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Head of State: Tyrant Bái Qiū
Capital: Qīngwān
Storm Temple Island was prepared as always for the influx of pilgrims for the Festival of Crashing Waves…
The northern coast of Storm Temple Island is lined with wave-battered cliffs. Leaning out over the sea from the tallest cliffs is the Temple of Ten Thousand Storms. Here the Order of the Restive Sea, mainly keikojin, hosts the devout and the thrillseeker alike during the peak of the storm season to watch wave after wave crash against the surrounding cliffs. During the rest of the year, the priest-monks of the order man the lighthouse at its peak, and make wine from grapes grown on the island. Mostly purchased as a memento of the festival, Arashi wine’s salty character & distinct fishy aftertaste ensure many bottles that leave the island remain unopened.
To the south-west, the townspeople of Qīngwān, nimh for the most part, spend most of the year fishing from the clear bay to the west, and cultivating grapes for the temple. As the festival approaches, though, the community must prepare for the massive influx of people from all across Moro. During the festival days, the island’s population more than triples, and all the inns, hotels, stables, barns and basements of the town fill to brimming. Around the town, and along the road to the temple tents and caravans blanket the landscape as it slopes up to the temple.
This year, as the storms were at their peak, throngs packed the temple and the cliffs and hills around it, held enraptured by the display of nature’s power and fury. Then suddenly, as if Dragon himself blew down from the heavens, the swirling stormclouds began to break apart like wisps of fog. Soon after, the powerful waves crashing upon the cliffs began to weaken, until they were no more dramatic than the rest of the year. Confusion spread through the pilgrims, and when they turned to the priest-monks for answers, they found none.
The Change had come to Storm Temple Island. From the top of the temple lighthouse the priest-monks could now see new land to the west and to the east, including a city. And the island had grown, spreading much further south of the town than it had before. Not sure where in Arth they were anymore, many began to doubt they’d ever get to show their Arashi wine to their friends and family at home.
The elected governor of Qīngwān, a white coated nimh named Bái Qiū, called upon his cabinet to enact emergency powers and declare him Tyrant to manage the crisis until such a time as a proper government could be established. Accepting that many of the island’s guests may soon become inhabitants, he has sought the support of the most esteemed of visitors, appointing a number of them as interim Ministers.
Capital: Qīngwān
Storm Temple Island was prepared as always for the influx of pilgrims for the Festival of Crashing Waves…
The northern coast of Storm Temple Island is lined with wave-battered cliffs. Leaning out over the sea from the tallest cliffs is the Temple of Ten Thousand Storms. Here the Order of the Restive Sea, mainly keikojin, hosts the devout and the thrillseeker alike during the peak of the storm season to watch wave after wave crash against the surrounding cliffs. During the rest of the year, the priest-monks of the order man the lighthouse at its peak, and make wine from grapes grown on the island. Mostly purchased as a memento of the festival, Arashi wine’s salty character & distinct fishy aftertaste ensure many bottles that leave the island remain unopened.
To the south-west, the townspeople of Qīngwān, nimh for the most part, spend most of the year fishing from the clear bay to the west, and cultivating grapes for the temple. As the festival approaches, though, the community must prepare for the massive influx of people from all across Moro. During the festival days, the island’s population more than triples, and all the inns, hotels, stables, barns and basements of the town fill to brimming. Around the town, and along the road to the temple tents and caravans blanket the landscape as it slopes up to the temple.
This year, as the storms were at their peak, throngs packed the temple and the cliffs and hills around it, held enraptured by the display of nature’s power and fury. Then suddenly, as if Dragon himself blew down from the heavens, the swirling stormclouds began to break apart like wisps of fog. Soon after, the powerful waves crashing upon the cliffs began to weaken, until they were no more dramatic than the rest of the year. Confusion spread through the pilgrims, and when they turned to the priest-monks for answers, they found none.
The Change had come to Storm Temple Island. From the top of the temple lighthouse the priest-monks could now see new land to the west and to the east, including a city. And the island had grown, spreading much further south of the town than it had before. Not sure where in Arth they were anymore, many began to doubt they’d ever get to show their Arashi wine to their friends and family at home.
The elected governor of Qīngwān, a white coated nimh named Bái Qiū, called upon his cabinet to enact emergency powers and declare him Tyrant to manage the crisis until such a time as a proper government could be established. Accepting that many of the island’s guests may soon become inhabitants, he has sought the support of the most esteemed of visitors, appointing a number of them as interim Ministers.
