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Journey To The Lost Lands - III - Divine Intervention
Expansion post

Former coastal province of Neuderland

The previous night had been chaotic. The winds and waves had suddenly decided that peace with the land was no longer an option, battering the fragile beaches and towns. Blowing with the might of a nation’s lungs, the wind blew and blew, tearing trees off the ground, sending rocks tumbling down the hills and interrupting the bird’s graceful flight, propelling the poor things into oblivion.
The settlement, unfortunately, wasn’t spared from nature’s wrath. Palisades had flown off their foundations, finding their way inside tents and living quarters. If the sudden impact wasn’t enough, splinters from the ruined logs pierced in every direction taking even more lives than the first wave of logs.

The main base of operations, in the process of transition from wood to stone, had been caught off guard while only the foundations had been fortified, tilting it to the side for the rest of the day, as a grim reminder of what happened in the night before.

Coincidentally, the monthly supply fleet was due to that morning, but had most likely been called off and delayed, leaving the group to ration their remaining supplies and rely on the local’s good faith if there was to be a shortage.

Dhärium had been considering his option. With their main space for meeting heavily damaged, they had no choice other than to relocate to a make shift conference tent. There, his officers screamed at each other about how ludicrous their propositions were.
“Do we have a concrete number or are we just relying on rough estimates?” Dhärium inquired, calmly.
“The latest reports have arrived a few moments ago. 21 dead, 81 injured, 3 missing. One high ranking officer, ten soldiers and ten settlers are amongst the dead and three settlers amongst the missing. The west side of the wall has been completely destroyed. Major damage to the remaining sides.
Roughly 200 bags of wheat, 150 of corn, 20 crates of tea, and 60 crates of miscellaneous items were either destroyed or presumed missing.”
“How is the current situation on the camps’ outskirts.”
“5 scout squadrons were sent this morning. One has returned an hour ago and a second arrived shortly after the first. A coastal village to the southwest has been swallowed by the sea. Filed a report and it'll be sent back to the capital as soon as all the information can be compiled into one document.”

Dhärium reached for his goblet, his arm shaking as he did so. Spilling some of the wine on the table on his way back, he took a long sip and sighed.
“What if this wasn’t the right idea. Maybe we weren’t intended to be here. Maybe this is the punishment for our unwanted presence in these lands. I pity myself of being so ignorant as to not see what was right in front of me this whole time.”
The men shared a neutral look amongst each other and one of them left, as if the others had telepathically communicated without saying a word.

“I may have to present myself before Kuśtoszi, he who knows all and can do no wrong. He’ll surely give me the answer I’m seeking.
Update the reports while I’m gone. Commander Ahrels, I have bestowed upon you the role of mediator and leader of this meeting while I’m gone.”
With this, Dhärium exited the tent, leaving his men to stare at each other in silence. They all knew where he would go next and were prepared for it.

He made a beeline for a structure with no windows and knocked seven times. The door creeked open, revealing a hunched figure, meditating while surrounded by candles, strange symbols and bookshelves with a varied assortment of books and statuary.
The März was a deeply spiritual man, interacting in the more occult part of revelationism. As such, he couldn't go anywhere without his personal "oracle". A frail and old man that claimed to speak with the celestial realm and provide guidance.

Taking off his shoes at the entrance, Dhärium approached the figure and got on his knees.
"As you can see, this is a time of great despair. I feel the negative omens all around." He then diverted his gaze upwards and shouted. "May the Heavens aid me on this decision! Is this forsaken land unholy and inhospitable?"
There was a pause. The März just stood there, looking up, waiting.
A voice, coming from above whispered to him. "The hardship you endure today makes the man of tomorrow. The earthly obstacles shouldn't interrupt the most noble of duties as spreading the light of the who made you. The path to salvation is traversed through sacrifices."
And as suddenly was it had appeared, it vanished, plunging the room back into its usual silence.
Satisfied with the answer, he exited, leaving the immobile figure alone once again.
From behind the curtains, the officer that had left the meeting emerged. The mystic looked up and was tossed a hefty bag of coins.
"Your services are much appreciated. You'll be informed of the new info with a larger interval next time. Make of it what you will."