[1] Kryeg's Speech: “Friends, you have done a service to us today. We have always been kind to your species: those who dwell in buildings, live outside of the Kessel Hills, mine our hills for rocks, farm our lands for your grain. We can live symbiotically, sometimes. But you, your clan, has proven to be more. An offer, an honor, I grant upon you. You have protected my clan, you have protected my people. From this day forth, our walls are open to you. Our tribe symbols eligible to be etched into your flesh. If you wish to remain a friend, you may do so. If you wish to become a brother, you are invited. For tonight all of you share in the fire that has been burning since our great creator fell on top of the hills. Th torch in my cabin remains lit in remembrance, in reverence. This fire is his. A funeral pyre that will last through the ages, as long as tribe Blighteye exists. Please mingle, find merriment, enjoy the feast, and know that we are in your debt. I enjoy talking to some of you tonight, and to the rest of you, I remind you: every night could be a gnoll's last. We live our life to the fullest, for that is the only way to live. Enjoy your nights, for the days belong to the gods.”
[2] There is a difference between friends of Clan Blighteye, and brothers and sisters of the clan. Friends are wonderful things, those to converse with, to learn from, to share stories of how each other grow. However, the latter are more, those that they would give their life for, that they know: someone they cherish, ones whom have broken bread at their table, shared in their drink and their merriment. The history of their time together is the history of the tribe, and they are embraced into it.
[3] A gnoll symbol of power and family.
[6] Mendalaive acknowledges that the party and himself are pitted against a common enemy that he fought, and that our group does not stand in his way. He hs many questions, but only has time for one. He asks Taki of the urns, of their connection they made with the urns, one that he was unable to make. Something is happening, something he doesn't like because he can't explain it, and it is dampening him, especially in regards to the spellweavers.He requets an intact, still sealed, still working urn. He throws purple flame onto the ground, creating a complex undead creature, with highly inter-connected runes, demonstrating its purpose. An undead unseen by most of faerun, something engineered over lifetimes of research: Mend's Corpsemaster. He doesn't have to expend spells to create his army, don't need to control his undead through singular thoughts. He can split his willpower among his willpower, among these, and can control significantly more undead through this. He asks for the urn, in exchange for the recipe to make our own vessel. It will take time, research, and a few rare resources. The skin-grafting alone to make one of these could take months, but Taki seems different, their control shining through. Mendalaive means the party no harm, and as long as they stay out of his doings, he has no intention of meddling with theirs.
[7] Remir speaks to the shaman, speaking to them of their technologies, the shaman sharing their own connection with nature, the two sharing theory. They ask to see Remir]'s chamberlock pistol, after a while acknowledging their inability to understand such technologies far removed from their own. However, they do understand the slug, the small shell inside. The two speaks of the difficulties in poisoning it, of how to do so, eventually figuring out how to apply toxin to their shots [[#[8]
[10] The tents of Clan Blighteye bear the markings of the honors of those who dwell in the tent. Special lacquers giving them a see-through sheen are applied to other markings, denoting honors of those who had occupied the tent before.
[16] They learn of the tale of their chief who died upon the hill in fire defending them. They also learn of one of the tales of the night where the moon was directly overhead and didn't move for an entire cycle, bathing them with its light, a sign they took as being from the gods anointing them as a chosen tribe.