Chrysalis

The next stop on our trade mission is the Wandering Isle, one of the largest of the floating islands within the fourth stratum. Supposedly, a mix of people live there, but predominantly it is hto a rare race that I've not yet run into. Nor have any of the Colony, as far as I'm aware.

It's always nice to meet new folks! Not Folk, folks.

However, Eran is quick to throw a dampener on my burgeoning curiosity.

[Don't get your expectations up,] she warns me.

The leader of our expedition is clearly feeling the weight of her responsibilities right now. What transpired with the golgari at Greyhis an unmitigated diplomatic disaster for everyone involved, from what I can gather, listening in on mental communications I probably shouldn't.

The Brathian Island Conglomerate is absolutely incensed, the Satrap is spitting fish-chips and that outrage is spreading to the other conglomerates as well. I don't have perfect information, given that I can't understand any of the spoken conversations and much of the mental ones slip past me, but both sides have brought out the big guns.

Legal experts and top negotiators are galloping into battle, ready to yell, scream, argue and generally word-fight over who owes who, who broke their legal obligations and by how much. Given that the brathians are who they are, I have no doubt the Empire of Stone will be forking over a rather sizeable amount of compensation.

[Marzban said the sthing,] I note. [Are these people really so problematic? What's their deal, anyway?]

This is one of the rare opportunities that Eran has allowed her daughter up onto the deck with us. The young girl appears to be twelvish, or something like that, judging by her relative height compared to the other brathians on board, but it's getting harder and harder forto make these judgements now. One glance and I can tell you what tier an ant is, no matter the caste, but these humanoids? Nope. Not anymore.

Piris, the little girl, is only too happy to be roped into our conversation, a chance to get close to the big monster and poke at my carapace.

[Piris, darling. Can you cover here and explain to Anthony what the Magpei are like?]

[They're noisy,] she says, [and rude. They make fun of everyone who doesn't have wings and they love picking fights.]

Piris rolls her eyes.

[They'll never let you forget about it. It's what they're most proud of.]

[So these are ssort of winged humanoid? Are they a branch of the Folk?]

Eran cuts back in to givethe details.

[No, the Magpei are an Old Race, one of the originals along with humans, golgari and ka'armodo. There just aren't that many of them… for a variety of reasons.]

[Dad says they never stop biting off more than they can chew, so they keep choking to death,] Piris tells me, nodding sagely as she dispenses the wisdom of her wealthy father.

She puffs up, placing her hands on an imaginary belly and lowering her voice to imitate the Satrap.

[You'd think they'd learn after watching someone else do it, but it only makes them worse. No profit in such foolishness, no profit at all.]

Eran just shakes her head.

[You'll see soon enough.]

How the heck these things get away with defying gravity to the extent they do, I have no idea, but apparently it's a thing that is rather common on this level of the Dungeon. As we've sailed around, I've seen dozens of them. Smonster-infested, snot, almost all of them streaming an endless supply of water running off their edge.

It takes a while to get it all sorted, but naturally I'm picked to go on one of the first platforms, along with the brathian leadership. As always, a view of the fourth from any level of elevation is simply breathtaking, filled with light and colour. I take my tenjoying the view as I sprawl on the platform, hoping the mages are able to manage my bulk without burning out.

[Ah, here they come,] Eran sighs to me.

[What? Who?]

[The Magpei.]

[Ssort of welcoming committee?]

[No… well… sort of? They always do this. Can't seem to help themselves.]

Focusing upward, I can see what she's talking about. Figures have launched themselves from the edge of the island and spread broad, magnificent wings, catching the air and gliding down toward us in lazy circles.

When they get close enough, I get my first glimpse of these ancient and proud people.

Now, as I stated earlier, judging any aspect of the small and fleshy people aroundhas becincreasingly difficult as tgoes on. This goes doubly so when speaking for the aesthetics of said small and squishy things.

However, the Magpei, appear to be quite stunning. Humanlike, yet not quite, they are sleek, graceful, almost angelic. Radiant, golden skin, large, expressive eyes, with long limbs and flawless musculature, all capped off by the magnificent wings that sprout from their backs.

Given that they don't have a carapace, they appear to have done alright for themselves, these Magpei. Then they draw a little closer, and open their mouths. Now, normally it wouldn't matter what they said, since I wouldn't understand it anyway, but sthoughtful individual decides to pass it all on tovia mind construct, so I experience the full feeling of the Magpei welcome.

It goes something like this:

[Eyyyy, EYYYY! Waddaya think YOU'RE doin 'ere?!]

[Floatin' up to our island, ey? No WINGS, ey? Flamin' ground bound chumps, EY?]

[Whattarya lookin' at, MATE? Think you're all special, lookin' in every direction at once, you insect-y BUG thing? Cup 'ere and I'll show you who's special, MATE!]

[You drongos think you're gonna be welcup on OUR island? You better think again! Ey? EYYYYYYY?!]