The Cap and Tale of Arhan-Zoul

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Arhan-Zoul is, without question, the most diverse of all of Rhyonis’ continents. Its enormous landmass and collective melding of countless cultures and peoples lends itself easily to be a varied grouping of setting and populace. No parts of it, however, seem so alien and otherworldly than the two oldest pieces of Arhan-Zoul that are hotly debated to even lay claim to being a portion of it.

In the coming years after the settling of Arhan-Zoul, it was found that two islands managed to be spared from the consuming growth of the massive continent that was the consuming magma siege of the Fire-Worn Spires. The question of how many other islands, undiscovered, would have been devoured in the wake of the scalding flow came to mind, but didn’t deter the celebration of those that did survive. These Lost Lands, as they were known, were sacrificed for a larger collective of life than was lost, so naturally, the selfish living didn't so much as bat an eye in the face of their loss. In the year 5000, three years after the first Arhanians stepped foot on the land from Shoule, it was decided that these surviving islands would be investigated.

On the western coast, where the Theurgians first arrived, one could find the blooming mushroom forest of Ki-ohn. A large island, yet comparatively slight landmass with jagged shores, Ki-ohn looks bulbous and disproportionate from a distance and, demanding attention, from regardless of what angle or distance, was the massive, blood-red crown hanging imposingly over its center. This central colossus of a tower stands like a bleeding beacon, blocking sunlight from everything, and everyone, beneath; its slick cap reflects the light of Balasar skyward, shining and oozing a viscous red fluid.

In the shadows of the Blood Cap, as it would come to be referred to, a bustling society thrived, blissfully unaware of just how close they came to their demise. It was here, based around glistening crystals, bioluminescent insects, moss, and fungi, that the denizens of Ki-ohn, called home. These denizens being nocturnal insects and animals, and of course, the rulers of the island, the mushroom humanoids known as the Myconids.

Several years into the exploration of Arhan-Zoul Ki-ohn was discovered, by sheer accident, as a sailing crew set off from the Western coast to inspect a mysterious glowing red light that only appeared at night. After a day of sailing, Balasar just dimming past the horizon line, the Blood Cap came into view, far brighter than the sailors had anticipated. At this proximity, it was apparent that the glow that could be seen from the shore was the collective glow of the Ki-ohnians beneath the Blood Cap causing it, too, to glow brightly.

The Arhanians were met with no resistance as the Myconid people are a curious one. With their looming spores, they can wildly affect the mental state of organisms that come into contact with them so rarely do they know fear in the face of the unknown. Through telepathic communication, when the Arhanians had made their intentions clear, born simply of curiosity for the bewildering glow, the Myconids welcomed the newcomers to their land.

A clear hierarchy became apparent in a matter of moments among the Myconids. Setting the Arhanians slightly on edge, it was clear that all the non Myconid denizens of Ki-ohn, weren't entirely there under their own volition. In blank stared stupors, grey-skinned dwarves, bleary eyed gnomes, animals, and massive insects wandered the island, performing menial tasks, and occasionally colliding into each other, briefly disrupting the flow of their progress before continuing their work unimpeded. All the while, the Myconids looked on in saisfied glares shrouded by the musky scent and haze of drifting spore clouds.

The Myconids would explain to the Arhanians, who were a wide collection of races themselves across their approximate numbers of 50, that they had always called the island home; their ancestors blooming from the rock of the island itself when Lady Siesmet first planted the Seed of Rhyonis. His Life Essence spread so far, that the moist and spongy surface took form and the first Myconids took their first steps. Each member of the race was a beautiful color, vibrant and striking amidst the dull grey and brown soil that their roots stepped in and out of as they moved. Families shared characteristics and would vary in hue, and for the most part, the people of the island seemed happy.

The Crown, the leader of the mushroom humanoids, greeted the Arhanians and explained the history of their homeland. That, as the original natives of Ki-ohn, they operated as the sole rulers of the island, serving the means of the Blood Cap that they alone would commune with. All those since to come to the island and stay too long quickly made themselves unworthy of the trust of the Myconids, in one way or another, by acting against the will of the Blood Cap. The Crown spoke on the dwarves and gnomes that lived on the island, how they trampled on the soil of Ki-ohn, shedding blood and tainting the land of the Blood Cap with malice and violence in the name of expansion. Blood spilled of anger tastes foul and displeases the Blood Cap, the Crown would explain, congealing in a viscous soup and stagnating the flow of life. So, as they continued their violence against one another, despite the warnings of the Crown at the time, they were given no choice but to strip them of their will.

With insidious, mind-wiping spores, the Myconids took over the warring peoples and turned them into much more peaceful entities. Now, as permanent denizens of Ki-ohn, the now descendants of the first dwarves and gnomes to arrive on the island, live alongside one another, prospering, thriving, under the compelling nature of the Myconid's spores. For centuries, these people have worked at the behest of the Blood Cap and no violence had befouled the pallet of it, and Ki-ohn has known peace for just as long.

It was a lovely history lesson spoken over a varied feast of Ki-ohnian delicacies. The Arhanians, hesitant at first, still digesting the telling tale they were just told, slowly began to tuck into the meal before them. It was colorful, vibrant, even glowing in parts, and the distinction between meat and vegetation simply wasn't. Despite this, the aroma was so intoxicating, rich, full, wild, and incomparable to all they had partook before, the temptation to eat was too much to resist and the food was found to be more delectable than any other dish they had consumed in their entire lives.

The Crown would laugh and speak to their guests as they veraciously enjoyed the offering. They would explain that the Myconids were indeed curious of the rest of Rhyonis, but they had never left Ki-ohn, save for the few passages of the Underdark they inhabited, and were unsure that other lands could support them, nor would welcome them as warmly as they did newcomers. Also, the displays of the dwarves and gnomes made their people wary to leave the safety and shelter of the Blood Cap, but they sought no ill will towards other people. The Arhanians would also be given a chance to prove themselves as allies to the Blood Cap, and if they did not act against its will, they would be welcome visitors and guests upon Ki-ohn whenever they liked.

For about a week, the Arhanians worked and lived alongside the Myconids, aiding in the development of new structures, gardening of rare herbs, and tending to animals and beasts seen nowhere else in Rhyonis. It was a pure moment of tenderness that the realm was, unfortunately, rare to witness. The Creation Gods were proud to observe the fruits of Their labors, and Angehlah's wisdom sparked the drive and ambition within all those that participated in the sharing of historic and personal tales. Sadly, like most times of goodness in Rhyonis, they were temporary.

One night, as the Arhanians and the Myconids sat down with the collected harvest and freshly cured meats for their shared feast, an explosion rocked the entire island, sending a massive pillar of flame and plume of smoke directly into the underbelly of the Blood Cap. The dripping red fluid that seeped over the edges and trailed to the underside of the Cap steamed and hissed as the ravenous red flames with mysterious purple cores choked and blackened the fleshy tower.

Debilitating psionic terror pierced through the minds of all those that walked Ki-ohn as panic welled from the Blood Cap and the Myconids themselves. Dwarves and Gnomes fell to their knees, some of their heads even exploding as the spores in their skulls echoed the psychic shrieks of their dominators. Arhanians, not as influenced by the creatures, would clutch the sides of their heads and lose the contents of their stomach as the pressure welled and made them sick, their sense reeling as they were wrenched from their control.

The Crown screamed out to the Arhanians who weren't nearly as affected by the attack on the Blood Cap as the Myconids, seemingly almost paralyzed in place as the bleeding beacon burned. They cried in pain, desperate for salvation and sworn an oath that Ki-ohn would align themselves with the people of Arhan-Zoul if they saved the Blood Cap and their people.

With no hesitation, in an effort to save their gracious hosts, and secure the alliance they had been eager for since meeting the Myconids, the Arhanians rushed into action. Fifty capable adventurers, mages, warriors, priests, druids, mercenaries, all proud Arhanians that stood by The Mantle's words, in a cold and dark world, we are each other's warmth and light, leaped to the defense of those in need. They scoured the island, using the pillar of smoke as their base to discover the cause of the explosion.

Spellcasters rapidly used spell and prayer to draw moisture from the air, sea, and soil to quell the flames before they could spread. It was a violent, searing battle as flame tongues lashed out from the growing firestorm, almost acting as a living entity, seemingly sentient and moving against them with purpose. Burning body fell one after another as brave souls braced themselves against the cinders, surging wave after wave into the inferno. Finally, with nearly half of the twenty casters gathered fallen and broken, the fire died and all that was left where it devastated the island a moment ago, was a smoking, charred hole deep into the ground beyond view. Moments passed, evolving into staggered seconds of silence that bled with the pulsing heartbeats of those left alive beneath the Blood Cap.

The remaining thirty Arhanians were skilled archers, swordspeople, trackers, and skilled martial combatants whose collective skill would have been enough to handle a militant force their size, tenfold. Like predators, they leaped through the terrain they had spent the last week exploring with their Myconid hosts; those memories and new friendships driving them to find whatever was responsible for this attack. Lead trackers caught the trail of a grouping of about ten, elvan based on the footstep impressions, and extremely agile, seemingly flying from the soft soil to the tops of colossal mushroom stalks nearby.

For hours, they followed the tracks, climbing cliffs, spanning crevasses, crossing rives, scaling mushroom stalks, and ceaselessly continuing on the heels of the evasive assailants. Groups would span out and regroup to share intel, but there was no physical sign of anyone remaining. In some areas, the tracks lead to jagged shores over the ocean and then vanished. It would seem they had been had. Somehow, despite the peerless skill of the collected trackers, whoever they were following, had somehow camouflaged their trail so well, that they crossed over themselves and were utterly undetectable.

Frustrated, disheartened, and feeling defeated, the Arhanians turned back, making their way to where they knew the Myconid village to be, or so they thought. It was like a maze trying to navigate backwards. Just hours ago, they could circumvent every turn, every pitfall, every obstacle with ease, quick masters of the terrain, but now they were lost in totality. Marred mushrooms hung heavily over pathways they traveled and seemed weighed down by an unseen force, pushing the caps down like invisible hands of gods. The longer the collective wandered, the more lost they became and the heavier the tension in the air grew as a steady noxious mist rolled in.

Plated armor stumbled into padded leather and knives would draw against blade as the clouds thickened into an almost all-consuming fog. A commanding voice boomed over the clashing Arhanians and told them to calm themselves, there was another presence, and that the fog wasn't fog, but indeed gathering gossamer webs.

Like lightning, bolts shot through the webbing from above as rope and net were catapulted over the force. Chaos burst forth as weights held the once proud warriors to the ground like trapped prey, prying at and tearing away their already tenuous calm. Sinister laughter echoed through the webs and a heavy breeze stirred, silencing those pinned beneath the nets. First one, then another, until countless laughing voices coiled over each other like the scales of a rattlesnake's tail. Louder and louder, forcefully oppressive, even more so than the weighted nets, the laughter drove into the minds of the Arhanians; syllabic psionic spikes scratched their minds until there was nothing but laughter, darkness, then unconsciousness.

An unknown amount of time passed before a shrieking, shrill scream had awoken the majority of the remaining Arhanians. All bound, gathered soldier and spellcaster alike, a remaining nine Arhan-Zoul citizens blinked and groaned to consciousness. Against their binds, they struggled and screamed into cloth gags keeping their lips dry and stiff buried within the fabric. As the dim light of the bioluminescent moss and crystals was coated in thick layers of blood and ichor, vision was almost impossible. A sickly red hue washed over the scene as the nine blinked in horror, looking over countless dismembered bodies, Arhanian and Ki-ohnian alike, all beneath a like quilt of stitched-together laughter.

The Crown was propped up on their knees, oozing purple and green fluids streaming down their face as they roared and screamed a gurgling mess of noise. A black and purple metal rapier stuck through their chest, and their wails silenced, audibly at first, but the lingering telepathic spores echoed their cries in the minds of the remaining nine Arhanians, sick with fear and sadness.

Without reverence or ceremony, the Crown, beloved ruler of the Myconid people, wondrous and gracious host to the Arhanians, was slid off the edge of the blade and into the lush soil of Ki-ohn, now overly saturated with violence, carnage, and bloodshed.

Wielding the blade was an odd sight the Arhanians had never bore witness to before. A deep grey-skinned elf with cotton white hair and bloodshot purple eyes. They had all seen similar elves, known as erlys, or shadow, elves with a more smoke-like grey tone and wispy gaunt features, one such individual even a member of their collective. The elves before them bore similar features to the erlys elves, but were alluring in a way, distractingly, if disturbingly, beautiful, and absolutely mad by the looks of the bizarre way their mouths curled behind fidgeting spider-like fingers.

They giggled and pointed, their total nine mirroring the number of captives, at the Arhanians who looked upon them, confused, enraged, and disgusted. For several minutes they spoke in a language foreign to all the Arhanians, having notes of elvish, but twisted, as if certain syllables were spoken in reverse and then over itself. It was a harsh language that made the mind feel dizzy after hearing it spoken for too long. The captors continued to giggle and fidget, staring down each individual, until, finally, a human man, Barrick Strongarm, stood against his binds and roared for the attention of these dark elves.

“What do you want with this place you monsters?! You've destroyed the land, its inhabitants, the only thing that remains is us and the Blood Cap! You have no idea what terror you've unleashed upon us all!”

With no emotion or restraint, the apparent leader of the group of elves notched and released a bolt from each of their hand crossbows into the shoulders of Barrick. He screamed against the intense roaring of the pain inflicted by the poison coating the bolt and fidgeted in protest, but to no avail. The leader had made no movement before this, having sat wrapped in deep brown and black leathers and clothes, from atop a leaning mushroom cap. The other elves walked back and forth from the elevated figure, never looking up into the cloth wrappings over the eyes of the slouched, silent figure. Just as quick as the bolts were loosed, replacements were notched and the wielder leaped from their position and sauntered to the groaning human man.

In a silky, smooth feminine voice that at once soothed the searing agony in the man's chest, the figure whispered in Barrick's ear, pouring honey over the searing wound. “We're searching this island for a relic we know is here. It was guarded by these not-so-fungi, so we had to do away with them. We know it to be in the possession of a human man. So, tell me, human, are you a boy, or are you the man we seek?”

Another bolt unleashed into his chest cavity, cracking a rib and sending him reeling back, nearly begging to be taken out of his misery through gritted teeth and pus-filled eyes. Another bolt. “You're the only human man remaining on this island we can find. Now tell me where it is or I will start chopping heads off until only yours remains. Where is Kreegis you filth?!”

Drifting in on a silent breeze, with out initial notice, a slowly churning purple mist rolled in like a liquid serpent, creeping along the ground, expanding to fill the cracks and crevices of the carnage-laden landscape completely undetected. This mist whispered in cackling chatter, like bits of glass sifting through a bag. It was thick, menacing, and efficient, as it seeped and stalked around the Arhanians and the dark elves, poising itself to strike.

“This is what you're looking for. I'm sorry to say you've found it and, for that, you'll have to pay the consequences,” said a voice was deep, rumbling, and ancient. It seemed to call from the mist itself, but also the soil beneath their boots, the drifting spores around the gathered, and on the wind through their hair as well. It was like the vibrations of each word through the air rippled with such intensity, the very island caught its breath. The mist swirled up the legs of the dark elves, grasping their limbs as it solidified and pulled them to the ground with heavy yanks that would find their skulls crack against the surface, finally silencing their chattering giggles.

The Arhanians looked in terror, unsure of what was happening as the mist had yet to be seen during their time on Ki-ohn. No spore cloud any of the Myconids produced had this royal purple tint to it, nor did they act so precisely to interact with solid matter as it did; something was attacking.

Barrick twitched, straining against his rope binds to attempt to remove the bolts, but the pressure welled within his chest and air escaped him with withering gasps. Will faded, sense and thought vanished, and his vision faltered, focusing on his last sights of a shrouded figure, thin and slight yet oddly bulbous and disproportionate, emerging from the mist. The figure was sallow, slow-moving, and mournful as they looked around at the fallen Myconids, Arhanians, and choking invaders, suffocating on purple clouds and grasping, fruitlessly, for freedom.

“You, as all others to come to my home, unlike these Arhanians, have proven yourself untrustworthy of the Blood Cap, elves.” It was a man, by the sound of his voice, a humanoid man wrapped in fine white and purple silk robes, shining radiantly against his green and brown mottled skin. He sauntered through the mists and the dark elves just crumbled, crushed by the solid fog coiling around their limbs and ribs, tighter than the rope binds around the Arhanians like constricting snakes. Whoever they were, they were clearly human underneath the heavy layers and various-sized mushroom caps sprouting from his flesh like external tumors. “Perish, and find peace as sustenance for the Blood Cap.”

With gut-wrenching crunches, the dark elves' screams and pleas for mercy were silenced, followed by nine subsequent thuds. In a matter of moments, the soil began to writhe, lurch, and consume the bodies that fell into it, a living organ of the island itself. Firstly, the dark elves were devoured, their bones snapping and popping underneath the pressure of grinding soil and veracious earth. Second, the Myconids, the native inhabitants of Ki-ohn who worked alongside the Arhanians and gave hope to a new alliance.

As beings of spore and fungus, the Myconids simply rejoined the land and would prosper and grow anew after some time, but in new forms with the memories of their previous bloom. And lastly, the Arhanians, those that did not survive were interred, while those that did, would await judgment from the Man from the Mist.

“Arhanians,” he spoke, addressing them aloud as the mist retreated to him, siphoning into a strange curved glass device he held secure beneath his outer robes. “I have been the sole Sentient inhabitant, apart from the Myconids, of this island for far longer than I can remember. I've long since forgotten how I've come to call this place home, but it is undoubtedly mine. For thousands of years, I have been sustained by my magic within the center of the Blood Cap, drawing Life Essence from the island of Ki-ohn, tended to by the Myconids whom I've come to love as children.

"Countless bloom cycles I've overseen of these sweet creatures who've tirelessly worked to defend our home and, unknowingly, myself. Only the Crown knew of my existence, and we, being I and the many iterations the Crown has taken during their bloom cycles, worked to keep myself, their people, and our land safe. Never in all my years have I seen such disgusting actions as displayed by those interlopers, in the pursuit of a bauble no less.

“You are a people unlike any I have bore witness and incomparably brave souls, Arhanians. You are Rhyonians whom I am proud to welcome to my home, but no longer will I allow my soil to be tread. The work you've done to combat these dark forces was valiant and appreciated, and clearly not without loss. You have my thanks for that and though I cannot restore them, I can bring them to the shore so you may take them home with you. Your time here on Ki-ohn is drawing to a close, but this will not be the last time Arhan-Zoul will assist Ki-ohn, nor the last Ki-ohn assits Arhan-Zoul, and when the time is right, your people will hear from me . . . Take this one back in a place of honor.” He paused only briefly to wave his hand over the now still Barrick whose eyes were now covered with pure white caps as fungal tendrils worked to wrap his body in an organic coffin.

Eight remaining Arhanians, rallied together by his courage in the face of certain defeat, nodded and proudly wrapped the Strongarm man in canvas and silk as the fungus began to decompose him with reverence. With that, the remaining living trekked the alien mushroom forest of the bizarre island beneath the Blood Cap, followed by the mysterious stranger turned savior, and churning mounds of dirt and decay that held their fallen aloft, transporting the corpses to where they initially stepped onto the island of their own accord. Stoic and solemn, the now eight clambered upon their ships, forty-two corpses at peace beneath their cargo holds, and set sail, guided by magic, to the home they left behind, now with a costly alliance forged.

Around the same time as the fifty Arhaninas departed from their new home for the Blood Cap, another band of explorers set out from the opposite end of the continent; setting sail off the southeastern coast, from the port city of Melikys, toward a distant silhouette in the middle of the Continental Sea. It struck up toward the sky, jutting from the ocean's waves like defiant fingers clawing to be free of the water, this titanic mass of tree and rock. Various unleveled and jagged peaks stood haphazardly around each other, looking as sharp as several rapiers pierced through the waves and into the clouds, drifting in and out of sight as the sky would see fit.

The winds blew harder, waves rocked fiercer, and the hazardous spires grew ever higher as the Arhanians drew nearer. It was haunting and ominous as the peaks of whatever they approached lost visibility within the clouds far above the surface of the ocean. This band of adventurers, a much tamer lot of six, as Malirica would have it, would be far luckier than the souls to depart for the island of Ki-ohn.

Eeriness and foreboding horizons aside, from the very moment the Six, as they would come to call themselves, embarked on this 250-mile journey across the sea, it was a celebration. Their party was Kodays Flint, a dwarven sailor known across the Continental Sea, and almost every coast town, for his ingenious sailing mechanisms that allowed him to seamlessly command his vessel, alone, from his captain's perch. It is said that with moving only his little finger, Kodays could drop an anchor, hoist the sails, manipulate the rudder, and pour himself a cup of tea as he looked out over the waves. He had been sent a special writ from the hand of The Mantle herself; a request to explore this land her diviners had seen glimpses of off on the horizon. If he were successful in making contact, he would be granted special honors, a place within her advisors, and permanent employment as the fleet admiral of the Navy of Arhan-Zoul.

Aumerilla Mantle, ruler of all of Arhan-Zoul, described it as “sharp talons cast in shades of metallic blue by flashes of white lightning.” At the promise of a new adventure, and negotiating for a portion of Arhan-Zoul's coast to call his own, Kodays sent out writs of his own to former contacts he'd parted ways with in the past. Painting a fabulous tale of one last adventure to the ends of Rhyonis, to the last of the remote islands of the Sea, he had little difficulty pulling together his desired party. Kodays may have been a sailor, but the man was a genius craftsman, of many trades, but none more so than word, and with the elaborate nature of the tapestry he weaved for his former acquaintances, they had no choice but to acquiesce.

His first and only choice of First Mate was Tennia, a wild-spirited Tabaxi cutthroat from the Scaled Bay of Ish-Gahn. She, as the rest of her people, is a feline humanoid, lithe, quick, and deviously cunning. Tennia had been in and out of Kodays employ for years, due to various differences in opinions, but they had a strong loyalty to one another that has seen them cross paths time and time again, sometimes with blades drawn at each other's throats. The pairing have a mutual respect for one another's sailing style, as well as their combat prowess and have often crossed verbal blades that lead to physical ones only to find themselves embracing and laughing over spilling tankards.

The navigator for this adventure was a triton man from the deepest Continent of Rhyonis; Tritaria Major. This coral-caged space is beyond massive, almost the size of Arhan-Zoul, and is home to a variety of marine animals and humanoids such as tritons, sea elves, merfolk, and a plethora of other aquatic creatures. This individual, Caparicus the Crester, was renowned above and beneath the waves as a warder and caster of magic capable of weathering the most dangerous of ocean storms. Rumors say he has connections to the Coral Court of Triatria Major, but he adamantly denies them whenever they're brought to fruition. Quiet but effective, Kodays truly appreciates how cheap he works, eager to prove his humility compared to the famously pompous Triton nobility.

Lastly, the newest addition to Kodays ever-growing list of contacts, and potentially his favorite to date, is an existing three-person group that had called themselves The Takers but have recently disbanded as a group as they have all fallen madly in love with Kodays and refuse to back down from their position for one tolay claim to his affections. Previously a phenomenal band of cat burglars that operated as a well-oiled machine, presumed responsible for some of the greatest unsolved thefts in Rhyonian history, The Takers have been reduced to nothing more than a bickering band of the sailor's love-stricken suitors. When asked by Tennia why he invited them, witnessing first hand their childish antics to undermine each other in the eyes of Kodays, he simply laughed and said, “I find their fighting amusing and the flattery charming. This is gonna be a long trip and we need the entertainment! I suppose their skills may come in to play as well, but honestly Tennia, do you not find this as entertaining as myself?”

The ocean-spray-soaked feline crossed her arms, looked down her nose at the bumbling buffoons horse playing and holding each other over the railing of the ship and scoffed, “not in the slightest.”

A halfling woman with an unstoppable attitude that'll knock anyone down to size, Yunaro Talkingtongue was the front person for The Takers. She would continue to talk about herself at first, but as soon as you cut her off, she would let you know every detail about yourself as she saw it, and it was rarely polite. Yunaro constantly ridiculed her “lackies”, as she would refer to them, which frequently caused infighting between her and the two, arguably, more skilled of the grouping.

The most frequent of her verbal lashings was the most misunderstood and quiet of the party that has had a fairly bad reputation outside their homelands, as many of their people have proven just how vile and untrustworthy they can be. The yuan-ti, reclusive snake humanoids from the Serpentys Isles of the Scaled Bay, and sworn enemies of the Shoulean people. Brilliant but mad in their study of poisons, biology, and combat, much of their culture is bred on feasting on living prey as well as torturing their captives as a sacrifice to their mysterious and elusive deity they've shrouded in secret from the outside world.

This being the common trend for the yuan-ti, it could not be further from the truth from the Rhyonin known as Sicarrys Synomyn. Brutally honest and kind in thought and action, Sicarrys truly doesn't have a malicious bone in their body. Though they may be a master thief, able to slip in and out of any stronghold undetected, if they were to be caught, they'd spill their guts willing, not out of fear, but simply for not wanting to hide the truth. With their people's sordid past, Sicarrys has made it a point to be upfront about everything they do in their lives to whoever they come across. In their line of work, this doesn't always work out in their favor, so they tend to stick to the shadows, often finding themselves scolded for every misstep before they even make it by Yunaro.

Lastly, but certainly not least of The Takers, was the man that could most undoubtedly take Kodays' heart if he simply asked. Ruggedly handsome, complete with square jaw and dimpled chin was the brains and brawns of The Takers, Jebbadiah Judaius. After Gierloh emerged almost two millennia ago, His presence fostered such deep blood lust and animosity in those around Him, He gave rise to the primal race known as orcs, mutating the humanoids that would be unlucky enough to find themselves anywhere near He tread. Regardless of what race they were before, Gierloh, the Blood Father's presence, transformed them into brutal warriors who worshiped Him as the god He was and were granted mastery of the magic their worship wrought them. Jebbadiah, a half-orc half-dwarf, was a monster in all the best ways possible that made Kodays weak in the knees every time he laid his eyes upon him.

Jeb, as he preferred to be called, was taller than most humans, as broad as a dwarf, and as physically strong as any full-blooded orc you'd come across. To top it off, he was wildly intelligent, having studied military tactics and strategy under the Strongarm family of warriors and tacticians for years as a young ward to the family. Alongside his adopted brother he proudly claimed as his best friend, Barrick Strongarm, they had aspirations of seeing the world and bringing home glory for themselves and the family that had taught and given them everything they were grateful for. Many years after, Barrick had been requested to join the personal guard of The Mantle and Jeb was left alone, briefly, before swiftly being kicked out of the Strongarm estate. Darnellis Strongarm, head of the Strongarm family and Barrick's father, told him that he had only been welcome as Barrick wished it; the orcish blood in him made him repugnant to look at and he couldn't stand the thought of a monster lingering in his home any longer.

From then on, Jeb fled, not knowing what had become of Barrick Strongarm, but now by Kodays side, blushing up at him, he found himself sailing the ocean, exploring uncharted lands, and bringing himself the glory he had spoken of as a child, detestable adopted family be damned.

It was about five days of sailing, turbulent weather causing the ocean to fight against their trek and prolonging their arrival to the dark spires that continued to grow the closer they became. Were it not for Caparicus' skillful control over the currents, several times over would Kodays' vessel, The Crest Cudgel, have been capsized. What were first exciting footnotes in the tale of the adventure, quickly became nothing more than frequent irritants that seemed to only prolong their inevitable arrival.

On the fifth night, just as the sand-laden beach came into view and the weary travelers longed for nothing more than solid land beneath their boots, an unnatural storm swelled, even one the well-practiced triton sailor could not best. From the very depths of the Abyssal Trench, surges of sealed energy broke from the rocky ocean floor, rattling even the raging storm clouds hundreds of miles above. It was a dual front battle, above and below The Crest Cudgel, and before long, either cloud or wave would claim the victory. Spells were cast, wards sealed, and hatches barred as the entirety of The Six fought to survive, but just as lightning struck their mast, a tidal wave crashed the bow of the ship, shattering it to pieces in a brilliant flash of electricity, fire, and water.

A howling thunder shook the air around them as well as within their lungs as they collectively screamed for solace. Blazing lightning blinded and dazed them, sending them reeling into starving waves, gluttonously devouring all in its wake. Sinking moments dragged and lulled into a soft grey haze of unconsciousness and, just as the light faded completely, faint plumes of bubble streams crashed into the surface.

When The Six finally regained consciousness, their setting had changed wildly. Previously a moment of chaos and certain death, they now found themselves witnessing something they, in any instance before now, would have denied plausibility. Lain prone in the center of levitating stones, The Six regained their senses, groaning against the aches and pains that wracked their bodies as they strung together whatever memories and sense they could muster. They were accompanied by two massive individuals, grey-skinned humanoids, rippling with muscle, accentuated by the striking white and blue lightning bolt tattoos etched across every inch of visible skin. Even at this altitude, which kept elevating as the gathered stones beneath them soared higher and higher above the island's shore, they had no recollection of treading, these folk barely wore more than furs and scant leathers.

“Don't strain yourselves, little-folk,” spoke one of the figures, feminine in physique and bone structure, yet hairless as her male companion, each with a bassy voice that boomed like thunder. “The Cirro will want to speak with you and tell our tale. Take these.” She held her hand over the edge of the stone, an innumerable amount of feet above the ground, some strange round material bunched in the palm of her glove. In an instant, a small spark of electricity coursed from an approaching cloud and filled the material with a vibrant blue glow. “These berries are enchanted and will revitalize your strength, eat up, you must be exhausted, new friends.”

Hesitantly, it was Kodays sound of mind enough to respond first. His body was wracked with such an intense soreness, he hadn't felt such pain since Tennia had handed him his ass over an obvious cheat he tried to pull over her years ago. His memories were so fuzzy, the last thing he could recall was the plumes of bubbles diving after his group and it took him little time to surmise that it was their new companions that pulled them from the waters. Looking around, his party beaten beyond verticality, these near giants towering above them with glowing lightning berries, atop these rocks soaring into the clouds as they spoke, a chance of fighting the circumstance seemed nonexistent. Plus, those berries looked delicious!

“Thank you, friend, indeed! We had no idea there would be inhabitants of the Distant Peaks as we've been calling them. Please, tell me of your people and what you call your homeland!” Taking a berry, showing no resistance to instill as much trust with his friends, or potential captors, Kodays happily put the berry to his lips. Upon feeling the warming and surprisingly pleasant tingling sensation the berry brought, he quickly chewed and swallowed, fascinated by the sweet tanginess that somehow had an electrifying, yet pleasant, sour aftertaste. “That was quite the good berry! What was that?”

“A specialty of the Yozian people. The island we currently find ourselves on is a shadow of its former self, but I'll allow The Cirro to explain further.” This was the first time the male companion spoke, boring directly into Kodays as the one holding the berries distributed the remaining to the others of The Six. “We are the Goliaths of Yoz, calling the Ozone Peaks our home at the very top of the island. We travel by use of lightning through these stones that are fragments of the plateau that once dominated this land.”

Jeb began to inspect the stones more closely and smiled at a start, nudging Kodays, enthralled in the booming speech of the Goliath man. He chuckled aloud and murmured, “Sir, these rocks have tons of metallic veins throughout their entire structure. The lightning must have magnetized them somehow. These people are amazing to have adapted to such a dangerous environment!”

Kodays, the Goliaths, and the rest of The Six, all not as formally educated as Jeb stared at him blinking for a moment, waiting for him to explain further, or to simplify. “They use the electricity from the lightning they cast to harness the magnetic properties of the metal within the stones to facilitate air travel! That's brilliant!”

“Jeb, as sexy as I find it when you use big words, you're making my brain hurt. We're floating on rocks through clouds, let's just marvel at that and not how, eh?”

The rest of the ascent was amazing but uneventful. On the cliff face that decorated the side of the mountain they floated beside, small outcroppings of civilizations popped up at various elevations connected by series of rope pullies, ladders, and reinforced slides as broad-faced and shoulder folk smiled and waved to the climbing grouping. These individuals tended to small herds of goats, oxen, and somewhat resembled bovines themselves. They would giddily walk across narrow cliff passages to find sturdy footing on terraces and treehouse porches to welcome the newcomers to their homeland.

“Who are they? Are they members of your people?” Tennia's lips smacked on the tartness of the electrified berries as she teetered the edge of the platform.

“They are the firbolgs,” spoke the woman who'd still yet to give her name. She watched them, smiling slightly, but otherwise void of expression. “They're a peaceful people and have been longtime allies of ours. Yoz has had a long history and they've always been willing to aid us, with whatever endeavor we've come to them with, and we've fought to defend them from elemental and beastial forces as loyal friends. Primarily, these threats come from above, but that which tracked on the heels of the dwarven folk beneath the surface to come here, but that's part of the story The Cirro will discuss with you.”

Closer to the now set sun than any of them had ever dreamt of climbing, far past the thick layer of cloud, and soaked to the bone with gathered precipitation, The Six marveled as they witnessed the unfathomable. “Welcome to the Ozone Peaks friends, the highest land in all of Rhyonis!”

Clouds broke and all around them was a brilliant, darkening beautiful blue sky that bleed into an endless floor of soft white. Striking grey and blue stone jutted through the fluff and stood at various angles, sparking tendrils of curling lightning fingers from their tips. Tethered to, which levitated, rotating and orbiting the peaks, were similar clusters of what they found themselves standing upon. Hundreds of floating islands dotted the skyscape, topped with striking metal structures, domiciles, sculptures, defense walls, and hundreds of giant, grey-skinned humanoids, like their companions.

Jaw agape, The Six sat utterly stunned in a transfixed stupor, as they were gliding atop the clouds to the central structure of this collective stone and metal spire. It was a domicile, complete with a doorless entryway and surrounded by free-floating metal columns. Inside, there were not rooms or passages, just an open chamber with long mats spread for sitting and low resting tables housing anything from bowls of fruit, to books, to plates of various steaming and sparking dishes. At the very center of the room, floating several feet above the ground in a throne carved from stone with glowing veins of multicolored metal, was a truly colossal Goliath.

Compared to even the large companions that had brought them this far, the individual before them was of an unnatural stature. His voice tore apart the air and shook the walls and the tips of the Ozone Peaks as he breathed his welcome. “Hello, Arhanians, we've awaited your arrival far longer than your land has even been formed. Welcome to Storumund, my home. Please, be at rest, you've nothing to fear here.” Despite his insistence of safety, not a member among The Six could contain their knees from chattering against one another, made all that much worse when the massive being before them stood and nearly tripled even Jeb's impressive size.

There was a loss of words around, moments of awkward silence before the Goliath companions bowed to the man, apparently The Cirro they spoke of earlier, and took their leave. Six fragments of their stony chariot broke off and delivered them to the center of the room. “I can feel your tension, but I assure you, you're far safer here than on the waters of the Continental Sea. Kyah's rage knows no bounds, above or below, but here, we control the Sky's fury. I am the current Cirro of Yoz, Nimbus, welcome.”

With another wave of his hand, The Cirro completely transformed the room. From his fingertips, thick strands of electricity lashed out like elongated limbs, pulling rock, stone, and metal scrap from floor, wall, and ceiling to drastically alter the layout of the chamber before them. What was a long empty corridor, was now an elegant sitting room with six identical chairs arranged in a half-circle before The Cirro and his throne.

“My friends, the history of Yoz is a long and proud one. We, the Yozian natives, have lived here so long as Life Essence has coursed through the land of Rhyonis. We fought for survival and existence from our lofty plateau, reduced now to the hazardous spires we call the Ozone Peaks. You see, until Angehalh imparted the Gift of Sentience to the realm, we Goliaths emerged from the stone of Yoz. Our hardened flesh and rugged exteriors have been adapted from elevation, isolation, and out of sheer necessity. We were left here by the Creation Gods to soar high above the rest of the realm, or plummet to our demise. Until we were given the ability to process, grow, and cultivate the land, the plummeting was our only course of action. For countless years, our people wandered off the edge of what was our entire world, never to be seen again, as new members of out 'society' clambered from the stone in their absence.

“This was the state of things until Angehlah imparted the Gift of Sentience unto Rhyonis and we quickly set up rails and patrols to ensure no more our of people would fall beneath the clouds. We began to explore and found our homeland had other denizens. Our most devoted warriors would climb the cliff face, braving the unknown beneath the clouds, where they would discover our cousins, the Firbolgs, clinging to the side of the plateau and leaping from ledge to foothold like the mountain goats they tended.

“Hundreds of years passed and our societies grew to become great allies. Their people would provide us with food and livestock, we would craft tools and defense for them from our metal and stone, as well as defend them from the elemental forces that would sometimes emerge from the space above our plateau, where the highest clouds would roll in their nightmarish slumber.

“From time to time, these forces would surge in abundance and collide into the very top of Yoz, threatening to break apart the foundation of the mountains unless these elemental beings were eradicated. At first, it was a minor inconvenience and, at a worst, a rogue gale would wreck a little bit of havoc along the sides of Yoz before being destroyed. This was the arrangement between our people for a time, until The Dawn of Broken Peaks.”

A hushed silence had befallen all of the six who eagerly sat on the edge of their seats, absolutely engrossed in the history lesson imparted on them by The Cirro. His tone changed, darkened, and he swallowed hard before continuing his tale with the sizzling scent of ozone growing ever more intense and noticeable among the chilly silence.

“The Dawn of Broken Peaks is the bleakest and most frightening moment in our peoples' history. It was a typical day of Yozian life at first and our people had recently welcomed the dwarven folk who found their way here from Theurgius by way of the Underdark. They sought protection from foul forces that followed them through the massive cave network but had the ability to seal the passages behind them, so long as they had a new, safe, land to call home.

"We, both the Firbolgs and Goliath people, welcomed our new allies and were thrilled to discover more peoples and learn of the rest of the realm beyond our home, but were cautious of the impending danger the dwarves spoke of. Neither of our people had use for the caves beneath the island, or even the shores and surface of Yoz. So long as the dwarves settled in these spaces, allowing us our cliffs and plateaus, they'd be more than welcome to call themselves Yozians alongside us. We had no way of knowing just what a grave error this would be, nor the perilous stakes this would pose for our way of life.

“We were unsure of exactly what the monsters chasing the dwarves were. It was only as the first vampires emerged from the Underdark, ravenous, with an unquenched thirst, did we realize the folly of our ways. The dwarves managed to seal the passages below as they said they would, but it was for naught. A single leech made its way past the dwarves and began to spread its infection across the innocent; children would turn to spawns and feast on their parents, turning them, and the carnage was unlike anything Yoz had seen in its history. Families tore each other apart until our only course was to burn them out. Trees and vertical farms, integral to the foundation of the massive plateau Yoz once proudly boasted to be, burned to nothing but ash, weakening the entirety of the island. The endless network of root and vine that pulsed Life Essence through all of Yoz withered and choked the island from the inside out. But with the tunnels sealed, the last of the vampires purged from the land, we were safe once again, until the dreaded Dawn of Broken Peaks.

"As a new three-part society, reeling from massive losses on all fronts, we tended to our united homeland. The firbolgs taught the goliaths and dwarves to tend their own crops and to care for the remaining plant life that produced Life Essence for the land. We goliaths taught combat and the act of redirecting the lighting that would strike from the peaks so as to prevent damage during heavy storms. The dwarves taught magic and wards as well as refined craftsmanship for more efficient farm tools and weapons against the elemental forces. Despite all that the dwarves brought, good and bad, we saw a great time of prosperity between our people, though nothing would have been enough to prepare us for the Dawn of Broken Peaks.”

“Oh, by Nihaan’s Belt, will you just get on with it! If I hear 'Dawn of Broken Peaks' one more time without actually hearing what they are, I'm going to explode!” Shouted Yunaro who had been tiredly yawning of boredom. Kodays, and the rest of The Six, shot her a curt look but The Cirro calmly sighed and continued, paying little mind to the halfling's outburst.

“We had always thought, our ancestors that is, that the elements, lightning and air spirits, were simply other beings of Rhyonis, but on this historic, horrific morning, we learned that there was a rift above our plateau to the elemental Plane of Air. It was here that these spirits, and something much greater, called home. This rift would allow them to slip into our world, and on this day, without warning and still with unknown purpose, they ALL tore into Rhyonis through this rift. The Cirro at the time, Sky Furor Bolt-Treader, made the ultimate decision to save our people and it is his tale that foretold of your arrival.

“In a devastating battle that would see the exquisite plateau of Yoz crumble into the scattered spires we now call home, Bolt-Treader cast out his people from their homes and set out for battle. For hours, the stream of elementals knew no bounds and his rage would go continue ceaselessly. A seemingly endless maelstrom of creatures bombarded the plateau, breaking it apart, piece by piece, before spreading to wreak havoc across the entire island. Based on our seers' accounts of the events, there was no rhyme or reason for the attack, simply sheer chaos and unrelenting violence. The Sky Furors across Yoz valiantly put themselves on the forefront of the defensive, defending all of Yoz from the ground and cliffside while Bolt-Treader sought out the eye of the storm, where all the devastation would be emanating from.

“The Cirro was the only person to see this Source, even our seers haven't been able to divine its true form or nature. By the accounts he retold on his deathbed upon defeating the creature and sending it back to the rift from whence it came, it was unlike anything native to Rhyonis. Larger in size than Yoz itself, the Source, shrouded in cloud and magical haze, it was said to be a serpent with a thousand wings that breathed lightning and spoke thunder. Simply existing created new elementals within its presence and the fact that what stands left of Yoz still remains is proof enough what a deadly conflict it was. Thankfully, the creature was defeated, but so too was Bolt-Treader. He expelled all of his might to fell the beast, and all he managed to do was drive it home. His final words were a prophecy that we, the Yozians, believe has come to fruition with your arrival, young Kodays.

“Yoz is crumbling to this day and is unable to sustain the population we already have. We have no means of escape through the Underdark, lest we lead ourselves to slaughter at the hands of the vampires. We have no craftsman able to make water vessels as you traveled on, but have skill we could offer in trade for your assistance. My friend, please, save my people.”

For the first time, The Cirro broke eye contact with the entirety of the group and looked to the ground, mournfully. He fell to his knees, placed his forehead to the metal floor that sparked once he made contact. There were heavy breaths rocking his full-body, now fully doubled over itself in his hunched bow, still larger than any of them individually.

“I beg you. Bolt-Treader said 'another dwarf will arrive, not with death on his heels, but with hope.' You are the answer to save my people, we saved your vessel from the wrathful waves of Kyah, your kin are keeping it safe in one of their grottos, making what repairs they can. I will do whatever I must, all I ask is you return to your home and bring back new ships to take some volunteers to start a new life.”

Kodays, humbled by the exchange, lowered himself to bow before The Cirro in turn. “Your excellence, as our ruler, The Mantle, says, 'in a cold and dark world, we are each other's warmth and light.' It would be my absolute honor to assist you. Your story, and your home are utterly beyond words and the rest of Rhyonis must know of your peoples' endeavors. Arhan-Zoul is the Land of New Beginnings, after all, and we would be thrilled to call you allies and fellow Arhanians!”

And with much cause for celebration, but little time to actually do so, The Six were ushered from the domicile of The Cirro and to the sea-level shore of Yoz. The rush of adventure coursed through Kodays and, almost as if he knew the paths and had walked them a million times before, or always had been meant to walk them, he flew through rock and dirt strewn crag and trail to find, just as the goliaths had said, a small waterway connecting a mossy grotto to the Continental Sea.

Kodays, surrounded by his party of The Six smiled as he saw his fellow dwarven folk patrolling the area around The Crest Cudgel. The patrollers pointed at them and waved, beckoning their approach with excited glee stretching their lips from ear to ear. “Well,” he said, addressing his exhausted and weary allies. “What say you to one more adventure to reconnect the ends of Rhyonis?”

Want to keep reading? Click here for Session Eight: Relaquence and the Isles of Taerys!

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