Flashback I Believe There's a Storm a-Brewin'

[Azmere]

13th of Spring, 512 AV
5th Bell

Summary :

Riverfall was hit by the storm on the 1st of Spring per this. Below is an account of what happened to Endrykas and the Sea of Grass.

Sea of Grass/Endrykas – Written by Lariat

Cyphrus
Flora and Fauna

-Vast tracts of grass have been decimated making finding food for the horses and Zibri to feed on incredibly difficult, and gathering even more so.

-In contrast the well worn caravan paths that wind themselves through the grassland have vanished without a trace, its well worn roads covered by thick grass, and with them the great stone megaliths that used to serve as markers have tumbled apart, transmuted into valuable ores precious to the grass.

-The large migratory herd of Zibri the drykas follows has been largely thinned out, and even with those Zibri on the surface, a goodly portion of them have been left infertile, or tainted with madness.

-The wildlife that survived the storm are much more aggressive and territorial.

-Snarlwings are even more common of late with death abounding in the grass, and quite more aggressive attacking any creature or sentient being on sight.

-Glassbeaks sighted are slightly fewer and almost always in packs of two to three. Those that had survived the djed storm are proportionately larger on average, and slightly faster.

Endrykas

News arrived to the drykas from Riverfall about the approaching calamity barely in time, but despite this a majority of the families making up the city managed to make it under ground in time to avoid the devastation, though many families traveling separate of Endrykas find themselves unaccounted for and thus assumed dead until proven otherwise.

As it applies to the drykas:

-For a ten-day the drykas stay underground checking the web often for answers as they wait to see if another wave of death passes over the land. Food rationing goes into effect, and diets mostly consist of the lichen and water that can be found underground.

-Food will be increasingly hard to come by as hunting has become even more dangerous, and foraging a risky business with some plants entire makeup changed with the passing of the magic.

-Significant portions of the web have collapsed during the storm furthering the confusion, and making gathering information as to what happened that much more difficult.

-The webbers to have been 'walking' the web at that time died in the process when their souls became trapped on the web leaving their bodies empty.

-Drykas that survived on the surface as devastation racked the land have found themselves shorn from the web, no longer attached, and similarly find that they have lost the ability to use any magic they might have commanded.

-In the same respect, Striders caught outside in the wild djed storm find themselves no longer able to draw energy from the web, and some even have become even more wild creatures, the keen intelligence they once possessed long gone, and leaving them untamed creatures. Infertility rates among those striders caught in the wild djed storm also happen to be high.

As it applies to the Zith:

-Rising in the wake of the devastation from their caves and underground tunnels, the zith find their hunting parties vanished without a trace within the following days, but more than that they notice a distinct lack of presence on the grass, and with that knowledge begin growing bolder. Attacks on separated drykas families moving through the grass become more common and with that so do attacks on those with larger numbers.

“Storm’s coming.” A weathered hand went up to emphasize just how big of disturbance was to be expected. The dichromatic stare shifted from his leader and grandfather, a well-respected member of the Diamond clan, to the deep ball of hurt flying off the far horizon. Azmere had never seen clouds so black and they were still a day or two out from the city. There was a very serious air that hung over his people but the young man didn’t feel it. He didn’t bear the weight that so many carried. The worst part was that he didn’t realize how much of a disadvantage that attitude would become.

“The Father of Storms carries the wrath of the gods across the world. We must find our brothers and sisters in the grass and lead them to safety.” More talking, more instructions. Azmere couldn’t focus on what was being said. He did know that the clouds roiling in the distance called to him. Asmodeus had volunteered his only grandson and heir to the clan for a civic duty; a service of dire importance. That didn’t matter so much as the lights that chased one another through the folds of Zulrav’s funeral robes. The mighty bringer of thunder was not messing around this time. The scarred Drykas just stared into the clouds, the heat of a lightning strike from years ago warmed his face. As fate would have it, or luck, Azmere tuned in just in time to hear some vital tidbits of information before the group dispersed. “Get underground. Stay out of flood basins and avoid the hollars where the spearbacks rest. Most of all, listen to your striders- they will guide you.”

That last bit brought a smile to the right side of the young man’s face. The left side was paralyzed by a mask of scars which turned his sapphire eye to a golden flame but it was something he’d come to accept in the years following the accident. The man responsible for most of that confidence finished speaking with the leader of the Diamond clan then walked over to his grown grandson. The men embraced with a hug in which the old man took Azmere’s head in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Ride hard, Azmere. We are Stormbloods.” The words ceased and the young man looked his ankal in the eye, eager to receive his commission. “Don’t fear the winds and the clouds.” His finger came up and pointed directly in Azmere’s face. “But respect the power of the gods and listen to your strider.” A second kiss was planted and then the elder of the clans joined the rest of the wise men and set off on their own tasks.

Endrykas was alive, as always, but when perilous conditions arose, there was never anyone who rested or slacked behind. As a people, the Drykas were hard and smart which was reflected in how they dealt with the coming calamity. Pavilions were being knocked down as word spread of the impending beating that was coming across the Sea of Grass. The children of the wind could handle such things. They had survived after the Valterrian for centuries underground in the belly of Semele. Once again, she would be called upon to harbor the horseclans.

Azmere ran off to where Hephiestian was grazing -always eating. The young warrior took his bow, double checked his quiver for a count - twenty-four - and then mounted himself into the yvas. The side bags were packed, rucksack was loaded for bare and his backpack almost never left him. A sudden realization that he was doing something important struck Azmere and he looked up to the sky to whisper a prayer to his gods. “Father Zulrav, don’t wash me away in your fury. Great Mother, please give me shelter when I am in need.” As riders tore off in various directions to find and secure the outlying pavilions, the young Stormblood remained on his mouth with arms outstretched to the sky and eyes closed. Reverence to the gods was important… so was calming one’s nerves.

[Anja Nightwatcher]

The Nightwatcher’s pavilion was on the far outskirts when warnings came screaming through the web of a terrifying storm building in the distance. In truth, Anja hadn’t needed a warning of it. The storm was still days away yet, but the spiritist already could feel the charge in the air that spoke of the monstrosity yet to come. The hateful black clouds in the far distance hardly offered any comfort either.

A biting wind tore across the grass as the pavilion swarmed to their works, a perfectly honed instrument of efficiency, graceful and calculating. Although smaller perhaps than many of their neighbors, the Nightwatchers were no less coordinated, and it had taken scarcely a chime of warning before each and every Drykas were hard at work, dismantling tents, herding zebris, and preparing their great yellow pavilion for transport. Nervous energy permeated throughout, and even Anja soon found his hands trembling to hard to hold a tent pole.

The man paused to take a slow, even breath. Under his breath he murmured a prayer, first to his patron Dira, then another to his other revered goddess, Kihala.

“Oh two prayers. You must be really nervous.”

Anja opened one eye to see a pair of bright blue eyes, attached to the features of a beautiful grinning smile and long dark hair. Syla was always ten times the optimism of Anja, and always exactly what he needed.

“You do know nervousness is expected considering the situation?” Anja told his wife.

The beautiful former sverfra slave shrugged. “We always manage through. Don’t we?”

Anja squeezed his wife’s shoulder, then pecked her forehead with a kiss. “That we do,” he agreed.
Anja, his specialization hardly useful at the moment, found both himself and his wife another set of hands. Their son, Lok, was only seven, but his talent with dogs had him on the other side of camp, working with Anja’s cousin to see the zebri herded. Within an hour, the camp was dismantled, and all were ready to head out.

Anja whistled for Rivian, and the gold and black strider bounced to him, every ounce of muscle twitching like an ever eager puppy dog. The strider was bouncing so much in anticipation that Anja had to rap him irritably on the shoulder with his knuckles so he’d stay still long enough to mount. Syla had a far easier time with it, her Kestra being calm, but she still glowed faintly in the overcast sky and tossed her head nervously from time to time. Lok soon joined the pair on his pony, examining the horizon nervously.

“Where are we going?” he asked. His fingertips drummed a pattern on his pony’s yvas.

Anja reached over and tossled his son’s hair. “Somewhere safe,” he reassured him.

[Maore]

Ciraaci had wrapped herself in a blanket, finding the lingering winter chill to be unpleasant. It was day, but she didn't feel rejuvenated by the sunlight that she'd caught before the clouds had begun rolling in, and she just didn't feel right. Spring was fresh, though, and she'd often felt this way after the long, tiresome winters. It could only be blamed on the weather when the news broke over the Sunstrike encampment, stirring the Drykas there up into a frenzy.

The pavilions came down quickly, broken by capable young men and piled up onto the back of a couple packhorses, the tentpoles stored in wagons that'd be left behind, but the cloths used to erect the pavilions too important to leave behind. She threw in tightly rolled blankets and listened to the conversation that had spurred the sudden dismantling of their camp; it was too early in the season to leave and travel south-east for the autumn grounds, but she trusted the instinct of her more capable Drykas peers despite her curiosity.

"It's a bad storm," Deven Sunstrike was telling his cousins, his brow flicked with sweat from the labour already, his straw blonde hair loose in the braids he had tied. "Take the important things. Bedding, rations, water-" he listed a few more things, and the urgency of the message was palpable. He could walk the web, he wasn't alone at being able to do that, and the energy thrummed between these web-walking individuals and through them, to the entire camp.

Ciraaci caught the energy and moved along to dismantle her own campsite, pulling apart the tent she lived in and packing it up on the back of her mount, a hurried process that took about five chimes to complete. She packed up her bedding, too, stuffing her backpack with her belongings inside of the tent, her most important article being the fraying blanket she'd spent years with. Her neighbours were similarly engaged. They had to move fast, and altogether, it was about a twenty chime affair to disassemble the Sunstrike encampment.

She helped the others that were lagging behind with their equipment until, as a whole, the thirty or so individuals currently in their camp were ready to move along. There were more yet, but they were out hunting and gathering and scouting for their migrational mid-spring to mid-autumn path tthrough the Sea of Grass that totally bypassed Xy and the Kenash, anything northward of the Iysan ruins. They would be contacted through the Web and told to take cover underground, but the camp couldn't wait. The storm was brewing on the horizon in deep, dark ominous clouds.

The ethaefal wrapped her blanket tight around her shoulders again as it began descending down the slope of her rounded shoulders, feeling a menacing chill settling into the base of her spine. She revered Zulrav like the majority of her people, but this storm seemed to crawl across the sky with an unpleasant roiling threat. Summer storms over the Sea of Grass could be terrifying, too, but the ethaefal liked to think she'd seen everything the grassland could offer her, and the God of Storms hadn't shown her this yet.

The Drykas moved onward then. Their herd, except for a few zibri that were important to the individuals carrying them, perhaps expressing some foresight that the meat would be important. Their unmounted striders followed them, a tight procession of intelligent horses that knew something was up with the same honed Web-instincts as their Drykas peers to flank the mounted horses. It was the semes that were left behind, too large and too slow to move them all. A few made a half-hearted effort to accompany the Drykas' moving party, but they were outrun when the striders hit their pace on the Web, clearing through the grassland with their ability to tap into the Web and outrun nearly all competition.

They thundered over the Sea of Grass, bareback or saddled on yvas, to the closest set of caverns, joined by their nearest neighbours at the fringes of the city. They wouldn't be alone.

683

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Back in Riverfall :

Coming to the realisation that his last remaining son would not make it home before the storm passed over Riverfall was something Aerimir never thought he’d have to live with. Having already lost one boy to the vast grasslands of Cyphrus was hard enough. Soon he feared the blood of another would spill over the region’s soil. He had sent a rider with news of the storm over the Sea of Grass but feared the worst none the less.

Word of the storm reached the cluster of warriors and hunters on the outskirts of Endrykas just in time. If they had spent just a day longer on the hunt they’d be gonners. The gods seemed to look a kind eye on Aer’wyn and Karisa who had immediately hurried to aid the Drykas in tearing down their tents and packing up their belongings. Another pair of hands, or two was welcome in sight of such perilous odds.

The Akalak had followed his beloved though fire and water and now it seemed he had followed her to face his very damnation. Not a moment of it all would he regret. As a warrior he had come to make peace with his eventual death from the day he was born. But he was not going to lay down his life without a fight. Not to a storm, not to anybody.

He had helped the Drykas men with whom he had grown a certain kind of camaraderie over the past seasons, empty their tents and take them down sweep by sweep. Watched Karisa as she did the same, albeit far quicker and swifter than he. The woman had a knowhow of pavilion structures. Belongings, all the important ones at least were packed. All that they could do without was left as to not overburden the striders and pack animals. There was no battling with the storm. At they could do was splinter off from Endrykas and flee to safety.

"May the clouds pass over us." said Karisa as one of the Drykas helped her onto the back of his horse. Goodbyes were never pleasant.

"May we reach safety underground before the clouds reach us." replied Aer'wyn whispering a gratitude to both the Drykas and his strider for taking the life of his beloved into their able hands.

"And if the storm sees the birth of another noble Akalak?"

"May he sleep right though it like his father did before him." Aer'wyn kissed her knuckles in a one final goodbye before tailing his eyes after the horse that broke into a gallop. Soon enough he found himself on the back of a the horse of his friend who came all the way from Riverfall to see him to safety. Together they followed the Drykas party.

In this time of need only the Striders knew what to do. Their intelligence and instinct pointed the way to safety and the people who put their trust in the horses followed. Only prayers could help them now.

[Azmere]

Azmere did not linger long in his meditation to the gods of the steppe. The thundering hooves shook the ground and vibrated up through his stallion’s legs into the yvas. It was like electricity sent to charge the body, mind and spirit. Despite his lack of enthusiasm for leadership and responsibility, the scarred young man loved the rush that came with any and all tasks where there was a bounty of Drykas. His people, the Children of the Wind, thrived where none other could and that was something that he was always proud of regardless of how it was shown.

The yellow and blue eyes opened skyward then slowly leveled to the horizon where he’d been assigned. The growing mass of clouds in the distance only stirred the aching in his heart to do something great and heroic. Tales of men past who had sacrificed much to achieve more filled his thoughts as the tanned hands sunk down upon the handle of the yvas saddle. The small horn was worn on the left side as the blossoming archer favored a one-handed grip. Hephiestian -seasoned strider- needed no spurs to read the tension in his rider’s legs. Just as the leather-covered knees began to apply pressure to the horse’s flanks, the big mount took off with clumps of dried earth and sod being left airborne in his wake.

6th Bell

Azmere hung on tightly with his left hand, the strain visible in his forearm as the lines of muscle jostled up and down with the fast gallop set down by the chestnut and white creature was graceful as he maneuvered over the terrain. It took only twenty chimes or so before the pair caught sight of a cloud of dust rising over the next rolling ridge. The sounds of hoofbeats and wagon wheels announced the presence of a decent sized pavillion before the packed carts and colorful people ever came into view. The duo crested the hill and the diamond clan’s rider eased their gait by rising up and leaning back on his hips. The big stallion felt the weight shift and slowed to a trot that was directed along the ridge while the multi-colored eyes took in what was before him.

Several wagons were moving at high speed towards the north. A scattering of riders strung out around and in front of the small caravan but none stood out so much as the giant, dark-blue-skinned man on a barrel-bellied mount. “Hn.” He said to his strider. The group was clearly Drykas so Azmere decided that the time to linger had passed. He leaned down and stood into the stirrups, the magnificent beast beneath him responded by taking off down the slope at an angle managed by the rider to intercept the lead wagon once their two paths crossed. The Stormblood bore a white shirt left open and freed of its sleeves. The fabric was wrapped just below the shoulders and above the elbows to indicate his association with the Diamond clan; the warriors of the horseclans.

Once he was close enough, several of the procession’s riders moved up to flank him, hand signs flashing in inquiry of his presence among their pavilion. Azmere slowed to match pace and kept his left hand on the horn of the leather yvas. With his right he returned guide and help to the man closest to him. The young archer drew Hephiestian up near the older of the riders that he could see. “Conclave sent me. There’s a large cavern up around the next hollow.” His fingers bent into “not far”. The dichromatic gaze turned to look ahead as they rounded in a wide arc alongside the wagons. Azmere watched the men carefully but couldn’t help but admire the deepening black that grew from the distant horizon. His hands bent into signs one more time as he sought the leader of the group. Ankal. Question. Once he had been pointed to the family’s head, he rode about in subtle tactics to avoid disrupting the hasty escape of the pavilion and its supplies.

Azmere was about to speak when they crested the first side of the hollow. From their height it was easy to see the mouth of the cave so he said nothing and fell back into line with the warriors where he had initially made contact. Up ahead, he could see the blue brute and so the scarred man watched him for a time until they all slowed and made their way into the wide mouth of the Semele’s haven.

The cavern’s opening was right in the side of a hill. It was almost forty feet across and nearly ten feet high in the middle but tapered quickly. Azmere pranced Hephiestian off to the side and set himself on a small back and forth patrol that overlooked the north side of the hill, the opposite direction from whence he’d arrived. From what he had heard and understood in Endrykas, this storm was going to big enough to drive game and all other denizens from the Sea of Grass to find shelter. He was a bit nervous being so far away from his family but Asmodeus had insisted that he serve his people and not himself for a change. So he suited up and here he was- watching someone else’s family take shelter in a cavern where gods know what has been using as a lair since the Valterrian. He leaned forward and stroked his stallion’s mane. “Ready for an adventure, my old friend?”

[Anja Nightwatcher]

Hoofbeats swelled and vibrated the plains, a thundering rhythm that Anja could feel in the back of his skull. Under normal circumstances it might have brought the Drykas some manner of comfort, but today the clatter of hooves clashed with the sting of electricity in the air. Anja wasn’t sure if that energy sang of storm, fear, or anticipation.

The pavilion surged, a tidal wave in the sea of grass. Anja squeezed Rivian’s mane and felt the stallion’s legs tense underneath him. From beside Anja he heard a burst of laughter and he turned to see Syla staring at the ugly black mass mustering itself in the distance.

“Look at that storm Anja!” she cried over the thunder of hooves and wind. “It’s amazing!” She turned to look at him, grinning like a fox with a hare. Anja wondered, not for the first time, if his dear wife would find herself in a meeting with Zulrav one day. He made the grassland sign for 'big’ to his wife. She laughed and made the Fratava sign for 'enormous’. Anja signed for ‘fear’ and watched his mad wife burst into gales of laughter.

Anja’s attention fell next to his son at his right side. The boy’s face was a mask of anxiety, his face turned away from the storm and his eyes dark. The boy was far more contemplative than his mother, and Anja gestured a few reassurances at him, which earned a tentative nod.

It was a hard ride that lasted nearly a bell. The wind seemed to be fighting the Drykas’ as they rode against the wind; a frightening prospect. But the striders, ever gallant, ran without complaint. The crest of waving grass finally gave way to dots in the distance which gradually formed into wagons and horses and people. Anja looked to his Ankal, his uncle Orem. The grizzled man was harsh and often blunt, but fair and trustworthy. The older man set his jaw and gestured for the pavilion to meet the secondary one in the distance. As one, the pavilion nodded.

The pavilions met like waves breaking and settled together as one. Orem caught the eye of a scarred young man, perhaps around Anja’s age, and signed a query to him. It didn’t take hawk eyes to sense the tension in Orem’s gesture. The Ankal clearly wasn’t pleased with whomever the man was, but Orem wasn’t the sort to look a gift horse in the mouth when Zulrav was about to bring a monster down over the group’s head. Still, Anja moved closer to his uncle to overhear the conversation and intervene if necessary. It so happened that mediation tended to work just as well for ghosts as it did for flesh and blood men, and Anja knew his Ankal might well need his support, whether he welcomed it or not.

“Azmere,” Orem said curtly. “A rare pleasure.” The man’s tone did not match his words. They were dry enough to start a fire. “Am I to believe you will be ecourting us here?”

Syla approached at Anja’s shoulder and shot her husband an amused glance. Anja clicked his tongue and shook his head quickly. He didn’t trust his wife not to be the spark that set this tinder ablaze. She looked disappointed, but held whatever clever comment she had thought up.

[Azmere]

Azmere used his legs as well as his hands to turn the strider about to face the man who approached. The young man with two faces had seen some of these faces in and around the Tent City but it was not enough to draw a recognition of names or pavilion. A very small part of him felt bad for this awkward interaction that was about to unfold but despite a strange look, the older man gave a pleasant enough greeting. The weathered hands of the Stormblood bent into a sign for greeting then one of respect. This second sign came a little less smoothly than the first. It’s obvious to anyone who knew the Grassland sign that the man didn’t use it much.

“Escort isn’t the right word.” He smiled with the right side of his face. “More like just tagging along.” The fingers flashed extra hands. The contrasting stare looked past the host and his tail, a lad close to Azmere’s age, to the wagons and riders as they poured into the cavern. Blue and golden orbs settled upon Orem. “I was sent to help in any way you need. These are your people.” Azmere’s smile faded and was replaced with a look of cold logic. Decide. His hands twisted intermingling with his speech. “While some watch the entrance and monitor setting up camp, others should scout into Semele’s belly.” The strange set of eyes narrowed into the darkness that was slowly being lit by a growing number of torches. The hands bent into another set of signs. Unknown dangers.

Azmere had no real opinion on what he should r should not be doing- just that he should be doing something. The scarred man waited for his orders but he started to drift into the golden streamers, knots and woven blankets. The young man was not popular in the amber spoke and was known more than he liked by some of the pavilions. When he was much younger, a strange day had taken him to a stranger place and he had acted rashly but in sound judgement. He rose up and struck down a man who was going to cheapshot a fellow Diamond clan member. The Topaz member was a powerful merchant in the Sea of Grass and rather wealthy so his family was able to raise a large amount of sympathy for the fallen as well as an equal amount of ire towards the scarred youth. This led him into another spell of weird nostalgia that reminded him of a festival that nearly cost him his blue eye at the tip of a knife.

After being given his orders, Azmere would comply and be efficient though a great deal of his energy would be to observe. He had found it very important to find any weaknesses early on so one can prepare but also to identify strength so one knows where to run in times of great difficulty. As the day wore on, more Drykas arrived. Pavilions were set up as best as they could be and the ankals kept in good communication with one another seeing to security at the front and rear of the camp. Herds were managed as best as could be and common stock of things like food, fuel and water were checked while thoughts and tallies were taken to determine whether or not more was needed.

[Anja Nightwatcher]

Anja watched the interaction between his Ankal and the scarred man with a hint of interest, but the spiritist was too tactful to say anything; at least where prying eyes or keen ears could reach. Orem furrowed his brow at Azmere's words and seemed halfway about to say something before stopping himself and turning to glance behind him at his pavilion. Anja could all but see the gears ticking in his uncle’s skull as the man reasoned who he could spare for which task. Eventually the older man’s gaze fell upon his nephew.

“Anja,” he said. “You will aid Azmere with scouting into the cavern.”

Anja didn't argue, but the puzzled look on his face drew a snap from the older man. “Your talents might be required in a place as old as this,” he snapped.

The explanation from Orem seemed sound; if the cavern was indeed haunted then it was better to have a spiritist with them rather than not. But Anja wasn't entirely certain that was the only reason his uncle was sending him. He was far from skilled at combat in all truth, a fact he never made any attempt to deny. The bastard sword he bore on his back was more of a relic of his father than it was an actual means of defense. He wasn't quite inept with it, but he wasn’t skilled either. What he was skilled with, other than calming ghosts, was diplomacy. Was this Azmere so untrustworthy that Orem felt he needed Anja to keep an eye on him? Interesting.

Anja signed an agreement to his uncle without verbal comment. Syla, at Anja’s side, immediately piped up. “Oh, I’d like to go to!” she chirped.

“If you go the that fool boy of yours will go rushing in after you!” Orem snapped. “Absolutely not!”

Syla scowled openly. Anja thought to sign to his wife 'calm’ but that would probably only make the problem worse. Instead he gave his wife a pleading look to please not cause a scene, not here or now. Anja punctuated the glance with a look to his son on Syla’s left. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet, and kept glancing towards the clouds anxiously, then returning his eyes back to the ground. The scowl drained from Syla’s face to be replaced with a sigh. “Very well,” she said unhappily. But she reached over to clasp Lok’s hand.

“You know I would appreciate your bow if I could have it,” Anja told his wife gently. He was not flattering her. The woman was far more skilled with archery than he could ever dream to be. The woman’s expression softened slightly, then she shoved her husband’s arm. “Enough,” she told him. “Just be safe.”

Anja kissed his wife’s forehead delicately, then trotted Rivian around her other side to see Lok. “I will be back soon,” he told his son. “Stick close to your mother, alright?”

The boy nodded so fast and hard Anja thought his head might come unhinged. He tossled his son’s hair, then turned from his family and trotted back to his Ankal’s side. “Just me?” he asked.

Orem’s jaw worked with indecision, but Anja could tell the man had already done all the calculations required and reached a decision. “All we can afford for now,” he said. Anja nodded. Their pavilion was small, too small to spare many men for some simple scouting. Anja turned towards Azmere and offered him a polite gesture of greeting.

“Shall we?” Anja asked.

Anja was not a coward, but the age of the cavern sent a chill of trepidation down his spine. He had heard stories of the strange beasts of old, and it was difficult not to envision what sort of monstrosities might await them within the cavern’s depths.

[Azmere]

Ciracci::
Observation +1
Organization +1

The Djed Storm of 512 AV
Organization: Breaking down camp
Striders: Smart enough to follow their Drykas
Drykas: Don’t panic in a bad situation; just get moving

Aer'wyn::
Observation +1
Seduction +1

The Djed Storm of 512 AV
Karisa: Beloved Drykas to Aer’wyn
Seduction: Kissing the hand of a loved one
Aer’wyn: Grateful to the striders for their care of his Drykas woman

Anja::
Animal Husbandry +1
Logic +1
Observation +3
Praying +1
Riding-Horse +1
Seduction +2
Socialization +3

The Djed Storm of 512 AV
Nightwatcher Pavilion: Small but organized
Anja: Prays to Dira and Kihala
Syla: Always the optimist
Syla: Beautiful Svefra
Seduction: Showing subtle affections
Lok: Anja and Syla’s son; 7
Rivian: Anja’s strider
Animal Husbandry: Whistling for your ride
Anja & Syla: Have joyful, rowdy interactions on horseback
Riding-Horse: Feeling the horse beneath you
Lok: A contemplative boy
Orem: Ankal and Anja’s uncle
Logic: Reading people and situations together
Azmere: Scarred Drykas sent to help
Anja: Good at keeping the peace in a tense situation
Syla: Skilled archer


Let me know if you feel like I missed anything.