Look, kids. You've got two options. Number one is sticking around here. You see what you can do in Harandal, maybe you apprentice with a smith or something. That's hard, because you need to pay at least 50 Dalars upfront for an apprenticeship, but if you become someone that the Overlords trust, you'll make more than a little coin. You don't know it here, cause you're rolling over in your own filth, but the richest men in the city are the armorsmiths and the weaponsmiths, in that order. The rest of us just feed off their scraps.
Anyways, number two is throwing in with an Overlord. Chances are, you'll end up as a miner and you'll work hard every day without rest, and you'll be taken care of just enough to live. If you're big and strong for your age, you might get pulled into their army, which will let you see the suns every day, but who knows how long you'll have to enjoy it.
So, which will it be?
–A commonly successful Overlord recruitment speech given to urchins in Harandal.
Days passed and the winter grew harder and colder. The snow never melted, and I was particularly grateful that I'd returned as quickly as I had. When I asked Nievtala if she'd done anything to ensure that the winter's fury didn't arrive before I returned, she merely laughed.
I am the goddess of conquest and victory. Where do you think the snow would fit into my domain?
Maybe it was just luck, then. Something about the tone of Nievtala's voice suggested that there was something that I was missing, but I couldn't understand what it could be. After a day of thinking, I thought I suspected what the true answer was. Nearly the same moment the thought crossed my mind, a laughing Nievtala's voice filled my head, making my heart sing with joy at her own excitement.
You are clever indeed! Such a sharp little fang you are!
"You… conquered the goddess of winter?"
God. And he was hardly a challenge, given that the bulk of his strength was focused here in the Shandise. Disregarding the other continents, the winters have always been mild to the west, so when I established my seat of power here, conflict was inevitable. He fled to the south, where the Principality's hubris allowed him to think of himself as safe. Obviously, he was not.
Dozens more questions occurred to me, but it immediately became clear that though Nievtala enjoyed speaking with me, it remained a force of effort, and her worship had waned in universality. Then, how she, weakened, had been able to maintain control over a conquered god as universal as the nameless winter occurred to me, and I was left with more questions than I'd started with. Regardless, I worked alongside my people to build homes that would retain heat as our most pressing concern.
The "wild" keelish from the Shandise mountains further north had some ideas of how to protect themselves that involved massive nests of decaying leaf litter, and they worked, if they were also immensely unpleasant to smell. Those from Tala were used to building things that lasted, but were altogether unconcerned with retaining warmth. Then, we from further away were intelligent enough to figure things out, but we were so unaccustomed to building things that we relied on the history and experience of the others.
Fortunately, with 2,500 keelish working hard, it wasn't long before a couple large buildings were established where hundreds of packed keelish bodies kept the air warm enough that there was no risk of freezing to death. None had gotten to the point of life-threatening, though Vefir and the rest of his healers had been kept busy tending to various wounds, injuries, and sicknesses. With my presence, though, I was quickly seeing the effects of my [Title] [Keel Progenitor]. Farahlia was the first to succumb to the call of evolution, though several others began to follow suit until another ten lay catatonic and evolving.
The suns hardly rose as the deepest depths of winter embraced us. What light we could see was hidden behind thick clouds and little more than keelish moved through the piling snowdrifts. That such a hard winter had struck so quickly and suddenly took me by surprise, though I supposed I'd never seen a winter outside of a much more temperate climate before. As I waded through the thick snow, it crunched underfoot, and my stiff scales kept me warm while also keeping me from being able to step onto the tops of the snowdrifts.
Sybil walked alongside me, as did Joral and Shemira, all locked in a conversation I listened to without saying anything yet.
"They don't mind listening, but as soon as they get near the surface, they freeze." Joral explained. "Even when the other Kou'Tal finish their evolutions, I don't think the ants will return to being able to surface. They can't survive in the cold like even the keelish can, much less the Keel."
"I don't care if they survive." Shemira retorted. "They're food. If we're going to eat them, who cares if we kill them or the snow does?"
"It isn't because I want to kill them, it's that they can only get out of the hole if it's been sufficiently warmed." Joral growled back.
"It is not a question of the ants' willingness to leave or our desire to preserve life," Sybil interrupted, making the arguing Keel go quiet, "it has become a question of logistics, and the question at the heart of it all is how to get the ants to leave their hole. Joral, you understand the ants themselves while Shemira is better suited to sending wider commands. With Solia, Hala, and their fellow flamecallers working in tandem, will you be able to create an environment in which the ants are able to enter a place where we can pull them out, whether they be living or dead?"
Shemira flicked her tail. "If I can see any, then I can get them to pass the message on."
"I can get them to stay for long enough for her to do that," Joral added, "but my claws and jaws are full with keeping the rest of our herds alive. They're accustomed to much warmer climates, and many are getting sick. Something will need to change, because cycling them through a stable that's warm enough to keep them alive until their next visit to the stable is making them lose their sense of gratitude to us."
"They don't need to be grateful, they need to obey." Shemira retorted. "I don't care if they hate me, just stay where they belong."
It was a long, tired argument, one I'd mediated in before and one that would quickly overshadow the real conversation we were having. I cleared my throat and the growls bubbling in Joral's throat died before they became audible to anyone except for me.
"We all know where you two fall on this argument. Neither will change your mind, and I don't mind that." I said as I stepped forward and knocked a knuckle on each's snout. "However, we need to keep the herds happy for now. There are, as far as I can tell, two different options available to us right now. I have an idea of which I prefer, but I wish to hear what the Herdsman-in-chief and the Militia's Superintendent think. I'll also ask the Huntmaster, Councilor, and the General what they think before any decisions are made."
I referred to Joral, Shemira, Took, Ytte, and Percral by their titles in an effort to further solidify the organizational structure of the Empire. With less than 3,000 keelish, it was simple for me to still be the be-all end-all for all decisions, but as the several hundred eggs due to hatch this winter promised, our population would boom for the next months and years. I would need to take special care to firmly establish this ruling structure.
The three Keel with me were silent, waiting for my explanation though I saw a knowing look on Sybil's face. "We either slaughter enough of the herds to get the remaining to fit in the safe, warm area we already have, or we expand the safe area enough to allow them all to rest. Long-term, they won't be what we need them to be if we don't have some measure of their trust. Superintendent, you can gain obedience from the keelish if you make them submit, but the herds are different."
Joral ground his jaws, frustrated that I was getting back to his longstanding request for more enclosed stables for the herds that'd been pushed back again and again in favor of living conditions.
"Though the first option is easier, the second is much better in the long term." Shemira said, looking at Joral. He let out a pent-up breath and they began discussing how to properly house our hundreds of animals. Both looked up at me as they discussed, and I waved them off.
"I'll speak with the Huntmaster and General about it, but I suspect that they'll defer to the Councilor, and we know that the Kha'Tal are always looking for more work, though we have that in abundance now." Both flared their frills and continued walking towards the current interim stables while discussing different possibilities and how they could use their respective magics to help. Sybil stayed beside me as they walked away.
"Thank you, Ashlani. They would have listened to me, but Joral always responds better to you."
My scales wanted to flare in anger at his disrespect of the Zaaktifi, but I knew it was just his respect for me, not anything more than that.
"There is something else that we need to decide." Sybil continued. "What will we call ourselves? Keelish is… demeaning, and Keel inaccurate. What do we call the little ones and the children?"
I sighed, though not in displeasure. There was just too much to do, and there always would be.