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[ZEITGEIST] The Continuing Adventures of Korrigan & Co.
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<blockquote data-quote="gideonpepys" data-source="post: 7473116" data-attributes="member: 79141"><p><strong>Session 63, Part Four - Refugee Crisis</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>With apologies to the original author (taken 90% verbatim from the original text):</strong></p><p></p><p>Less than 24 hours after the Obscurati’s ritual, the first trainload of refugees arrived from Bole. Tad Hilly, owner of the Thinking Man’s Tavern in Flint’s Bosum Strand district, had old family ties to Bole, and so in the aftermath of the Great Eclipse, many refugees congregated there. Prowling her ld beat, Gupta was soon aware of the growing crisis and quickly brought the events to the unit’s attention.</p><p></p><p>The first night, when things were still relatively quiet, porters who came in on the railroad spread rumours that Bole’s druids sensed something amiss: that storms of huge power were brewing to the west, forest fires were spotted over the horizon to the east, and that a dozen miners were found floating dead in the Slywater River, a tributary of the Great Delve. (The Slywater had been dammed upstream in the Anthras Mountains a few decades ago as part of new mining operations.)</p><p></p><p>On the second day, hundreds of refugees arrived. They’d heard rumours that, somehow, Flint still had a sun. In any case, they were happy to be in a bigger city, away from the eerie woods that surround Bole. Ominously, people actually hadn’t seen any fey in the forest, as if they knew something bad was coming and fled.</p><p></p><p>On the third day, the trains from Bole were overloaded with a thousand refugees. The people had no doubt that a great disaster would soon befall their city, though there were only a few eyewitnesses with useful information. By chance – or perhaps by a sympathetic, psionic link – they were all congregated in Tad Hilly’s tavern, when the unit went to find them:</p><p></p><p><strong>Barnaby Krist</strong> was something of a folk legend in Bole, a hunter of repute with a strong stomach for drink and a propensity for telling outrageous stories that turned out to be true. Almost seven feet tall and seemingly made up of scars and body hair, Barnaby spoke with a heavy accent that he said was that of ‘true forest folk.’ Barnaby saw the forest fires and climbed to an overlook to see the extent of the blaze. From miles away he noticed that the fire was spreading outward in a ring, which isn’t how forest fires travel. “They follow the wind.” Something was lighting the fires. Then he asked for a drink to slake his thirst and downed the whole thing before his big reveal:</p><p><em></em></p><p><em>“On ma way oot of de forest, I saw a black pup runnin’ at me. Naw, pup is a bad word, cause it was the size of that stuffed bear I used ta have in me home. I thought it was getting’ away from dat big fire, cause der was smoke coming off da beast’s back. No flame, just smoke. It was like they may’a been on fire afore, and dem eyes still glowed, ya see? Still burned from within. I hollered at it and it turnt off, but I seen it prancin’ in front o’ dat fire.”</em></p><p></p><p>The legends about the Ash Wolf tell of his pups, the Smouldering Wolves: when wounded or enraged, they burst into flame and viciously fought to the death. Some stories say they can speak, but they only ever seem concerned with hunting, or with driving off those who threaten their father. They dance when near flames because their mother was caught in a forest fire and let herself become the flames.</p><p></p><p>Their father only ever stirs when there are mighty blazes, in hopes of seeing his lost mate again.</p><p></p><p>As a hunter, Barnaby was quite familiar with the local terrain, and could point out the exact area the encounter occurred at on a map – start at Bole, follow the rail line to the east, and when the tracks turn north go another twenty-three miles east-northeast, in the craggy woods near ‘dat ol’ layer-cake ruin.’ (The Ancient Ziggurat of Av.)</p><p></p><p><strong>Slim Chance</strong>, a rancher living fifty miles west of Bole, played harmonica with the Jered Lawman’s tavern band. Slim’s dog Hank sat with him, howling along occasionally to the music.</p><p></p><p>Slim said he was out on a drunken bender in the cattle pasture (Hank had been chewing silage and was a little drunk too) when all the stars fell away a few days ago. He spotted a massive bolt of lightning strike a few miles away, but the bolt didn’t fade. It just kept flashing and rumbling for minutes. The cattle around him all turned and stared at the spectacle, and Slim just enjoyed the light show, too out of it to really worry. An hour later the lightning stopped, and he heard the loudest roar in the world from where the bolts had been striking, and then every single cow around him starting making a ruckus and walking in that direction.</p><p></p><p>Figuring it was his boss’s problem, Slim kept drinking until morning (such as it was, with only the Gyre and no sun). He woke with a blistering hangover, made worse by Hank barking and snarling constantly. He realized the dog was keeping him from getting trampled; hundreds of cows, some with brands from other ranches miles away – as well as the occasional deer or goat – were all heading in the same direction.</p><p></p><p>So Slim went the other way as fast as he could. On his way back to the ranch he thought he heard a whole mounted procession of knights in plate armor riding out in the middle pasture, blaring on trumpets, but that definitely was his boss’s problem. He got his horse, his leaf of Nicodemus, and enough food for him and Hank and rode like hell toward Bole. He basically kept running until he got to the edge of the sea, and now he’s still drinking.</p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Legends of the Father of Thunder tell that his presence is heralded by great storms and great drinking, for the king of herd beasts is an uncontestable lush. He calls a mighty herd to surround him, impregnates many mares and sows and does, and imbues the offspring his boon, transforming them into wondrous steeds for any who can capture them. The Great Hunt traditionally take all their horses from among these blessed steeds.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p></p><p><strong>Grandma Goudada</strong>, a hang-lipped crone who wasn’t shy about knowing a few hexes, came into town with a gang of Fortunad nomads – mostly half-elves of muddled ethnicity forced to wander because they don’t fit in anywhere except with other misfits. She was happily terrorizing the various children in the tavern; refugees saw an old lady, assumed it was safe to leave their kids with her while they drank, and wondered later why little Timmy was having nightmares.</p><p></p><p>Grandma Goudada and her gang were at a small mining town in the Anthras Mountains called Favela, and she was trying to read ‘some government lady’ her fortune, to know what fate awaited in this starless world. Goudada got as far as pulling three cards before doing the unthinkable – she gave the woman her money back, hobbled away, and told her family they had to get as far from the mountains as possible. Her grand-nephew Emilian got them on a train to Bole, then to Flint, which seemed like a good idea until Goudada saw Cauldron Hill.</p><p></p><p>For a payment substantial enough to make up for her earlier loss, Goudada explained with great portentousness that the cards showed the King wanting to trap and kill a grandmother under a mountain. She glared at the unit, warning them that they should know better than to come after this old granny.</p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Legends of Granny Allswell tell that the grandmother of gremlins was last defeated by Queen Zidi Wheatling in the year 218 A.O.V. After brawling failed, Zidi took some of her royal treasure and buried it inside three elder earth elementals, which left bits of themselves like a trail of breadcrumbs into a deep mountain cave. While the fey titan tried to pull the ‘owies’ from the elementals, Zidi tricked the granny’s gremlin minions into breaking the wooden supports that kept the cave entrance from collapsing, sealing Granny Allswell away for nearly three centuries.</em></p><p></p><p>With She Who Writhes known to be at large in the ocean, that just left the Voice of Rot. </p><p></p><p>What could he be up to?</p><p></p><p><strong>End of Zeitgeist Season 5</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>End Credits Soundtrack:</strong></p><p></p><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE3rpaqXPv8" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE3rpaqXPv8</a></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="gideonpepys, post: 7473116, member: 79141"] [b]Session 63, Part Four - Refugee Crisis[/b] [B]With apologies to the original author (taken 90% verbatim from the original text):[/B] Less than 24 hours after the Obscurati’s ritual, the first trainload of refugees arrived from Bole. Tad Hilly, owner of the Thinking Man’s Tavern in Flint’s Bosum Strand district, had old family ties to Bole, and so in the aftermath of the Great Eclipse, many refugees congregated there. Prowling her ld beat, Gupta was soon aware of the growing crisis and quickly brought the events to the unit’s attention. The first night, when things were still relatively quiet, porters who came in on the railroad spread rumours that Bole’s druids sensed something amiss: that storms of huge power were brewing to the west, forest fires were spotted over the horizon to the east, and that a dozen miners were found floating dead in the Slywater River, a tributary of the Great Delve. (The Slywater had been dammed upstream in the Anthras Mountains a few decades ago as part of new mining operations.) On the second day, hundreds of refugees arrived. They’d heard rumours that, somehow, Flint still had a sun. In any case, they were happy to be in a bigger city, away from the eerie woods that surround Bole. Ominously, people actually hadn’t seen any fey in the forest, as if they knew something bad was coming and fled. On the third day, the trains from Bole were overloaded with a thousand refugees. The people had no doubt that a great disaster would soon befall their city, though there were only a few eyewitnesses with useful information. By chance – or perhaps by a sympathetic, psionic link – they were all congregated in Tad Hilly’s tavern, when the unit went to find them: [B]Barnaby Krist[/B] was something of a folk legend in Bole, a hunter of repute with a strong stomach for drink and a propensity for telling outrageous stories that turned out to be true. Almost seven feet tall and seemingly made up of scars and body hair, Barnaby spoke with a heavy accent that he said was that of ‘true forest folk.’ Barnaby saw the forest fires and climbed to an overlook to see the extent of the blaze. From miles away he noticed that the fire was spreading outward in a ring, which isn’t how forest fires travel. “They follow the wind.” Something was lighting the fires. Then he asked for a drink to slake his thirst and downed the whole thing before his big reveal: [I] “On ma way oot of de forest, I saw a black pup runnin’ at me. Naw, pup is a bad word, cause it was the size of that stuffed bear I used ta have in me home. I thought it was getting’ away from dat big fire, cause der was smoke coming off da beast’s back. No flame, just smoke. It was like they may’a been on fire afore, and dem eyes still glowed, ya see? Still burned from within. I hollered at it and it turnt off, but I seen it prancin’ in front o’ dat fire.”[/I] The legends about the Ash Wolf tell of his pups, the Smouldering Wolves: when wounded or enraged, they burst into flame and viciously fought to the death. Some stories say they can speak, but they only ever seem concerned with hunting, or with driving off those who threaten their father. They dance when near flames because their mother was caught in a forest fire and let herself become the flames. Their father only ever stirs when there are mighty blazes, in hopes of seeing his lost mate again. As a hunter, Barnaby was quite familiar with the local terrain, and could point out the exact area the encounter occurred at on a map – start at Bole, follow the rail line to the east, and when the tracks turn north go another twenty-three miles east-northeast, in the craggy woods near ‘dat ol’ layer-cake ruin.’ (The Ancient Ziggurat of Av.) [B]Slim Chance[/B], a rancher living fifty miles west of Bole, played harmonica with the Jered Lawman’s tavern band. Slim’s dog Hank sat with him, howling along occasionally to the music. Slim said he was out on a drunken bender in the cattle pasture (Hank had been chewing silage and was a little drunk too) when all the stars fell away a few days ago. He spotted a massive bolt of lightning strike a few miles away, but the bolt didn’t fade. It just kept flashing and rumbling for minutes. The cattle around him all turned and stared at the spectacle, and Slim just enjoyed the light show, too out of it to really worry. An hour later the lightning stopped, and he heard the loudest roar in the world from where the bolts had been striking, and then every single cow around him starting making a ruckus and walking in that direction. Figuring it was his boss’s problem, Slim kept drinking until morning (such as it was, with only the Gyre and no sun). He woke with a blistering hangover, made worse by Hank barking and snarling constantly. He realized the dog was keeping him from getting trampled; hundreds of cows, some with brands from other ranches miles away – as well as the occasional deer or goat – were all heading in the same direction. So Slim went the other way as fast as he could. On his way back to the ranch he thought he heard a whole mounted procession of knights in plate armor riding out in the middle pasture, blaring on trumpets, but that definitely was his boss’s problem. He got his horse, his leaf of Nicodemus, and enough food for him and Hank and rode like hell toward Bole. He basically kept running until he got to the edge of the sea, and now he’s still drinking. [I] Legends of the Father of Thunder tell that his presence is heralded by great storms and great drinking, for the king of herd beasts is an uncontestable lush. He calls a mighty herd to surround him, impregnates many mares and sows and does, and imbues the offspring his boon, transforming them into wondrous steeds for any who can capture them. The Great Hunt traditionally take all their horses from among these blessed steeds. [/I] [B]Grandma Goudada[/B], a hang-lipped crone who wasn’t shy about knowing a few hexes, came into town with a gang of Fortunad nomads – mostly half-elves of muddled ethnicity forced to wander because they don’t fit in anywhere except with other misfits. She was happily terrorizing the various children in the tavern; refugees saw an old lady, assumed it was safe to leave their kids with her while they drank, and wondered later why little Timmy was having nightmares. Grandma Goudada and her gang were at a small mining town in the Anthras Mountains called Favela, and she was trying to read ‘some government lady’ her fortune, to know what fate awaited in this starless world. Goudada got as far as pulling three cards before doing the unthinkable – she gave the woman her money back, hobbled away, and told her family they had to get as far from the mountains as possible. Her grand-nephew Emilian got them on a train to Bole, then to Flint, which seemed like a good idea until Goudada saw Cauldron Hill. For a payment substantial enough to make up for her earlier loss, Goudada explained with great portentousness that the cards showed the King wanting to trap and kill a grandmother under a mountain. She glared at the unit, warning them that they should know better than to come after this old granny. [I] Legends of Granny Allswell tell that the grandmother of gremlins was last defeated by Queen Zidi Wheatling in the year 218 A.O.V. After brawling failed, Zidi took some of her royal treasure and buried it inside three elder earth elementals, which left bits of themselves like a trail of breadcrumbs into a deep mountain cave. While the fey titan tried to pull the ‘owies’ from the elementals, Zidi tricked the granny’s gremlin minions into breaking the wooden supports that kept the cave entrance from collapsing, sealing Granny Allswell away for nearly three centuries.[/I] With She Who Writhes known to be at large in the ocean, that just left the Voice of Rot. What could he be up to? [B]End of Zeitgeist Season 5[/B] [B]End Credits Soundtrack:[/B] [URL]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HE3rpaqXPv8[/URL] [/QUOTE]
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