Fyrtor chuckles a bit as he begins his response to Kazador. "Aye, I'm a Druid, though I'm probably a poor one by the estimation of most nature brothers. Few Druids look kindly on farmers, but having been one myself I have a kinder view of those who make a living by working the land." Becoming more contiplative he goes on. "Don't worry about offending me for your beliefs, I may disagree, but the truth of it is that none but the gods themselves know of that time before time. It is possible to believe and worship the gods while still respecting and preserving the Balance. You know that I follow Sarenrae. I'd be happy to teach you why that is a better way than the Torag's, but I don't think I'd make much impression. Dwarven heads are harder than the mountains they toil under." Fyrtor, making sure his friend recognises the jest, winks as he makes the comment. "But, I think there is a space for one who follows the Forgefather to protect the Balance. As you've said, you believe all was created by him and so protecting it, all of it, not just the mountains, would be a way for one who wanted to, to reconcile a conviction of the value of nature and the worship of your god. If you want I'd be happy to teach you more about how the nature brother, those you call druids, seek to preserve this world, and to learn from the plants, animals and the land itself."
”Aye. I think I’d like that.” Kazador cracked a small smile. The first one in a long while. ”Don’t think there’ll be much to reconcile. But aye. The journey is long, and I’m ready to learn.”
It was comforting, in its own way. To look at the bigger picture. The thoughts were new to him, but it *felt* right. His god had made the world, and had taught his children how to use it. Which meant that nature should be afforded respect. He liked Fyrtor’s practical look upon it, with the way he supported farmers. Kazador had no time for stuffy dogma.
But most importantly, he was still coming to terms with his loss. Of his friends, his family, his home, and his honor. The only thing that had kept him sane through it was his religious convictions, and his companions. Which meant that he had two options. To be stuck in the past, like he was before, or to move forward. And he hoped that with the help of those around him, it would be the latter.
It is strange hearing his father's mannarisms through Brolin's voice, but the oddity of the situation does nothing to prevent the flood of memories from nearly overwhelming Fyrtor. Closing his eyes he could smell the woodsmoke from the fire in their small cabin as they sat mending tack, or carving, or any other of the many chores that farmers and sheperds occupy their evenings with. During such nights his father would work or smoke and teach his son.
A long moment passes before he can ask another question. "But, how can you be both with the Dawnflower and in the sword?"
Fyrtor smiles. Teaching Kazador would help him keep is mind off of the thoughts that were bothering him. Maybe he could even involve Halak. It would be good for the two to see that they shared some beliefs. That would come later though, if at all. "I hope you are right my friend. Well as you see in this world we are all connected, tied to one another. There is a balance in...." Fyrtor goes into something between a classroom lecture and a sermon. It's obvious that he's done this before many times. He tries to tailor the discussion to Kazador though as a dwarf and as a follower of Torag and he tries to make it a discussion, not just him preaching.
After leaving Kazador to think on the things they'd spoken of Fyrtor seeks out Mel. "I've been thinking about what you said. I will speak to Brolin. We'll see what comes of it. But I have a request for you. I'm hoping to convert the orcs to follow the Dawnflower. I know you don't follow her, but I hope you won't hold that against me. Anyways I shared a story with them from "The Birth of Light and Truth", but they didn't seem to like it much. Do you think you could help me pick another one, one they might like more. It's different working with the orcs. They don't think the same way as the small town folk I'm used to teaching. I thought maybe you could give me some suggestions?"
Brolin receives a slight chuckle and the reply "Yes it is somewhat confusing. My soul isn't really here in the sword. But I can speak through it because my memories are attached to it so strongly."
"Be easy, Fyrtor. I have no objection to helping you set some people's feet on Sarenrae's path; it's a good one. Ostara and Sarenrae are allies. They have different areas of interest, and Sarenrae is more martial in her approach, but otherwise they are in basic agreement on general principles."
"That said, I think you have an uphill battle ahead of you. Orcs dislike the sun. They see her as hostile, because the bright light hurts their eyes; at best, she's an unfriendly titan to them. That attitude has been shaped by the desert they live in: the heat of the sun can kill strong warriors without giving them an opportunity to strike back, and they hate that. I seem to recall an orcish legend of a warrior who set out to kill the sun and got burned to a crisp for his trouble -- he's meant to be praiseworthy for his courage even as he's condemned as a fool for starting a fight against a foe he could not hope to beat."
"Orcs value strength and feats of arms. So perhaps you could start with that. Sarenrae is, of course, a formidable warrior when she needs to be, and encourages her faithful to master the sword as well. But the rest of her tenets -- honesty, healing the sick and wounded, redemption -- may be difficult for them to understand. They're just ... a part of their culture, and shaped by the stories they've heard before. If you want to offer them new stories, start with ones similar to the ones they value already, and add new things slowly, a bit at a time."
Fyrtor shakes his head. I don't have to understand how this is, but I need to finish making sure it is was it seems.
"Dad I'm sorry I have to ask these questions, but I have to be sure. After... After you passed away. I stayed with the druids. Who was it that taught me how I could follow the druids' ways while still worshipping the Healing Light?"
Tense, Fyrtor waits for Daryl's reply. This is the final test before he can be assured that this really is his father. If Daryl has been watching as he said then he will know this. No one else would have had reason to learn this or would have been witness to it aside from the druids of his Grove.
Fyrtor listens to Mel thinking to himself.
How can I show them that the sun is not an enemy?
Then he lists a few stories he can think of that might work asking Mel for her opinion.
After speaking with Mel he is more confident in his story choice. Something else that she said also gives him an idea.
Maybe if I can show the orcs the sword techniques of the faith, then I can earn some respect. Maybe then they'll be more willing to hear what I am teaching them.
Later he goes to Halak and asks if he can share another story. He also asks if he could spar with one of the warriors. No spells, just blades.
Brolin receives the answer "It was Ivy, the gnome. She taught you."
Halak shrugs. "Want fight? Sound good. Who fight?"
Fyrtor nods to himself. "That's right. Dad I'm glad you can be here with me. I don't understand it, but I am glad that it can be. Dad, that day, the day you fell. I'm so sorry Dad. If I'd just been a little stronger or gotten you to Birch quick none of this would have happened. Can, can you forgive me?" There are tears in his eyes as he speaks. He's wanted to say these things for so long , but even as he says them they seem inadequate.
"Why don't you choose Halak. It should be one of your more skilled warriors, but one who can lose without holding a grudge, and who won't try to actually kill me when we are just sparring. But he should be strong enough that the fight be entertaining."
Brolin receives an answer immediately "You did everything to help me. You were a strong young man and you're stronger now. Never forget that. Tell me more about what you've been doing recently. I can tell that you've been taking my sword around many places and using it a lot but little more."
Halak shrugs at this idea. "Orcs like fight much more than stories. Good idea. Grukkan smart enough. Should be good time." He points out a tough, lithe orc with a bow and a falchion.
While his appology felt feeble, his father's words fill Fyrtor with comfort. He still hasn't entirely forgiven himself, but it was a relief to hear his father forgive him. "Thank you Dad, it means a lot to hear you say that. The world is filled with termoil. Lustian and The Concordant have been moving towards a full out war. Recently the Concordant has been attacking the Bishopric through the orcs and goblins of the unclaimed lands we think as a way to justify a take over. I learned most of this not long ago after coming to the Servant Ilse to ask the druids there to help protect Woodsdale from attacks by the goblins. They weren't the usual small raids, they were coordinated attack. Anyways, that's where I met my current companions, Kazador, a dwarf warrior from the hold in the barbaric lands, Turion, an elf wizard from Avioax, Melira, an elven woman from the Concordant who was living in Brookside when all this began, and Captain Muse, who I assume you've spoken with as he is the medium that had made this possible. We just thwarted an attempt by the Concordant to take relics of great power from the remains of Kazador's hold. Now we are on our way to Helm to report what we have done and learn what's happened while we've been away.
After that, I don't know what will happen. I worry about Woodsdale, but from what Turion has said the Concordant will almost certainly know that I have been a part of killing one of their greatest magituons and leaders. If I go back to Woodsdale I may do more harm than good, and if this war really breaks out as it seems it will the whole Bishopric stands to be coquered. What do you think I should do?"
"Thank you, I'll grab Mel and make sure she's on hand to heal us in case something goes wrong. Please ask Grukkan if he's up for it."
Brolin receives "Hmmm... yes that is very troubling... That is strange that Iustia is moving toward war... I worked for a nobleman, Count Aral, who would have been very opposed to such a move. He was a very powerful but practical man and had great influence upon the Iustian throne. Maybe you should speak to him. He is likely attempting to defuse the situation and perhaps you could help."
Halak grunts and nods. Grukkan walks over and Halak explains things to him. Grukkan nods and unsheathes his falchion, which he twirls smoothly in his hand. He moves back and forth on his feet somewhat uncertainly, however, unaccustomed to the moving of the ship. When Halak gives the word, the combatants leap toward each other, weapons flashing in the light from the sun and the waves.
Fyrtor takes a moment to size up Grukkan before standing at the ready buckler and sword in hand.
Prefight:Study Opponent
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Standing near the Bow, watching the Waves, Túrion turns towards the main deck when he hears some commotion. Realizing a sparring match was about to begin, he stops Nelly when she starts to get up and ready to act.
"All good, they are just testing each others mettle. A play-fight."
He watches as the two exchange blows, for a moment pondering partaking in a friendly match as well - but that would needlessly waste magical energy, and he had nothing to prove, nothing to gain from impressing them...in fact, since he depended on magic, it was more likely someone would hold a grudge.
Seeing Mel stand nearby to provide first aid if needed, he smiles for a moment, then lets his gaze return to the Ocean again - most people were focused on the mock fight - and someone had to keep an eye on the Horizon.
Fyrtor and the orc strike each other hard and quickly, the match falling within a hairs-breadth but as each move to strike the last blow, Fyrtor's weapon falls a second sooner. The orcs, who have been cheering for Grukkan's every blow, nod and converse with interest.
"I'll talk to Mel, she might know of Aral. Did you work for him before being sent to the border?"
Fyrtor grins as he extends a hand to Grukkan while trying to catch his breath. "That was a great bout. We shall have to do it again. But, not today." Then he turns to the orcs watching and raising he voice he says, "See? The Dawnflower teaches her servants the way of the blade. Healing may be her wings, but her wrath is sharp against her enemies. She expects no less from those that follow her. I can teach her ways. The Lady of Light could be an ally to you instead of an enemy." Fyrtor pauses frequently as he speaks and looking to Halak to translate.
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Mel heals Fyrtor and the orc -- Grukkan -- after their sparring match, with no commentary.
During the days, as the orcish hands become more familiar with the ins and outs of running the ship, she takes to spending long hours in the crow's nest, keeping watch for other ships. She tries not to look down too often; every time she does, she winces anew at the sight of one of her people's finest ships being crewed by orcs. Yet they have hurt me less, in some ways, than my own people, she thinks. Ostara -- may the sea wash away their hatreds. They too have suffered. Under their own hands, as well as those of other races. Not to mention their harsh land.
But even as she prays for them, she knows that changing the culture of an entire race takes far, far longer than a few weeks aboard ship; and she doubts that such will come to pass even in her lifetime even should she live to see the rise and fall of kingdoms.
When not aloft, she socializes with the rest of her group. She does not seek out the orcs; but in their inevitable encounters, she works to avoid showing any signs of weakness.
In the late afternoons, or the long evenings when the sun sinks slowly into the amber sea, she works on her long-neglected journal: recording all of the events since Brookside, in as much detail as she can recall.
She adds observations on her companions.
"I have to wonder what the final destruction of their home will do to them. Their secrecy failed. The necessity -- and the cruelty it brought -- in the end, neither one accomplished what they were meant to. Kazad Gravr fell. Their families and friends lie dead; and buried, now, in a grave the size of a city. Of what use, then, were all their harsh measures?"
"Yet, I believe Kazador has begun to have some new thoughts. I have caught him gazing out at the ocean a few times, evidently deep in thought. And though his temper can at times be fragile, I believe there is a core of strength there that will stand him in good stead in whatever lies ahead. His life in Kazad Gravr made him hard; but brittle, in some ways. May Torag grant that his trials leave him not hardened, but tempered: strong enough to bend when necessary, and not break."
"I wonder what I would become, if in the end everything I strove for turned to death and ashes? I pray I never have to find out."
Mel pauses and stares at that phrase on the sheet for a while.
"Well, bless him. I hope he can keep that idealism even when the world throws his ideals back in his teeth. It surely has a bad habit of doing that."
Her lips twist and she stares at the entry again, then crosses out the last line with a quick, definitive slash.
"Enough of that; this entry is about him, not me. Besides his personal qualities, his ability to conjure spirits ... well, according to him, not so much spirits as abandoned memories? I still find it disquieting in some ways, while intriguing in others. On the one hand, his disembodied ... friends?"
She considers her conversation with Savvy.
"His disembodied allies grant him amazingly broad abilities. On a moment's notice, he can be a warrior, a scholar, a magician or ... I don't even know what else he's capable of. It's really rather astounding. Part of me desperately wants to sit down just ask Legacy questions for weeks on end. There is so much history he knows from first-hand experience! I feel as though with a few minutes' conversation Legacy could clear up all kinds of historical questions that have occupied the attention of scholars for generations. Where did the various races originate? When did they first meet? What was the initial cause of the First Blackthorn War? It's so long ago now that none of our surviving records actually explain what they were initially fighting over. But I'll bet Legacy knows. He was probably there when it broke out."
"Alas, Legacy seems to be rather close-mouthed. Perhaps I'll get a chance to ask him some questions some day, but I suspect the answers may just raise more questions. And that there is a distinct limit to how much Legacy might be willing to answer. Pity."
"And on the other hand, it seems ... a decidedly uncomfortable existence, sharing your head with other people from other times who have agendas of their own. It's ... a risky path, despite the great rewards."
"I wonder if there might be some other way to get the same information, though? Brolin said that there are fragments of memory all over: drifting through the air, ingrained into objects. I wonder if anyone else could learn to draw on that knowledge. Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any case, there are much higher priorities at the moment."
"I haven't noticed any particular change in Brolin since Kazad Gravr. Perhaps he has, and is hiding it; or perhaps it all rolled off him, like water off an oilcloth. Time will tell."
"The one thing about him that really puzzled me was his intense over-protectiveness. But now that he has shared his past with me, it makes a great deal of sense. From a certain point of view. I pray that he will find the redemption for himself that he so eagerly offers to others."
"He is clearly highly intelligent, and exceptionally well read, which I can only approve of. In the ordinary course of things, I would take him simply for a typical Avinoan mage. Yet ... there are strange things about him."
"How, exactly, did he come by the undying loyalty of Laeg nél, the great wolf who follows him? Wizards' academies are not known for keeping large predatory animals around. When did they meet?"
"Similarly, this token from his dryad friend ... my impression is that the fey do not lightly bestow such gifts. What was there between them, and how did that come to pass?"
"Make no mistake, there are mysteries yet to come from Túrion."
Mel stares at the page and sighs. Carefully, she traces the symbol of Halcamora on the page, as if the act of drawing it there might direct that kindly deity's attention to Perrin, wherever he might be.
It takes time to adjust to the motion of the ship, and her handwriting is not so clear in the early entries; but by the end, she has learned to anticipate the shift of plank and water. In calm weather, at least. By the time they reach Helm once more, the journal is up to date.
Halak and the orcs listen more attentively to Fyrtor than they did before the sparring match. Perhaps he gets through to them somewhat. Occasionally after the evening meal, they request a story from him and listen without comment.
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Kazador spent the rest of the journey speaking as little as possible. Though with Fyrtor he listened, and he learned. Almost daily he would seek the man out, and the two would talk. Or at least one of them would. And as the days wore on, their conversations began to change. Not so much in substance, but in form.
The dwarf found the man’s duality of Faith to be fascinating. Of nature and the dawnflower. But for Kazador, it was his own faith in Torag that gave him strength, and from Fyrtor’s convictions, he rebuilt his inner strength. Before too long, the two spoke almost exclusively in the secret language of the Druids. And from that, an entire new world opened up. For in it, he saw the Druidic magic being not too different from some of the runes he used. His sroneplate, for instance, was tied to the magic of the earth in such a way that it necessitated the following of Druidic religious restrictions. That raised questions of the faith of some of the rune priests. Kazador had learned to make use of their works, but their ways were secretive to a people known for their secrets.
Through it all though, there was one thing he couldn’t shake. His hatred for the orcs. Even with the logical part of him acknowledging their capacity for change, and his religious sentiment (begrudgingly) accepting them as being creations of the same forge that made him...their crimes were too great. They had murdered everyone he had ever loved. They had destroyed so much history, and so much potential. They had been a constant blight upon his people’s existence, up until the point where they ended it. And for that he hated them with a passion that could not be quelled. This, in large part, fed into his isolation. Much like how it did Algric’s. The two dwarves even avoided each other. For Kazador at least, it was partly due to the fear of being shamed for not taking action against their ancient enemies.
And so it was, that the journey was one of learning, growth, and unyielding anger all wrapped into one. He could not wait until they reached Helm.
Fyrtor is glad when it appears that he's made progress with the orcs, but he knows time is short. He tries to pick out the two or three that may have the most potential, both in willingness to change and in capability. We're ha able he'd work on all of them, but he has the best chance of making an impression by focussing his attention.
Once Daryle speaks Fyrtor offers his final thought. "Father, I am glad to know you are with the Dawnflower and it comforts me that you will be able to watch over me. Ki will try to do what I can here.
There is one thing that I didn't mention. We are on a ship now headed to Helm, but we were too few to crew the ship alone. We took on some orcs to act as crew. I am trying to teach them the Dawnflower's path. Am I doing the right thing in working with them? I know the Lady of Mercy is forgiving, but she also preaches quick death to those that are beyond redemption."
After the hell that was Kazad Gravr, Muse is intensely glad to be sailing back to Helm. Once back in the capital, he'll have music to face and dole out, but that's later. For now, he breathes deep of the salty air and lets those days of stress fall away. It's refreshing.
When he's off his shift, late in the evening or night, Muse plays a bard for the crew. He tells them about Helm, about it's stone towers that have stood the test of time and the people who've lived in them. Merchants, rogues, bishops, assassins. He tells them about his own life and the ocean, about storms, shoals, pirates, and sea-serpents. And he listens to their stories, trades for their trinkets, watches their memories, and tries to understand them. At times it's as unnerving as it is enlightening. Other times it's as enlightening as it is unnerving. But on occasion it's inspiring, to live out stories of bravery and love, to see firsthand what every sapient has in common.
Late in the predawn morning, when he can't sleep, he studies magic with Dancer. Muse is more accustomed than most to things of perspective shaking scale and history, but it still makes him feel like a little kid. There's so much institutional wisdom that he'd have never puzzled out himself, that it makes what he did teach himself look infantile. It's a strange thing, he reflects, that the more you learn the dumber you feel. But the well traveled sailor has long since resolved to accept that he's ignorant without accepting the ignorance itself, and he sets about learning the ins and outs of his unique brand of sorcery that's so less anomolous than he'd thought with the same attitude he'd bring to learning yet another language or cultural tradition. He knows he'll have to get much better at magic to maximize his impact on the Iustia-Concordat Affair, and Dancer's experience makes him hopeful that he can without spending decades learning clerical magic or wizardry. Other people have walked this path before him, and he's nowhere near the top of the power ladder. It makes him hopeful that he might stand to change the course of future events.
And so it is that Muse feels refreshed, inspired, and if not optimistic for the future at least more so than he was upon spying through his eyeglass the Bishopric of Helm.
Túrion spends most of the Journey in contemplation, always near Nelly, observing both the horizon and the others on the ship in equal parts. A ship was a confined space. He knew Nelly did not like that. It was also hard to adapt to this situation for many spending time on a ship for the first time. But the Orcs kept themselves busy with work, and Fyrtor entertained them further. No trouble there. The Dwarves also kept away from their green-skinned crew. No confrontations.
The journey was calm - not something he had expected with the action-packed recent days - but a welcome change in pacing all the same. If there was a chance to relax some, he would take it.
Fyrtor has some luck picking out an orc to focus on. An older warrior who is slightly crippled seems to pay special attention to Fyrtor's tales and Fyrtor develops some relationship with the warrior, named Orluk.
Brolin receives one last answer "From what I've seen, these orcs are more open to cooperating with humans than any I've ever heard of. It seems like a good chance. Goodbye son. I'll see you again."
You pull into the port of Helm in mid-afternoon, a few other ships calmly gliding in and out of the harbor. Surveying the area, Brolin notes that the Sonder is still in a nearby shipyard receiving repairs. You pull up alongside the dock.
Halak looks uncertainly at the dock, as do his warriors. "What we do now?"
Muse wears an ear to ear grin. Partly it's because he's glad to be back in Helm, the sights, the smells. Street food and pigshit. And old friends. But mostly it's because he sees people pointing and talking at the surreal sight of more than a dozen orcs tying down a ship of obvious elven make. After all, Captain Muse has his reputation as an eccentric to maintain. If he isn't occasionally in the public eye doing the impossible or at the very least highly implausible, people could come to expect less of him than astounding success.
Halak looks uncertainly at the dock, as do his warriors. "What we do now?"
Various pithy lines wind their way through Muse's cranium before he decides not to try and quip past the language barrier and cultural divide. This might well be Halak's first time in a major city. "A short while ago we bagged a pirate as a special favor to the Bishop. I'd like to follow up on that, see how it turned out. Probably Tiyeri, she's first mate of yonder Sonder, could tell me everything I want to know, but I'm not the sort to turn up his nose at an excuse to trade words with the Head of State that's so ready-made; if I've a little bit of sway with the Bishop of Helm, I'll put it to use securing an audience for your diplomatic force. After that . . ."
He gives Halak a serious look. "Before that, actually, we're going to play a bit of dress up. It's dumb, but the fancier you're dressed the safer people will feel about you. Since you're in a human city, it's best to dress as though you'd always been. If you walk with me, I'll show you somewhere were you can trade coins for clothes."
He addresses the orcs in orcish while they walk down the gangplank. "I've mentioned before that I'm a merchant, yeah? That I buy or trade people for their superfluities and lug them over to distant vistas where I do the whole thing over again? Helm is both a way-stop and a destination for merchants from all over the continent, not to mention that a whole bunch of people live and are employed here year-round. You can find anything in Helm. But that only works because everyone knows that they're safe to live and do business here. There are shoes in Helm that are more comfortable and will last longer than anything you've ever worn, because they were made by someone who's better at making shoes then anyone you've ever known. They got that good at cobbling by practicing for hours every day, every day, instead of growing food or hunting it (they pay farmers and . . . rat catchers for that (eat street food at your own risk, by the way (I seriously, seriously wouldn't recommend it))), instead of making their own clothes (they pay a tailor to do that), even instead of making their own music or protecting their own belongings and territory. They pay professional musicians for that, and fund the Guard with their taxes. You'll hear awesome music in Helm, walk on stone streets and through stone buildings, see works of art that someone spent the better part of their life making, and everywhere you go you'll feel safer for knowing that the implicit threat of the Guard's swords and ropes that hang over all of the Bishopric."
"Or," he sighs, "that's the theory. In practice I rather imagine years of orcish raids on the Bishopric's outskirts have done little to foster goodwill towards orcs. I'll vouch for you, which will help a little, and if the Bishop vouches for you that'll help more. Be courteous, don't pick fights, and by Cayden don't rise to the bait of any fool who tries picking one with you. Mind other people's property, look with your eyes not your hands. If someone won't stop staring at you, just smile and wave. If they try talking to you, say 'I'm terribly sorry and I do beg your pardon, but I speak only one sentence of common and I'm afraid this is it.' Repeat that a few times, get it down. Oh, it means you can't speak human. Yeah, it's a verbose language. Stay in a group, and stick with me or Fyrtor. We can intercede on your behalf."
Muse grins at the sky. This will go well, he promises himself. "Let's go shopping!"
”MY duty is clear. I’m staying with the weapons.” Algric said, sounding upset with someone or something. It wasn’t exactly clear, though the way he looked at the orcs gave a clue. ”Do what ye want.”
Kazador muttered words in ancient Dwarven, causing his heavy stone armor to take the form of simple traveling clothes, and his hammer to shift into a torch around his arm. ”To the Bishop then. We have much to report.” He said, ignoring Algric’s surliness. He didn’t deign to even look at the orcs.
As Brolin departs with the Orcs, Túrion considers his own options. First he looks at Nelly, then at the city again, then at Mel, whom he addresses: "You have been here before, even if it is not home to you. Could you maybe help me with two things? The ship was acceptable, but I would very much like to have a proper bed with solid ground again...which means I shall need to find an Inn that is fine with...uhm...large carnivorous pets in the room. And secondly, I would like to do some research on that Heart and...a few other topics. It's a long shot, but do you know of any libraries I may want to visit? Preferably ones with a closed-off section of material not usually open to the public? I believe considering the gravity of our situation, the Bishop would be amiable regarding granting access to such materials."
The "other topics" are the more important ones. The heart is mostly an excuse - he will look into it as well, but it's not the real reason he wants to do research.
Fyrtor stared at the city as they approached the harbor. He'd heard of Helm of course, but he'd spent his life in the towns and villages on the frontier. He'd always expected that Helm was like a town, just bigger. The site of the stone towers and building dwarfed his expectations.
Before the orcs could leave Fyrtor pulled Brolin aside. "Do you think it is wise to bring all of the orcs into the city? Might it be better to leave most of them aboard and take Halak and a few of his chosen men?"
Quietly, Muse responds, "I don't mean to sound to you like I'm talking about children, but I'd rather not leave them on the boat unsupervised. Better to take them all along with their leader and the humans who speak their language then for the ones left behind to wander off by themselves."
Mel stretches, glad to feel solid ground beneath her feet once again. She slings her bag over her shoulder as Túrion approaches and asks his questions.
"As regards the inn, well, last time we were here we did a good turn for the McHenries, who run the Cozy Badger. As long as Nelly behaves herself, I suspect they'll be willing to let her in. I suggest tipping well, though. Oh, and there's something in their basement you may find intriguing. No, don't bother asking -- I want to see your reaction when you get a look at it."
"As for research, there's a university in town with a good library. I don't know if it will have exactly what you're looking for, but that would be the place to start. I'm sure they'll know all the other libraries in town, and can direct you appropriately."
She eyes Brolin leading a gaggle of orc warriors through Helm's gaping citizenry, and adds "I'll show you the way to the Cozy Badger. You too, Fyrtor. We can get settled there and then go see the Bishop."
Overhearing Brolin, though, she adds "Ah ... perhaps we should accompany Halak's people first, though. Um ... just to make sure nothing untoward happens."
Fyrtor considers for a moment then nods "You're probably right." As the begin making their way through the streets he grows uneasy, the sheer amount of noise and people is disconcerting.
"I'll show you the way to the Cozy Badger. You too, Fyrtor. We can get settled there and then go see the Bishop."
"Yes, that would be nice. Is it always so loud?
I'd also like to see the Dawnflower's temple when we get a chance. I've heard it is beautiful."
Túrion raises an eyebrow:"Now I'm curious about their basement. I am ready to go, do lead the way."
With a short whistle, Nelly is by his side:<Sylvan>"We'll head into a city. Like last time. These people don't know you. Please stay by my side and don't stare at things you dislike. I have not forgotten my promise, we will go and hunt as soon as we can, but we need to do a few more things here before then, ok?"</Sylvan>
After the short exchange, both seem ready to go, and will follow Mel as she leads the way.
The orcish crew indeed draw a great deal of attention as the Concordat ship pulls into harbor. It seems word has spread because as you are walking off the dock, a half-dozen guardsmen approach you. Their captain is a stern-looking middle aged man with his hand on his hilt who strides toward you with a purpose. But when he sees Mel and Kazador, his face relaxes somewhat as it is captain James Hannady, the same man who gave Kazador his first job of his rehabilitation helping Hannady escort Mel safely to the Bishop where she could testify of the Concordat's actions at Brookside. His stern expression is replaced by a raised eyebrow. "You two seem to get into the most... interesting... situations... What are all these savages doing walking about in Helm?"
Fyrtor walks close to the orcs and tries to gesture lo remind them of the things Brolin told them when he sees them straying towards trouble. He also speaks with Halak.
In the tense situation of being questioned by Guards, Túrion takes note of Mels disguise once more, then realizes some of the guards staring at his ears. And Nelly.
Right...
Opting not to talk, he instead does his best to seem calm and relaxed.
A mage too focused on seeming unthreatening often had the opposite effect.
Kazador spoke, slowly but surely. ”These orcs are...the best chance of ending old conflicts. The savage lands once held dwarves. No more. My people were all murdered. We went into my home turned tomb, and this group here aided us. But for their assistance we likely would have died, and but for ours the same for them. Know this. I have reason to hate their kind more than nearly any human. And I have stayed my hand against this group. Think of them as ambassadors. The first orcs in our recorded history willing to make peace with outsiders. If I were ye, I’d give them reason to settle peacefully in the lands between ye and the genocidal bastards that roam the wastelands.”
"Hello, Captain Hannady," Mel says. "I'm surprised to see you here, rather than in Astin. As for these orcs, well ... it's a long story, but they've been helpful to us, and seem willing to cooperate with civilized folk."
Halak listens carefully to Brolin's words though there are many things Brolin refers to that Halak doesn't understand. He nods solemnly at the end of Brolin's speech and speaks a single word quickly to his warriors, who follow in a tight formation.
Hannady nods to Mel. "Yes apparently someone in authority was pleased with how I handled a certain..." he looks around and lowers his voice "sensitive situation and ambush you may recall..." then resumes speaking normally "So I was offered a position as a guard captain in Helm It seemed like too much to me but my wife wouldn't let me say no." He smiles fondly at the memory.
Considering carefully Mel's argument, he nods slowly "Alright, but I would like to assign them a guard escort. We get half-orcs from time to time but they are not thought well of by most. Full orcs in traditional warrior garb are going to make a much stronger impression..." Hannady selects one of his men to take the first shift accompanying you. "So where are you heading now?"
"The Cozy Badger first, to get settled. And then we need to report in to the Bishop regarding our ... recent activities."
"I believe one of us who speaks orcish should go along with Halak's group," she adds. "I would hate for there to be some kind of ... misunderstanding because no one was on hand to translate."
Considering carefully Mel's argument, he nods slowly "Alright, but I would like to assign them a guard escort. We get half-orcs from time to time but they are not thought well of by most. Full orcs in traditional warrior garb are going to make a much stronger impression..." Hannady selects one of his men to take the first shift accompanying you. "So where are you heading now?"
"Sounds wise," Muse agrees. "We were actually just about to go buy some less conspicuous togs."
He translates what Hannady said to Halak.
"Captain Muse, perhaps you could assist Halak and his warriors?" Mel requests. "I'll take Túrion and Fyrtor to Cozy Badger and get them settled. You can meet up with us later. Do you think Halak's crew would be willing to bunk on the ship? That would probably be simplest."