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| Into The Depths; [Minor ST 3] | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Wed Mar 15, 2017 11:02 am (2,478 Views) | |
| Lachesis[ST] | Wed Mar 15, 2017 11:02 am Post #1 |
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It was dark in this part of the palace. Always dark, but it was not to be countenanced being seen speaking on the subject matter at hand. Two shapes stood in the pale moonlihgt coming from a basement window, neither one of them clearly visible to the other. It didn't matter. Both knew each other very well. "Do we know anything about Longinus yet?" The voice was cold as ice. It came from a tall man whose form was indistinct, shimmering as if ever changing. Perhaps some garment he wore was loose about his frame. The silence after the singular question stretched for an eternity. Finally, and with some reluctance, the other standing across from him replied in a deep male baritone. "...we do not. Nothing has been heard from them since the emergency was declared." The figure was unusually large for an elf, stocky and apparently built like a warrior. "Are you surprised by that? Its not as if someone hasn't gone and kicked a wasp's nest. The water is too damned muddy o see anything clearly, and one thing Longinus does not need right now is to be caught out in the open." The other man let out a slow breath. "That is as true a statement as has ever been made before." There was a pause, filled with pregnant silence, and then the first voice continued with an expansive gesture. "No one can know of this. Not until we're ready." "No," the second voice cut in harshly. "And it will be readily apparent when the time is ripe for us to move, and not before. Impatience will be the undoing of the entire Kingdom. You know it. I know it." "And what if they find Longinus before we can retrieve them ourselves?" There was a clear edge of uneasiness in the voice of the first man, for it lost its silken quality. "What then, my Lord?" Silence. "Pray that it does not come to pass. The Realm could scarcely afford any loss at all right now, but that would be ruinous. Perhaps, ruinous to more than just Norwood." The stranger hefted something, and steel glinted in the moonloight. "It was never our way to wage war. The wars must end, or all will be lost. Even now, Istan fights for its existence, the alliance between our neighbors strain. The League pretends to be there, ready to police all and pry in others' affairs, ready to stop things becoming too serious...but it is something that the League could never achieve on its own. There is only one way to put an end to the fighting." A drawn out pause in the darkness, chilling in its intensity. "Longinus will solve it all. She is the last hope of this Kingdom to excise the rot before it reaches the heart. Only from strength can we gain the agency we need." "As you say, my Lord." That silken voice trembled with uncertainty. "My Lord, I have a plan in regards to Longinus, at least. It is a long shot at best, but...." "There have been certain...difficulties, Majesty." The speaker looked like he was greatly displeased by that admission. The Duke of Northfall was hardly an inviting man during the best of times, and these were clearly not they. Folred looked at the others gathered around the great table of the Council chamber, as if daring any of them to question his judgement of things already spoken of. None of them looked particularly pleased, either. The Countess of Hallwood - the fief directly south of his own - looked as if she had eaten a green persimmon. She noticed his attention, and shot him a sour look. "What do you expect, Lord Enkas? No one else has had any luck there, either. We have all sent retainers and oathmen to try and dig out your fief." The Duke scowled. "Yes. And the difficulty with magic persists. It is making progress into the worst of the affected area next to impossible. Why, I've had to enlist soldiers to cut wood! Cut wood! Since when has the forest failed to obey us at need?" He shifted the ple of papers in front of him irritably. "Since whatever it was happened, happened." Lady Jonala shrugged, though she was clearly as put off by the turn of events. The Countess was used to having things her own way, after all. Truth to tell, most of the people in this chamber were used to that. Such as there were of them; many of the Council were off seeing to the affairs of their own fiefs, or organizing rescue parties on the borders of the affected area. "My concern," she continued, "is that it will spread. Or that it is possibly some bit of artifice on the part of the Alliance." "That is not the case," said another man sitting at the table. He sat next to the King, and was nearly next to the King in power as well. "The Alliance may have taken the concept of the mana spike and adapted it to their own uses, but they have not employed it in the manner that was reportedly applied by the Abnatheans." The Chancellor seemed amused; talking of the Abnatheans often put him into this humor. He did not detest their use of necromancy as an aid to their nation. He himself did not wish to have his corpse handled in such a way, but Demos was pretty sure that he wouldn't be around to object to it, or even care, really. "If they had done that, we would already have lost our sovreignity." "Don't think that the Marquis, at least, hasn't already entertained that notion." The fourth speaker turned out to be another man, surprisingly young considering the age of all the other members on this Council. True, Nimander was only a Baron, and had achieved his rank by means that were not strictly speaking known to the other Houses in attendance. Only the King knew how he had achieved his rank, for of course it was the monarch that had raised his family to the status of nobility and granted him a fief to oversee. In truth, the older houses felt somewhat...vulnerable, in the presence of a newcomer to the scene. "The Marquis was perpared to persecute her own people for some gain. And, it would appear, that she has finally managed to bring some measure of stability to a nation that is historically lacking in it. I hear the Lords of Balefire are urious about it, but powerless to do anything about it, either." The young man gave the elders in his company a predatory grin, adjusting the collar on his finely woven linen shirt. No, the Baron was an insufferable upstart, but courage was not something he lacked. Or money, as the fine thread-of gold and silver thread that was used to embroider that ghastly garment showed. "We have come rather far afield." Lathai spoke in a soft voice, but he had the commanding presence of the King that he was. Everyone fell silent, and looked to him with a measure of deference, though in the case of Nimander, it was a smug deference. "This meeting was about dealing with the problems in the north. Not," he added with exaggerated patience, "about dealing with Balefire. We can worry about what or who has caused this to happen after we get our people out of there. Every minute spent trying to sift through that ruin is another minute we do not have access to the entire might of the Army. The Feadin cannot patrol the border indefinitely, and the Balefirans grow ever more bold." "How can we not talk about the Balefirans given the...circumstances?" Ayla replied sourly. She gesuted at the map on the wall. "Fully a quarter of the Realm has been affected by whatever this is. It makes no sense, it is not natural in the slightest. It is the work of some creature or nation, not the result of something as mundane as an earthquake." "It could simply be the result of these new mana spikes that they are using. Such has never been used in Imythess before, after all." The Duke looked back at that map, and then back to the King. "But, I suppose, you are right, Majesty. "We have our hands full just dealing with this, and those damnable bastards from below." The Countess growled at the mention of those ruffians. "Those Under Stone." The King said the three words flatly. "Of course they would choose now to be more active, when our attention is elsewhere. And its not exactly as if its anything new. Can any of you remember a time when they didn't plague us with their presence? Its the same now as its always been before." He leaned forward, fine silken coat embroidered in the colors of the kingdom. The thin crown of gold gleamed at his head in the late morning light. "We are done discussing he Lords or Balefire, either one. After this has been resolved will be time enough to deal with it. We carry on, as before; the Feadin on the border with Balefire, and the Dal'mar trying to keep the underworlders penned in their holes." There was a chorus of 'Yes, Majesty'. It was sullen, and the King knew he had not heard the last of it. The Palace of Norwood was a massive structure, and it almost looked to have been grown out of the ground rather than built. Trees had been shaped into columns to support roofs made of stone, and walls were shot through with living wood as part of their structure. And the stone itself seemed to match that wood, grey-green and grey-blue in nature, veined with white and flecked with gold. It had been mined somewhere else and brought here in the long-ago, and even after hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of years it still gleamed in all its glory. Towers of twisted wood and stone rose from the maze of corridors that made up the bulk of the Palace, but it was not in the actual palace that the eye now drops. The barracks that housed the garrison of the city of Norwood stood outside the walls of the Palace and its beautiful walks and gardens and priceless valuables. Here was an entirely different world, one built to a purpose and purely utilitarian. The stone blocks were roughly carved and fitted, and represented an unwillingness to move rather than elegance and beauty. The courtyard in front of this place was paved in the same depressingly blunt stone, and the walls that surrounded the small complex were of the same make. The garrison itself was comprised of a dozen such buildings, used to quarter, feed, and train the army that would normally be here. Now, most of them were completely empty. There was only a token force left in the city, perhaps a thousand men and women in all, and they were on patrol on the walls, watching eastward towards the enemy of the day. It was therefore that the Chancellor had called for the mercenaries to gather here, to meet the men and women they would be working with for the next little while. The building was as spartan as the outside suggested it would be. The room was used to house the mess hall of soldiers when more were present; now, it only held the mecenaries, the Chancellor of the Kingdom, and four soldiers. The soldiers themselves were something of a marvel. All four of them were tall and bulky, betraying strength that could not be seen for the heavy armor that they wore. The armor was made of overlapping plates lacquered brown, green, and gold, and the helmets were styled in the fashion of dragon's heads. They each wore a heavy two handed blade next to an unstrung recurved long bow at their backs and a short sword at the waist. All four of them looked at the mercenaries through their visors, their eyes gleaming behind the masks. The Chancellor stood behind them, seated at a desk with a sheaf of papers in front of him, but at present he was leaning on that desk with his hands before him, laced together. "So. You have decided that you wish to embark on this endeavor. I was unable to speak of the details very much before. The details of this expedition are to be kept secret. You will not tell anyone, not even your fellow mercenaries, unless they are already in this room." He looks at each of you in turn, and then slowly stands, robes falling about the fine shirt he wears beneath them. "Are we clear on this? Good." Demos reaches beneath the desk, and pulls a rolled up tube of paper out. Without saying a word, he unrolls it and lays it on the table, spreading it out and weighing the corners down with ink wells and honing stones. It is a map of the Kingdom of Norwood, a very recent copy and in impeccable condition and detail. "We have suffered a number of raids from the Lords Under Stone recently. It is unusual for them to raid with any great force or coordination, but this time they have. They have taken several subjects hostage, and they have seized a great deal of supplies. The worst of it came from Valdea." he indicated an area on the map. It was a clearly defined region with borders of its own, set in the heart or near the heart of the deepest part of northeastern Norwood Forest. "The Baron suffered some losses amongst his personal reserves and retainers there, and was not able to stop the raid. As near as we can tell, the raid originated from Cair Suri - the Bandit Camp. This place is very dangerous. Our Army cleared it out on the way north, just to be safe, but the raiders have somehow come to ground from within the encampment. In all the years I have been Chancellor, there has never been an attack staged by the Lords from this location. Their usual haunts are the mountains and ridges leading into the Gwikilith." He gestured at the map. "You can look if you like. It is a solid days' ride to reach the encampment from Norwood itself. Normally it would be longer but...well, there are ways to hasten things even if they are not strictly kind to the ones doing the heavy lifting." He settled back into his chair, eyeing them all. "The Kingdom wants you to retrieve the people that were stolen away. In particular, there were two arcane technicians among the abductees, and supplies that may pertain to their trade. We have no idea what these people are up to, or why they would take these people and others. Usually, the raiders are more considered with wealth or slaves than anything else, but usually they would not attack a fortified town, either. The Baron was unable to prevent their penetration into the town of Valdea, after all, and his defenses are most potent for a small country Lord." Demos gestured to the four soldiers that stood at either end of the desk he sat at. "Of course, we wouldn't dream of sending you alone. We do not have much to spare, but these four Dal'mar will accompany you. They are some of the finest fighters and spell-slingers in the Kingdom and will be an aid to your efforts, whatever you find down below." He motioned to the first soldier, standing nearest him. "Taeral Ranoen, Captain of the Dal'mar." The soldier didn't so much as blink or bow, merely continued to survey all of you with a critical eye. The fact that you couldn't see his eyes did not change the fact that he gave that impression of weighing and measure. "And these are Tyrist Kellee, Keail Errant, and Zihyana Eilren. All of them are Seargants ofthe Army." The one called Tyrist eyed them as cooly as Taeral had, but Keil bowed slightly to them, and Zilyana gave a ragged salute. "It will be interesting to fight alongside the fabled mercenaries of Imythess," she said in a low and sultry voice. "We have heard much about exploits of such as you in Istan and in Balefire. Its a pity your lot didn't kill that damned Marquis while you were at it. Still, I can't blame people who were not there to do us all that service." She was silent then eyes front. "You will be entering the underground, people, with the hope of a nation behind you. Those technicians are of top import in this mission; they were working on projects that are important to the Crown. As I am sure you can guess, we have some trouble with our neighbors to the east. There is some speculation that the raids were not from the Lord Under Stone at all, but agents of the Marquis instead. We do not care who it is. Retrieve them and return here. Speak to no one about this expedition, however. Who knows what ears might hear it, and go and tell people we - and you - would rather not want to hear?" His look was as unpleasant as before as he turned, one last time, to regard each of you. "You will have some time to prepare. A few hours, in any case. You will leave at noon; please be sure to supply yourself as best you can. Once you are committed, supplies will be scarce. Feel free to speak with the Dal'mar or myself, but be mindful that we are on a tight schedule. Oh, yes," he said, pausing and smiling in an oily way, "as to compensation. A hundred gold crowns. Norwood currency, of course; we do not deal in foreign money. An advance will be given on some of it to purchase supplies if you need it. We will not be funding your needful things in addition to what we are already paying you. It helps make people thrifty, and we do not have an extreme excess of coin to give."
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| Volare | Wed Mar 15, 2017 10:35 pm Post #2 |
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"And these are Tyrist Kellee, Keail Errant, and Zihyana Eilren. All of them are Sergeants of the Army." The one called Tyrist eyed them as coolly as Taeral had, but Keil bowed slightly to them and Zilyana gave a ragged salute. "It will be interesting to fight alongside the fabled mercenaries of Imythess," she said in a low and sultry voice. "We have heard much about exploits of such as you in Istan and in Balefire. It’s a pity your lot didn't kill that damned Marquis while you were at it. Still, I can't blame people who were not there to do us all that service." She was silent then eyes front. Lorica glanced at the soldier, her lips twisting into a hard smile. "As someone who was there, I kindly invite you to watch your tone." She swept her arm to one side, flicking her fingers and making a knife appear in the blink of an eye. She gave the blade a quick jab and a twist, as if sticking it in someone's kidney. "You really think killing her is as simple as poking her with one of these? You think this would be anything more than an inconvenience to the Big Bad Wolf? She's just turn around and bite my head off." Unwanted memories flash across her mind's eye: Bands of dancing, shimmering metal. Too many eyes, ever-watching from every surface. An inherent wrongness that could not be righted. A mere glimpse of a shape that defied all reason or logic. "No. You don't kill an Ancient. You survive them. That's what I did." Lorica fanned the knife absentmindedly, still staring straight at Zilyana. "That advice comes free of charge. You're welcome." Zilyanna looked at the woman who spoke quickly. "I think-" "That you need to be quiet Zil." Taeral spoke in a calm voice, and the lesser Dal'mar quieted, though she did continue to stare at the zakona. "We know of you, Lorica of the Pariahs." The soldier advanced a little around the table, turning to face the knife wielder. "Survive you say? Anyone can be killed, even her. You suggest a cowardly way forward but, then, you don't serve anyone but yourself, do you?" There was a certain...condescending tone to that question. The Captain was smiling within his helmet, which he then removed. Dragon skull was replaced by blonde hair and green eyes, a scar slanting from the left cheek all the way up beyond the right hairline. One of his long, pointed ears ended abruptly two inches before it should have. "Do we have to trust someone as selfish as this?" he inquired of the Chancellor, who nodded. "They are mercenaries, captain. Did you expect knights?" was all Demos replied. "You can expect nothing more than cowardice from most humans, I have found," Volare said coldly in Elvish. It might have seemed contradictory to insult humans in general after having said that one of them nearby - the girl named Alice Renard - was a competent fighter. But in Volare's mind, that was simply an assessment of her skills - not a measure of her worth. That had yet to be proven. "I take some offense to that, woman." One of the others removed their helm as well - Tyrist, as it happened - and settled the helm against his hip. His hair was close-cropped and he wore so many scars on his face it was amazing there was any flesh unmarred by them. And he was clearly human. Taeral was still smiling, but did not bother to interrupt Tyrist. "Would you care to back those words up?" "That will not be necessary, Sergeant." Taeral looked deeply amused. "It appears we have several people who wish to be uncivil or make remarks before they know what they are saying, and to whom." Tyrist made a lazy salute, but still eyed Volare critically. Shirine sighed and spoke in Elvish as well. "Volare, can you please not be so rash? We are on a job. Keep in mind and try to be a bit more tactful of those we are going to be working with." Shirine turned to Tyrist. "My apologies as her captain. I hope you won't take too much offence. She had a difficult past with a group of humans." Shirine felt troubled, as she was the captain of Volare…but also her mate. Sigh...Volare was a handful, but it was often worth it. She gave Volare a glance, trying to show she didn't mean to put her down, but they did need to get along. If Volare kept it up it might not be written off so easily next time. Volare glanced at Shirine and her eyes softened a bit. The slightest inclination of her head was all that was given, acknowledging Shirine’s request. When there was nothing more to interest her, she drew closer to Shirine and whispered in her ear in her native Fae-tongue. ”I am going to check my supplies and ready my companions for scouting.” With that, she kissed Shirine’s cheek and left the building. Once she had put some distance between her and it, she whistled shrilly in a specific pattern. Moments later, she saw a white shape break away from the fluffy clouds high above. It wheeled and dove swiftly, spiraling down before opening its wings up in a dramatic display as it landed gracefully just a couple of feet from Volare. The wind from Valkyrie’s landing threw up dirt around her, and Volare stepped forward. She stroked the great roc’s feathers and cooed to it, using a series of chirps and clicks and what-not to give it some instructions before the party set out. She then looked to the sky once more and made some more signaling noises. From somewhere atop nearby trees, three ospreys called out and took wing. They circled above her, and she communicated with them and with the roc before her for a bit. Arudain was safely back at the camp, where he would remain until one of the ospreys sent for him; that would only occur in an emergency situation, however. The eagle had been utilized quite frequently of late and deserved a rest. The three birds above them wheeled away and out of sight with her final instructions. When the party was ready to set out, Volare would slip her metamana into her ear and set Valkyrie above her as a visible scout once more, though only the farthest-seeing eyes would be able to see him; and in a dire situation, he would be called for - as would, subsequently, the thunderbirds trained to follow him. But for now, she simply communed with the magnificent bird. OOC
Edited by Volare, Wed Mar 15, 2017 10:37 pm.
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| Hearne | Thu Mar 16, 2017 2:01 am Post #3 |
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Hearne sat leaned back in his chair, spinning his cane in hand as he watched his companions enter the room to be briefed. It was an interesting roundup for certain. He knew a good handful of them personally. Shirine and Volare were the oldest of these friends. Keelin's presence made him slightly uneasy, not knowing where they currently stood. Of anyone here she might be the one to pick him out for what he was. Or at least the one who might care most. He stopped spinning the cane, resting the iron and ivory against the floor and held it in a white-knuckled grip. "Might want to relax your ass, hoss." The young man standing behind him leaned in, resting a hand on Hearne's shoulder. Relaxing his grip, Hearne rested the cane between his knees and set his palm atop the flat head. He took a long breath and nodded his thanks. He squeezed Hearne's shoulder and let go, crossing his hands in front of him and looking around the room. Hearne had adjusted his style somewhat as of late, appearing to forego the monk's robes and sashes. Hand and feet were not clad in the usual wraps either, though his fingers moved awkwardly over the cane. His tunic was well-made and white, right sleeve folded back to the elbow and the left sleeve folded shut and pinned. A neater and simpler hooded shawl draped his shoulders, a single grey sash crossing his torso at an angle. His pants were fine but durable, up for traveling forest and cavern. His shoes were leather and well-polished, though they made next to no sound as they touched the floor, oddly muffled. He was well off and regal-looking, though thinner than was entirely healthy and wrinkles had begun showing. Listening to Demos' introductions, Hearne nodded to each of the Sargeants, a smirk showing at the mention of the Pariahs. His gaze flitted to Lorica at the mention. He'd been present for the initial stages of the plan before the Ethereal had stepped into play. He'd had far too much interaction with that flavor of being in his time and had made his escape on the wine river. "Eshan." He turned his head and the young man returned to his side, honey-colored eyes giving a purple flash in the room's light as he leaned in. "I want fifteen knights and Holt's Breakers on standby. They can stay in the old Mare. Go through the new entrance in the basement, I'll call on them if needed. Keep them fed and happy, but alert." 'Eshan' nodded. "Will do, darlin. Give the hunter my best." He stood and glanced in Keelin's direction, eyes flashing purple flame before he left the room, headed for Shirine's base and the old, long-closed entrance to the Gingered Mare. "Coin is not my concern. The others can keep my share." He waved two fingers to the side, as if brushing something away. "It will be my pleasure to work with you all, I'm sure." He smiled thinly to the soldiers and his companions. |
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| Mistalee | Fri Mar 17, 2017 3:48 am Post #4 |
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To say that her brother was unhappy that she was going on this expedition was an understatement. It was not that he disapproved of her actions, in fact he had made sure she was supplied with some new types of arrows. He was merely worried about the dangers she would face. Before leaving him she had kissed him on the cheek and promised she would return unharmed. Now she was before the Chancellor in the palace standing proud. She knew he disapproved of her being here and associating with 'mere' mercenaries, but his approval was the last thing she desired at this moment. She was here to protect her people, her family, and her homeland. As the Dal'mar were introduced she merely nodded in greeting. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Keail, the only one to bow to them. At least not all of them were completely stern and unmoving. Emerald eyes came back to the Chancellor. "Do we know how many others besides the technicians were taken? Also are you able to divulge their names, so we know who we are looking for? I understand if they cannot be given for secrecy purposes, it just might help in our mission slightly," she asked. When he spoke of compensation she gave a single shake of her head. "I do not need nor want payment. I am here for our people and our kingdom." |
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Fri Mar 17, 2017 4:24 am Post #5 |
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Shirine had listened and participated in the conversation with the Chancellor and other in the group. For a bit she stepped out to do two things. "Excuse me for a bit while I arrange a few things and talk to Volare about her attitude." First she found one of her men and had them relay her orders, "Okay I have heard the mission I want a small group of say twenty men. Equip as scouts and have the gear for engineering duty too. The priority is not to be seen by anyone else. Split into smaller groups if needed. They will follow a few hours behind us when we leave this camp. I will keep in contact with the metamana. I will probably have further instructions for this group once we find out more. Have the rest of the company stay on standby at our home base. I saw Hearne in there, so I may call some of you for reinforcements though his bar." With her men sorted out. She went over to Volare, "Volare I will need you to apologize properly latter for your insult. You didn't make us look very good back there. No debating on this. Also I don't recomend bringing any of our animals down into the underground with us. None of them are really built for that sort of place. Well I better get back in there and make sure I don't miss too much important information." Going back in she really didn't give Volare a chance to say no to her. It was clear Shirine wasn't in the mood for that sort of thing. Shirine really showed some disappointed in Volare. Still she loved the woman and just couldn't argue her point that long. She hoped that Volare would apologize properly latter. She entered again just to make sure she didn't miss anything else the Chancellor had to say or inform them about. |
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| Kalim | Fri Mar 17, 2017 7:48 pm Post #6 |
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For someone who had never been to Norwood's capitol, Kalim supposed a chance to see the royal castle and it's grounds would normally be quite a thing. It was pretty, he was willing to admit, but castles always made him a little uncomfortable; there were always too many glowering eyes staring at you, reminding you that you didn't belong. So it was with relief when their little group of mercenaries and patriots occupied the castle barracks instead. Here, the design was much more simple and practical, though Kalim was shocked at the complete vacancy. Looks like what the guy said about being short-handed was true, Kalim thought as he stared at the chancellor. The sellsword was leaned back in one of the chairs next to one of the mess hall's tables, arms behind his head and surrounded by his fellows that had taken up Norwood's call. There was an anomaly; four armored warriors that stood before the chancellor. From the way they held themselves, unmoving and silent, one would normally assume they were bodyguards, but since they weren't present during the initial briefing he dismissed the thought. Demos began speaking, first demanding their secrecy. Kalim grunted his acceptance. So, he mused to himself once the man was finished, get their junk and people back without stirring up the hornet's nest too much? Figure out why these Lords are being so bold - or desperate - while we're at it. As for these guys... His eyes roved over the warriors, the Dal'mar as the chancellor referred to them. A tough looking bunch. Not regular army for certain. One of them spoke up, mentioning something about 'fabled' mercenaries and Balefire's Marquis. In Kalim's case his mouth kicked up at the former, but another in the room seemed to take offense at the latter, and it lead to a series of retorts from both sides. Kalim could almost feel the tension rising in the room. He sighed and lurched to his feet, then approached the Dal'mar captain, the one called Taeral. "Let's try to save the dagger-pointing until the mission, alright? Better your bickering get you killed and out of the way of the rest of us." He stopped in front of the battle-scarred captain Taeral and extended a gloved hand. "I don't know that I would call us 'fabled' as your subordinate put it. You can't buy true allegiance. But that hardly matters if we get the job done, no? We work together, we both benefit. That's how it goes. Name is Kalim Firious." He raised his voice during the last bit so it would be audible to the others. Kalim did not smile during his introduction; if anything his expression could be described as pensive. He had his doubts about the unexpected inclusion of these soldiers, but perhaps it would be best to to see just how forthcoming they were willing to be, and in turn how much they could be trusted. He sat back down, forsaking a chair this time to lean forward on the edge of the table. "I've never heard of the Dal'mar. The chancellor said you were fighters, but that much is obvious. What's your specialty?" He didn't think he would get a very informative response, and it met his expectations. They were proud, and at least seemed willing to respond to politeness in kind. That would make it easier to work with them, at any rate. Kalim gave a small shrug as he pushed himself off the table and stood. Likely their main purpose here was to keep an eye on the ragtag group, but that shouldn't pose any real problems. "Look forward to seeing you in action, then." At that time a buzzing began to permeate his head, followed a few seconds later by a high-pitched exclamation that made him bring his hand to his face, grasping his forehead. He turned his back on the others and strode towards the barracks entrance. "Doooor!" This random, out of place word was only audible inside Kalim's head, and was followed moments later by a soft whap against the barrack's wooden door. Wrenching it open, he looked down at a small, legless and winged golden lizard, barely over a foot in length writhing about on the paved stone outside. He kneeled down and picked it up by it's tail, then stepped back inside and carried it towards the central table. There was a decidedly irritated expression on his face. "Could you try to not make an idiot of yourself at every possible moment?" He snarled inside his head. The creature's wings, which had been flapping weakly in an attempt to escape his grasp, drooped. "The doooor was in the way..." A whimpering, childish female voice echoed in his skull. Kalim heaved another sigh and held her up for the others to see. "This is Novi, my fly dragon," he announced. "She can communicate telepathically, so if you need to contact me, think her name and direct your thoughts at her and she'll relay it to me. Likewise I'll send messages through her. She needs to be relatively nearby for her to hear you, so I wouldn't rely on her too much. Also, keep any messages short and to the point. She's an idiot, so she's likely to screw up anything complicated." Novi had resumed struggling through his explanation and managed to wriggle her way out of his hand. She quickly shot upward and began zipping about the room while peering at the others. He muttered a curse and walked towards a vacant table while telling her the names of the others that he had learned so far. He did not tell her the details of the mission; she likely wouldn't understand, and the chancellor had, after all, told them to keep it a secret from anyone not in the room. Sitting down, he started to unsheathe various weapons and place them on the table, beginning his routine pre-mission inspection of his gear. He intended to do so until they began to move. Edited by Kalim, Fri Mar 17, 2017 8:10 pm.
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| Lorica | Fri Mar 17, 2017 11:35 pm Post #7 |
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Lorica glanced at the soldier, her lips twisting into a hard smile. "As someone who was there, I kindly invite you to watch your tone." She swept her arm to one side, flicking her fingers and making a knife appear in the blink of an eye. She gave the blade a quick jab and a twist, as if sticking it in someone's kidney. "You really think killing her is as simple as poking her with one of these? You think this would be anything more than an inconvenience to the Big Bad Wolf? She's just turn around and bite my head off." Unwanted memories flash across her mind's eye: Bands of dancing, shimmering metal. Too many eyes, ever-watching from every surface. An inherent wrongness that could not be righted. A mere glimpse of a shape that defied all reason or logic. "No. You don't kill an Ancient. You survive them. That's what I did." Lorica fanned the knife absentmindedly, still staring straight at Zilyana. "That advice comes free of charge. You're welcome."
Well at least they had the good sense to not call me by my other name. She probably wouldn't get paid if she cut off the rest of his ear. Aloud, she chuckled and nodded to the Dal'mar Captain. "I forget, you fanatic-types are all dying for the cause, aren't you? Martyrdom always sounds lovely until you've got a foot of steel through your belly. Is that bravery, Sir Dal'mar? Dying and leaving your work for others to complete?" "Not that I care. You don't have the manpower to do this without me, clearly, so it's a moot point." She propped her feet up and reclined lazily, balancing the tip of her knife one one finger. At this point one of her fellow mercenaries spoke up in elvish, condemning all humans as cowards. One of the Dal'mar spoke up before Lorica got the chance to respond to the racist criticism. She simply smiled at the stranger and shrugged. They didn't need to know she understood elvish. Another one of the mercenaries stood up and introduced himself. Lorica eyed him critically, then sighed. "For those that don't know, I'm Lorica Wells. Formerly of the Wine River Pariahs, as the Captain was so kind to point out."
Honor the Order. Protect the Vale. Shield the Well. The words ran unbidden through her mind. Lorica tossed the knife up into the air, letting it spin once before catching the blade and returning it to a hidden sheathe. “Whattaya know. It turns out you don’t know shit about me, Captain.” She didn’t expand on that, standing up. “I have some preparations to make.” The elf working the desk at the courier’s office hadn’t been thrilled with the crumpled, mud-splattered Cascadian notes she’d slammed on the counter, but in the end he’d been forced to accept the ill-treated currency. Lorica waited until she was out of the building to tear into the package. There was a note inside, along with a small wooden box. She opened the parchment first. It read: Many thanks for helping me resolve that issue, Ms. Wells. As promised, more of my GENUINE pure cure is contained herein. I once must again warn you against overuse of the tonic, for- Lorica crumpled up the note without reading the rest of it and opened the box. Resting on a bed of velvet were four small vials, their cork stoppers held in place with twisted wire. Each of them was full of a clear liquid. She ran her fingers over the smooth glass and smiled. Just in time. She carefully removed the ampoules from the packaging and transferred them to some heavily-padded pouches on her bandoleer. Until she could separate the Wellspring from corruption, Korso’s special concoction was the only safe way to tap into its power. She’d just have to deal with the side effects. Lorica walked back towards the barracks, taking a different path to kill some time. Her wanderings took her through a more residential area. Even though the front of the conflict with Balefire was many miles to the east, it could still be felt in the general sense of anxiety that hung over the capitol like a fog. None of the civilians she passed looked directly at her, much less offered her a friendly smile or greeting. Clearly this was not a good time to be a stranger in Norwood. The only exception was a small girl, a child of no more than ten, who gave her an enthusiastic wave before her mother ushered her inside. Lorica stared at the closed door for a few moments before continuing on her way. Could that have been me? Is this what Marcus stole from me? Living oblivious to danger? Letting others fight battles for me? It was a question that was impossible to answer, not without going back in time and living a different life. Lorica made a few stops for other supplies, but eventually found herself back at the barracks. She’d also procured a hat in that time, She shrugged off her enchanted pack and settled down in a chair near Kalim, ignoring the Dal’mar. She pulled out a long-bladed throwing knife as she leaned back in her seat, balancing it on its two back legs. In a sudden blur of motion she hurled the blade at the wall. It sank a good few inches into the wood, quivering for a few seconds. There was a soft pop as the weapon vanished, reappearing back in its sheath on her bandoleer. She drew it again and repeated the process, the thrown blade landing in the exact same spot, gouging a deeper hole out of the wooden beam. The Keeper fought the temptation to yawn. “How exactly are we traveling? I take it you haven’t really invested in the scorchline industry.” She paused before throwing the knife again, smiling tightly. “It’s a shame. Those things are mighty convenient.” Supplies
Edited by Lorica, Sat Mar 18, 2017 12:38 am.
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| Keelin | Sat Mar 18, 2017 12:44 am Post #8 |
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Over the course of all this explanation and discussion, Keelin had essentially melted into her seat. She slid forward so that her back was at a shallow angle, hands shoved into her pockets as deep as they could go, and chin tucked into her orarion-scarf. Her eye was barely visible under the shadow of her Debonese flatbrim. "Sure. Yeah. Job. As in, why I'm here in the first place? I kind of already... yeah." Keelin trailed off, vaguely irritated, letting more people chime in with worthwhile questions or, in Lorica's case, concerns. Typical of Norwood, the dragon-fops were quick to dismiss the Keeper's advice in their attempts to appear superior. If they won't respect what she's gone through, I have no reason to do the same for them. "Well, all of the red flags have lined up pretty nicely here. Here we [removed]ing go again." Keelin pushed herself up just enough to look like she wasn't immediately about to sleep, but not enough to pretend that she gave a shit. As she spoke in a semi-monotone, she counted on her fingers. "Receive mission from questionable state official. Mission seems deceptively simple considering the large number of mercenaries recruited. So that means, in my personal experience, this mission is bound to go to shit. It'll turn out there's something terrible going on under the surface -- in this case literally -- and it's up to us 'heroes' to fix it." She ended on that note with fake-excited jazz hands before both hit her chair's armrests like dead weight. "Strap on your codpieces, folks. This is about to be a cluster[removed]." Keelin, as a perpetual traveler, already had her supplies ready. She had honestly expected things would actually get started, but it looked like everyone else needed to take their sweet time to get their shit together first. She also had absolutely no interest in gathering more information from these assholes. The mountain elf passed the hours alternating between snoozing in her chair and awkwardly ignoring Lorica, waiting for something to actually happen. ...
Edited by Keelin, Sat Mar 18, 2017 12:47 am.
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| Ahkrum | Sat Mar 18, 2017 1:20 am Post #9 |
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"Heavy start. Not even to hard stuff yet and infighting." The Hagaan noted as he looked at the map, having had to climb onto the table to get a good look at it, "Hush-hush mission. Ahkrum wonders if things get blurted out, or if bickering too much to talk about mission. Detriment or benefit? If this keeps up, stealth is out." For Ahkrum looking at the map, he could not help but envision things all being relative to his home, not just in direction, but in scale. The only bit of this mission that might be remotely familiar would be going underground, and even then he would still be going deeper than even the lowest levels of Ivah'galagaj. "At least some are smart." Ahkrum said, looking around at those of the force that were more interesting in the mission, "Ahkrum trust you first for now. Bickerers last and later." "Not so much a stealth mission as a quiet one," the Chancellor said in response to the comment from the little man. "We do not need people - the wrong people - learning of this. Not until the expedition is over, at least." "Hush-hush." Ahkrum confirmed. "A large group in tight caves also leads problems we don't want to face, even if they were able to be silent," an elven woman chimed in as she looked over the map. Ahkrum took a moment to look around at the current party, all much larger than himself, though compartive scaling might be a bit more interesting next to his riding spider, "Ahkrum fit, at least. Ahkrum not dark-sighted, but no traps good for big things, so Ahkrum not go far ahead, unless elves give Ahkrum big traps. If camping, Ahkrum could set traps on perimeter, hide well. Or else, Ahkrum go where Ahkrum needed, ready for fight. Maybe people not see Ahkrum, Ahkrum too small. Ahkrum can attack first if scouts find enemies." "Receive mission from questionable state official. Mission seems deceptively simple considering the large number of mercenaries recruited. So that means, in my personal experience, this mission is bound to go to shit. It'll turn out there's something terrible going on under the surface -- in this case literally -- and it's up to us 'heroes' to fix it." Another elven woman, this one with a single eye, added with fake-excited jazz hands before both hit her chair's armrests like dead weight. "Strap on your codpieces, folks. This is about to be a cluster[removed]." "Yes." Ahkrum agreed with a wondrous sound to his voice, curious as he was to know just how badly things would go, as they inevitably were going to, "Enough of group aware of this might mitigate. Ahkrum hopes. Balance out. Ahkrum just hope no pixies, enough pixie blood to bathe in, Ahkrum want actual challenge." OOC Ahkrum was a survivalist by practice, as were his spiders. The Hagaan brought about no supplies as he knew that nothing he could carry would be enough to share with anybody else, and anything else than anybody else brought along would probably be enough to last him years, maybe a lifetime if it went bad enough to attract and play breeding ground for flies. He rode upon the back of his big spider, L'akolb, along with Danag, with plenty of room to spare with the both of them. The spider was more than just intimidating, it was trained for battle and venomous, a lethal companion against the Hagaan's immortal winged enemies, but to test its bite against larger foes would prove interesting. Danag was mostly just a comp'anion, a sign of status back home, but its thread was particularly good for Ahkrum's weapons of choice. Together this trio, added to the rest of the curious group that had assembled in the wake of the earthquake, answering the call of Norwood, would make their mark. First and foremost he was a fighter. He rode near the front of the group, his arms and legs crossed, his gaze hidden beneath his hood fixed forward, and his ears listening in for anything other than the steps of the group. If there was trouble, above ground or below it, he wanted to be ready to jump into the thick of the action. Supplies
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| Renard | Sat Mar 18, 2017 3:49 am Post #10 |
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Alice was another member of Shirine's entourage: an archer and scout. She had long had a knack for finding her way. But she was quiet in public, saying almost nothing in the time she spent inside the palace. She payed little attention to the infighting of the group, or the Dal'mar and there prodding. Once she had finished her sketch to duplicate the Elves' maps she stepped out. A hobbled warhorse rested, waiting for the return of her master. Alice greeted her steed in her own language, one it seemed the elves here did not know. The huntress' gear was in a pile nearby. Collecting them, she quickly saddled Sylvie, preparing the best she could for the journey. |
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| Lachesis[ST] | Sat Mar 18, 2017 3:59 pm Post #11 |
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Keail was the one to answer the tiny little mans request. "I am sorry, sir, but most of the things we use are not for people outside the Norwood Army. besides, I do not think you could set them yourself. They are very complex." [You lack sufficient skill to use these traps (Your Skill: Security: Adept)] The man went back to cleaning his nails as if it was the most important task in the world. "Well said, Keelin." Zilyana gave the elfin angel hunter a wide grin. "I could let you borrow one of my spare codpieces, f you like. This kind of thing is just another day in the life of the Dal'mar. Maybe you'd like to join us?" And then she laughed, a rich and warm sound. Clearly, she wasn't as stiff as her companions. Even so, there still seemed to be something incredibly hard about her, some steel that was just beneath the surface. It was just less visible in her specific case. Taeral nodded to Kalim. "A useful creature. Maybe more useful than you know, even if she is a bit daft." The Dal'mar turned to look at Mistalee, mouths opening to answer, but it was the Chancellor that spoke. "Lady Tu'rin, there is no need for real secrecy. The need is to not let anyone hear of this who does not need to know. The technicians are an elfin lad by the name of Warde, and a human lady by the name of Misrey. Alas, we cannot say how many others were carried off or, with any certainty, what else was carried off." He gave the Lady of Norwood a condescending smile. "If we find out before you leave, though, we will tell you." It was quiet for a time as people went about their business, their preparations. The only sound, for a long time, was of weapons being checked or, in the case of the infuriating woman Lorica, a weapon being repeatedly thrown. After a time, Lorica finally spoke again. Zilyana smirked at her, completely not put off at all by the former Keeper's attitude. "Why, we will ride there in style." The young Dal'mar started to tell them what that meant, exactly, but she cut him off. "Let them think on it, dear. The surprise is half the fun, is it not? They will see when we get to the paddock. They will see." The paddock was not within the walls of the city itself, and the group was forced to walk on foot through the streets. People they passed looked upon the Dal'mar with respected and with hope; they were, after all, the embodiment of the Norwood Army, its finest soldiers. The looks directed at the people that followed behind the warriors were not as warm. Mostly, they were uneasy, or even fearful. The pall of war hung of Norwood, her citizens cowering in the shadow of the horror that was already wracking much of Imythess. It was a marvel that such a collection of people could be walking the stone paved streets. The majority of the population was, of course, elfin. Centuries of mingling bloodlines had watered down the classical varieties of elf until the majority of the population of Norwood was just a generic elf. There were some families that maintained so-called racial purity, but they were rare. Gone were the days of wood elf and mountain elf, of any kind of specific elf. The world had, in its own manner, moved on. More surprising, though, was the mixture of other peoples. Even in the melancholy mood that the city was in, humans moved and mingled with their long-eared neighbors. An enkaida or wo wandered behind their owners, as often dark skinned Istani as pale skinned native. refugees from the war in Istan had come, but they had not swelled the city so much. People fleeing from Balefire, the dreaded zakona, walked the street without fear of predation by bounty hunter. These number included werewolves and other natives of Balefire, though these people were given wide berth and looked upon unfavorably. The climate in the city was not well disposed towards the fleeing zakona, and yet still they came. The street finally came to an end, a gate set in a wall that was fifty feet high, veined in silver and gold and entwined in the roots of the great Aluar trees that were grown into it. A personnel gate was set into the wall, thick iron banded doors of some ancient, nearly metal-hard wood guarded by a pair of sentries with long pikes. The men looked at the Captain of the Dal'mar in his dragon helmet, and then bowed. "Lord Captain, how may we serve?" one of the pair of them asked. "Unbar the gate and let us pass. The Chancellor should have sent word ahead of us." he replied in a formal tone. The sentries salute - both hands made into fists and pressed together before their breasts - and then did his bidding, removing the locking bar and opening the gate. "This way, mercenaries," he said briskly, and then suited his own words. Within was the paddock where they held the promised mounts. There were a hundred aluar deer within, and those closest to the gate as the troop strode in raised their graceful heads, overlarge liquid eyes regarding the trespassers with curiosity before returning to browse on the clover that grew prolifically everywhere within the paddock. The fences that kept these beasts in were tall, nearly as tall as the city walls themselves, and the expanse of ground afforded these majestic animals was awe inspiring. The fence marched into the woods, and vanished from sight. "See to the beasts," the Captain told his companions in elvish, who saluted in the same manner as had the gate guards. The two of them moved to secure an appropriate number of deer, while Keail, casting unreadable glances back at the Captain, went to secure some other animals that had nearly escaped notice. He came back with four of these. They were elk, their hair a rich russet, their liquid eyes intelligent and disdainful of the people around them. The massive racks of antler they wore upon their heads were awe inspiring and, surely, a deadly instrument to be faced at any time. "Our mounts, Captain," the younger Dal'mar said as he drew abreast of his Captain. His tone was terribly dry. The Captain cast him a dark look...but said nothing in reply. A moment later, Tyrist and Zilyana approached with the deer. They pranced a bit, but were quite tame; they were also all wore special saddles fitted to their lithe frames. heavy armor clinking, the Captain took the reins from one of the elk, and then settled a foot into a stirrup. "Get mounted up, all of you. We ride, and we ride hard." Zilyana was moving through the deer, placing her hands on their soft hides and muttering something under her breath. Soft light suffused each deer she touched, but nothing beyond that appeared to happens. She finished the deer, and then went to each of the elk mounts and performed the same service while everyone else mounted. As soon as she gained her saddle, the Captain made a gesture towards the far end of the paddock. "Let us be on our way. Try to keep up with us; we will stop a few times on the way there. I hope you all remembered to bring some supplies; if not, we will have to scavenge what the forest can provide." With that, he kicked the sides of his mount, and broke into a trot towards gates that were being opened, letting out into the forest. It was nearly unreal. Deer and elk alike moved with unrelenting speed and grace, pounding down forest pathways that were barely visible in the perpetual gloom beneath the high canopy of the forest. And they moved in a straight line; if a fallen tree or a bunch of roots blocked the way, deer, even laden with their passengers, would sail over them; the elk were a bit heavier but no less agile, and would leap from surface to surface with their heavy burdens, clearing with a little more difficulty the same obstacles the Aluar deer managed in single bounds. They rode for hours, making their way through the labyrinth without slowing or checking their speed. True to his words, the Captain called for rest late in the evening, when the woods were nearly plunged nto total darkness. A quick meal was eaten, and the deer and elk were seen to by Zilyana once more. And then it was back into the saddles, and running through the night. The Dal'mar didn't seem bothered by the darkness, and neither did the mounts the party were riding. At the break of day, they stopped again while grey light filtered through the canopy. "We are not very far away from our destination now." Taeral said as he dismounted to allow the elfin woman to work her ministrations on his elf. The deer and elk appeared absolutely none the worse for wear, which was surprising given they had been running for nearly eighteen hours already without much rest. "An hour or two more. Be ready for anything." As they mounted to ride, and as the light became less diffuse, it was easy to see that there was damage around you, now. One tree in twenty was leaning over against another, and the great roots that had twisted over the soil were cracked in some places. Fissures rent the ground, but none were wider than the thickness of a hand. The effects of the earthquake were noticeable here, but not devastating. Back into the saddle again, your party makes the final leg of the journey. And you do not get very far away from your destination before the smell of smoke begins to filter through the trees and sparse undergrowth, and a much fouler, pervasive stench begins to mingle with it. "This....does not make sense." Taeral is still sitting astride his great elk, and surveying the carnage before him. This is the infamous bandit camp in the heart of Norwood, but right now it looks more like a warzone. "Our forces went through here a couple weeks ago, yes?" "Yes, sir." said Keail sourly. He surveyed it all with an air of aloofness and lack of emotion that was mirrored in all the other soldiers of Norwood. It was clear they had seen the like of it before, and many times. They had rode the last miles in smelling rotting carrion and smoldering fires, and before them and you are spread the truth of what they had been expecting. The wooden palisades that had been erected by bandits time and again were knocked down, leaning outward from the center the encampment. Fire had been set to them, and to the wooden huts within the makeshift wall, and those fires now smoldered, sendign curling tendrils of smoke into the air that was already thick with it. If it wasn't for the smoke in the air, there would have been flies. As it was, there were still hundreds of them, taking to the air from corpses bloated and swollen from days laying on the cold hard ground. The savagery enacted upon these poor souls was nearly too much to look upon for any length of time. "Then this is the work of someone else." Taeral booted his mount forward, leaping over the fallen wall and into the thick of the slaughter. "I didn't expect to find bandits already infesting this place so soon after gutting this forsaken place." If he was alarmed by that, it didn't show in his voice. He could have been talking about the weather. Tyrist passed his captain and went into the cleared area beyond. He leaned over in his saddle next to a fly-blown corpse, and waved away the mass of them to take a good look at the dead man beneath. "I wouldn't say these were bandits, Captain," the human said as he sat straight in his saddle again. The cropse revealed itself to be a middle aged man wearing proper armor with proper weapons. That would have been expected even with scofflaws but, upon the breast of the leather he was wearing, though spoiled by a gaping, blood darkened hole, was the insignia of the Sheriffs of Balefire. Taeral dismounted and walked over to look upon the corpse in silence. And then he looked around the encampment. It had mostly been comprised of wooden buildings, now smoking ruins, but there were a few stone structures scattered within the mostly cleared space. They were ancient, weathered beasts that lacked form and elegance, and the truth was no one knew who had built them or why. They had been here since time out of mind, and they were a source that constantly drew people like highwaymen here. The biggest building was twice the size of a house, with hard iron bound doors that had been set fire to many times and arrow slits for windows. Surveying the wreckage of a small scale battle, Taeral shook his head. "Whoever these men were, they were the defenders. They were ambushed from within their own walls." he didn't ask the obvious question of why a sheriff was herei n hte heart of Norwood, or what they would be doing holed up here in the heart of the realm....especially given current circumstances. "They were the defenders, and the attack came from within. No corpses in the woods beyond the palisade. There are too many near that old fortress." He indicated the building with its arrow slits, and it was hard to understand the array of men gathered there in death. The attack had come within, true, but the men had died in droves at the doors of that building. The slaughter elsewhere was less horrendous. It was almost as if they were trying to gain access to the building, as if it was being held from them by someone. "We need to look around. This is where the raiders from the underworld came from, but we never found a point of entry for them despite our best efforts." Tyrist, Keail, and Zilyana dismount and leave their animals to forage as they go through the battlefield, checking corpses and then searching for what had to be there. Clearly, the attackers had to have some way of coming upon their victims without being seen, but how? Suddenly, Tyrsit calls out. He is near the open door to the stone building so many had died trying to get into. "Hey! I have a live one over here!" He had moved a couple of corpses off the woman in question, and was laying her out on the cold ground. She radiated fever heat like a furnace, and stirred weakly on the ground. What do you do?
Edited by Aeyliea, Sat Mar 18, 2017 4:07 pm.
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| Renard | Sun Mar 19, 2017 4:52 pm Post #12 |
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Alice had been examining the area on foot for...anything really. Survivors, ambushes, unseen threats. Nothing on her end at first. The Dal'mar had more luck, as one, Tyrsit called out. The woman he had found was in bad shape. It was hard to tell if see was wounded but the fever indicated its own set of worries. Based on the apparent stagnancy of the still battleground, she must have been stuck her for some time. First the fever: "Vous êtes purifié du poison," Alice chanted in her native language. Poisons could be fast acting, yet present like infections. Of course, if it cleared, they would know that their enemies were using poisons. She could follow this with another chant: "Vous êtes purifié de la maladie." To clear out any infection if poison was not the problem. While her shield covered most of her back, Alice was engrossed in her task. She had even set set her bow down to free up her hands to work. She could cast another spell to close any surface wounds but this was pushing her limit at the moment. Hopefully, they could get some answers from this person |
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| Volare | Sun Mar 19, 2017 5:50 pm Post #13 |
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After a time, Volare sent her birds into the sky. They knew their jobs well, and they would do them to the best of their abilities. Volare would be joining them soon enough, depending upon the mode of transportation chosen by the elves. But for now, she contented herself with checking her sword and gear. She donned her cowl and secured it, checked her metamana to ensure it was secured and functioning, and then ran through some forms with her blade while she waited for the others. When the time came, she sheathed her sword and joined them. As they walked through the city, Volare could feel the eyes upon her. She met those of only a few, her own eagle-like eyes piercing them enough to make them break contact. Her wings got quite a lot of attention at first, but only because they were so colourful; in truth, the mercenary group as a whole seemed to be something of an alien force among these people. But considering the number of individuals mixed in with the elves, Volare didn’t see the problem. Of course, she had heard about the troubles in Balefire. There had been some kind of revolt or something - the enforcers of the law therein had apparently cast half the city out - but they were not her troubles. She could do nothing for them, and she had her own concerns beside. “I apologize for my insult,” she said as they walked. She did not direct it to anyone in particular, and the delivery was perhaps a bit stiff, but she had insulted an entire race of people. Shirine was right, even if she didn’t particularly want to admit it: her own prejudices had no place here. She tried to mind her tongue most of the time, but her experiences had coloured her perception and given her a very dark outlook on the world. Perhaps others would see that as no excuse, but she simply couldn’t see the courage and morality of humans. Even here, when they were presumably kind, they seemed to take everything around them for granted. They took great pride in their accomplishments, yet many of them could be callous and some were downright evil. They were varied, yes, but Volare could not help but recall her horrific experiences at the hands of those of their race. Avarice and ambition were particularly dangerous traits where they were concerned. Volare was somewhat relieved when they finally reached the paddock, as it gave her something more important to focus on. The deer were perhaps magnificent, but Volare was no rider. She had not talent for it. She had tried horses, stags, and elk alike, as some of the company to which she belonged were friendly with animals, but the hoofed ones did not like her. Anyway, her wings were not merely ornamental. “I have my own means of transport,” she said, flexing her wings. “My metamana is secure.” And with that, as everyone mounted up, she stepped away from the group. She nodded curtly at the mention of supplies and then took wing. The treetops were perhaps not the best place to fly for most, but Volare was not most. She had been flying for a great many years, including in places that people were astonished even allowed her to open her wings. She knew perfectly well when and how much to open her wings, how to twist in the air, how to dodge and weave through the great boughs of the forest. After her avian wings had grown and matured, she had wasted no time in taking to the treetops once more, alternately soaring above them and darting below them; it had been the most wondrous, glorious feeling she had ever experienced, a thing so perfect lost yet now returned to her after so long. And today was no different. She was impressed with the grace and agility of the deer and elk beneath her, but she was no less graceful or agile in the trees. Even some of the more acrobatic among the company’s mercenaries had watched Volare in awe more than once as she soared into their clearing, twisted and fell and dove, only to land spectacularly in the middle of the camp. And Volare had grown to know this forest well since she had met Shirine, both on the ground and in trees. She had found that the treetops themselves were too thick in places even for her, and that was when her acrobatic talents truly reigned supreme; but whether flying, gliding, or dashing and darting and dodging and weaving, Volare kept pace with the deer and elk below her with little trouble. And she had stamina, too, or she would not have been able to fly for hours on end; she was a bit tired when they finally stopped, but she landed as gracefully as any bird. She shared a small meal with Volare, and when it was done, she pulled out a couple of leaves to chew upon. The leaves would give her a bit of extra energy as she moved, and she had enough to last. She had communicated with her birds while she flew, and they had gone off to hunt intermittently; only Valkyrie required additional sustenance when the group stopped. But once she and her birds had a chance to rest, the time had come to move again. Even in the darkness of the night, however, Volare had no problem in the trees. But as a precaution, she had Valkyrie lead one of her thunderbirds into the open; the bird did not like being ridden, but it also did not like descending from the clouds if it did not have to, so it had not been a viable scout. Nevertheless, Volare got it calm enough that she could ride it and took off after the others while the rest of her birds flew as scouts. Volare would need her strength for the quest to come, and so she could not afford to exhaust herself any more than she already had. Flying atop Summanis gave her a chance to rest upon a fresh mount. Summanis was at least smart enough to follow the group of riders below, and so the journey also allowed Volare to sleep for a bit. She awoke only a short time before the group stopped again, and Volare landed near them. She thanked Summanis, and he went off to disappear into the clouds once more. Volare’s roc landed near her as well, and she sent signals up to let her other birds know that they could retreat for the time being. Finally, she tended to Valkyrie and stretched her own wings. When it was time to go again, Volare gave some final instructions to Valkyrie; the roc departed quickly, and Taranis soon descended to replace Summanis as a mount. With only a couple of hours left to travel, Taranis was slightly more amicable to the idea of being Volare’s mount for a time. Now rested as she was, she could not afford to be anything but fresh as the target location approached. As the thunderbird took wing again, Volare could see the damage the earthquake had wrought upon the woodlands. While it was clear that the worst of it had not been here, the damage was sufficient to tell the tale of nature’s wrath - if it had indeed been nature that had caused the quake. But nothing ever seemed to be that simple in Imythess. When at last they reached the bandit’s camp, Volare thanked her thunderbird and sent him up as a scout until he was no longer needed. It was time to move forward on foot. But the smell of smoke was thick, and there was carnage before the group that did not make sense to the elves. Volare’s features hardened as she looked upon the devastation; her mind flew back to Gwyllion at once, reminded of the aftereffects of trusting humans. The recalled all too well the scorched trees; the dead, black ground; the ash that fell like snow from amid the rising smoke; and the orange-red glow of human fires. Her jaw stiff, her lips tight, Volare slipped close to Shirine. Granted, she had seen some bad things on some of her missions, but this…this reminded her of her home - and not as she preferred to think of it. ”This is bad,” she said in Fae to Shirine. ”I do not have a good feeling about this place.” Volare flexed her wings a bit and laid a hand upon the hilt of Ivyn’s Ire as she watched their surroundings. Alice moved forward to heal the woman that one of the others had uncovered. It felt like a trap to Volare, and she doubted she was the only one. The place as a whole was bad for her, but she was more focused on the potential of something attacking them at the moment than she was upon her past - even though her past was certainly fresh in her mind in this place. Volare tapped into her gift from Shirine, forcing her ears to shift into those of a leopard so that she could hear things that others might not. She issued a few avian tweets in a specific pattern, but the responding call from her scouting thunderbird revealed that there was no one about save the group in which Volare now found herself. That didn’t make the sense of wrongness she felt at the moment go away. OOC
Edited by Volare, Tue Mar 21, 2017 7:04 am.
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| Keelin | Sun Mar 19, 2017 6:13 pm Post #14 |
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For the first time since she'd arrived here, Keelin's face projected a positive emotion: almost childlike delight. She walked up to her assigned elk mount with a "Hi!" that was higher-pitched than her usual voice. The elf stopped herself before she would have barreled into the beast, tentatively but excitedly offering a hand. The beast sniffed it, then tolerated her petting him on the nose. Keelin giggled quietly, no doubt ruining the somber tone of the important people around her. "You're so handsome! I really like you!" Careful not to anger it but also clearly trying to suppress some incomprehensible glee, Keelin spent a short time getting the deer used to her petting its neck and flank before she loaded her gear onto him. All the while, the animal simply tolerated her. "Can I call you Steadfast? Let's see... I think I'm on number fourteen. Would that be okay?" Keelin hesitated a moment, then mounted Steadfast XIV while grinning ear-to-ear the whole time. As soon as it moved, the elf had to take deep breaths to stop herself from emitting any high-pitched noises or kicking her legs like a child riding her first pony. Riding a deer was a lot different from riding a horse. Turned out it was a lot more fun. Also a lot harder, at least for her. Totally worth it! I don't care if I'm around insufferables. This alone makes it all fine! A real Red Elk -- I'm the real deal, now! Just like the Cloaked Outrider from my favorite fictionbook as a kid! A thought occurred to her. Wait. Shit. Definitely not acting like someone who rides a Red Elk. She forced her grin to even out and made her eyes look keener, more intense. Because she was suppressing most of that initial burst of novelty, that feeling never diminished. Even when they were camped for dinner, Keelin kept looking over at Steadfast XIV to make sure Zilyana was treating him well. She also snuck glances at Lorica more often than not. Keelin tried not to think about her friend too much. When it was time to sleep, she bedded down about ten or twenty feet away from the Keeper. The angel hunter woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and heart racing. She sucked in a breath, split-seconds from screaming Lorica's name, before she bit her tongue, clamped her jaw shut, and pressed a fist to her mouth. Keelin slipped out of her bedroll, clambering onto the cold ground -- and there Lorica was. Even in the low light Keelin could see that her friend was covered in blood, flayed alive, and just as she started screaming-- --Keelin woke up. She'd rolled out of her bedroll sometime in the middle of the night. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. When she lifted her arm, the surface with contact against the ground was covered in blood. The forest floor had turned into a shallow pool of it, at least in this part of the camp. She woke up again. And again. And again, each time slightly different. As soon as Keelin woke up a fifth time, she immediately cast every spell she knew that detected magic, invisibility, and illusions. While something very odd was happening around the man called Harin, the spells combined with her usual reality-checking thought exercises established that her recursive nightmares were blessedly over. The fatigue of the day and night was very apparent as she struggled to get up in the pitch darkness. One searching hand located her coat and desperately groped around for her cigar case. She lit one up and inhaled all the herbs that would hopefully suppress hallucinations for the next few hours. Morning came and Keelin went about her chores like a zombie. All she could manage to Lorica was a muttered, "Good morning." She'd almost blurted out "I'm so glad you're alive" instead. What a conversation starter. 'Hi there! I spent all night trying to stop you from being tortured, but it was all in my head. Also, I didn't even succeed. Want to have lunch together?' But at least Steadfast was okay. During the ride Keelin kept dozing off while hugging his neck, but juddered awake every time he had to make a leap over ten feet. She had reason to stay awake and alert when they reached the Bandit's Camp. Keelin surveyed the carnage blank-faced. The elf maintained her stony countenance when they identified some of the victims as Sheriffs of Balefire. A survivor was found near the stone building that was the focal point of the whole scene. Keelin nodded at Lorica's signal, keeping her distance from the obvious bait for the trap until Renard had a chance to approach for some attempted healing. Keelin looked left, right and behind her. As soon as Lorica communicated her findings with her powers, she started walking toward the open door of the building. Micro-rips in the fabric of reality belched silver ribbons into the air that wrapped around her forearms and produced matte black hook-swords. She grabbed them, giving them a quick flourish. "Well, it's clearly a trap, but we don't have any information or leverage here." She looked to Lorica and jerked her chin at the arrow slit, asking her if she was going to do what she thought she'd do. "You go high, I go low, yeah?" With that, the angel hunter did what everyone else seemed apprehensive about doing: she simply walked in, alert and attentive. If she wasn't immediately attacked, Keelin would begin to search the interior of the building for any threats first of all -- followed secondarily by anything out of place, anything inherently interesting, or anything that might shed some light on what happened here. |
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| Lorica | Sun Mar 19, 2017 6:54 pm Post #15 |
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Although many Keepers were accomplished riders (and some could even channel the Wellspring through their mounts), Lorica had never developed the knack. She just didn’t trust placing her well-being in the hands of anyone else, much less a dumb beast. Although she’d received some training from a backswamps highwayman in Nine Angels, she still wasn’t overly fond of it. Still, she would have much preferred to ride Bacon than one of these deer. The damn things had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, moving in massive leaps at breakneck speed. She clutched the reins of her mount in a deathgrip, clenching her jaw so tight it ached. She quickly dismounted from the creature when they stopped for dinner. “I like venison,” she muttered to the animal. “Keep that in mind.” She spent the entire meal and night dreading her return to the deer’s back. In the morning, she was slightly surprised when Keelin went out of her way to say hello. "Hey there, general. Sleep well?" She could guess at the answer from the bags under the elf's eyes, but didn't want to presume. The angel hunter's behavior suggested she was still uncomfortable around Lorica, despite everything they'd been through. She owed her friend too much to push her now. After a quick breakfast, she begrudgingly re-mounted so they could continue traveling. Lorica soon realize she had actually preferred riding the deer at night: it made it harder to see exactly how close she came to smashing her skull against a low-hanging branch with every bound. The fresh light of morning made the ride even more harrowing than before. When they drew to a halt she slipped off of its back without being given permission, letting out a soft sigh of relief. The sight that greeted her was a familiar tableau. Lorica had taken several jobs during the conflict between Norwood and Balefire that required her to hunt through battlefields. She barely noticed the carnage and accompanying scent of decay. She reserved her attention for more important things, such as keeping an eye out for threats and staying alive. The Dal’mar stomped around like they owned the place, making very little attempt to hide their presence. She bit her tongue to keep from scolding the ‘elite’ soldiers. One of the Dal’mar located a survivor. Lorica shook her head slightly. It would be easier to just paint ‘AMBUSH’ on the wall in red paint. Lorica shot a glance at Keelin and twitched her fingers, indicating that the angel hunter should stay back. The injured woman could only be one thing: bait. The Keeper shrugged off her pack of supplies and stalked forward, moving at an oblique angle so that she wouldn’t be in sight of anyone standing beyond the open doorway where the brunt of the slaughter had occurred. She peeled off her gloves as she drew closer to the stone building, kneeling down so that she couldn’t be targeted through the arrow slits. She pressed the palm of one hand against the bricks, feeling for any vibrations through the construction material. There was only a slight presence within, too small to be a human. Frowning, she reached down with her other hand and buried them in the grass nearby, reaching out into the root system of the surrounding vegetation. It didn’t feel like anything was approaching from the wilderness either. Maybe it’s not a trap… but I still don’t like it. She glanced back at her companions. “Something’s inside. Small, but it’s moving.” Keelin quickly posed a simple plan. Lorica nodded and drew one of her throwing blades. “Roger, General.” She flashed her friend a small smile at the inside joke and took several quick steps backwards, eying one of the arrow slits on the second floor. She gauged the distance quickly, pulling back her arm and lopping the dagger towards the narrow opening. It sailed through the center of the gap. She immediately activated the enchantment, teleporting to the blade’s location. Her fingers curled around the hilt of the dagger, catching it before it could rebound off the walls or ceiling and betray her presence. She landed in a three-point crouch, scanning the interior of the room. There was a twinge behind her eyes as the corruption took hold, adjusting her vision so she could see in the dark. Although she usually couldn’t control the tainted source of life energy, she’d discovered a few tricks for dealing with it. At moments like this it would automatically alter her physiology to prepare her for combat, all without compromising her mental faculties. Lorica crept across the second floor of the building, alert for any threats and looking for the source of the vibrations she had felt through the masonry. She also kept an eye out for hints of what had caused the massacre. She gripped a pair of knives in a reverse grip so that the blades laid along her forearm and wouldn’t reflect any light. Abilities & Items
Edited by Seele, Sun Mar 19, 2017 7:33 pm.
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7:28 PM Jul 11

