Calling of Dáriráðr

[Valyrien]

_THE CALL OF DÁRIRAÐR

is set in a world on the doorstep of industrial revolution, empire and republic alike has felt the call rung out from the island of Dariráðr, compelled by the ancient shanties of mariners; a lost promised land or deranged words of far-flung explorers. Great expeditions will uncover the treasures and secrets of the natives, finding the artifacts of forgotten explorers waiting to be reclaimed. Under the flags of old nations, new cities will be founded, and the peoples bring with them both prosperity and wars from a home they've left far behind.

_VISON

• Players are limited to tech-levels appropriate of the early 18th century. Special dispensation may be sought if e.g, a player feels that the lack of Zeppelins is detrimental to his/her culture of adventurous aeronauts, justifying this hyper-focus on aerial travel by neglecting something else.
• Events concerning indigenous people, flora, fauna, etc will be added according to pacing and the goals set forth by participating nations.
• Players are highly encouraged to explore the island and establish a home of their own, either through friendly cooperation with the natives and neighbouring colonial powers, or through ruthless conquest, keeping in mind the consequences of such destructive behaviour.

_RULES

• Intended for the members of Kakistocratic League, but you're welcome to apply (be prepared for rejection)!
• There are no sign up sheets, characters should be described and named in their posts.
• Feel free to describe, customize your environments. This is your story as well.
• There is no such thing as god modding, only poor writing, lets write a great, exciting story. Other writers will let you know (or I will) if there's a problem.
• Register your interest by sending a telegram to Valyrien.
• Rules inspired by lovely Enfaru.

[Valyrien]

To my alluring Kassi,

The current date is the 4^th of Haustmánuðr, year 1701

Thirty days has passed since I stepped off the humble wharf in Brunswik and onto the "Arrogans", a ship who’s name I have discovered perfectly describes both the mission and her Captainess. Despite an initially cordial and dare I say almost friendly relationship, the b…. revealed her nature when rejecting a request previously granted by the governor to bring additional corpses onto her ship for anatomical dissection and rudely ordering what specimens I managed to smuggle into the cargo hold thrown overboard.
The reasonable requests, each progressively shrinking when it came to the required dimensions for a proper (if primitive) lab fell on deaf ears. When I revealed it was to conduct research into a less dirty-burning variant of gunpowder in a final petition that may have interested her scientific side, she ordered my supplies of chemicals sized and forbad any notion of experimentation with low explosives of any kind. I fear this voyage will be a long one.

5^th of Haustmánuðr

It is with shame I confess having resulted to heated notions of telling the governor upon arrival of her unreasonable nature. In horror I found myself forcefully escorted to the cabin shortly thereafter by thugs masquerading as HIM’s Imperial Marines and held prisoner. I regret to inform you that a man of my gentle breeding lasted naught but three days in confinement before giving a gentlemen’s promise of good behaviour and set free, though I’ve been told there’s little to salvage of the Captain and I’s acquaintanceship.

The sailors put on displays of great discipline in the presence of officers and diligence when performing their tasks, befitting sailors in the service of the crown. Whenever they have free time however, the crown’s sailors prove themselves a collection of ill-mannered drunkards, dice and drink being chief among vices.
A popular game amongst the marines and soldier alike is Liar’s Dice, through observation I have established the rules as such: Five dice are used per player with dice cups used for concealment. Each round, each player roll their dice under their cup and looks at their hand while keeping it concealed from the other players. The first player begins bidding, announcing any value and the minimum number of dice that the player believes are showing that value. Turns rotate among the players in a clockwise order. Each player has two choices during their turn: to make a higher bid, or challenge the previous bid—typically with a call of "liar". Raising the bid means either increasing the quantity, or the face value, or both, according to the specific bidding rules used.
As you are well aware, my fancy towards games of this nature is an impulse I have yet to master, thus far I’ve managed to pay off any debts through medical examinations.



15^th of Haustmánuðr

A terrible accident occurred today when a boatswain thought it prudent to shoot one of his fellow sailors. In the spirit of fairness however, I feel compelled to mention that the bullet was intended for an uncommonly large bird who swooped down and flew low across the deck between our skilled marksman and the navigatrix, who naïvely were not expecting to be shot by her own crew.
When it became painfully apparent that the ships doctor was closer to a carpenter than a member of the noble profession you and I share, your husband felt a compulsion to offer his services. The look of relief was apparent on the charlatan face, as was look of reluctant acceptance on the face of our tyrannical captain.
I employed fly larvae, allowing it to consume the dead meat, leaving the healthy tissue as well as deploying a new antiseptic (flower of benzoin) to prevent further putrifaction of the flesh. The surprise and irritation of the Captain was plain to see, as she had been confident in the confiscation (theft) of all my supplies.

I'll be sending you my journal once the pages are spent for safe keeping, my desire and hope is that you will derive some pleasure from reading of my adventures and perhaps find some consultation in my experiences should you have to deal with similar wounds.
(The manufacture of the flower of benzoin can be achieved with manipulation of the benzoin gum through pressing, milling and then distilling the resin.)

I am in the blessed Captain and crews' good graces once more, if the invitation to dine at the Captain’s table is any indication to go after. After dining on a first, second and third course we continued with coffee and finally ending the evening with whiskey and cigars, the Captain regaling us the entire time with stories of her adventures. To my surprise the Captain failed to live up to the image I had constructed of her as a boorish half-pirate with not a book to her name. Rightfully assuming that I would be interested, I was shown an impressive collection of very fine books she’d stolen during her career as a full-fledged actual pirate before being recruited into the Imperial navy, being issued a letter of marque retroactively to wipe away any past sins.

No further hostility from the crew except a poor attempt to make fun of the fashionable wide-brim hat you picked out in that foreign boutique tucked away in the backstreet between Boulfsplatzen and dry market, all while dressed in their dull regulation tricorns. The journey has been extended a little too long for my liking, despite the new status of the company onboard. I've been informed that we are expected to sight the island of Dárirađr tomorrow, apparently named in honour of the foolish advisors who suggest anyone actually undertake the journey.

Your obedient servant,
Dr. Vittra

[Tekatus]

“Keep an eye on those Goblin-folk. Ugly little demon-children, the lot of them. But somehow, they’ve managed to make friends with everyone. They made fancy mushrooms that keep the Redwood under control, all for hammers and wooden planks. I admire altruism and charity as much as the next fellow…but I don’t trust anything nice from things with claws and fangs. Keep an eye on those Goblin-folk, mark my words…” - A Random guard

Roughly twenty years ago, on the continent of Endura, a handful of kingdoms struggled against the terrible ‘Redwood’, a kind of invasive and predatorial ‘forest’ of crimson-colored plant-like beings. All attempts to halt the spread or kill the Redwood only seemed to slow its growth. Until one day, only five years ago, a group of about thirty goblins approached each of the kingdoms with a solution, the price being rather unusual: basic tools, building materials, foodstuffs, and livestock.

At first the creatures were driven away, laughed at, or completely ignored. But the last kingdom, one that had been particularly ravaged by the Redwood’s advance, humored the Goblins and asked for a demonstration before they would pay. Almost excitedly, the goblins accepted and to the royal witness’ surprise, took out a large potted mushroom, roughly the size of the Goblin’s own head, and planted it into the soil near where the Redwood parasitic plants grew. Within a week, the mushroom grew towards the Redwood, seemingly infecting and feeding off of the harmful plants, leaving everything else alone.

Before long, the Goblin’s mushrooms were sold to each of the kingdoms, the goblins retreating deep into the Redwood with their supplies, building a crude little town for themselves, called ‘Dirtwall’. Since then, the Goblin population has exploded, living in their little city state, cultivating their Redwood-killing Mushrooms, boggling the minds of scholars trying to study their strange and chaotic ways and refusing to divulge their secrets or join any kingdom.

Ever since they established their City-state, the goblins have remained a mystery. Often, at best, regarded as little more than monstrous children imitating other nations, or at worse, mindless savages that owe every single one of their achievements to pure, dumb, luck, the goblins of Dirtwall have nevertheless become wealthy off the frequent trade between the kingdoms of their home continent, buying new technologies and then creating their own versions, seemingly flip-flopping between bouts of lazy procrastination and obsessive hyper-focus.

And now, with all this talk of a new island, Goblins are filtering in, bartering for passage on the mighty vessels of their neighbors, or simply smuggling themselves if denied, spreading like the rats that many say they are, the Goblins have spread not only into the port that was built on the island but even setting up their very own town, Muckfort, deeper into the wilds. Apparently establishing good relations with the natives just as they did with nearly every other faction they’ve encountered.

For reasons that are seemingly known only to them, the Goblins of Dirtwall have answered…

THE CALL OF DÁRIRAÐR

[The Natufian Nation]

The Iryllian slave ship, Vedran

In the year of the Aurochs 5542, which would be 1686 in common time, the Iryllians came. Iryllia I was only a child at the time, for that was 15 years ago, when I was just weened from my mother, may the ancestors embrace her, and had just seen my first full solar cycle. I do not remember anything about the raid, just stories my mother and uncle told me, and the other survivors of the Iryllian brutality and what followed. Our clan, I am told, was settled in a fishing village on the coast of the homeland I have none of my own memories of. The ominous ship came and made anchor off the coast and sent skiffs to the shore. The Iryllians held aloft ornate boxes and crates, apparently wanting to trade. But my uncle knew better. He saw that the little boats held more soldiers than crates. He tried to urge my mother back from the shore, but it was too late. By the time the Iryllians made shore and made their intention known, attacking our people, binding us in iron chains and killing those who resisted too strongly or did not meet whatever criteria of value they had in their perverse minds, my mother, my cousins, my uncle, and many others were taken back to the large floating vessel. I am told my father died with many others trying to pursue the Iryllian abductors.

I have no memory of that voyage on the Vedran but I can imagine the horrors my people underwent. Mistreated, malnourished, brutalized, but not allowed to die. We were kept chained to each other in the dark bowels of the rocking ship, sitting in our own piss and shit and vomit, until the first hints of dysentery forced our captors to give us breaks to relieve ourselves and maintain the minimum of hygiene. Our destination was never told to us, nor would it have mattered, as my people have little knowledge of the lands beyond the great coastal plains and inland drylands of our homelands. Weeks or maybe months went by; I confess the duration tends to get longer with each retelling, and the monotony of routine of ocean travel gave way to laxity on the part of our captors. At some point, one of our bravest fighters, Hatim Jad, who is now our chief, by the way, organized a group of other brave souls and just before daybreak one fateful day during his rotation to relieve himself, my people rose up and rebelled against the Iryllian pigs, taking the crew mostly by surprise. Half a dozen Natufians fell to their swords but we slaughtered all twenty-two of the slaver crew.

In retrospect, it probably would have been wise to keep a few alive as Natufians are not a seafaring people, aside from our coastal fishing skiffs. We have no knowledge of piloting large sailing ships. But I suppose in the frenzy of rage and desperation, no one was thinking past the immediate bid for freedom. Hatim Jad did his best to captain the ship, but the sails fell slack and the Vedran went adrift. I don’t know how long we were floating helpless in the open sea, but I don’t think too long, despite the tales told at the campfires nowadays. One day the winds picked up and the sails bellowed again, if not well in our control, and the Vedran made a mad dash into a dense fog. It was only when we heard the call of birds we knew we were in trouble. But it was too late. The Vedran ran aground in a crashing thunder of splintering wood and cracking beams, a large jagged boulder piercing her bow just at the shoreline.

Where we were, we had no idea. One of our brighter numbers had found the cartographer’s office and reviewed the maps, tracking the position marks made by the Iryllian navigator up until our uprising. Extrapolating for the days we were adrift, there was only one logical place on the map we could be, a large island with the Iryllian name Slab savjet written next to it. And them, in parenthesis, in another language, the word Dáriráðr loomed ominously. Rejecting the name given in the language of the cursed Iryllians, we took to calling it Dariradr, which invoked that sense of mystery and foreboding apt for the place I have called my home most of my life now.

The first year was not easy. How my mother kept me alive is a mystery. Pure dumb luck, I suppose, as it seems not even the ancestor spirits can reach us, although we continue to honor them. The first encampment was made there on the shore, using the sails and wood from the cargo crates as makeshift shelters. We were also able to salvage livestock, dry foodstuffs, tools, odd medical supplies, and Iryllian weapons from the Vedran. The island was bountiful, but not friendly. The most attractive fruits we found also turned out to be poisonous. Strange and deadly creatures came from the dark over the grassy dunes and attacked our fowl and livestock at night. The stealthier predator seemed to be a large kind of feline with iridescent eyes and jaws too big for its head. And the largest was a kind of reptile the size of a small horse that had a venomous bite, armored skin and a spiked tail it could whirl at blinding speeds. Freshwater came from falls in a rocky bluff behind us to the north. Beyond was a vast wilderness of unknown flora and fauna, and, as we would later learn, indigenous peoples that are as likely to attack us as to offer trade and assistance. On the shore, we were exposed to the aggressive creatures that lurked just beyond our sight and Hatim Jad feared an Iryllian ship, looking for the lost Vedran, would eventually find us and we would be recaptured, or worse. There was no chance of rescue from our homeland, that was certain.



And so, just as I was old enough to begin to remember things, our group, made up of various Natufian clans that did not always get along, retreated up into the verdant hills to the north, high up beyond the brush and trees where danger lurked in every dark grove. Up here in the highlands, we made our home, a village hillfort we call Ard Amna, which literally means “safe ground”. We have homes of stone and wood, shops, a foundry to work the metals we find in the hills, a townhall, a temple, a granary and animal pens for our fowl and swine, rescued from the Vedran. The goats we rescued are herded in the hillside outside town and give us meat and milk. Attempts to domesticate the native wildlife always ends in failure, usually with injury or death involved for the handler. However, we have learned to hunt some of the smaller native animals and make fishing expeditions using the skiffs of the Vedran, although even the sea life here is capable of turning on a grown man and taking him down to the depths. There is also a kind of hare in the hills that we hunt, although they are quite vicious and will lunge at you with big, sharp, pointy teeth.

When the Iryllians attacked us, they raided our seed stores so we were able to retrieve them from the Vedran and managed to grow sorghum, mountain wheat and oats as well as beetroots, which I am not fond of. We also, over time, learned to cultivate what few edible plants, herbs and roots Dariradr has to offer. Many years have passed and after many sorrows and struggles, we have a thriving community. Our numbers grow as we see more births than deaths now every harvest cycle.

The first hillfort settlement of Ard Amna...

...has grown to a rustic but thriving community

Our location is ideal. We have a commanding view of the sea from above the wreckage of the Vedran and can spot any approaching ship for miles, though we have never seen one. We have cannons from the ship pointed at the shore. The southern slope leads to the shore by the ill-fated vessel. Eastward, we can see above the tree line to the bluffs of a deep fjord. No one has ventured beyond that fjord. Not yet, perhaps I will someday. There are native peoples both in the northeast lowlands and to the west. We stay wary of them and them of us.

To the north, another slope leads down into a rocky valley, dense and overgrown with thorny bushes and knobby trees. It is a treacherous place to navigate. It is there we discovered the entrance to what appears to be a large cave complex. We call the valley Wadi Kaba, the Valley of Gloom. Something lurks in the cave there, something dark and menacing. There are signs in the cave entrance of something inhabiting it. Odd marking on the wall, and small gemstones set in some sort of pattern, though we cannot decipher them. Further in, the rock walls become carved and smooth and the air foul with an unnatural scent. We have not ventured further and Hatim Jad has forbidden anyone to come to the cave. So, of course, I am more eager to return. Our shaman shares my sentiment; there is a presence, and a power, deep in the caves there that possibly extends to the heart of the volcano to the northeast which we call Qalb Arsay, the heart of Arsay, spirit goddess of the underworld.

My name is Mazir Hannan, I am a Natufian of the Orsen tribe. I have come of age and passed the right of manhood. My chief, Hatim Jad, having seen my restlessness and my skill, has given me the task to explore this island. I want to know it and make it ours. For I am not only Natufian, I am Dariradrian. This is my home, and I have answered its call.

[Iryllia]

Report to the Most Honourable Imperial Government of H.M. Istvan XIV, Emporer of the Iryllian Core & all of her Colonies. In regards to the welfare & prosperity of the Colony of Neuer Hafen granted to the Marquess von Holvann in the 10^th year of H.M. Reign

Your Mejesty and your Most Honourable Imperial Government

You will find this letter attached to the administrative reports reguarding census statistics and economic reports of the Colony, the contents of this letter intend to provide your Majesty and your Most Honourable Imperial Government with a more personably digestable review of the functions of your Colony than mere numbers and statistics.

From the initial founding of your Colony after the initial site was identified by the Imperial Navy's expeditionary squadron and your most graceful decision to grant my own personage the letter of marks and official seal of a Colonial Governer to myself the development of your Colony has been proceeding exceptionally well as by no doubt your Most Honourable and Loyal Advisors will be telling you from interpretations of the numerical reports like those attached to this letter. With the population steadily growing, assistance in matters of the natural sciences so gratiously granted to my disposal by the Navy, sites of agricultre have been established and labour imported from the mainland and further abroad to work the land, we expect your Colony to be fully sufficient in all matters of foodstuffs by the coming harvest season, while exports of suitable cash crops continue to see explosive growth. The money the independent trades your Grace has allowed to interact with your Colony for the purposes of Empire and Profit have been investing their silvers back into your Colony with great aplomb. Construction on prefunctuary walls for your Colony as well as an expansion of harbour facilities are already well into the planning stages for expansion, the next quartly profits will enable us to continue the expansion in your honour for your Colony.

Expeditions into the interior are proceeding according to Imperial Mandate.

I must once again humbly thank your Imperial Grace and your Most Honourable Imperial Government for the appointment to govern your Colony, it is my sincerest hope that once my service comes up for review you will consider my reinstatement to your Imperial Court, an honour I most humbly wish of your Majesties Grace.

Your Most Loyal and Able Servant,
- Marquess von Holvann

---

The Marquess finished scratching the ink into the paper, a light tap on the edge of the inkwell and a great sigh as she settled down into her chair. The sun had long set on Neuer Hafen, von Holvann eyes straining in the dim candle light. She was far from an imposing woman, red of hair and green of eye. Dressed more like a privateer than a lady of the court. Rubbing her face with ink stained hands she then made to seal the letter, fold the paper, melt the wax and then press the seal with her signet ring.

She had yet to hear back from the expedition sent into the interior nearly three weeks ago. She'd already dallied on sending these reports, hoping against hope that she could rely on the inherent unreliabilty of shipping to excuse the pervieved slight but even then that grace peroid had come to an end. She reached for a bottle by the leg of the desk. Wine was near impossible to come by out here, instead it was Rum from the Navy passing through frequently, or whatever swill they were cooking up on the plantations. She sighed. She missed her wine.

She slipped her letter into the much larger stack of paper tied with string, to go at first light on the first ship heading even close to the direction of home. The Marquess let herself settle into her big chair, the one comfort there seemed to be on this throne forsaken island. Exile to a damned rock half a dozen others were already interested in. Daily dealings with slavers, traders who hadn't washed in a month. Stuffy captains who clearly wanted to leave as soon as possible. Personal Hell with a side of piracy. She kept a loaded pistol on or near her at all times since the last raid. Better to sleep in her chair than her bed anyway. Hopefully, she thought, hopefully that bastard expedition will finally come back, or at least someone to tell them they were all dead. At least then she could foist it off onto the Navy and its marines, one less problem for her. One less thing to wait for.

[Drekhi]

Dear General Fenran,

I am writing to inform you of a recent development in our surveillance of our southern neighbours’ colonial efforts. An intercepted missive from the Marquess von Holvann gives credence to rumours of an uptick in activity in the colony of Neuer Hafen, on the island of Dáriráðr. There has been some mild interest in the island before this point, but serious efforts to investigate were put on the back burner, given that the aforementioned colony was already well established by the time we gained knowledge of the island’s existence. It would not yet do to antagonise the Iryllians without due cause, after all.

However, there are some other reports that have come to our attention, now that we have collated them. Colonisation efforts have mostly been restricted to the coast, and so far, expeditions to the interior have been either extremely limited, or have failed miserably. There is an indigenous population on the island who are apparently wary of outsiders, and more than willing to defend what they perceive as their territory. Additionally, there is a population of goblins who settled in the region some years ago, resulting in additional potential mayhem for any explorers heading north from the major colonies. As such, vast regions of the island remain unknown to all but the indigenous population, bar the occasional account from very foolish or fortunate travellers.

In these reports, something mentioned more than once are the existence of more advanced structures on the island, uninhabited by the indigenous population, and apparently unrelated to their current culture, showing motifs that seem to have no analogue among the modern population. Additionally, there have been persistent reports of “ghosts” and other strange happenings in these survivor’s tales. Initially, I thought this to be a fabrication, or the result of dehydration and stress, but according to surveys and projections by some of the leading scientists in my division, there may well be an unusually strong eddy in the Astral currents in the region, judging by measurements collected by previous survey voyages. If Dáriráðr is the epicentre of these eddies, this may have important implications for future foreign policy in the region, and thus I send this report to you, with the survey data attached. I await orders on future action to be taken in regards to this situation.

Hyl Drekhi

Lieutenant-General Lathjar Dorth, External Intelligence

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

Dear Lieutenant-General Dorth,

Your report contains invaluable information of potentially great import, and thus I must commend you on your diligence. As you correctly surmise, colonisation efforts are not of great concern to the Princeps at present, but what scant reports of the interior you brought to my attention have also piqued his interest.

Due to the Iryllian presence on the island, a “proper” deployment to investigate is out of the question, at least until more is known of the potential value to be gained there. However, an expedition shall be sent to establish a base of operations for investigation of both the historical and paranormal items of interest on the island, with potentially some additional interested parties along for the ride for additional funding and to screen the expedition from suspicion. Some of the members of this expedition have already been recommended by the Princeps himself, but I leave the rest of the crew and the logistics in your capable hands.

Hyl Drekhi

General Ullne Fenran, Intelligence

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Dear Lieutenant-General Dorth,

Per your previous missive, I have sourced a ship, The Whisper of Narenia, along with a crew and an exploratory force. Some of the requests made by the heads of the expedition raised some eyebrows here, but after I let them know that the Princeps had taken personal interest, the orders were filled in record time, unsurprisingly. As such, the ship has taken on its non-perishable cargo already, and will stop for supplies and passengers at Brúnhöfn within a week.

At your suggestion, I forwarded your suggestions to Lieutenant-General Fenrig. She has given her own suggestions for additional candidates for the expedition, and have included some equipment in the cargo that she believes may prove useful to the investigation. I attach a copy of the manifest to this letter for your own records.

Hyl Drekhi

Lieutenant-General Irroke Bittneld

[Valyrien]

Dear Kassi,

The date is the 18th of the second month of Haustmánuðr,

We have finally reached Aegishafvn, the free city of Dáriraðr, after quite the arduous voyage. The Navigatrix I mentioned (shot by her fellow sailors when hunting a particularly large bird and saved by yours truly) is recovering well and was even so bold as to offer she spend a night in my cabin to express her “appreciation”. My steadfast loyalty and love for you of course demanded a firm rejection.

Despite the many months I spent together with the crew, my supplies and my person were unceremoniously dropped onto the docks without as much as a tearful embrace nor speech detailing the many games of dice and playful jabs exchanged during the conversations late into the morning. A balm to sooth my wounded ego is that I at least received a wink and a playful waving of the fingers from the Navigatrix and finally a stiff nod from the Captain before the Arrogans departed once more, continuing her journey towards the old Valarisk colony of New Valakhia further to the west.

I have secured fine lodging within the Merchant Quarter, but my sea legs have yet to wear off and I fear the lack of a ships soothing motion will make it a restless night, hopefully my body has realized we’re on dryland by the morning.

I’ve already found myself thinking thoughts of regret, having listened to the foolish advice of the colleague back home at the academy to join this fabled profession of explorers. I’ve carefully considered my actions up until now and despite my initial eagerness to travel to this mysterious island, I find myself dumbfounded and without any clear goal in mind now that I’ve finally arrived. It’s as if a primitive urge or primaeval calling suddenly subsided the moment I set foot on the dark volcanic soil. I am at a loss for what to do.

It’s the 21th of the second month of Haustmánuðr,

My options are not as limited as I once thought, I’ve grown fond of Aegishafvn, having wandered through the many streets and admired everything from the skilled craftmanship in the Iron District to the busy markets in the Silver District that sell all the necessities of live, sadly wine was not among them though surely I might find some in Neur Hafen. I can certainly stay in this familiar city, or given my restless nature simply move to any other settlement and offer my services as a fine doctor, but I could have performed this duty without a several months long voyage at sea. I’ve decided to add another profession to my growing list and assume the role of a gentlemen diplomat, hopefully being able to ease the tension between the free city of Aegishafvn the Rusinian colonies. The relationships have been cold and dare I almost say cordial so far, even the direct crown colony of New Valakhia has so far not sought to continue the many wars she’s waging back home in favour of discovery.

Fate shall guide my journey and a flip of the coin between east and west settled on the more difficult west with New Valkahia as well as the reports of an unusual tribe, even after flipping the coin thrice. The crown colony seems bitterly determined to explore the island, but managed to spoil their fledgling relationships with the western tribes through a bloody disagreement concerning the concept of ownership that seems foreign to the native inhabitants. Skirmishes are now a common occurrence which has turned their mobile expedition camp into a stationary outpost.

I am fearful of what will happen to the crew of the Arrogans, the upcoming winter storms will make a voyage back to the old world impossible for some months and lingering in New Valakhia may result in the entire crew being pressed into service by the prideful governor.

With my destination set, I find myself excited at the thought of seeing the old Walarisk colony, having been established here longer than Aegishafvn and I look forward to learning what the city and the expedition has uncovered so far, however I am growing fearful of their condition ever since the news of skirmishes with the natives growing ever bloodier than the last. The notion of perhaps meeting some old acquaintances from my time onboard the Arrogans and even establish relations with the unusual tribe are giving me hope that the trip will be worthwhile.

---

“Your Imperial Majesty,

Emperor of Valyrijen,

Enlightened High-King of the Álfr,

Archduke of Valyrijen

Elector-Prince of Valyrijen,

King of Suðrerrijke, of Hesherrijke, Austrerrijke, of Norðrerijke, of Vestrerijke, and of Álfrrijke,

Grand Duke of Hvitland,

Duke of Upper and Lower Rahn, of Styrijen, Sylvanijen, and of Reussijen,

Margrave in Södergarde,

Overlord of the Crown Colony of New Valakhia,

Regent of the Free Imperial Cities of Valyrijen, of Suðrerrijke, of Hesherrijke, Austrerrijke, of Norðrerijke, of Vestrerijke, and of Álfrrijke,

Sovereign of the Order of the Black Wyrm, of the Order of the Red Wyrm,

All is well,

Your obedient servant,

Lord Mór Thráinndóttir,

Imperial Governor of New Valakhia.”

[Tekatus]

The Goblin interest in the island has been yet another peculiar topic of discussion among those who bother paying attention to them. Shortly after news of its discovery, goblins began attempting to barter or smuggle their way onto the island, their reasons varying from silent and manic smiling to a quick ‘Because I want to!’ And every other absurd reason in between.

Despite anyone’s best efforts however, the goblins have been trickling in, smuggling themselves along with the rats, taking only what they can carry, or bartering and taking with them supplies and beasts of burden or livestock. As soon as the first goblins arrived they were single-minded in their desire to explore, delving into the wilds and ignoring the half-hearted attempts for the guards of the harbor town to stop them. Most were never seen again, but some managed to not only make contact with the natives, but establish a small warren of their own in the foothills. Since then, goblin activity has heightened but focused on their ‘Muckfort’, building what seemed to be four tall huts, Wooden planks and beams and chopped up pieces of carts haphazardly assembled and held together by mud, rope, nails, and hope. Surrounded by a six foot high wall of mud and sharpened logs, the entire settlement messily decorated with bright colors, random shapes and splatters, and carvings with seemingly no rhyme or reason. A half-maintained ‘road’ leads back to Aegishafvn, through the wilds with only strange effigies, talismans, and firefly lanterns to mark the way through the untamed land.

Remarkably, the goblins appear to have not only a talent for being wherever they are not welcome, but seem to suffer fewer dangers posed by the natives, travelers along the road to Muckfort only ever have to worry about the wildlife, and those within the other settlements make all sorts of mischief, be it tiny, well-armed and flashy-dressed mercenaries barking at random passerby, demanding to be hired for protection, to barely clothed green hooligans stealing fish, clothes, anything else they can get their claws on, disappearing into the wilds or some hiding place within the settlements. Even those that are caught and thrown out seem to make use of secret entrances to smuggle themselves right back inside.

“Uuuuurgh!” Came the overly dramatic whine in the center-most Warren in Muckfort, a crudely made palace for the small green critters that could be found scampering and scuttling and giggling in every shady nook and darkened cranny. Two such creatures were settled in the open air central chamber, one part common area, One part throne room, one part meeting space for any human brave enough to crawl through the wide but short entrance.

Krigg, the current ‘Leader’ of Muckfort, self-titled ‘Lord-King’ of the Goblins on Dariráðr, was draped across his make-shift throne, like a child forced to sit but with too much energy to burn. Another goblin stood beside the throne, dressed in long ragged cloths, worn and stained by muck and time, atop his head was a powder white wig, stolen from a human who’s position this second goblin was attempting to mimic.

“Quit Bitching!” The nasty advisor barked.
“You killed the other Krigg, now you get her job!”
Krigg frowned and writhed once more in his seat, twisting until his back and shoulders with resting against the seat of the throne, his arse against the back of the chair and his clawed feet lightly resting and gripping at the large white rib-bones of some large native beast, killed by the first goblin to slay the beast (or atleast the first to take the credit for it) who then promptly demanded a throne be made from it’s bones and hide and that he should be the leader of this new colony.

“But Gnaaaaaarl!” The leader groaned again, holding his Tricorne hat to his head even as gravity tries to take it.
“No one said it would be this BORING! I wanna go exploring!” He shouted.
“AFTER DIPLOMATIC CHORES!” The Advisor, Gnarl, shouted back.

After some further shouting and hissing and name calling and spittle-spraying. A pair of letters would be written, an hours long process but they got there eventually, and the ‘Lord-King’ would scamper off with his expedition party into the wilds to the north-east, seeking out new and strange sights, and establishing more relations with the native tribes.

Letter tied to a rock, and thrown through a window of the Aegishafvn Governor’s abode.

“Dere Vala Valer V Humie Boss in Agishaving,

Pleze stop killing goblins with monster!! We liek ur town and monster makes it stinky and scary!

Frum, Lord-King Krigg, boss of Muckfort and all the goblins on the island.

pS. mE a BEEG smelly-face! :3

I’m not a big smelly-face!! that just Rugg being stupid slow-brain again!”

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Second letter: Sent via Goblin Courier, appropriately named ‘Pidgin’, to Neuer Hafen.

”Dere Humie Boss of Newer Having,

We Explorin’ to your Eest West Gnarl drunk and forgot his direkshuns pleze don’t kill us if you see us in the wild!

But if you kill the boss, I would leave you alone as new boss! Gnarl getting stabbed when I get back.

Frum, Lord-King Krigg, boss of Muckfort and all the goblins on the issland.”