>>514972
Giants
Forest

syrinx

Highland with mountains

Hmm. A tad short on players today. Makes sense for European midday on a sunday.

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cont?

>>515027
It's a little difficult with only two people. I at least need someone to make a deciding vote so I can cater to the majority.

Goblins
Mountain

>>515060
>>514985
>>514979
A;right, Mountainous Highlands have a majority. Now, Are we religious centred Owl Sages, A Clan of Giants or The writhing throng of a great Goblin Town?

2 Votes is good enough, but three is always preferred.

>>515075
roll it?

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>515082
1:Giant
2:Syrinx
3:Goblin

I'm game

The gentle strumming of a far off harp resounds across the small stone monastery that has long been your home. Smoothed talons rythmically click against the floor as your few brothers and sisters proceed about their daily tasks. A pair of siblings clean one another, plucking from their feathers pieces of dirt or debris b lown in by the wind, and the quiet, simple life of the monastery winds on. Your people are distant, spread out from one another, but each of you take solace in this moment of community, in this simple home, built high in the mountains. It is a simple construction of salvaged elven make, fixed in place with simple but sturdy wooden beams. It is new, built on a cliff edge. Below is a fall enough to eviscerate any, but to your kind, it is merely a place to relax, and to pray. The air is every Syrinx' closest lover, and the warm thermal air drafts of these lands swirl in the massive drop to the surface. The monks here dwell in small nests, burrowed into the cliff edge, while the monastery itself consists of a few small prayer rooms, larders, a kitchen, and a simple workshop.

Far below, on the great glens, many disparate peoples dwell. The humans and the elves fight and squabble like children under you dissapointed eyes, and even the stoic dwarves are overcome by lust for power. Goblins and kobolds writhe at the mountain's foot, and each day they draw closer to your homes. You are unprotected, and the hordes have destroyed the small village from whom you traded for most of your food. The sacred harp still plays it's calm melody, but times themselves are much less gentle. You are alone, and your people are against all the world in their peaceful splendour.

>Stats:
>Population: Fourty Syrinx Monks, all possessed of either filed talons to signify their vows of peace, or beaks kept sealed in the daytime to illustrate vows of silence.
>Food Sources: Your people have always traded magical services to the shepherds of the mountains, but the whirling winds of fate have claimed such easy friends, and the goblins have destroyed them, and so you are left to scavenge for food in the grasses and trees, and to survive from what was kept stored in the monastery's larders.
>Leaders: Abbot Aella, A powerful mage, skilled in the use of [Up to vote] magic

>Important Note: Syrinx according to the chart are Evil. The same is true in this world, but you will be playing as a small community of monks, not the standard slavers, but certainly adverse to manual labour.

>>515139
vote for Air magic

>>515146
seconded

>>515146
Understood. Aella is skilled in the magic of the air, able to shift the currents by his movements, to fly with unparalleled grace and beauty, and to manipulate air currents generally.

Now, what is it that the monastery will do? How will the Syrinx Feed themselves? How will they defend against the goblins and kobolds? How will they ensure that the monastery grows and prospers, and that the Syrinx regain their rightful places soaring above all others, glorious and shimmering in their magnificence?

>>515151
D20 for physical actions, which will take a hit because of the lack of slave labourers, d100 for Magical or Research actions. Ask any questions you have about the world, the monastery, or the Syrinx.

>>515153
So how many actions OP?

>>515153
can scouting action not affected by lack of slave labourers?

>>515158
>>515154
2 Per Turn. One Research/Magic action optionally per turn. As you can fly, scouting is essentially just flying for amusement, and so is no affront to the honour of the worker, who would otherwise be offended by menial work. It's all on a case by case basis.

>>515161
My votes go to furthering our air magic, and researching agriculture.

>>515165
but we have no slaves to work on field

>>515165
Please roll for actions when you make them.

>>515173
So is it two per player then?

>>515176
i gtg in about an hour, so i support >>515165

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>515173
scout the goblins. we might be able to do some trading/slaving with them, but scout them first.
>1. don't get caught
>2. get back if seen
>3. numbers and organisation
>4. their supplies

>>515176
Two for the turn. One roll per person.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>515189

>>515161
researching agriculture
scout the goblins
Are we suppose to roll now or later.

>>515190
shit

finally, some new owls. Is this board ded ?

>>515193
that's okay, agriculture would be wasted anyway. since owls are lazy bums
>>515194
pretty much

>>515194
I don't think so op post 5 minutes ago>>515189

>>515196
we know the skills and knowledge like the elite upper layer of Ancient Egypt

>>515199
the board is pretty much abandoned, not the thread

Rolled 13 (1d100)

>>515189

>>515207
Always been a real slow board, especially on sundays.

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>>515212
that's some luck we have. what were you even rolling for?
>>515214
just feels like there's been less people for the past weeks, maybe it's summer.

>>515217
researching agriculture

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>>515188
A small wing of Syrinx gather themselves a few sheets of parchment, and a set of fine ochre inks and quills, setting out to monitor and map the great goblin and kobold hordes. They take to the skies, their massive wings billowing through the air, their great frames glittering against the twilight. It takes mere moments of gliding on the updrafts, circling the craggy mountains. A few wing beats bear the group down, gliding nearer and nearer to the mass of vile goblins. The hovels of the creatures dot the lower mountainside, built in the destroyed ruins of the old shephard village. Your men can hardly restrain their disgust as they observe, and as the long honed instincts of trained predators single out individuals from the horde.

A Goblin scouting party, seeming to have been simply wandering, comes upon the group, but is quickly disposed off. In a few fluid moments, the party of goblins lie on the ground, air knocked from them by the blunt ends of staves, borne back up to the monastery in sealed talons. The Goblins seem to have fallen into several small skirmishing gangs, lead by orcs, bugbears and hobgoblins, all various vermin unfit to share the air of a Syrinx's feathers. A few hulking ogres, corpulently immense beasts, lead by their stomachs more than their brains, covered in loose, pallid flesh which shifts abhorrently with the movement of their muscles. They number in the tens of thousands, or so it seems from a cursory examination

The unorganized mass will be easy prey for kidnappings and enslavement, but a larger engagement would likely unify them, and any one of the larger gangs would be a hard foe to fight.

Now, the Kobolds dwell in small, remarkably pleasant, if primitive camps, small burrows dug into the earth. They farm some small rat-like livestock, and use leather and bone for their crafts. Their homes are guarded by the noble ogres, as opposed to the vile goblinoid beasts. These Ogres are more human shaped, their bodies covered in a pleasant, statuesque facade. Unfortunately, the beauty gifted to them by the gods was at the cost of the cunning evil intellect of their cousins, leaving them as if guard dogs for the Kobolds. The kobold population is around three thousand, but the scholars are sure that these small lizard rats will multiply five or sixfold by the years end.

>>515239
>A few hulking ogres, corpulently immense beasts, lead by their stomachs more than their brains
>Their homes are guarded by the noble ogres, as opposed to the vile goblinoid beasts
two different kind of ogres?

>>515239
maybe we should conquer the Kobolds and use their society

>>515247
Correct, as explained. The Noble Ogres of the Kobolds, and the Goblin Ogres.

>>515250
I think some of the goblins might be easier to take captive.

>>515226
To fortunately save us some trouble, your people have agriculture already. They have iron, and bronze so forth. They do not have any farms, but they certainly have the knowledge of how to grow crops. Imagine yourselves at a Roman level of technology, but ;left without the proper infrastructure to support it. You know how an iron bloomery works, you just don't have one.

>>515239
I'm just wondering how hard it would be to enslave Goblins seeing a they're mad bastards altogether. Can we eat them?

And this air mage can be very handy; setting up large gusts of wind to make it easier to attack them on-by-one by discouraging other goblin camps.

>>515267
yeah, but goblins are shit as slaves and allies. can we eat them?

>>515267
>>515270
>>515271
They are good slaves and are protein source. What i means is the first focus is on kobold where we might be God to them and colonize them

>>515272
Sounds like a good plan.

>>515272
They're also in burrows though, the wort place possible to attack as birds. Directly attacking them may not be smart, maybe a diplomatic approach.

>>515278
True, but what can we offer them? Magic? Technology?

>>515239
I think we should try to Diplomacy we the kobold

>>515271
You could, but why would you? A Syrinx would not willingly sully their glorious forms by ingesting pure filth. >
>515270
Your people are far stronger than them, but all it would take is a gang of goblins to notice you, and the Monastery would be unable to fight them in large numbers.
>>515294
Please roll for it, and do elaborate on how you plan to do it.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>515304
Okay I have no idea how to Diplomacy with the kobold maybe we should catch one and interrogate it.

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>515326
nah, let's cast a huge storm and make a pompous arrival at their base. act like gods, demand labor give them magical but useless gimmicks.

>>515326
>>515344
Holy shit, /qst/ dice suck balls.

>We're playing as a race of peaceful, graceful, intelligent monks
>Lets enslave, eat, and act like con mans to the hordes
We should be preventing confrontation by making the mountains steeper, teaching our monks how to hunt the local fauna in a stress free way, and find allies that can defend us. Not this elf-tier bullshit. You guys can do whatever you want though, not like I can stop you or anything. Btw OP your posts are really detailed and a fucking blast to read. Keep up the grape work

>>515370
Did you read OPs note? We're still slavers, duder

>>515370
why the evil reputation then? and playing a tribe secluded from everything else seems pretty boring.

>>515378
It's really fucking blurry on my end and I don't feel like fixing that. Seems a bit confusing to have evil, slave owning monks though. Whatever, I can run with an asshole civ. I apologize if I sounded r00d

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we still need a magical/research activity, so how about we search for some great avial beasts to tame?

>>515411
I would vote for that.

>>515411
I'm game

>>515411
sure

>>515390
>>515370
It's really up to you guys how you play the Syrinx. Their baser desires would prefer to have slaves working under them, but it would be possible, if hard, to make them live peacefully and happily.

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>515411
alright i'm gonna roll

edit: shit

>>515411
Ideas
1. Elementals
2. Weaponized hoot shockwaves
3. Cloud walk/cloud farms

>>515443
Cloud farm as in agriculture of some sort.

>>515443
>2. Weaponized hoot shockwaves
>Population: Fourty Syrinx Monks, all possessed of either filed talons to signify their vows of peace, or beaks kept sealed in the daytime to illustrate vows of silence.

that's a prettyy neat idea though

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Syrinx Society is based on the simple idea that being closer to the heavens makes you better. Syrinx are capable of extreme altitude flight, making them the beings closest to the heavens. As such, they generally work to be as honourable and graceful as they may, for the sake of their own pride, but genuinely care very little about the lower races. The Syrinx just consider themselves as better than others. Your monks feel are different in that it is their duty to guide the childlike and stupid lesser races, or to end their "miserable existences".

>>515344
>>515326
Aella gathers a few of his close associates, and the group set out from the mountaintop, flying smoothly and pristinely, aided by the manicured gusts controlled by Aella. The group sail down towards the Kobolds camps, They screech in unison, landing before the kobolds with a burst of noise, the sudden discord matched by quick bursts of wind and thunder, howling through the bones and the leather. The Kobolds scatter in fear, huddling behind the ogres. The great statuesque ogres roar and bellow, clubs landing blows down onto the fragile earth. Five or six of them charge across the small field outside the kobold burrow, slamming their weapons down. They are easily evaded by the graceful wing flaps of the Syrinx, but the wing must flee, small javelins thrown in pursuit.

>>515472
well, shit. that's it for acting like gods

>>515484
There are lots of kobolds. You can always try again.

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>515525
Let's do it

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>515525
A vote for doing again

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>>515411
It is a simple thing, to commune with the birds. Your people learn, almost as soon as they hatch, how to speak the language of the soaring eagles. A fledgling is no adult until they have soared high enough to hover with the peregrines. In ages past, your people would soar yet higher even that the Peregrines in their shrouded temples, so high that the world-egg below seemed to crack with each wing beat, so high that many feared the sun would burn away their wings. In their recent travels, the scouts have found many bird nests, and many small flocks have been gathered to you. Sparrows gather information from the goblin camps, along with scrap iron to maintain tools, while eagles bring rabbits, and falcons bring hares.

Crows and Ravens make excellent warbeasts, with ancient stories describing black hosts of Syrinx, wielding crow murders as if weapons, as if the flocks were extensions of themselves, white feather melding with black. Tales of Aal the bone taker describe him stripping the flesh from a giant with his giant flock of ravens, and carving a helmet from the giant's skull with his servant's beaks.

Nothing more than simple birds may be easily caught, however. The flying apes of stories are sometimes sighted, but never truly seen, while skittish hare-gulls elude even the most skilled trackers. Some scouts report having seen a griffin on their journey to the mountainside, but this is looked at skeptically, only the great sky-knights of the glorious age could breed the griffons, and it is unlikely that any would reside so low, so close to the earth.

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>515547
researching helping magic
We can do that right

>>515609
Healing not helping

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>>515529
>>515532
Your people awaken one morning, as the wind blows through the eyries, to the sound of a cairn falling on the mountainside. It is an omen of good luck to travelers, and to those attempting an audacious task. To this end, the people clothe themselves in their finery, each of them wearing long flowing robes of patterned silk, intertwined with threads of moon-silver, it's strange sheen glimmering against the sunlight as the silk moves. Each and every Syrinx, barring twins, have a different set of these clothes, weaved by hand once they come of age. The strands of silver flow between embroidered symbols, which represent illustrious ancestors. The more silver in one of these robes, the more storied a lineage held by the bearer. Aella wears a flowing orange and blue robe, laced with strands of moonsilver, surrounded by rich purple hues in the silk, marking him as a member of the high nobility, a direct heir or relation of the last great Father, the last ruler of your people as they were before the lesser races awoke, unified in their dominion of the skies.

All must bow to him as he proceeds to the edge of the monastery, where it falls away to the valley below. He closes his eyes, the elegance of his face joined by nineteen faces on either side of him, the entire monastery barring one, who must tay to record the Omens. In a unified clicking of talons on stone, the group runs forth and dives, wings flat on their backs, from the edge. They spiral down, their formal clothing billowing out explosively to expose the great shimmering array of colours as the wind whips by. They fall until the treetops are almost within reach, before in a sudden harmony their winds billow outwards, and the air seems as if sheared in half by their wing beats.

The wing of Syrinx flies purposefully across the plain, their great white feathers reflecting the dawn light. They approach a camp of Kobolds and begin to sing a harmony, glorious and beautiful in it's complex majesty. The ogres are mystified, and the kobolds rush forward to observe the spectacle. Aella swings an arm out as he flies, and a few stray clouds encircle the small camp from above, shrouding the world in their embrace. The Syrinx swirl together in a unified whirlwind of shining silver, Aella flying through the eye of the storm, wings folded, before ascending above the clouds, out of the view of the astonished kobolds. He then opens his wings above the spectacle and falls, gracefully, in front of the group of kobolds, surprising them by his sudden appearance, his talons barely clicking against the dirt despite his quick landing.

He does not go so far as to actually touch one of the kobolds, but preens a feather from his arm, letting it flutter into the hands of one of the Kobolds. The Syrinx then, as suddenly as they had appeared, departed. Within days, the Kobolds have built an altar at the highest point of their small hill-camp, the only place not shrouded by Aella's cloud.

Cont.

>>515617
The Kobolds provide offerings constantly, leaving their excess food on the Altar, along with any and all beads, baubles and jewels they find while burrowing. Scouts have even seen the children placing small wooden toys on the altar, some looking up to the clouds and making flapping motions wistfully with their arms. They look as if stunted children, trying to fly, and your people take it upon themselves to guide the kobolds, warding off predators and asking the birds to guide their new devotees to fertile and rich scavenging land.

>>515617
are you an author or something?

>New Turn.
It's Autumn (Fall for the Americans), With the Egg laying season coming up in late winter.

>>515687
Nah. There's quite a jump from this to three hundred pages.

>>515714
So we should probably begin stocking up for winter. I'm assuming the occasional hare an eagle brings in isn't exactly enough for us to safely survive the winter. Perhaps we could trick the kolbolds into finding a ton of food for us? Something like start a tradition where once every year (conviently right before winter) the kolbolds go hunting for a week and gather most of their findings in a pile, we check it out, and if we like it we give them some trivial reward like hats or a dance

>>515749
Agreed but let's give them better tech or strategy so we can use to kobolds to help us enslabe the goblins.

Maybe grant really low flight to those who are super loyal

What should we tell them to name the festival
OP if it's not to much could we get a rough map

>>515749
>>515765
thanksgiving, obviously. lets teach them proper agriculture

>>515765
I hate to tell you this, Anon, but I'm really not an Artist. I could do a Hexographer map, but Hexographer isn't really designed for really detailed mountains, an In karnate but again, I'm not sure I could really manage it, especially not in paint. I really don't think I could make anything that would match the tone of the game. I would be glad to describe the local area, if that's sufficient?

>>515812
sure, that would help alot

>>515834
Alright. The Monastery sits atop the tallest mountain in a range, Mount Alai. The mountain range is surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of highlands. Around three quarters of the way up Mount Alai, the gradient become sheer, and the mountain becomes an unscaleable cliff. The summit sits on a plateau, on the edge of which lies your monastery. At the base of the mountain, in the foothills which rise out of the forested glens, lie the kobold burrows, dug into the hillsides. Downhill from the burrows is the land claimed by the goblinoids, which consists of around thirty by thirty sparsely populated miles. The local area used to contain a sparse collection of human shepherding villages, but all of them have been extinguished by the goblins. You know from the great mkaps of the stars kept in the library of the monastery that the nearest monastery of your kind lies more than a season's flight to the southeast.


The mountain itself is forested until the half way mark, and then bare stone at the base of the cliffs, though your sewage and waste does end up down there, and the plateau is sparsely forested. Little crevices in the mountainside bear host to thousands of birds. Locally, recently wild sheep are common, along with boars in the highland forests, foxes and bears in the hills, and elk in the highest forests. The bird-animals dwell mostly on the plateau, but many, such as the Kalva, avian creatures with huge wingspans and bodies covered in a very soft form of wool, who lay eggs coated in silk threads, dwell almost exclusively in the expanses of the sky.

>>515774
>>515765
Please Roll.

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>515774
research i guesss

>>515867
I would love a hexagraph


Let's help the konolds defelop their civ and reward those who bring us gob slaves greatly

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>>515876
Your people look upon the kobolds as if they were small children in need of education, and a good portion of the monks find some warmth, some gently enjoyment in seeing the little creatures fumble to please their new gods. One among the Teachers, as the faction calls itself, has begun to assist the kobolds that regularly come to their altar to pray. She has thus far only been giving them little trinkets or small amounts of produce, to make as many of the kobolds as possible feel directly blessed, but she has decided to assist the little scamps further. She waits until darkness, and swoops down onto one of the praying kobolds at midnight, carying it gently in her talons, high into the sky, her wings like silk in the darkness, carrying them up above the half-warm blanket of the clouds, up towards the stars above. The Kobold giggles and laughs with awe stricken glee, and she asks it to listen to her. She whispers to the little kobold the secrets of agriculture, shrouded in ritual, granting to it the knowledge of planting, and a handful of sweet potatoes, a very simple crop for the kobolds to grow.

The benevolent teacher repeats this multiple times, whisking kobolds away to see the glorious wonders of the stars, and imparting on them the truths of growing food, and of very simple medicine, for she has often wept at the deaths of so many kobold pups before their first months. She eventually asks the kobold she has whisked away to organise it's people, to ask them to gather food at the altar for winter, to take what they needed from the pile, but to leave the rest so that the gods may eat, and that they might grant prosperity for the coming year.

As the days shorten, and the plateau is cloaked in frost, the Syrinx are met with the simple joy of snowflakes melting upon their down feathers, and with the mass tribute of their wards. The kobolds provide twelve baskets of intricately woven wicker, filled to the brim with scavenged vegetables and sweet potatoes, rich and earthy in scent and taste, along with three full boars, held on racks, with their hides tanned and used to create a large, constantly warmed and padded basket to hold their third offering. An Egg, speckled with golden flakes,a light, silverish cream shade, like fresh down feathers, or the stars' light on the clouds at midday.

The Egg is set to rest in a warm room, minded by a few of the females who will lay their own eggs earlier in the winter than most, and who's instincts at maternity require some outlet to allow them to remain civilized and composed. It is much larger than a Syrinx egg, and it seems to both pulsate with warmth, and be perfectly, comfortable cool to the touch.

With that, I must leave you for the night. I can stick around to answer questions about the lore and the world, so feel free to ask whatever you want to know. Thank you for giving me the oppurtunity to run this, and for being very pleasant players.

>>515989
I'm loving this so far OP, keep up the great work. Especially loving the amount of detail you use to describe your world, makes it seem alive. Just one question. Are these kobolds the typical lizard kind or are they more akin to dogs or rats?

>>515989
splendid writing

>>515989
Yeah just read this and you're one of my favorite DM writers think I've been in a few threads with you, keep it up. Probs won't be able to participate much but will be lurking.
And I say we try to get a better control of our power over the weather and air around us, meditate in it or whatever is practical. And/or our control over the simple birds we have now just in case we need to defend or assert our godliness

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>>517031

Kobolds are neither reptiles nor strictly speaking mammals, resembling most closely Platypuses (Platypi? Platypae?), in that they have fur and still lay eggs. These kobolds in particular are sort of like pangolins, but with patches of rough fur developing as a common mutation.

Also, much appreciated guys. I'm here, and ready to get going with the day's civving. Actions, please, if anyone is here.

Rolled 69 (1d100)

>>517906
what does a civ do during winter? wars and raids usually take place in spring, but we don't do that anyway.

i would like to play with the weather. sunshine for the good kobolds, local storms for the bad ones

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>>517977
Syrinx have an adaption that sets them apart from most other races, in that they lay their eggs and rear their young in winter, so as to allow the fledglings to learn to fly in spring, and to be ready for adolescence by their second winter. Syrinx are considered adults after their third year, but have the unique blessing for a race that matures so quickly, to live on for centuries, with the oldest Syrinx in their six or seven hundreds. Naturally, this means that winter is a time for study, and for the establishment of facilities for the young.

I will have to wait for more people, unfortunately, there's not much point in it without anyone to read or to make actions.

>>518196
Sweet, this is back!
OP, can we get an estimate on how many 'worshipers' we have?

>>518196
Happy to see this quest is still alive but maybe you can tell us whan this quest is support to start.

>>518386
>>518293
With the additional people, let's go. A small tribe of kobolds worships you, but your kind seem to have been absorbed into a larger sort of pantheon among the other tribes. You can exert influence directly over a tribe of around four hundred kobolds and four ogres, and could get a message to all five or six thousand kobolds now living across the area should you need to. You are not sure the majority would listen to you, yet.

Rolled 4 (1d100)

>>518396
researching healing magic

>>518409
we necromancers now

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>>517977
Aella waits for the twilight of the evening before wandering up towards the eyrie, the highest tower of the monastery. For a moment he pauses, leaning down on his arms and gently running the tips of his wings along the stone bricks of the window. He reflects that the wind seems to cleanse the dust from him as soon as it is brushed from the stone naturally, but if he tries to force the wind to expel the dirt, it simply drives the dust further into his down feathers. He is taken by this idea immediately, and dives out into the darkening sky, wing beats silent and graceful despite their evident power. A lesser Syrinx would think the slow and gentle movements of the older mage to be weakness, but a wise Syrinx would know why the master has no need for force. After all, why force the air to move when it may be so easily persuaded?

As he rises up through the gently brisk air, feeling it flow cleanly in and out through his nose and beak, hearing every slight change in pitch, ever far off chirping songbird relaxing into it's nest, every shrew diving into the underbrush away from the eagle that he too may hear. To older, wiser Syrinx, this is life, to see the world through hearing, to listen for far off movements. As he shoots through the clouds, he is distracted from his reverie, the gentle brisk wind replaced by a sudden gentle coating of water, which flows down his feathers as if molten silver, all awash with shimmering light from the now so clearly visible stars. There is a planet in the sky, on this night, and the old master, in no rush, takes time to observe it, to marvel at the far off landscapes. Many say that far off world are merely bowls of fire suspended by the might of the gods, but the master had always sworn he could hear them, he could hear the far away visions of the celestial.

The stars were beyond him, but at the sides of his mind he could hear, as he always heard, the gentle hum of life. He paused to allow the hum to take over his mind, replacing his thoughts with the world, replacing his worries with flowing rivers, and his pains with the sands of endless deserts. Eyes closed, the master begins to meditate. Without knowing it, the clouds begin to rise and to shift from their safe bed, encircling him in their gentle embrace, clothing him with their warm ochre light, cast on them by the far off fading sun. The master smells the ozone of them, and lifts his beak heavenward for a moment, reveling in the joy of being so close to the edge of the world, before turning back. He has not finished his duty yet, he has not been granted the gift of his final flight, and so he must turn down towards the earth, seeing through the hole in the clouds all of the land sprawled out before him. Forests look as if patches on a grand tapestry, and the far off seas merely the wall on which it rests. The mountains themselves look like grasping hands, reaching out for the heavens that have always been beyond them.

Cont.

He opens his eyes, empowered by his meditations, and able to once more see the world in a new way, his eyes re-opened, and spends the night practising this new technique, experimenting with his ease of control over the clouds. After a few further weeks, his students have also learned the new techniques of weather control. Many of them are now capable of manipulating the movements of clouds, the creation of clouds from small bodies of water, and the ability to, in rare cases, cause clouds to produce weather. Aella has managed something beyond even that, in an ability unheard of in the modern age.

Aella has gained the ability to force clouds into one another, to fill them with such rapturous energy that they need to expel it. He has become able to produce, at will, but not without difficulty, bolts of lightning. They are as yet unaimed, but the awesome power of ozone is intoxicating, and Aella finds himself pleased with his discovery.

>>518409
Do not worry. This will come into play soon. Please roll your next actions in the mean time.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>518451
Try to improve the lives of our kobolds worships

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>>518463

>>518463
The Benevolent Teacher did not produce an egg this year, a tragedy for her and her mating partner, but perhaps the greatest luck for the kobolds of the highlands. Overcome by instinct and a want to care for something, the Benevolent Teacher returned to her practice of instructing the kobolds, taking as many of them as possible into her guiding wings and allowing them to see the glorious stars above the clouds. She is a practical woman, if nothing else, and she sets to her task with vigour. First, she bestows upon the kobolds several books of parchment, simple tomes used to teach fledglings. She grants to them too the ochre paints of a child, and carefully observes them, taking with her her partner, who also misses his chance at a child to care for. The pair, and their friends vigorously record the goings on of the kobold settlement. They take records of those who are born, of how many eggs the averag kobold produces, how many of the eggs hatch safely, and how many of the tiny pups make it to their majority.

The Benevolent Teacher once, and only once, for the interests of the scientific record, steps in to help with an egg hatching, even if it pains her to have to leave the others to die. She recorded the goings on of one morning, only to find a small hand grasping at her simple dress, a long orange robe of satin. A small kobold, sick with worry, it's tiny face scrunched up as if a kicked pet, it's begging, it's primal misery urged on the teacher, and she reached down to try to lift the small kobold up to head height. The kobold will not be lifted, and scrambled impotently. She places it gently onto the loamy silt earth, and it skitters away. The other kobolds frown in their perplexingly silent way, as if mourning, but the teacher follows, stooping down into the burrow. The scent of caustic earth stuck with her, the sound of straining and pain ricocheting into her vastly sensitive ears. She feels herself overwhelmed with the instincts of caring, and rushes forward, her ears leading her, making the cacophony of the burrow into a silence, isolating the noise of suffering as if the sound of a skittish hare a mile away.

Pushing into a final room, she finds herself forced back by the smell of acidic sweat, the overwhelmingly bittersweet smell of a newborn, so frail but so beautiful, even covered in scales. She moved forward, and saw before her a pitiful sight, a hatchling kobold, it's eyes glued shut by it's premature hatching, half choked in it's egg, desperately trying to claw free from the shell. She exhorts the other kobolds in the room to help, but her frantic urgings fall into the weeping eyes of many, and none move through the choking heat of the earth. She steps forward and leans down onto the egg, desperate to help it, confused as to why the kobolds would not help themselves, before it strikes her.

Cont.

They will not help the child because it will not survive, even if they let it be born, and it will live in pain in the burrow, even if it breaks free from the egg. She cannot help but weep, but still takes the egg in her arms, pulling it close into her down feathers, hoping to nurture and warm it. She gently preens at the egg, pulling away at the shards of shell with her beak, gently helping the hatchling be born. It takes hours of gentle easing, but she succeeds, and the hatchling is born. She carries the hatchling out of the burrow with her.

Her partner sees her, his face covered in worry, and rushes to her, covering her crying form with his wings and begging to know what troubled his love. The teacher pulls from her down a small bundle of orange cloth, within it the peaceful form of a living kobold hatchling, it's eyes peacefully closed, but it's heart still beating. She looks, lovingly at her partner, and sets the bundle down at her feet. She has covered the child in the sleeve of her dress, that which represents her very family. He knows what she means, and, though still puzzled, picks up the baby, as if it were his own.

The Benevolent Teacher, after the adoption of her new child, moved it into the monastery, and cares for it as if it were her own. None dare to question this when they see the instinct in her eyes. With new tenderness, she helps the kobolds. She teaches them writing, how to properly pray. She gives unto them laws, carved into rock, in the language of the Syrinx. She helps them to formalize their agriculture, and to understand basic metallurgy. But more than all this, she begins a personal initiative, constructing a small building out of stone, with the help of kobold workers, which she establishes as a Hospital, where she cares for the sick, Syrinx and Kobold, learning how best to heal and aid the kobolds. Before her, one in every four kobold hatchlings survived their first year, now it is expected that that number will triple.

The Kobolds even clean their homes, using stone to make their burrow safe, pots to cook and furniture. Their lives have totally changed, and their reverence is complete. The tribe you have helped, the Students as they are called, have grown to be the most powerful kobold tribe in the hills, and their numbers increase rapidly. They provide all the food your monastery requires to thrive, and their labour is skilled enough, once they are taught.

The Gods smile on those who care for others before themselves.

>Event Incoming!

>>518557
dude... i may be a little drunk, but still. never felt so bad about a 20/20.
give her a name, deserves to be one of the highest gods in the kobold pantheon.

>>518586
Seconded

>>518569
So are we voting against or waiting for the Event?

>>518603
i don't think we have a say in that case

>>518603
I meant again not against

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>518569
Scout the humans

>>518637
what humans?

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The golden flecked egg begins to radiate heat more and more, until the leather it is stored in has charred, until the wicker basket melts away. Aerlla considers moving it, before one night, in the dead of the darkness, it shifts entirely, sucking in heat, as if it were all just a protracted breath. The golden flecks begin to shine with an ethereal shimmer, and Aella sets out a stool beside the egg to observe it, noting down what he sees. The shell begins to pulse, before falling into an ominous silence. Three piercing knocks ring out over the monastery, and the egg shell shatters at a point, fracture lines moving outwards under the fascinated eyes of Aella. A strange little creature, it's feathers barely formed, emerges from the egg. It has four legs ending in pads, as if a cat's the head of an owlet, covered in strange shaggy rough down, and the torso of a lion.

A Griffon! In this day and age, a Griffon. Aella carefully washes it to clean it of the fluids of the egg, and feeds it several small hares. It eats voraciously, it's beak openning wide to swallow down morsels as big as Aella's head. It is walking within the hour, tiny feet bounding unceremoniously around the monastery, all eyes transfixed on it. It may be small, but the aquiline predatory nobility of it's kind is already visible. Griffons have been warbeasts for millenia, and the secrets of their rearing were among the first words passed to the Syrinx by the gods. They were wild for millenia, but at the height of the empire in the heavens they were reared in packs by the great old noble houses, used as mounts in the great sky jousts of old, able to fold their wings behind them and leap with such force as to fall faster than a peregrine, able to pick out a foe in a thicket from miles away, able to see a shrew's freezing breath in the air from the clouds above.

The Griffons of old could tear a Syrinx clean in half with a mere swipe of their claws, and a pack could devour even a Wyvern in less than an hour. With the fall of the empire so long ago, the Griffons in their stables died off, and their blood was stolen for defiling magics, until they had been mutated into mere shadows. Some of them escaped into the wild, but the great pedigrees of old have disintegrated without the careful guidance of the old houses. This little creature cannot yet fly, but it's feathers begin to ruffle outwards and to become the sleek silver-grey they will remain for all of it's life. It's jerking snapping movements are adorable, as it prances through the stone halls like a predator on it's home turf, play pouncing. The old master finds it nuzzling it's warm down feathers into him in the night, perhaps mistaking the old mage for his father.

What shall this silver dappled griffon be named? Where shall it be quartered when it grows larger? What will the monastery do now, with the gods so firmly on their side?

>>518586
The Benevolent Teacher is named Kal, though the kobolds call her Lata (Mother), and she has become something of a mother Goddess, second only to the ethereal Sky-Father, who the kobolds refer to most of the time simply by pointing to the sky. This Sky Father is Aella, or so it seems. I assure you, it was a very happy day for the Teacher, she found herself a child, and the Kobolds learned much better to treat disease and care for the weaker of their society. She saved lives, and she got the child she dearly wanted.

>>518652
Pauley
Somewhere in the monastery we may need to build a room for it.
See what the Goblins are doing.
And what happened to the harp that were attack by the Goblins

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>>518669
>they call her mother

for the griffon's name: Blowback
for the quarters: build some kind of orangery to a major building, just without the walls. like the griffon bastion in heroes 3 or something.

>>518689
??
There is a harp in the monastery that is played constantly, but the Goblins haven't attacked the Monastery yet. Please roll for scouting the goblins precisely.

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>518689
>>518725

>>518748
A wing of adventurous younger monks, with sealed beaks rather than filed talons, fly off down the hillside, making a competition out of their attempts at stealthy scouting of the goblins. They do not talk to one another, but display their youthful boasts in movement, displaying their ability to dive and to whirl around before being spotted. This silent contest goes unnoticed by the throng of goblins, with the magnificent beating of half a dozen wings fills the air as if a silent storm. The wing of Syrinx finally bring themselves down, swirling into a small patch of wood, suspended in the foliage.

Their keen eyes scan the massive throng of goblinoids, and they set to work, tired by their flight, but with studious devotion. For Syrinx, it is a simple thing to count heads, like picking out prey from the highlands. This throng, however, is hard to count. Ten thousand passes, and the silent sealed beaks gradually become more slackened by disbelief. At noon, twenty thousand, by the third hour of the afternoon, twenty eight thousand goblins, two thousand ogres, and fourty or fifty giants, scattered over the moor in a strange semi-city, thousands of slum-hovels fed by small farms and captive sheep herds, connected sparsely but still strangely decrepit in their being packed together.

The stench of the place is unbearable, and the Monks regret sealing their beaks, which would allow them to breathe without the stench of sweat dried by the sun and mixed in with the scent of a sleeping drunkard. Individual goblins are yet more maddening, sounding even from afar like they are speaking some kind of decayed birdsong, their language like drilled chirping against the ears of the Syrinx. The Giants speak in a more agreeable tone, and through their finely attuned hearing, some monks pick out that the giants would prefer to be at home, that they dislike this place with the goblins, where there is no honour.

The very earth the goblins has touched has been tainted, as if all ploughed by rusted ploughs, sniffled through by ravenous pigs, and the Syrinx abjectly refuse to land on the dirt that the goblins have touched. A few goblins are found in the underbrush, but these are quickly beaten with staves and the monks make some sport of tieing them up and handing them off to the kobolds.

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>518859
what do the gobbos even eat? that numbers seem crazy on 30 square miles.

also lets get into the giants. observe and when one of them iis secluded give them some kind of vision of storms, glory annd prosperity.

>New Turn: No Conclusion on naming the Griffon. Winter is nearing it's end. Five new children have been born, and will be adolescents in a year.

Roll.

>>518907
You honestly don't know. The Goblins seem to eat essentially everything, from grass to the very roots of the earth and they are known for their strange fungal magics.

One of the young seal-beaks, who has his talons kept sharp, and his staff tipped with iron caps, his cloak a deep vermillion red, sets out one evening to the goblin field. He has seen the giants, and has reaoned that their height must grant them some greatness beyond the other landbound, as they are close to the heavens than most. His wings do not ease through the air as Aella, or scythe through it as Kal, but seem to command it, each inflection of his wing sending his red cloak billowing around him like the haze around a flame. He surveys the pitiful hovels of the goblins, seeing the thriving morass of life and considering it as little more than mold upon spoiled fruit. He can barely conceal his disgust as the smell of them rises in his throat, but he has set himself a mission

A giant lies sleeping on a small hillside. The giant is around twenty feet in height, imposing, even beyond an Ogre, his head covered in the bright red hair common to his kind, his face concealed by a simple wooden mask. Stories tell tales of the ancient demons of the world stealing the faces of giants after tricking them out of their honour, but if nothing else the giant's mask is imposing, the great dark wood carved with many tales in the ancient runic language, looking as if a thousand inelegant talon strokes. The giant wears thick furs, though a close eye sees the bands of deep bronze, Orichalcum, a cunning armour to deceive the opponent into conceiving the giant as stupid enough to fight without armour, and he wields a great maul. At a distance the weapon, like the armour, seems inelegant, but is actually a well crafted pattern forged weapon, weighted to crush bone as if butter, but to only bruise flesh, to tear only at a certain angle. The warrior must admire this Giant's work, but there is a mission at hand.

The warrior moves to the giant's ear and speaks into it, pulling away his beak-binding and speaking with the fluid poetry of someone who only knows of language, but does not often have the chance to experience it. He tells the giant tales of battle and glory from the old Empire, that these goblins were weak. Before dawn, the warrior would leave. Over the coming weaks, he would ease this message into many minds, and two or three giants would be convinced of their duty to live honourably. The giants, or at least ten or twelve of them have moved off to their own camp, herding cattle on the next mountain in the mountain range, mount Tarlai. Perhaps they may be later raised to fight for their new homes.

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And again, goodnight my friends. I will see you all, unfortunately enough, on Friday night (GMT) at 4pm.

And have some more pictures of Owl Griffins. How adorable.

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>>518988
Skyfather, Compassion and Valor.
that would make a great guidebook for life

they sure are adorable

>>518991
Friday night (GMT) at 4pm

will the thread survive?

Lurking hard here Op
Love your writing please dont let the thread die

>>520271
it's going to be permasaged in about 20 hours, so OP's propbably going to have to start a new thread anyway.

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>>520308
>>520271
>>519894
I will return, do not be afraid. The thread will die, but the civ shall rise again, in a new thread, with an opening thread pic and recognizable title! Thank you for your loyalty and patience

>>514972
Please vote for this thread on the Archive here: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Syrinx

>>520992
You'd think we could show some interest in golem creation? All the benefit of slaves with none of the chance of uprising. S'just plain economical.

>>522012
If you like the idea, pursue it. It could certainly happen.

Dramatic Announcement!

A Few friends have invited me out to a festival on Friday night, so I will start up the thread tomorrow and continue all day, then run the quest for as long into Friday as I can. Hopefully I will be able to catch the last people checking this thread in time!

>>522962
i hope i can catch this train, what is the approximate GMT time?

>>525569
I'm just about to start.

>>525577
WOHOO

>>525579


We are go!