No feeling of sadness was had for Nuro by Dalton. However, nearly having a heart attack at the crazed "king"'s thrust from behind, he breathed a sigh of relief. Before breathing a breath of wonder.
I've just helped slay a king!
Not proud of himself, but more exhilarated, Dalton looked around the room. He wasn't in command, but there was nobody to tell him no or stop him from staking (reasonable) claims.
At least that's what he thought before the Dwarf started talking.
Nethys above. How insufferable it was to listen to those bindings of morality. While the wizard felt bad for the captive soldier, he had valuables to scrounge. Given the success of the spell from the previous day, that would be blood. Nuro and his concubine-sorceress surely had potent vitals. After that, a look at that blade which almost skewered him would be nice.
Above all, a good long victory feast. "Wonderful work, gentlemen. Surely I would be on the floor without you!"
"If you need any help returning to what remains of the forest or relocation, I am an attache of the leader of the Andrilian army and would be happy to put you in contact with those who can more directly aid you."
The elf shakes his head. "The only reason we did not leave before was the anti-magic field he held us in. With our powers we are a strong force and can hold our own. We thank you for your help but politely refuse it. You shall forever be welcome in our halls should you venture deep to the south."
"I affirm your autonomy and your choice. I must warn you however that Nuro created an enhanced version of zombie rot and has been infecting portions of population and his prisoners. Before you leave, I would request that you speak to some of our clerics to make sure you haven't been infected."
The man smiles thinly. "We are well aware of the threat, but quite a few of us are skilled healers and are more than capable to handle it."
Bjorkus continues to stand guard and keep an eye out for the conquering army.
Lindale stands by watching the druids carefully.
"I have no doubt that you are, and any advice you see fit to give them would be most welcome. It of course isn't a condition of your release. That is unconditional. You are free to aid us or not as you see fit. It would, however, be a courtesy to make sure that you are not vectors for the disease. I can only imagine the devastation should it spread."
Toramin returns the smile with a shade more warmth on his rocky face. All people are one people, even if some are too smug by half.
The elf sighs wearily. "Now is not the time. What is it the dwarves say? The rock beneath your feat is unsteady? That is out footing and we need to keep delicate matters from becoming handled with force." He clasps your hand, warmly. "Please do visit our leafy halls one day." With that he gestures to the others and they begin their leave.
"Go then with the blessing of Torag, and the blessing of Toramin Gearsmith as well. The fact that any could be saved is a bounty from the gods."
As Bjorkus kills Nuro, Psotheos cries out ”Hurrah!” He trains an arrow at the guards, but seeing that their threat is ended, he relaxes and returns an arrow to his quiver. He leans against the corridor’s wall and slides to the floor, not quite believing that the war is over.
He spends a few minutes looking at Nuro’s corpse. Tears of joy stream down his cheeks. He can hear the others talking but doesn’t join in. He wants to hear the city’s bells ringing. He wants to hear the city’s citizens singing. He wants to see Nuro’s body burn on a pyre.
Coming back into the throne room, the young noble says to his companions, ”Thank you! Everyone! Thank you. I will hire a bard to sing your praises. One year from today, please join me here in Xilres and we will feast. Soon, I hope to invite you to my family’s home to feast, but we must attend to other necessities first.”
He witnesses the release of the druids and awaits the arrival of Colonel Geoffrey.
His innate dislike of Arjax by birth quashed for the moment, Dalton didn't mind exchanging some words. "A year from today? Young man, I don't mean to starve tonight - that storeroom we came through has enough for us to feast now!"
Plenty of blood abounding for experimentation later, Dalton was quite satisfied with the day. "What do you plan to do no with your country not ruled by this madman?"
Soon the sound of dozens of metal boots on the hard floor reaches the groups ears, and Geoffrey arrives. Gone is the kind eyed, patient commander. He looks steeled, accusatory, angry...and infinitely sad. He quietly asks what happened, and after things are explained to him he grips his sword with white knuckles and buries it in the wooden door. "Do you even understand the implications of what you have done! Your orders were to open the door, nothing more! Not only did you directly disobey me, but you killed the last of the royal bloodline of this country! You could have very well started a civil war!" He makes eye contact with each member, waiting for them to say something. The instant somebody does, Geoffrey raises a hand "No, don't. Everything I have said is true, and I ought to have you tried as war criminals for it." he glances between them once more, then sighs "But I won't, because I would have done the exact same thing." he gives a sad smile, and a bit of the old Geoffrey gleams through.
Geoffrey orders everybody else to leave, then sits down and takes his helm off. He sits there a moment, then starts shaking. After a moment he looks up, tears streaming down his face "They used the civilians against us. The infected civilians. I...I had no choice. They were already dead, and I needed to protect my men...I ordered for the civilians to be slaughtered like pigs. It was a bloody massacre...some of them were still somewhat human..." he looks back down, a tear dropping from his cheek to the bloodstained floor, mixing grief with pain.
A moment later he wipes his tears, then stands and takes a deep breath, voice still full of grief, but determination as well "I have more work than ever to do. I will not forget what has happened, but it is time to look to the future and begin to lead it towards order" He reaches down, picking up his helm and looking at it. After a moment, he scratches the paint, making a tear fall out of the left eye "And I would like your help" Geoffrey turns the party "You are reckless to the point of madness, but you are damn intuitive and creative. I've rarely seen a shock team this size work so flexibly before. And that is why I invite you to join the Aestherics."
Geoffrey looks between them, seeing blank stares and questioning looks. "They are Andril's black gloved hand, so to speak. They are a collection of elite soldiers and mercenaries who do jobs for Andril that could be seen as negative or dangerous, but are ultimately for good. When there's a grey line in a delicate matter, the Aestherics are called in. When a group of spies disguises themselves as peaceful rioters, the Aestherics are there" He gestures at the corpse to their left "And when a power hungry Tyrant is getting out of control and we can't directly face the problem, the Aestherics get done what is necessary. I won't lie to you, it's not pretty work, but it is GOOD work. You get every luxury you will ever need, access to nearly any supplies for the job, vast connections, and you are fighting for the greater good in ways that can never be achieved through diplomacy or force"
Footsteps are now heard outside, very soft ones that approach the door "I won't ask you to respond immedietly, I know it is a huge decision to make. So if you have any questions, you can speak to the GuildMaster of the Aestherics. I believe you have already met" The doors are thrown open, and the sound of fine leather shifting is heard. A man strolls in with a casual, cocky air about him. His feathered hat covers his face for a moment, then his lopsided grin appears "Well well, I was right. We do work together well don't we? So, do tell me, do you plan to fight for something bigger than yourselves?" And then the 'rebellion' in the city all makes sense now, as it was orchestrated by the leader of Andrils Aestherics, none other than Heff.
"I take full responsibility, sir. Any punishment should be mine. I could say it was the price for opening the gate or it was the only way we could fulfill your prime directive: that we stay alive, but I will not. This man -- this Nuro -- plotted genocide. Even now the genocidiare waits in the sewers below. I believe we did the things that was the best for all peoples, but sometimes even the best of actions have negative consequences."
It is regrettable. Those people are worth tears; they are worth grief. But he did the only thing that is truly necessary -- protect the people's of this world from self-annihilation. We all have the capacity to be so much better. We just need the opportunity to be better.
"I knew it was too convenient!"
"Before, I plan my future, I need to speak with you privately, sir Geoffrey."
In theory, Dalton understood why the commander was upset; they didn't follow orders to the letter. However, Geoffery sent them into a situation where circumstances changed, where even their own plans topside altered as evidenced by Tiasar's transmissions. I wonder how that follow is doing. In any event, the leader's expectations weren't practical, even if they were articulated. Dalton mostly bites his tongue as Geoffery plows into them though, seeing the man was in no mood to debate.
What was up for debate - haggling, really - was this matter of the Aestherics. Now, it really wasn't the fat man's place, being in predicaments such as these - after all, who'd want to spend their day in a sewer? Yet there was an open-ended offer on the table. One which came with more than just wealth or influence - freedom. In a rather paradoxical sense, the service Dalton would provide would ameliorate what ambiguous social status he had, liberating him. No longer a non-noble and not-quite-commoner, he could be a wild harrow of sorts. This Heff would be the closest thing he had to a lord - and by Asmodeus' cunning, the deal forged would be good enough where he wouldn't mind the restrictions. In a sense, he could finally be his own master.
He just had to find the man reasonable enough, but the wizard didn't truly know him yet. Time to change that. "The only plan I want to make for now is for a strong drink! Do join us, Heff." Maybe they could become better acquainted there.
The matter also remained of what exactly would happen within the country now. Dalton cared about political fluctuations in the sense they affected trade - which affected his jeweler's costs. But that matter would be settled without his worrying - he just had to remember to check on the outcome.
The minotaur watches the Colonel enter in silence. He'd expected to see the man in bad shape but not like this. Some men are too kind for their own good. The bull keeps his distance until Geoffrey is ready to speak.
After he's said his peace, the minotaur shakes his shaggy head and then nods in agreement with the chubby elf.
"We killed a king and freed a soddin' kingdom", Bjorkus says with a snort. "I just want a hard drink and soft company tonight. We can talk about tomorrow, including my freedom, later."
After all the elves are rescued Lindale stays silent. Of course their invitation likely did not extend to him. Not that he would likely go there even if they had. Elves were his enemy, even more so than the dwarves. Crossing his arms as they leave he tells the last soldier to spread the word and send orders for the army to stand down.
Then Geoffrey arrives and Lindale frowns. There was little you could do to stop a madman short of killing him. Especially when he had powerful magic at his command. Well he had tried to take one of them alive at least.
He did not show his surprise at the revealing of Heff, it made sense all of a sudden. But the invitation to join a special force appealed to him greatly. "I will think long on this offer Colonel."
Toramin
"Yes, I understand and agree with your actions so there is no punishment. This man will be dealt with, we have already seized control of the underground."
Bjorkus
"The journey to Andril will take some time, so there is no hurry. I did promise you your freedom if you helped, and I will keep that promise. If you wish to leave now I will not stop you."
Lindale
Geoffrey nods to Lindale. "No hurry."
Heff laughs and throws his arm around Dalton. "This man knows how to celebrate a successful mission!" Geoffrey glares at him, but he only shrugs. "Still, shouldn't get too inebriated, not this early anyways. Still many a thing to do."
Heff pulls Geoffrey aside and they begin whispering, evidently arguing about something. Finally Geoffrey nods, and Heff strolls over smiling. "Good news lads, you all get to have your pick from Nuro's treasury. My men have located his personal stash of wealth and magic items. While most of it will be returned to the state or sold to help pay for the damage, we decided nobody would say anything if the heroes of the war were to take a souvenir."
"He still has a treasury after paying whatever dwarven engineer trapped those tunnels!?" He seems honestly shocked.
Bjorkus’s thoughts of the coming celebration and his near freedom are suspended for a time at the mention of treasure. If there’s anything a pirate loves as much as freedom, it’s booty.
Bjorkus finds an exotic looking greatsword with a flat top that runs back into a spike. It looks exceptionally good at chopping things off. According to the book in the treasury, it once belonged to a great orc chieftain who united the tribes when dragons threatened the land.
Bjorkus hefts the massive weapon in his meaty fists. The bull takes a few broad swings, testing the weapon’s balance and grip. Satisfied, he nods his approval and picks out a sheath he can work into the harness around his furry musclebound torso.
”A good weapon with a bloody past. It’s perfect”, he rumbles.
Dearest Ianna,
Your wayward brother yet lives. Though this city and this nation could do with a bit of Bolka's grace and your mercy. The mad king, Nuro, had with the help of a crazed madman created an enhanced (though it dirties the word) version of zombie rot. It seems that if he couldn't rule Xilres he had determined that it should be a graveyard. My colleagues and I killed the king in an extra-judicial fashion for crimes against sentience. Do you think father would be proud that he has a regicide in the family. It is certainly a mark of distinction.
Speaking of marks of distinction, I heard from one of the other Gearsmiths in the army that the twins Anrad and Onrod, our youngest brothers, have started to exhibit signs of Empyreal sorcery. I found it hard to credit. You have access to our genealogical records. Is there any evidence of our clan mixing with a celestial bloodline when we were members of the Obsidian Clan? Or do you think it is more of our grandmother's meddling? Few dwarves can say they have one hundred and thirteen first cousins and all of them some form of magic user besides for me. I wonder what the other clans make of it, or what the minor branches of Gearsmith think.
Enough of regicide and family gossip, how have you been? I know that I asked that not two days ago. In all likelihood you will receive both letters at the same time, but I do miss you, little sister. Some days it is difficult being strong for our people. I can feel you rolling you eyes. Yes, I chose to follow father's instruction against your wishes. My reasons are still valid. That does not make me enjoy our separation. Particularly, when I have to bandage some idiot with his guts spilling out. You are so much better about that than I.
If you have decided that you forgive me for leaving you behind (for the time being), you should send your letter through the dwarven channels. I fear that I am no longer a member of Andril's army.
Your Devoted Brother,
Toramin Gearsmith, Paladin of Torag at large
Psotheos listens to the colonel’s chastisement and praise with mixed emotions, but it’s clear that he accepts the group’s actions and thinks they did the correct thing.
He doesn’t hide his surprise in seeing Heff appear as an agent of Andril.
”Like Lindale, I will think deeply on it,” the young noble says.
Able to poke around the trove, Dalton's attention was held by a rather uniquely-patterned bag. And a touch of extra-dimensional magic. How quaint! Super-useful for finding things right when you needed them, he decided that practical piece for memory would do just fine.
After selecting his token, he embarked out around town, eager to begin a night of celebration and relaxing. Not a recluse, he poked his head around to see how the soldiers fared before making good on his promise of "moderate" inebriation with Heff.
Afterwards, not truly drunk, he had the good senses about him still to pen something to save himself some footsteps:
Master baker,
You may recall me from earlier - the handsome, older fellow with the spectacles and crimson vest. I sampled some of your wares, and I must say I appreciate your gratitude very much so. Enclosed is the address of my home shop, and if you happen to be in the area, we could likely strike an arrangement together.
For the near future, I will be out on business though, so save that icing for a time when I'll be there!
Stay succulent,
Dalton Barrowwheel.
Requesting one of Heff's insiders drop-off the letter (them being more familiar with the ins of the town), he felt quite content. Productive, victorious, well-fed and well-drank.
Time for a slumber!
A short time after the party began perusing through the storeroom of equipment, an old man suddenly appears by the door. He is wearing a wrinkled set of robes, a long cape with a tattered edge, and a crumpled wizard's hat.
"Ah, here we are!"
He then waltzes (quite literally) over to Bjorkus and claps him on the back. Glancing through the items before him casually, he continues.
"That was a pretty nice shot you got in there. Ripped him right in half. Marvelous. Though I could say, next time, try to make it last a bit longer. I didn't get to see much at all."
"But, you did it!" he says, turning to sweep his arm across the room. "Congratulations to you all. Let the celebrations commence! Who wants champagne?"
With that, he pulls a very fine bottle of wine from a sack on his belt and pulls out the stopper. He also retrieves half a dozen thin glasses from his pouch, holding them all in one hand, and dramatically pours the wine into all of them, using the entire bottle and emptying more than half of it onto the floor.
Bjorkus stop admiring his new weapon when the strange old man appears.
”I usually put on a good show but I didn’t wanna risk that sod gettin’ away. Come find me tonight if you want to see me at my best”, the hulking bull says with a snort.
”Do we know you? I don’t remember seein’ you in the throne room.”
Looking up from polishing a dwarfish-sized suit of full-plate. "Who are you again?"
The old man walks around the room, either handing the drinks to everyone or setting them down nearby if refused or ignored.
"I highly doubt you know me, and you probably didn't see me because I was invisible. My name is Twainel Diaporto, who are you guys?"
Once the drinks are distributed, he walks around and starts examining a few small trinkets in more detail. One or two wind up in his sack.
"Twainel . . . Twainel . . . why does that name sound familiar? Oh! You were that man advocating for unhealthy diets for the poor! Don't you know that fruit and root vegetables are part of a balanced diet!?"
Bjorkus sniffs the offered drink and finding it to his liking, tosses it back. A moment later, he unleashes a thunderous belch.
”Invisible? Why didn’t you lend a hand. You could saved poor Tormamin here lotta bleedin’.”
Twainel turns sharply to Toramin and stabs a finger at him aggressively. "They're not supposed to eat the cake, they're supposed to live in it!
Turning back to the piles, and speaking to Bjorkus, he adds "I only arrived just as Nuro died, so lending a hand was out of the question even if it had crossed my mind."
He then grabs a very large painting and stuffs it into his sack. It fits, despite being much too large.
Bjorkus nods, satisfied with the answer.
"So, does someone know you're here lootin'?"
"Well, there's me, and you, and... yeah, there are a few people who know." He continues rummaging through the piles of loot.
At Bjorkus' question, Toramin pauses, "Who has the most legitimate claim to Nuro's personal treasures anyhow? I'm not sure it's any worse than us that this strange man is doing some looting. Though he isn't practicing the same moderation that we are, but why would he, he wants the most vulnerable among us to be constantly exposed to processed sugars! Think of the developmental effects that would have on their children!"
"Hey, who did you say you were again? You don't look like one of Geoffrey's men and you didn't help bring down Nuro. What right do you have to any of the booty?"
"Well, you did kill my employer, so I was planning to extract the wages that he would have paid me had he lived until our appointment."
Now that gets Toramin's attention.
"Another collaborator? How many people in this country get excited about genocide? Isn't the creation of urban blight enough for you? What did you do for Nuro -- castrate unicorns, disappoint orphans? "
After a moment Heff appears at the entrance. "What got your knickers in a knot?"
"This man worked for Nuro; is now looting. I also hear, on good authority, that he encourages the most vulnerable populations to have constant access to processed sugars!"
As Dalton looks over his bag in the shattered peace by all the yelling, he makes a note to himself. That Toramin is strung tighter than a minstrel's walking rope. The important part was he had his keepsake. In fact, it could hold a couple more keepsakes inside ... but given the hysterics some looter minding his own business was causing, Dalton thought better against the idea.