Skylands

Your premier "cozy" setting of adventure and whimsical fun. First conceived of on April 29th 2013 in the /tg/ thread "A Slice of Life: Living in a sky world," it tickled the fancy of many elegan/tg/entlemen and has evolved into a setting of it's own. After the original thread was finished, a manchild named OP (who wasn't truly THE OP, just OP) created the first general thread and promptly began nixing everything (at least, attempting to). Eventually, he calmed down, and wonderful things (generals) happened.

Physical Properties[edit | edit source]

The Skylands are the collective name for the multitude of floating islands that exist in an endless sky. Islands vary in both environment and in size, many islands are small and meander across the sky on predictable paths but some of the larger island (such as the floating continent of Terra Firma) maintain a more or less constant position. The Skylands are divided into five distinct layers, each becoming progressively more alien and uninhabitable as the altitude lowers. Most races live at uppermost layer which is analogous to sea level in our world in terms of pressure and climate though alpine and desert regions are not uncommon. Just below this lies the Wilderness, while similar to the surface(name needed), the Wilderness is much cooler and wetter, as such the Wilderness is populated mostly by dense jungles and dangerous creatures. Coupled with its impassable terrain, the Wilderness is covered by thick cloud most of the time and as a result is mostly uncharted and home to few permanent residents, the only traces of civilisation are the long abandoned ruins and temples that dot the jungles (like Machu Pichu and Angkor Wat), what happened to these civilisation is unknown. Beyond the Wilderness lies the Abyss, this cold dark region marks the edge of explored sky. The creatures who live in this region are bizarre and mainly feed on debris falling from above much like deep sea life on earth. The farther down one goes into Skyland, the more dark and dangerous things become, until one reaches The Mists. The Mist is a frozen place drenched in blue half light that is the final resting place for many of the islands that slip from their orbits like an island graveyard, The Mist is named after ever present thick fog that shrouds it's islands and becomes progressively denser until it finally makes travel impossible. Any life in the Mist is usually very large and very dangerous. There are tales of mysteries and secrets shrouded by the fog of the Mist and rumours of structures nestled amongst the glaciers that predate any known civilization are hotly debated by scholars. There is no "bottom" of Skyworld as we may think of it, but instead only the Maelstrom an endless, hellish realm known only to the fewest of scholars and even then only as legend and myth.

The Maelstrom[edit | edit source]

"Imperial scholars have always theorised what happens to objects that fall from the sky. We have known of The Mist for decades now, a region of crippling cold and colossal glacial bergs, populated only by frigid silence and the infinite stillness of the Mist itself.

It is believed that debris falls deep into the Mists until it reaches a never ending Maelstrom far beyond the reach of any mortal, a hellish realm drenched in its own eternal murky twilight. A place of whirling dust storms, boulders constantly colliding and crumbling apart, unending lighting strikes and great vortexes of molten magma. This place is populated by only by nightmarish creatures, constantly fighting for survival and eking out a living(if it can be called that) in the swirling chaos, even these terrible creates are nothing more than food for the horrifying beasts that lurk in the Maelstrom who are in turn preyed upon by truly terrifying and incomprehensible entities. After millennia a fragment of matter in the Maelstrom may coalesce and condense to form a new island that gradually drifts back to the sky as part of an unending cycle. I can say with certainty that no man has ever visited the Maelstrom, for the journey itself is certain death and even if he was to make it safely, being in the presence of the Maelstrom for even the briefest moment is suicide. The only proof that this place even exists is from a precious few artefacts ( the most well know of which is the Tablet of Shl'akhar, know to drive men who view it mad) and carvings seen on some of the most ancient islands, usually in long abandoned temples and crypts. These sites are the focus of great interest for the Empires scholars due to their seemingly impossible age and being the apparent site of bloody rituals and horrific sacrifices."

Imperial Historian Marcus Verus, 22nd year of Cato Junius' rule

Races of the Skylands[edit | edit source]

Humans: Normal humans that inhabit the upper layers of the world. Most belong to the Justearan Empire, a pseudo Roman empire that incorporates most of the civilized islands. The Emperors of the Justearan Empire are usually not cruel men, and rule justly, provided the citizens obey their laws and tributes and taxes arrive on time. Several other groups of humans include nomadic herders, Highland clans, tribal bands of hunters, monks who worship the Dew Spiders and numerous lesser civilisations either under Justearan rule or somewhat independent. There are even few bands of humans that call the Wilderness home but these are usually nothing more than a temporary Imperial minig colony or a group of savages, barbarians or cultists that have avoided the eye of the empire.

Maotai: A race of large Manta Ray people that spend their lives gliding along ancient migration paths throughout the upper skies, their culture is reminiscent of Maori, Samoan and other pacific island tribes.

Most Maotia live as herders, tending to their flocks and trading their goods to passers by They are generally distanced from the other races due to their strange appearance and wandering lifestyles, though it is not uncommon to find the odd Maotai who has settled permanently in a human village, usually due to the Maotai providing access to trade routes and exotic goods sourced from the far corners of the empire. When not on the move (which is a very rare occasion) Maotai live in small huts made from the stretched skin of their animals and painted with all manner of patterns, usually mimicking their tribal tattoos.

Aven: While not a true race. The Aven is the name given to the the many subraces of Bird like humanoids, the major groups being the Eagles, Owls, Cranes, Rooks, and the reviled Gulls, though once powerful and mighty rulers of the skies, the time of the Avens as a race without equal has passed, and they often keep to themselves. The different breeds of Aven meet in a so called 'Council of Four Wings,' with the exclusion of the Gulls. All aven pay homage to a figure known as the Ancestor, though its worship and even gender differs from subrace to subrace.

The Eagle subrace that calls the southern deserts their home are known throughout the world for their proud nature and skilled stone masons. Culturally similar to ancient Egyptians, the Eagles are a warrior race and masters of warfare with a focus on lighting fast spear charges. While their temples, cities and vast Pyramids are grand sandstone structures, elegantly decorated with sacred artwork on a scale no other culture could hope to match, the Eagle civilisation has been in decline for many years and struggles against a variety of troubles. They were the first race to contact the fledgling Justearan people and shared much with them in knowledge, and the two have worked together in a rocky relationship over the years.

The Owl subrace dwells primarily in the thick foggy forests that rise from the depths as the air growls colder. Withdrawn and secretive, owls are known even amongst aven as being almost supernaturally quiet fliers and ambushers on par with dewspiders. Often seen with their arms wrapped about their bodies like a cloak, owls have the most extensive libraries among the aven. If one wishes to find information or secrets, one need only look for an owl, but finding one is often a task in and of itself.

The Crane subrace are perhaps the most outgoing of the aven, often visiting and aiding the villages near their islands. With a culture resembling Korean or Japanese, they live humble and rural lives tending to their rice paddies and training their bodies and wits. Living in the bamboo-covered islands scattered about the skylands, they make their homes in either simple bamboo structures close to the ground or in communal pagodas that rise up, covered in alcoves and niches.

The Rooks subrace are a culture similar to the Celtic Druids of Europe with twinges of Gypsy wanderers. Inhabitants of isolated forests, builders of stone circles and worshipers of nature. Their temperament is like that of an eccentric or somewhat immature, their behavior may be endearing in small doses but their obsession for "sacred trinkets", pettiness, overly enthusiastic demeanor coupled with their greed can get on the nerves of the other races, they are known for being cunning and are as quite crafty adversaries to those who have made the mistake of finding themselves in a challenge against them. Gifted thinkers and innovators, they see themselves as the only members of the aven that are truly growing stronger rather than weaker though their cousins denounce this as quickly as the Council overrules the Rook's ideas.

Unnamed (as of this time) not-dwarf Race: are creatures that while vulnerable at birth, as they grow, they consume rock and creates a creates a coral like shell around themselves giving themselves the appearance of stone golems. There is no limit to the lifespan and age that this race can become, though as they grow, they slowly lose mobility until they become indistinguishable from the rocks around them. When this happens, the creature goes into a deep slumber and drifts off into the void to become an island in its own right. Have an affinity for mining and one group has turned an island into a giant fist that they crash into other islands in order to strip them of their ores.

Writefaggotry[edit | edit source]

An Old Dewer's Tale/The Legend of Redfeather

As his small audience huddled closer to the dull warmth of the glowing stone, the old man smiled, his beard rustling gently in the cool evening breeze. “There was a time long ago when our village was much, much smaller than it is today. There was only the tower, three houses, and the tower.” One of the children piped up, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he exclaimed “And the big feather too!” The old man looked over his shoulder, admiring the bright red plumage in the distance before he turned back, chuckling and shaking his head. “Oh no no no, there was no feather back then. In fact, we weren’t even a large enough place to have any sort of name, much less the noble name of Redfeather!” Amid confused looks from the children, and against the backdrop of the setting sun, the old Dewer began his tale. “As I said, we were a tiny village, only a handful of people. Everyone had their job, and they did it proudly. I myself was a Dewer, and it was my job to hang out the water lines so that everyone could have plenty of water to drink. Now, who knows where water lines come from?” The children all shook their heads; they were too young to know such things. The old man was all too happy to explain. “Well, the water lines come from the Mistweaver, who lives deep, deep in the forest, under a great tree! Us Dewers borrow some of their lines of silk, in exchange for a small offering, or a present. One of the pudgier children raised his hand “Mistweavers can’t talk!” He said matter-of-factly. “Well, that’s just what the other people in the village told me when I told them.” Everyone giggled, giving the old man a moment to catch up to where he was after being interrupted. “Now, there was not much else I could do, as no one would believe me. The next day, however, is when everything changed. I had slept until late in the day, as I had ran almost all night. But when I stepped outside, it was as black as night! Everyone was running about, looking to the skies and searching for the sun. But there was no sun to be found, only darkness and shadow!” The old man quickly swirled his cloak in front of him, covering the lightstone and cutting off any light, causing the children to shriek in fright. He chuckled, pulling his cloak back onto his shoulders as if nothing had happened. “Indeed, it was quite the scare for us as well. No one knew what was happening, until I climbed the tower and looked into the distance…” “I will never forget that sight. It was a Cloudrazor, larger than anything I had seen or ever will see. Huge crimson wings blotted out the very light of day, black claws the size of the tallest man, and a beak that was sharper than any Empire blade. It flew towards the island, towards the village, for it was intending to make a meal out of all of us! I shouted as loud as I could for everyone to run, but it was too late, my voice was drowned out by the beating of its wings and the hurricane that followed. I was knocked off of my feet, and nearly took a tumble off of the tower! In fact, as I stood back up, I was sure that I was already dead, because what I saw next was surely too extraordinary to be real! “An outlander, armed with nothing but a rope and more courage than any man has a right to have, was on the creature’s back! He was wrestling with it, the rope gripped tightly in each hand as he worked it around the beast’s neck! It thrashed, and it shrieked, and it cried out in fury as it tried to get away! But for every twist the beast gave, the outlander gave a turn right back! It went on for hours, and the entire village watched in awe as they fought! But it came to a grisly end for the both of them. They thrashed their way to the very edge of the island, and took a tumble right off of the edge, leaving nothing but a single red feather to remind anyone that it had even happened. “And that is why we keep that feather on the tower, to remember that outlander’s bravery and selflessness, his courage to help a people that he never knew. Everyone in this village owes their life to that one man, and it is why we all try to be as courageous and generous as he was, so that we may all live a better life.” The pudgy child stood up as the tale finished, crossing his arms and looking positively grumpy. “Well, what if I don’t want to be generous, huh?” The old man leaned in close to the lightstone, a grim expression on his face. “Well then, I’m afraid that the great beast might just come back if you aren’t, and carry you off of this island for his dinner!” Right on cue, a man burst out of the bushes behind the young audience, wearing a crude bird mask and a red cloak, he shrieked and hollered, flapping his arms as he jumped around. The children scattered, screaming and running off to their parents as the two men laughed, getting cross looks from a few mothers. “Ah, that story gets longer every time you tell it!” The young man pried off his mask, grinning from ear to ear as he took a now vacant spot next to the Dewer. “Aye, and my memory gets shorter every time too. Pretty soon you’ll be the one telling it instead of menacing the kids.” They shared another laugh as they got up, heading for the tower. It was late, and the young man needed to fetch silk from the Mistweaver in the morning…

The Judgement of Terram Ipsumque XVI

Yesterday the island was not named, the place was simply referred to as home. Today the island had a name and a number; Terram Ipsumque XVI. Yesterday the place was alive with the commerce of men. Yesterday the place smelt of meat and wood. Yesterday the air was misty and light. Today the place rang with the tolls of hundreds of picks. Today the island smelt of char and smoke. Today there was no commerce. Today red flags draped over the halls and houses, churches and markets of the land. Today the air was thick and hot. Today the lungs of men shuttered as ash assaulted them. Yesterday the mines of the place were shallow and safe. Today the mines cut much too deep. Yesterday there was much silk and gold and iron in the island. Today there was few. Today great ships poured the island’s own water into these deep gauges. The island groaned as rock was flooded, slowly churning under it’s own weight. Pressure mounted against the ancient stone foundations of the nameless island. The rock cracked, a jagged and terrible seam showing across the face of the whole of Terram Ipsumque XVI. From the dark scar, an explosion of water, reliving pressure from the shaking island. Very suddenly, the rock wailed, and split entirely, it’s mass drifting slightly away before stabilizing. Immediately large tethers connected the two lands, like stitches across a gaping wound. Grey men marched the tethers and again the air rang as pickaxes struck the earth. Today the local soldiers lay dead or maimed, their families grieving in large mobs. They put their faces in their hands, lifting from them every so often to shout obscenities at men in silver armor, who wore thick red plumes of dyed horsehair. Yesterday the men of the island killed those soldiers of the Imperial Garrison, and then feasted in celebration of their new independence. Yesterday the unnamed island revolted against the Justearan Empire, and the rule of Emperor Cato Junius. Today Terram Ipsumque XVI was paying for it.

Recorded by Cassius Statius Ulpian, the fourth year of the rule of Praised Emperor Cato Junius

A Justearan Tale

"We thought it would be a breeze..." Gulp

"They were just a bunch of farmers on a medium-sized island." Sip

"It'd be so easy, what could go wrong?" Gulp

"I'll tell you what went wrong..." The legionnaire took another sip of his wine. It looked as if he hadn't slept in days and he smelled like he had been touched by the Goddess of Wine and Debauchery herself. He continued in a solemn voice; "It was the first day of Sextilis, I remember it all too well." The legionnaire couldn't have been that old, 25 at most. He probably wasn't even a free citizen yet, but here he was, wasting away his hard-earned money in some shady winery. "Just a couple of officers and us young lads in the Legio quinta Alaudae. We were still drunk on our own success from the eastern campaigns. We had just beaten the Harpy clans near Phineus, what would a bunch of farmers be able to do to us...” He stares blankly at his nearly empty mug and lets out a slight chuckle. “We landed in the early afternoon and send out a several scouts to gauge their defences. This was the usual modus operandi for any respectable legion. And we were the most respectable of them all ofcourse!” He smiles grimly at his last few words, where once was pride there now was a sense of shame and fear. The gruff looking man takes a final sip from his mug and beckons the closest waitress to bring him a refill. It takes a few seconds before the soldier starts speaking again, his eyes are intensely following the lovely waitress' behind. “I do love a good bottom” he says, never letting his gaze leave the woman's back. “Can't find girls like this anywhere else in the empire. The Capital's abundance does that to a woman. It gets them all curvy. I do like curves...” The flustered woman brings him his wine, obviously having heard all of the legionnaire's drunken rambling. He smacks her on the butt as she walks away and he continues “Now, where was I? Oh yes, scouts”. He takes a sip from his freshly brought wine and looks you straigth in the eyes.

“We received word that there was only a small settlement near the edge of the forest that covered most of this isle.” He continued “We started marching towards that little town almost immediately. We did not really look to our defences all that much, this was just a small hole in the arse-end of nowhere. All we wanted was to flex our muscles a bit, spear someone that wouldn't cooperate, set up a contract for taxes and be on our way.” The man's demeanor changed; he leaned forward, closer to you. You can now clearly see his face. What was first hidden behind long dark brown hair was now visible to you. You can see the scars that cross his face and also his crooked nose, obviously broken during his career as a soldier. “They had already fled into the forest by the time we arrived. This didn't really surprise us all that much. We hadn't exactly been stealthy upon our arrival to this island, but something didn't seem right. For starters, they seem to have fled at the first notion of our entrance.” The storyteller slunk back into his chair and starts to vividly describe the scene. Painting the picture with his arms flailing about, like any drunkard would. “Fires were still lit and the food stood hot on the tables.” He holds the mug to his face, symbolyzing what he just described. “There were also figurines everywhere. Like little animals carved from wood. You had; birds, dragon frogs, sky eels and even one resembling those Justearus-be-damned parrot fish freaks.” He spat on the floor after he uttered those last words. Everyone hates those island-gobblers ofcourse, but none more than young soldiers. For the largest part of your early career you are stuck with vermin duty. You went from ship to ship to ship to island and then back to ship again, looking for those miserable creatures. Making sure none of them creep out of the coral. “But, there was one thing that stood out from all of that. In the centre of the room was a large sculpture of a spider. I knew ofcourse that these simple folk worshipped the spiders that made the silk their dew-collectors use. But thinking these beasts are anything like a God was a ridiculous notion.” He picks up his mug and takes a deep chug “Our officers commanded that we would go in the forest and drag these villagers back to the town and sign that damn lease, by force if need be.” Wine dribbles down his chin as he tries to drink and speak at the same time. You can tell the words have an anxious gravitas to them, even if they are muffled by his lacking skills in ventriloquism. “By now dusk had fallen and the forest was starting to look somewhat menacing by this time” he said. “That wasn't going to stop us though. We were the Justearus-be-damned Fifth! And no scarey looking forest was going to get in our way.” His voiced started to quiver as he said it. “We quickly found them.” He chugged the last bit of his wine and bid the waitress for a new one. She made swift time doing so, clearly not wanting another butt-groping. But alas, drinking had not impeded the soldier's reflexes and a quick pat on the bum ensued while she tried to scurry away. He looks at you and his jovial attitude towards bottom-patting had turned 180 degrees and in the most serious of tones, as if Justearus himself was judging him, he continued his. “We were 5 miles into the forest before we saw it. A great shrine stood surrounded by not villagers, but monks.” A visible shiver runs down his spine” The man looks into the room as he continues his tale.

“We asked; who is your leader? And a man stepped forward. By the looks of it he was in his late 50's. He wasn't much to look at but we weren't here to judge, only to collect. ” The legionnaire shrugs. “He told us he was the eldest monk, but not their leader. Now, our commanding officer had enough of everything and demanded their leader show himself or they would be severely fined and this shrine destroyed because of their heresy.” “Resistance ofcourse wouldn've been possible, we were only a few platoons, but they were barely around half our number. What happened next I shall never forget” As the man says this, a shiver visibly runs down his spine. “Those insane heathens charged us, and they didn't even have any weapons, just some sticks!” “We had put up a good fight, but these guys were something else. They were all over the place; swirling, dahsing, jumping and hitting us with ferocious speed” He rubs his chest for a bit, remeniscing off that day. “Before we knew most of the men were running. But I was captured. See; they threw these weird looking nets and whoever touched it was immediately stuck to it.” He exclaimed it as if it was somehow unfair, as if the monks had cheated. “And that's when 'it' came down from the trees.” The man's voice has completely changed and most of his words are now uttered in a whisper, as if he was still being chased. “Four pairs of eyes, as large as 3 full sized galleons strapped together, covered in a smooth white fur and eight legs.” “Needless to say; I shat myself on that day... I'm not proud of it, but it happened” He looks a bit uncomfortable at you and continues. “We had all heard of these weird cults amongst the natives, but never had we dreamt that they'd be real. And on top of that, and I shit you not, it looked at my CO and spoke. Yes, SPOKE, S-P-O-K-E! You'll probably think I'm mad just like the rest but whatever. It told it's name was Grandfather and that these monks were his protectors. Grandfather had lived on that island for aeons, teaching dew-collectors and dew-weavers alike.” You look around the room, but no one is paying heed to what that soldier is saying, they probably think he's insane. “After they asked me what our business here was and we explained that we came here to collect tax, they left to discuss what to do with us. At first I tried to cut the silk web with my pocket knife, but turns out; that stuff is harder than steel.” The ring of the final call has rung and soon the tavern will close, you lean in close and urge the soldier to tell more. “Well, okay. Like I said; they went away to discuss what to do with us. When they came back, they released us from the web and gave us something to drink... I awoke the next day on a different island, smelling of alcohol and no one believing me. Some of our men had come in saying we had been defeated by some natives on an uncharted island, but when I asked; they said they had seen no giant spider. The monks had probably fed me something toxic, fucking spider monks...” The soldier looks at you and you thank him for the story, not sure if you entirely believe it. You get out and walk towards the door, in the background you hear a feminine scream and harsh slap.

An Encounter with the Gulls

The hunter bolted for his life. His kill clutched to his chest, he would have dropped it were his family not starving. He could hear the beating of the terrifying wings behind him getting ever closer. Then there was silence.

He stole a glance over his shoulder and saw nothing. He looked up in the trees, still nothing. He heaved a sigh of releif and turned to head home only to see the massive white and steel gray feathered humanoid in front of him. His heart raced as the winged demon's beak opened to let out a guttural voice with a short, simple, yet dreadful meaning "Miiiine."

The hunter gulped ad drew his knife, it was just one of the thrice damned gull aven, he could handle it. "Miiiiiiiiiine." his eyes widened in terror as he heard a second voice behind him. "Miine." Then a third. He turned slowly to see a whole flock of morbidly stoic expressions.

An Owl's Bargain

Glancing around, Letarius walked further down the alleyway. Constantly looking over his shoulder, he was clearly on edge and more than a little fearful. The novice adventurer had heard rumors of an island that contained a deep well of pure, clean rainwater. This water, however, was far from ordinary and erased the wounds and wrinkles from a body and returned it to youthful vigor. Just a vial of this Aqua Vitae could make a man as wealthy as a patron, and Letarius was planning to get far more than a mere vial.

He had been a bit bold last night in a winery, speaking openly of his goal and was mocked and derided as a boy on a fool's quest. Mocked by all but one. The owner of the establishment -- a grizzled, elderly man with the look of the provinces -- had pulled him aside and told him that if he wanted to find something that didn't exist, the best person to ask -- the only person to ask -- was an owl. Letarius laughed at the old man, turning into a mocker of his own. Owls? Owls were hermits and mystics, everyone knew that. To find one in Justear itself? Now that was a fool's quest.

Yet here he was, searching the darkened streets of near the wharf for an owl. Grumbling, he kicked at a basket of refuse as he muttered under his breath. "Not going to find an owl in here. That old-timer was probably just in on it with the others. Bet he's sittin' around with those short-sighted idiots just laughing like an idiot."

"You would be wise to keep your words generous when referring to Quincy. He is an old acquaintance, and if you wish to know anything I am not someone that you wish to annoy." The words came from behind him, causing the young man to spin and fall to the ground. Looking up, he could hardly believe his eyes. The owl stood not a pace behind where he had been standing, its fingers arched as its wings wrapped around it like a thick robe. Shadows and cloth wreathed it in black, leaving only two gleaming eyes that slowly turned and rotated as it studied the human before it.

"Knowledge comes with a price, wingless. What are you prepared to offer?"

The Journey Begins

"Are you sure about this, Samuel?"

The grumbling voice of the maotai beside him broke the human out of his trance and brought him back to reality. Standing on the deck of the tiny vessel, the young man was dressed in thick cloudwool garments common to the forested islands of the Beryl Chain. The ship was little more than a sliver of stone no more than a few feet thick, curving up towards the rear. A patchwork medley of timbers and hide created the crude outline of something between a ship and a cottage with a flat wooden roof the two were standing on now. Two other humans dressed in vibrant blue-dyed wool were busy transferring over sacks of supplies for the journey ahead.

Samuel turned towards the maotai, awkwardly attempting to place a hand around his shoulder before making do with a pat on the back. "I'm sure, Rongo. There's really nothing left for me here. Not anymore. I've gotta find out why the Imperials took my father. Though I guess I'll have to find out where they took him first..."

The whoosh of beating wings and the tingling of metal heralded the arrival of a Rook dressed in a red and blue wool tunic and a colorful menagerie of bracelets, rings, and armlets. Landing on the deck with the clatter of talons on wood, he motioned towards the front of the small craft. "Sammy, the sails are rigged. Give a yank on the lever by the wheel and they'll spring open and catch the draft. She's ready to fly whenever, though I was thinking I might grab another bottle of mead..." The Rook lets its sentence drag on out, partially giving a statement and partially asking permission.

A chuckle and nod gave him his reply, as Sam moved over to glance down at the crudely-fashioned pier. "Doro, Fi, get ready to sail! Krasik'll just have to hope he's not too drunk to catch us!"

Just Another Day in Justearan Politics

"You truly plan to stand behind Antoninus' push for consul, Rasha?"

The words echoed over the serenity of the small garden, silent save for the gentle birdsong that warbled from the flowering trees of the courtyard. White marble framed the carefully manicured garden, as fluted columns supported the stone over the twisting mosaics that lined the walkway around the small floral paradise. The Eagle sighed softly, moving to stand at the rim of a small reflecting pool. A talon tugged at the white toga covering the aven's frame as he spoke, still glancing away from the human beside him. "You certainly strike straight to the heart of the issue, friend. Perhaps it would do you well to read more of Caceres. A small amount of tact and a smaller amount of guile would certainly not be wasted. But to answer your question... Yes, I do. My vote comes only through my service in the Auxilia. I am a man of warfare and campaigns. And I will always support a Praetor over a magistrate. Men's morals and interests are warped by too much time in the city. Perhaps it's the wine, perhaps it's the feasting, but a soul loses its courage and instead becomes hollow."

The human moved to Rasha's side, his wings noticeably restrained rather than out on full display. A hand rose to rest on the aven's shoulder, catching the Eagle's eyes. "I understand your dedication to the Legions and the men who guide them, but Antoninus will do nothing but sour the Empire. A leader he may seem, but a roc is all he is. He follows the guidance and orders of his rider. Nothing more. Praise not the man but the hands that hold the reins."

Rasha let out a squawking laugh, his wings unfurling and giving a sudden flap, "Oh Pius, dear Pius. Do you forget the advance of the harpies on the eastern fringe? They are more active than we have ever seen in the past centuries. Forts have been taken, Pius. Not simple villages or even towns but armed garrisons. I am fully aware that Petrus will be elected -- I may be stubborn but I am not a fool, and I make no protest against that. But while one magistrate is tolerable -- perhaps it is even necessary -- two at this time would be disastrous. Even a roc thinks for itself and protects its rider without guidance. And Antoninus shall be the roc that the Empire needs. A vote for Latrius is a vote that will weaken us. A vote for Antoninus is one that will bind us together. "

Speaking in Names

"Krasah on the peak."

The strange phrase broke the air of the small cottage, thick with clouds of burning incense. Lavender and majoram mixed with sage in colored wisps, illustrating the movement of the air heated by the numerous candles burning around the room. I sat beside my guide, a Rook named Jalad who was showing me the various islands in the Chain of Mist on the southern fringes. I had eagerly wanted to explore this land, resting above the abyss and settled by a hearty people but more importantly containing the ancient libraries of the Owls. Jalad had brought us to this home that belonged to an elderly Rook -- at least, I assumed him to be by the balding around his beak -- for a reading of fortunes before we left for the fog-shrouded islands.

"I know, Phuro. I've already thought about and prepared for that. I may not have your wisdom, but I'm no fledgling."

"Vataf with eyes shut and ears deaf. Orrik seeking the spring."

My companion seemed to scowl at that, reaching down to snatch at a small pastry set out before him and tossing it down his craw. "It is not that simple, Phuro. Rosah seeks the dawn."

The Rook stared deeply down at a small bowl of water in the center of the table. He was silent for a long time before he finally spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. "When the walls fell." I know not what he meant, but at that moment Jalad stood and left. I followed him quickly and asked what exactly had transpired, but he said nothing. We left the next day, and even though I had little idea what the old fortune-teller had told us, I would soon find out for myself.

From the log of Mayhew Purcell, explorer and scholar