Bjorkus nods and stands to take his leave.
"I'm gunna look for some grub and see 'bout finding some hard drink. Fighting always makes me hungry", the bull rumbles. "Come find me when you're ready to go."
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Toramin will write letters to the families of all the men and women who died under his command, but I'm only writing out one as a representative sample -- the letter to the family of the fellow who died to a great club.
To the Kin of Nathaniel Mern,
Blessings be upon you in the name of Torag and all the goodly gods. I regret to inform you that Nathaniel Mern was slain in the line of duty this morning, the blank of blank, year X. He fell fighting one of the enemy officers when we took the outer walls. It was an honor to command Nathaniel in battle. He was both brave and loyal. I know that words on parchment are small comfort against the loss of a loved one. They are no replacement for a brave and honorable man. Please, however, do not despair. Do not think he died in a land far from home for a cause that was not his. All lands are one land, all peoples are one people, and a righteous cause is righteousness no matter where it is prosecuted. Nathaniel was not merely one of thousands who died in battle to day. He is a hero who died to save those who could not save themselves.
Respectfully,
Toramin Gearsmith, Paladin of Torag, in service to Colonel Geoffrey Aertis
The last letter Toramin will right is to his next youngest sister, Ianna, priestess and divine tactician of Torag. She was named in honor of Yana, their grandmother, and is currently the apple of their father's eye. Toramin writes this letter in Dwarven, though not to keep secrets. He is fully aware that in all likelihood this letter will be read be several different eyes who possess diverse agendas before it reaches his sister.
Dearest Ianna,
I survived the first day of battle, and we have taken the outer walls. I know you opposed my coming, and were angry when last we spoke that I had not stood up to our father. I can only pray that my continued survival has blunted the edge of your ire. Only time will prove father right or wrong in all things, but I know he is right when he said that you are the future of our clan. Little sister, the future of our clan should not spend her days sulking.
Certainly not on my account!
Ianna, there are so many different kinds of human on the surface. Though, strangely, they focus more on the minute differences that distinguish them rather than on the multitude of commonalities that unite them. It is baffling and utter foolishness. It makes me pray all the harder for the day when all peoples come to know the blessings of civilization and recognize that we are all one people -- beloved of the gods. This puzzling focus on differences has no better example than my new, young friend, Gabriel Leoni. He is a good lad, and will -- one day --make a great leader. But, I was puzzled, when I first met him, why there was so much hostility against him within the camp. It took me over two weeks to discover the reason. It is not because he is either incompetent or malicious. Can you believe it is because he has a tail? As if that were a particularly notable feature. Honestly, I'm surprised that more humans don't have tails -- given their peculiar breeding habits.
You will be pleased to learn that Colonel Geoffrey Aertis is mostly everything people say about him. Ianna, there are great secrets that infest both sides in this war, and I am privy to few of them. So I commend myself to the honor and wisdom of my superior officer in all such matters -- especially those I do not yet comprehend. If it is in Torag's will, then I shall return to clan and family. Do not worry for me too greatly.
I must lay down my pen and return to my duties. I hope that this missive finds you well, and that you will write me back when you are able.
Your Devoted Brother,
Toramin Gearsmith, Paladin of Torag, in service to Colonel Geoffrey Aertis
Gabriel will, in addition to Toramin's letters, send a small note of apology and thanks to the families as well at the end of each, signed with his first name and his title 'Squire to Sir Geoffrey'.
"I think I'll join you in finding this Simon fellow," Dalton says to Gabriel as they depart. "I don't know many of these military folk by name."
The rest of the siege seemed to go easier once they had secured their section of the wall. Lindale assisted Toramin in destroying several other catapults and basically hastening the securing of the outer wall for their forces to completely advance with minimal casualties.
He reports to Geoffrey when ordered. "I am honoured to be a part of this special force." He does not have any questions that the others don't ask so remains quiet and listens and learns.
Psotheos nods in understanding the logic of using the sewers to enter the inner city. He swallows nervously an lets out his breath. It’s been ten years, he tells himself. You’re not a little kid.
The sewers. He remembers the one and only time he visited the sewers. Being six years old, stuffing wads of mint leaves into his nostrils at the entrance his older brothers had chosen to start their exploration. The tunnels were dark, smelly despite the mint, slimy, and moist. He ran back to the surface after 100 yards. Pythanes sighed in resignation at the day’s interrupted adventure. Leander teased him until Pythanes told him to stop.
”Thank you for the opportunity Colonel Geoffrey,” Psotheos says. ”I will visit Simon before we leave. Until then I have some letters to write as well.”
He returns to his tent and writes letters to Naskia Puleon, a girl in Brumik, Bradodroga his dwarven architecture teacher, and Ullioa his mother. He attempts to explain his actions, the rational behind his choices, and the hopes he has for the future if he doesn’t die on this endeavor. Psotheos does start a letter to his brother Leander, but after two sentences and more time spent staring at his tent’s wall thinking about their last meeting, he realizes it is not to be. He burns the letter in a candle flame.
Once everybody makes their way over to Simon's tent (which is a MASSIVE tent on the edge of the camp), you see him emerge from the front flap. He has leather armor on that looks more for protecting him from magic than weapons, as you see quite a few burns across it. His hair sticks out a little wildly he has dark red gloves on that are flawless. He smiles and bounds over when he sees you. "Hey, the famous heroes gallantly return! What a story, from the way the soldiers tell it you took down half a dozen dragons with no backup." He removes one of the red gloves and shakes each of your hands. "Oh but never mind the gossip, I have official orders from Geoffrey to outfit each of you. I've looked over your paperwork, or in the case of some of you just asked some questions, and I think I have a few ideas of some spoils you might like..." He waves you into the enormous tent, eager to show off his findings.
The tent is a spectacular display of items. If it's made out of metal, there's at least a dozen of it in here somewhere. He leads you to the back, past all sorts of equipment, and takes out a large bronze key to open a smaller room. He ushers you all in then fastens the door shut, waving a pair of guards over to watch the entrance.
He turns with a flourish and summons up a small light in his hand, then says "Voila! For the dwarf I had no trouble. I heard of your stalwart defense of the wall, and decided you need greater protection from those that wish to cut you down! For you I have dub up a very fine set of armor. And where is a defense without bashing some skulls in? From the northern mountains we found a trove of dwarven treasure, and within it this finely made longhammer."
"Now for the paradox of the tiefling paladin, I heard of you valiantly using all your healing on soldiers under your command! Well despite them appreciating the gesture we'd hate to leave you underpowered if you need some emergency healing, so from the hall of wands we have taken out this, which shall cure many a wounds before its magic runs out." He grins "And of course, a good paladin needs a good weapon. So here is a longsword of elven make, sharp as sin itself."
"Now Mr.Wizard, you have want for neither weapons nor armor. However, I consulted one of my friends in the arcane studies and he recommended these." From around his neck he removes a pearl of multicolored, imbued pearls. "These will allow you to bolster your spells."
"And onto our lovely dark skinned elf friend. Now you sir, are a hard one to identify. As far as your records seem, you're nothing more than an ordinary soldier." he smirks and raises a brow. "But, even the lowliest soldier cannot have metal too finely made upon him! So of dwarven make we have found a set of armor and shield for you to protect you. And even more interestingly, a rapier forged by what creature we know not, but a half mad men followed by creatures of the abyss wielded it and attempted to cut down an entire battalion single handed."
"Now we get into our less official heroes, who have no records. Well by word of mouth I heard our large, hairy friend here can be rather reckless. Well we can't have you dying by some sort of trickery, so here is a giant's lucky charm, one that magically increased his chance of survival. May it serve you well."
"And onto our other prisoner, the one who rains arrows down upon most invulnerable foes. Now you need not worry about your foes ignoring the sting of your bow, for the slightest touch of this magic will send them to dreamland."
He waits as each person tries out their new things, beaming with pride.
Toramin gives him a good dwarfish bow. "Thank you. These will serve me well, and hopefully save lives."
Bjorkus raises a brow at the claim but accepts the trinket gratefully. He quickly affixes the trinkets to his belt so it dangles alongside his loincloth. Feeling the tingle of protective magic, the bull nods in understanding.
"Appreciated", he rumbles. "I'm feelin' luckier already."
"Why, thank you, good man." Dalton gazes down at the pearls through his spectacles. "Very fine indeed!" He tried them on, adjusting them with the folds of his collar. "And quite fashionable, if I do say so myself." Pearls weren't something Dalton had to worth with often as imports from the sea were rarer than those from the mountains, so he could learn a thing or two about his own craft by studying them.
In fact, the pearls weren't the only thing that caught Dalton's eye Simon was showing-off. Though the man was correct in the sense he had little concern over the armor or weapons, the immaculate gloves he wore were quite a sight! And such a lovely shade of crimson.
"Say," ventured Dalton, "Those gloves are quite finely made. Did you stitch them together yourself?"
He looks down at the gloves, spreading his fingers. "Afraid not, I'm not much of a crafter. I traded an authentic double axe of an orc warchief for them. Infinitely useful, I can literally pick up coals in a roaring fire without worry."
"Well then! Maybe we'll have to go slay those dragons you spoke of, and then we'll have a matching set."
"We will need a lot of grappling hooks," Toramin mutters.
Lindale nods as he is presented with the new weapon and armour. Not too pleased about being confused with an elf.
"Oh, before I forget, would you happen to have some blank scrolls and a piece of coal or something? We may need to do some tracing and I can't think of anything quicker." He was willing to defer to Geoffrey's wisdom, but the fact is a portable version of a map of the underground would come in handy for a dozen reasons, the least of which being valuable information to bring back and one of the higher reasons being the ability too coordinate both above ground and below where they were. He blinks when the man speaks, and his tail twitches at the word 'paradox' when describing his nature and his choice to become a paladin. It was odd, certainly, but Gabriel had done his best to ignore such comments for a long time. Hearing it again after an entire day of it not coming up was... surprising.
Gabriel accepts the wand curiously for a moment, and then begins looking it over. Technically his training had taught him how to use such things, a simple point, touch and so on... but he had never actually held a thing of magic before. And it hit him then. He could do magic. He blinks and accepts the sword with a mumbled thank you, then stands there looking down at the wand with completely and utter shock. "Hey... Toramin... we can do magic..." He looks down to the dwarf, seemingly shocked by this realization. "I'm dreaming, right? Still sleeping in the slave's room waiting to be woken up by my mother for a day of thankless, near payless work?"
"Grappling hooks and some writing materials, I practically give that away!"
"The grappling hooks were for dragon hunting, good Simon."
Gabriel's innocent joy evokes a friendly chuckle from Toramin. "Lad, you may be able to do magic; but, as my father says, I am 'completely useless at magic in all its myriad forms.'"
"It's not so hard. You just need to keep your nose to the grindstone!" Dalton dismisses their ruminations as those of people without the discipline to learn. If a lowly serf like me can, anyone can. "I'll take you up on some of those papers though, Simon; no telling how elaborate of a labyrinth they have waiting for us. Might take one sheet or a pound of them."
Simon grins "Actually the way I was told is that a dextrous little halfling had his wizard use protective magic on him, and then he proceeded to taunt the dragon until it swallowed him! Well he had about a minute until he was no longer protected, so he took two immovable rods and placed them on either side of the dragons spine. The cleric then plan shifted and saved the halfling from digestion, and at that point they simply stood at the dragons backside where he was afraid to turn to breathe fire on them."
Psotheos holds an arrow in his hands, examining the balance, the grain along the shaft, the fletching, and the arrowhead’s design. ”This is beautiful,” he says. ”Thank you, sir, for these.” He bows slightly then watches the others examine their gifts.
Chuckling at Simon’s story about the dragon, Psotheos’ gaze sweeps around the room. What was the king doing at this moment? What defenses were being prepared?
”Simon, do you have anything to mask the sewer’s odor? Mint leaves do work to some degree. Though I’ve heard of an unguent made with rose and lavender oils. Dab it on the nostrils.”
Lindale smirks, "Afraid of a little smell? You human nobles are a little quaint." No Drow noble would complain about such a thing.
Bjorkus chuckles at some of the banter before being reminding of the important task they'd been given.
"Shouldn't we be goin'?" the bull rumbles. "The colonel's plannin' to sync the distraction with our approach. We should be ready."
"Bjorkus is right. We have no time to dally. People's lives depend on our actions."
With that Toramin will head towards the meeting point.
Dalton snickers at Lindale's jab, and he heads along with the Dwarf. Let's see what's in store...
Once everybody meets back with Geoffrey again, he leads you all to a manhole behind The Quicksilver Coin. You all stand there for a moment as a pair of soldiers remove the heavy plate of metal, and a stomach turning scent rolls out. Geoffrey scrunches his nose, taking out half a dozen handkerchiefs and handing them out. He looks at all of you seriously. "I'm assuming from the way the tunnels are curved it will take you a little over an hour to reach the designated entrance point at the northwestern edge. So in exactly 1 hour I will launch a hit and run assault, turning into a full scale siege if they offer little resistance. If they're holed up like we think they are, we're going to focus on keeping casualties to a minimum." He looks at each of you in turn. "Tiasar will contact you every hour for a status update as well as informing you of the state that we are in. Other than your major goals you have no more guidelines. Use your heads. Be smart. And DO NOT" He smiles "Well, you know. Blessings of Abadar upon you, may your mission go as smoothly as his plans do." With that he gives you all a salute, then watches you climb down into the stench filled depths...
Lindale salutes the colonel and offers to go first. "Good luck Colonel."
You all feel a bit green as you begin walking through the dark, noxious waters, but Dalton begins coughing uncontrollably. When Gabriel takes a moment to step back and check on him, Dalton coughs violently into his hand and raises it into the light to see it covered in blood.
"Ep .. ackpt!" Bloodly pheglm coats the wizard's hand. Not just the usual fit of coughing for one his age, he actually felt woozy. He leans on Gabriel for support a moment, then takes to his own balance again. "Sorry. My windpipe isn't what it used to be..." With that, he gave up on the subtlety he'd been hoping for and illuminated his pearls. [b]"But I'm not going to be falling over in this sludge."
Bjorkus frowns at the sight.
"Maybe you shouldn't be walkin' in this s!*~", the bull rumbles while lifting a hoof out of the muck. "Can you conjure another of those magic disks?"
Dalton considers the surprisingly insightful minotaur's request a moment before shaking his head. "I must save my energy in case we come across another one of those blade-wielders. Dastardly strong..." While the idea would make his life quite a bit easier now, the transmuter worried such an encounter again would see his life ended. Then again, this passive pestilence seemed to be doing just that. He could always change his mind later though...
"Well there's no sense savin' energy if it kills ya. I saw a man cough his own lungs up from sea rot once. It wasn't a good way to die", he adds with a snort.
"If I see my throat coming out of my mouth, I'll be sure to take it a bit easier." A sounding footfall in the muck splatters on Dalton's jacket. "I daresay I'll need a new set of garbs when I'm done here!"
Hoping to inspire the party to keep up a good pace, Bjorkus marches through the sludges tirelessly.
"Remember the men that're dyin' up above. Make they're deaths matter."
Toramin will be looking for the supposed built in maps. He will do a rubbing of each one that looks different and will be taking notes as the walk down to reverse engineer an architectural plan of the sewers. Colonel Geoffery might not be interested in details, but Toramin certainly is.
He hopes using these maps and his observations to be able to deduce spaces where there could be such things as "secret passage ways" etc.
Every so often, Dalton turns to the wall and says a few words. A brief flash of golden light in a geometric rune pattern appears and then fades. "These markings will be visible to those with some magical talent, but otherwise invisible. I thought they'd come in handy down here. The best news is ... ackpt! ... they're not too taxing on me."
Lindale takes the lead again using his superior darkvision and staying a little bit ahead of the rest he does not speak much. The only sound he makes is the odd supressed cough.
Gabriel glances to Dalton when the man leans against him and tries to deduce what the man is going through. Unfortunately, most of his experience with injuries, and his extremely knew knowledge and skill with healing, really didn't translate well to a less common sort of illness such as one brought on by walking through a sewer. Have they poisoned the ground below? He hoped not. As he walks, he would draw his new sword. With Dalton hacking up a lung they were sure to draw attention and he wanted to be ready. But he would try and study Dalton out of the corner of his eye to see if he can piece together whats wrong with the half-elf.