The Chronicled World

Lazzamore

WAAAAAAAAAA-
From far up in Northdawn, down to deep south in Denzen, there was an air of hope and rejoicing among the people, both scattered and in the empires. For almost all of those on the surface, never before in their whole lives have there been times like this: The sun was visible.

That was it. Most needed little other reason to be happy, because legend and prophecy say that when the sun shines again, Hersh and Denzen can go back to the times before the Earthrage plunged these lands into darkness and choking ash. The times where plants grew freely, and crops were plentiful.

It has been six years to the day the sun returned. The Earthrage Mountains, three separate volcanoes that erupted at once to start the earthrage, lay dormant. But in the darkness that was history, society has been busy. When the earthrage occured, the seven empires that made up these lands would collapse, one after the other. Now new flags fly on their soil: the people spoke, and they said they would not die!

The world spoke otherwise.
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This morning the fifth earthquake of the last two weeks occurred; Not large, none of them have been, but felt in all the realm. But so many at once have not been encountered in all of recorded history for these lands. Doomsayers panic, and people begin to doubt...

You are the Ruler of your people. Armies wait at your beck and call, the people turn to you for just a sliver of hope... What now?
 
There was a another shake when dawn broke. 5th one this month really and at this point the earthquakes were more of an annoyance then anything as Decius the King's log keeping was interrupted when the quake cased his ink bottle to fall and break on the stone floor. He sighs as this was the third this had happened. Perhaps an order for a bigger table would be in order. The High King stands from his chair and grabs another ink bottle form his shelf before resuming his logging.


'For centuries I the King have been High King, and the memories of the great razing of our kind is still fresh in my the King's stone. Every day has been record since then. Every wrong and right against the Forged Born, page after page written with sorrow, joy and indifference alike is recored. No slight is too small, no good deed too great. The Orcs threat continue to strike against us, 150 years after we drove them off, and must be put down if our people are to be secure. I the King have heard of potential allies to the south, while to the north there is nothing but death and orcs. For now I the King has sent my Legate the Diplomat, Spurius the Strong, to the southern lands by sea, towards the land of the Pale Harpies to gain a valuable ally for the wars to come. The Orcs must be driven back. They shall pay for their aggression. As High King, I the King Decius the King shall make sure my people remain strong through the ensuing chaos.'

After the entry, Decius closes his book and stores his inkwell and quill back on his shelves before leaving to tend to the tasks of the day.

----------

Spurius the strong has taken a Trireme with a unit of Velite Crossbowmen and a unit of his own Praetorian with him towards the homeland of the Pale Harpies. He has never seen them before, but has heard rumors that they were terrible beings who use their magic to seduce lesser men of flesh and turn them into buildings and towers and that they had millions of charmed slaves to do their bidding.

Spurius kept an open mind though, as he remembers in his classes that the Forged Born used to have 1 slave for every 3 civilian but recent events made the act of slavery no longer profitable, namely the great earthquake that forged the Forged Born into what they were now. But the idea of turning one's flesh still unnerve him to his gears, even if he doesn't need to worry about it too much.
 
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With the 5th Breaking, the council was concerned. Having met as soon as possible, the near twenty Candelebrans had argued at the peak of the Dark Tower for hours over what, if anything, should be done. Back and forth arguments raged as tenuous alliances were forged and assistants dragged away screaming to a fate only those deep below know of.

A gauntleted fist slammed the center table the Kobolds were gathered around as Belash Sneakstab offered his opinion for the umpteenth time. "It has to be the surface worlders! Their blind fumblings get closer and closer every day to the core! This is the core trying to shake them, like a disease! We must stop them before even Ghilt is threatened!" He roared across the table. No one was convinced. It was a well known fact that Sneakstab had a large stake of followers in the capital, and was at a greater risk of losing it all than most others. That, coupled with his general inability to look past his emotions (a weakness that meant it was only a matter of time), led him to what he knew best: Fighting.

"Fool." States Weater Greenslash, the scientist pointing his large arm cannon prosthetic towards the closest thing Candeleb had for a general, its four wicked sharp fingers glinting in the green pipelight. "The earth isn't a living being. This isn't some sort of reaction because of those dim-sights and their stupid ways. This is something different. Something more... ancient. I have yet to find any sort of difinitive proof, but I think i'm simply not looking big enough. Besides, you said your scouts spotted the metal men heading south. They're panicking. Trying to find a solution with the others." He says condescendingly, as if speaking to a runt and not an experienced Kobold going on 50 years. At the mention of the surface dwellers, his non-metal hand grips tightly.

"If that's true, what would you recommend we do?" Asks Madam Kilj, currently the oldest leader on the table at the age of 70. An old Kobold for sure, but her political clout and sheer numbers overwhelmed all but Sneakstab. "You've been quiet since this started, playing with your little... toy." She states, smiling at Greenslash as he scowled at her. A few years back the Kobold had gotten on Kilj's bad side. Had been been paying for it ever since.

"What I recommend we do is nothing. Shore up the supports, make sure none of our tunnels nearer to the surface are exposed to the outside. I think we all know just how hard it would be to investigate what's going on if the surface worlders decide to see if those stories are true." The scientist states, purposely looking Madam Kilj into the eyes as he does so, willing his eyes not the be drawn to the various bright jewels and skulls that adorned the robes of the Kobold elder. The elder kobold merely smiled.
——————
It took half an hour more, but eventually a consensus was reached with the council to make sure Ghilt and neighbouring caverns weren't in danger, and to also seal up whatever tunnels had revealed themselves in the latest Breaking. While there weren't many, there were enough just below the surface that if they couldn't get to the tunnels in time... well, the darkness was good for one thing in the early times. In the resulting confusion, no one had truely cared what happened to two kingdoms that had once neighboured the mountains.
 
A shudder sent groans through the bleached halls of the White Palace. Struts and buttresses flexed but held firm. Yijhet sat in her chambers, the whole room swaying as the building sustained yet another quake. With a crash, there was a spreading puddle of pungent, black liquid spilled across the floor. Cursing to herself, the tall figure snapped her fingers and an elf rushed forward to clean up the mess. She poured another cup from a black pitcher. She drank slowly, savoring the metallic, fiery taste. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Yijhet choked, quickly grabbing a porcelain mask and slipping it over her features. With an absentminded gesture from her, the elf opened the double doors. Standing in their frame was another Pale Harpy, but this one slightly mottled in complexion. He cleared his throat.

"My lady, a foreign vessel is approaching our shores." He announced.

"Why is this important?" Yijhet asked, unimpressed. "Just blow it pieces like the rest."

"These aren't more elves, my lady." The male said. "They're...metal. I've heard they called themselves Forged Born."

"Metal...?" Yijhet whispered to herself. "Send a diplomat, and leave it to them. See what they want." She ordered. "I'm not in the mood today."

"Very well, my lady." The Harpy said. With that, the elf closed the door, and Yijhet went back to absentmindedly poring over documents.

-.-:-.-:-.-
Silverglade's shores were surrounded by a high wall of stone. Ivory bracing and spine-like supports kept the stone high. White paint covered the bricks, and as the Trireme approached the beach, the walls gleamed in the sunlight. Over the top, the Forged Born aboard could just make out the tops of triangular roofs and spires. The style of architecture was decidedly foreign. They approached a rectangular gate, where river water met the sea from behind a twisting portcullis.
 
Shutters tingled down the spines of everyone present as another tremor shook the area. The walls trembled from the most recent quake which now set upon the mortal world with blind rage.

At the head of the room sat Hive Queen Ythril on a tangled heap of vines that were unnaturally morphed into the shape of a throne. Her dark eyes engulfed the group that stood before her. Immediately in front of her stood the king, Haryk, a lean, well-muscled man with a body covered in war paint and a mass of hair tied back neatly. To her right stood the Master of Warfare, Aeven, a tall, sharp-featured woman pacing with a disciplined gait. And to the left stood the Master of Labor, Kendel, a stout man with a bald head and hard-earned stress lines etched into his cheeks.

Ythril addressed each of these individuals in a crisp manner, her voice emotionless yet still melodic. “Kendel you will fortify the structure of Caranor. Make sure these tremors have no lasting impact on our infrastructure.” The stout elf nodded but said nothing. Satisfied Ythril turned her attention to her Master of Warfare. “Aeven, I see your scouts are in position. Have them continue to pursue these armored men as long as they remain in the Glade but do not engage. They must remain out of sight until we know what we’re dealing with. They might prove to be worthy joiners to The Hive. Once that is taken care of I need you to double your efforts on the training grounds. I fear our warriors are not adequately prepared.” Finally, she turned towards her king and continued in the same mellifluous tone. “Haryk. You will oversee the nurturing of the princess broods. We must begin preparation for the next swarming.” Haryk, unlike the other two individuals, furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to respond. “Is there a problem?” Ythril asked impatiently.
“What of the tremors...?” he blurted out.
The Hive Queen’s placid features remained so. “The Glade tests us but it will not destroy us. It is a minor nuisance and nothing more.” With that the trio was dismissed and set off to complete their tasks.

________________________________

Qildor watched with keen eyes as the armored men approached the Glade. They were enroute to see the Pale Harpies there was no doubt about it at this point. Was this a budding alliance? Hard to say but he had his orders. He felt Aeven’s thoughts filling his mind with a sense of importance. Track the intruders, do not engage, report back. Simple enough. The Eldrin thrived in rural scouting and were never spotted unless they intended to be. However, he feared he would have little information to give to the Hive Queen from this range so he tentatively crept closer and closer to his targets. For the hive.
 
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Spurius's ship slowly approached the only area where they were allowed to enter. The alien white walls and towers that shimmered in the sun made the less experienced Velite Crossbowmen and ship workers uneasy as the Trireme stopped and slowed just in front of the gate. The Rowers were ordered to stop their oars and the ship was now simply waiting to see if they had been noticed or not. Spurius walks up to the front of the ship and examines the gate and the strange architecture for a minute before turning to his crew.

"Calm yourselves men. They are but walls. I the Undeterred, did not bring an army of wall fearing nymphs did I?" He said and some of the men laughed as the soldiers and sailor's brought themselves back to working order. "Now back to work! I the Captain want parts to be distributed as necessary and Velite Crossbows on watch at all times!"
 
A guard watches from the nearby towers as the Trireme approaches. As they stop and wait, several others appear and study the vessel from the parapets, chattering among each other. Finally, a Pale Harpy stands on the wall directly above the gate. Its feathers are a light cream and well groomed. Over its face is a simple mask.

"Greetings to thee!" It says. "On the behalf of our Magistrate, the Taker of Blood Lady Yijhet, we implore thine; what heralds thy coming to the Five Noble's Estate? State thine intentions."
 
The crew did their buisness maintaining themselves and the ship, and Spurius oversaw all of it. For a moment it came to a halt when one of the Pale Harpy call down to them. Spurius turned to see the one of the fabled Pale Harpies standing on the wall wearing a mask. Asks them to state their intention and Spurius replies.

"I, the Diplomat, am Spurius the Strong. I, the Diplomat, have come to speak with whoever is willing to speak to me, the Diplomat, about setting up trade and a defensive alliance between our two nations. It will only be but a moment of your, the Caller, time." Spurius replies.​
 
"Ah!" The Pale Harpy claps his hands. "An offer of alliance! Excellent!"
He motions to an elf beside him, who scurries down into the bowels of the gatehouse. His taps his foot, and the gate begins not to raise, but unbind itself and retreat into the wall. "We will hear from ye in a more pleasant setting." He says, "Simply follow the escort."

With that, the Harpy steps down from the wall and out of sight. A splash inside the city reveals the form of a pallid beast. Harnessed to it is a small barge of coral-like texture.
 
“So the birds and the clankers are talking? Odd. You wouldn’t think those two would even consider the other.” Madam Kilj murmurs to herself as she reclined upon her personal throne within her house in the Kobold town of Lorse.

The town was remote, even for the generally segregated Kobold communities. The newest of Kobold dwellings, once the cavern had been discovered far to the south of the Death Moutnains Madam Kilj had leapt for it, flooding it with the majority of her people that were able to be moved.

Almost over night the second largest Kobold dwelling (and most refined due to Kilj’s distaste for flesh constructs) had sprung up. From there the old Kobold had followed standard procedure and her people had spread the usual tunnels for miles around, both close to the surface and deep towards the core.

Waving her hand, the gang leader dismisses the two Kobolds with orders to relay this information. Their anonymity was in part due to their scientists and military leaders, but the majority of it was due to them keeping a watchful eye upon the upper races. They needed to know what they were hiding from, after all.

“You.” She says, pointing towards a Kobold dressed in her organisation’s garb that identified him as a translator. “Have two guards accompany you to where he meeting is being held. If it is on the ground, observe and report. If not, gather as much as you can.” She orders, the Kobold in question bowing and scraping as he leaves the expansive, shiny room, gesturing towards the two guards at the door to find replacements and accompany him.
——-

Far to the north, deep below the Death Mountains in the city of Ghilt, Weaver Greenslash snarled our of frustration as his creation continued to defy him.

Before him was a massive abomination of flesh, dark iron and chemicals. Many times the size of the largest Kobold, the abomination was horrific to all but his eyes. It resembled a centaur in a way, with a titanic, vertical four armed gorse attatched to a longer, horizontal six legged body that tapered off into a powerful tail twice as tall and three times as thick as a Kobold.

Made from the stitched together corpses of an entire city of Kobolds, each meticulously (and messily) carved up to suit the needs of Weaver. Dark iron pillars emerged from the body at the joints, acting as arm thick staples to keep the structure stable. These beams of metal ran all throughout his creation, forming the skeletal structure of the behemoth. Jagged claws and spikes emerged almost haphazardly from the massive being’s body, the dark iron piercing the preserved flesh.

For blood the beast had the Kobold’s signature neon green cocktail of chemicals, dubbed Corruption. No one is quite sure where it came from, but all those involved with it find themselves enamoured. Not only was the liquid normally high corrosive, something the flesh of the behemoth had been made resistant against, but it had certain... effects upon dead flesh. As in, the ‘suddenly moving’ kind of effect.

Because of this large, empty pipes emerge from and enter the behemoth from all over, the pipes themselves the size of Greenslash. This was supposed to be the final stage where they found themselves filled, but instead of watching his darling child come to life before him Greenslash found himself gnashing his teeth in frustration.

He hadn’t counted upon the dead flesh’s adaptation backfiring on him. No matter how much he had poured into his creation, it just absorbed the liquid and remained still.

“You know what?” Mutters Greenslash as he hefts a large, sealed pipe hanging from the ceiling of his dim laboratory. “I did not abduct and slaughter half a city just to watch you fail. Do you know how many meals that was?! So you’re gonna move, and you’re gonna break Sneakstab.” He rambles as he hoists the pipe using his prosthetic and placed it against a port in the side of the beast’s mishappen, many eyed head.

Once the pipe was sealed and opened, Greenslash darted back and heaved with all his might against a lever placed in the end of the wall. The leaver slowly ticked down, and with each increment the pipe from the wall filled with Corruption, until the lever reached as far as it could go and Corruption roared through the pipe and into the body of the abomination, external pipes rapidly filling one by one.

Panting at the exertion, Greenslash crouched and shielded his eyes against the intense glow of the Corruption. For almost five minutes he waited, losing hope with each second. Reaching out towards the lever, he prepares to shut it off.

Then his creation moved, thrashing and twisting against the various cables and restraints, letting out a distorted roar as different vocal cords from much smaller beings dealt with the air escaping the monster.

Greenslash found himself increasingly fortunate that he had remembered to restrain this creation, as even when fully restrained in the strongest of resources he could get his hands on the monster’s sheer strength was enough to have the metal groan in protest.

Getting over his shock, Weaver couldn’t help but feel a grin overtake his face. Sure the beast was wild now, but with enough time and experimentation, he could find a way to control it. And when he did that, no council member could stand in his way.
 
Paralua stared in disbelief at the broken ivory statuette lying on the floor. The land's angry shaking had thrown the Holy Figure to the ground, shattering it in three large pieces. There was no doubt, the Great Crab of Life was angry, and His wrath would only grow worse! The Sheson kneeled and reverently picked the pieces. Three pieces, broken, but together forming the face of Tamatoa. This was a sign. He was on the right path.

The marjari put the ivory on the small altar and bowed piously before turning his attention to matters of state. Pushinf the flaps of his tent aside, he barked a few orders and the troops around him hurried to prepare for the end of their journey.

By nightfall, the Sheson Prong had reached the feet of the battlements and Paralua was calling for the local Forged Born governor. Since his time as Patriarch of Sharnuur, Paralua had kept cordial relations with whatever leader delved on his border, and had developed - and he thought earned - a deep respect of the Forged Born. The time had come to put that relation to the test. Paralua hailed the familiar Forged Born that appeared to greet the strange procession.

Good evening, old friend. Might I benefit from your salt and meat? The night is turning quite cold. And I have need to talk to your King, Decius, of urgent matters.
 
“Oooooh, looks like you lost again”, Alok gleamed as he awaits the reaction of his opponent. “But..but it's impossible, there's no way I could have lost with my hand”. Alok looks up to him with a sinister smile, and gestures towards the back door “ You know what that means don't you?”. His opponent then bows down to him, pleading for his life “Wait, don't kill me, I’ll give you anything you want”. As the prisoner pleads, the very ground that both of them are on behind to shake violently, as it knocks both of them down to the floor. “My lord, it’s another earthquake!” Exclaims Bellamire the chancellor. “How annoying, how many has it been now” Alok says as he gets up from the ground, recovering from the shake.“This is the 5th one this month my lord”. Almost as if on cue, dozens of ministers barge in the throne room, with complaints as they all want a word with the king. “Bellamire will handle all of your concerns, as I’m busy at the moment”, Bellamire then calms down the ministers, and escorts them to talk in private. “WAIT A MINUTE, YOU WERE CHEATING THIS WHOLE TIME!” Yells out the prisoner, as he sees the cards on the floor. “Wait your still here?” Alok says as he then grabs the prisoner by the skull and uses his ignition powers to blast his head off, as he sighs “How annoying”.

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Later during the day, a meeting had been ordered by the general council, and all needed to attend, including the king. “What's the meaning of this meeting?” Alok exclaimed. “An issue of international importance my lord”, Bellamire says, as he hands out documents across the table. “Is this an update on the Fire Nymph camps that were found outside the city?”, a random minister yells out. “Not exactly, more so of an odd development between the Forged Born and the Pale Harpies”. “What type of odd development”, Alok inquired. Bellamire then opens the Ciphers documents. “The type that sees a Forged Born and the Pale Harpies in an alliance”. “Alliance, don't make me laugh” Yelled out Alok, as he bursts into tears laughing. “ Just days after the sun returns, and everyone's already scrambling to make new friends” Alok chuckles. “Sure maybe the Iron people or whatever would love an alliance, I don't doubt it, but Harpies, really!” After Alok finishes, Bellamire calmly says “ Even if the alliance doesn’t go through, which it most likely won’t, it’s still a matter that directly involves the nation of Ashar, which is why I believe we should send some of our Ciphers, to investigate, and report back to us”. “Sure, why not, are we done now?”, Alok replies, as he gets up. “Yes, you can leave”, She says, as Alok leaves and goes back to doing nothing and sits on his throne.
 
@Horicabu

The gate opened like a great beast opening the maw and the Trireme was to be swallowed by the great creature. As if that wasn't unnerving enough the gate reveals that the city was molded in the shape of a great beast made of chalk or marble or some combination of both. It was certainly not like the great walls and towers that surround the cities of the Forged Born.

"If I, the Questioning, may ask, who, the Unknown, is the ruler of your, the Escort, people?" Spurius asks. "Will we meet them, the Unknown, at some point during this trip?"
 
The beast submerged, and soon the escort vessel was pulled further into the city. As the Trireme followed, the walls continued. However, gaps began to appear as small landings. Through them, the city streets revealed themselves. Groups of slaves, a few Harpies, and the facades and alleyways of many uncolored buildings began to lazily drift by. Small holes lined the waterfront, both above and below the waterline. Every once in a while, there was a faint glint one could see inside them. Alongside the boat, a carriage rattled by. Atop it was the diplomat, who seemed somewhat shaken to be so close to this foreign entity. Nevertheless, he was there to reassure them.

"Our fine Lady Yijhet is the ruler of this land. She is currently on important business, and so cannot attend thy first meeting. However, if thou should so request a meeting with her, it may be arranged for a later date."
 
"It is fine. You, the escort, shall schedule a meeting when she, the Lady, has time." Said Spurius. Spurius kept his eyes on the escort, while his men kept their eyes on the slaves and harpies, making sure there will not be an ambush. It wasn't hard for Spurius to notice the carriage coming by, with who Spurius assumed to be the diplomat.

"Ah, I, the assuming, assume that you, the new, are the person, the new, that I, the assuming, am here to talk to." He said. The Forged born on the ship, or at least the crew and the Velites, looked towards the boat and were rather wary of the harpies. The Praetorian and Spurius had no such problems.
 
“What do you make of this?” Ythril asked, her back to Haryk who’d returned from his previous task.
“It poses a direct threat to The Hive. These mechanized warriors forming an alliance with those harpies, it spells trouble for our mission.”
Ythril’s features wavered for a moment, twitching in and out of a look of distaste. “It will be difficult to assimilate nations that work together.”
A moment of silence passed with the tension hanging in the air like a suffocating dust. “My Queen, perhaps if we...”

“No!” Her features were now contorted into a flushed expression of anger which she quickly contained. Her melodic voice returned to its usual tone. “We will not play this game of friends and foes, there is only The Hive. Anything else will become The Hive or die.”
A sigh resonated from Haryk’s lips. “I’m not suggesting we make allies; I’m suggesting we pretend to.”

Ythril turned to face the king, her head tilted ever so slightly in curiosity. “Your point is valid. The Hive could gain an undeniable edge if we could convince other nations to trust in our intentions. I will have Aeven look into this further. Please return to your assignment now. The swarming is drawing ever so near.” With that she waved the man away and returned to Eldrinor.
________________________________

Qildor’s heart thrummed with the intensity of an entire cavalry division. Yet he dared not make any noise that could potentially attract the attention of the Forged Born or their Harpy hosts. He stood, or rather floated, at the head of the group. They were a scout group, each a member of the warrior caste, acting as the eyes of The Hive on this particular mission.

The trio stroked their way through the water hugging the sides as much as possible to remain undetected. When sentries appeared the elves plunged under the surface and swam to cover before resurfacing in the shadows. This was not going to be easy but if an alliance was struck here the Hive Queen needed to know. Qildor kept this fact in the back of his mind as he pushed onward into the bowels of this ivory prison.
 
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"I am indeed your diplomat. As for your meeting with our fair Lady, of course. I will notify her after we've finished." The diplomat said, before looking back down the waterway. "We approach our formal place of meeting."

The carriage slowed, leaving the Trireme to continue on with its escort, until stopping at a large, open port. Several slaves lashed the Trireme to dry land, and the escort also was parked and secured. From there, Spurius and his men could see what must've been the largest building in the city. It had a grand entrance, and other rectangular structures pointed out in a gear-like formation. They could estimate about five stories, each slightly smaller than the last. A Harpy stood ready to lead Spurius through what looked like a long hallway.

-.-:-.-:-.-
As the three Wild Elves pushed under the gate, the portcullis began to raise behind them. The emerging bars extended to the muddy bed of the canal, perpendicular supports locking them inside the city. As they touched the walls and advanced, the trio began to notice large beasts swimming down the canal up ahead. The holes, roughly two feet across, lined the algae-laden brickwork even down to the bottom. From their vantage point, they could see iron spikes looming within.
 
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The canal was no walk in the park Qildor soon realized. Taking point he branched off to one of the small landings and selected one that was vacant. Here the trio clambered out of the water and checked their surroundings before checking their gear. With the landing located relatively out in the open and leading to numerous streets and buildings Qildor decided the alleys would be their best bet and made a b-line for an alleyway off to his left. Luckily there didn’t seem to be any watchful eyes in their direction and they slipped into the alleyway undetected. Here it was cramped and clouded in shade which provided adequate cover for the elves to evaluate their surroundings and prepare their equipment. Each carried a spear on their back and a bronze short sword sheathed in scabbards on their hips. Satisfied that all of their equipment was ready and the area was clear the group set off in the direction in which the diplomatic group had been heading.
 
@Horicabu @Emory

Spurius takes along 10 of his Praetorian with him, leaving the rest of his forces with his ships. He follows to the diplomat travel through the city to the largest building that he could see for miles around. "This is a very strange city. Did you make it from marble? Chalk? It is like you, the people, mixed the two and made the structures what they are now."

As the group made their way to the location for the diplomatic talks, the Praetorian kept a vigilant eye for anything that might be hiding or preparing anything that might not be entirely trustworthy.
 
"Grand House is made from the bones of elves, specifically the high elves. Supporting it are the Krakens of old. Their skeletons are particularly strong." The Diplomat said. His voice was low, straight, and very formal as he strutted beside Spurius. "We built our walls in white granite. As for your remark about the strangeness of it, perhaps a foreigner like you might find it so, considering your kind never set foot on our homeland of Kos. But the designs of these roofs and walls are many millennia old. We, the Pale Ones, are an ancient race."

They stepped from the long hallway into a large, round chamber. Pillars rose up into straight beams, whose offshoots kept a tiled roof aloft. They were intricately carved and furrowed with curving patterns mimicking bones, and more subtly, the branches of organs and blood vessels. There were no walls to the room, but instead it was open to let the breeze through, and gave the pleasant view of a pond surrounding the raised platform. Beyond that laid a garden of unfamiliar plants. But dominating the room was a round table. The diplomat stepped forward, pulling out a chair and offering it to Spurius. "But that's enough of Harpies. Be our guest, and do tell me of your own kind."
 
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