Letters Letters from the Taagi Baara

[Shrike]

Dearest Morcant,

It is now almost a month by my count since I left the Delta. I am confident the last of the stones is hidden somewhere in these steppes. I can almost feel it call to me.

I do not believe you would enjoy these climes. Since I left the last of the orc villages and crossed the Bystra it has been nothing but open plains and frozen soil. Far to the west, near Eaglehead, I am told the land becomes mountainous, but before my eyes is nothing but a sea of grass occasionally broken by small craggy mountains. There are hardly any trees to speak of and those that are are short and hardy things, much like the horses that seem to populate the land in great numbers.

We passed a tribe of men yesterday, but they did not want to speak to us and seemed in a hurry to reach the Bystra. Almost as if they were fleeing something.

I doubt not that the Naga keep up their assaults, but hope this letter finds you and good health and that the last of the repairs to the old keep have been finished.

Yours Truly,
Gareth

 

[Morcant]

Spoiler

IUK-'U DELTA, ISLE OF ELPHANE
VEL FIDEAL

"Letter for you, Brother Morcant."

The sudden appearance of Brother Henwas in the doorway made Morcant jump, nearly smacking his head against the horizontal lever of the printing press. One would have hoped after the last incident that Morcant's colleagues would stop startling people while they were making final inspections on the type blocks. Apparently not.

Vel Fideal was home to the Order of the Moth's printing operation, which the worked in conjunction with the local guild. Morcant had been sent to ensure this year's almanac was to be released on schedule. But now he had a letter, so the business of these other... Letters... Would have to wait.

Morcant stood himself up hurriedly and waved Brother Henwas into the workshop. "Ah, yes, my latest communique. No doubt from the esteemed Lady Heronmere."

Brother Henwas relinquished the letter. "You get letters from Lady Heronmere?"

"Of course I do," Morcant snapped, breaking the wax seal, "We have grown quite fond of one another."

"Have you."

"Yes! Why just last week she said of me..." Morcant trailed off as he scanned the letter and noted the alien signature at the bottom.

Brother Henwas raised an eyebrow and broke the silence. "She said you were...?"

Morcant grimaced and folded the letter back up. Disappointed? Disheartened? Perhaps both.

"Nothing. She said nothing. Go, off with you!"

To My Itinerant Friend,

I must say that I am surprised to have received a letter from you. While I did expect you to write, I did also expect that letters arriving from the heart of the Taagi Baara would have a rather low chance of reaching their final destination. I regret that I did not meet the courier(s?) used, I would have liked to ensure they received appropriate payment. My peers who handle the distribution of post are known to be somewhat stingy.

On the subject of Naga, I'm afraid I have less than good news. The Naga launched a counterattack before our repairs could be completed. Lord Oskerling's men were forced to flee, lest they become entrapped and slaughtered to the last, or worse. They razed the structure behind them, so at the least the Naga will not soon resume using it to harass those few merchants who still dare to make their way to the delta.

It's quite alarming that those savages seem to have made it as far as Taagi Baara. Something must be spurring them on. Most of the Bracken Council is still of the opinion that simply killing enough of them will drive them back and restore normalcy. I doubt they appreciate the enormity of their sightings in Alliria and elsewhere.

I am due for Belgrath at some point - another ritual component must be recovered. I suspect I will remain here for quite some time, however, supervising more menial tasks in the interim. I envy your ability to come and go as you please.

Sincerely,

Morcant

 

[Shrike]

Dearest Morcant,

We are pursued.

Forgive my lateness in reply. Of the courier pigeons Brother Henwas gave me, only two live. The others have been eaten by eagles. I thought it mere chance the first time, but the closer we grow to Eaglehead the more mountainous this region becomes. Small firs decorate the hills and the grasslands become taiga. And it is not as devoid of life.

At first I thought them men upon mounts, but my orc guides tell me that they are truly one creature half-man and half-horse. The guides are terrified of them and pressed me sorely to turn back. Perhaps I should have heeded their advice, for I came to learn that the eagle attack upon my courier pigeon was no accident. It seems this tribe of centaurs, for such they are, make common practice of capturing the immense birds and training them to hunt.

They do not stop at slaughtering our pigeons. The prior week, they drew within bowshot and loosed several volleys of arrows at us before pulling back. I thought their aim errant, until I found that the arrows had killed the majority of our pack animals. I studied the shafts that were not broken. They are of excellent design, fashioned from the surrounding coniferous trees, with barbed heads of iron. Not a one was bent and the fletching was perfect, with extraordinary attention to detail.

I hoped that that was the last we would see of them, but I should have known better. The following night they set fire to our tents and succeeding in burning a large portion of our supplies. We have not seen them again since that night, but they keep up dreadful cries in the night. One of the guides deserted us and fled toward the Bystra.

I found his head outside my tent in the morning.

The last of our war turtles perished today. Without supplies, they fare poorly in this cold weather.

Dreadful news from the Delta. If I fail, perhaps the Bracken Council's way will be the only way forward, though I fear what happens if the Naga succeed in their own rituals. Even the Moth Lords would not survive Her.

I am afraid this may be the last message you hear from me. Without the pigeons I must rely on the enchanted pen and we know how unreliable that can be.

Yours truly,

Gareth

 

[Morcant]

Spoiler

IUK-'U DELTA, ISLE OF ELPHANE
VEL INDECH

The interior of the shack was crowded with wasps. Hundreds of them, at least. But not a single one acknowledged Morcant as he shuffled through, however, even as he made his way closer to their source. They were ambivalent to his presence, more focused on moving back and forth from their hives to the piles of logs that lay on the floor.

He precariously balanced an open ledger in one hand and a quill in the other and made his way to the first stall. The vague shape of a humanoid figure was seated on the ground. Wasps crawled back and forth along its body, entering an exiting through a hole in the head where the face might be. Erling squinted past the swarm to note the state of the golem, then jotted down its progress in the ledger.

"Brother Morcant?"

Morcant jumped again, nearly fumbling the ledger. Brother Henwas. Damn him! Someone ought to put a bell around his fucking neck! "Yes, Brother Henwas?" Morcant turned to the doorway. It was wide open, but none of the wasps made to leave or to harass Henwas.

Henwas held a letter out. "Letter for you."

"Ah, yes. Lady Hereonmere has finally replied, thank you!" Morcant gladly took the offered letter. "It's been some time, but I never lost hope, you know."

"Of course."

Morcant broke the seal and began to read, "It is just like her, you know, to wait until the last... Possible..."

Henwas cleared his throat after a short silence, "Brother Morcant, you've trailed-"

"Yes! I am aware!" Morcant snapped, "Thank you for delivering this! Now go on!"

To My Unfortunate and Itinerant Friend,

I am not the least surprised as to the fate of the Great Turtles you brought with you, seeing as how you have transported them so far from their native environment. I had assumed they died long ago while crossing the Spine and that you were just too embarrassed to admit it. Your insistence on referring to them as war beasts has, perhaps, clouded your judgement as to their most optimal use. The Great Turtles have always been best utilized as pack animals here in the Iuk-'U and only in the Iuk-'U.

At the least, I can acknowledge I am thoroughly astonished to see they made it all the way to Taagi Baara... Even if their ultimate fate was still to only be picked off roving centaurs. I will inform my fellow Brothers and Sisters of your impressive feat, though I suspect they would have been more impressed to see them returned alive.

On the subject of your equine assailants, I find myself rather intrigued. If by chance you return alive, be sure to bring some of their bows and arrows back with you. I myself do not have much knowledge of fletching and bow-craft, but Sister Ethne presents herself as something of an expert. Perhaps she may learn as much from these savages as you seem to be!

Clearly the frozen climes of Taagi Baara have addled your wits. Whatever pitiful, pedantic acts of shamanism the Naga engage in, it is of little threat. Why else would their spellcasters shy away from conflict so often? Even if their pseudo-sorcery were advanced enough to summon their... Well, I shudder to even consider committing what we know of their alleged other-worldly patron to text. But you know what I speak of. It is, nevertheless, what I and the other scholars have taken to calling "a false flag."

The threat of the Naga is their numbers, I assure you. Not their - to put it flatteringly - diminutive grasp of the arcane.

I do hope this letter finds you well. Brother Henwas has agreed to beseech Elder Gildas and Elder Nemausus to bless and ward these new pigeons. Hopefully they may find you more easily than their predecessors did. Things have been quiet in the Delta for now, though this can only mean the Naga are marshaling for another assault. I'll keep you appraised of any coming events.

Sincerely,

Morcant

 

[Shrike]

Dearest Morcant,

My hand trembles as I set words to parchment, for I know it has been a month since last I wrote you and I know not whether you live or fill the belly of some Naga warrior. Please, I beg of you, do not underestimate them or you may meet with the same fate as my expedition.

For my part, I have been captured and my entire party put to the sword. I alone was spared after a blow to the head, though I know not why. The attack came suddenly and in the night. I remember little of it save that when they came their hoofbeats sounded like rolling thunder and their war cries sent chills through my very bones, then they were upon us, riding through and around. One of them must have kicked me in the skull. It is a wonder I am even alive at all.

At first they took everything from me, including my blindfold. They realized their mistake when they returned to find their interrogator petrified. I did not wish it on him, as you know how I loath to use the power of my cursed blood, but he left me without choice. Afterward, they returned my clothes and my blindfold and even sought to have me bathe for an audience with their chieftain. Perhaps they spared me out of fascination with this power, or perhaps they are merely prolonging my death. I do not know.

They call their leader the Qhagan and his words carry iron in them every bit as hard as a dwarf king or orc chieftain. I was surprised to find he speaks the common tongue, and well. His accent is not guttural, like the orcs, or burlish like the dwarves, but deep and melodic. More a slow chant than speech to my ears. He was vastly inquisitive of lands across the seas and rivers. They call themselves the Tarakhi and are a nomadic people, but have not ventured past the Bystra in a hundred years. They raise great herds of sheep and yaks, but they are also hunters and warriors. Every child is taught to use the bow from the time they are foaled and with these weapons they can perform incredible feats of skill. Each warrior goes out saddled with four quivers, some holding different types of arrows for different types of game, or foe.

I find the bows themselves fascinating. Made from horn, sinew, and gut, they are wonderfully curved and can launch shafts with extraordinary power. I will endeavor, as you suggest, to bring one back with me should they ever allow me to depart alive.

Their Qhagan warmed to me in time and I have had many audiences with him since I was first taken captive. He has taught me to play one of their games, which consists of a great many pebbles upon a board. Perhaps I shall describe the game in further detail when time permits, but the game is every bit as fascinating as these people. They do not have cities, but live in yurts, some of which can be as immense as a meadhall, though they do not have the grandiosity of dwarvish architecture. They take pleasure in all that surrounds them and seem to delight in the use of it. When a Tarakhi centaur kills a saiga or gazelle, he uses every part of the beast. Although they are of the earth, they worship the Sky itself and tame eagles. I wish to learn more of their religion and culture, but their Qhagan speaks only of merchants and trade.

His people harbor a hatred and mistrust of the orc tribes who live in the steppes, but I can hear the excitement in his voice when I tell him of Alliria and its spices and silks. I wonder if perhaps I can convince him to release me in time, or if he simply wishes to better know those he names foe.

They told me that your pigeon came directly into camp, but was set upon by one of their eagles. Before the eagle's claws could fasten around the pigeon, they say a bolt of lightning struck it from the sky. I know it as a warding magic, but they took it as an omen from their Sky God. They treat me with an air of reverence now that I find most disturbing.

One of their warriors, Tinji, comes to me often and speaks of their battles against a rival Qhaganate known as the Huungok. These Huungok centaurs by his account have horns upon their heads and care only for bloodshed. I have no desire to meet them at this time.

Yours Truly,
Gareth

 

[Morcant]

To My Apparently Ascendant and Itinerant Friend,

It is good to hear from you as always, though you may cease your trembling - I am very much alive, as are the rest of my folk. The Naga launched a raid on Vel Taenos in the interim, though they were repulsed soundly. It is the first I have heard of them attempting to land at our island's sole harbor. Previously they've only sent smaller parties elsewhere.

My brother, Morland, has theorized they've given up attempting to forge onto the island from a different point and that they are now probing Vel Taenos for signs of weakness. It makes sense, I suppose. The terrain is far too treacherous for those not blessed by the Moth to pass through; to say nothing of the Oathsworn my Order has committed to the swamp. Mindless savages though they may be, I wouldn't put it past them to actually learn from their mistakes. Certainly took them long enough!

Well, enough about that. It seems you have more important things to worry about. Sounds like you're having quite a time of it with this so-called "Qhagan." It is good that you have identified them by what I assume is their clan name - Tarakhi - as visiting vengeance upon them will be much easier if they should have you killed. You should imply to them that, while difficult, it is entirely within the realm of possibility for the Moth to have them stricken with unpleasant diseases even at this distance.

But that won't be necessary. If the Qhagan is taking your council, I would assume you are more likely to live. Either that or you can take your blindfold off and make a real mess of things for them. I imagine you grimace to read that, but as I previously expressed, avenging your death myself would be something of a hassle.

At any rate, this truly is a wealth of information. I have synthesized your descriptions accordingly and will have them committed to the archives. Brother Veson will be especially delighted to have another "exotic culture" to fawn over. It seems you have already beaten me in making a name for myself in the archives. You have my envy, truly.

Sincerely,

Morcant

 

[Shrike]

Dearest Morcant,

The Qhan has decided to let me go. I travel accompanied by some of their number who wish me to lead them to Alliria and make introduction. From there I shall make my way back to the Delta. These months have been some of the most harrowing I've ever experienced, but for all that I believe my discoveries worth the cost.

Expect me in good time.

Yours Truly,
Gareth