Queen Galfrey's arrival is all that is talked about in the few days following the events at the garrison. Even around the city, the demonic forces obliterated and their supporters being routed, the word has spread and has changed the atmosphere of the devastated populace.
Queen Galfrey's forces are road weary, and battle weary from the look of it, but stalwart nonetheless. After quarters are established for the forces and the celebratory meal is enjoyed, an emissary from the queen herself finds each of you and says that she has heard of the events that transpired and would like to meet you somewhere you are comfortable.
Once that location is agreed upon, the group comes to the location and is greeted by the queen's honor guard and promptly allowed inside...with all your weapons.
As the queen looks up, bags under her eyes and lines creasing her weary face, she brightens momentarily and motions for you to sit. Food and drink are brought and she starts to speak.
"While there are some narrow-minded souls among the crusade who blame you for the destruction of the wardstone border, I do not begrudge you for what you did. Far from it. From the sound of it, you saved entire legions of crusaders from a most vile fate by preventing Vorlesh from transforming them, and the blast of energy gave us the time we needed to regroup and prepare for what will certainly come next. But you understand the implications of what you’ve done, I’m sure—the wardstones are gone, but Iomedae has seen fit that you will be their replacement. I can think of no other reason that would explain why their power would have settled in your bodies and souls and didn’t merely fade into the ether. In time, the demons will regroup and reorganize—we can trust their inherent chaos to make this period of regrouping longer than it otherwise would take, but we shouldn’t underestimate them. They’ll be back soon enough. Already I’ve had reports from along the front lines that small groups of demons are attacking fortifications and settlements along the southern border.
But what intrigues me most is news from several reliable sources that as our fiendish enemies are starting to mass in the southern reaches along the Riftshadow within the Worldwound, they have left several of their northern lairs relatively unprotected. In particular, the fiend Aponavicius has taken the bulk of her army from Drezen, leaving it only moderately protected as she joins with the Storm King in Iz to, no doubt, plot greater attacks on larger targets like Nerosyan, Karcau, and beyond. The time is right to strike into their territory. Drezen was the first of our cities to fall after the First Crusade, and we lost more than our kin and our pride that day. We lost the Sword of Valor, a magical banner carried by the Inheritor herself during the Shining Crusade. If Drezen could be retaken—if the Sword of Valor could once again be held by the crusade... well, I trust I don’t need to explain how well that would affect morale. But with the imminent attacks along the border, I cannot spare many to lead an assault on Drezen. And even if I could, a large army attacking the city would only draw Aponavicius back to defend the place. The obvious tactic is to send in a group of capable heroes with a modest but well-trained army to strike now, while the proverbial iron is hot. And this is why I’ve sought you out. If you can retake Drezen and reclaim the Sword of Valor, not only will you silence the fools who would brand you traitors for destroying the wardstone, but more importantly, you would bolster the entire war effort with your heroism. And I fear we need all the bolstering we can get!"
"But we were told to destroy the Wardstone," Nebbin protests, clearly hurt that he might have done something bad. "We didn't know what it would do!"
"I think Saoirse and Thom and Lucius would be really good at sneaking into Drezen. I'll do whatever I can too, but I think we might need more people, right? I mean, there are a lot of demons."
Lucius is awed by an audience with the Queen - She may not be Her Infernal Majestrix, Abrogail II, but this is the closest he's gotten to royalty of any sort.
He finds it laughable that they are being branded as traitors - Losing the Wardstones is a tremendous strategic loss, of course. But leaving the Kenabres stone intact would have been far worse. This Queen understands: she should be able to keep her people in line.
Likewise, he inwardly scoffs at the mention of Iomedae's will. He lays his hand over his holy symbol.
"Worry not what the mob thinks, Nebbin. Anyone informed enough to know who we actually are is well-informed enough to know we did what was necessary, under proper orders."
Then, he straightens himself up as best he can and addresses the Queen directly. "How will our small force hold Drezen when Aponavicius inevitably returns to retake it? Should we expect reinforcements, or are we to depend upon this Sword of Valor?"
In the days before the Queen's arrival Saoirse's transformation settles more fully into her body. The faint white outline of wings sticking out from her shoulder blades fade into non-existence while her eyes shift back to her normal blue iris though they shine more vividly than before. The tattoo of angelic script along her neck settling into a dull gold and stops its constant scrolling from neck to eyes, leaving her body marked yet faded from the peak of the wardstone's infusion of power.
When first brought into the Queen's tent, Saoirse nearly drops to one kneel in revered respect before she is motioned to sit. Settling into the chair next to Nebbin as she listens to Queen Galfrey give her assessment, pardon, and orders. Saoirse places her hand gently on Nebbin's shoulder as reinforcement to Lucius' assurances to the big miner.
After the Queen has answered Lucius' question, Saoirse takes a quick sip of water before voicing her own concerns, "Your Grace, may I ask about Drezen and the Sword of Valor? What do we know about Drezen? And while I have heard of the Sword of Valor being carried by Blessed Iomedae, how will it help us hold Drezen? You said you have a small army to go with us, but who specifically would be going?"
Thom marches into the Queen’s audience in his Crusader's finest. White tabard crisply pressed. Longsword cleaned and shining. Hound-mask repaired, polished, and buffed to brilliance. His pride wars with his own awkwardness in her presence, and he bows stiffly.
His black eyes widen with a mix of fear and surprise at her opening statement, but the best he can do is a disbelieving sputter that people are accusing them of anything other than following orders. Luckily, the rest of the team seems to put words to his emotions in a way he cannot … most notably Lucius. Thom eyes the Chelaxian sideways. So cool. So composed. Thom tries to collect himself into a semblance of Lucius’s calm.
Thom once again finds himself feeling initially insignificant to the task Queen Abrogail sets before them, but—once again—the immense presence in the back of his mind reassures him. Somewhere, somehow, Thom knows this is his next step … even if he can’t fathom how he’ll help accomplish it.
His only contribution to the team’s (well-considered) responses is a muttered, rasped, ”As my Queen asks.”
Its what the heroes in the stories would have said, anyway.
Queen Galfrey looks at Lucius and smiles, albeit somewhat wanly. She says "You are not expected to hold Citadel Drezen and the city. We need only take it to reclaim the Sword of Valor. The demons' own nature will keep them from contacting Aponavicius for help. Those left behind have been charged with protecting Drezen, and if they abandon that post, even to teleport away for help, they’ll likely be killed. No demon wants to be killed. That and their arrogance about their superiority over mortal life should be more than enough to keep them in Drezen until the very end, which will be once the army attacks. At that point, when you’ve broken their morale, they’ll teleport away in droves, which should give you several days to complete your mission. Whatever the Storm King's plan is, Drezen is surely only a place to keep our banner and not tactically valuable on a continental or global scale."
She leans back and sighs some. After she rubs her eyes and leans forward again, she answers Saoirse. "Citadel Drezen was built during the First Mendevian Crusade as a strategic foothold inside the Worldwound. Dwarves chiseled it from of a rocky hill near the source of the Sellen River. It held for well over a decade, withstanding almost constant war before a traitor turned the Sword of Valor over to the demons. We never found out who it was, but with the Sword of Valor’s protection gone, the demons overwhelmed Drezen in a night. As for the Sword...despite the name, it’s not a sword. It’s a battle standard—an artifact once used by Iomedae herself during the Shining Crusade. The church loaned the banner to the First Mendevian Crusade and allowed it to hang in Drezen, where it bolstered crusader morale and, perhaps more importantly, warded against demonic attacks, deceptions, and even teleportation."
A steward comes in at this point and says to the Queen, "Your Immortal Grace, these are the papers you asked for." She nods, takes the sealed envelope, and tucks them in a satchel. "Do you have any other questions? Do you agree? We need to take this fight to the cursed spawn and this war. I'm tired of constantly fearing the 'Wound...and tired of this Storm King's threat."
Lucius nods. He gets it now: a larger army would invite counterattack purely out of demonic bravado, not a need to hold the city. A small force is literally beneath the notice of demonic warlords who live to fight and kill, not hold ground or build a civilization. And in any case, if they can recover this artifact, it may ward the city further, almost a replacement for the destroyed Wardstones. "Thank you, your highness.", he answers.
We need those Hellknights.
"I guess, if you think that's best, we have to, right, your highness? I mean, you're the queen! Do we have to go right now?"
A young soldier enters the room escorting a sturdy looking half-orc; though the latter wears no uniform, they both salute the head of the Queen's Guard as the young man delivers a missive to his superior. After a curt nod from the officer, the boy is dismissed and the half-orc settles at the table, pausing first for a sharp salute to the queen.
Thom is about to respond to the exchange when the meeting is interrupted.
He tries to ignore the newcomer ... unsure how such a situation should be handled, but trusting the queen has asked him here for a purpose. "A few days rest would do us some good, your Highness. If only to plans and gather equipment for the ..." his black eyes, hidden behind his silver hounds-face mask, swings between the queen and the newcomer before he finishes, " ... task ahead."
Nebbin looks confused and salutes.
Why are we saluting?
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Lucius watches the half-orc enter. I was right. Mendev is getting desperate for soldiers.
He quietly reaches out and lowers Nebbin's arm.
The queen nods quickly at the soldier and newcomer, a slight roll in her eyes as he salutes a second time. She says, "We’re sending four specialists with you. Aron Kir was a cleric of Shelyn here in Kenabres before the temple was destroyed—he can help with healing as needed, but he’s also quite knowledgeable about demons and their tactics. Sosiel Vaenic is an expert on siege tactics, traps, infiltration, scouting, and the like; he’s where you’ll be getting your map of the Citadel, incidentally. There’s Nurah Dendiwhar, she’ll be supporting you with her bardic magic, but she’s also an expert on the region and knows more about Drezen than anyone in Kenabres at this point, I’ll wager. I’m also going to be sending an army of crusaders with you. There’s only a hundred of them, but they’re all devout paladins of Iomedae. It’s not a large army, but you’ll be able to move without attracting attention. Trust me, that’s an advantage when it comes to demonic foes. They hit hard, so it’s best not to give them the opportunity." She glances at the half-orc and seems to remember something, "The fourth merry member I'm sending with you is Turook. He's an accomplished forward scout, having saved our forces more than once with his sharp eyes. He has...something of a troubled childhood but I expect him to be useful to you when trying to find your way in Drezen. Take a few days if you must, but understand that time is of the essence, perhaps for all of us, when it comes to stopping whatever plans are being enacted."
"We'll convene a war council with your experts as soon as possible."
Thom is in the middle of realizing that he has ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE HOW TO LEAD AN ARMY when the queen mentions the contingent of specialists she’s sending with them. Hopefully it’ll be more a matter of staying out of the way … time will tell.
When the new arrival is introduced, Thom looks across the table at him. ”We could certainly use a good scout,” he rasps out guardedly. His words are—as usual—muffled by the hound's mask, ”Could’ve in the Garrison, anyway. I’m Thomas Thorne … these guys call me Thom.”
"Turook." The half-orc answers back, his expression suggesting suspicion for the fellow in the creepy mask, their black eyes mirroring each other. Clad in well-tended leather and chain shirt of fine make, he appears to be unarmed, other than a quiver on his hip and a pair of bandoliers on his chest. The right side of his dark face is rent with a long scar, an old wound from the faded look of it.
His dark eyes take in the group, trying to assess their pack order. Looking back and forth between the haughty human and his masked companion, he asks "Who leads your mercenary band?"
Nebbin looks confused as Lucius pulls his arm down.
He looks more confused at Turook's words, looking around to see whom he's talking about.
"I d..."
No, Lucius. You took charge, no one gave it to you. You can continue to steer without starting a conflict over that point. Redirect.
"We are not mercenaries."
"Miss Palelight is a crusader, as is Mister Thorne. Though he is also an orc of Belkzen. I'll allow him explain that, should he wish. Mister Elsbet was a quarryman, before the Storm King's assault threw him in with us. His strength has been invaluable."
"I am Lucius Erasmian, emissary of Imperial Cheliax and the Imperial Asmodean Church, sent to return information on the progress of the war and to defeat the demonic hordes." He pauses. "...or to die trying, I suppose. My report thus far has been...less than optimistic."
"Thus, I was to be a crusader as well, until the Storm King's attack made formal enlistment somewhat...unnecessary."
Thom is caught off guard, and made immediately uneasy by his inability to come to a quick, direct answer. His eyes bore for one second into Lucius, then over to Saoirse, then back to Lucius.
”Lucius is right. We’re not a mercenary band or a military outfit. We’re …” he searches for the right words, and when he continues, his raspy response carries an acidic undertone, ”… what the gods provided when there was need.” His voice gathers strength and conviction as he continues, ”Everyone has stepped up in their own way.”
"We’re …” he searches for the right words, and when he continues, his raspy response carries an acidic undertone, ”… what the gods provided when there was need.”
For a moment, Turook looks as if he's about to choke. "Well, you're not short on confidence – I'll give you that. What do you need to prepare?"
Saoirse looks curiously towards the half-orc as he joins the tent, though once the Queen introduces him she relaxes a bit and turns back towards the conversation. Shaking her head after introductions are made, Saoirse addresses the group, "Unless Her Majesty has anything more for us, we can continue this discussion in our own quarters and make preparations. I'd like to meet the others who will be joining us on the road to Drezen personally. We can make proper introductions all around as well."
Finishing with a nod of her head towards Turook, her eyes turning back to the Queen questioningly.
Thom's meaty, gloved fists clench at Turook's flippant response. Luckily, Saoirse's words cut through his growing annoyance.
He nods to her, checks for Nebbin and Lucius's reactions to the whole exchange, then stiffly sits back ... waiting on the queen for further instruction or to close the meeting. All the while studiously avoiding making eye contact with Turook again.
"The Gods provide a great many things, to those with the will to seize them." He stands, then bows to the Queen. "By your leave, your Highness."
Feeling the urgency of all the looming plans for the task given them, Thom follows Lucius's example. He gets to his feet and stiffly bows, mirroring Lucius's, "By your Leave."
Turook also rises, saluting his queen.
In preparation for their journey, Turook seeks a more in-depth debriefing from the crusaders. "The queen has commanded that we escort you to Drezen, and it will be so – but I would know more of your purpose there, if we are all to return alive."
After getting the minor formalities like introductions out of the way, Lucius points at the map in what he probably believes to be a dramatic fashion.
"Our objective is Drezen. Our goal is to infiltrate the city and recover the Sword of Valor, if it still exists. We are moving while the proverbial cat is away - we are not expected to hold the city or to overcome significant resistance. At our disposal, we have a company of the Queen's crusaders and the occupants of this room."
"The question is how we accomplish one with the other. Mister Vaenic, let us start with the terrain. What do we need to know about Drezen?"
The queen nods emphatically at Saoirse's words. "Much as I would love to be there, both for planning and for taking back the Sword, I have other work to do and prepare. These demons seem numberless." She sighs wearily, makes a couple of gestures to soldiers, stands, motions for you all to stay seated and finish eating, and leaves the room.
Nebbin starts to stand as the queen does and then gets caught as she motions for the rest of us to stay seated. He remains in an awkward half-stand, half-sit until she leaves the room.
Awkwardly, he finishes standing. Seeing no one else follow suit, he sits back down.
"So, now what do we do?"
"Our objective is Drezen. Our goal is to infiltrate the city and recover the Sword of Valor, if it still exists. We are moving while the proverbial cat is away - we are not expected to hold the city or to overcome significant resistance. At our disposal, we have a company of the Queen's crusaders and the occupants of this room."
Dissatisfaction colors Turook's features, but the half-orc presses no further.
"The queen wanted us to go. To stop the demons!" Nebbin tries to explain more fully. "Oh, and there's some sword we're supposed to get. To help stop the demons."
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If anything remains of the evening, he will spend it in meditation/contemplation/prayer, rather than reveling. His mystic awareness has been expanded, and he must explore and understand it.
Lucius's meditations bring him first to his connection with Hell - it is raw and ragged. If a semi-metaphorical construct could be sore, it would be, having been reamed open by the torrent of Wardstone energies. There is so much more he can reach. His hellfire burns bright and hot - he knows that should he reach for it, he will get a furious jet instead of the tepid splash he could conjure before. Even better, the connection runs both ways - he can push energy (preferably stolen from others) down to Hell, making a partial payment on the debt he incurs every time he borrows Asmodeus's might. He can hear the whispering not-voices that linger at the opposite end of that spiritual thread if he listens, even while awake, now. They promise him that any power found in hell can be his, for the right price. Such murmurs might be worrying, had he not already heard them in his dreams and roiling in the back of his mind for so much of his life.
This vibrant well of power, though, is not the thing that makes the deepest impression on the young priest. He meditates over the visions that the Wardstone blasted into their heads - trying to remember as much as he can before they fade, like any other dream. Fortunately, Lucius has been examining his dreams for meaning for a very long time.
He sees the Hand of the Inheritor helping to forge the line of Wardstones - and all their history at once, from the Storm King's first failed assault on Kenabres and his second, successful one, to the their final explosion in a burst of holy power. Even the aborted not-future of Areelu Vorlesh taking them apart (in a burst of unholy corruption).
Somewhere in this gestalt, Lucius has an epiphany. In seeing all of the Wardstones in a single instant, in not just knowing, but feeling their history, secrets are unlocked to him.
The next morning, he emerges for breakfast, but hardly says a word to anyone, instead muttering to himself over his tea. After, he disappears with much of the party's accumulated gold and platinum, to do sudden and seemingly haphazard shopping among the merchants (and their stock) crammed into the Defender's Heart. Adamantine engraving picks. Purest sulphur. Willow charcoal. Incense. Inks. Magical and semi-magical herbs. Livestock. Where stock is unavailable in the wagons drawn into the Heart, he pays expedited rates to send runners to the shops and warehouses where it can be found.
He disappears back to his quarters, and is scarcely seen again until the evening meal, only answering the door for the return of the expedited runners. Odd smells, smoke, and occasional bouts of cursing emerge from around the door. At dinner, he is again quiet, though he has at least stopped muttering to himself. He isn't wearing his holy symbol.
The following days runs similarly, though without even the shopping after breakfast: it seems he has become a hermit, who insists upon being left alone, regardless of his well-meaning allies who certainly try to check up on him. At dinner, though, he is much more animated. He drops hjs holy symbol in the middle of the table. It and its chain have more spikes that you might recall. "We need to talk.", he says, as a broiled goat carcass is served to the table.
He explains, "I could feel the nature of the Wardstones dancing around the edges of my mind. I was so close to knowing their secrets. I could have built a new wall to seal the demons and their benighted land away from the rest of Golarion for all of time. But I failed. I could not grasp it, to set it to paper, to remember it all before it faded."
He exhales heavily. "But not all the knowledge of the Wardstones is lost to me. I may not be able to fabricate something on that scale, but I see now how to seal magic within an object, for its own purposes, now and forever. My penacle, by Asmodeus's will, protects me from harm, just as the Wardstones protected Mendev. On a much more modest scale, of course, obviously."
"This war is not over. The Wardstones are gone, and we will need all the protection we can obtain. I have spent two days toiling over this sacred hunk of iron to prove to myself that I can. I need more space for larger projects. The Law of Sympathy is clear - Warding armor should be simplicity itself. "
He urges Thom to cast detect magic, to see what he can see. Thom agrees, of course, that Lucius's pendant is magical. But, to everyone's surprise, so is Nebbin's hammer.
This flabbergasts Lucius into shutting the hell up about the nature of defensive warding magics while he examines the hammer. He is perplexed for some time. But he becomes downright mirthful (a strange attitude for him to be sure) when he grasps it. The newly-forged, cold iron head of the hammer was very near the Wardstone when it exploded - energies that were themselves largely contained in cold iron already. It burns at the edges of his perception when he tries to peer too deep. The wholesome, holy light of the Wardstones does not wholly agree with his own Hell-born powers.
In any case there is much to do and he needs his rest and Nebbin might he borrow your necklace, the one we took off that awful demonspawn with the pet minotaur. Yes, the one that thickens your skin so you do not get hurt as easily. He thinks he can make more of them. Anyway, he will see you in the morning.
In the morning, a solid night of sleep has restored much of his emotion equilibrium. No, he has not quite figured the necklace out, but bring him armor and he can set to work imparting his blessing to it. Oh, yes, and sell off the detritus we pulled out of those safehouses and the garrison. He needs the money.
Such a mentally stimulating magical task has fully distracted Lucius from his desire to investigate Nyserian manor. The demons are all dead now anyway, and the demonspawn that are left behind are likely fled. Irabeth's troops can certainly handle recovering anything left.
In the following days are productive ones in his newly-appropriated workshop, as he chants over his work in three languages, the air choked with incense and brimstone, and enriching several merchants in magic supplies and fine materials, who are grateful to take the coin and flee the war, and possibly Mendev entirely.
Thom's shining full plate and shield are scratched over with infinitesimal runes in Celestial and Infernal. Then they are polished with ground gemstones and oil until the runes have disappeared. When completed, they look unchanged, save for the magical aura, and barely-visible pentagrams that appear on the spaulders when the light strikes at particular angles. The shield has no such hidden markings, but the now-familiar five-pointed star has been hammered into each of its rivets.
Nebbin's new lamellar is given a similar treatment, only with ink and lacquer instead of etches and polish. The brown leather plates have taken on a slightly red cast around the edges, but are stronger than they have ever been.
Armor is too easy - it is already protective, and the large area is such a large canvas as to make some tasks trivial. He can finish armor or a shield in time for luncheon. The next day, Lucius returns to enfolding complex enchantments into tiny objects.
Dinner is still often goat.
He turns out two pendants that function similarly to Nebbin's - each is a round sachet of black leather on a steel chain, filled with dry incense, and riveted closed with five round rivets of black iron, suspended on a silver chain.
He also produces two magical cloaks, nearly black and hemmed in red, based on the red cloak he took off of Faxon. One he takes for himself instead of the too-bright red. These, like armor, give him a large canvas. He finishes quickly.
He has clearly demonstrated his mastery of warding magics, and is looking to apply his new experience to something new. At Soarise's suggestion, he creates a special bag to carry their gear, so that Nebbin no longer gets loaded down like a trader's mule, as he did when carrying the Vermlek's scythes back from the battlefield.
Beginning with the crusader's bag he discovered in the catacombs, he works it over, enfolding multiple layers of enchantments over it, taking two full days. However, this time, rather than his enchantments folding away to nothing, space itself folds to make room for them. The leather is blood-red when he finishes, and all the rivets bear the five-pointed star. The buckle has been replaced - the new one is silver. The inside of the bag is nebulous - it takes far more than its apparent size would allow, but returns exactly the object desired, and the mass of the bag never changes - making it strangely heavy when empty but a godsend when full.
During breakfast the morning after arriving back at the Heart, Thom becomes increasingly concerned with Lucius’s behavior. The so un-Lucius-like distractedness. The muttered ramblings. When the Chelaxian leaves, Thom shares a look with the rest of the group before excusing himself and following the man.
Thom follows him as Lucius collects a sizable portion of their liberated loots. Thom follows him as he begins bargaining away their small fortune, a lump of doubt forming in Thom’s mind regarding Lucius’s actions. What’s he doing? Did the wardstone crack him? Fracture his mind? Does the power we all share war with his … heritage?
The concern conflicts with his respect and loyalty to Lucius, and Thom cautiously decides to wait and watch. As Lucius begins getting more and more aggressive with the purchases, Thom feels the needs to act. He interrupts the man at one point … or tries to, but Lucius only gives him an off-handed response of urgency, muttering about “a lack of proper materials” and “unlocking the wells”. Thom is left with the impression Lucius didn’t even really note his presence.
For the remainder of the day, Thom follows Lucius around … somewhere between acting the concerned friend and the suspicious watcher. Right up until Lucius locks himself away in his own room. And even then, Thom lingers uncertainly outside the door for nearly a half-hour.
Finally, he decides to trust the man. He’d given Thom more than enough reason for trust during their few days together.
At dinner, he’s happy to see Lucius back to normal … at least mostly so. When asked to, he casts the requested incantation, his eyes widening to see the results of Lucius’s efforts. The man can make magic items … and quickly.
The days that follow, Thom leaves himself at Lucius’s disposal, running errands to help the man get whatever components and materials he needs for every project. Nearly everything the Chelaxian accomplishes goes right over Thom’s head, but he recognizes the value in this new talent.
At first, Thom is concerned with these gifts being given by Lucius, knowing the source of power Lucius claims. But in the end, Thom figures, these gifts weren’t given with strings attached or favors offered. I’ll take any help that is offered, by heavens or hells, if it means we can protect our people.
Thom remains Lucius’s assistant for the rest of the week until the queen’s arrival. Lucius’s iron-clad supporter and encourager … he even picks up a few tidbits about the nature of magic during all the work.
You never know what will end up being helpful, he thinks as he fastens the harness of his new shield on over his new armor. This could be just the edge we need in the days to come.
Thom stands as the queen stands, adopting the expected casual parade rest until she gestures for them to remain seated. He gives another stiff bow before reseating himself.
He takes a few bites as he watches the aids and soldiers lay out the map, black eyes following the suggested route to Drezen. He gives Nebbin a shrug as he responds, ”We plan and prepare, I think.”
There is a long lull while the aids summon the men and women the Queen has assigned to their army, and Thom can’t help but consider this plan and their team … and, completely un-ignorable, the new team member. Without looking over at Turook, and without preamble, he begins a quick recounting in his croaking voice.
”You’ll have to ask everyone else what happened in the beginning,” he rasps, his words slightly muffled by the mask, ”but from what I gather, it started at Armasse. During the attack. At least that’s where it started for me. Our defenses were overrun, our defenders … killed.” That last word comes out with what seems an ocean of personal emotion, but he continues. ”I don’t know what happened before it, but I awoke when these good people,” he waves a gloved hand at Lucius, Nebbin, and Saoirse, ”were trying to revive me. From there, we cut as straight as we could towards Defender’s Heart.” He indicates the walls around them. ”Where we were asked by Captain Irabeth to do some local recon … hit some local demon strongholds. After those, she then asked us to hit the Gray Garrison across town. It was being used as the main demonic defensive point in the city, and they were working to somehow subvert the wardstone located there to … well, do bad things. Turn it against us somehow.” His black eyes are lost in thought behind his mask for a few seconds, then he completes his quick recounting. ”It was bloody work, but we made it. Well, most of us did. And the wardstone has been … neutralized.”
He finally looks across the table at Turook, his emotions guarded, ”Now the queen wants us to hit Drezen.” He shrugs as if to say, ’that’s pretty much it. ”So, were you in Kenabres during Armasse?”
Lucius nods at Thom's summary. "The Armasse attack left the rest of us stranded underground. We encountered the warped descendants of some of the First Crusaders there...and captured a demonaic witch who was attempting to turn them traitor. It was from her correspondence that we learned of the 'safehouses' - and they were able to supply troops for the diversionary assault whilst we raided the Garrison."
Saoirse stands over the table with the unrolled map spread across it. Her eyes focusing from one spot to the next along the map as ideas begin formulating in her head. Her mind wandering slightly back to the times her Captain allowed her to sit in on some of the strategy sessions in his command tent. A small almost unnoticeable smile forming as she reaches a few conclusions.
”And the wardstone has been … neutralized.” He finally looks across the table at Turook... "So, were you in Kenabres during Armasse?”
Turook shakes his head, dark features painted with frustration at the loss of the wardstone. "No - we were sent on an escort mission to Star Keep. It was time for maintenance of the stone there. Apparently the demons knew it was vulnerable. They came in droves, hurling their bodies as weapons, fighting to get to the wardstone. Most of our men died protecting the wardstone. We should all be dead, but... it..."
Turook glances at the crew hesitantly. "It's like the stone itself fought back. The demons pressed closer and closer – one of them was right on me, when the world went white. It burned like the sun, and kicked like a mule - I woke up two days later on a stretcher, the survivors returning here. The stonekeepers could not explain what happened, but we now know it was near the same time the stone fell here. The destruction here must have done something to the other stones."
The half-orc's tone is filled with regret. Star Keep still stands, though I wish both could have been saved. Mendev is vulnerable."
Thom’s eyes are drawn to Turook during his retelling. He cocks his head at mention of the wardstone’s behavior, then looks down again, shaking his head.
For reference, if you want to tie it in, Turook.
”Did you have any dreams? Or … visions… when it happened?”
”Did you have any dreams? Or … visions… when it happened?”
Turook's eyes widen in surprise at the masked fellow's question. "Yes, dreams. Dreams of the first wardstone. Attacks against it, nightmares about its corruption."
Pausing with a deep breath, he continues. "Silly dreams of one who was struck too hard in the head."
Thom looks over to read the expressions of Lucius, Nebbin, and Saoirse. His raspy voice is heavy with memory, "Dreams and nightmares, yes. Silly? I hope not. We had a similar ... experience when we touched a powerful magical rod to the wardstone."
He shrugs, then looks up at the other half-orc, as if remembering who he's speaking to, and his raspy voice becomes distant again. "Whatever it did to us ... we'll use it to our advantage."
Lucius exchanges a knowing look with Thom. "I will not attempt to deny that you were struck in the head, possibly with great force indeed, but your visions were not 'silly'."
"We had the same visions, while waking, when the stone here was destroyed."
Edit: Beaten to the punch!
"Still," Lucius adds. "You were lucky. The Vorlesh woman did not have the opportunity to corrupt the stones as she may have wished, but so afflicted the backlash as to drive one of our companions, and several prisoners, quite mad. He is under the care of the Dawnflower's acolytes, though there is little to do for him. They are dead."
"I saw to that."
"I suspect that only the lingering aura of the Wardstone protected us from the same fate. It seems unlikely that such an affliction would be used only to silence those captured and not to wipe out enemies."
Thom looks over to read the expressions of Lucius, Nebbin, and Saoirse. His raspy voice is heavy with memory, "Dreams and nightmares, yes. Silly? I hope not. We had a similar ... experience when we touched a powerful magical rod to the wardstone."
Lucius exchanges a knowing look with Thom. "I will not attempt to deny that you were struck in the head, possibly with great force indeed, but your visions were not 'silly'. We had the same visions, while waking, when the stone here was destroyed."
Turook's fists clench on the table, anger clear on his features. "My queen has commanded that I escort you to Drezen – not that I endure your mockery!" Locking his glare on Thom, he adds, Especially not from a cousin who hides his face behind a mask!"
Thom looks up sharply, his black eyes trying to bore holes through Turook's head.
"We're no cousins, half-orc!" Thom's raspy response is laden with fury, and he looks around at the assembled people before he begins slowly removing his mask ... then the gauze beneath. The face that lies beneath is indeed half-orc, but is cracked, scarred, and scabbed, like the recent victim of some terrible fire. The ravaged skin looks completely unhealed. On his forehead are two runes. One in Celestial and one in Abyssal, but both carved into the skin itself.
It is terrible to have to look at as he continues his response, "And do I look like I'm joking?"
Turook is take aback by Thom's appearance, and even more so his denial of his heritage. "What game is this? You disown your people, half-orc?!" He adds this last with venomous emphasis. "You hide the honor you should flaunt to all..."
Rage subsiding, Turook looks upon Thom with new eyes, realization dawning on him. "You aren't... what are you?"
That...could have gone better. Must have been the volatile orc blood.
He slams his palm down on the table.
"QUIET!", he shouts. "Both of you."
Hopefully, this gets their attention rather than simply fanning the flames.
"We are all allies here. There is no need for such confrontation."
"My intent was not mockery - you were incapacitated for days, by your own admission. To be wounded in battle is no dishonor. But your visions were not frivolous. I am not playing the prank, of a parent agreeing to the existence of a child's imaginary companion. We did see the same."
He slides a leather band off of the fingers of his right hand. His complexion shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly, as it is removed. "The experience was...educational." He rolls the band across the table to Turook.
"As for Mister Thorne's mask and...condition, it is not my place to tell. It is his. But we all must be able to work together, so if he chooses to do so, he will do so civilly."
The destroyed face glares at Turook for another few seconds after Lucius's intervention. Then his black eyes shift to take in the others in the room ... those of the staff and military aids, and how they look on him in shock and revulsion. The fight seems to go out of him and he begins re-covering his face, gingerly replacing first the gauze, then the mask.
"We're not here to talk about me," he mutters self-consciously, his words once again muffled by his mask. "What I am only matters as it effects our ability to succeed at what's set before us."
He's back to avoiding eye contact with Turook, focusing once again on the map and mission details set before them.