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Times in Altarin were tumultuous. Though the seas and skies had been calmed, the ghouls and disease cropped up like unwelcome weeds and pests. Arms, medicines, and outside help were already enacted, thus leaving room for those turning to faith to come forward. While the Sisters' aid was welcome, Tete-kāno had insisted that they work together. Unfortunately, it seems that the Elevated Sister had forgotten previous statements: that active demagoguing was not allowed. However, in these troubling times, Tete-kāno was willing to forgive and move forward, to turn the other petal for now. Thus, as the Myrkran and the Toteharu worked together to hold a religious festival, word went out to all those on Altarin - Sisters included - that their prayers to Taumara would be in earnest on that day. --- Throughout Toteharu - the capitol - roofing was peeled back, great basins made of stone or tin were filled with slow-burning mosses and greenwood. Dozens of braziers and polished mirrors line the streets of Toteharu, Tiaho-Pouri, and Tio-Kao all at once. At the height of the lengthy summer days, the toteharu of all three would work together in study, work-games, and prayer and adulation for the gift of life. Tete-kāno stood atop it all, a speech prepared. "The world today, blanketed in new and unusual dangers at every cycle, is one in flux. It is one where Taumaru has bloated and is being forced to fester. Taumaru is struggling and calling for help from Taumara, from us. There are things in this world that fester in the darkness where they deny Taumaru's cycle. So let us pray and supplicate to Taumara to aid both twins in burning away these dark times. Let our bonfires and minds sing to one another in grand designs and work towards our own deserved time in the Shade!" They may not be speaking directly to the Sisters and those who converted in the second half, but the tone and wording makes the message clear: This was the first and last warning to those who converted The Twin's faithful. "To those who doubt our words, to those whose faith is shaken by these times, the Twins know forgiveness and desire understanding and cooperation where possible. We ideally have the same goals. Cast aside ulterior motives, reinforce your faith, and heed the past as we head for the future. Let us not become isolated or divided." --- For a full week surrounding the Summer equinox, the plants made a celebration of keeping the fires of the three largest settlements burning and worked as long as the clergy deemed healthful and productive. Games were made of those who could finish the finest tin panels, of who could mend sails with the least stitching showing, and all manner of tests of skill and efficacy at domestic and industrial arts.

Eastward and colder, the Toteharu had claimed new land in the regions past the known mountains, expanding the map ever further. This not-so-far-flung region was open and calm, but Tete-kāno did not wish to leave it truly open. Once the foundation had been built, plans for earthworks and wooden fortifications rebutted by smooth metal were drawn up and all but raised. With the success of the previous season's fair, the distance to the current infected area, and efforts towards quarantine and treatment for the root rot, it seemed only right to host a follow-up. Thus, with a naval escort and assurance the The Bear had cleared the waters, a new festival was announced. Walls and rooves all had to be put in place. What better way to show great tests of skill, strength, and finesse than the rope-pulling and teamwork of construction? Again, all were invited and encouraged to participate and bet. --- Tete-kāno themselves was not one for such works, leaving it to their secondary dignitaries to do the competition judging and the like, but they themselves still maintained a presence, watching, waiting, and doing their civil duties in the already-established buildings and backrooms.

Altarin's known world was ever-expanding. The frogs, the nanx, the toteharu were all growing their borders as the known world grew ever-larger. But Altarin was in flux. Leviathans in the waters, dragons on the wing, strange technologies in the mountains, and the coastline being mapped bit by bit. Tete-kāno had begun to broach the strange secrets of the horned-folk and had managed to avoid the ire of the other travelling peoples. Thus, on the eve of a marching day, an idea was had. Nanx spearmen, frog warriors, mangrove slingers, and even the strange humans adorned in roses all came together to deal with one of the continent's persistent issues. What better way to mark the occasion than a test of might and what the food-ready people called a feast? --- In the newly-built city of Tiaho-Pouri, Tete-kāno announced the city's gates open and began to show one of the odder features a city of plants had built: A huge, oval circus ground. A wide field of soft grass and cleared spaces for vendors, competitions, and - with Tete-kāno's direct involvement and blessings of Taumaru - dozens of betting and ticketsellers. Races, wrestling competitions, and common dice and board games lined the avenues as the human knights quickly setup somewhat serviceable food stalls. With the food resources of plants being largely luxury or ceremonial, little of the fruit, fish, and other sea oddities were even being sold, but merely handed out. Any real money or goods changing hands were done so as great vine toteharu challenges teams of frogs to wrestling matches, as strange flax-formed horse toteharu took on all comes in a "foot" race, or as Tete-kāno themselves whispered prayers into their dice. With a grand battle against a dragon, all were invited.

And so they came And so we went On a dull day I shall never forget With cracking hulls And tattered sail They split the sea With a demon tail To the murky isle Of empty shambles A Ruin they say Worth the gamble At the gates now Scrawled in ash A final parting Gifted at last “This is not a Place of Honor.” - Rhyme of the Merlyn Mariner     From far and wide they came. With hood-draped horns and lacquered script, they entreated distant councils, powers, and compelled forces. A Reed of Metal carved with Runes A Feast! A Feast for all who await the great alignment! Be it celestial or the threads of fate that flow and bind through all! Your place of honor is reserved in the depths of Caler Myrfddin and a prize to those who succeed in the sport to follow! The Great Merlyn Zan Cuddlu awaits your response. One face on many heads lurked in the rivers, coasts, bogs, and murky fens of distant Brenn-Tyr. Softly twinkling eyes waiting in the dark for the answer they sought. Some vanished. Others fled. Many sailed from river to sea and rejoined their distant host. Small buoys and dinghies merely scraped together and ferried guests from the heartland to a hulking vessel unlike anything seen in years on Brenn-Tyr. A knorr of veteran spirit, its hull was stitched together with a protective layer of ruined vessels smashed upon its side and fastened aboard. A hull large enough to comfortably fit those gathered together from disparate parts, with lavish treasures on display gathered before and along the way. Where sensible captains balk and turn from high waves, rough weather, and the tempestuous sea the scarred Shipking Merlyn slices through compelled by the force of a rippling sail that doubled as a banner depicting a blood-red skulled horn with swords crossed. The ship emerged from the chilling sea mist, a knife piercing the skin, and basked in the warm glow of red sand at their destination. Ruin. Drifting around to a port, the shadow of Caler Myrfddin is immediately present upon docking, as its dizzying heights seemingly defy gravity and its crumbling rafters taunt the clouds. A small port village lives near this shadow, sparsely populated, and disinterested in the sudden coming and going of distant peoples.   By torch fire, the hooded liaisons guided to the shattered gates of Caler Myrfddin. A yawning portal of strange stillness, the air abuzz with emptiness, and the wind a murmuring memory. Rivulets of fluid and debris seemed to flow into (Or out of?) the fractured structure's surface and the red sand of the disaffected earth. A fractured double staircase leading up to darkness and the faint twinkling of wytchstars encircles a massive chasm that burrows deep at a slope. The guides ignore the stairs and descend the bowels of the ruin, twisting through several branching paths, and stopping upon a rusty door with a strange circular handle. Heaving the door open eradicates the faint light their torches provide as the guests are bathed in the incandescent rays of a raging bonfire in the center of a grand banquet hall. A long table rests at the end of the hall, where a single Merlyn sits. The room is awash with laughter, song, dance, and a kaleidoscope of colors. Banners and flags, totems and statues of a myriad form festoon the walls and ceiling of this warm chamber. Above in the smoke of the flame, a strange hole seems to quell and direct the fumes, and a few armored Merlyn continue to throw fuel in with rapturous laughter.   Food is arrayed on the banquet table of every sumptuous sin and tantalizing taste. The curried meats of unseen beasts, plucked plump fruits, and strange breaded treats lay in an only mildly disarrayed state of sampling as the sole crowned Merlyn takes bites and offers seats.   "Come come! I entreat you, oh distant wonders, to the Feast of Horns!"

  Along the distant coastline, metallic towers rose skyward and broke the horizon. These strange structures were not meant as homes, as so many of the Rikathi had once thought but were instead a means of communication. With whom, they didn't truly know. When the Myrkran came to them with news of war, the Rikathi were hesitant to trust them at first. The bondcast between the tribes was still too new and pliable, and the Rikathi had their own troubles to contend with in this world. But the news did not relent and for months whispers of distant wars continued to echo through Mjornduth. Ota Beyr Brejna Honorlund, tired of being reactionary since taking the longhouse throne, decided to act now to prevent such things on her own doorstep. The Rikathi had taken in the refugees and given them a new home, but it seemed now a target had been placed upon their back for such goodwill. She trusted the Myrkran enough, but not their towering devices and instead sent out outriders to the corners of the continent seeking philosophers and peacekeepers.   ~*~*~*~   As the visitors arrive, they hear the sounds of hammers and workers hurriedly building. Two new longhouses are being constructed along the edge of the village that are identical in every way to the one that sits at the center. The difference of the two is that the material of each looks piecemeal. There's uniformity in design, but the aesthetics are not. A trained eye can see that dyers are busy at work too, creating gorgeous motifs both inside and out of the new longhouses, telling stories through colors and patterns. Myrkran workers -their telltale physical traits making them distinguishable to the local Rikathi- are bringing black stones in from the coast and shoring up the walls of some of the villagers' huts. Obviously, material has been taken from some of the homes to finish the work on the longhouses and are now being replaced as the time draws near its close. The huts look no worse for the wear of missing their normal construction material, perhaps a testament to the Rikathi builders or the Myrkran's additions. The entire village comes to an organized, peaceful stoppage near sundown. The workers return home, cook fires blaze outside huts with flames touching the deep dark sky, and generally good companionship can be felt throughout. Visitors are invited to every campfire they pass, but it is the Ota Beyr's longhouse that beckons them. The longhouse looms over all except a two story tower-like structure tucked away in the corner of the village away from the cloistered huts and longhouse. It's windows are darkened and no one seems to be coming or going from it's entryways. The attention is on the longhouse and there is activity everywhere. Boys carry pitchers of water, tea, and honey mead. A clutch of young girls sing in a strange humming cadence that is soothing to the ears. Tables have been brought in and fill the belly of the longhouse. There are plenty of empty seats, suggesting that the hosts were expecting more guests, but they quickly fill in with locals. Ota Beyr Brejna stands from her large wooden throne and quiets the crowd. She's small, perhaps only five feet and not much in the way of weight, and her pale skin seems to fight off any of the fire's light inside the room. Behind her is another woman of similar stature who remains seated in her own wooden chair. "Welcome to our home." She says, bowing to those in attendance. "We are without hosting traditions, so I have seen to it that we create some for our guests, I do hope they are not too simple for our world travelers." The apology seems genuine if not a bit self-deprecating. The boys continue to squeeze between tables and fill clay cups and metal tankards. She allows the girls to start and finish a small arrangement that involves more musical notes than words, impressive given that there are no instruments accompanying them. "But they shall be quick, because left to age on the vine... any tradition can be quite wilted. Let us get to it." Her smile fades and her demeanor shifts. It's clear this is her true self. "Our Myrkran neighbors tell us of war. They are being attacked by enemies on a distant continent and we fear that rivalry will extend to Taer Mojr." 

To each of the main settlements of the Altarin powers ride Nanx messengers on their newly acquired horses. The beasts, standing as tall as a Maenos, root and grub at the dirt where they are kept, searching for roots and grubs, while their long sinuous tails lash at anyone who tries to get too close. The messengers waste no time in hauling a basket of Shimmerstone before the leaders of the other peoples, and unfurl a section of boatskin to remind themselves of what they're supposed to say. "Shaman Delce and the Shamans say it would be good to talk. They are bringing good cheeses and berry mash to the wyrfar lake shore, where the river starts again. Everyone can come except the Metal People. Bring good food and smart people. Bring food and supplies for the New People who were attacked and need help. Meet in three turn threes."   Nine days later, three turns of the three sun-blocking shields in the sky, the Nanx have set up a rustic camp on the western side of Altarin Lake. Boathide tents dot the fields, while wagons have been drawn together, precious traded cloth stretched between them and propped up to make little feast halls and gathering places. The scent of cooking meat competes with the sweet-and-sour smell of fermenting berry mash, while a few valuable glazed urns of more refined wine chill, half-submerged in the river with several Nanx Fighting People standing guard. In typical Nanx fashion, anyone who shows up is expected to pitch their camp wherever makes sense to them, and the Nanx present welcome any to come eat and drink. Meanwhile Shaman Delce and several other Shamans mostly wait by the water, where rough hewn seats circle a very large fire ring...which only has a small campfire burning right now.