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(                             NewOrigins Events                             )
 )                              March, Year 1                              (
(                                                                           )
 )      Multiple adventurers are discussing about a conflict between       (
(      combatants happened in the plains of Inmark where many soldiers      )
 )    will never fight again. This battle will be known as Battle near     (
(                       the ocean of Atlantis Ocean.                        )
 )                                                                         (
(                          .:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.                          )
 )                                                                         (
(      Dozen dockers have heard about a fight between enemies happened      )
 )    in the plains of Inmark where battle ended in a slaughter of one     (
(     of the sides. This battle will be known as Battle near the ocean      )
 )                           of Atlantis Ocean.                            (
(                                                                           )
 )                         .:*~*:._.:*~*:._.:*~*:.                         (
(                                                                           )
 )         Handful travelers are rumoring about a conflict between         (
(      combatants happened in the forests of Crucot where battle ended      )
 )    in a slaughter of one of the sides. This battle will be known as     (
(                     Battle near the town of Scoburg.                      )
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From the Office of the New Sun Collective

The first steps of any great undertaking are rarely the most celebrated, yet they are often the most important.

Foundations laid with patience endure longer than monuments raised in haste. As our people continue their journey into the wider world, we remain committed to learning before judging, preparing before acting, and building institutions that will outlast any single generation.

To those who have also begun their own journeys, we wish fair winds, worthy rivals, and honorable dealings. The world before us is vast enough for discovery, cooperation, and healthy competition alike.

May wisdom guide every road we choose.

The New Sun Collective

Well done!
Majestic mountains, fresh air. We're going to live here!

The beginning was disappointing.

Everything was ready for the great new immersive adventure but no people has shown up until now.

Time to create some bots and explore the surroundings.

A Hearth Is Lit

The Hearthbound (116)

We will not trouble the Times with declarations of conquest, for we have none to make. Let others promise fire and iron to every corner of the map; we have promised ourselves only a roof, and the discipline to keep it standing.

There is a particular kind of stone that does not crack in winter. We spent our first month in the Nexus learning to recognize it — in the land, and in each other. We leave now for ground with good bones, where a wall raised this year will still be a wall in twenty.

We ask nothing of our neighbors but honest dealing. We will pay a fair price and expect one in return. We will not go looking for quarrels, and we will not run from the ones that find us regardless. What we build, we intend to keep — not through the size of our banners, but through the simple fact of still being there when the loud names have gone quiet.

To anyone building the same way: our door will be open. To anyone counting on us being an easy meal: reconsider.

— House Hearthbound

Begin.

We have Orcs!  Lots of Orcs!
Yet we are trees.  So what do we do with the orcs.
They are strong.  Let us move them to dig the earth.

Woof! *Furiously shakes off all of this water*

Noise is the new pollution. Loud places, endless clamor, and constant background chatter drain you from the inside out. Stepping away from this noise isn't about escaping the world. It’s about protecting your energy. Turn down the volume to hear what truly matters.

FROM A LEADER'S DIARY — THE SECOND MONTH
========================================

So it is done, and I am somewhere, and the somewhere has a name I did not
choose and will not repeat here.

The arch was not what I expected. There was no sensation of travel at all —
one moment the still air of that hall, and then a wind with weather in it,
and the smell of a place where things grow and rot and are eaten. I had
forgotten, in all those weeks of preparation, that the world is a physical
thing. I stood for some time and did nothing useful, which I record honestly
because these pages are meant to be honest.

There were people already there, of course. Not rivals — the old garrison,
the ones who are always there, who look through you with the particular
indifference of men paid by nobody you can negotiate with. We regarded each
other. Neither party found the other interesting. I understand the
arrangement perfectly well and I have no complaint about it, though I notice
it is one of those arrangements that only ever ends one way.

What strikes me most, now that the hall is behind us and we are all
scattered to wherever we each chose, is how quiet it has become. A month ago
there were more banners in one room than I could count. Now there is
weather, and livestock, and the sound of somebody else's axe a very long way
off. I find I do not miss the crowd. I am aware that it has not gone
anywhere.

I will not be writing here about what I found, what I bought, or what I
intend — not this month and not, I expect, for a long time. Anyone who has
read these pages in previous years knows that the entries worth reading are
the ones written by people with nothing left to lose, and I intend to stay
unqualified for that distinction as long as possible.

What I will say is this. There are a very great many of us this time and the
room has not got any larger. I would rather trade than fight, and I would
rather talk than either. I have no quarrel with anyone yet and I am in no
hurry to acquire one. My hand is open to anyone whose is, on whatever terms
seem fair to both of us — and I would rather hear from a neighbour early,
while we can still choose what we are to each other, than late, when the
choice has already been made for us by somebody's arithmetic.

To everyone else: I wish you a long and prosperous game, somewhere I am not.

The faction "La Orden de la Sangre" greets all the peoples of this world, wishing for a fruitful and glorious collaboration and that the gods be favorable to us.

Another era, but the first thing the world joyfully greets me with is a beautiful green swamp. Quack! I mean, pfft!

New world! New Land! Let's explore!

In Denmark we say: 'Jo dummere vikingen, jo st0rre lykke.' And it's true — the stupid ones always survive the battle, because the enemy assumes they're already dead.

The dawn didn't bring anything new. Still a lot of work to do before the Company is back in shape.

And so the adventure begins, friends / foes only time will tell

Gè dé qí suǒ

Each finds their proper place

So we crashed into the village just to find it devoid of any other factions. Curious, we thought. Let's send out some scouts, maybe there are some potential allies in the vincinity. Or maybe we find some enemies. 

They say the dead do not speak. They are wrong. They merely wait for someone patient enough to listen.

I have walked long roads and slept beneath stranger skies than most men care to imagine, and I tell you plainly: there are older powers stirring beneath the mud and the mountain roots than any guild or council cares to admit. I do not fear them. I study them.

Let it be known that I seek no quarrel with the living. My business is with older debts, the kind owed to those who no longer draw breath to collect them. Should there be others who share an interest in what lingers past the grave, or who have knowledge of forgotten rites better left to careful hands, I would hear from them. Discreetly.

As for where I tread... The world is wide, and I've found it wiser to let my footsteps go unremarked. Those who need to find me, will.

Our representatives are travelling the lands to establish embassies and introduce our services to the local populace.
We come in peace and seek opportunities for mutual cooperation.
Look for the orange NN logo bearing the Lotus flower in your settlement.

Greyjoin heads to the nearest tavern, buys a round for everyone, and calls out, “Who wants to serve me?” He throws a pouch of silver onto the table.

Several men lounging around the tavern immediately step forward.

Yes, Greyjoin thinks to himself. Finding men is easy enough. But can I find true followers?

Sortie du nexus! Enfin...
Ce monde semble accueillant.... pour l'instant...
Envoyons nos fidèles compagnons l'explorer... et attendons leurs rapports...

Galadriel, an 1 de l'exil

I stood at the crossroads this morning. The dust of the plains swirled at my back, and the damp breath of the jungle pressed against my face.

To my right, a town on the open plain. Wheat fields stretched to the horizon. Straight roads. Low stone walls. Not a single tree for cover. Practical. Exposed. Easy to read.

To my left, a town swallowed by the jungle. Vines strangled its palisades. Moss clung to every roof. The calls of unknown creatures echoed from the canopy above. Hidden. Impenetrable. But rotting from within.

Both are threatened. Both are running out of time.

The first time, it's not that easy to force yourself to blink

There is a jungle. And there is a town. And there is almost the middle of the world.
There is nothing else.
There are deserts all around. There is no sea. There are no rivers. There is no lake.
Nothing? Let's work.

Swamp all around and no pub to be seen. Kill me now.

swamp is good

yahoo! It's a new beautiful world!

 "The Frenchman, the Female, and the Man Called Mother's Milk"

Dark tidings for the town of Tiham as an ancient evil rises.
Unnatural fog, missing hunters and a deep sense of unease is impacting the town.

Alone?  Surprising.   I'm sure it won't last.

We are Borg!

A new place to call home

Now we see how friendly a bot will be

The plural of nebula is nebulae.

So many choices

A journey of 10,000 miles begins with but a first step.  But, watch that first step.  It's a doozy.

Perfect. No one will find us here.

J'ai trouvé l'amour en ton regard,
Mais mon chemin ne s'arrête pas là.
Rester près de toi serait trop doux,
Pourtant mon âme doit aller plus loin.

The council of elders were most mystified. Why did their diminutive helper insist on failing to recognise their password? Was there something wrong with him? Never mind, the scribes would transcribe the requests for new formations of elves faithfully and issue them manually.

Raccoons sure do multiply fast in this new world, but strangly they have hooves now.

They say a stone-quiet band went up into the high country without so much as a banner to name them. No boasts, no recruiting drive, no threats posted at the crossroads — just gone, north and up, like they already knew where they were headed before they left the Nexus. One trader swears he saw a spark catch on a leader's palm in passing, gone before he could be sure he'd seen it at all. Make of that what you will.

>> Interesting! Is the gang of Russians from the previous world here in full force, or will they 
>> not gather into one bandit gang this time and allow themselves to be defeated?

Ergebt euch, Russen! Gebt auf!

Where the Mąʼii roam, there is no place for the bilagáana!

Aaannnndd we're off!  Uh!?!........like a herd of turtles.  I'm still in Nexus!?!  I need to rethink and retool this.

What's the common thing between Holden and a woodpecker? They both peck!

One week ago…

"Hey, you! Yeah, you in the cap! Come here, please!"
"Yes, Mr. Greyson."
"What's your name?"
"John, Mr. Greyson."
"How deep do you think this 'rabbit hole' is?"
"I don't know, sir, but I can't see the bottom of this crevice. Do you want to go down there?"
"Yep. Do we have an endless rope?" – I looked at the guy with a serious face, which completely baffled him.
"Are you serious? We've got maybe fifty yards at most."
"That'll do. Bring it and tie the other end to the truck."

I dropped my backpack and adjusted the belt with a large camp lantern and a hunting knife hanging from it. Meanwhile, John brought a coil of rope, the other end of which was already tied to the metal bumper of an old military truck with a canvas cover.
I tossed the entire coil into the crevice and listened, expecting a dull thud from the bottom, but heard nothing at all. Well then, time to descend.
I grabbed the rope, checked its tension, switched on my headlamp, and started climbing down. About six feet down, sand and pebbles rained on me from above.
"What the heck?" – I looked up and saw John coming down right behind me.
"Hey, John, where are you going?"
"With you, Mr. Greyson. In case you need help."
"And what if we both need help from up there?"
"I brought a radio with me and left the other one up there. We'll get someone's attention."
"Did you turn it on?" – but John didn't answer. That's a bust. If something happens, they'll find us in... never.
"Should I go back up and turn it on?" John asked.
"We've already descended about thirty feet," I thought. Climbing back up would take quite a while, and help down here might really be needed.
"Don't, John. Let's hope nothing happens."

The descent was easy, and we moved quickly. John kept up, which was commendable. But I didn't praise the guy – "overpraise and he'll get sloppy." The bright Moroccan sky above grew farther away, and the temperature steadily dropped.
"How much farther, I wonder?" John voiced my thoughts.
I looked down, hoping to see some horizontal surface.
"Still nothing visible down there, John."
"Not that I'm complaining, but it's getting creepy," he grumbled.

Suddenly it grew dark.
"John, did you block the whole opening? There's not much light as it is."
"I didn't do anything – the sky just went dark."
I glanced up. Indeed, the sky had darkened as if night had fallen.
"Is it night? What time is it?" – I asked John and checked my own watch. The luminous, phosphor-coated hands showed nearly 5:15.
"Five in the afternoon," John confirmed.
"What the hell?" – I swore out loud. And at that moment, my heel touched something solid. "Maybe a ledge," I thought. But looking down, I realised: "The bottom."
"John, we've made it down!"

Present time…

"My head hurts so much. What was that dream? A strange place made of nothing."
I sat up in bed and looked around. It was an ordinary wooden house. A bed stood in the corner, next to a tiled stove. On the opposite wall were a wardrobe and a sideboard. By the windows stood a large writing desk with drawers. On the desk lay a stack of papers, an inkwell with a quill, and some books.
"Why can't I remember anything?"

Walking around the room, I found a door to another space. It was a kitchen. There was another stove – large, with a sleeping bench and an extra cooking plate. Next to the exit was a trapdoor, probably to a cellar. The house looked lived in. It seemed to be my home.

The street was full of people. It was some kind of town. There was a market, many yards, and even guards strolling about, their swords clinking. On the next street I spotted a tavern, but I didn't go in, afraid I'd only make things worse for my already damaged memory. From some fellow I learned that the herbalist lived on the outskirts, further down the street, and her name was Aglaya.

Just as I approached the herbalist's house, the door swung open. On the threshold stood a young green-eyed girl with long, wavy red hair. Tall and slender, wearing a long sky‑blue dress tied with a green belt. It took inhuman effort not to stare at the low neckline barely covering her full bosom.
"Aglaya?" – I asked, coming to my senses.
"And who's asking?" – she replied without a hint of embarrassment.
"I'm looking for the herbalist. I need something for a headache."
"Come in," she said, opening the door wide in an inviting gesture.
"Are you the herbalist?" – I asked, seeing no one else in the house.
"Yes. Don't I look like one?"
"Not really. I'm used to herbalists being..." – I hesitated, searching for words, but the headache was distracting me.
"Looking like hunched old witches?" – she finished for me.
"Well... yeah, basically."
"My grandmother and mother were herbalists, and I've known herbs since childhood. When my mother passed, I had to use my knowledge to make a living. Besides, there are no other herbalists or healers in Chrashesa."
"Right, the city is called Chrashesa," I made a mental note.
"Here's a tincture of St. John's wort and chamomile," she handed me a small bottle.
"Do I drink it straight?" – I asked, surprised.
"Well, you're brave, I'll give you that," she smiled, "but it's better to dilute it with sweet tea – the tincture is bitter."
"About the tea," I began carefully, "I'm not sure I have any. Maybe you have something to dilute it with?"
"You're strange," Aglaya gave me a suspicious look, but still brought a mug half-filled with a light brown liquid. "Here. But you can easily find tea to your taste at the market. And by the way, they sell sugar there too."
"I'll keep that in mind and definitely drop by, as soon as this disgusting, nagging headache goes away."

I poured the bottle's contents into the mug, swirled the liquids in a circular motion, and downed it in one gulp. The bittersweet, cool liquid slid down my throat, leaving an unpleasant aftertaste.
"How much do I owe you?" – I asked, and immediately realised I had no idea what currency to use. I patted my pockets, found some coins, and pulled them out. They were three round silver coins, the size of a thumbnail and about half as thick. On one side was the head of a lynx, on the other – the number 1.
"Normally it's five silver pieces, but I see you had a good time yesterday. You'll owe me two more," Aglaya said, taking the coins from my palm with a sweet smile. "And what's your name? Who do I collect the debt from?"
"That's a very good question," I said thoughtfully.
"Can you drink so much that you forget your own name? A debt of two coins isn't big enough to make that up."
"I'm not making it up, honestly. I don't remember anything except my last dream and today."
Aglaya looked at me very carefully. Apparently deciding whether to believe me.
"You don't look like a bandit or some homeless fellow. You're decently dressed. Even wearing calfskin boots," she mused aloud while searching the numerous shelves of the sideboard.
"Here," she handed me another bottle she'd pulled from the back of a shelf. "Drink this – it should help you remember at least something."
"But I have no more money," I said sheepishly.
"No problem – it's a gift. Who knows, maybe you'll turn out to be very rich and decide to thank the girl who helped you get your wealth back," she laughed.
"Thank you," I said and downed the bottle's contents in one gulp. "When will it take effect?"
It tasted about the same as the previous one. "All tinctures must be alike," I thought.
"A day or two. Memory may come back in flashes or dreams, or it might not help at all. After all, I'm a herbalist, not a healer."
"Alright. Thanks again. I'll take a walk around town – maybe I'll remember something."
The headache was gone, and my mind felt a bit clearer.
"Don't get lost," she giggled.
"If anything, can I come see you again? You're the only person I know."
"Come by, just not too late," she said, seeing me out the door. "Bye."
"Bye, Aglaya."