TheRPGSite

1450 TH

Early one morning...

Navic sighed and stretched, his aging body protesting with pops and snaps as he rose from his bed. It was a luxurious bed by any standard, threads of elemental earth and fire woven into it's pattern to make it more comfortable, to ensure it was always warm. But even this luxurious comfort could only do so much for his aging and arthritic bones. Rubbing a particularly sore spot in his lower back he reached over to his nightstand, ornately carved into the wall itself, and took the jug. Pouring water into his glass he stood and begun to dress. He had barely pulled on his undergarments when the curtain to his chamber burst open. Before Navic could protest this outrage the young man interrupted him.

"I am sorry to disturb your rest Elder, but your presence is required immediately at the Gate!" The boy was quivering with excitement, and it was the emphasis he placed on that last word that caught Navic's ear. The Gate? Had their been a breach? An accident? Had some horror broken loose into their home? It never crossed his mind that it could be something else, and quickly gathered up his staff, and the supplies he might need to cast his magics.

Hurrying through the chambers that separated his own quarters from those of his families, he ran towards the Great Square. As he hurried his breath shortened slightly, and he could feel his heart racing. His throat was strangely dry as he burst forth from the residential quarters into the Public Square. Navic grasped the younger mans shoulder, and carefully made his way through the crowd.

When Navic arrived at the main gate to the Kaer he saw several things that caught his attention all at once, and he a hard time sorting out which should be the most important. A band of dwarves stood just inside the main gate, their strange attire and weapons made it obvious that they were from outside the Kaer, a fact that made his heart race even faster. The seal to the main gate had obviously been broken, but how? And by whom? The dwarves? Surely it had to have been them, because no one member of this Kaer knew all of the rituals of opening.

The Dwarves were gathered in a small, but tight group-their faces a mixture of relief, and concern. The area surrounding them was chaos, of a type that  the small guard was completely unprepared for. If he didn't do something quickly it was possible that things could spiral out of control Noticing several other members of the Council of Peers had arrived before him, Navic began to signal the guards. It was time to slow things down, and sort all of this out.

It had taken Navic and the Kaer Guard several hours to calm and quell the crowd. In the end they had to allow the crowd to watch as they had the dwarves perform the rites of entrance, and as they were tested for Horror Marks. It had been a long, and drawn out process-although informative, and admittedly entertaining in parts. The dwarves were a small part of a larger band, who were lying in wait outside of the Kaer. Now that the rituals were over it was time for a brief respite-in which they'd display both the generosity of his people, and their creative skills, and then the serious business would begin.

As the crowd disperses throughout the kaer bringing news of the event, Coaul's brow raises as he overhears the new development. Though he remaims visibly stoic, inwardly Caoul is nervous.

"Let me through. Move it kids. Hey you, shoo!" Isil waves off the last of a band of children gathered to see the dwarves, and walks up behind Navic's shoulder, keeping some of the wizard between him and the dwarves.

"Elder, have we figured out how they got through the wards?" He leans in and asks Navic quietly, suspiciously sizing up the newcomers.

Navic looked at Isil with a wary smile, which he hoped was reassuring, and spoke softly-just loud enough for Isil to hear him. "That is truly an interesting question Isil, one I intend to figure out." Navic clasped the younger man on his shoulder, and turned to try and organize this chaos.

Caoul turns to his father and, noticing that the old man is engaged in pleasant conversation, quickly finishes his current task and moves to investigate the ongoing commotion. Eventually, spotting Isil, he blurts out to the young wizard, "Isil! What is going on? Is it true that dwarves have breached the kaer wards?"

Quote from: DeadUematsu;263067Caoul turns to his father and, noticing that the old man is engaged in pleasant conversation, quickly finishes his current task and moves to investigate the ongoing commotion. Eventually, spotting Isil, he blurts out to the young wizard, "Isil! What is going on? Is it true that dwarves have breached the kaer wards?"

Isil takes a step or two back from Navic towards Caoul and thumbs back over his shoulder at the dwarves to point them out. "They're inside, at any rate. We're still trying to figure out how they got in. Or why they even braved the Horrors to come here in the first place."

Freed momentarily from his duties, Garon wove his way through the crowd toward Caoul and Isil. Years of experience with his mass and bulk led the crowd to quickly part for the immense guardsman; even for a troll, Garon was large, his shoulders broad and square, his muscles like tightly-bound bundles of power. His unlined face was strangely flat, wide and somehow ponderous. He spoke slowly, carefully choosing his words, as if the process were difficult for him in a way that movement and action never were. "They say they disabled the traps. Opened the ward. They say it is safe." His voice held a mixture of disbelief and hope; long had he dreamed of a world beyond these walls, and here were strangers, none possessed by Horrors, who spoke words of safety and possibility.

He removed his helm and shook the sweat from his fringe of hair, causing consternation with those nearby. Though it had never known battle, it had known generations of guardsmen, and it was battered and scarred from recklessness and overactive training. He unconsciously ran his thumb over the maker's stamp, his father's father's, and said quietly, "Minas will raise his voice soon, mark my words."

"Safe outside, you say, Garon? Well, if that isn't...interesting." Caoul says coolly, his nervousness slowly being replaced by a blossoming curiosity. "Maybe someone should have a look."

Garon's expression was clouded, but he was unschooled at containing his emotions; his excitement was palpable, as well. "Someone will," he said, thinking back to the conversations he'd had with Kalf over the past few months. He looked at his two companions, something besides anxiousness on his face, something which looked out-of-place on a face usually restrained to a sort of carefree intensity. "Just...stay close. Don't make plans. Be ready."

"Um, okay." Caoul's eyes begin to shift to and fro, his curiosity is cowed by the troll's visible anxiety, "I'll keep alert."

Navic ushered the dwarves out of the public square, escorted at a short distance by the Kaer Guardsmen, Garon one of those few hand picked by Navic and the other elders, and into the Temple. Garon was disappointed to be left outside the stone doors to the temple-one of the few actual sealing doors in the Kaer-which was partly a security feature, and in part a feature of privacy.

Garon had been standing outside the door for a mere few moments when Isil and Caoul arrived. The youth's said little, their excitement barely contained-what was happening inside those doors? What decisions were being made? Was it really true that the Scourge had ended? The minds raced with the possibilities.

Nearly four hours had passed, and the youths were just about ready to explode with curiosity when suddenly they heard the doors opening. Minas Harker stood at the door his face a stony mask.  He motioned to someone behind him, and then spoke.

"Caoul. Garon. Isil. The council wishes to speak with you."

Isil's fingers stopped impatiently drumming against the side of his leg, and he stood to respectful attention.

"Yes, elder." He glanced back to the other two and cocked an eyebrow at Garon, then followed Minas in. Isil's eyes flicked back and forth as he entered the temple, half-expecting the dwarves to have transformed into monsters since he last saw them.

A rare glimpse of surprise escapes Caoul's facade as he speaks, "Certainly." Quickly recovering himself, Caoul returns Minas' gaze with an equally cool expression as he slips through the temple's entry archway alongside Garon and Isil.

Garon held his face completely still in an effort to disguise his mounting excitement, but as soon as his companions turned, the corners of his mouth moved upward in a slow, small smile. This was it. The time was now! His confidence was absolute: soon, he would be outside the kaer, in the wide world, facing dangers and having adventures. Thought of failure held no purchase in his mind.

He stepped with the others into the temple, looking around as he did.

As the door to the Temple was pushed shut the three youths couldn't help but notice that the Guardsmen inside the door barred the door with a heavy piece of wood. Minas lead them down the rows of ornately carved seats, the walls also decorated with ornate carvings, and reliefs illuminated by carefully cultivated mosses that glowed with colorful bio luminescent light.

As they walked Minas stiffly spoke in a low hushed tone, "Manage your expectations, believe me I've had to manage mine. If questioned speak honestly, and with out fear."

Minas' words fell on deaf ears; Garon was deep in the grip of anticipation. Pausing only to offer a short bow to a heavily-worn woodcarved panel showing Thystonius witnessing a friendly bout between two nameless combatants, the troll strode quickly down the row of seats.

Caoul takes his seat, slouching at first, before realizing that sitting up straight would be far more appropriate.

Isil lowers himself into his seat somewhat stiffly. After a moment or two, he looks over to Garon and cocks his head slightly to the empty seat beside him, suggesting through his body language that Garon sit down rather than stand at attention.

Coaul looks at the distraught Navic and Thork and asks, "Is there something amiss?"

Navic smiles as he settles on his hands, spread a wide stance that makes him look even older, and more exhausted than he really was. His smile was kind, but strained. "As you can imagine young Caoul there is much to discuss, and much debate as to what should happen next-but for now I think it best if I let one of our newly acquainted dwarven friends speak. Kindly listen carefully to what she says."

The female dwarf smiled, a radiant and warm smile and stepped forward. Her robes flowed around her, as if they had a life of their own and when she spoke her voice was almost sultry.

"I am Junipero Silverlining, Troubador and Swordmaster. I have traveled far from the great gates of the Kingdom under the Mountain, Throal, where the good King Varulus the Third, wizened and kind. He has sent my companions and myself forth to spread a message of hope! The Scourge, thought to be unending, has come to it's end, and the wide world is habitable to all free creatures again!" As she said this the other dwarves let out a muffled, but enthusiastic cheer. Still smiling she faced each young man, and the troll one by one. "Truly this is a day we have all longed for, the day when we could swing open wide the doors to our Kaers, and venture back into the world above again."

"Now I can not lie the world above us is filled with wonder, and dangers a plenty. Although the scourge has ended, many fell creatures still remain, clinging to our world, and it's people, like a tick on a dog! It is a fight that all of us will fight for some time to come, but fight we must! Taking back our world is certainly the greatest priority and gift we could imagine! I urge each of you to look deep inside your hearts and to pay heed to wise King Varuluses words. United we must stand, because divided we shall surely all fall victim to the many dangers that now face our collective peoples!"

Coaul arches an eyebrow at the dwarf's words and whispers to Isil and Garon, "So is she asking that the kaer become part of some far-off kingdom? I do not think everyone would be so upset if that were not the case."

Isil says it out loud, cocking his eyebrow at Silverlining: "Do you mean for us to join this 'Throal' then? We know nothing about it, nor its king, nor its people. I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are very grateful for your news on the end of the Scourge, but we would need to send ambassadors or scouts to Throal to eval.... "

He trails off mid-sentence when he realises what his own words mean and why he's here. He looks to Navic and the council. "Us?" The hint of a smile curls the side of his mouth. He doesn't seem displeased.

Coaul gives a rare look of surprise at Isil's realization. He is dumbfounded by the circumstance he has found himself in.

Navic smiled, happy at Isil's bright and quick reasoning, but saddened at the choices that were about to be made. "Join? Not as such, however our Dwarven friends bring much more news, and some of it grave in it's nature, and because of...many considerations I must ask that each of the three of you promise to keep what follows a secret, until such time as the council agrees to make it...more public."

Navic nods at the Dwarven woman to continue. Hesitantly she nods, and faces the three younger Name Givers. "Are you familiar with the Rites of Passage?"

Garon nodded his huge, square head, his fringe of hair bobbing with the motion. "Not much for a child to to under the earth but read. Not many books to read. Even I've read the Rites of Protection and Passage." He paused, then muttered, "Didn't really get it, though..."

Isil nods along with Garon. "Yes, isn't everyone familiar with it? It's hardly a secret."

Coaul meekly nods his head with a stoic face.

The dwarven Troubadour nodded, clearly impressed with their literacy. Her eyes were sad as she spoke, "It seems that while your people have reaped the benefits of Theran ingenuity, you have forgotten that all of this," She waves her arms around the room, obviously meaning the Kaer, "came with a price."

"And now the Theran's are coming to claim that price. Would you like to see your peoples in chains? Because that is what the Theran's bring!"

As the dwarf finished speaking the council immediately burst into loud conversation and argument, only Navic and Minas stood quietly the three youths could see. For a moment it seemed that things had spiraled out of control, and each youth wondered if their elders would come to blows! But just then Navic slammed his staff into the floor three times, each time it made a sound like thunder. The room fell quiet.

Navic sighed audibly, and handed his staff back to his page. Spreading his arms wide he leaned downward on the table. "I am an old man, and all of this excitement has begun to wear me out." Before anyone could speak, and the three men could see strained looks on the faces of the council members and the dwarves. "However it is clear to me now, that a decision has been reached. It is clear that we can no longer hide from the world, and that perhaps we may no longer need to. There is much confusion, and even more debate. But we can not afford to sit in this chamber and listen to the sound of our own voices forever."

As the council burst into argument, Navic waved his hands until they were silent again. "Easy now my friends, I agree that we can not simply throw wide our gates, and hope for the best. But neither can can we afford to wait on our Laurels my friends. As such I agree with Minas Harker, that we should send forth a small party to represent our Kaer, and to explore the outside world."

"Were we to move our people outward it would take several weeks, maybe even months before we were prepared. Therefore while we begin to make ready, and scout the immediate area I am sending a smaller scouting party with our Dwarven friends, back to Throal to speak with our new found friends, and to gage the threat of the Theran's."

"Isil. Garon. Coaul. You three have been chosen to represent our people."

Garon's voice nearly squeaked in surprise. "Us? To Throal?" He tried to regain his composure, his guard-trained calm, but he was not entirely successful. "Surely there is someone more," he searched for a word, but the closest he could find was, "...diplomatic?" Isil tended toward dark, cutting comments, and Coaul's attention seemed focused inward unless he was tending his animals. And no one had ever accused Garon of being diplomatic; his only experience with negotiation was in stopping fights, which generally consisted of holding both combatants off the floor until they relented.

Surely, a trip outside was warranted, and Garon could think of none other than the three of them to do it: all three were young and talented, but not so critical to the daily experience of life within the kaer that their presence would be greatly missed. But to walk to Throal under the watchful eye of a group of Dwarves? Something outside his understanding must be going on behind the scenes.

Coaul, quickly recovering from the rapidity of the meeting and its final resolution, nods his head and says, "Very well." Yet the arching of his eyebrow indicates that he is a little surprised that Navic would decide to include a shepherd on such important business.

"When do we leave?" Isil says, perhaps a little too eagerly. "We should start preparing." He is half out of his chair already.

Navic smiles, proud and understanding of each of their reactions, just to his side Minas wears an even bigger smile. Others look less happy, perhaps even dour at this announcement. As the room once again broke out into chaos, Navic again silenced the room.

"Much has yet to be discussed and decided, and the day draws on longer. We shall break for our midday meal, and refreshments. We shall meet back here in two hours." This they all seemed able to agree upon. "Isil, Garon and Caoul, please join me for a bit, if it pleases you." They were each certain that this was no request, no matter how it was couched.

Coaul consents with an emotionless "Certainly." and joins Navic wherever deemed appropriate.

Once everyone else has departed, Garon will take a seat. He won't be slouching or anything, but he's willing to be more informal in a privy council setting.

Isil joins Navic and the others wherever the elder chooses.

As the youths, Minas and Navic exit the main chamber they find themselves in a smaller well anointed chamber. The carpet is thick, and well cared for, and warm. The walls are covered in reliefs, and embossed with a variety of scenes depicting the great hero Thratick slaying the three headed lion of Ghedes, and cleaning the stables of the Troll King Vagar. Two couches, and a large, but squat table covered in food and refreshments were it's only other decorations. A small light quartz, with a soft hue illuminated the room.

Navic motioned for everyone to take a seat, and serve themselves food and drink. After heaping food onto his own plate he produces a small bowl of red thumbnail sized balls. "Our dwarven friends brought these with them, their quite marvelous. I'm told their a fruit known as wild strawberries. Some are tart, but others are amazingly sweet!"

He places the bowl with in reach of the younger men, and smiles. "Please help yourself!"

Isil, ever the explorer, takes one of the strawberries delicately. He bites the merest bit off of it and his face lights up.

"Well, if they're poisoned, it's a sweet poison indeed." He pops the rest of the strawberry in his mouth, including the cap. He winks at Caoul and Garon before straightening to address Navic.

"Elder Navic, is it decided then? We will go with the dwarves to Throal as ambassadors and scouts? And our people will leave the kaer while we do?"

Isil, ever the explorer, takes one of the strawberries delicately. He bites the merest bit off of it and his face lights up.

"Well, if they're poisoned, it's a sweet poison indeed." He pops the rest of the strawberry in his mouth, including the cap. He winks at Caoul and Garon before straightening to address Navic.

"Elder Navic, is it decided then? We will go with the dwarves to Throal as ambassadors and scouts? And our people will leave the kaer while we do?"

Garon grumbles a bit at that. It's clear he doesn't think much of the idea of sticking with the dwarves while someone else explores the area around the kaer. His mind, however, is mostly consumed with one point of consideration: did he want to try putting something so brightly-colored in his mouth? It'd be like eating a windling's wardrobe; real food was grey, or brown, and the only red was freshly-slaughtered meat. Which these tiny berries certainly weren't.

Coaul, taking a seat across the table from Navic, remarks as he pockets some exotic foodstuffs for his relatives, "Though I don't know how I could serve in either capacity."

Garon scoffed quietly. He picked up a strawberry very carefully with the tips of his oversized fingers and said, "What happen they no send you?" His voice shifted slightly into what was apparently supposed to be an impression of Navic. "'And how 'bout hunting? How the herd sizes outside?' Oh, gee, sir. I kill four horrors and marked Nethermancer, I no stop to sight-see." He shook his great head. "No, you expert on animal, and that why you go, just like Isil expert on magic. I just go make sure you not get eaten by anything."

Navic chuckled, and poured himself a glass of water. Nodding at Isil and Garon he spoke in a reassuring tone. "Caoul each of you possesses unique talents. You are a Beastmaster, able to speak with animals and nature in a way I can only imagine. Isil is a learned scholar, and a mage. And despite Garon's humble pronouncements he is an expert in more than just swinging heavy things. But more important than that each of you are still young enough to not feel bound to the life we've always known. Many of us fear the outside world, and what it may hold."

"But if our people are to do more than subsist then we need to seize this opportunity. This is even more true if the Theran's are doing what our newly made friends from Throal claim-enslaving kaer's as they open their gates. I would not have our people survive the Scourge only to  find ourselves in chains, be they dwarven made chains or Theran made chains."

"I would send the three of you back with our new friends, to see what kind of friends Throal really wishes to be. I am also sending a party, equally small to find more out about the Therans. And yes Garon, people will have to begin exploration of the area outside our Kaer-but your mission will be much more important."

Navic paused, and served himself a plate of food, sitting down and resting he began to pick at the food. Clearly he was uncomfortable at the whole situation. Minas Harker had remained quiet so far, but finally stepped forward and spoke.

"This is a great honor for the three of you. But you will also face great danger. It is my honor to help equip you for this arduous journey."

A dangerous look came over Garon's face. "What do you mean, 'equip?'" His mind was full of shining steel and dark leather; the pragmatic considerations of survival held no purchase in his thoughts.

Isil's eyes flash to Minas with just a tinge of greed behind them. Memories of the  ancient ornately-decorated tomes he shelved and reshelved as an apprentice flash through his mind. "What sort of equipment do you think we might need, elder?" he says with affected calm.

Coaul stops at Garon's joke and looks at Navic with full interest at the possibility of a gift. He is, you see, an avid lover of toys.

Minas smiles as he sits down across from them. It's a smile that seems forced, and well worn. "Obviously each of you will need a variety of equipment, and yes, weapons to manage an expedition like this. However I ask that each of you keep in mind the even greater needs of the Kaer. In the next few weeks our people will face a truly dangerous time, one filled with uncertainty and fear."

"This does not mean we can not give you some things to make your journey easier. But first I think we should Elder Navic finish, and make you understand just what is expected of you."

Caoul recovers from his childlike disposition, "Okay. What should we do then and is there anything we should look for?" He asks just like he would about any other chore.

Navic gazes sternly at Caoul for a second, but after exchanging a glance with Minas, he calmly lays out what he has envisioned for the three young men.

As Navic finishes speaking, Minas starts. "I have a few items that can help make your journey easier." He retrieves a rucksack filled with items from behind the sofa that he and Navic sat on. As he lays each item out he also describes it's purpose.

Coaul grins momentarily as each and every item is presented to him. Once everything is set out on the table, he either pockets or wears the basic necessities (the gear listed on his character sheet) before helping himself to the some of the more exceptional trinkets - a death cheat charm, an elemental blanket, and the pot of ever-replenishing water (if the others do not oppose).

When Caoul is done securing those away, he bows his head in both Navic and Minas' direction, thanking them greatly for everything and promising that he will do his very best despite his inexperience.

Isil carefully packs the equipment into his backpack, folding one of the elemental blankets onto the top, around the larger of the two light crystals. He folds up Raynor's Map and places it among the pages of his grimoire, intending to peruse it later. He finishes up fiddling with the straps on his armour and swordbelt, cinching them to the right fit.

"Well, don't we look the bold explorers, eh?" He grins to Caoul and Garon then straightens up before the elders.

"Thank you for your gifts, elders. We'll be sure to use them wisely." He's clearly eager to get to their business, all dreams of flashing blades and spells.

Caoul smiles at Isil's commentary, "Indeed." Not yet realizing the magnitude of the task at hand, he seems relatively not bothered by his predicament, perhaps even confident. Still smiling, Caoul turns to Navic and Minas and asks them, "When will we be off?"

Garon's giant hands made quick work of the remainder, which quickly disappeared into a ball, enclosed in his blanket, shoved under one arm. He knew he'd need more than just his personal belongings and this bundle, but his mother would have most of the sorts of miscellany he'd want to take with him, such as utensils, that his hands would not smell of food when he hunted. But one item he could not provide himself, and could not take without approval.

Firmly but not loudly, he said, "Head Councilor Navic, may I have your leave to equip myself with armor from the armory?" Though the padded leather he trained with was for his use alone - fitting no one else currently in the kaer - it was not his, and had served generations of guardsmen before him.

Navic nods at Garon's request. "Of course. Your success is a paramount to our people."

"Then I will be ready at tomorrow's first light," Garon said, "unless you would have us leave before then." He made ready to leave, clearly anxious to complete his packing and be ready.

Navic and Minas both smile, and nod in unison. "Excellent. Tonight we feast, and celebrate new friends, and adventures!"

As each of the young men are dismissed, they gather their new equipment up, and leave. Each of them can feel the eyes of their Kaer as they return to their quarters, sworn to secrecy by the elders, they couldn't even tell their own families what was evidently apparent.

They were leaving the Kaer.

After a night of revelry, Coaul rises early, bids his family fond farewell and hopes for a quick return. He awaits for his companions by the decamping Throal emissaries.

Isil shows up a few minutes later, yawning and still fiddling with the buckle on his swordbelt. He nods his greetings to the assembled party.

It was hard to tell time in the Kaer, even though the elemental light quartz used to light the main square was enchanted to mimic the real sun it was never quite as good as the real thing. Combined with the lighting used by individual families, and industries it was often more like a pale twilight than a dawn. The three young adventurers were gathered with a small crowd at the main gate.

Besides their families the two Elders, Navic and Minas Harker, were present along with the small group of Dwarves. Their packs were laddened down with supplies-the Kaer had kindly offered the dwarves a large amount of fresh vegetables, meat and the few fruits they possessed.

Navic shook each young mans hand, grasping them firmly by the wrist and then the palm. "It's best that we keep this brief. I trust that the passions shall smile upon each of you, and that the legends of your travels shall be amongst our greatest!"

Minas nodded at the elder's brief speech, and only added a little. "I will eagerly await your return."

With little more than those words, Navic and the guardsmen opened the gates-a ritual that was surprisingly brief, and they could see the darkened tunnel that lead to the surface. With a nod each man hefted their pack, and stepped into the dark tunnel. As the last passed through the gates the massive stone gates slowly shuddered  to a close, and they were briefly left in the darkness.

Coaul, hearing the gates close behind him, is a little disheartened but does not show it. He quickly tredges on to the front of the group, hoping his first sight of the outside world inspires him to continue on.

As Coaul moves to front of the group the lead pair of dwarves  move to stop him, but with a nod the female troubadour waves them off. Her voice is barely above a whisper, warm and calm-confident, "Our new found friends must be curious, and from what Elder Navic told me none fo them are with out their own means."

They march in silence, at first illuminated only by the pale red lights held aloft by dwarven staffs. But soon they realize that there's something else-a warm soft, almost white light. As they realize that this must be sunlight they begin to feel the warmth in the tunnel rising. As the ambient light level rises the dwarves pull the light quartz from their staffs, placing them in pockets at their hips, on their belts.

Wide and blue it seemed to go on forever. Tufts of white sailed through the air like lazy air ships, each seemingly a familiar shape-but none concrete enough to say for certain. Even the dwarves pause for a second, taking it all in-still unsure what to make of it all. Just ahead of the tunnels entrance floats an air ship, as if torn straight of the text of a history book!

Stepping from shade into daylight, Garon gasped involuntarily. Above him, the dome of the sky arced, impossibly distant. It stretched up, and up, and up; his neck craned until he felt himself begin to fall over backward with the disorientation. Growing up in the kaer, he'd never felt closed-in: it was the only world he'd ever known. But here, now, he felt the opposite: the sky was too far away, and he could feel it pulling him upward. The air was crisp and clean, and combined with the impossible lightness of open space, it was too thin for Garon's senses; he could get no purchase on it with his throat, feel no touch of it in the depths of his lungs. He began quietly and privately to hyperventilate, trying as hard as he could to pull air into lungs that could not feel it; his head went light, his eyes vague; only his grip on his grandfather's crystal sword kept him grounded.

The weapon drew him in, focused his concentration. What if there were to be an attack, now? It would be an ideal ambush, and here he was, lightheaded as if after a devastating blow. Kalf's voice rang in his ears like a bell, telling him to focus, control his breathing, protect his charges. Mentally, he took hold of himself, forcing his chest to rise and fall at a normal rate, forcing his eyes from the sky to the airship. His hands hefted the crystal sword of his ancestors, and Garon Stonehand drew strength from the knowledge that it had seen the light of day before, and its wielders had survived to find the safety of the kaer; though its history was lost to time, there was no doubting one of his ancestors had brought it to Kaer PorBajin from outside, and Garon used that fact as mental leverage, bringing himself utterly under control.

He scanned the area for threats, dangers to the investigators whom he was tasked to protect. His great cubic head swiveled back and forth, while he distractedly said, "We not riding on that, are we?"

Junipero chuckled, and with a flourish of her hands spoke, "While she's not quite the Earthdawn, this is the Bevelona! She's fast, and well armed! And aboard we have all the supplies we need to make the journey home comfortable!"

Coaul's eyes widen visibly at the sight of everything and a burning curiousity overtakes him. He moves immediately over to the airship and lines up to get aboard it as soon as possible.

"We'll have to march a small distance into a clearing, that's not far from here. Come, we must make haste! Although things seem safe, there are many dangers in the wide world!" Junipero smiles broadly, but the young men can see that she's quite serious.

Too much was happening, too quickly. This had been his primary concern about traveling with the dwarves of Throal: that they would be firmly in charge, and the sorts of decisions he'd need to make to protect his companions and his kaer would be utterly outside his control. Still, his orders were clear, and until they requested he do something that would directly endanger his compatriots, he would have to follow along.

He did his best to scan the area, looking for threats, while hustling to the boarding area. Coaul was already dashing ahead, focused utterly on the magnificent ship. Some caution - or creeping, quiet fear - kept wonder from Garon's mind. He was trying to keep an eye on Coaul and Isil, and the dwarves, and the ship, and the clearing, and everything between here and there, but the pace of approach made that difficult. He tried to tell himself that if the dwarves made it here, their caution must have been sufficient for survival, but he did not like losing control.

Garon tried not to think about boarding the ship. The kaer had no real equivalent of the heights involved, and he'd never so much as been on a watercraft, much less one which sailed on air. He kept his grip on his sword, and tried to turn terror to vigilance.

Isil gives a low whistle of awe as they clear the kaer, and ostentatiously stretches out in appreciation of the open space. When they see the airship, he grins, still squinting a little from the light, and slaps the other two on the back encouragingly.

"I feel like a beetle. We slink out from under a rock in order to take flight."

He stops nearly every few steps to eye something or poke at a bush or otherwise investigate the strange world they find themselves in. After a moment or two at each, he recovers himself and rejoins the pace of the group.

The clearing is atop a rock outcropping that juts out into the sky like a pointing finger. The march up it is brief, but rigorous. The airship hoovers in the distance, it's sails billowing and colorful, flags hang from the rails, but the three young men can see the fire cannons that sat just behind wooden ports. The dwarves stopped at the edge of the outcropping, and unloaded colorful flags from their packs. Quickly they set up in a three man formation and began signaling the ship, rapidly the ship signaled back and slowly it turned and began to glide towards the rock outcropping.

Junipero smiled at three younger name givers, and spoke exuberantly. "It's magnificent isn't it? She only took six months to construct!" Her excitement was almost visible.

Garon just stood, tight-lipped, his eyes on the horizon, scanning for signs of danger. Something within him was wakening, not just caution, but an urge for that caution to be justified. He'd always been comfortable with conflict, and it had made him an unbearable child and a decent guard, but standing here, the wind in his face, nature spread out before him, challenges over every hill, he didn't just tolerate conflict, he burned for it. Perhaps being within the warded kaer had moderated the impact of his Discipline, or perhaps it was just the anxiousness of opportunity, but Garon stopped himself just short of wanting very badly for something terrible and dangerous to happen, something urgent and bloody and deadly for him to forge himself against.

He shook his head. Such thoughts were dangerous; he was here to protect, not to battle. Still, his blood sang with desire, and only years of training stifled the urge to let loose a bellow of violence.

With difficulty, he turned his attention to the airship, and tried not to think of how they might be expected to board it - Her, he corrected himself. Far above, birds wheeled and soared among the mast and riggings and flags of the airship, as if curious to see what strange construct invaded their skies.

Though he was no expert on the wilderness, he'd expected something more akin to a blasted wasteland than this reasonable approximation of paradise. The stories of the Scourge had led him to believe all would be as ash, but the land was recovering, even now, life spreading itself even in the face of constant peril. There was a lesson within the thought, but he could not bring himself to understand it.

As the ship closed in its shadow covered them all, and the dwarves on the ground called out to the ones aboard the ship. Suddenly ropes were flung over the side, and the dwarves on the ground quickly drew out mallets and stakes, and began hammering the stakes into the ground and tying the ropes to the stakes. Soon a massive cargo net was flung over the side and the dwarves quickly fixed it to the ground.

Junipero waited until they finished and pointed to it. "We climb aboard, and our journey begins!"

As the ship closed in its shadow covered them all, and the dwarves on the ground called out to the ones aboard the ship. Suddenly ropes were flung over the side, and the dwarves on the ground quickly drew out mallets and stakes, and began hammering the stakes into the ground and tying the ropes to the stakes. Soon a massive cargo net was flung over the side and the dwarves quickly fixed it to the ground.

Junipero waited until they finished and pointed to it. "We climb aboard, and our journey begins!"

Coaul manuevers up the cargo net and onto the ship, taking it slowly. He's never quite done this before.

This was the moment Garon had been fearing: the climb to the ship. As they lowered the net, another thought occurred to him, no less troubling, that of risk of attack. If he led the trio to the ship, he would be available to fend off attack from above, but not attacks from the ground; if he remained on the ground, he could not protect them if the dwarves chose this moment to betray them. Still, with dwarves even on the ground...

Coaul made the decision simple, by beginning his ascent before Garon could formulate a workable plan. He reached out a hand, as if to snatch the other man from the air, but let his arm drop to his side in resignation; if the dwarves wanted them dead, they would die, and there was little Garon could do about it. They were outnumbered profoundly, and the dwarves were better-equipped than they. It made him uncomfortable to consider, but the Throalic emissaries were probably also vastly better-trained and had been hardened by battles in the outside world.

Garon called up to Caoul, his voice tense. "Caution, shepherd," he said warningly, and hoped the other man would know he meant more than just care taken with the climb. Still, there was only so much he could do, only so many places he could be, only so many battles he could fight. Garon ground his teeth, the massive muscles alongside his square jaw working silently. Caoul could handle himself reasonably well in a straight-up fistfight - though the kaer was largely peaceful, children will be children, and Caoul had been no less restless, and perhaps moreso, than any of the rest of them when he was younger - but if a pitched battle ensued atop the net, he would quickly be overwhelmed. Garon would have preferred the wizard to climb first, for the other man was quite adept at sorcery, but in many ways, Isil was more valuable for the future than either of them.

Trust, Garon thought, and for the first time in his life, the word seemed alien. These were strangers, the only ones he'd ever met, and now he must entrust himself and his companions to their care. His right hand tight against the age-worn hilt of his ancestors' sword, Garon tried to watch both the ascending Caoul and the clearing itself; though no battle seemed imminent, Garon refused to assume this peace would continue.

As his eyes scanned the horizon, he said quietly to Isil, "I follow you, if you no mind." His eyes twitched to the dwarves standing near them, and he saw Isil, always perceptive, notice the movement. He would know Garon's caution, and it's cause; it only remained to see if he would share it.

"Yes, of course... Into the dragon's belly! Hah!" Isil grins and laughs at his own joke to cover his trepidation, takes a few deep breaths and grabs hold of the cargo net. He starts up the net, climbs perhaps twelve feet, then makes the mistake of looking down.

Turning green enough to blend in with the forest around them, he holds still in the net for a moment, closes his eyes and starts muttering quietly to himself and swaying slightly. He climbs the rest of the net with his eyes closed, flopping onto the deck of the airship at first opportunity. He spends a few seconds laying on his back, before rising to his feet.

He stays as far back from the railing as he can and looks to Caoul. "Do you want to call Garon up?"

Now was the telling moment. No attack had come thus far, so the only enemy Garon need fight was altitude. Built mostly of tunnels on one level, the kaer had possessed no height such as this; the only place that came close was the terraces of the gardens, which Garon had been sworn not to ascend since he came into his growth. With great trepidation, he slid his family sword into the scabbard on his back, and gripped the rope net tightly. It was made of something stronger and finer than the coarse plant twine of the kaer, which flexed but did not stretch under his weight.

Garon cast a wary eye on Junipero, who returned his look with one of understanding. Through her constant smile, she said, "I'm a girl of the earth, too, brother, but I promise the sky won't kill you. Just think of what you'll see!" She laughed and gestured upward.

"See my breakfast, I will," he muttered, but nevertheless he took the cords in both hands and pulled himself off the ground. The ship above listed, just as if it were a vessel in water, and he could hear laughing and jostling as the dwarves above re-arranged themselves on deck to compensate for his weight; it took quite a bit of shuffling, given that Garon weighed as much as any four of even the stockiest dwarves. Gamely, he climbed, hand over hand, foot over foot, trying not to look down or think of anything but the ropes before him. His breath quickened, air coming quick and shallow past his spade-like teeth. His hands were white on the net, and it took a force of will each time to loosen his grip to ascend.

Before he knew it, though, the rail lowered across his vision, bringing with it sight of the deck, and the waiting dwarves. "Not so bad, eh?" said one of the deckhands in passing, and Garon was forced to agree with him. Though a few waiting offered him their hands, he feared pulling them over the side, and so took it upon himself to get over the rail and finally onto the deck, where he finally stopped to look around.

As Garon stood Junipero, and the last of the dwarven emissaries, came over the rails. A loud whistle shrilled, and the three young men could see a deck hand next to a large wheel with a silver-gold whistle in his hands. As he blew out three short shrill bursts, and a single lengthy harmonic burst the dwarven deck hands burst into action. Ropes were hauled up, and the dwarves equipment was brought over the rails, flags were unfurled, and the main sail was adjusted as the ship lurched forward and upwards at the same time.

Each young man could feel his stomach protest as the ship swayed both from side to side, but also to and fro, and up and down! Garon's face briefly discolored, but few noticed how hard he clenched his jaws shut. Junipero and the other dwarven visitors quickly began sorting their equipment for stowage, when the men heard a loud rending noise. They quickly realized that the dwarves had never pulled up the stakes that held the cargo nets steady so that they could climb, instead they had simply allowed the ships movement to pull it out of the ground! A work detail quickly pulled the net, which still held the stakes, over the rail, rolling it up and stowing it, showing the stakes in a barrel that seemed exclusively just for that purpose.

Junipero turned to the three young men and held her arms open wide. "Welcome to the sky! While she can be a fickle mistress, she is wondrous in her beauty and unparalleled in her majesty!" She nimbly made her way to the Bow, as the deck hands unfurled the jib sail. "Come! Come see the world like you've never seen it before, but surely as Floranuus must have meant for name givers to see it!" She stopped at the very far edge fo the forecastle near the bowspirit, which was shaped like a winged serpent-ornately decorated, painted and carved.

Coaul calls Garon up as he smiles at Junipero. He thens take a look, pleasantly surprised, when the ship takes off.

As the Skyship sailed forward they could see the land beneath them, spread out like a child's playthings. Junipero sat on the edge of the rail, one leg kicked out for balance on the bowspirit.

"As a child I dreamt of this." She sighed, and relaxed slightly, her shoulders sagging. Her face still held a small smile, but it was much more intimate, reserved. Almost conspiratorial." My da' had a great book of stories, compiled through the years by our family, each generation adding their own stories to it. So many wondrous stories, but it was the ones from before the great Scourge that captivated me. Stories of great cities, and greater heroes, who soared through the skies on the airships!"

"I would take the empty crates that we stored tubers in, and pile them high with baskets and blankets attached to brooms for sails. My mother and Nana would laugh as I told them fabulous stories. Imagine my surprise when construction on the first of these started!" Junipero turned towards them, looking them each in the eye. "I hope this voyage is as wondrous for you as it has been so far from me!"

Still captivated by the world below, Coaul responds with a soft "Aye." to Junipero's desire.

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful." Isil says it without much conviction and a sidelong glance at the edge of the ship, which he is staying well away from.

After a moment of searching for something to think about other than the distance between the ship and the ground, he collects himself a little.

"Does Throal have many of these ships?"

"Many more than some suspect, but not nearly enough." Junipero's eyes darken slightly, and lose their focus slightly. It's clear that she's remembering something unpleasant. For a brief second she falls silent, but then her smile returns, although slightly more forced than before. "King Varulus and Prince Neden have great plans for these ships, and unlike the Theran's it doesn't involve the conquest of all people's not already under our yoke!" Her words are spoken with conviction, her face flushed her hands clenched at her sides.

"It is our hope by sharing our technology with all, that we can lift everyone up-not just a select few!"

In the earliest stories of creation told by the trolls of Kaer PorBajin, the first children of creation - the Humans, Windlings, Elves, and T'Skrang - were disappointments for the First Mother. They were too flighty, too quick, too light. The Orcs, she felt, were an improvement, but they were too ruled by quick passions; the Dwarves were more pleasing still, and showed the way to her favored children: the Trolls and Obsidimen. They were creatures of the Earth, deep and slow and powerful, and the First Mother rejoiced.

Like most such stories, it has lost the way of truth through retelling; still, like most, it contains a kernel of truth. The Obsidimen and Trolls, to this day, address each other as "rock brother," showing their own visions of origin share at least this trait. A life spent in his element, deep within the ground, with sky and light and openness just figures in the Book of Tomorrow, had left Garon comfortable within the womb of his mother, and this birth into the cold and open world cut him deeply.

And still. And still. Standing on the deck of this ship, far above the Mother, moving at these dizzying speeds, awakened something within him. Though his memories of the man were brief and hazed, Garon's recollection of his grandfather consisted largely of the legends which had so captivated the old man's imagination, those of the Trollmoots of the northlands and their breaktaking airships. Garon's ancestors had come, originally, from the great Trollhome Mountains, who in some manner lost to time had come to be within this kaer so far from their homes.

Something in the blood sang to him, some memory of sky and air and speed, of taking hold of those things most against your nature, and overcoming them, defeating them, facing them, not only without fear, but with joy. The sky shook above him, deafening him with its stillness, and he could not resist, did not want to resist, the laugh that boomed within him. His mouth gaped, and he roared with laughter, with the joy of facing fear. Some of the dwarves looked askance - more than one shielded their ears from the intensity of sound - but others exchanged knowing smiles and winks.

Junipero looked most offended, and he realized immediately his laugh had come just at the end of her words. He quieted slowly, waving a hand to her as he tapered off. "No offense, no offense. I do not laugh at you. It is just..." Words failed him; he was overwhelmed. For lack of superior alternative, he gestured broadly at the horizon. "...just this!"

Junipero and the others couldn't help but smile at the Troll's new found enthusiasm. Around them the decks were alive with activity, the skies were clear and pristine for miles. For a brief few seconds they all sat in silence as the ship plowed through the sky. Finally Junipero hopped down from the bow spirit and said, "Come, let me show you to your cabin. You'll, of course, have free range of the whole ship, except the captains quarters!"

Coaul blinks and quickly draws himself away from the beautiful sight, "Alright. You may show me to my room."

Junipero showed them below decks, gracefully descending the ladderwells just ahead of the mainsail.  Sailors made way for her and the small party of adventurers, curiosity alive and well in their eyes. As she showed them their cabin Junipero smiled. "I hope this will do." Clearly this was better quarters than even she had aboard this ship.

Coaul peers about the chambers, tilting his head slightly as his gaze falls upon the perching avian. Coaul is bemused and he begins fumbling about his pockets for something he believes birds might like, "Seems like someone already made himself at home."

Garon's eyes widened until it seemed they might swallow his head. He'd never seen such a small animal, nor anything so quick; it hopped about on the sill of the port, air-light and fire-quick, eying them with as much curiosity as they eyed him, if indeed it was male. The animal's head tilted with Coaul's, and Garon had to stifle a laugh; could the Beastmaster's influence extend so far?

"A bird?" he said quietly. In the kaer, there'd been reading material enough for a lifetime, but many of the works were beyond his ken. The Book of Tomorrow, on the other hand, had been written for even the most fitful reader, and it spoke of the animals and plants of the outside world. The small drawings and brief text hadn't prepared him for the reality of what truly must be a small songbird, something he'd never truly dreamed to see.

As the three young men settle into their bunks, the bird chirps, twisting it's head to the side looking at them with what seemed like curiosity. As they settled onto their hammocks, wondering what came next the bird spontaneously burst into song. For a brief second they were each floored by it's almost magical tune, but just as suddenly the door burst open and a dwarf summoned them to main deck for dinner, and introductions.

Coaul's eyes burst visibly from his face as the knock and barging-in jolt him out of his childish fascination. He gives the dwarf a surprised look, quipping out from gaping lips, "Dinner?! Right! ...We will be out come shortly."

"Food... Urgh..." Isil grimaces and takes a deep breath, and then struggles to put on a pleasant smile before heading up to the deck.

Garon smiled at his companion's discomfort. On deck, the dwarf-sized railings made standing about a perilous task for a troll, but in here, he could safely gaze out the window without any concern; his head wouldn't even fit through the porthole. Though his air legs might be some time in coming, his epiphany on deck left him suffused with an enthusiasm that was just short of being dangerous. "Come!" he said, with something like glee. "We now eat!"

It was pretty much unlike any meal they'd ever had-both in content, and form. Half of the dwarves came and went, taking bites here, swilling down beer from pewter steins there-but always attentive to their duty stations. The dwarves who who did stay, certainly didn't sit still. They danced. They sang. They feasted.

Each Dwarf seemed to have a unique talent. Some juggled. Others sang. Some played musical instruments. A few used magical talents to animate food and drink alike, manipulating the very elements that held the universe together! As the ship soared through the sky, the stars seemed larger than life, and endless.

It soon became apparent that this show served several purposes-it helped maintain morale, but it also was meant as invitation to them. To participate. To be a part of something, but not bound by it.

Coaul, supposing it would be better to mingle than to watch, joins in on the festivities after grabbing a bite to eat. When the opportunity presents itself, he performs a acrobatic dance taught to him by his master imitating the movements of a most silly gibbon. When the dance is done, Coaul bows and retreats behind his more social companions.

Garon watched the proceedings with growing trepidation. Ever since the first comings of the Horrors, namegivers had embraced artistic expression as a basic diagnostic of Horror possession. While someone marked by a Horror could still craft works of art, as the corruption took hold on their soul they lost the ability to create beauty. Thus, while someone who had recently been Horror-marked could indeed paint a beautiful scene, doing so was impossible for anyone deep in the clutches of a Horror.

Within the kaers, constant proof and reproof of freedom from taint became a way of life, even long after such a diagnostic was needed. Lack of raw materials for such endless artistic expression had led to the custom, in Kaer PorBajin, of making the Namegiver the canvas; self-painting and tattooing were common. Garon, though, had never found much interest in either. Deeply against the wishes of his mother, whose fear of blood magic and injury and infection anything that might harm her last surviving child were endless, Garon embraced instead the art of scarification.

Some in the kaer had found this distasteful, as well, although Garon was certainly not alone. His father had warned him of their reactions, but it wasn't until Kalf had pulled him aside at the end of training one day that he had realized how deep some fears ran. She explained that, before the Scourge, some had used self-injury to power their magics, but that doing so had made their corruption easier; the Horrors, like dogs drawn to cookfires, were drawn to the pain, and fed from it.

This did not worry Garon. The tiny Windling dagger he'd used for years couldn't possibly cause him pain; the winding whorls he carved in his flesh were barely noticeable to him, beneath the deep flesh of a Troll. Still, the fears remained, and with few exceptions, Garon kept the process of his scarification to himself; the effects he could not hide, as his arms and face were favored areas for carving.

Artistic skills were not necessarily performance skills, though, and this was the source of Garon's trepidation. It was rapidly growing clear that the dwarves expected them to have some sort of performance to give, and it was true that most people had some skill that availed them to public performance. Such was not Garon's way, though; he had no gift with words, no voice for singing, no head for music, and while he supposed he could have learned to dance, he had certainly not done so yet.

Following Coaul's jumping, capering performance, there was an air of expectation, as if now they thought perhaps their other guests might perform. Garon looked to Isil, but the man simply gave him a mischievous smile. Garon spitted him with eyes like daggers, but that merely broadened the other man's smile. "Fine. Me first," Garon muttered, and stood.

The constantly-shifting group of dwarves drew back, anticipating his need for space. The airship shot like a fired arrow through the night sky, sails whipping and ropes flailing through the dark. There was little room on-deck, and for a moment, Garon thought what he intended might be impossible, but the rising expectation - the longer he stood here, the quieter and more intense the attentions of the dwarves - finally made him relent.

In the center of the vague empty space formed by the roaming dwarves, Garon stood tall and closed his eyes. He breathed out, and out, and out, clearing his lungs of warm, used air, and then drew in a massive breath, inflating his chest, drawing his head back, making him light-headed with energy. With a silent grace belying his size, Garon reached behind him and slowly drew his massive ancestral blade.

Ordinarily, his next step would be to extend his senses outward, to locate his adversary and take the blinding, bashing movements which would eliminate him, but this time, he reached out for the empty spaces, picturing them in his mind, hearing the places where no one sat, feeling them on his skin. In the space before him, he imagined the fiercest, most capable adversary he knew: Kalf, his teacher, a Warrior of great skill and ability. He pictured her whole, her weapons and armor, her long legs and short, bashing orc-arms. His eyes closed, he could see her before him as clearly as if she were not miles away and below.

His eyes snapped open with a nearly-audible click, and his massive body swirled into motion. He kept his elbows in, his sword close; all his opponents were shorter than he, and attacking on a high line left his body exposed. Two short chops blocked her sword blows, and he struck out, taking her on the shoulder, a glancing wound which would not slow her. She drew back, and he leaped to pursue before she could regroup.

All about the boat they fought, her invisible, him immense and yet oddly graceful. As the battle grew more fierce, he began to tumble, leap, and twirl, making acrobatic moves that he would never indulge in if the battle were true. Magic suffused his being, and he glided over the surface of the deck, barely touching it here or there before launching into the air, or tumbling along the rail, or sliding along a sails'-line. The great crystal sword, too heavy for some present even to lift, soared through the air like a butterfly, never nicking a line or approaching a witness; in his hands, it was the lightest rapier dancing. Even those who had seen him fight before were surprised; this was far beyond the simple drunk-bashing Garon did in the guard, far beyond even his yearly examinations; only in private with Kalf had he allowed himself to range so far outside the bounds of standard combat convention.

Drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his blocky head, he finally brought it to an end with a great leap to the top of the cabin, and a coup de grace that, though surely not capable of defeating the real Kalf, was impressive for his audience. He bowed with a flourish, caught up in the moment, racing through the night, chilled with sweat, many hundreds of feet above the embrace of his earth mother. Spent and yet somehow infused with energy, he leaped down to the deck to the cheers and back-clapping of the dwarves.

Something was coming awake in him, something quick and smooth, something of power and presence. He ached to fight, to wear himself away against his enemies, to hone himself; he wanted to soar above the earth forever with nothing but his sword and his passions and his power. Birthed from the kaer, Garon was coming alive.

Isil claps for Garon's masterful performance, and slowly stands, leaning against a nearby mast for support.

"I am a historian. My father was a historian, and his father before him, and his father before him and his father too. We keep the lore of the Kaer, and the memory of the world that was... that is... outside of it with us. One of the lores taught to us is the Story of Founding, of how we came to live in PorBajin and how we survived and what happened..."

Isil steps away from the mast and begins to weave the tale. It is a well-practiced story told in regular metre, half-chant, half-poem, with call-response sections that Garon and Caoul know well.

It tells the tale of the ancient founders' journey, and the Horrors they overcame or tricked or fled before they reached the Kaer, and how they founded the council, and of the Starving Times and the legend of the Architect and the Forgotten Pit, and the chaos of the Great Struggle, how Durek Crackfinder crawled to the centre of the earth but could never return, and how the magical blade Horrorsbane took command of Trien's soul and nearly convinced him to open the Kaer's doors to slay all the Horrors in the land.

Isil is a gifted storyteller though he rarely looks at the audience as he speaks. Instead he stares off into the night sky, as if the stars themselves depicted the stories he told. Just as he finishes the tale of Trien, with Trien wandering off into the darkness of the deep caverns to find another way, refusing to give up the struggle against the Horrors, a single shooting star crosses the heavens, and keen-eyed Isil points up to it as a final flourish.

Isil claps for Garon's masterful performance, and slowly stands, leaning against a nearby mast for support.

"I am a historian. My father was a historian, and his father before him, and his father before him and his father too. We keep the lore of the Kaer, and the memory of the world that was... that is... outside of it with us. One of the lores taught to us is the Story of Founding, of how we came to live in PorBajin and how we survived and what happened..."

Isil steps away from the mast and begins to weave the tale. It is a well-practiced story told in regular metre, half-chant, half-poem, with call-response sections that Garon and Caoul know well.

It tells the tale of the ancient founders' journey, and the Horrors they overcame or tricked or fled before they reached the Kaer, and how they founded the council, and of the Starving Times and the legend of the Architect and the Forgotten Pit, and the chaos of the Great Struggle, how Durek Crackfinder crawled to the centre of the earth but could never return, and how the magical blade Horrorsbane took command of Trien's soul and nearly convinced him to open the Kaer's doors to slay all the Horrors in the land.

Isil is a gifted storyteller though he rarely looks at the audience as he speaks. Instead he stares off into the night sky, as if the stars themselves depicted the stories he told. Just as he finishes the tale of Trien, with Trien wandering off into the darkness of the deep caverns to find another way, refusing to give up the struggle against the Horrors, a single shooting star crosses the heavens, and keen-eyed Isil points up to it as a final flourish.

Isil claps for Garon's masterful performance, and slowly stands, leaning against a nearby mast for support.

"I am a historian. My father was a historian, and his father before him, and his father before him and his father too. We keep the lore of the Kaer, and the memory of the world that was... that is... outside of it with us. One of the lores taught to us is the Story of Founding, of how we came to live in PorBajin and how we survived and what happened..."

Isil steps away from the mast and begins to weave the tale. It is a well-practiced story told in regular metre, half-chant, half-poem, with call-response sections that Garon and Caoul know well.

It tells the tale of the ancient founders' journey, and the Horrors they overcame or tricked or fled before they reached the Kaer, and how they founded the council, and of the Starving Times and the legend of the Architect and the Forgotten Pit, and the chaos of the Great Struggle, how Durek Crackfinder crawled to the centre of the earth but could never return, and how the magical blade Horrorsbane took command of Trien's soul and nearly convinced him to open the Kaer's doors to slay all the Horrors in the land.

Isil is a gifted storyteller though he rarely looks at the audience as he speaks. Instead he stares off into the night sky, as if the stars themselves depicted the stories he told. Just as he finishes the tale of Trien, with Trien wandering off into the darkness of the deep caverns to find another way, refusing to give up the struggle against the Horrors, a single shooting star crosses the heavens, and keen-eyed Isil points up to it as a final flourish.

As the meal wound down, the three young name givers are not quite surprised to find that it's late into the night. The winds have slowly started to pick up, buffeting the air ship from side to side. As the dwarves cleared the remains of the meal, they also began fastening down loose gear and materials aboard the ship.

Wearily returning to their cabins the young name givers stretched out in the bunks, each quietly examining their own thoughts as they drifted off to sleep...

Sleep didn't come easy to any of the three, restless they each rocked to and fro in their hammock style bunks as the ship cut a path through the sky. The air was crisper up this high, cooler-and fresher than anything they'd ever breathed. As each finally drifted off to sleep they wondered what adventures lay ahead of them.

Coaul, experiencing a fitful sleep, awakens Isil sometime during the night, whispering, "Should we take a look around?"

Isil rubs his eyes. "I can't sleep anyway. Might as well look around." He steps out of the hammock and stretches before looking over to Garon and back to Caoul. "We should let him get his sleep."

Garon's hammock had been hastily assembled from several dwarven hammocks, and it still didn't really fit him; his legs, bent at the knee, hung over either side of the end of the bunk, and his head was still at the very edge of the netting. In the first moments he'd tried it, he'd considered just sleeping on the unsteady floor, but sleep took him before he could bother; the excitement of the day, combined with the peace he felt aloft, put him immediately into a deep, restful slumber.

His dreams were powerful, unnaturally real. He felt himself dance from cloud to cloud, his ancestral crystal sword in hand. Energy radiated from it, strings of force empowering him as he leapt through the sky. Joy suffused his being, and his muscles felt charged, anxious to fight, to strive. He had never known anything like this freedom, this openness, this power.

Garon rolled over in his net, a smile on his broad lips. He slept the sleep of a new world.

As Caoul wakens he can hear the rain that has started, washing over the ship. As he stirs, Isil awakens too, looking over at Caoul he shakes the sleep off.

"I can't sleep anyway. Might as well look around." He steps out of the hammock and stretches before looking over to Garon and back to Caoul. "We should let him get his sleep."

Caoul nods, and for a brief second the two simply stare out the small porthole at the rain. Both had read about it, but other than a few small artificially generated showers at the lattice farms neither had really seen rain on this scale before. As the two start towards the hatch that leads out and upward a shrill whistle breaks the near silence! Exchanging brief glances the two wonder briefly what it means, when suddenly dwarven cries of alarm answer that question.

"Alarm!"

"Incoming Raiders!"

"To arms! To arms!"

"Man your battle stations"

Garon shifts in the undersized hammock, and before he can finish rousing he is suddenly thrown to the ground as the ship slams hard to the starboard side. A thunderous explosion throws Caoul and Isil to the ground as well, as the ship dangerously tilts starboard. Cannon fire splits through the night air, some coming from the ship they're on-bit others from afar. Through the porthole they can see gout's of flame ripping through the night sky.

Clearly they were under attack.

Imagined flight becomes briefly real as Garon falls from his bunk; the rough wooden decking rises to meet his face with a sharp crack which would have left another man with a fractured skull or at least abrasions, but the skin of a troll is a thick, leathery thing, full of calcium deposits and hardened to the world. Still, he was no more immune to bruising than anyone else, and this one would be noteable.

He came awake quickly, his senses sharp. Something of his dream bled into reality, and the urge to do battle was very, very strong. He stumbled to his armor as the airship rocked beneath him; comfort aboard ship was one thing, but his air legs were not yet with him. Twice while shrugging into his armor, he fell, and it was only after the second time, when he heard Isil's sharp intake of breath, that the others occurred to him.

He was furious with himself. He'd let himself get too consumed by his own internal sensations, and had forgotten, if only for a moment, his purpose: to keep these two safe. There was little he could tell the kaer of the conditions outside that these could not, but they - with their unique skills and knowledge of magic and fauna - were essential to the eventual survival of their community.

He took his ancestral sword by the hilt and let the biting touch of its rough crystal hilt punish him into adherence. He used the sword as a crutch, to lever himself up against the swaying deck, and said simply, "Come." He looked into the eyes of the other men, and was pleased by what he saw there. Truly, in these two at least, the council had chosen well.

Isil struggles to buckle his armour on as the ship rocks and shakes.

All he can think about is that he has absolutely no idea what makes an airship fly - what subtle and delicate part keeps the whole thing aloft and is no doubt even now being shattered in thousand pieces by... After a moment, his fear eats itself, and he takes on a look of grim determination as he affirms to do anything other than plummet to his death on a falling airship.

The last buckle is in place, and he looks to the door. "We have to get on deck, Garon. Get us up there!"

Coaul stirs at long lost, shaken by all too sudden jolt of the airship, the continous din, and the sight of orange-red tongues of flame. Still callow in great ways, he puts his trust in big Garon to lead the way to safety, "Yes! Garon, please!"

Charged by their courage and confidence, Garon rolled his shoulders beneath his leather armor and brought his sword up. Gently, he placed the flat of the blade against his forehead and concentrated briefly. He'd done this many times before, but he realized just now he'd never truly needed to; this was the first time in his life that'd he'd had to fight for his own survival. Kalf had prepared him well; he knew nothing of fear, but also refused to give in to the passionate call of battle rage. We walked the thin line between.

The bright crystal and dark metal of his grandfather's sword was cool against his bare head, and he concentrated on that sensation, the touch of steel on skin, the skin itself, how it held to his bones and muscles, how it pulled tight against his joints. He felt every inch of it, focused on altering it, matching the hardness of his heart with the hardness of his skin.

In moments, it was as if he were hewn from finest mahogany, its grain rippling across his skin like living wood. Now he was ready. Now he would face them.

Without a word, only a proud and excited look back, Garon led the way onto the deck.

Garon's size was an immediate disadvantage on board the ship, this became clear very quickly. Their movement was slow, but steady-made difficult by the narrow passageways, and by the sudden listing of the ship from side to side as cannon shots impacted it. More than once they were forced to take another route by frantic dwarves who were loading fireshot into cannons, or hauling it to the deck; or performing damage control. Once they had to stop as a cannon shot slammed through the wall in front of them, nearly slamming into Garon, who was hit with shrapnel.

As they came out of the forecastle and onto the deck they could see that chaos had broken out, Trolls were on the deck, each decked out on black leathers with bright and shining crystal swords and axes. Each troll was fighting several dwarves, who were vainly trying to defend the firecannons on the main deck. At the same time rounds were slamming into the ship from the four Troll Drakkar's  that had taken position alongside the starboard side. Two were firing, the other two were trying to disembark more Troll warriors onto the deck.

They saw Junipero on the deck directing the battle. She saw the three young men and concern flashed across her eyes.

The first step onto the broad deck came with a sigh of relief from Garon; the tight confines of the belowdecks made even movement difficult for Garon, and would have made any kind of combat involving his sword - itself longer than any dwarf - nearly impossible. The sight of the combat raging on the deck was no better, though, although at least it had the grace to expose what had, below, been concealed: four drakkars - Garon knew them from his grandfather's tales - full of raiding trolls.

Some part of him rushed across the intervening space, knocked a few attackers from their perches to fall, screaming, into the darkness, lept across the open space to take and hold the drakkar as his own. Fortunately, despite the flights of his fancy, his body remained rooted in place, concealing the belowdecks door behind his bulk.

He put his back to the combat, crowding Isil and Caoul but keeping them guarded. Over the din of combat, but not so loud as to alert their enemies, Garon asked urgently, "Can you cast spells, without --" he made a gesture, indicating madness, or the explosion of one's head; it was difficult to tell. "Is the magic here broke?"

He castigated himself for not asking the other man before now, before it mattered. They'd been too lulled by the dwarves' ways to do the job they'd been sent to do: assess the survivability of this world. But recriminations were for later: right now, he needed to know what Isil could bring to the combat. He had no doubt about Caoul's combat ability; provided the man didn't freeze up or do anything foolish, he'd be perfectly safe, given his barehanded fighting skills, which were probably as great or greater than Garon's own. But if Isil could not use magic, a great advantage would be lost.

Coaul slowly regains his composure admist the clash, realizing that his two companions need him now more than ever. He turns to Isil and speaks, "Any ideas? Probably not wise to charge right into the thicks of things."

Isil's looks a little nervous as Garon makes the head-exploding gesture. "I think I'll be able to use magic. But we may not need to..." He looks out over the battle, lost in thought for a moment.

"Down! We've got to take it down, out of the line of those things!" He shouts and points at the cannons on the drakkars. He turns to Caoul "Get Junipero over to the helm. I've got a plan." A moment later after a particularly nasty shot, he goes dashing for the helm himself.

When he gets there, he starts shouting for the helmsmen to get the ship moving.

Coaul replies, "Certainly." Then bowing his head a little in Junipero's direction, he directs her to follow him, nearly running on all fours as he bobs and weaves from cover to cover, hopefully with the dwarf in tow.

"Down! We've got to take it down, out of the line of those things!" He shouts and points at the cannons on the drakkars. He turns to Caoul "Get Junipero over to the helm. I've got a plan." A moment later after a particularly nasty shot, he goes dashing for the helm himself.

When he gets there, he starts shouting for the helmsmen to get the ship moving. The helmsman, confused simply follows Isil's orders, and starts moving the wheel that controlled their elevation. The ship suddenly lurched downward, throwing the combatants about the deck; some keeping their footing others losing it and rolling down the deck.

The ship rocked as another fire cannon hit slammed home. One of the dwarves next to Isil screamed in panic, "Fire! The starboard rudder is afire! Damage control crews!"

Coaul's eyes widen as his head twirls and eyes fall upon the conflagration. For a moment, the lad feels like abandoning ship but then realizing that he is many feet up into the air, Coaul instead leaps off the helm deck and towards the blaze and crewman, shouting "What can I do?! What can I do to help?!"

The urge for battle warred against the desire to protect his companions. The two had split up, now, Isil on the helm deck, and Coaul dashing toward the fire burning to starboard. He briefly questioned which one to follow, but then realized the point was moot: the ship was small enough that he could be to the side of either of them, or anyone else, within seconds.

Trying to keep a watchful eye for anyone preparing to assault his companions, Garon scanned the crowd of combatants for the dwarf who appeared to be in the most peril, and took a running leap for his enemy, sword held high, eyes gleaming, a grin at his lips.

Coaul remembered himself shortly after reaching the blaze and thought better of offering poor assistance to experts when there were lives he was more capable of saving. With his fists clenched, he meets the boarding troll warband and throws a monstrous right cross at the first to cross his path.

Isil quickly realises that the best way to smother the fire will be to free dwarves for it. He unsheathes his sword, and flicks his free hand at the nearest troll, sorcerous power weaving through the air.

Coaul is taken aback when he strikes nothing but air, but the youth quickly regains his muster and dons a defensive fighting stance, waiting in anticipation for his foe's rebuttal.