Dot
dot!
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Sign the paper. That's what you were told before joining this god-forsaken army. 'Equal opportunities' They said. 'Good pay.'
Bull****.
This blasted company is the diseased child of Tumba-Mori, the kingdom of Mast, Honoch, and the idyllic Therenger. Because if you can't kill people yourself, best kill them together, eh?
It may be crap, but its the only option you have. They call themselves 'The Whirlwind.'
And, sure as the boots on your feet, its chaos.
The large orc standing in front of your line yells. "Yer part o the Whirlwind now! We don't play favourites, but I can tell ya this!" He stares all of you in the eyes. "You bundles of cow dung are here because you pissed someone off, or have a dubious past! I'm here ta make sure you don't kill each other! However, I am also yer sergeant! I will not stand fer any insubordination, regardless of what sort of fancy talents you lot have! We've got some special jobs fer you, so pitch yer tents, and I'll be back tommorow morning fer tha march! " He stalks off, leaving you in the middle of a mostly foreign army encampment, with several strangers and four 2-person tents.
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Borak, never one to dwell on the past or curse situation that could not be helped, accepts his future with a determined resignation. If there can be glory brought to Therenger for this, then any action save the most efficacious action was folly.
Be bends to and begins pitching a tent. Since it's a two-person tent he says out loud, to anyone who might hear him, "Can you give me a hand with this?"
Chase strumming is lyre to a sweet yet sad tune approaches Lord Borak. Chase then sets his instrument aside reaches down and begins to help pitch the tent.
"Many hands make the work go faster allowing us to get back to more pleasurable things.", Chase looking over at his lyre one the ground and turns back to his task.
"Or let others do your work while you enjoy those pleasurable things right now!" the dark elf says stretching out under a small sapling.
Riswynn begins to set up a tent, pounding a stake into the ground with her warhammer. She swings at a bad angle, though, and snaps the stake in half. Muttering Dwarven curses, she holds out a pale crystal on a chain around her neck, barks some arcane syllables, and the stake magically becomes whole again.
With the stake fixed, she turns and casually throws it at the lounging dark elf. She calls out, "You ain't gotta work, but you ain't gotta sleep in a tent either." Walking over with a wide gait, Riswynn stands near the drow with her fists on her hips. "Name's Riswynn. Let's get set up before that sergeant comes back and jumps up our arses. I got a dragonchess board if you're up for a game."
Hedgerow was going to have to get used to this soldier camp life. He struggled to set up his tent, as he was not used to the task, being more than comfortable sleeping in the branches of a tree or under the stars. He saw a few others around him struggle as well which made him feel a little less self-conscious.
One such soldier was another dwarf, though not one of the 'hill' variety like himself. It was a mountain dwarf, one who apparently also wielded magic and was not afraid to display it openly. He would have to keep his eye on that one, especially since their peoples had a history of bad blood. He hoped she was an odd-one out like he was; Hedgerow held only a few dwarven traditions and fewer still of their prejudices.
After pitching his tent to relative satisfaction (his lines still weren't taut...) he began looking around to make some observations. Thus far it seemed that this motley assortment of knuckleheads should be entertaining if nothing else. For now, he figured it would be best if he made some sort of acquaintances.
He pulled out his simple hide drum and began to play a slow but steady rhythm, one that would help focus his mind and maybe even draw the attentions of a new friend. He played as he walked, heading in the direction of the human who had played the lyre a few minutes ago.
Without stopping his deep-toned thrumming tempo, he said
"Oi, care ta' join me in a song? That's a pretty little stringed thing there, ain't it?"
Chase having finished with his work. Felt his spirits liven as he heard the sound of a drum. By the time Hedgerow had asked to for Chase's accompaniment he had already been composing the perfect tune for the beat.
Turning to the dwarf Chase doesn't bother saying a word but picks up the lyre and plays.
The duo seems to draw the attention of some nearby soldiers. A squad of a dozen, about 4 gnomes and 8 halflings, sit down outside their own tents and listen.
You have finished setting up the tents. They are rough canvas, but seem serviceable enough. One of them, however, has a slight, about finger length and width hole in the side, opposite of the entrance. Another one seems to have a faint odor of lavender and cloves surrounding the inside.
"The night holds no terror for me gol shuu. Build your little tent, I will guard you during the deep dark."
Having quickly set up her tent with a soldier's practiced expertise, Riswynn sits for a while and enjoys the impromptu concert. Afterward, she gets back to work, approaching the hole in the back of the canvas and once again repairing it with a spell.
"It's not so much the dark as the cold. But if you wanna get caught out in the rain, I guess that's your prerogative. Appreciate the lookout, though. Hold on a sec." Riswynn disappears into the tent and comes out with a lantern and a large wooden box. She lights the lantern and sets it aside before opening the box. She pulls out several boards and a pile of wooden figurines, then unfolds the box they came in into a small table. She sets the three checkered boards into a multi-leveled structure on the table, then begins populating the squares with the various figurines. "Before the 'deep dark' comes, up for a game?" she asks. She looks out over the encampment, seeing if she catches the eye of any other dragonchess players.
One of the gnomes sees her, and comes over. "Oidav agame withya." He says cheerfully. "Picklebootom Flint, ater service." He holds out his hand.
Riswynn shakes the gnome's hand, grinning. "Riswynn. No clan. Nice t'meet you, Picklebootom. You much of a strategist?" With that, Riswynn begins the game, allowing her guest to move first. After several turns, it's clear that she's able to answer her opponent's moves with great cunning. "So, you a merc like me or a proper solider? Dunno if I've seen so many gnomes kitted out for battle in one place before."
"Na as goo as ye abviously." The gnome says. The game is extremely close, him only planning 1 turn behind you. But, after a long game, you win.
"Oh, me'n tha boys are propa soldres. We're part oof an extnded famly!" He grins, gesturing wildly in all directions, seemingly conveying a large family. "We jooned op fer a bi o fun. Soimed loik a fane adventure."
Rook watches the game and is surprised at the skill the dwarf shows in excuting her moves. He says nothing, but continues to scan the darkness.
He sees one of the gnomes watching him from the shadows. She doesn't seem to want to come any closer, but nevertheless, she is watching you.
The druid sensed the player's song was coming to an end, confirmed by a nod from the man just before the final note. With a crescendo from his lyre and a last loud thump of his drum, the pair finished their song with a flourish.
He smiled to the man and to the gathering, then reached a calloused hand out to his impromptu music partner.
"The name's 'edgerow. Pleasure. So, what do ye make-a this crazy group of flotsam and jetsam? Think they'll - we'll be up to whatever task is laid before us?"
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Lord Borak watches the Dragonchess match passively. His gaze on no one, he is obviously one at ease, and doubtless no one of significance.
@Rook: A voice intrudes your head directly. The words are clear, although they come against a background sound of chaos and madness. 'Greetings. Do not be too quick to shirk preperation, or accept a night's watch. The thirteen chapters tell us that all battles are won or lost...before they are fought.'
When the song has come to its end Chase turns to Hedgerow.
"The pleasure is all mine. The name is Chase.
As far as if this group and will succeed, I am not going to begin to think about it. I just go where I'm ordered and do the things I'm honor bound to do. Then I go home and play a song to calm the nerves and possibly the conscience. I am a soldier.
What is your take on our situation?"
Use to such communication, the Dark Elf scans the group before him to try and locate the sender, but notices the gnome skulking in the dark watching him.
Walking boldly towards the gnome, he stops before her and speaks.
"Why do you watch the watcher little jlha'zen? Did you want something?"
Draco will check out the camp he is in.
The gnome replies in the drow's home language.
"As far as if this group and will succeed, I am not going to begin to think about it. I just go where I'm ordered and do the things I'm honor bound to do. Then I go home and play a song to calm the nerves and possibly the conscience. I am a soldier.
What is your take on our situation?"
"I admit I have little experience in soldierin', though I been helpin' soldiers fer years. I'm a woodsman, see. I can live off the land, track enemies, tell allies the secret trails and places -- I've been around fightin' men for a long time but this--" he looked around to the massive encampment, "--is new to me."
Hedge looked out over the beautiful rolling hills and pondered the strange dichotomy of the horrors of war often being nestled right up against such peaceful and beautiful nature. He suddenly felt a longing to be out there, away from the hustle and bustle of such a large encampment. The gleam in his eye was dispelled quickly as he got a whiff of the nearby latrine on the wind.
"If'n there's anathing I learnt 'bout war is to 'spect the unexpected."
He spent the next while chatting with his new acquaintance, then his stomach began to rumble a bit. The slop they called 'stew' didn't sit well with the hill dwarf and so he didn't eat more than a few bites. He looked at Chase and then to anyone still hovering nearby from their performance.
"Anybody hungry? How's some grilled fish sound?"
He stood up from the log and went to the armory for a spear, then traipsed on down to the river where he was hoping to find some fish.
Hedgerow manages to catch a lovely meal for his squad, a rainbow trout migration was happening, and it made it easy. He probably could have caught twice as many, but the army had already depleted the place a bit.
#1: If you have the survival skill, you can feed yourself for the day, or for 2 days on half rations if you make a DC 10 survival check. This is DC 15 in certain locations (desert, tundra), and easier in others (rainforest where you know which plants are edible).
#2: If you have the outlander background, you can feed yourself and up to 5 others. This goes down to yourself and 2 others in deserts, and yourself and 8 others in good locations.
Chase impressed with the fishing prowess of Hedgrow, composes the epic tale of the mighty fisher of the wilds. Complete with a description of Hedgerow as the mighty fisherman.
Then picking up his lyre, begins the dramatic reading.
"There was the rushing current,
But it did not stop fisherman.
With spear hand he took the river"... and the epic went on. Until it finished with. ... and that's the tale of the greatest fishing trip of all!!!
With that the strum of the lyre stopped.
My epic complete; the place where audience meets art. love this! Maybe I'll inspire a talent show... oh that would be so much fun!
Oh, yes, Draco is also and Outlander and will help feed the group.
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Borak glides over to observe Hedgerow at work. "You have great skill with line and hook. I am in awe of your expertise. Indeed, an army moves on its stomach, so the ability to leaven rations with the fruit of the stream is no small skill.
Greetings to you. I am Lord Borak, of late known as The Despoiler. Tis a minor title, but as our beloved Emperor tells us: Victory requires no excuse. Defeat allows none.
How do you feel being moved from the rear to the front? If needed, are you sure you'll be able to...kill a man?"
Riswynn nods to Picklebootom, and wraps up their game with a quick final set of moves. "Yeah, a real adventure. We'll see, won't we? Good luck out there. For now, it sounds like I've got some food coming." After shaking the gnome's hand for a game well played, she makes her way toward Hedgerow's haul.
"Want any help with these?" she asks the assembled group. "I knew this half-orc lady who showed me how to cook fish heads. Not amazing tasting, but better than throwing 'em away like I used to. And damn if she couldn't swing a sword so fast it whistled."
A young human woman stands off to the side. She seems unsure of how to approach the group, but a few key things mark her presence: first, she's obviously noble-born. The key way you can tell is that she's not covered in the detritus of the camp, and obviously hasn't been marching for very long. The second is the signet ring on a silver chain around her neck. And the third is the fact that her armor doesn't appear to have seen combat, and second-hand, worn and oft-repaired armor is just a fact of life these days. She's spritely for a human, maybe five foot six, with short cut dark hair, and piercing blue eyes. At her hip is a rapier, the classic sword of a noble duelist.
She gives the group an awkward little half-wave, and then says.
"Um. Hello? I think I'm supposed to be here. The deployment orders were a bit smudged."
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Lord Borak turns his head dourly in the direction of the newcomer. "Greetings to you. I was not aware than an officer had been assigned to this section. If you think you're going to cut your teeth on your first assignment by ordering us like fodder into the meat of the lines, then think again. We are NOT here to simply die like the peons that make up mass conscriptions. I expect your orders to be well thought out and designed to make use of ALL thirteen chapters.
Anything else and...we shall have words. Is this clear?"
Chase moving over to Lord Borak in a more hushed tone.
"Whoa, the officer or whoever she is just got here, lets see what happens before making demands or threatening anything. I really don't want the extra running that happened when a guy challenged a commander last time..."
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Borak turns his head in the bard's direction.
His mouth moves not a whit, but a voice enters his head and the sounds are like eternal rocks screaming at the passage of time, wearing them down and showing that nothing is immortal and all things must pass. 'I am aware of the need to sometimes be subtle, but also can there be the need to -not- be subtle.
The wisest people of my lands, those that paint themselves green and commune with leprechauns, have a saying: 'The time to dig the well is not when you are thirsty.'
Hence, the time to object to being ordered like fodder is before the heat of battle is felt. For to object to the order to die after battle is joined is treason.
There is no honor in dying for no gain.'
Chase amused by the this mind communication form replies,
I see your tactic, but isn't it also wise to gather intelligence on your potential enemy prior to engaging them and especially when failure won't kill us but can make our living arrangements HELL.
"Pleasure to meet you, Chase is the name. You're an interesting fellow. Who are you?"
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Borak smiles. This bard is direct. Such a refreshing change from the political backstabbers at court. "And greetings to you as well. I am Lord Borak. Of late called The Despoiler for I bring victory from defeat, and in so doing I am exiled from court and those who would call themselves my betters.
And you? Were you conscripted from your musical troupe to entertain we who harvest blood and reap souls?"
Chase smiles in response.
"I am but a peasant who has the honor of serving in the army from my nation. The art and talent are gifts from the gods that I use to lighten the burden of so much violence. So I perform for myself. If others enjoy it, then that's just a perk of being in my company."
"What do you make of this army of allied nations?"
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Borak smirks. "I know little of the current Order of Battle, but coalitions are fickle things. Good order makes men brave, confusion cowards. And an alliance does not guarantee victory, just as isolation does not guarantee defeat.
You could say I'm practicing your previous statement; I'm withholding opinion until I see results."
Rook gives the gnome a single nod, then moves off back to his camping area. He watches the one who can speak mind to mind tell off some new, wet behind the ears officer.
Keeping to the shadows, he stays near enough to hear what is being said, but also keeps a watch on the area in general.
Stealth:
... "How do you feel being moved from the rear to the front? If needed, are you sure you'll be able to...kill a man?"
"Feelin's don't matter much. What 'appens 'appens. But since ye asked, I dinnae see meself as a 'front-liner'. I can swing a hammer, don't ye doubt, and I've killt bafore, but I'm more of a wild card. I'm a woodsman, a tracker, a guide--", he then gave a shrewd look and raised and eyebrow,
"...and I've a few more tricks up me sleeve."
Elena sighed.
"You", she pointed at Borak, "You're my new corporal, because you care enough to defend your men from a potential threat regardless of how terrible or awful it might be, even your own commander. ...but that was still insubordination, so assume your duties when you're done digging the latrine."
She grabbed a nearby shovel and tossed it to him.
She pointed to Chase, "You have common sense, but you should follow your own advice. That said, you'll find that I'm easy enough to work with."
She pointed at Hedgerow, "You... it's nice to have a competent scout. Welcome aboard."
Elena then addressed the group as a whole.
"I won't pretend to be any great commander taught from birth to stab, kill, and conquer. But I will tell you that history has placed men and women FAR less experienced and skillful than myself in positions of greater authority... and they turned out alright. You'll find I'm pretty spectacular, actually. I don't intend to order any suicide charges, and I recognize that many of us wish to live forever. I will however say this- we have work to do, and our work is the slaying of the enemy. And I intend for us to do good work here on this battlefield. There will be no unit finer, whom the bards sing of more, than ours when this is over. And then the drinks are on me, well, IF you survive long enough to reach the bar."
Elena was of the opinion there were much worse motivational speeches in the history of the battlefield.
Oh she's one of THOSE commanders, lots and lots of talk.