Camoa #7 – Final Fantasy

When the ravenous eating had finished, a few of the clan members that knew the troop from their time in Morabella drifted over, and a valiant attempt was made to remove a gap of 2 years in the space of half an hour. Just as a nu-mou was launching into a story about their first official quest for the Camoan state, the clan office door opened and a subdued-looking human women walked out, took a chair and sat by their table. Understanding the implication, the table waited for miss Kartel to speak.

Noira’s downcast look vanished and she breathed a sigh of relief. She looked slowly across the table before speaking. “So now I am officially employed here in Camoa. Thanks for escorting me all the way here, mr Hanjer, ser Monid, miss A’Delia.” Saska and A’Delia nodded back, and Monid tapped his left shoulder in a less boisterous version of the templar salute. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need a meal.” The nu-mou went back into his story while Noira walked to the counter. The story ended as the summoner arrived back at the table. While Noira was sitting down, A’Delia lent forward, grabbing the tables attention. Saska could sense her intention, so he called for some drinks.

A’Delia waved towards her group. “I have a tale to tell. A tale, not a story, and it would be a stretch to call it my own. To set the stage, mister Hanjer here will tell you all what he saw at the edge of the Koringwood just this morning.”

Saska didn’t miss the pass. “3 powerful canine beastmen, armed to the teeth, lurking at the edge of the Wood. Those of you who’ve ever done any business in the Aldanna range, you’ll know them as wargens. Except, these ones had quite distinctly purple fur, and wargens have never been known to range beyond brown or red.” Saska waved back towards the vieran woman. “Thank you, mr Hanjer. Normally, a discolouration is attributed to either Mist or some experiment. And while, in this case, the first would be correct, there is more to this tale than simple Mist. Long before either Sphrom or Camoa were even a twinkle in the mason’s eye, humans lived in these lands. And like all humans, they were curious. One day, one of them, let us call him Hans, met a witch who sold him a magick that would allow him to talk to the beasts of the woods. Sharing this wondrous secret with his village, they quickly grew an unprecedented relationship with the woods of Jylland. As time went on, the village withdrew itself more and more from their human neighbours. The few visitors they had during this time said that they heard eerie howls in the woods around the village, that the village was less and less populated and that the hairs on the bodies of the villagers took on a vibrant purplish hue. Eventually, a neighbouring village on a mission of reconciliation discovered the village abandoned. The populace had seemingly left their lives behind. Supplies, tools, personal effects, everything had been left behind.” Grabbing one of the pints of ale, A’Delia took a good slug before continuing. “The magick was wild, or Mist magic. The tale does not tell us anything of who the witch was, but if the tale is to be believed, that village was the origin of a breed of Mist-beast called a ‘Wubakan’. If any of you have done business in any Jagds, you might have met them. Some of the very strongest of the canine beastmen, as well as retaining their cunning. I would love to know why they have left the Jagds for the Koringwood.”

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