very intrigued.  But other needs trump even her curiosity.

"Maybe I'll see you later?" she mutters as she moves off, not towards the giant beasts as offered, but towards the town.

Maglynn departed eastward, following in the wake of most of the townspeople.  She noticed they were heavily goblinoid, with actual goblins probably making up forty percent of the people she saw.  Sprinkled throughout there were a few bugbears and hobgoblins, and the chittering sound of the goblin language was prevalent throughout the moving populace.

Orc-kind made up a significant proportion of the remainder, numbering probably as many as the goblins.  They traveled in groups of three to four, and usually with a small berth around them as the crowd headed east.  As she moved deeper into town, Lynn took note of the architecture.  It hardly seemed worthy of the word -- all of the buildings were weathered timber, with roofs composed of broken bit of horizonback shell.  The buildings that lines the street were packed in close together, with expansions seeming to go up rather than out, each building leaning in some way against the one next to it.

OOC: Are you just going with the flow of the crowd, or actively looking for an inn or other such place to eat/bathe/sleep?

---

Back at the horizonback paddock, Yawgo barely noticed Lynn leaving, entranced as he was by the giant tortoises.  The hubbub of conversation faded away as people headed eastward into town, bu the little druid didn't care much.  He was in the presence of something majestic.  The orc at the fence was now leaning against the post, watching quietly.

"Careful, now," he laughed loudly as Yawgo got on the ground, his hands in the wet earth.  "Assumin' y'all don' get stepped on an' squashed flat, she might decide you one of her babies, an' start mothering you!"

To be babied by a horizonback is superbub! But alas the tortle sighs. He rubs his chin and looks at the orc "Ride upon it I shall? Place my hands to it? Asking may I? Magnificent beast it is. Not long I wish to ride it but riding it may I?" A odd tortle. He clasps the staff with one hand and waves to the elf with the other "Injured are they? Need help I ask? To feel it close I wish. If not I understand. Understand I do." Yawgo tries to tell him as clearly as possible. He peers around, trying to get a good glimpse of it.

Lynn continued to follow the crowds.  Her desire for a bath fighting with her innate curiosity.  She kept her eye out for inns and if any of the locals seemed amenable she started a conversation about both places to stay and what was going on.

She wondered about the tortle she'd seen, a curiosity in itself.  Hopefully she'd get more of a chance to talk to him soon.  She'd heard of the race but it was the first time she'd actually seen one.  If not for more urgent priorities she would have loved to talk to him.

The orc shook his head.  "Naw.  You kin touch, but not ride.  They were ridden hard already early today.  Looks like you just missed it.  Just be careful around the head -- their bite is sumpt'n fierce."  He waggled the fingers of his right hand, showing the missing two.

"These are off tomorrow to be trained.  You wanna ride one, you'd have to wait for next year's festival  Sorry."  The orc spat into the nearby mud, continuing to watch the herd -- and the little tortle in the mix.

---

The crowd headed eastward with a purpose.  Lynn watched for opportunities to stop and ask someone about accommodation, but everywhere she looked, people were engaged in their own conversations or walking.  Everyone's body language told the story of being engaged with purpose.  It wasn't hard to see why -- after only a few moments, the slow tide of people began to slow as it spread out across on open green -- and brown -- space.

Two figures -- of obvious import, from their dress -- stood at the top of a makeshift stage, recounting the story of Jigow from the days of the Calamity -- a precursor to selecting champions for the main event of the festival.

Eventually, the champions were chosen - it looked like two disparate and well-armed groups of various races, and the elders led them further out east, along a series of black rocks that jutted out into the ocean.  As the elders and the champions headed out along the rocks, the press of people filled the void left by their presence.  In the movement, Lynn finally spotted someone who might be able to help her with directions: a tired-looking drow elf stood near the front of the crowd, dressed in indigo-coloured armour, an elegant longsword at his hip.  Obviously a guard of some kind.

Sighing, the tortle watched for a moment and turn to leave "Was late, sorry I am. Ride you I cannot. Sad I am." He lowers his head as if ashamed and glances up at the orc "Leave you I will. Thank you I say." He starts to leave, slowly but surely and decides to follow the villagers if any in the general direction.

Eager to learn more about both her current interest she approached the drow.

"Truly a spectacular evenning!  I was wondering if I could trouble you with two quick questions.  First, is there an inn nearby where I might find rest for myself and mount?  Second. . ." she gestures to the two groups that had been formed, ". . .what are they doing exactly?"

The orc said nothing, but watched as Yawgo left the enclosure and ambled east, following the trickle of people that would be late anywhere.  The main road was wide, with a central groove furrowed in the earth -- something Yawgo recognised as made by the tail of the horizonback as it walked.

A few streets branched off to the north and the south as he continued east, but there was no real activity in either direction, apart from a few stragglers who were hurrying along towards the eastern edge of town.

---

"Hmm?" the drow looked surprised as Lynn approached, but recovered quickly and turned to look her up and down.  "New to Jigow are you?" he asked.  He didn't wait for an answer.  "Normally I'd recommend the unbroken Tusk, but that's been booked out for the champions."  He looked over at the basalt rocks sticking out of the ocean where the groups were already disappearing.

"As for them?  Well, this is the Festival of Merit.  Every year here, the village hosts a day of competition, games, and such.  Folks come from all over for the chance to earn a name for themselves.  End of the night, the best competitors of the day get thrust together in some team event.  Whoever comes back first with this thing called the Emerald Eye gets crowned the Champions of Merit."

He paused.  "If... you're not here for the Festival, do you mind me asking why you are here?"

A commotion at the edge of the green started to grab the drow's attention.  "Excuse me a moment," he said in a tired voice and started towards the commotion.

---

As Yawgo entered what could only be politely called the village green, he found himself increasingly the subject of interest and attention.

"Are you back already?  Did you lose or win?" a middle-aged goblin accosted him, grabbing his shell lip and turning him around to stare at him.

"Leave him alone!  They won, you lost, pay up!" a late middle aged half-orc in a violet tank top and brown pants laughed in apparent triumph.

"Don't be ridiculous!  They only just went in, he's just slow 'cause he's a tortle!" an orcish woman in a wide-brimmed hat and a well-tailored but simple dress slapped the orcish man's shoulder impatiently.  She looked at Yawgo kindly.  "You'd better hurry up, little one."

"No he's not.  He's already back 'cause they already won!" the orcish man replied.

"You would say that!  You're just trying to cheat me out of my winnings!"

"What?! the orcish man roared, offended.  He drew a cudgel from his belt.

"Hold up, hold up!" a voice with authority cut in, and a drow elf in dark-coloured steel started putting people out of his way as he cut in.  "What's going on here?!"

Both the goblin, the orc man, and the orc woman all started speaking at once.

"ONE AT A TIME!" the drow yelled loud enough to drown out all the voices.  "You."  He pointed at Yawgo.  "What are you doing here?  Aren't you supposed to be with your team?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:18, Tue 11 Apr 2023.

The tortle steps away from the goblin and sees all these people seeming to argue with him but he didn't say a word. He grips his staff, looking up at the drow that confronts him now "Know you I do not. Arguing they do, don't like it. Horizonbacks I cam to see, arrived late I did. Not who they think I am, confused I be." The drow seems to be intimidating, course everyone seems intimidating to Yawgo. If anyone argues or throws a punch-into the shell he will go. All these people surrounding him....
This message was last edited by the player at 09:54, Tue 11 Apr 2023.

Maglynn followed the drow quietly, curious as to what was going on.  "He's no contestant sir.  He was outside town with me not ten minutes ago.  There has been a mistake."

"Horizonbacks I came to see, miss them I did. Arguing I won't do, know you I do not. Solves nothing it does not do." The tortle sees the orc grab his cudgel and raises a clawed hand "Stop you shall. Please I ask?" Strange indeed. But the claws? They do look nasty. He grips the staff with his other hand, shaking it slightly. His eyes peer at the warlock "Contestant? Agree I am not. Followed her I did. Arrived of course, wet land these are."

"Right..." the captain furrowed his brow.  "I suppose it is the time for it.  Fuckin' competition every light-damned year."  He gathered himself with some effort, then straightened up, addressing the orcs and the goblins.

"Return to your homes, the lot of you."  He held up a hand as the orc and the goblin both started to protest, and continued to talk over them.  "Unless you'd like to sleep it off in the cells!  I don't care about your wager -- you can settle it in the morning; the result will not change by you being here."

As the arguers headed their separate ways, the captain turned back to you both.  "Right.  Lodgings.  You," -- he addressed Yawgo, looking down at the small tortle -- "Do you have a place for the night?"

"Cell for me I do not want. Shell I sleep, safe I am. No trouble I want, come it does. Fair it is not, do not agree." Yawgo digs his staff into the mushy ground. He looks up at the drow "Thank you I did not. Blessings I say."  He raises a claw up at the sky, moving it slightly as if tracing something but after a moment he puts it back to his staff So definatly strange. His eyes dart to Lynn "Help me you did, aided me of course.  " He nods his head "Little money I have, nature provides it does. Paint pictures I can, repay you I shall." His head tilts to the side. Why would anyone wants to hurt the poor tortle.

Shame on you.

Maglynn was surprised when Yawgo suggested he owed her something.  All she'd done was help clear up a confusion.  "Yes sir, I still seek lodgings.  You suggested the optimal lodgings were full.  Can you recommend anywhere else?  Preferably with stables and a bath."

"Join you may I? For you paint a picture shall I? Relax it does." Yawgo grips his staff double clawed and tilts his head. He looks around, seeming to take in the sights. Anything that intrigues him.

Lynn smiled.  "You would be most welcome.  I require no recompense but company is always appreciated.  I've spent many a day on the road with no company except my horse!"

Strange. No compensation from the tortle? He ponders a moment "Paint you I shall, compensetion a must. Aided me you did, bristles must paint. Argument you should not do, pictures a must. Accept it you shall, Yawgo I am." He nods his head, making his point.

Sort of.

"Right," the drow took a deep breath and regained his composure.  "Sorry.  Crazy day here today.  So, as I was saying, ordinarily I'd direct you to the Unbroken Tusk, but that's been booked out for the champions.  You could try the Wanderer's Beacon up in the Jumble--," he gestured to the north side of town "--look for a sign of a hooded man carrying a strange lantern."

"As for your horse, there's only one stable in town, and that's over by the Temple of Luxon.  Head back down this main road and take your first left.  You'll see it, across the way from the Unbroken Tusk."

With a word of thanks to the guard, Maglynn turns in the direction of the stables and then the inn.  She slows her pace to see if the strange tortle was coming.  She was more than happy for company and conversation. . .after she had a bath.

"Pleasure to meet you, Yawgo I am. Paint a picture for you I will. Accept it please do. Proud of it I am." Yawgo taps his staff, holding it double-clawed. He bows his head, s very small now compared to the guard. Slow and steady wins the race! He follows after the elf, stopping at time and looking around like a kid in a candy store. He glances at the orc for a moment and keeps walking. If he sees any children, he taps their head lightly and goes on his way.