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The five major kingdoms of the continent of Khorvaire were once part of a greater kingdom of legend, the mighty state of Galifar. When King Jarot, the last Galifaran monarch died, his five heirs, each in command of one of the Five Nations that comprised the kingdom, refused to bow to ancient tradition in regards to the succession. Instead of allowing the eldest scion to take the crown, the siblings rallied their vassals and individually sought to gain control of the kingdom for themselves. Over time, this decades-long destructive conflict became known as the Last War, for everyone involved came to imagine that the taste for bloodshed and violence would be wiped from the face of Khorvaire when it ended, never to return.
The Last War continued for more than a century, with each of the Five Nations alternately fighting against or alongside one or more of the others as alliances shifted with the wind. In time, new, independent kingdoms were formed as deals were cut and opportunities for rebellion presented themselves. After 102 years of war, the leaders of the twelve recognized nations of Khorvaire that had emerged from the wreckage of Galifar met at the city of Thronehold, the ancient capital city of that kingdom, to draft a peace agreement. With the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold, the Last War at last came to an end.
Today, two years later, the nations of Khorvaire seek to rebuild what has been destroyed and find a long-absent prosperity as the new and uncertain peace spreads across the continent. While officially at peace, the nations’ continue to vie for economic and political supremacy across the face of Eberron. Most of the citizens of Khorvaire seek to heal the wounds created by the Last War, forgetting the past and start a new chapter. After all hope springs eternal and at the end of every long night there is a day, at the end of every winter there is a spring. But history existed before the war that consumed the Kingdom of Galifar and for those who seek to uncover histories mysteries, great power is ripe for the taking. Unfortunately for the citizens of Khorvaire, not all of these seekers of secrets have the best of intentions…
Artival awoke early this morning, and performed his morning meditations and stretches. He was slightly above average height, with a shock of red hair. On his left forearm was a bright birthmark, marking him as a member of his particular House, Deneith. . Afterwards he helped himself to a warm bath. He had no assignment from his House over he last few days, so he was taking it easy, enjoying the creature comforts.
Once he was cleaned and proper, he headed for a quick spot of breakfast. He toured he would do a brisk walk around the city, taking in whatever sights presented themselves. Perhaps there would be a chance to make a good or two while he got some exercise.
Gauntlet watched motionlessly as the sun rose over the many spires and towers of Sharn, his only home since the war had ended two years ago. He came up to the open park, every time something bothered him. It made him feel less different to act like normal folks and just BE.
No birds sounded nearby, even though the air was clear and easy tree perches were everywhere. He would sigh if he breathed. Yet again a reminder of his oddity. When was a warforged NOT a warforged?
Looking at the palm of his left hand, Gauntlet looked at the strange glowing sigil, the mirror image of the one on his head. His "birthmark" as a warforged he was taught. But a normal warforged has only the single mark. Not two. He closed his hand over the mark, squeezing tightly enough to hear the metal and stone of his hand grind together slightly.
He knew it was time to go. The children would be coming to play in the public space soon, and he did not want to frighten them. Walking to the path that leads to the local airboat dock, Gauntlet moved with purpose and without fear. Arriving with the dock empty, he did not stop and walked off the edge casually, as if lost in thought and without hesitation.
Wind whistled past his head as he fell, a familiar sensation. He enjoyed it and often wished it could last longer, but Sharn was only so tall. Seeing the inevitable lower level deserted alley he was looking for fast approaching, Gauntlet set his mind and pictured a white swan feather blowing in a gentle breeze and immediately felt his decent slow down, the magic entrapping him in a cocoon of energy.
With a booming noise that could be heard for a block he set down gently, or as gently as several hundred pounds of wood, stone, and metal could do. The stone under his metallic feet was sturdy and did not crack with the weight of his slowed impact, and he uncoiled his legs from the landing to stand at his full height.
Walking from the dark alley he disappeared into the crowds of the lower levels of Sharn, easily more at home among its shadows and secrets than in his own head among the clouds...
Down from the beautiful hills and peaceful nature he had come and had found himself at this early time of morning in a park praying to his god and waiting. He had decided to take up residence near the park in an inn ao he could be in the park as much as he wished, which was all the time. He stood in the park a few times a day and taught or preached about hia god if there were listeners. Otherwise he waited. Waited for the sign that would start his path.
Even after a late night, try as he might, Viorr could not sleep long after the sun started needling through the threadbare canvas that covered the window. LAst night's work had put enough coin in his pocket to rent the tiny, dirty room for another week, but intimidating goblins and poor humans for loan sharks was not work worthy of him - of one who had rode the battledields of the Last War - hooves like thunder and steel light lightning. He sighed as he sat up on the straw tick, stretching sore muscles, sigh becoming yawn and yawn becoming groan. Maybe today, soem real work for him and his blade.
HE washed and dressed, donning his armor, tucking his double blade on its long leather case on his back. He rarely ate in his lodgings - the landlady was Cyran, and always eyed him askance. Maybe , to her, with good reason. Valenar had raided settlements and fought against Cyrans before the Mourning - Viorr among them. It was no use explaining that he did not hate Cyrans. He didn't hate anyone, really, even when he did his level best to set steel into them. But life, for one of the Valenar, at least, was contest, was conflict. Was proving oneself worthy of the glory of the Ancestors. IT was no use pointing out that he had also fought alongside Cyrans, had also defended thier homes.
All bore the scars of the Last War differently, and the refugees in High Walls - one of the last places he could afford to live - had more scars than most. As they all spoke of the Last War as a horror and a mistake, Viorr kept his nostalgia for the thunder of hooves and the screams of war to himself.
But, even in peacetime, there was work for a blade and its bearer. Today, he would do a long walk and seek it out.
Heading towards the docks, Rission smelled the saltiness of the air and let the breeze wrap itself around him before spotting a familiar face.
It couldn't be. That sly dog all the way out here?
"Taryn? Taryn d'Lyrandar, by the gods it is you. What are you doing all the way out here in Sharn?"
When you're a favored son of a Dragonmarked House, every morning is a good morning.
When you're not on the road during war, guarding the lightning rail, wondering whether that hill is going to be the one hiding the contingent of enemy warforged, or that lightning stone is the one that's been trapped by a war wizard and turned into an explosive just waiting for someone to get close.
Rain or shine, it mattered not. The new peace meant that there was money and prosperity for everyone - well, everyone who wasn't living in the slums and the ruined towns and the muddy shanties of refugees and Cyran camps.
Caelan put it from his mind as he ran a brush through his hair. He banished the thought of his old battlefield companions, lying dead and attracting crows, just a few years ago, while he now was absurdly washing his face and applying eyeliner and adjusting his clothing to be "presentable" for society. He did what his old drill sergeant told him to do. He took those images and he put them on a picture in his mind, and he rolled that picture up in his mind, and he put that mental picture in a box in his mind and locked it with a mental key and put it away in a dark place.
His hands shook and he wiped his face and started applying his eyeliner again.
"Today is going to be a great day," he said to the handsome face in the mirror, and he smiled, that Cyran kind of smile where your eyes don't wrinkle at the corners because you aren't really smiling.
Sun filtered through numerous windows and air vents into the large Vista-View fest-hall in lower Sharn. More surprising a gentle sweet-smelling breeze moved through the large open spaces as if invisible forces from the elemental plane of Air itself rushed about casually. The room was styled as a longhouse, complete with a large wooden throne partially overgrown with living ivy. Visually the interior was made from fresh cut oak trees, both walls, ceiling and pillars, daubed by lightly colored mud to seal the cracks. Tables, benches, and stools were made of split logs, cobbled together with good iron nails to make them both sturdy and tough.
The atmosphere was as if you were in a sunny Cyran valley, although everybody who came in knew it for the façade it was. Outside the cobblestone street banked right against a plain but sturdy gray-brick structure of massive weight at least three stories tall. A worn sign that read ‘Vista-View Festhall’ in common, gnomish and elvish script clung to the front of the build by an ugly black-iron sign holder that hung over the massive double wooden doors of the entrance.
Gauntlet liked the place immediately, but did not mention it to his companion after they had entered, since Micky P was fussing with the owner over the last minute details for the reunion, his wrinkled face sweaty and red in frustration.
“Don’t you dare try and cheat me Melvin Vista! I know your type! Cutting corners to save a few coppers! I saved for over a year to pay for this day and by the Sovereign Host and the Blue-Flame too, I will get what I paid for!”
Nodding at the man’s need for complete perfection, Gauntlet stood nearby, just enjoying being with his friend, and dreading the festivities to come.
“You need not worry sir! The Festhall will not short-change you. Mead, ale, and wine are stocked to your specifications.”
Melvin Vista was probably of the same age as Micky, but with a slight paunch, double-chin, and well-tailored green and yellow striped suit, made him look healthier than Micky by far. The fact that he was wagging his finger in mickey’s face like a parent scolding a child, would have made Gauntlet smile if that had been possible for his face.
“Just remember you-old cheapskate, that any damage to the property or staff will come out of your deposit.”
Micky’s hunched shoulder turned away from the owner, adjusted a rolled canvas under his arm, and muttering aloud moved toward the throne-like chair at the end of the fest hall.
“Never expected to get that back anyway…”
With a look of frustrated surprise, the owner looked at Gauntlet for a moment, sniffed and turned with a dramatic twirl of his forest-green cloak and moved toward his staff and spoke to them for a moment, then left by a back exit of some sort. Gauntlet assumed the man that he had a genteel but dramatic quality when he did such things. Waste of energy to Gauntlet.
Looking back at Micky, he saw the older human with his patchwork gray hair and hunched shoulder, was sitting almost regally in the throne-like chair, a distant look in his eye and the canvas carefully balanced in his lap.
Worried, Gauntlet moved purposefully toward his friend, who looked up at his approach and waved Gauntlet away, noting his concern somehow even though nothing was on his face to reveal his thoughts.
“You worry too much my young friend. I’m fine…just need a moment to process this.”
The man sighed and lifted the canvas wrapped parcel towards Gauntlet.
“Would you do the honors? I know you were only with the unit a few weeks before the end of the war, but you were still an official Fire-Talon commando for that time and deserve to be here.”
Taking the canvas almost reverently in respect to Micky, Gauntlet carefully moves with it and reaches behind the big chair and lifts a wrought iron stand, probably meant for drying wet cloaks, or hanging rugs for beating, and set it upright next to the chair in plain view.
Unwrapping the package carefully, he revealed the unit’s rolled up and faded banner. Red, green, and gold bisected diagonally the moth-eaten unit banner, the bottom left edge black with minor burn marks, but otherwise intact. He’s seen it before of course, over two years ago, but this was the closest he had ever been to it. After one hundred years of war, Gauntlet always believed that it was often the simple things that got left behind such as this.
Carefully touching the golden stitching of the stylized phoenix and its eviscerated soldier-prey, he could almost feel every strand in his imagination. The words still clearly stitched on the device, were etched in his memory:
655th BSTU (Brelish Special Tactics Unit)
“The Fire-Talons”
Always Ready, sWilling, and mEager!
Again he would have smiled if he could at the simple jest someone had added to the banner, probably using loose threads from their own uniforms. A simple addition of a small ‘s’ and ‘m’ had relabeled the unit from ‘Willing and Eager’ to ‘Swilling and Meager’ in such a subtle manner that it impressed Gauntlet for some reason. It was probably meant as a reference to the unit’s penchant for overindulging their alcoholic side, and the fact the unit had been under-staffed and rarely fully supported by the Brellish army command for at least ten years by the time the war had ended.
Carefully, Guantlet arranged the banner for the best possible view from the hall, and stepped away to check it.
Micky P sat, twisted in his big chair with his lips pursed watching Gauntlet.
“This was such a waste of money. Oh well…honor is honor and everything.”
Sitting normally again, he lifted his hand up toward the nearest servant who was wandering around the hall finalizing preparations.
“Young lass? Would you do me the honor putting a tankard of something strong and tasty…actually, never mind just make it strong….and keep it full for me? I want to be able to enjoy myself somehow tonight…”
Gauntlet moved to flank the big chair away from the other side of the banner, his position now at a perfect military parade rest. He watched the servant glance at his bulk with a frown, then move off quickly to find something to fill Micky’s request. Settling in to wait for the first people from their unit to finally arrive, Gauntlet wondered for the millionth time whether he should just leave.
Gauntlet shook his head silently. Micky needed his support tonight, whatever comes. Besides who would carry him home afterward if it wasn’t Gauntlet?
Finally leaving the park he went to his small room and gathered the letter from his mother that had arrived from some group called the 655th. They claimed his father had served with them and there was to be a reunion. That he had served with some distinction and that when the war ended all they had was mother's address to forward to. Perhaps his father would be there, or at least he may learn about him. So Pink Eye took the invite and the name tag Yordryk "Spleenripper" or Yord and put it on wondering if he looked like his father. He travelled to the Festhall arriving half an hour after start, and he walked in and took a look around.
After breaking your fast you wander the city observing the preparations for the celebration of the Treaty of Thronehold taking place tomorrow. You are struck by the dichotomy of reactions to the date. Many see it as a day of celebration, others a day of mourning, still others react to it not all all. Life was a struggle before and after the war, especially for the poor.
You wander into the afternoon where you walk by a festhall in lower Sharn the Vista-View Festhall. Outside is a banner, Reunion - 655th BSTU (Brelish Special Tactics Unit) - “The Fire-Talons”
Suddenly you remember, Mickey P, an old veteran of the war invited you to this gathering today It must have slipped your mind. While not a member of the unit you have had interactions with Mickey P as he is a broker for protection jobs and an acquaintance of you and your House.
As you consider whether to stop in for a drink a hulking figure passes you by, a Minotaur! The thing must be 7' tall with deep red or are they pink eyes. The creature dips down opens the door and enters the festhall.
You check in with some contacts looking for work for the day or better yet the week. One of your contacts, Bluth Redmear, recommends you seek out Mickey P at the Vista-View Festhall in lower Sharn.
"The old timer is having some kind of reunion of his old Brelish Company today. You get him good and drunk today Elf, and you'll have the pick of jobs for the next tenday with him mark my word. He has nostalgia for his company if not the war itself".
As Gauntlet considers his friend the door to the festhall opens and a larger than life figure strides in. The creature is a Minotaur standing at least 7' tall. It's appearance causes a gasp to erupt from the staff. Perhaps it is the red eyes of the creature which practically glow in in the sunbeam that cascades from the air vents of the hall onto his face.
Mickey looks at the door and stands up in excitement, "Red Horn? Red Horn is that you!?"
Standing next to the human is a Warforged, like most Warforged, this one looks like a large man made from rock, various metals, and wood. Obviously designed for front-line fighting, its bulk is slightly higher and the metal compositions have a darker coloration from all the
adamantine added to it.
His head is slightly bulkier as well with what appears to be a helmet-like fixture over a skull-like face, and with his unique symbol glowing prominently on his forehead. Strangely enough his particular symbol resembles a stylized four-fingered hand held upright.
Finished preparing for the day you wander the House looking for your cousin Erix. Thoughe here for only a week you and he have gotten along quite well though you have evaded the reason for your trip here. Free spirit that he is he has already left the House. As you sit for breakfast you look again at the invitation you received from Mickey P. The invitation is dated for today and has your name and Erix's name on it.
Erix admitted that he remember the company, “The Fire-Talons” but not Mickey. You remember Mickey well enough, a soldiers soldier and a man quite taken in by nostalgia. His entire life all he knew was the Last War, you have not seen him since your last supply run to his unit not too long before the Day of Mourning, you were a teen then but already a trusted member of the House.
Certainly if you ignore the invitation you will likely offend old Mickey but the last thing you wish to do is relive or rehash your experiences from that time. What to do what to do...
Ama tries without success to fight off boredom until mid-day when the sound of a man clearing his throat brings her out of her doldrums. Ama turns to look at the man, he is elderly, a human male and a scholar from Morgrave University based on his robes.
"Excuse me my dear, could I trouble you for some assistance in finding a few tomes that relate to the activities of House Cannith? These tomes should be dealing with the Houses earliest history. I am not sure if they are lent out, which would be unusual based on how far back they date, or misplaced. An odd request I know but for some reason the Cannith donated these books here instead of to the Library of the University".
As you consider whether to enter or simply walk away a middle aged dwarf approaches the door. He notices you and turns back before pushing it open. "Well are you gonna come in or not? Dolom's the name, Sergeant Dolom, both of the [b]Fire Talons in the War and now of the Sharn Watch".[/b]
Caelan thinks as he chews slowly on his scone. Then he pushes the invitation to one side. He washes down the bite with morning tea and needlessly checks his collar. He fidgets with the last of the fresh grapes, rolling it in his hand and inspecting it as if a jeweler at his craft. Then he gets up and leaves the breakfast table.
Five minutes later he re-enters the nook and picks up the invitation. He unfolds it and looks down at it. His lips set hard and he mutters, "Once part of the unit, always part of the unit. And never leave a man behind." He raps the invitation against his other hand and says, "I hope you're doing better than I, Mickey. I suppose we'll find out."
Gauntlet stares at the minotaur as he enters the hall a bit surprised the unit employed what many would term a 'monster.' He'd heard of Droaam mercenaries before of course, and Sharn even had a few minotaur running around in the lowest sections doing..whatever minataur do underground.
Considering one minotaur he's met personally: Titus One-Horn who worked as a bouncer and part-time leg breaker for most of Sharn's loan sharks, Gauntlet's opinion of them increased looking at this specimen. He'd swear on a Sharn inquisitive's Law Codex that the minotaur's fur was brushed!
Approaching the man-monster casually, Gauntlet offers his right hand in greetings.
"Welcome good Sir! The 655th welcomes you back into the fold for a day of remembrance and carousing. Feel free to sign into the register book by the door..."
Gauntlet suddenly felt hesitant. Can he read or write? Is IT even a HE?
"You'll forgive me? I'm not even sure if common speech is normal for you at all, but are you this 'Red Horn' that Micky speaks of?"
Pink eye laughs with the War Forged and says, Can you speak common and readand write? Pink Eye signs into the register and then looks up again saying I am Red Horns son, Pink Eye. I have come looking for him and information of him, as I know little. Pink Eye takes the offered hand giving it a firm shake and then shakes Mikey's hand as well with a smile.
"Truly you are a friend to those in need, Bluth. Of course, one longs for the company of comrades with whom one has proven oneself. How would I find this feast-hall? With a name like vista-view, I am surprised it is in the lower wards..."
Armed with his easy smile and directions from Bluth, Viorr casually makes his way toward the feast-hall.
Both men make their way independently to a lift to bring them to bowels of Sharn.
Higher in the city steps on with a single passenger a woman with a small poodle who does not turn his way, no doubt her nose is so high she could not se past in anyway. She gets off at the next stop down.
The lift descends and this time an elf gets on the lift . On the lift already is a human he seems an odd composition of military man and noble house scion. He wears eyeshadow which Viorr picks up on immediately.
The Lift continues to descend with no one else getting on until it gets even lower into the bowels of the city. The next stop a cloaked figure gets on the Lift, it settles in the back of the lift and it continues down.
The lift stops at the level where the Vista-View Festhall is located. Both Viorr and Caelan step off, the cloaked figure remains and the lift continues down.
Both men proceed to the Festhall in front of the Festhall is a human male and a dwarf speaking to the man, you both catch the end of his sentence. ..."Sergeant Dolom, both of the Fire Talons in the War and now of the Sharn Watch".
Erix was out on a simple courier mission, delivering a small package to a local non-House affiliated guild, then picking up and carrying another to an affiliated one. .
While the job itself was simple, it allowed the young man the liberty to wander the streets of his city, and take in the lay of the land. While he wasn't famous, per se, he was well known in his neighborhood. Thus, several street vendors bade him greeting, as he made his way through the district. Such welcomes always put a smile on Erix' face, as these were the people he protected at night.
Mickey P grins, "Damn, you're bigger even'n your father was young one! Its a damn pleasure to meet you son. There were some in the company weren't too fond of a foreign mercenary joining the Talons, much less one that was considered by most folk a monster.
Mark my words, Red Horn didn't need to save their lives twice to win them over if you catch my drift. He was a man of few words, let his double-bladed battle axe do the talking. It sang tales that likes of which few Bards dare dream!
When the war ended your father had no interest in comin' to Sharn, I tried to talk him into it but he declined. Was hopin' he had come around... but hell, here you are so maybe there is hope he might show up yet".
Mickey P steps down out of the chair that Gauntlet set up for him, "Barmaid! Two drinks, no three drinks for the son of a war hero!"
"Certainly my dear", the Professor signs the book Bonal Geldem School of Pre-Galifar Studies.
"There are three books I am searching for... ah I am sorry my dear what is your name?"
Once you provide it he continues, "Well met Ama. I seek three tomes, the first The Pre-History of House Cannith more of a pamphlet really. The second is a treatise by Alder d'Cannith, Schema: Functions and Origins. The third, House Cannith and the War of the Mark, A Guide to their Innovations and Inventions".
The holdings of House Thuranni are similar to those of House Orien in the City of Sharn, tasteful but not ostentatious. This House and your House are not well represented in Sharn compared to Cannith or Deneith whose holdings are substantial but still appearances must be kept up to ensure that others see the Houses for what they should be, links to the past and power not what they may be.. whatever that is.
Soon enough a representative of the House brings you back two separate pieces one a small painting and the other a small sculpture. The Elf speaks, "Erix I am Thulin d'Thuranni. The painting is the item that n eeds to end up in your House and then be couriered to Wroat and a Kaskel Keelhand. The statue I am hoping you can deliver to a place named the Vista-View Festhall. It is in the Lower Wards and not the safest place but my runner took ill this morning and could not deliver the piece. How much to handle that side job?"
At that moment you remember that this is indeed a familiar place to you in name through actually visiting the place. A Mickey P, an old war acquaintance asked you to attend the reunion of his company the Fire Talons. Though obviously never part of the company you made several deliveries to them on the front lines of the Last War and took a liking to the straight talking Mickey.
As you consider whether to enter or simply walk away a middle aged dwarf approaches the door. He notices you and turns back before pushing it open. "Well are you gonna come in or not? Dolom's the name, Sergeant Dolom, both of the [b]Fire Talons in the War and now of the Sharn Watch".[/b]
"Me? I'm not exactly a Fire Talon. But, if you'll have a guest, I'll drink an ale and listen to a story or two. It'll have to be quick....I'm a touch absent minded, and forgot another appointment later today. One quick drink never hurt anyone, did it," Artival smiles broadly. He extended his hand. "I'm Artival Brisboir. House Deneith. And I love drink and good stories!". He moved to follow the drawn inside for the reunion.
Mickey P. will be fine if I'm a few minutes late. Bet he'll appreciate the story about this Minotaur!
Know. History
As he wanders in, the red haired man ponders as to whether he's heard of this organization before.
As you step inside with the dwarf you see Mickey P. standing right next to he Minotaur! Standing beside them is a Warforged though its bulk is slightly higher and the metal compositions have a darker coloration from all the adamantine added to it.
Dolom strides right to Mickey P.
The man replies, "Me? I'm not exactly a Fire Talon. But, if you'll have a guest, I'll drink an ale and listen to a story or two. It'll have to be quick....I'm a touch absent minded, and forgot another appointment later today. One quick drink never hurt anyone, did it," Artival smiled broadly. He extended his hand. "I'm Artival Brisboir. House Deneith. And I love drink and good stories!".
With that both the human and the dwarf enter leaving you both outside staring at the now closed door.
Before either Pink Eye or Gauntlet can get a word in or the bar maid can deliver the drinks, the door opens and two more people step in.
One is familiar to both Mickey and Gauntlet, the grizzled veteran Sergeant of the Fire Talons Dolom! The second, a human male, is not familiar to either Warforged or Minotaur but appears to be familiar to Mickey.
"Artival good of you to come! I see you met the Sarge!"
Dolom looks at Pink Eye an exclaims, "Jesus, what kinda race is yours that yer gettin' younger Red Horn!?"
As you step inside with the dwarf you see Mickey P. standing right next to he Minotaur! Standing beside them is a Warforged though its bulk is slightly higher and the metal compositions have a darker coloration from all the adamantine added to it.
Dolom strides right to Mickey P.
"Oh hey Mickey P., what are you doing here? How do you know these fine folk? I was going to listen to my new friend Dolom here, have a drink or two, and head right your way," he stammers a bit, slightly uncomfortable at being caught keeping his old acquaintance waiting.
"Dolom, how do you know Mickey? Mickey, you weren't a Fire Talon on the sly, were you? And what's the deal with that Minotaur," he whispers, trying to guide the topic a bit.
Mickey P points to the banner hanging across the corner of the room.
655th BSTU (Brelish Special Tactics Unit)
“The Fire-Talons”
Always Ready, sWilling, and mEager!
"Damn straight I was!" he replies beaming with a broad smile, perhaps the most genuine smile you have ever seen on his face.
Dolom chimes in, "Damn good soldier Mickey was too. Lotta tough battles, lotta friends left behind... Now, where's that drink?"
Caelan glances to the elf who arrived at the door alongside him, then says, "Only one way to find out." He reaches out, hesitates briefly, then opens the door and steps inside.
Feeling the need to defend his oldest and only true friend, Gauntlet points to the banner as well.
"Farley McPheer is the oldest survivor of the unit, that was why the last unit commander gave him the banner when we were
officially disbanded, as well as the job of organizing this reunion. His 'official' job was as company procurement and supply
officer for the unit. Although most just called him the company Muleskinner. Since the company was often 'forgotten' by
the Brelish High Command due to the many outcasts and rebellious soldiers sent to it, if it wasn't for Micky and his
connections with various Black Market groups, the unit would have probably disappeared by attrition ten years before the
war ended."
Feeling a bit out of place, but inspired by his own speech for some reason, Gauntlet also spoke up in defense of Pink Eye as
well but keeps his voice low.
"That Sir Artival is Pink-Eye the Minotaur, the son of Red-Horn, who was himself a one-time mercenary companion of the 655th.
While I'm sure he can speak for himself on the matter, speaking of him like this is a bit rude is it not?"
Feeling awkward now for saying more in a few minutes than he normally says in a week, he decides it is only fair to introduce
himself.
"I am called 'Gauntlet' for obvious reasons. I was attached to the 655th a few weeks before the war ended. While I did not
see much combat, I was put in Mickey's keeping at the time as 'property' of the Brelish army, and 'issued' out for
various tasks and missions. Since the war ended and I was made free, I followed Micky back to Sharn, and the rest is prologue
to some other story I'm sure."
Seeing others now entering the festhall, Gauntlet turns and starts awayto see to their needs and welcome them.
"Forgive me? I must greet the newcomers."
"Greetings Sir! Welcome to the 655th 'Fire-Talons' reunion. Are you a former part of the unit or a family member of one?
Please, sign in the register by the door when you have a moment to do so. I am Gauntlet, a rather late addition to the 655th,
but Mickey says it still counts."
Viorr catches the door before it closes, following the human into the hall.
Artival scratches his chin for a moment, staring at the war forged. "Mickey P, what else in the hells haven't you told me? You are a war hero, and this bucket of bolts was your butler back in the day? You've got to fill me in on more of your past. What a life you've led!"
He looks around, trying to find a drink in this place. If it has minotaurs, war forged, and such, clearly there had to be a bar somewhere in this place.
Pink Eye watches the group of people arrive most especially the dwarf and this Mickey fellow who seem to know the most of his father, and he nods with a touch of respect to the warforged and his comments on belonging here. He will move from the entry and wait for the dwarf or Mickey to have some time alone with them.
"Pardon me...Greetings good Sir,...Viorr! Interesting to see you here. I know elves live long lives, but I
never heard of a full-blood elf working with the 655th. Are you looking for Micky P?"
"Atiel? You mean the Head Librarian of this very library? Is he here, can we speak with him?"
Pink-Eye
As you step to the side and Mickey engages other newcomers Dolom approaches you, "How is your father doing lad?"
Artival
After a few minutes the wenches get it together and the drink starts to flow. Mickey shrugs, "I am an old man Arti, if I sat and told ya' every story no work'd get done!"
Caelan says over his shoulder to the elf as he enters, "Let's at least see what they're offering to drink, hmm?" True to his word he glances over where they ladies are trying to set up the beverages, shrugs, and then grins and says, "Mickey!" He flings his arms wide as he strides toward the host. "This whole affair is a bit unexpected, I must admit. But it does focus on the good memories. Thanks for that. You know, I appreciate the invitation, even if my House wouldn't let me actually join any of the national militaries; we saw some things together, that's for certain."
"Seems like every bloke, or beast, or bolt head in this place knows you, Mickey P! For those of you I haven't met yet, you can call me Artival. From House Deneith," he adds, clearly a habit of his.
As the drinks flow faster, the man was enjoying himself immensely. "So give me another good story, someone. We can't let all this ale go down without an appropriate tale!"
Dolom sir, I am actually here looking for informationabout my father and where he may be. I know very little of him but that he is or was a mercanary and he belonged to this group. Pergaps you might tell me more?