Ymph's Greatest Poet

[Worm Watcher]

Left next to "Fighting Famine with Rastin" is a nicer, well kept journal purchased recently. A second copy is left on the table near Grosse's mirror for any and all of Old Stones to read.

Poetry is said to be the finely cooked art of wit and snark and upon Ymph there is but one that has captured the entire spirit of a peoples. In this series a number of ideas and more raised around the simple but brilliant workings of Ymph's greatest poet. Beyond the pomp and fanfare of the Adventurer caste, away from the wealth and prestige of the clans sits a people often without voice. Without purpose until someone from beyond, outsiders, come forward into their homes with simple offers in search of greatly beneficial pursuits.

Those who want much but know they can pay little to the most desperate to see those needs met. It is in this spirit that the young are beaten into the ground and used, thrown away. And it is this spirit that Ymph's greatest poet has captured in simple written verse.

When life turns expendable to a village the lengths that are taken for survival grow even more desperate. Those who are weak and helpless, in need of the most aid, are plagued by those who wish to exploit them but as Ymph's Greatest poet knows...

"Oh...Old Stones
You...Young bones
Kings...upon Thrones

--HAEGLIA THE POET"

...It is upon our backs Mistlocke's economics, politics, faiths, and more are built. It is we who make things happen while others seek our strength. They bring ups small sums of coin believing we are weak and need such, hoping we will beat, stab, kill, and break laws so they need not. It is we they seek when they want to impress their gods my sheparding the desperate masses. It is they who think we need protection, and that only they can provide it, so long as they can protect their children from us.

It is we they hate, yet even they know they cannot live without us.

Long live Old Stones.
Long live the Kings of Mistlocke.

-Rastin

[Worm Watcher]

Yet as kings we find ourselves held as slave to expectations. Decorum and demeanor are anything and everything for all who claim noble birth. When court is held or enemies crash the gates it is we who are expected to lead the charge and handle matters of any affair. Without the luxury of many texts, we of the Old Stones find ourselves as many do in poverty- A life of hardship, survival, and toughness. Ymph's Greatest poet sums this up in quaint prose.

"If by school
You mean duel
Then by treasure
I shall take your measure"

--HAEGLIA THE POET

For it is the lot of those of noble birth to be judged not only by their strength of blades but the quality and finery they are able to obtain. Not only holding it up for all to see upon their heads but fending away those who would seek to take it from them. Pauper-Princes each it is not uncommon for those in old stones to present their finest armors, in hopes that some would dare challenge their right to hold such.

A proverbial mountain to climb is it from pauper to prince, with a trail of bloody noses, broken bones, and the occasional body strewn along the way. Politics of the Stones are simple but infinitely more challenging to those who lack the finery of a true Pauper-Prince.

Be it gangs banding together, cults gathering strength, Conclavists raising necromantic cabals, or merely men and women seeking to survive it is done together and always with a king upon the throne. Mastro did not happen his way to popularity nor did he fall backwards into his successes. His works in and around the stones, conquering all who presented as challenge, named him king.

He who is named king is gifted many burdens but many benefits in and around the stones. It is his task to secure it with blood and horde to ensure the muster kept at bay, that fights do not occur between factions within the stones, and that a tentative peace is kept in all conditions.

Yet in return for this he is gifted fortune, legions of men, his pick of spoils, often times a title reflecting his noble endeavor, and reign to see his will raised upon the stones. His flag hanging high upon it's roof
After all-

To the victor the spoils,

...At least until it is his turn to hang from his flag-pole by a noose.

-Rastin

[Worm Watcher]

Yet at the end of the day the largest conflict in and around Old Stones is the way in which both Mistlocke and Ymph as a whole view its denizens. Mistlocke by its simplest governmental moves have turned it into a festering nest of conflict and chaos. Men and women withered, criminals exiled, and more all are forced by law into it's accursed halls. Those however who are stricken with poverty, disease, or madness are also forced into these cobbles in pursuit of a semblance of existence no matter how short or cruel it may be.

This creates an endless ebb and flow of criminals, outlaws, cultists, and more who are always ready to prey upon those who are in dire need of assistance and aid. In need of food, clothing, treatments, and most importantly it seems...Gold. A waukeenite would say commerce is welcomed, an Ilmateri would say it should be given free of charge, but the harsh truth of the matter is many outsiders view the Old Stones as a simple recruiting ground for footsoldiers, spies, followers, and more.

Using gold and offers of aid, either true or false, the Mayor's Muster, the Clans of Aberdenn and Caermyn, many religious organizations, Murdertown, the Transcendent Conclave, the Numinous Order, and more have all had doccumented accounts of preying upon the Old Stones.

The Conclave ran drugs and necromancers through these halls.
The Caermyn have recruited both spy and assassin.
The Aberdenn have rallied rebels and more to join One Eye
The Numinous Order once offered coin, bunk, and shelter to march in their war.
The Faiths offer salvation.
The Muster offers coin to betray others where they cannot tread.

It is as the great poet says-

"The Rich
Exist-
To satisfy my itch
For their gold"

--HAGELIA THE POET

As any man addicted, those in need of much will do near anything they can to feed their addiction. The skin itches. The belly aches. The body cries out for sweet satisfaction of that one dire and needed substance that can bring them bliss, happiness, and an escape from their sordid fate.

No, not Narcotics. Not snuff, Phaladrine, or Thanatol. It is not these things we trade our mothers, children, and lives for.

It is Gold.

Mistlocke and its politics, its people, and its factions are more than willing to be peddlers, pushers, handlers, and dealers of that sweet golden lady to those in need. Mistlocke, in classic Asmodean fashion, offers us that which we want more than anything in the world.

So many cruel and wicked of Mistlocke offers us of Old Stones Gold,

...And the only price is our soul.

To break laws so they need not. To beat, steal, slay, and more. In return we are given gold. In ones and twos and tens and hundreds. Piles upon piles of that which we need to feed our addiction. It is we they execute, it is we they jail, it is we they abuse and use to their own twisted ends.

A Mistlocke Poltiician will never be executed for a crime,
He need only empty his pockets.

We of Old Stones,
We proud kings.

Addicted for their satisfaction. The rich exist, to satisfy our itch...

[Worm Watcher]

A founding tenant of the Old Stones is the nature of privacy that comes with those who seek survival. Men do not often like to be disturbed in their works and many who seek survival are wise to consider such. Many outsiders seek to use the Stones own people against it, as per the above poem, but many fail to realize the detriment that this can have on a peoples. When everyone is a potential spy those who are seen as infringing upon privacy or bringing too many snooping eyes into others business are often contronted, beaten, or worse.

Yet it is the most gruesome fate in the life of old stones that are reserved for those who are found to follow this forsaken path- To turn upon brother, to bend one's wills for coins. Within the Stones there is a series of unwritten and simple laws as so eloquently put by the greatest poet of Ymph:

"RATS NEED POEMS TOO.

With cheese
Comes a sneeze
With a sneeze
Comes a breeze
With a breeze
Comes a wheeze...

...As death falls upon the noisy rat"

--HAEGLIA THE POET

As Gold is the desire of many a rats, and the sickness that plagues Old Stones is betrayal, a sneeze creates an echoing breeze within the old cursed stones. Yet over time a breeze grows thin and turns to a wheeze, and thus death comes for the noisy rat. It is not hard to see when men and women are subject to these "Sneezing fits". Gold appearing from nowhere lends many skeptical eyes if it does not come with the reputation of high adventure, highwayman, or high stakes gambling.

Many in the stones take offense, take notice, and take shrewd eyes upon those who appear one day to be selling shoddy merchandise, to the next selling the finest of Mistlocke's wares without any word or outroar of a merchant being mugged-

This typically means it was given, this typically means betrayal, and that usually means Rat. Entire men have made careers out of catching rats, both literal and figuratively. Mastro had them, the Spellguard had them, the Conclavist necromancers had them. Many a man has made his businses collecting rat-tails, and slitting throats stuffed with cheese...

[Worm Watcher]

There has been a particular ruckus of late that I believe is appropriately served by the Great Poet. Old Stones has a storied past of men and women from the outside of our fair home coming in for malicious purposes as previously spoken of. However at the same time there are considerations which much be made.

While many groups have sought to bring harm upon our peoples, use us for their own ends, and more. However there is a small facet in Ymph that has for some time avoided or ignored our businesses and lives as we requested.

The Wyrm Watchers.

The Wyrm Watchers of the Forgotten Forest have gotten particular notice because of two somewhat haphazard actions. First, the so called "Godson Rebellion". The Mayoral candidate of Mistlocke and steadfast associate of the Numinous Order found himself bested, angered, and frustrated with the way matters of Mistlocke had begun to shift. To these ends he raised notice, spread word, and began hiring on men and women in pursuit of bringing revolution to Mistlocke.

It was with our blood he wished to spread this change. With our home he wished to find sanctum offering his political allies haven from the Muster and others who would persecute him in here. He felt he could use what he saw as our weaknesses to his strength. To these ends though the Poet presents the following:

""Who watches the watchers of the watchers?

Or their watchers?"

--HAEGLIA THE POET

The simple answer is- We do. The Old Stones, as always, have watched not only the world below our fine tower but those who did business around us, those who worked near us, and those who infringed upon our lands. Godson's efforts would have brought conflict, bloodshed, and more. Instead it was the Wyrm Watchers who entered, captured, and removed him without conflict so that he could be disposed of without a single drop of our blood shed.

The Garagosian who sought to take refuge within our walls, hoping he could hide while we dealt with the Muster, was soon equally dragged out. The only folly committed by the Watchers was first to storm into Grosse's restaurant of all places for this fight to take place. Second that it was within the Old Stones they sought to "Aid" us by removing this potential to be nuisance.  

In return for these transgressions a bounty of 2,000 coin was raised upon the Watcher in question, but the works that they have done are true to the spirit of our stones. If they could learn to pursue these threats when they left their home it would be ideal, yet they have not raised voice, caused conflict, or otherwise that the bounty was raised upon them.

They leave us alone. We leave them alone. We cross paths now and then...Yet in the hazardous lands of Ymph we may call them tentative allies.

For it is we of Old Stones who watch the watchers of the watchers, and their watchers.

While the world watches us.