#commander psyk

[honeyspiret]

twas the night before Christmas and not a mobian was stirrin, :D hey wait a minute what happened to the xmas tree! :XXXX it's all barren not a light nor a baulble in sight! D: clash is quick to notice as he drifts by in his hyper form and alerts his friends… whom quickly discover the thief is havoc! XD they know he likes shiny things and has looted and stripped the tree + the gifts! o.o knowing it would take a while for him to re-wrap the gifts, and untangle the tree decorations, @@ they go about making a temporary tree patch up! :D the commander orders the threspiians to help out too! <3 while a many ice, floral, water, air, earthy & psychic threspiians make up for the loss of decorations, the toxiians & boltiians light up the tree wit the ancient emeralds! clash then gently rests atop the tree illuminating it like a star while giving off small curtains of plasma energy and creating beautiful strings of auroras asa tinsel like treat!<3 he then sings to 1 emerald while it gently hovers in his hands and the threspiians, chime along to each song, when sonic and his friends come to check it out, they r delighted by what they see! :DDDDD as they walk by a path of firery magmiians lighting the way to the tree! <3 merry xmas anda happy new year everyone! havoc: "ba-humbug!" he says as he places a finished gift ina tiny pile….. vs the huge one behind him! XD

[chao-studios]

happy b'day to our fav hedgehogs! <3 ;D

[dysrope]

The Branded and the Burnt

[turn 18 continued, 8-2=6]

The fire-tenders call together an army, defeat the limited resistance of the Mera, and raze Lach Lero. They attempt to kill all Mera [it gets pretty gruesome] but many are rescued by Dominion missionaries, and join them in the west.

Brand

How do you find someone who can charm people into keeping them hidden? How do you capture someone that can read your thoughts, and knows you are coming? How do you fight someone that can control your thoughts? These and many others were the problems the Tarbra witchhunters faced, as they attempted to purge the Mera from their lands. And though they initially often met with defeat, over the decades they developed tactics and techniques, and became increasingly effective.

On the matter of cutting away their support, the solution was simple, but harsh: anyone aiding a psykik would share their punishment - regardless of whether it was done willingly or under compulsion. At first this decree was met with horror by many clans, but the witchhunters carried it out ruthlessly, and the Tarbra of the foothills at the border learned in time to regard any stranger with deep suspicion, lest they cause disaster for the entire clan.

Defences against psykiks are more complex, but a range of countermeasures are invented. The most popular of these is the application of fire (or at least heat). It is thought that branding yourself with certain sacred symbols protects against the wicked influence of Psyk, and because of this practise, the Witchhunters are also commonly called the Branded. (whether this method really works, or whether it is simply the case that the fanaticism and determination necessary to go through with it also makes psykik intervention more difficult has not yet been scientifically determined).

Burn

As the northern lands become more and more thouroughly cleansed from psykiks, the Burned turn their attention increasingly toward the south, and their ultimate goal: the complete extermination of the Mera. Larger and larger raids are launched, but still mostly retreat before the defensive forces of Lach Lero. But they scout the area well, and learn from afar the layout of the city, as well as its approaches.

One spring, the elders at Lach Heral determine the time to be ready, they call together a vast host from all across the lands, and sent them off to complete the task.

The army was led by Branded Feran, of the Hungry Wragh clan, who was a most accomplished witchhunter, and utterly devoted to the cause. She had participated in the capture of many psykiks, led dozens of raiding bands throughout the south, and covered her hide with every sigil known to Tarbra-kind. Under her leadership, the army passed through the mountains and plains unnoticed, and it was only when they had nearly arrived at the cursed magenta lands themselves that the Mera first raised alarm.

And while the Mera reacted in a quick and coordinated manner, it was too late. The troops they could muster were outnumbered, outarmed, and most crucially inhibited by their love for the enemy, and a great reluctance to harm them. Feran's forces felt no such compunctions. First they slew the forces that met them in the field, and dismembered their corpses, and fed them to the fire. Then they arrived at the walls of Lach Lero, which they had never before succesfully assaulted. But while the defences were strong, the defenders were not, and with stepladders and volleys of javelins, they conquered the walls.

With the walls taken, and the population trapped inside, Branded Feran commanded the city be burnt, and from this day, Lach Lero was no more.

Ruin

But though it was a great victory for the Branded, it was not a complete one. As the fires raged in the streets of Lach Lero, the heat made the crystal pillars of the city crack, and the psykik leakage combined with the despair of its people, and soon Lach Lero was not only consumed by a firestorm, but also by a psykik maelstrom. Now, many Branded fell, overwhelmed by the mind-wrecking tempest, and many troops retreated, leaving segments of the wall unguarded. So it came that some Mera escaped the city, though none did so unscathed.

But contrary to their nature, the Mera scattered to the wind, and though the branded were experienced hunters, they could not catch them all in time. As it happened, some missionaries from the Dominion were at that time present in the south, and when they learned of the horrors wrought by the Branded, they took in the Mera, and sailed away. Their pursuers, knowing little of watercraft, could only watch them escape, and call down bitter curses on their new enemies.

The Mera were thus driven from their land, but the land remained unwilling to bow before the Branded's wishes. Even when the fires in Lach Lero died, the psykik storm raged on, and though it would abate over time, it never quite disappeared, and could go quickly from lull to roar. And though they would burn the grasslands, time and again, it would always regrow magenta.

Additionally, though they would not know it for some time, many of those who survived being caught in the storm eventually developed some psykik abilities. For the most devoted, this was a shame they could not live with, and they turned themselves in for a fiery cleansing, but many valued their own lives higher than that, and kept quiet about their new abilities.

[dawn-of-worlds]

Love Herds

(Turn 15; Haebarik has 4+3+2d6->9=16 power)

Slowly, over time, the Tarbra bold enough to venture into the southeastern mountains of Haebrach discover passes and goat paths, guided by a desire for new grazing grounds and lands free from ohmlings. Eventually, passage is found, and migrants stream south, bringing what animals they can, and taming those they find.

As they spread out over the continent's southern peninsula, they find something else entirely.

A mark, perhaps the last mark, left upon this world by an ancient slumbering god. A great region of the plains, dozens of miles in length, where the grass is purple-hued, the wind is always still, the stars above seem off. The first herders avoided this land, which they thought to be terribly cursed. But purple grass can be grazed still, and so ever bolder Tarbra led their beasts through these lands, until at last it became just another odd landmark.

Over generations, changes begin to take hold.

Their beasts grow more docile, less fearsome, their tusks and claws shrinking and dulling. Some grow blisters of soft flesh, which can be harvested like one picks fruit without harm to the animal. Some retain their umbilical, which toughens and strengthens until they may move it as a Gegant its trunk. Some are born dead, or too deformed to live; these the herders bury without further thought. The eldritch influence that lingers in their bodies leaks out, over time, and spreads the change-marked zone ever further.

The Tarbra, too, have their changes, but theirs are more subtle. Many develop purple eyes or lose their fingernails; some find the taste of meat now repulses them. A rare mutation sees their back-arm split fractally at the three joints, so that eight hands all grow from a single point.

The Tarbra tendencies towards communal labor and pack-bonding are strongly intensified in these beings, which universally tend towards altruism, empathy, and nonviolence. Some claim that all these new Tarbra, who call themselves Mera, love all life as they love themselves; a ridiculous notion that seems frightfully true.

Individual clans swiftly fuse, sharing herds and lands. Old institutions fade, a pseudo-eusocial system arises in its place, centered around a grand stone city at the magenta heart of the plains, where wandering herds come and go with their many docile beasts to provide the citizens with milk and flesh-blisters. Here in Lach Lero, the place of love, are born most new Mera, who grow ever more distant from the Tarbra, who feel a love ever more universal.

The Mera are prosperous: their herds are not ravaged by conflict, their people know they may all trust each other, and each is possessed by a drive to improve the lives of their fellows. Their civilization sends out scouts and missionaries, preaching compassion across the mountains: some travel south in search of utopia, but most ignore the messengers and continue to raid upon each other. It would be wrong to ascribe this to malice: each year some herds suffer more than others, and the divided northern people have no way of correcting the balance but warfare. A few even try to strike at the Mera, who are torn between their aversion to violence and their concern for their fellows, and at last tearfully repel the invasion.

Some, after those events, come to believe that only the transformation they underwent can bring about true peace. But others suggest that the right rulers, the right laws, they too can foster peace and love. Both groups research and theorize, and Lach Lero's knowledge of eldritch energies and psychology grow side by side.

In time, those skilled in both arts find ways to channel the power of long-gone Zaag. This mind-magic, in the local language called Psyk, is employed to create great crystal pillars that link the thoughts of Lach Lero's denizens, to tame and command beasts without a word, and to reform that rare Mera born without the endless compassion they all share.

(those that resist, that hide their condition and flee, that are born outside Lach Lero's reach; they often find refuge amidst other tarbra, and though some in time find their own path to a more human kind of love, some wield great psychic power unmarred by compassion, and so become the terrifying potentates of northern tribes)

For now, this power is restricted to the Mera and those subject to their meddling. But that meddling extends ever further north, and already some dare hope of 'civilizing' the whole continent, of establishing One Great Herd that all life might flourish by, of abolishing disease and death, of joining all minds in one and ending the cruelty of separation!

Perhaps the love of gods is too great for a mortal mind to hold?

(Create Subrace 10 points, Advance Civilization 6 points, 0 points left)

(Obviously, Zaag-Ghvaash can command these as if they were her own)

[tlatia-the-radiant]

The shrine is empty.

There's a sense, a quality, of nothingness about Jenetia's tomb. There's an absence in the air—of gentle incense, of chanting, even of memory.

Tlatia knelt before the unhallowed grave, running a hand over the cold glass of the stasis pod.

"This would've been our day," she murmured. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

She knows what the Knight-Commander would say, were she still alive. She also knows that she's not alive. Her body is cold and dead in the stasis casket, stored like a reliquary, and would've been incinerated and stuffed into so many Psyk-Out Grenades had the remaining Sisters of Silence not hidden it away on a planet not on any star charts.

Despite the ages she's had to cope with the loss, she's not quite over it.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," she murmured again.

[horrible-on-main]

(Content warnings: verbal abuse, mental health - low self esteem and negative self-talk.)

---

“C’mon, you little shit, do your fucking job.”

Tacitus doesn’t want to. He wants to back to the shuttle, back to the ship, back to his box and his books and his tedious husk of a life where nobody shoots at him or makes him run or asks him to take second-to-second responsibility for the lives and souls of others.

But all he says is “yes sir.”

He takes a few hesitant steps forward, putting the alarmingly bright flame of the sanctioned psyker behind him, and focuses his Sight. His attention cuts through layers of tide and current and history. Ignores the many circling predators - they sense the upcoming fight and they hunger and he remembers the time when they were just pests to him and -- 

No. Ignore the predators. Don’t think about the past.

She promised she wouldn’t do this to him again, that she’d never make him repeat the last time, send him out amongst the enemy... But it’s not like last time. His handlers are right there, he reminds himself. They will take care of him. And they need him to do his job.

“No d-daemons,” he reports, skimming the edge of realspace, Sight sweeping through the building with no regard for the rockrete wall just an arm’s length from his face. “Veil is int-tact. C-c-can’t g-guarantee no psyk-kers from here b-but I c-can’t see any. The, the touch of the P-P- the, uh, the Archenemy is, uh.. moderate. I d-d-don’t think the l-landscape, the, the walls will at-ttack you, uh, us.” 

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him, the sound of someone who didn’t realise that was a possibility. 

“B-but there’s, uh, there will be moral hazards. D-don’t, um. I mean. It’s n-not safe to l-look too c-c-closely at any symbols. If, if anything m-makes you feel sick or strange to l-look at, l-look away and, um, t-tell me, when you have the chance. D-don’t touch anything with your b-bare skin, d-don’t read anything, d-don’t pick anything up. Sirs.”

“How many souls, heretic?”

He flinches and shakes his head. “I c-c-can’t tell that from this distance, sir, I’m sorry sir.”

“Right. Let’s do this then. Oh-Six-Eight, stick by the heavy stubber, call out threats as you see them.”

“Yes sir.”

He falls in beside the heavy gun, heart in his throat. 

She said she wouldn’t make him -- but no, it’s not like last time. His handlers are right here. Their faith will protect him. He won’t be allowed to do anything stupid.

If he’s lucky they won’t even let him get shot.

He misses Spiral. Suddenly, foolishly, painfully. At least Spiral was always there for him to scream out to if he really needed it. At least Spiral didn’t want him dead.

Until he betrayed it, like he’s betrayed everything he’s ever tried to align himself with.

The Inquisition won’t let him betray them. That’s why his handlers are here, why he sticks close to the gunner and does as he’s told and doesn’t have to think about anything but doing his job.

He’s not ready for this.

But she commands and he obeys. Back into danger, back into the jaws of the beast.

Stop it, stop thinking. Just do your fucking job, heretic scum. They’re depending on you.

[starcunning]

Ravenor/Patience: 1, 8 or 25.

25. “We can never be together” kiss

He was close enough to the real thing that when Patience stroked his cheek, she could hardly feel the discrepancy between what eyes and fingers told her.

He was not the real thing, of course, though he had consented to be for the night. The real thing, the real Gideon, was entombed as ever in his chair somewhere just out of sight. But telepathy was not merely the ability to read thoughts, but form them as well, so when she looked at this man, she did not see a stranger in ware. She just saw Gideon.

He lifted his hand to her own, tender fingers brushing the back of her palm and interlacing with her own. Then he pulled her hand from his cheek and turned his face away. She could still see the way his brow knit above his dark eyes, but before she could ask what was wrong, he spoke.

“This is untenable,” Gideon said.It was Patience’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”“All of this.”“If the psyk is too much effort, you don’t need to do both things at once; I can--”“All of this,” he said, letting go of her hand at last. He turned his gaze upon her once more. “We will leave this place, and we can’t take him with us.”

Him, of course, being the person erased even as he stood before her. She wanted to protest--he was an Inquisitor, after all; nothing was beyond his ability to command. The man took ware well; that alone should have made him asset enough to keep. Or perhaps that was merely her selfish desire speaking.

“Rather,” he said, “I will not take him with us. You are right about waring him, but there are others that take it just as well and have other skills besides. It seems perverse to upend a young man’s life for my own follies.”“What you must think of me,” Patience said, “for wanting that very same thing.”“I think the world of you,” Gideon told her. He smiled, despite himself. “All the worlds. That’s part of my reasoning. I am an Imperial Inquisitor, and with all the rights that grants I am also afforded certain responsibilities, which I derelict every time we do this.”She could not see Gideon at all then, nor the man underneath whose body he borrowed; her vision blurred with tears. Patience blinked hastily, trying to clear them, as though she could push them back down before they fell. She had half a hundred counterarguments--was it that Arianhrod’s death had come so soon before the Atrocity that he thought that had broken him? Was it that Bequin’s loss had broken his mentor? She was not Arianhrod; he was not Gregor Eisenhorn.

“No,” he said softly, “we aren’t.”“We’re not going to become them!”He smiled sadly. Then he said again, “No, we aren’t.”“Damn it, Gideon,” she said. “At least have the decency to kiss me goodbye.”

His expression softened. She could feel his sorrow, or perhaps her own was so strong she had to attribute it to someone else. His hands were gentle, almost reverent, as he brushed back her dark hair. Gideon cradled her cheeks in his hands, touching her as though she were fragile as ash and a thousand times more precious. He bent his mouth to hers and kissed her, soft and sad. Patience threw her arms around his shoulders, surging upward, not ready for him to withdraw, and kissed him in return. Then again, and again, as though if she never stopped this would never end.

But it would. It already had. She sunk back from the balls of her feet, and let her arms fall back to her sides. There was no point in saying goodbye; he knew all of her thoughts. Or he had.

He was gone, then, and standing in front of her was a stranger who looked a little like someone she loved.

[askjenetiakrole]

Obligatory ⚔️+ Jenetia Krole

Commander Krole: *hand gestures*

Melpomanei: “My current armament consists of Veracity, the Sword of Oblivion which can cut through almost anything even without a disruptor field; Sinistra, an archaeotech pistol that fires a range of ammunition including infernus, nitidus, and obscurus rounds; vratine armour, plated with truesilver and with the vow of tranquillity inscribed on the inner cuirass; the Onyx Cloak; and a supply of frag, krak, and psyk-out grenades. Before the Emperor gave me Veracity when the Silent Sisterhood was formally founded, I wielded a power sword I named Interfectus.”

(Send “⚔️+A Character” and I’ll make a brief list of the weapons/gear they have owned or used.)

[surfacolyte]

Diary of Norelle Rhia, part LXIII

Dear Diary,

I'm sorry I've been quiet for such a while. A lot of things have happened and I really haven't had the time to write anything. First of all. Thank you, holy God-Emperor for saving us and letting us be victorious. It is in your light that we are thankful to be fighting.

First things first, I'm so sorry guys that you don't get to read this, for I am still alive. Well, I'm not sorry that I  am alive, that's for sure, but I may never be able to say out loud such beautiful and horrible things I've written in this book. I am so happy that all of you made it too, though Cai, Arman and Yi... You were this close to getting your ass kicked by me.

Cai, pretty one, be glad it was only your leg. Or actually foot. Also thank the Emperor it was tied up when we ended up in that fertilizer tank.

Arman, when you were impaled by James I was infuriated. You didn't see it but me and Arzali killed the fucker. I blasted the bastard with many bolts and even more lasers and lil' bro finished him. Thank the Emperor you survived.

Yi, you...you little fucker... When you flew back when James went out with a bang I was sure you were dead. You didn't move, didn't make a sound... But you stayed alive. I can't express in words how happy I am right now to know that you survived. I've grown to love you as a brother and I'd really hate to see you go. Besides, as you would have read in the letter for you if I were to die, there is someone waiting for you somewhere. It would be very rude of you not to go find that lady.

So, what happened during the fight... My hunch was right: I ended up kicking Arzali's ass, literally. He went in through the air ventilation system and when he said he couldn't fit, I kicked him down there. You need to know that Arzali, like his brother, is a slender man, though taller, so it wasn't like I was going to fit a skull through a straw. He went in stealthily, while the rest of us and our men stormed in killing hundreds of cultists.

When we reached the elevator shafts we got a report from Arzali. Apparently he was in the room below and the cultists and knights were expecting us. Yi had given Arman the permission to lead us, since he would most likely have been chopping of some witch heads. Arman asked Arzali to do a diversion and that he did... by blowing up the whole room to smithereens. When we got down everyone was dead and except for lil' bro. He had grown vertically though in this time for a quite a bit and he looked like he had received a second growth spurt and taken all his mass and elongated it with the body distributing it in all places. Even Qiang isn't this thin! Reminds me of Rhaban... in the sense that Arzali decided to go in completely other direction with his mutation.

After getting up, Arzali told us that the heck of a lotta psychers that were supposed to be there had gone to the lower levels of the building. They were indeed there having a coven... or doing some magic mumbo jumbo in a circle in the middle of highly warp sensitive and dangerous crystals. You know, the kind if you damage them, all hell breaks loose. We started to fight them but then the little ceiling crawling with came flying to us. Yes, he had grown some wings and was cackling all the way and doing his magic. Multiple sets of them infact and he burned me. Luckily Kûrush had lend me his melta riffle so I answered fire with fire and as his skull fell to the ground, still laughing, I was happy to know he was dead. As we fought the psychers we managed not to hit the crystals but the gravity did fail us and decided to move it's centre point somewhere on the wall. Arman fell to the newly established ground and shouted me to throw a psyk-out grenade into a rift in the middle of the now ex-circle. There were psychers flying all around because of the gravity shift as I threw the grenade in the rift.

Fun fact: when the warp and anti-warp collide, it's not pretty.

Eventually the freaking rift closed and the gravity returned. Mind you, even if one is hanging on a crystal when gravity goes haywire, it might not help when the floor returns to where it used to be. Plus that doesn't really help when the self-destruction protocol is activated. Most of the people evacuated but we and eight brave soldiers decided to pursue the enemy. They had one of the relics at their disposal and we weren't going to let them leave with it. After all that was what we came after.

By the way, never use warp based portals. We ended up travelling for two days and ended up on a space ship near Theia's orbit. To be more precise we ended up in that fertilizer tank. Well, a pool actually. Cai had gotten his leg cut off during the battle before entering through the portal and, well, the rest I already explained. We were apparently in the middle of a fire fight, on an enemy ship, most definitely a cruiser. Long story short: we fought people and a daemon and opened the door to the invading Astartes. Bronze Dragons, you are amazing!

After that some inquisitorial forces from Hereticus and Xenos arrived. Emperor, I cannot thank you enough that Nalini was one of the people raiding the ship. She said that she shouldn't have been surprised to see us there. We tried to find the artifact, The Eye of Unbreakable Will, and found it, as well as the hologram of the witch bitch. She said that we would be free to take it for she had no use for it anymore. Yi, I'm afraid that your fancy trick with the shovel and holding the artifact was rather unnecessary in that sense but it was very good of you to be careful.

After that James showed up with some enemy astartes. We beat the crap out of them and Yi was constantly being shot by James. I'm pretty sure he didn't hit him all the time but Yi took some damage still. Arman got impaled by James as I already told and James Bures is now very, very dead, thank you Arzali for that. We set explosives to the ships munitorum and got out of there as fast as we could. The only ones still standing from our team were me and Kûrush. Arman impaled, Yi burnt because of an explosion, Arzali fainted because he tried to regenerate himself, and Cai had a missing leg. He got a spare one but a quick prosthesis isn't the best quality one. Nalini instructed us on sending messages and getting the heck out of there. She came with us but the bronze dragons said they would stay there right into the very end. They went to the Emperor and prevented a weapon made out of those crystals from doing harm to Theia. Go with peace, good men, He will gladly receive you.

After we came back on Theia we sent a message to the whole sector about the xenosrace the witch bitch represents, Nedassi, that according to the Inquisitor were coming back to the sector. They had been waiting somewhere in Revadi's Nebula and for instance Nalini had been fighting them all along. I understand the secrecy of it all, those creatures are highly dangerous and if word got out of their existence, a massive panic would ensue throughout the sector. We have enough to do with the Brakani and other shit in here so not everyone needs to know of the horrors of space.

After I got some shut eye, I met Qiang. Thank the Emperor he was alright! The juniors had been kicking up the reserves for battle ships. I need to remember to thank Nanami for that decision. A very safe place to be during a time like this. You should have seen all the kisses I gave on his face, even on his ears. Qiang, I'm overjoyed that you are alive and well! And, well, long story short: I'm engaged now. I wish I could tell mother and father but there is still much work to be done and I'm not sure if it would be safe for them. I would have never believed if someone would have told me two years ago that I was going to marry a smuggler from another planet... and not technically a planet but a space station.

I'm not sure if I should write anymore. It's bad enough if one of the boys finds this, blessed be they for their being alive, but I've said some things in here I've never told them face to face. I don't remember if I ever made a proper list of the people that have gone away so I'd like to write something about them as well.

Angus, you warrior, you psycher, you lost three of your limbs and died when we fell down on the little ship. I lost my arm, you lost your life. You were always the brash one.

Omar, our cynical doctor. You were cut in half by Rhaban and Arzali's uncle Hubert. You were so full of hate and I still can't imagine you without your bear face. You deserved better.

Rhaban, my rat brother. You didn't die, Emperor bless you, but you almost lost yourself. I know your mind has gone weird but still you are there. You were the sweet talker of the group and still are our anchor on Uzan.

Deynor, my lord. Even an upper class person can be too hasty. I'll never forget how you shot a bolt through the archeotech device. That was just stupid. But then you went to command your special troops. I hope you've found happiness with them.

James, my brother from Yiken, the traitor. I used to want to save you but now I'm only glad that you're gone. There's no room for you in my heart, hasn't been for a long time. Your death makes both your family and mine much more safe.

Chiro, you eccentric little creature. I wanted to understand you. I wanted to get to the bottom of what you thought of the world. I'm sorry I never could. Then you idiot ran away and eventually got your head chopped off by some bounty hunters. I'm glad though that you stayed true to the Mechanicus to the very end.

To these words I'll end my diary. There is still a lot of work to be done on the sector but we will rebuild. It has been an honour to serve the Inquisition and it will be in the future as well. This is Norelle Rhia, acolyte of Ordo Xenos, the last original one of the team and may the Emperor bless you wherever you are.

For our Imperium.

For our families.

For our love.

- Norelle

[chao-studios]

c.psyk: "hi-ho, hi-ho, it's ofta anotha garden i go!" ;D

[dawn-of-worlds]

Rhyming Exodi

Those few Mera that survived Lach Lero's destruction, huddled together on the rough decks of Qurri ships, having lost everything but each other: where did they go? At first, to Puqumiki, but Puqumiki lies within reach of the Burnt still, and some did pursue them there.

But then, one night, one of the Mera proclaimed that he had received a prophetic dream. Far to the west, across the open waves, there lies a land of refuge, and they would be save there. The Qurri were sceptical, but after a lengthy process of negotiations (that cannot be proven to have involved psykik manipulation) relented. In several large ships, the Mera were brought across the waves, and at last they found the prophecized land, where the Qurri left them.

But it was not as they expected it. The Mera were accustomed to open plains and far horizons: this realm was one of mountains and forests. Even the coastal lowlands they landed in, though less rugged than most of the landmass, were still hillier than anything they'd ever seen. The survivors band together to establish a small town, the sole remnant of their once-great realm, and name it Lach Murola, the place of the last.

Without their mutant beasts, without their great city, without even their many years of research, the Mera struggled to survive in their new home. But they were safe, and they were hidden, and over time their numbers grew. They learned to clear the forests and establish farming grounds, to cultivate the plants of the island, and even to domesticate a few of its birds for eggs (some Mera, however, take issue even with the consumption of potential life, and thus abstain from this). Even so, they remain restricted to the lowlands around their city; a large quadruped simply cannot easily navigate these rugged lands.

Contact with Kaluuto occurs, in time. The humans, descended from sailors, still command many small vessels, and inevitably spot the Mera's coastal home. In the following years, some trade occurs, though always initiated by Kaluuto, and often brokered by the Psyk-resistant Ataila. Two remnants of once-great civilizations that could not be further apart, united here at the edge of the world.

---------------------------

Around the same time (the result of the same divine influence? the effect of a lingering mental link? or mere coincidence?) the Embrace of Shells, those strange communal Págar, decide to abandon their ancestral lands in the face of mounting hostility. They too travel west, carrying their great homes across the waves, and land on an ill-explored barren coast, where they found Lágat, a town that consists of no more than a handful of buildings: each a sprawling thing of immense scale.

Págar have explored this land in the past, but found it too cold and desolate to settle. The Embrace's shared homes save them here: a complex is easier to build, maintain, or heat than the equivalent number of single houses would be, and so they barely eke out a living. In time, they forge tenuous alliances with riders from the Invisible Throne and emissaries of the Deep Ones, but little grounds for substantive interaction are found, and the exiles remain isolated.

(2x command race, Haebarik has 3 power left)

[honeyspiret]

commander psyk gives shadow a bubble bath before his big party! XD all nice and sparkly clean! <3

[honeyspiret]

1 pin eggyshell bowling wit the commander! :D

c. psyk: "vreeeeee!" "woooot i got a strike!" "zzzz-zzzz-zzzz" x5 "oh, bummer nobody saw it" D; "oh well...." (wanders off to start his day!)